#Max Phillips x female reader

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 1

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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My Masterlist!

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

[morallyinept]

BLOOD & TINSEL - A Max Phillips Christmas One Shot

Summary: Your boss Max is your office Secret Santa, and gifts you with a rather interesting gift, that you feel incredibly compelled to thank him for.

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 4k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Mild dubcon (reader wants it)/manipulation through Vampire enthral/unprotective PIV (wrap up, folks)/oral M & F receiving/mentions of blood/biting/DP/use of a sex toy

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: If only Max was my office Secret Santa this year... 🫠

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

The gall. 

The sheer fucking gall as you peer down into the gift bag courses through your veins and bubbles on the back of your neck with heady prickles. Circling around your nipples, pulling tight as your body resists - and fails at - the urge to retaliate.

It’s what he wants, after all. 

You know he’ll be watching, will be savouring; revelling in the sadistic voyeurism that such a thrill of one upmanship provokes in you. 

You’re hungry for it, he could smell it on you from the very first day he strode into the office pulling off his shades and talking about selling dreams with a bite to his point.

He could smell it in your blood as it fizzed through your veins, riding hard on the serotonin when you took the title of top salesperson in the office for the seventh consecutive month in a row. 

He could taste it on your cunt as he had you spread over his desk, screaming for more from him, face buried between your legs on a regular turn.

You can’t even remember how it started between you anymore. How you had succumbed so willingly and easy, without the fight in you that you knew you had to resist, somewhere.

It was like he’d reached inside you, scooping all the pulp of your resistance out and throwing it to the floor as he wiped his hands down on a moist towelette.

You can sense him, somehow.

Max was just there, fountain pen poison in your veins, a permanent hole in your head; abstract dreams in your sleep that didn’t make sense.

The air always seems to become charged in his presence, with an otherworldly energy, and a subtle, silken weight settling upon your consciousness. 

It's as if unseen threads of enchantment are delicately weaving through your every thought, creating a cocoon of sweet, intoxicating allure.

Colours appear more vivid, sounds more melodic, and time itself seems to stretch and contract in the presence of this unsettling influence that beckons with a finger and you willingly follow.

You want this. He says so, you want this, as he beckons his fingers and you’ll follow without thinking it, without resisting. WIthout having legs anymore.

You feel both weightless and anchored, caught in a web of unspoken beguilement that leaves you simultaneously breathless and entranced. All you know is the colour red is prominent.

Red, like his tie that he stuffs into your mouth sometimes to stop your moans when they get too visceral. 

It’s a peculiar feeling, but one you can never draw a straight answer upon. He’s incredibly attractive, alluring. A sharp pull of magnetism that is as sharp as his teeth pressing into your flesh, as he fills you with hot mercury.

You stare into the gift bag plonked onto your desk and check the tag again. 

Merry Christmas, love Santa. 

But you’re not looking for them; you're searching out his eyes that you know are watching.

You shake your head, and glance around the office to see if anyone else is aware of the steam coming out of your ears.

But of course they’re oblivious, eyes glued to screens like the mindless, obedient drones they’ve become. Max moulds them in his image, thrust from his rib; a God among mere mortal men.

You can feel them roam your skin like bugs, setting it alight with prickles; talons tearing into the ribbons of your flesh. Revelling in your heat as it all pools into the centre of your thighs unwillingly, or maybe you’ve always been this slick and ready. 

You spy him through the window in his office. Staring, statue still, hands in his pants pockets and nothing moves except the smile widening, pulling more macabre across his brilliant, hawkish face. 

You clutch the bag and march towards his office, but as you approach, drawing into those eyes, you can feel the sheer indignance melt away into some euphoric desire.

Your vision is cast in ultraviolet, as you push through his door, heartbeat clamouring inside your ears. All you can hear is your blood pulsing, hammering. You can feel the weight of your clit, solid steel in between your legs.

You toss the gift bag down on the desk, the offending item rolling out of it across the polished wooden surface, taunting you, inciting you. 

Turning you the fuck on.

Max takes a beat forward, arm reaching towards the door and pushes it shut. The click when it finally snaps into the lock sounds like a shotgun in your ears and you visibly flinch.

He snickers, small breaths like claws coming to get you. 

The metal chinking of the blinds, as he slips them down with a quick tug on the cords, feel like razors on your skin; goosebumps flood across your epidermis at full speed.

It’s always so fucking cold in his office with the air conditioner constantly on.

Again, you can feel that tightness in your nipples as they peak sharply under your bra, concealed razor blades of your own.  

Max glances back at you with that slick smirk cocked and aimed, and you forget momentarily why you’re annoyed.

Are you annoyed?

It all pales into insignificance as he steps forward and you take a step backwards.

You repeat that you want this from a mouth that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. He’s taken your lips in his and the rest is a dream from which you wake feeling groggy and sore, and like something is missing.

The cat and mouse dance you always engage in for reasons you’re not quite sure of, the thrill perhaps? Foreplay?

It always goes the same, you tell him no. He tells you you want this, with fingers twirling in your face, and then you nod like your head might fall off your shoulders and roll across the floor. 

You feel emptier somehow, drained. And yet so full at the same time. 

Months and months of unexplained fatigue and your doctor telling you you’re anaemic now as he fills yet another prescription for you.

Prescribing pills that you don’t take because Max doesn’t like the taste of you when you take them.

And sometimes you can’t understand what he means by that odd jumble of words.

You see the bottles stacking up in your bathroom cabinet and the marks left on your skin, but you can’t fill in the blanks.

And wanting it. You want this.

You can see them, clear as day, those blanks. An unfinished crossword puzzle that berates you each day about your inept dumbness.

You can see his teeth, feel his cock; remember both of them ripping you open so obscenely. 

Yet it doesn’t compute into something panic worthy. It’s a halcyon that you float in ubiquitously and any questions you have are met with that soft ignorance. It’s bliss after all. 

And a part of you doesn’t want to displease him; he’s your boss. He could fire you if you don't perform. So you keep performing, like a puppet prancing on jolty strings for him.

You keep your name at the top of the board in a dried out marker pen that you keep meaning to replace, and he rewards you with gifts like this. It’s better than a pay rise. 

“Shall we try out your gift?” Max queries with a click of his tongue, and reaches for it. It’s sleek, black - curved. He presses the side of it and it vibrates to life.

"Now?" You query.

“Take your panties off, gorgeous.” He nods once.

“I can’t… you told me not to wear any.” You peep. You voice feels cold in your throat, full of icicles.

His hand goes to his head like he’s dumb, but he’s anything but. “Of course, how silly of me!”

“I-”

Max steps forward, his hips clattering against yours and he roots you to the wall; the swell of his cock felt heavy and hard against your thigh. Everything about him is hard. Hard edges, hard desire, hard cock.

“How good of you, hmm? Such a good girl for me aren’t you?”

“Say it.” 

“I’m a good girl for you, Max.”

It’s a feeling you recall, a craving. The blood rushes to the back of your eyeballs and you can see it, how each vibration makes everything dance scarlet in the air around you. 

You can feel him wrench up your skirt, and you gasp as he slides the vibe up the length of your slit.

Your palms slap against the wall steadying yourself as your thighs twitch when he brushes it over the swell of your clit.

“Oh, you like that.” He grins as he presses it against you and holds it there, vibrating on the end of your clit. 

“Fuck…” Your hands find your way onto his lapels twisting and clutching at the fabric desperately. “M-max!” You gasp and he raises his other finger to his lips and shushes you. 

A velvety warmth courses through your veins, spreading a languid tranquillity that blurs the line between reality and illusion; your perceptions fuzz and meld. Each whispered command from him seems to ripple through the fragile membranes of your lust, leaving you bound in a submissive dance of surrender, where the line between volition and compulsion dissolves into a heady trance.

“Do you want the whole office to hear how much of a slut you are for me, hmm? I bet you would. I need them to work on the merger. Can’t have any distractions, 'kay?"

He shakes his head and you nod yours with it in agreement. 

Your movements become a graceful ballet of compliance instead of stiff defiance, guided by an ethereal choreography that only Max orchestrates with the vibrator pushed so deftly to your clit.

You just know that you can trust him, like he says. 

The world outside the office is a distant murmur, as if you're floating on the edge of consciousness, caught between the real and the fantastical.

A place that he keeps you suspended in. It's a realm where surrender feels like liberation, where he’ll always catch you when you fall. You don’t know how or why, you just know he will. 

“Max…” you pant.

He sweeps your hair to the side and buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

Each breath is a raw, savage echo in your rib cage, home to destitute lungs. Your hand clutches around his wrist. Whether it’s to pull it against you more or push it away, you're undecided.

Another blank.

You feel his tongue at the same delicate spot, licking slowly up and down the place he leaves a permanent bruise and scabs. It’s not the place he favours to drink from you, but it’s in easy reach when you're at your desk and he can lean over, whispering into your ear all the sordid things he’s going to do to you.

Polluting you with images of the lewd and terrifically unmerciful until you whine and beg him to do them all.

“You know what to do if you want to come, honey.” He tempts in your ear. 

“Please…”

“Nu-uh.”

“Please, Max!”

“You know what I want to hear.”

You swallow, the vein in your neck swelling against his tongue. 

He pushes the vibrator harder against your clit and you cry out. “Take it, Max. Have me!” 

You feel the sharp scratch of his teeth as the feeling rushes through you. 

“Ma-hax!” You call out.

His bluntly manicured hand comes over your mouth as he drinks, the heady pull birthing red glitter behind your eyelids; miniscule metallic fragments slicing into the jelly of your eyeballs.

Your body is trembling on the end of the vibrator, slick dripping down your jerking thighs.

The metallic graze of his flies, a sharp sting on your ass and then he’s inside you, shunting you further over the desk.

You feel yourself slipping, your back sliding down the wall but he hoists you up, instantly throwing you over the desk.

Your palms slap down against the polished wood to prevent a concussion with how fast he moves.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to stop? To have to restrain myself not to take it all? I fucking want you.” He growls. 

You can hear his words, hear how he winds himself up all day watching you, harbouring you for his own thrills. He blames your humanity, your warmth on his addiction. You, you, you.

He’s addicted to you, a vice with a beating heart and a wet cunt between your legs for him to take whenever he wants. 

“Come for me!” He growls. “Come on,” he says with another hard slap to your ass.

You do and he stops to watch you shaking, rattling around on the end of his cock, possessed by something else that slithers out from the dark crevices to take you.   

He leans over you, hand clamped around your jaw, the bullseye tattoo blurred in the corner of your vision. His breath is like lava in your ears.

“Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me!” He’s desperate, sloppy. Unravelling from the feel of your cunt still ribbing around him.

“Max! I want you!” You wail.

And it’s more than a simple echo of his words; somewhere, deep down amongst all the fog, you do want him. A part of you wanted him the very first day he stepped in here and made his ghoulish transformations. 

You wanted him before the fog came and blinded you.

He licks over your mouth, pulling it away before you can chase it with yours. 

The base of his cock is so wet, dripping with you all around it. You reach down and cup his balls, squeezing gently as he groans into the bone hollow of your cheek. 

You know he likes it, one of the most vulnerable parts of him squeezed gently in your hand.

“You are so delicious. I could eat you all up.” Max hums.

You’re laying on your back now, legs thrown up and stretched wide like they're broken and misshapen. 

“Look at me fucking you like this. Oh, you take it like a champ!” Max growls. 

He reaches for the vibrator and pushes it against your clit again, your voice clawing at the walls. 

He pulls out and you hear him spit; fingers at the tight rim of your ass follow. The vibrator disappears too but then you feel the pressure, feel it burning, feel it breaking through your consciousness with the intensity of it.

Your hand ghosts down your navel, over the bulbous swell of your clit to find the vibrator stuffed inside your cunt.

He lets the vibrator fuck you, keeping it inside you with just the slightest notches of it with his thumb, as it whirs and pulls your groans from you in soaked chokes.

Max tips you further, ass higher in the air and it feels like you're flying, nothing to support you from your lower spine as you're on the edge of the desk precariously. 

“Oh… fuck!” Your body sparks, the vibrator plugged inside your pussy and unravelling you one sense at a time until there’s nothing left. Until you're plain, unmoulded clay that’s lost its elasticity, boneless on the desk in Max’s office as you cry out and squeeze. 

The vibrator starts to slide out of you as you contract, but he simply pushes his thumb back on it, watching as you lose any semblance of control.

You flood round the vibrator, glistening tracks pool around your lips and slip, dripping down towards your ass. 

He runs in cock in them, catching the slick trails on his head, lathering himself up as he teases around that tight knot of flesh and muscle. 

Max pulls the vibrator up and out of your cunt slowly, letting you ride the last ripples of it as he lines himself up. 

“You want this,” he repeats and you nod, the hole in your face getting wider and swallowing the universe.

"I want this," you hear yourself say.

The head of the vibe and the head of his cock push together, sliding into both of your holes at the same time. Taking their agonisingly sweet time to fill you, neither one breaching before the other. 

You jolt as he breaks through, pain replaced with the ombre wave of lightheadedness as your eyes roll back until you’re blind.

He thrusts himself and the vibrator slowly, deeply. 

“Oh my God, I can feel you so deep inside me,” you groan. Or scream. You're not entirely sure as your eardrums feel like they’ve already burst.

“Do you like it, my cock in your ass like this? It's not even lunchtime yet and you're already full.”

“This is my favourite way to fuck you, baby. Balls deep in your ass.” Max seethes as he works his hips.

He tosses his tie over his shoulder casually as he grips onto your ass. He keeps his thumb on the vibrator as he fucks you more intensely. 

He stretches his fingers out and strokes at your clit. 

You can’t answer him, choking for air as you pant. You’re so full it takes the literal air from your windpipe.

“You know, I don't remember hearing you thanking me for your present…” He tuts rather dramatically, his tongue clicking around his teeth.

“Thank you.” You whine as his fingers slip over your oily clit. 

“What was that?” He taunts, his other hand raising to his ear.

“Thank you, Max.” You groan, your upper body contorting against the desk as though another entity lives inside and is trying to get out.

“Louder.” He pants, rutting wilding as he hits the deepest parts of you.

“Thank you! Thank you, Max!” You thrash. 

He holds onto your waist now as he pummels and you stare up into him, jaw slack. The sound of your moans dying on the end of your wilted tongue as he turns you out. 

His eyes meet yours, creased into dark slits with the strain. He sweats, slick around his neck and you wonder how, somewhere in the commotion, you wonder how he sweats when he doesn't breathe. 

You can feel the cricking of your neck as you rise up and he swoops in to meet you, lips crushed against yours, your fingers knotting around the silk of his tie.

He doesn’t breathe, but he sweats.

You deduce he must be magic. Yes, that’s it, he’s magical. He must be to make you feel this fucking good, this unopen and… free. 

And then you hear it; the little whimper that crawls up the back of his throat. The simper of longing, of the moment he’s utterly destroyed by you. Dust in the sunlight, gloopy blood splattered up the walls.

You kill him, every time. 

And when he dies, it's only then that you can see the light again; you swim out of the fog for a second into the stark reality to face the clamping chokehold he has over you.

It’s like stepping outside of your own body for a moment, watching him fuck your ass on his desk. Hearing him growl and transmogrify back to his humanity, if but for a second as he finds peace inside of you, finds his own way back to a time he can’t remember anymore.

A familiar, yet alien taste he sucks it out of the deep crevices of his own gums.

And you can see it all, feel it all. Know that he has you in a spell of some kind. Know that he’s manipulated this into effect with thick fingers and words that glamour, and yet somehow it transcends all that.

Any anger you have, any rationale to be disgusted or scared leans into a desired acceptance as Max looks at you.

A man behind cocoa brown eyes and tan, youthful skin that won’t wither. He’s stripped off the mask, revealing the man behind the monster, and in this moment right here, dangling precariously on the cusp with your fingertips, you can see it and understand it.

You really do want this. You crave it. And you wouldn't change it. 

Whispering his name on breathless pants.

He sees it too, the clearing of your glassy eyes; the bloody cataracts lifted. The control relinquished if but for a fleeting moment as he loses his grip on everything except the pleasure.

And before he can act, before he can cast his spell over you again, you're independently pulling him closer, kissing him deeper.

“Max, Max, Max…” 

An incantation of his name, willing him to never stop. “Come for me, Max.” You plead. "Fill me up, Max. I need you, Max. I fucking want you, Max."

His fangs protrude, his cock swells and you lean back, giving him your throat, not because you’re under his thrall. But because you want to. 

“Fuck!” He growls, pulling you closer and he pumps harder, quicker. Frantic.

Ready to blow, ready to bite down hard on you like he always does when he pops off. 

You want this.

You want him to devour you. To have all of you. To make you in his image. For him to tell you why he sweats.

“Please, please, please. Oh my fucking God.” 

“You want it?”

“I want you, Max. Have me, take it.” 

He pants harder, his voice punching out around his uvula as he comes. He grasps his cock, feeling it pulse around his grip into your tight hole, filling you with him.

He punctures into your skin again, tasting the ripeness of you. Warm wetness gushes into his mouth and around his cock.

You hold him close to you, hands tight around the back of his head as he drinks, falling backwards, slowly until your head feels the molten heat singeing your hair from the centre of the earth.

He pulls it out gently and watches himself pool, dripping out slowly. He runs the head of his cock in it, pushing back inside your cunt this time, discarding the vibrator as it clatters against the desk.

You reach for him, yanking his tie and wanting him to smother you, crush your bones into dust with his weight. He thrusts slowly, feeling his cock harden inside you again. 

He pulls away with a mirthed grunt, licking the blood from his teeth as he looks down at you, thumb grazing down the side of your sweaty face.

Your mascara has run, clumped in your lashes like furry arachnids. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, places a hand over your heart to feel it beating extra hard to replace the blood he’s just taken. 

“You’re the sweetest fucking gift, baby.” Max licks his lips, sucking on the bottom one. 

“You don’t have to do that anymore, Max.” You peep with a dreamy sigh.

He allows himself to visit the exquisite hell of rubbing himself up and down your slit after he's filled your ass and watches it drip onto the polished wood of his desk.

Coating his spent cock in your shine. Marvelling at the lewd sounds it makes as it fills the office, the scent of it seeping into his nose.   

Those brown eyes snap to you, a pulse ribs at his throat, you see it. Those fingers twitch but you shake your head, sitting up in your mess. 

“Careful what you wish for, honey. You can’t return this gift to Santa when you get bored.” He straightens his tie after zipping up his pants. 

“That thing you do, that makes me… makes us do this? You don’t have to do it anymore.” You say, reaching for him with a trembling hand.

Reaching out to the monster and inviting him in. “I want this, I want you, Max.” 

“Why do you sweat?” You query.

He eyes you carefully, clicking his lips as he contemplates the severity of your words.

Do you yourself even understand them? Do you know what it is you're asking for, really?

“Get double on your quota this month, then we’ll talk about eternity.” Max grins. 

He breathes in deeply, hands on hips and smirks, the whole room setting alight around you.

"Max, what do I have to do to convince you?"

He ponders it for a moment; each second pulling you closer in agony to the sun.

You smile. You know he won’t make this easy. If it were easy, it would be boring.

You hop down off the desk, adjusting your skirt and marvelling at the use of your legs as they tingle with the blood rushing back into them.

“Yes, boss.” You confirm as you open the office door. 

Like it’s no big deal that he’s made you, albeit unconventionally, submit to him wholly. 

“Hey,” he calls back to you as you glance over your shoulder.

He settles into his chair leaning back, those hatchet eyes slicing into your shoulder blades.

“Happy Christmas.” He shrugs with a smirk, like it’s no big deal.

You nod, the fog finally clearing, your ears tuning out of the din fuzz you've been swamped in for so long.

“Happy Christmas, Max.”

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #max phillips x reader #pedro pascal character #max phillips #max phillips bloodsucking bastards #max phillips x you #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x female reader #christmas stories #jett's writing

[chronically-ghosted]

Third Base.

rating: 18+, explicit

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 9K

summary: after the last session went awry, you and max don't know how to be around each other. two months after a blow out fight, max catches you in the parking lot and decides it's time to talk.

warnings: angst, is that plot i smell? period sex (oral), impossible positions but he has super strength and doesn't breathe so shut up, semi-public sex, car sex, some briefly scary imagery (it's a dream), monsterfucking, mentions of a car accident and injuries related, arguing, max being a dick

a/n: MASSIVE shoutout to @jupiter-soups , @beardedjoel , @gasolinerainbowpuddles , @covetyou and @huffle-punk for giving me their blessing to do a vampire + period sex fic. The discord ladies really came in clutch here 👌i hope this makes you as horny as that thread made me

i wanted to get this out by halloween, but that didn't fucking happen so here's a fic that mentions halloween as a plot device. fun fact: orgasms can bring on your period early so no it’s not your 🐈 that’s sore it’s your uterus lining shuffling off

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You’re warm. Everything is warm. You’ve sunk beneath a fresh layer of volcanic ash, heartbeat pulsing with the lazy roll of molten lava at the heart of the mountain. Hands outstretched, you can’t find the edge of the mattress because there isn’t one. 

There is only warmth and rocking, gentle waves.

There is only this.

There is only him. 

Shoulders hunched between your legs, his tongue is a hard muscle, leverage against which you grind and shift and when you find that spot together, you throb in sync with the rush of blood to your cunt and sink a little deeper into the endless sheets that flutter against your skin like paper in the wind. 

Your lips form the shape of his name but in the sigh that leaves your mouth, you can’t be sure if you called out to him or if everything coherent had been swallowed up in a cry of listless pleasure. But he responds all the same. The vibrations in his chest between your thighs, his tongue wrapped around your clit, nearly tear you over the edge that very second – you cry out, not wanting this to end, not wanting to leave this hearth of him, folded over you as if you were made of fine ceramic and he was a fiery kiln. You arch, your release dangerously close, and his grip around your thighs tightens, tightens, pulling you deeper down into his face, his nose, that wicked, wicked tongue, and his grip tightens and it hurts. His fingers, his nails, pinch down into you, your flesh swells between his knuckles as if he’s going to tear straight through your skin, your muscles, your bones – and you yelp. 

It’s not fun any more.

You struggle, but he’s on you too tight, a riptide sucking you under. You try and kick him off, push him off with your hands but it’s no use.

Everything is cold and metal and it hurts and you’re begging him to let you go, let you live, when those fangs, as sharp and jagged as steak knives, suddenly embed themselves in your thigh. Your hips jerk with the force of it, with the agony as he slices your femoral artery and drinks deep. And then he bites your other thigh, tearing through your flesh, turning the cradle of your thighs into dripping viscera. 

Max, you think you beg, the fight all but drained out of you as your blood flows freely from between his fingers, from the gashes in your thighs, your throat, your wrists. He’s torn out chunks of you and swallowed them whole. 

Max.

The creature lifts its head, its eyes blood-red, pupils black as the darkest night, mouth twisted and wrenched open screaming, four glistening bone-white fangs, dripping blood, your blood, your life, your flesh. Begging won’t save you now. 

It snarls, the sound pinching off like a dying woman’s scream, inch-long talons tearing up your hips as it crawls forward, crawls into your throat and just before it delivers the killing bite, it whispers:

You asked for this.

The first thing you see when you jerk out of the nightmare is the crease of your pillow, looking up at it from the plush of your mattress. Your cheek smushed into your blue sheets, duvet tangled between your legs, the horror of the nightmare still pressed into the corners of your brain like a tacky, sticky film, you can’t quite understand what you’re looking at. The adrenaline is fast in your blood, heart pounding, your unconscious mind unable to determine what is real and what is not, safety or danger, and your fingers dig into your sleep shorts, arms tucked up underneath you. You blink twice, the headache from yesterday returning, your swollen, black eye almost immediately painful, and then you realize the pounding you hear is not your final heartbeats, but someone at your door. 

That buzzing is not the last conscious thoughts in your head fizzling out, but your phone on silent, humming incessantly. Groaning from the pins and needles that shoot up your arm after having slept on it all night, you flop onto your back, your other wrist twinging painfully in its flesh-colored wrap, as you crawl to the edge of your bed – which is thankfully in sight. You can’t pick up your phone with your dead-fish arm and your twisted wrist so you answer the call without looking and put it on speaker.

“Hello?” 

“Why aren’t you at work?” His voice is clipped, short, pissed. As if he was your actual boss and not the sales manager, while you worked in legal. After the dream, it immediately sets you on edge. Every major part of you is sore and hurts, either from the accident, or sleeping so hard you figured you briefly went into a coma. 

“What’s it matter to you? I called my department and told them I’d be out.”

“Yeah, and I had to find out from Tim.” The pounding from down the hall gets louder and suddenly you connect the two. It should be illegal to be this furious minutes after waking up. “Open the door,” he snaps into the silence over the phone. 

“Are you fucking serious right now? You’re at my apartment?”

“Yes, now open the fucking door.” 

You chew your lip because you genuinely do not want to see him right now. There’s a reason you called Tim to pick you up after someone T-boned the back of your car yesterday evening and the plausible excuse is that he lives in the same apartment complex as you. 

“Open the door right now or I swear –,”

“Alright, jesus. Gimme a fuckin’ –,”

You shrug on your cardigan, hissing as you bend your shoulder. 

“What was that?” You swear his voice takes on an edge, catching on something and tearing just enough to let something vulnerable bleed through. 

“It’s nothing – I –,” you twist your other shoulder into the arm of the cardigan, the phone pinched up against your ear. “Jesus – okay, fuck this, just stay there and don’t break down my door.”

You pound the red button with your thumb and launch your phone onto your bed before you limp lightly down the hall, the weight on your right ankle just a little less than on your left. It’s half a second difference in your regular gait, but something tells you he’ll know.

He’s across your threshold before you have the door fully open, glaring around your dark apartment as if it personally had a hand in keeping him outside in the hallway. There’s something frenetic in the way he moves, in the way he stands, even if he is completely still. It’s the same sort of wired energy that is usually reserved for end-of-quarter deadlines, isolated to sustained knee bouncing or wearing out the spring of a pen with one too many clicks. Max is . . . uneasy.

“Well?” He rounds on you, hands on his hips, as if you’d just been caught pilfering through the company supply cabinet for ink cartridges to sniff and get high. You’d never been on the receiving end of Max’s bad temper before – in fact, you’d been the solution to it for quite some time now. You’d seen him go off on a vendor that screwed up an order or chew out the competition, but not this. Not that tense jaw that can’t find a place to settle, eyes narrowed in warning. Don’t test me. 

“Well, what?” Maybe you should have changed out of your pastel blue pajamas before coming to face your co-worker/occasional sex-fiend/boyfriend(?) but it’s too late now. You try to stand as tall as you can, arms crossed. 

“You wanna tell me why you weren’t at work today and I had to hear from Tim – fucking sandwich-eating, wormy-mustache, sword-dildo Tim – that you’d been in a goddamn car accident.”

“It was minor and he lives in my building,” you respond, chin high.

His eyebrows arch as his mouth twists indignantly. “So minor your car wasn’t drivable?”

Point 1 for Max. You bristle, fighting the heat on your cheeks. “It was just easier to call him. He picked me up, dropped me off with some painkillers and some juice, and left. I didn’t fuck him if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

He picks up on a thread you didn’t expect him to follow. “He gave you . . . juice?” 

“Yes. His sister is a nurse and it was something about the adrenaline and sugar in orange juice – and I don’t know – it was comforting, at the time.”

“Comforting?” He asks like it’s a foreign concept. Something alien and unnatural. “What, like he gave you a hug or something?”

Your stomach turns on something sour. “Sure, Max, yeah. He could see I was upset and he did the terrible, horrible thing of giving me a hug when he saw I was in pain.”

“So was it a minor accident or not?” He takes a step forward and you remember how much bigger he is than you. How wide his hands are. “Fuck, can you turn on a light? I’m fucking straining to see anything.”

The migraine had set in moments after you closed the door behind Tim and like a creature retreating to lick their wounds, you shut off every single light in your apartment and close the blinds tight. You stick a comment about vampire sight up between your teeth and switch on the lamp by your couch. 

You catch a glimpse of that pretty face cut with sharp, angry lines and flared nostrils, before it flickers, fades out when he spots the black eye, the wrist splint you forget to hide with your sleeve before it’s too late, the way you hold your weight off your sensitive ankle. 

For some reason, you can’t look him in the eyes, so you watch as the taut line of his shoulders deflates, his wide hands with his thick fingers slide bonelessly off his hips, how he stands up right instead of that aggressive forward lean, reserved only for what you thought he saw as enemies.

He swallows whatever was sitting behind his teeth and stares.

Where he had been even temporarily vulnerable with you days ago, it’s your turn to shy away, hiding your tender spots. 

Guilt washes up to your eyeballs the longer he stares silently, taking in every bruise and bump. You hate the fact you feel guilty, and you hate that you don’t know where the guilt comes from or why it sits so heavy in your chest. 

The truth of the matter is you did think about calling him. In fact, he was the first name you pulled up on your now cracked phone, but sitting on a curb outside of a gas station as a tow truck came to take your car away, you scrolled down past him. 

The truth of the matter is Max hasn’t been back in your apartment since the night you went to second base and he bit you on your tit. In fact, he’s been avoiding you in the office for days now. When he wouldn’t meet your eyes over the coffee machine, it became easier and easier to wonder if this was the same man who set out all those candles for you, who put down all of those insane precautions to keep himself from going too far, who couldn’t help but vibrate with pleasure as he drank from you. First base had gone over without a hitch, but something went wrong that night and he’d sooner let the relationship fizzle out than talk about it. 

The following shower that night had been awkward and uncomfortable, too close and the steam too hot. He left shortly there after, only a handful of mumbled words exchanged, and he hadn’t come back.

So, maybe, sitting there, your head aching, your wrist pinching, you wanted him to feel as abandoned as you had.

“I’m a little . . . banged up, alright?” Your fingertips brush the edges of the Ace bandage around your palm when your fingers curl and uncurl, your head tilted just off center as if you could hide the swelling from him. “Nothing that a few days of rest can’t fix, so you really didn’t need to come over.”

“Rest and juice, right?” The look in his eyes is raw, rubbed down into nothingness, blackness, totality. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, “it wasn’t like that and you fucking know it.” 

His head tilts as if considering your words, or considering something else, and by the time you open your eyes in a millisecond blink, he’s got your chin in his palm, his fingers curled up your cheek, thumb firmly pressed into your jaw. Dark eyes roving, he’s inspecting every cut, every bruise, every hair out of place. 

Irate at the hot flush low in your stomach at the way he grips you, you push against his chest, yowling out some disgruntled noise, but that only makes him squeeze you tighter. He doesn’t even look you in the eye. 

“I’ve healed much worse than this,” he murmurs, breath smelling deliciously of mint and not a hint of anything metallic. “Especially on you.” 

His thumb brushes dangerously close to the rim of your purple and green eye and while even the slightest touch stings, it’s nothing compared to the bite of pain his words and soft tone inflict. You give him one more good shove and he backs off, thumb swiping briefly against your chin. His mouth is a straight line when he finally meets your glare. 

“I didn’t call you because I didn’t think you gave a shit, Max.” You’ve been in tense business negotiations all your adult life so standing your ground and not crying is something that has become second nature to you. And yet, your eyes grow hot and tight all the same. You’re not crying, but your body is remembering how good it feels to do so. “Ever since that night, you’ve been acting like I’m diseased or something. You made it pretty clear we’re not actually dating, so I called Tim because it was the path of least resistance. I was tired and I hurt and I didn’t want anything complicated. And I didn’t tell you because quite frankly I didn’t think you’d notice I wasn’t there unless the breeze blew the wrong way and your dick got hard.” Every unanswered text and call straight to voicemail over the last two weeks flashes in your mind and your wrist twinges painfully as you gesture to your bedroom. “Because that’s what this is, right? Just a good fuck? A good time? For the record, you didn’t ruin that lingerie set. I put it on cold in the washer and the blood came right out, okay? Everything is totally fucking fine.”

You don’t realize how loud you’d gotten until your apartment rings with silence. It is the absence of noise, of only one set of lungs in use, that makes it so loud. 

Max’s jaw still hasn’t found a place to settle, to calm himself. He purses his lips as his bottom teeth grind against the top. His eyes are unreadable, black coals in his head, instead of that gooey warmth you swear you’ve only seen in your direction. He swallows once before opening his mouth.

“So then, do you want me to fix you? Just so we can get back to fucking and I can get what I came here for.”

Soft. Quiet. A rattlesnake you don’t see coming until its fangs are in your foot, pumping you full of poison. 

“Get the fuck out of my house. Right now. Leave.”

As if mocking you, he walks out the front door. He could be out and gone before you draw your next breath, but he chooses to click his fucking Armani leather shoes across your tile, open the door – the knob demonstrably small in his massive hand – and slam shut so hard the painting on the wall shudders. 

If the shower had been a separation by omission, this had been the real thing.

The heat behind your eyes becomes unbearable, sharp, painful as you begin to choke on everything you didn’t say to him lodged in your throat. Vision blurry, you yank your curtains close and flip the light switch, plunging the apartment back into darkness. 

It’s not until you’re curled up on your side in bed, duvet over your head, that the tears come. They’re silent, you’ve only ever known how to cry silently, but they fall fast, dripping off your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut and your black eye throbs, a thunderbolt in a storm. You cry out and touching it makes it worse and you cry because it hurts and you cry because you’re pathetic and you cry because, worst of all, you didn’t make Max realize what a fucking asshole he is.

It’s not until you wake up at two in the morning, suddenly and without a descent, that you realize Max walked into your apartment without a jacket on, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loose. As if he had heard the news and immediately left the office to come to you.

Days pass. And days turn into weeks. It’s two months later and you haven’t heard a word from him.

Everyone at the office has been very considerate about your injuries – holding doors for you as you hobbled through them, your team taking on more client-facing calls while your eye healed, typing up the last bits of the reports when your wrist started to ache. For a company that employed literal hell-spawn, you’d been rather touched by the kindness everyone showed you. 

Even Tim. Who offered, after clarifying he definitely wasn’t hitting on you (if only because he feared the legal repercussions you could bring down on him like a smiting hammer) to drive you home while your car got fixed. Those nights when Evan sat in the back because they were headed to a DnD session afterwards were always a little awkward. 

Everyone helped out, except one person. A significant person that made your chest twinge every time you saw his door close seconds after you came into the breakroom. You could hear your sister’s scolding voice now: never fuck where you eat.

For sleeping with a vampire, you supposed that statement was doubly true. 

As the world turned towards winter, night came early and stayed longer, eager for mischief. The air grew thin, cold, trees sagging, turning brown, and molting. There’s a smell to the air that usually excites you, usually makes you smile and yearn for your couch and a long movie night. But not this time.

Halloween falls on a Monday this year and given the majority of its workforce still remember when it was called Samhain, it’s a company holiday. Ahead of a long weekend, this late, the office is empty. With nothing (and no one) to greet you at home, you stay until it could be officially counted as pathetic to keep working in an empty and dark building, before powering down your laptop, gathering your things for what you foresee as just a long working weekend, and locking your office for the night. 

Paper bats hung from the ceiling, with orange and black table clothes thrown over tables in the break room. Cardboard witches and zombies grinned wickedly from the dark corners, woolen webs with freakishly large spiders hiding near the ceiling. The office manager, Carla, has really outdone herself this year, you think, as you unplug the rows of purple and orange lights looping around the ceiling tiles. With your leftover lasagna from Amanda (who insisted you still needed someone to make you dinner), you flick off any remaining lights, the red exit signs guiding you out in the dark. 

His office door is open, not unheard of but not common. 

The room is dark, so maybe he left early and just forgot to lock up. Your chest tightens at the thought that he ran out of there in a hurry because he was eager to meet up with someone, a pretty someone who looked great in a set of heels and had a fang fetish. You swallow; one of a dozen scenarios you’ve tortured yourself with over the past few weeks, particularly painful. 

It’s strange, to go on and live your life when there has been a fundamental and irrevocable change, when there is nothing where there once was something – an outline almost visible as though the air itself was trying desperately to remember, to hold on. 

Your eyes grow hot and you blame it on season allergies when you wipe your eyes with your palm. You blame it on the steady headache you’ve had all day. You blame it on the irritability that’s been rubbing you the wrong way for days now. You blame it on the lack of sleep you can never seem to get enough of. Fuck, is it possible to drink yourself into a wine coma? You’d really love to find out. 

Without the sun, the wind is particularly chilling, curling over the collar of your jacket and pinching the back of your neck. Your feet ache, the plastic holding the lasagna is starting to sweat, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got a run in your nylons. Fighting back a shiver, you unlock your car and toss everything into the passenger’s seat when you hear your name. 

For a fraction of a second, you think it’s the wind. That your mind has been circling its own loneliness for so long, it’s taking pity on your pathetic ass and imagining comfort out of thin air. But you hear it again, stilling with one foot in your car, hand on the door. Your name – quiet, reserved, purposeful. 

So unlike him. 

“Can we talk?”

Just get in the car. Just get in, turn it on, and drive. Your fingers bite into the cold metal. 

“Max, it’s late and I’m exhausted –,” 

“Then I’ll make it quick.” 

His long coat flutters around his knees in the uneasy breeze, his hands in his pockets. You can’t really see his face in the shadows between the streetlights. 

You haven’t moved. One foot on the floor of your car, hand on the door. He sighs and tugs at the tie around his neck. You wait.

“You said you’d be quick –,”

His jaw ticks, finds your gaze for the first time. “It’s fucking freezing out – can I at least sit in the car?”

“There’s lasagna.” Max had the unique capacity to trigger your most basic instincts seemingly out of nowhere. Where did he get off demanding anything? You want to stomp your foot and stick your tongue out. “I mean, you have to move the lasagna . . . and some other stuff.”  

Briefly thankful for the dark shadows to hide your childish blush, you plop into the car seat without looking back at him. His figure moves around the car and you make the express decision to make him deal with all your shit in the passenger's seat. But to your enormous surprise (and swelling embarrassment), he gathers your briefcase, the plastic container, and your empty coffee mug without comment and puts them gently in the backseat – without flinging them or sighing like he just moved mountains. 

Your fingers curl over the stiff steering wheel as he folds his long legs into the car, fighting with his jacket, and grunting a bit when his knees press up against the dashboard. The click as his seat slides backwards to make room is painfully audible. 

The overhead light in your car fades long before either of you say anything. 

“Max, it’s cold and I wanna go home–,”

“Okay, okay, sorry – fuck –,” he twists the coat tighter around his chest, sliding low in his seat like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Okay. It’s just . . . this isn’t easy and I don’t –,” 

“You don’t what?” You snap, rounding on him, patience finally running out. “You don’t know how to apologize for being a fucking asshole?” 

“No – I mean, yeah, but –,” 

“So you admit it! You were being a shit and you know it!” 

“It’s not like it’s that fucking simple–,” 

“Yeah, it is. It really is, Max. You got scared the last time we were together and you took it out on me the first chance you got.” 

He shoves his palms into his eyes. “Okay, yes, I was scared, but not then. I mean, it freaked me out a little bit, but . . . it wasn’t the bite that got to me.” 

“Yeah? Then what was?” 

He huffs, lowering his hands slowly, his shoulders curving in as his hands drop into his lap. “You told Tim and not me. And,” he adds quickly at your rapidly reddening face, “and for about fifteen minutes, I didn’t know if you were alive or not. I just heard ‘not at work’ and ‘car accident’ and I assumed the worst . . . and because of the way I’ve treated this relationship, you didn’t think about calling me just to let me know you were okay. And . . . I fucked up.” 

You blink. Slowly, then several times rapidly. “You were scared that you lost me.” 

That pained grimace deepens and he scowls at you like you called his Tonka Toy Truck stupid. 

“Don’t say it like that. It makes me sound pathetic.” 

You scowl back. “Would it kill you to be genuine for two seconds? It’s okay to have feelings. Even ones about me.” 

“Of course I have feelings for you,” he rolls his eyes and you want to bite him on his finger. “Why would I put us both through the fucking ringer just so I can bite you if I didn’t care about you?”

“So then if you can easily admit that you have feelings for me, why were you so fucking awkward that last time? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why were you so fucking mean to me at my apartment?”

“Because I don’t wanna keep this a secret anymore!” 

Your car feels abnormally cramped as all the air is sucked out with a vacuum. But, as a vampire, maybe that’s not a problem for him. 

Or maybe if he stops, he’ll never be able to get it all out. 

His eyes are wide, his broad shoulders pressed up against the door, as if he is trying to escape the confines of the car, or look at you straight on. 

“I want to be the one you call when there’s a problem, not fucking Tim. I want you to know I’d never, ever hurt you, no matter how blood drunk I was. I want . . . I want to stay overnight at your apartment and I want . . .” he trails off, swallowing over the words that are seemingly choking him. “I want to be your . . .”

He murmurs something and you assume you didn’t hear him because you are simply too shocked.

“What?”

Max groans and puts his hands over his face as if he is being physically tortured. 

“I wanna be your boyfriend. In public. At work. All the time. I wanna . . . I wanna tell people I’m your boyfriend and you’re my girlfriend.” He makes a face and sticks his tongue out, grimacing. “And I wanna fucking graduate kindergarten apparently. Get married on the blacktop. Blegh.”  

As he wrestles with the apparently juvenile terms, you fall into speechlessness. There’s a dozen emotions flashing through you like fire embers: relief, anger, embarrassment, curiosity, joy, sadness –

Desire.

Watching his tongue roll around in his mouth, even comically, reminds you exactly why you entered into this relationship/not relationship with him in the first place. 

Mouth finally closing, he lifts his gaze to you, chin tilted down, and you can almost imagine the ears turned back and low on his head.

“And I know that’s not what you want. I didn’t want to say anything but then it all just fucking snowballed, and it’s been killing me not being around you, so when I saw you leave tonight, I thought–,”

“Why do you think that’s not what I want?” Your heart rises, just a bit, in your chest, and you feel it tap against your breastbone. “Why wouldn’t I want to go public?”

Max watches you cautiously, eyebrows drawn down. “HR nightmare for one. But in the beginning, since we didn’t, you know, go public then, I just figured . . . Figured you’d want to end it before calling me your boyfriend.”

“But you didn’t want that either, in the beginning, right?”

He nods, suspicious.

“But things changed for you. And . . . you know . . . things might have changed for me too.”

God, maybe your mom can take pictures of you two together at the kindergarten graduation ceremony. Why is this so fucking hard to talk about? 

Max blinks at you, his turn to be struck silent. 

“So, theoretically, if I stop being an asshole and you call me for all your rides home, I can call you my girlfriend to Tim’s stupid face?” 

“If you’re ready to deal with the HR nightmare,” you say, meaning that and a handful of other things. If you really want to deal with all of that for me.

You swear Max’s eyes twinkle gold for a second. 

“Um, yeah. I mean, I am if you are.”

“I am if you are.”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.” 

A grin sparks across his face, the tension leaving his jaw. Joy crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“Then I wanna kiss you first.”

Your heart is now knocking between your breastbone and your throat. You nod, swallowing nerves. 

“Finally, something we agree on.” 

For the first time in your memory, Max moves slow, hesitantly, but encouraged by the smirk on your lips. The car still feels small, but now in the best way possible. He leans forward, the console in the middle squeaking as you press your forearm against it, his hand sinking into your hair, nails against your scalp. 

You smell mint, coffee, and finally, something coppery. 

You lick your lip a second before his slot against yours. 

It’s chaste, as chaste as kissing Max Phillips can be. A thoughtful moment of rediscovery, of possibility, of relieved familiarity. He knows just how to turn his head, to press into you, to make you sigh into his mouth.

“Am I forgiven?” He teases, his voice soft and quiet, eyes half open as they take in every pore and feature of your face.

Desire, buttery and warm, melts into sticky arousal between your thighs. The fingers on his chest dig in as you grasp at the material to drag him closer. 

“I think you owe me a base, slugger.”

Max’s eyes widen. “Here? Now?”

“I’m pretty sure the office building is locked up, so unless you have another suggestion–,” 

He groans, hands immediately tugging around your knees to pull you literally out of your seat and into his lap. He grinds your hips down against him, as if he couldn’t help it, and you gasp, embarrassingly turned on from his hands on your hips and his sudden show of strength. That goddamn vampire strength. 

“I missed you so much, you fucking freak,” he mouths against your cheek, his hand squeezing your thigh once before curling around your neck and yanking you into his hot mouth. Your muffled noise comes across as protest and surprise, but he keeps you pinned, his lips and teeth and tongue fighting over themselves to get to your skin first.  “I’ll give you any base you fucking want, but I wanna neck in this car for a bit.”

You nod, quelling the flush of heat between your thighs and the subsequent whimper by burying your hands under his jacket, under his blazer, and tugging his shirt out from his waistband. His skin is cold, despite three layers of clothing and a heated seat. 

Max grunts as you palm his stomach, muscles tightening, and he dips his mouth to your ear, your cheek, your neck. The brush of teeth against your hammering pulse point carries only the threat of pain. His tongue circles your vein like a bullseye. 

His fingers knotted in your hair, Max rolls his hips once, breaking off the kiss to watch the shiver go through you and end in a subtle moan that has you knocking your forehead into his shoulder. 

He mouths your ear, that soft skin just below it, hands rubbing up your hips and inching your skirt up your thighs. 

“Are you sure you want it here?” His words are as gentle as his lips — which is to say not at all. He roughly captures your mouth again before you can answer and sucks your bottom lip between his teeth as if he can bleed the answer from you.

He’s kissing you so hard, your back nudges the dashboard. You respond in retaliation; swirl his tongue with yours like a goddamn preview, hands low on his groin as you push him back. 

“Yes,” you murmur against his mouth. “Yes, Max, please. Here.”

“Then we’re moving the fucking lasagna again.” 

He twists you as he opens the car door, and immediately the wet patch between your thighs is slapped by the cold air. You stumble, shuddering, your nipples tightening in the chilly air. But he’s already knocking everything on the back seat to the floor. Grabbing you and guiding you by your hips to lay back against the pleather and spreading your knees with the brush of his thumbs, his eyes darken as if he can see through your skirt and nylons. Like he can hear your cunt throb for him.

He hovers over you, his Armani fucking shoes hanging off the seat as he kneels on the seat, seemingly struck silent by the sight of you, even with all your clothes on. 

“Max,” you say against the swelling in your chest, “you can bite my calf if biting near my pussy is too much.”

Just the mention of that wet, warm place he is so ridiculously fond of has drawn his attention back from his distant thoughts. 

“So I can’t eat your pussy after I eat your pussy?”

“If you think you can handle it,” you nudge at his elbow with your toes, “go for it.”

Over his shoulder, you can see the wind tug on his jacket, hear it ghost over the treetops, but with his thick, broad body over you, you feel nothing but warm. Max unbuttons his collar and slides his already loose tie from around his neck. He tickles your nose with it before dropping it onto the floor. 

“Leaving this within reach in case you need to scream into something, okay?”

You roll your eyes, flushed hot at the idea that you’re about to have semi-public sex. “You’ve been gone for a while. Maybe you’ve lost your touch.”

Something in his eyes grows dark, sharp, and his chin tilts just slightly. 

“I guess you’ll have to judge that for yourself.” He pushes up your shirt to your throat, exposing your white linen bra (that’s what you get for assuming your sex life was over) and your twitching stomach to his hot, wandering gaze. Before you can pretend to protest being cold, he drops his mouth to the swell of your breast and teases your nipple with his teeth. “You tell me if I’ve lost my touch.”

Immediately, a full body shiver radiates from where his lips suck and you stretch out against the leather, eyes fluttering open and shut. He hasn’t earned a moan yet, a fact he seems acutely aware of when his eyes flick up to watch your face as he palms your other breast. He digs one finger over the cup, curling over the material and grazing your nipple with his nail, when you shake your head. 

“Too public,” you breathe, as you wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him against you because you want to feel how much this affects him too. “Someone could see.”

“But you want me to eat you out? That’s not too public?” He grins as he tucks his face into your neck, lazily rolling his hips because he knows that’s exactly what you want. 

“Just stick your head up my skirt.”

He stills, teeth ghosting your skin. “Yeah?”

You feel him twitch against your thigh and you have to remind yourself not to ask him to full out fuck you in the backseat of your car. You nod, your chin ruffling his hair. His grip on your ribcage tightens, an errant thumb swiping the underside of your breast, as he lets out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan.

“Have I told you you’re a fucking freak and how much I love it?”

Your toes curl in your shoes, heart in your ears, and blood hot under your skin. Just as he moves to shuffle back, you cup the back of his neck, turning your teeth and lips to his ear, the hairs there as soft as peach fuzz.

“No. I’m a monsterfucker.”

The sound that escapes him is no longer human, deep, jagged, a warning cry to hunted prey, and you feel just a prick of fangs against your neck. Immediately that rush of endorphins bows your back, a Pavlovian response to be fucked so good over and over again, and you keen into his chest. 

“Max, baby, please–,”

Your cunt actually aches. 

Max shoves himself away from you, yanking off his coat and suit jacket in one motion, and he actually lets them fall to the concrete parking lot. Before his sleeve is all the way out, he curls over you, one hand shoving up your skirt, and the other snagging the front of your nylons. His grip pinches the coarse hairs and your cunt involuntarily clenches as he peels the nylons over your hips and your knees with one hand. To get them completely off, you’d have to stretch out your legs, so he shoves your nylons to your ankles, before grabbing the backs of your thighs and thrusting you up the seat. Your head knocks against the car door, but he doesn’t seem to care – and neither do you. 

The back seat of your ford is not meant for two people, much less two people hellbent on oral sex. And yet . . .

He shoves one knee under your low spine, lifting your hips up and you acquiesce – tightening your muscles to keep the position that nearly folds you in half, but he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to breathe, honey,” he purrs into your thigh and takes your knee around the back of his head, and then does the same to the other. The height gives you enough leverage to balance against the roof of the car, giving your weight onto his shoulders, and your cunt exactly where he wants it. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. Now, let me eat.” He sticks out his tongue, flat against his chin. 

He clutches your hips and tugs you closer, right into his waiting muscle. 

Your spine arches even further off the seat when he takes advantage of the position and licks you from the curve of your ass to your clit. He catches the dripping wetness in his mouth, using it to massage that bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, his fingers firm against your hip. Any more pressure and he’ll bruise you. Any more after that and he’ll crush your hipbones. 

Your hips thrust weakly, thighs squeezing his head, as he forcibly reminds you that he hadn’t lost his touch, with an additional reminder that no one else touches you like he does. No one. Not a living soul or otherwise.

A side lick to your clit and you bite your lip, eyes shut, your hands above your head to find leverage. You push back against him and he groans into your pussy, aquiline nose breathing harshly into your damp curls. 

“Fuck, Max – yes, right there – oh god –,”

That soft teasing feeling that makes your hips cant forward with a sudden desperate need expands with every swipe of your tongue. 

He’s never going to let you live it down if you come this fast. 

“M-Max,” 

He opens his jaw more, dropping his mouth to your exposed hole and licking so deep inside with a curled tongue, your thighs start to shake. You gasp, head lifting forward before dropping back, as he fucks you with his tongue. You want to ride his face. 

And then Max lets out a grunt, shifting underneath you, his gaze flicking up to yours. With a hand on your knee as he practically hangs you upside down, he pulls back.

“You taste different.” 

It takes you a second to realize he’s said something coherent. “W-what?” 

He licks his lips, smeared with a wetness that makes the lower half of his face shine in the murky street lights. He licks you again as if to make sure. 

“Your taste . . . your cunt, it’s . . .”

Max’s eyes widen slightly like a wolf catching the scent of a deer. 

“Hold on, baby, I gotta try something.” 

Without warning, he plunges two fingers inside of you and sucks on your clit. He times his sucks with the rapid pump of his fingers and you’re at your peak in seconds. Your thighs shake, your cunt tightens, the sudden ascent overwhelming and intense, and with a tap against that spot inside you he’s forever marked as his own, you flatten against the seat, as everything inside you bursts, wet and bright, into his waiting mouth. His eyes flutter at the taste as it drips out of you, corners of his mouth smeared with your release. 

Max slowly slides his fingers out of you, watching you with apparent curiosity, pride evident in his eyes, and immediately your cunt aches, as if he had just given you three orgasms instead of one. There’s a low throb at the crux of your thighs and you groan, the pain only dull. 

But he doesn’t seem to notice. He nudges your thighs back from his ears, opening up you just a bit before he tucks his tongue into you again. The throb, alongside the still settling waves of your orgasm, wants you to push him away, but it’s not overstimulation. After being with Max for so long, you knew what overstimulation felt like and this is not it. 

“Max, c’mon, give me a second — fuck,”

Your eyes widen as you feel something wet trickle out of you and into his mouth, his eyes fixated on you. His grip around your waist pulls you closer to his chest. 

You watch each other the second you realize what’s just happened.

He leans back and there’s blood on his bottom lip.

Embarrassment scorches through your body and all the shitty feelings you had all week suddenly identify themselves as symptoms of PMS. Fuck. 

You immediately push on him, trying to de-tangle yourself from his shoulders, but he shakes his head.

“You wanted me to drink your blood, right? Third base? Well, now we don’t have to worry about where to bite you.” 

“But Max,” you struggle, working to sit up right but he won’t let your legs go. In fact, his grip turns rougher and you feel his fingers crush into your hip bones, his other hand pinning your knee to the back of his neck. “Max, c’mon, you don’t have to do that. This is silly and –,”

His wide palm smooths over your knee, like he’s trying to settle a frightened cat. 

“Who’s scared of genuine feelings now?” He murmurs. 

Only Max Phillips can go soft and sweet with your cunt inches from his face. Your apparently bleeding cunt. 

His hand moves from your knee, down your thigh and over your hip, before making the reverse trail, just as slow, just as comforting, while his gaze never leaves yours. You swallow something harsh in your throat, as your lower pelvis starts to ache. 

“The last thing I want is to hurt you, but I’ve heard that orgasms can actually help with cramps.” Max says softly. This isn’t a ploy to get (further) into your pants. He’s being genuinely – really, seriously, genuine. Your heart beats just as hard as the cramps as they settle. 

“What woman told you that?” 

Max huffs out a laugh, turning his head to nuzzle your thigh. “I was lonely without you and had to make do . . . so I befriended Carla and her gang.”

“The office manager?” You gape at him.

“They all tried to set me up with their daughters,” he chuckles, his hands still roaming over your body. He adjusts his knee so you have something to lean into. “So, pretty harmless. But they are also some of the most incorrigible gossip hounds I’ve ever known.” 

“They didn’t mind setting their daughters up with a vampire?”

“Not all of them are human, honey.” His eyes roll up your chest to your face. “And the ones that are were practically begging me to turn them.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, baby, I didn’t.” He shifts again, tugging you further over his shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the backs of your knees. “We don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.” 

“I know. It’s just . . .” You touch his thigh behind your back, needing to feel him to gather up the strength to say what you wanted to. “No one’s ever done this before.”

Max’s solid eyebrow jumps, lips pulling back into that wicked smirk. You swear you catch a glimpse of fang as he focuses back onto your cunt. 

“Well, you’re a monsterfucker and I’m your monster to fuck.” 

His mouth lowers, eyes on you, waiting and begging. You nod and he prods your clit with his tongue again, before licking anything and everything out of your hole.

Max doesn’t eat. He feeds. 

He grunts through his nose, trying to kneel as high as he is allowed in the cramped space. Finally, his gaze falls from you, eyes flickering shut, as the cramp in your pelvis digs deeper – you cry out – but then, it melts. The dull ache is spread across your hip bones until it is just warm, hot with your rushing blood. You moan, throwing your head back, and finally you dig your hands into his hair. 

As that warm bright coil begins to sink into your pelvis, Max groans between your legs. He pulls back just an inch, his lips a gooey red, to say:

“Pull on it if you need to hold yourself up.” 

Why you thought you could ever go back to a human lover after Max is a fuzzy, hazy notion at the edges of your mind when you dig your fingers into his hair, slightly longer than it’s been in the past, and pull yourself even closer to his mouth. 

In a truly impractical position, you feel his iron-hard cock poke your back, his hips stuttering, fucking empty air. His arm bands around your hips, your knees knocking against the ceiling, as he adjusts his grip. 

The inverse of blood has you going dizzy; blood rushing to your head as Max coaxes blood out of your cunt. 

And then you feel it. 

Behind your thighs, his chest vibrates and the air is filled with a delicious, primal sound. The sound of a beast being satiated, of a hunt gone well, a feeding that will sustain for a long, long while. Before you found it rather adorable, funny that a grown man like Max Phillips would purr when deeply satisfied, but now, it’s a hair-pin trigger to your demise. 

You cry out, loud and wet and wanting, as everything from your hips down starts to tighten up again. You lock your ankles together against his back, toes exposed to the night air, and you use the last of your waning strength in your thighs to lift yourself even further to him. Your hips thrust weakly and that grip around your hip bones seals you to his chest. 

Don’t fucking move. 

But it’s enough. Your inner thighs a gooey, hot mess, he prods his tongue deep, licking up every liquid that drips out of you, before coating your clit in your own mess. 

He sucks and you come. Long and loud. 

Your vision slowly begins to unblur, black spots fading, as he lowers you down, careful not to go too quick like he’s trying to not to wake someone from a light sleep. You can feel that sleep, that endless relaxation swelling over you as you go boneless while Max untangles you. 

Your eyes stay open long enough to see the smear of red across his lips before he wipes it away. The cramping in your pelvis has been reduced to a gentle throb. 

Gingerly, Max pulls your skirt down, hand arching your back so you don’t have to lift your hips as he adjusts you back into some modicum of decorum. He reaches back and snags his coat and jacket from the ground before tossing them into the passenger’s seat. With your feet in his lap, arm stretched out across the back of the seat you just debauched, he shuts the door and instantly the smell of his cologne permeates the air. 

You grin, wriggling down in the seat as far you can go like a housecat warmed by the sun. 

You sit in silence for a bit, content to just be, a welcome retreat for your breathing to go steady and his cock to soften. His hands brush against the heels of your bare feet. 

“You made me purr again,” he says with a grin. 

“There’s no way that’s the technical term for it, whatever it is,” you say teasingly as you watch him trace your ankles with his finger. “You should ask another vamp what you’re supposed to call it.”  

He chuckles, squeezing your foot once before glancing up at you. Whatever he sees in you, it makes his eyes go soft.

“You mean ask about the thing that only happens during the most intimate moments a vampire can experience? Yeah, sure, I’ll bring it up at the water cooler.” 

Satiated and warm and a little loopy from a truly record breaking orgasm, you stick your tongue out at him. 

“Fine. I’m going to tell people that you purr like a cute, innocent little kitten until you find a better term.”

He bends your knee so he can press his lips to the curve. 

“Just because you’re my girlfriend, don’t think I won’t turn you over and swat your bottom.” He nips at the hollow of the joint with flat teeth, opening up your legs to him again. You can feel that heavy wetness trickle down again, and you sit up, not embarrassed by your bleeding, but suddenly tired beyond belief. 

Max lets you move out of his lap as you curl a hand around his cheek. It’s a shame you only see that touch of vulnerability, the man without the quips and the teasing and the bravado, after a good fuck. But you think you might finally have it your way, sooner than you ever hoped. 

“Well if my boyfriend would drive us back to his place, maybe I could show how sorry I am for teasing you.” 

He studies you for a minute, a full minute that has you surprised he’s not roughly kissing you again.

“Sometimes, around the office, you’d smell different and I never knew what it was. I didn’t put enough thought into it to realize the pattern, but it makes sense now. And it makes sense why you were suddenly very busy during that week when I’d bootycall you.” 

You shrug, your neck suddenly very warm. “I dunno. I figured you wouldn’t want to be around me when I’m like that. Not to mention I dress in baggy clothes and wander around my apartment with a heating pad taped to my hips.

“Really? They’re that bad?”

You nod. “Women around the world rejoiced when working from home became an option. Video calls only show from the waist up.”

“Now that’s all I’m gonna be thinking about at the next all-hands meeting,” he grins and squeezes your knees. 

“I guess I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?” You shake your head. He nods, humming his affirmation, and kisses you. 

“Let’s go to your place,” he mutters against your lips. “There might be no place on earth less equipped to handle Shark Week than a male vampire’s bachelor pad.” 

“Shark Week?” You giggle. 

“Carla’s words, not mine. The Rising Red Tide. Code Red. Aunt Flo. And my personal favorite, communists in the fun house.”

Your giggle turns to a snort as you lean forward into him, laughing. His lips press affectionately into your hairline as you settle down. 

He moves to take your feet out of his lap when you gently take his elbow. 

“So we’re good, right? This wasn’t too much?” You are a little concerned by the total and complete lack of fang he showed, but entirely grateful.

As if reading your mind, he says, “the fangs only come out when I need to get through pesky flesh to feed. Your blood came out like a broken ice cream machine at McDonalds.”

You wrinkle your nose as he laughs and you push him out of the car. 

“That’s disgusting, Max.”

You snag the keys from your briefcase and toss them to him as he rounds the car and you crawl into the passenger’s seat. 

He drops in and immediately turns on your seat warmers. The gesture is subtle and thoughtful, things you thought Max Phillips never could be. 

“Speaking of which,” he holds onto the head of the seat as he backs out of the spot. “Carla also told me that ice cream is the cure to most cramps. So, with the lovely picture I just painted in your mind, do you want to go to McDonalds?”

As you look at him, shadows flitting across his face as he drives under streetlight after streetlight, his fingers that had been inside you minutes ago loosely holding the steering wheel, your heart twinges as you come to a certain realization.

This can’t last, right?

He’s only acting like this because he feels bad, feels guilty, right?

Max Phillips isn’t boyfriend material, despite his claims. 

As proven before, feelings can change. So you wonder how long until his feelings about you change again and he grows tired of you. Max Phillips is not a housecat. 

You swallow, glancing away before he has a chance to catch your eyes.

“Yeah, Max, let’s do it.” 

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#max phillips #max phillips x you #max phillips smut #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader #blood sucking bastards #max phillips x female reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[misspearly1]

“Im bored. Wanna play?” With Max Phillips 🥴😩

Ooohh, Nonnie! 😏 I love this prompt choice for Maxie, it fits so nicely for him, however I must admit that when typing this up, I was still in my fluffy feels 🤣. We got ourselves some soft Max Phillips over here. Thank you for sending this into my blog and I hope you enjoy the read, my darling. ❤️

Overstimulated

Pairing: Max Phillips x You (F!Reader)

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Established Relationship. Teasing, flirting, complimenting. Smut. Gentle/Passionate smut. Oral (M receiving). Over stimulation. Fade to black sex in the bathtub. Lots of fluff.

Prompts: "I'm bored. Wanna play?"

-

Staying at home this peaceful Sunday, you chose the activity that most people would do and just relaxed to the full extent by doing all the little things you love. 

First up was sleeping in late this morning, and you loved every minute of it. Secondly, you ordered breakfast rather than cooking it yourself, and you savoured every bite. You were just feeling lazy and enjoyed the delicacy of someone else cooking for you instead, and thirdly, you’ve just finished running an extra hot bubble bath and plan to read a book for the next fifteen or twenty minutes while the water cools down enough for you to climb in. 

It’s the little things that bring you comfort and joy.

Your vampire boyfriend however, Max Phillips, has just come home from work earlier than you expected him to. Not a lot of people at his firm work on Sundays, but a few take up any chance they can get working double time, and today as it seems, Max came home early because it’s too quiet in the office. Well, that’s your immediate assumption because the man is a workaholic. 

“Hey baby,” You greet him as he enters the lounge, “Everything ok?” You ask, though you suspect everything is ok and you’ve already assumed the reason why he’s home early, you still ask just in case something is wrong. Besides, it opens the door to a conversation about how his day has been and you’re interested to know, even if there isn’t much to tell. 

“No, actually. Everything isn’t ok,” He replies, and your mood shifts instantly with worry. Setting your book down and sitting up straight on the sofa, you look at him with furrowed brows and pat the empty seat beside you, beckoning him to come explain what’s wrong.

After shaking off his jacket and draping over the back of the sofa, he loosens his tie while walking towards you, the expression on his face speaking of mischief and devilry. “Just spent six hours at work doing nothing, toots. It was torture,” He explains, pouting exaggeratedly, “Then I come home to find you on the sofa, looking so fine and beautiful.” 

You blush. Hearing the little sexy growl in his voice and feeling flattered by his compliments, the mood shifts once again, worry was quickly replaced with relief and arousal, especially when he takes position on the table in front of you and leans in, his proximity dangerously tempting your sexual desire to just jump on top of him and make love, though you hold back on the urge just to be a tease. 

“Max,” You tut and shake your head at him, “You scared me for a second there. Don’t do that again, I thought something bad happened.” You berate with a whine in your tone, but it just flies over his head anyway because the vampire abilities he possesses can sense the lies in your words. You’re not actually mad at him, not in the slightest, in fact, you found his actions amusing. 

“But it’s the truth, toots.” Max argues his case and point, dragging the tip of his finger up and down your inner leg with a smirk on his lips. “I can’t help but feel the way I feel when you look so fucking hot.” He pays you another compliment, this time with a genuine warm smile as you blush again. His hands, cold and soft to the touch, slip around the back of your legs with a gentle squeeze as he maintains your eye contact. “Do you have anything to do? Or do I have you all to myself?” He asks, keeping in mind that you were just about to read a book and how you like to spend your Sunday’s relaxing. 

“Just my bath, which is cooling down,” You reply honestly, your eyes darting to the book with a shrug. “I could read later tonight instead. Why, what do you have in mind?” You watch as Max subtly bites his lip, his dark wanton eyes roaming the expanse of your face with suggestion. “I’m bored,” He whispers seductively, his hands groping your thighs now, “Wanna play?”  

“Gee, I thought you’d never ask,” You respond eagerly, mirroring his actions as you, too, bite your lip with an anticipated nod. “I’d love to play, Maxie,” closing the gap ever so slowly, you dare an attempt to pull your head back, but the man was far too quick. He chuckles softly while his hand darted up and cradled the back of your neck, holding you still to lean in and plant a kiss on your lips. 

“Stop playing with me, toots.” Max growls into your mouth and smiles against your lips before slipping his tongue inside. You slide your hands up his chest and pull his tie off completely, caressing his shoulders that draws out a groan so delectable to your ears. He breaks the kiss, sighing breathily, “Love it when you do that.”

You close the gap this time and kiss him fervently, passionately, expressing your love wordlessly. Max picks up on your desires, not only from your actions but from the smell of your pheromones too. It’s so potent that it makes him feel weak in the knees. Usually, he likes to take the lead and show you a good time, but right now, he follows your movements as you guide him to sit on the sofa and lean back.

“Open your shirt for me,” You ask while kneeling to the floor, situating yourself between his legs. “Too many buttons and I’m too impatient,” You reach out for his belt and open it up, pulling the leather through the loops on his pants before tossing it over your shoulder. 

“Fuck,” He makes a surprised sound, breathing deep and hard with a palpable ache to feel your lips around his cock. “Don’t have to tell me twice, baby.” He groans, popping the top three buttons of his shirt open before pulling it over his head and throwing it to the side. The man would tear it open, but you bought him this shirt and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

You giggle from his actions regardless, finding something so sweet and wholesome about him being gentle. It wouldn’t matter to you if he did tear it off, but you liked that he didn’t. Hips lifting off the sofa to help you pull down his trousers after you open them up, your brows raise with delight when seeing, and hearing, his dick spring back and slap against his lower stomach. “Oh,” You whisper while watching dribbles of pre-cum leaking out of the tip and onto his skin. “Someones excited.” 

“Can you really blame me?” Max chuckles bashfully and looks at you with accusatory eyes. “My gorgeous girlfriend is sitting between my legs, of course I’m excited.” The muscles in his legs tense as you reach out to hold them, running your hands up and down his thighs firmly, and smiling proudly at the way his dick twitches from your actions. You love seeing him so clearly affected by your touch. 

“Well,” You say, looking up at him, “Don’t let me keep you waiting, sexy.” Leaning slowly while holding his gaze, he watches you attentively as you drag your tongue up his cock and his mouth falls open with a gasp spilling from his lips. You swirl your tongue around the head before taking him inside your mouth with a gentle suck, the action making him jerk away with sensitivity and throw his head back in bliss. 

“Nghh! Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Max chokes out, and you love the struggle he faces when trying to talk coherently between pleasurable moans. You take more of him inside your mouth until it becomes uncomfortable in your jaw, then you begin bobbing your head up and down, sucking him off with skill as you fondle his balls. You feel the weight of them in your hands, so full and desperate to release its contents into the warmth of your mouth.

The man balled his hands into fists at his sides and his jaw clenches with his brows tightly knitted together. “Fuck!” He grunts, then gasps with hurried breaths. “Fuck. Gonna cum already,” He warns with a tinge of shame to his voice, as if he were ashamed for not lasting longer than he usually does. You don’t mind either way. It’s rewarding in itself to see the man unfolding before your very eyes so quickly. 

Upon feeling his balls tighten in the palm of your hands and watching him throw his head back with all the dirty noises you love to hear that were so satisfying to your ears, you braced for the load he was about to spill. You sample a taste of salt on your tongue and hum around him, the vibrations of your voice working as added stimulation that just ultimately pushes him over the edge. 

“Ohhhh,” Max moans, deeply and gutturally, he moans through his release and spills ropes upon ropes of his seed directly down your throat as you gulp it all back. Even after he had given all that he could, you continued to suck his cock until he became overstimulated, groaning brokenly as he jerked away. “Too much, toots.” He whispers, needing a moment to come down from his high before re-joining reality. The man's head was in the clouds, overcome with ecstasy and euphoria. 

There’s only been a handful of occasions where you’ve been able to render Max so weak and exhausted with satisfaction, and that was after he had gone several rounds with you first. Seeing him exhausted and completely spent right now brings you a huge sense of pride and achievement. He needed a little longer than a moment to come back down to earth, and while he did that, you peppered him with loving kisses, praises in your whispers and reassurance in your stroking touch. 

Moving up his body slowly and gazing into his eyes, you kiss his lips gently and mumble how much you love him, to which he mumbles how much he loves you too in return. And as soon as his stamina and energy returned, your clothes were discarded quicker than you’ve ever removed them with your own hands and before you knew it, he whisked you into the bathroom and lowered himself into the tub with you held in his arms.  

And together, you shared a hot bubble bath, making love to each other passionately.

-

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#Max Phillips #max phillips fic #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips fiction #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips x female reader #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x fem!reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips smut #max phillips fluff #pearlyfics #follow 👑 share ❤️ enjoy 🍑 #enjoy readers

[supernaturalgirl20]

Love To Hate You

Part 6

Pairings: Max Phillips x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), angst, mentions of drinking blood, cursing, enemies to lovers.

Summary: You and Max have been working together for the last year and there is only one thing you have in common - you both hate each other! Now you are both in competition with each other for Ted’s job. Who will win? Who will lose? Will you both realise that’s there’s a fine line between love and hate?

Part 5

Co-written with @misspearly1

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Taking the key, he leads you towards the elevator pushing you inside once the doors open. He’s on you straight away, lips kissing the side of your neck - his teeth grazing your skin. Fuck! You’d let him bite you right now if he wanted.

His hands grip your hips tightly as he pushes himself against you. The evidence of his desire - hard against your thigh. “Max…what’s gotten into you..” you practically moan. He pulls back - his eyes locked on yours and they’re almost black from lust. Obsidian. He seems nervous somehow. “Toots I…I lov…” The doors open and an elderly couple enter, smiling at you both. He pulls away a little but his hands never leave you - wrapped around your waist, holding you against him.

What was he about to say? Was he going to tell me he loved me? The tension is palpable between you both, his hand moving to rub over your ass. The elevator doors open on your floor and he pulls you along to your room, fumbling with the keys as you kiss and nip at his neck. Once inside he closes the door swiftly - locking it before pushing you against it. A growl emanates from within him as you rub your hand along his growing bulge.

Every inch of your skin burned with the need to be touched by him. Your hands skimmed over his chest and into his hair, pulling gently. “Fuck toots, I need to taste you right fucking now..” A gasp escapes your lips as he grabs at your ass, lifting you and carrying you to the bed. With his vampire speed, he sheds both your clothes within the blink of an eye.

He stands there, his gaze fixed on your naked form - something predatory hidden beneath those dark pools. He steps between your legs, and kneels like a servant for his master. His hands trail up along your calves as he teases you. Lips skimming the inside of your thighs before his mouth finds your core.

Your back arches off the bed and your breath hitches as he works his tongue into you. “Oh Max…fuck…so good.” Your fingers brush through his hair and you grip it tight as your hips rock against his face. He licks and sucks and bites until you’re a complete mess, coming hard around nothing.

He looks up at you now through hooded eyes and a devilish smirk on his face. “Fucking love the taste of you toots.” His tongue licks around his lips as he moves up the bed - his body lying flush against yours. His eyes hold your gaze and something about this feels different. Like he’s trying to speak to you through his body, to tell you things that his words never will.

Without looking away he slowly pushed inside, your aching cunt stretching to accommodate his thick length. Oh! You both gasp and his hand reaches below your ass to move your leg over his waist. His movements are slow, languid and you can feel every ridge, every vein on his cock as he moves in and out of you. “Ugh fuck toots…so goddamn tight. Never wanna leave.”

Your hands trail along his back - nails digging into his skin as you feel your climax building. “Max…I wanna…you can… fuck…want you to bite me.” His movements stall as he takes in your face - looking for signs of any doubt. “Toots you don’t have…”

“I want you to…please?” He crashes his lips to yours as he picks up the pace, and you can feel that coil in your belly ready to snap. He pecks along the skin of your neck before a soft whisper into your skin reaches your ears. “Are you sure?” His hips continue their assault on your cunt and you cry out yes. When his teeth break through your skin your whole body is on fire and your orgasm crashes over you.

“Oh fuck…Max…oh god..” Your head falls back in ecstasy and you can feel him pulse inside you as he coats your womb with his seed. He finally pulls away, licking over the wound in your neck before his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. “Well fuck toots, that was amazing. You were amazing.”

“Don’t want this night to end.” You say between breathless giggles. “It’s been perfect - with you.”

“As you wish, baby.” Max growls, rolling over onto his back and pulling you with him, ready for round two, or three or maybe four. Kissing your lips passionately with each calculated roll of your hips, he mumbled into the kiss that you are his perfection.

You were sure he wanted to say that he loves you.

***

After a long weekend of fun - of Max fucking you every chance he could get - it was time to get back to work, back to normality, though things aren’t the same as before. Today, you and Max walk in together, his hand never leaving your ass, nor the deeply warm smile on his face as he gazes into your eyes in the elevator ride up to the office.

But, your battle for the job offer was still on - kindly reminded by Ted as he pulled you into his office the second you exited the elevator. “You have your presentation tomorrow. Have you got everything prepared to go up against Max?”

“I, um…” You faltered, couldn’t answer exactly as you had spent the weekend rolling around in the sheets with Max, not preparing for the presentation that you now don’t want to do anymore. Things have changed between you and him, not only are you both getting along now, really getting along actually, but your relationship with the vampire has blossomed into something special. This job offer isn’t important to you anymore. Max is.

“Y/N? Hello?” Ted called out your name during your silence, bringing you back to reality. Shaking your head, you say. “No. I haven’t done the presentation yet and I won’t be doing it either. Sorry to let you down, Ted.” As you turned to leave, the man leaned back into his chair, scratching the back of his head with confusion. It was only last week that you both were butting heads over this job offer and he wonders what’s changed.

Exiting Ted’s office, you had the idea of sharing the good news with Max in mind, but Elaine and Zabeth grabbed your attention first, wanting all of the details of how things played out at the wedding. They insisted that you share under the pretence of how happy and glowy you looked. “Something good happened, we can tell. How did it go?”

“You’re right, something did happen.” You beamed a bright smile to them both. “Max is what happened. He stood up to my dad and humiliated him, in front of everyone.”

Watching their expressions change with every detail you shared, minusing the intimate moments you had with Max, those are personal, Zabeth and Elaine were as overjoyed as you with how your weekend had played out. They had high hopes for Max when he came out with the truth and requested their help, and it looks like it paid off in the end because you literally couldn’t look any happier than what you are right now.

“Hm, I don’t know.” Zabeth playfully narrowed her eyes at you. “I feel like you’re leaving some things out.” You smirked, knowing exactly what she was implying and you simply replied with. “A lady never tells, Zabeth.”

Pulling away from the table that they had pulled you to, you told them that you’d talk more later before heading off to find Max. He was at his own desk before the girls sidetracked you to chat, but now the man stood in Ted’s office, probably telling him that the competition was off. However, to your surprise, you had caught the back end of their conversation as you moved over to sit down at your desk.

“I’ll have the presentation ready tomorrow.” Is what Max said to Ted and your heart sank to your stomach. “I’ve got her.” It appears that the competition is still on. You thought Max would feel the same way as you, that he didn’t want to go up against you anymore after all that has happened over this weekend alone.

Moreso, the attraction between you and Max had been brewing for a while, recent events acting as catalyst brought you together and made you realise how much you love him, but Max doesn’t love you, and that’s why he won’t say it, the guilt is probably too much. This whole time, he had been playing you. All of this was an act to get you to fall for him and forget about the job offer. Well if that’s how he wants to play this, you can play dirty too.

Part 7

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80

Max Phillips: @paulalikestuff @anaaaispunk @dins-cyare @almaeunice @readsalot73

#pedro pascal #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #max phillips x fem!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #max phillips x female reader

[the-blind-assassin-12]

writer wednesday #19 - 11/16/2022

🐪Happy Wednesday, everyone! Can you believe we’re half way through November already? I can’t. You know what I can believe, though? That the three fics I’m about to rec are absolutely GREAT. So if you’re looking for something to read today, why not start right here with two Marcuses and a Max?! Happy reading, friends! And don’t forget to like, comment, reblog or drop into the asks of the writers to let them know how much you appreciate them, and so others can find their great work too!

*as always this list is ordered by length*

This Drabble by @cyantomatos

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

WC: ~600

Short & sweet - trigger warning for claustrophobia.

Okay. Listen. I’m not claustrophobic. But I have PLENTY of other anxieties, and I simply cannot believe that Marcus Pike calmly talking me through a situation wouldn’t immediately help things. Even if I didn’t know him. Even if he was a stranger. Because at his core, Marcus Pike is a caring, genuine, chivalrous man, and you nailed that aspect of his personality here. Reading this made me smile. Real big. And I hope these two have a GREAT time the next time they’re together.

Busboys and Poets by @something-tofightfor

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

WC: 2.3k

One-shot

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 Marcus Pike out here on a date that isn’t going well and proactively pulling the plug!! You know what that is?! GROWTH 🤌🏻. This man has learned because he’s been burned and that is very sexy of him. It means he knows what he’s looking for - an actual connection with someone. That thing that you can’t really define you just know it when you feel it. That’s what he’s looking for and I am so happy for him for actively seeking it out instead of just going along with something that doesn’t feel right in the hope that maybe it will. This is Marcus after he’s picked himself up and decided what he wants out of a relationship. This is Marcus Pike with a clear head and an open heart and I am just so damn glad that he went for a walk after that #DateFail because hot damn when one door closes another bench opens. I loved this, and you did SO right by Marcus. Thank you for this.

Reflective by @prolix-yuy

Max Phillips x F!Reader

WC: 8.9k

Warnings on this one for blood & smut & more - make sure you check them out before you read!

Okay I don’t know what’s going on with me but lately I’ve just been gravitating towards this funky jerky little vampire dude, and this right here was JUST what I’ve been craving. First of all, this description is probably the most accurate one of Max I’ve ever seen. He’s such a problem. But working for him in this capacity and having that level of trust with him sounds like a dream job - um, you know, aside from the… like… blood and danger et cetera. Eh you know what? whatever I’ll take all the above. I loved this for a lot of reasons, but mostly for the way that Max is so protective of Reader. Shoot that shit into my veins please and thank you. GOSH I’m excited to read the next piece of this one!!

#three great things i read this week #writer wednesday #three great things #fic rec fic rec fic rec!!! #marcus pike x female reader #max phillips x female reader #cyantomatoes #something tofightfor #prolix yuy

[sinpathyforthedevilish]

Basic Instinct

Pairing: Max Phillips x F! Reader

Genre: Horror, smut, gore

Warnings: mentions of sexual content, drinking blood, murder, death

Words: 966

Summary: The slow and turtuous process of Max Phillips turning you into a vampire

A/N: I went to Airbag's concert yesterday and it was out of this world! I got inspired by their song, you should definitley check it out!

"And in the night you will see, you will dance at dawn And into your abyss you will fall to the ritual of my desires" Bajos Instintos - Airbag

.

When Max sank his fangs in your neck for the first time in his office, your oxygen stopped. Every sensation, sense, and sound trembled around you. It was a feeling you never felt before. Your vision blackened, white hot liquid dripping between your legs. 

“There you go baby,” he rasped in your ear. 

“M-Max..” you cried out loud. It was too much, it was as if death and life was fighting each other to get you. Your eyes were looking for him pathetically. 

You felt absolutely euphoric. And falling apart. 

“You asked for it, now fucking get it sweetheart,” he smirked with an evil smile on his face.

He didn’t kill you that time. 

However, his promise of keeping you alive came with an exchange.

He left you thirsty, famished for more. 

More. More. More. 

Your lips were dried like the desert, as if you hadn’t drank water for days, weeks. 

The hunger for something else came within. 

Now everything you looked for turned into the shape of liquid. Of a red, heavy, metallic-flavoured liquid that was making you absolutely insane. 

Each time you entered the office, the fresh smell of skin was surrounding you like smoke. Your vision was focused on one single thing: veins, necks, bruises. 

You were sweating more than never, your pupils wider and your saliva almost drooling. You felt like a beast in the middle of lambs. Your hunger is killing you more and more by the passing of the hours.

It’s like you were drowning in a dark shade of water that was corrupting you by each inhaling and exhaling you made. 

Fucking bastard. 

You waited for everybody to leave and when Max was closing his office door with that flirty smile, you pushed him against the wall, grabbing his collar with a force you didn’t know you had.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME, YOU ASSHOLE!” you snapped at him.

He was scared for a moment, but smirked just right after. 

You were infuriated, breathing heavily and seeing red, literally.

“Oh darling,” he whispered. “You didn’t think fucking a vampire would leave you safe and sound, huh?” he cupped your cheek, tracing your lips that were slowly shaking. “You are just a pathetic little creature, desperate for some love, for some prince charming to rescue from your miserable life.”

“Fuck you!” you sobbed, but the hunger was becoming stronger and stronger. You couldn’t help but moan at the necessity of eating meat, drinking the luxurious of a metallic-flavored liquid. 

“Shh, I know baby, I know.” He let go of your hold, taking your shoulders and carrying you in front of his office mirror. 

“Look at you, you are just like me now. We are now both creatures superior from the rest.” He breathed as he peppered kisses on your shoulder and your collarbone. 

You weren’t capable of staring at your reflection. Your irises were bright red and your skin was paler than before. It couldn’t be… It couldn’t—

“N-no, I am not like you. I-I will never be!” The struggle to pull away was too hard. 

“I chose you, you were not like the others. You wanted more. You wanted to know what it feels like. To have power over others. To kill. To corrupt. You fucking knew, sweetheart. I could read your mind when I met you. So I had to take you.” he smiled in a triumphant way as if he had won the biggest prize. 

“GET OFF OF ME!” you pushed him away from you. Your breathing was erratic. 

He fixed his suit, licking his lips and fixing his hair. 

“I’ll fucking prove it to you, I am not like you. I won’t kill anybody!”

He laughed loudly, throwing his head back.

“Oh baby. I bet you will leave out of here starving, go see for yourself and tell me later, honey! Perhaps we can eat together again  in my bed…!

You didn’t let him finish his sentence as you reached for your bag and rushed towards the office door. 

He was right. 

The hunger, the thirst was eating you alive. You were becoming a monster, you could feel it in your bones. It was painful, every muscle, every portion of your skin was burning you alive. The doors of hell was slowly opening for you. 

You came across a club, and without a doubt you entered. Hundreds of bodies sweating and dancing. You were drooling. Swallowing, you took off your coat and fixed your skirt. 

Your teeth were pricking your mouth.

No… please no. Fuck. 

Right in the middle of the dance floor, there was a tall guy, alone. He was handsome and his skin was brightening. You followed him like a prey. You were the hunter about to kill. 

You stood behind him, glancing at his movements, at his hips and his bback muscles moving. 

Do it. Do it. Do it. 

Fuck it. 

“Do it, darling. I know you want to.” A dark whisper entered your ear and succumbed to your body. 

“Okay, Max.” You sighed. 

You grabbed the guy’s neck, stroking his sweaty and warm neck. The guy, hypnotized by your touch, threw his head back, offering you his life. 

DO IT. 

You opened your mouth like a tiger and broke his epidermis with your fangs, penetrating each layer of skin until you reached his veins, drinking and moaning as you took every part of his being, swallowing his blood like water.  You became erratic, orgasmic, beautiful. 

Like never before. 

As you ate him, Max moved your hair from your neck, kissed the scar of his bite in a soft way and whispered in your ear.

“Now you are just like me, baby.”

You were finally a vampire. A monster. A creature of the night.

The gates of hell were finally opened for you.

#max phillips #pedro pascal #max phillips x reader #max phillips fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #blood-sucking bastards #max phillips x female reader #max phillips smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Teaser for Chapter One of Blood Money

[MAx Phillips x Reader x Dave york Vampire Mafia AU]

Hopefully have this out in the next day or so! I'm so excited for this!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #max phillips x you #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x ofc #bloodsucking bastards #bloodsucking freaks #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips smut #dave york #equalizer 2 #pedro pascal fandom #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #the equalizer #vampire au #vampire mafia #vampire mafia au #tw: vampire #tw: violence #tw: abuse #tw: blood #tw: biting #tw: vampires

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 11

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.5k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Not many warnings this chapter, just a lot of emotions running high and a fair bit of lying for the sake of keeping secrets. Summary: Your first day in the past with Max is full of emotional moments and surprises, but nothing more surprising than a revelation shared with Eddie and Allison back in your own time. Notes: Hello and welcome to the Gilded Age!! It's been so exciting to see how many of you gleefully jumped into the deep-end with us on this plot twist and I hope you enjoy! This week's Chateau-sur-Mer room on display is Eddie's room 💛

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

It is Mrs. Taylor who wakes you with a gentle knock on the door the next morning, bearing an arm full of clothing for each of you. Max had been resting with his eyes closed, holding you close while you slept, but his eyes opened immediately at the sound. "Good morning," she greets you both with a nod as she hustles into the room, shutting it behind her. "I brought you some things. To help you to blend in. Mr. Brown has arranged for each of you to be measured and fitted today, if you will be kind enough to go into town just after luncheon. He has sent orders to have wardrobes made that will be fitting for members of his family." It isn't her place to comment on the decision or the certainty with which the word 'family' was used, but she follows her orders to the letter.

Max sits up, shirtless and nods. “Mr. Brown is a gracious host.” He is almost giddy at the prospect of tailored suits, considering it’s so hard to have one made during his time. He’s looking forward to the trip to town. “Would you help my wife dress?” He has no clue how to dress you and he’s not sure if you know either.

"Of course." Mrs. Taylor agrees to the request easily, considering she had already but told to do so, but sets down the clothing on the nearby chaise for a moment while you rise from bed in your odd clothing. "After this morning, Mr. Brown has tasked Miss Annie's maid Renee with seeing to your wife. I hope that is acceptable."

It’s a struggle not to show that he recognizes the name, but he manages. “As long as it does not interfere with her duties to Miss Annie.” He takes the borrowed clothes for him and strides behind the privacy screen. He doesn’t care about you seeing him, but this is a different time and he doesn’t wish to offend Mrs. Taylor.

"Of course not, sir." While this particular morning is outside of her own normal duties, that does not concern her much. The staff of this particular house is far more efficient than any other in the community for their ability to work hard without the need for substantial rest or food. Losing a few minutes to dressing a young lady hardly affects her schedule.

Max dresses quickly, approving of how well his sires' clothes fit him and sets out from around the screen with only his boots left to put on. They are his modern shoes, but no one will notice.

The layers that Mrs. Taylor helps you put on seem endless. Chemise. Corset. Bustle. Petticoats. Corset cover. All these underlayers have to go on before she can even button you into the outer shell of the dress, but once you have the soft green and dark brown dress on in all its complicated glory, it's...oddly comfortable. The corset redistributes the weight of the dress and underlayers so that it isn't too heavy on any part of you, and the layers are all surprisingly thin but so much cotton adds up to a very warm outfit. The chill of the fall weather won't get very far at all, especially not with the wool stockings you have on underneath it all to cushion your feet in the neatly laced leather boots that somehow fit you perfectly. They must be your grandmother's -- that's the only explanation you can come up with, knowing how well some other pieces of her wardrobe fit you in your own time.

“You look….” Max’s eyes are wide, slowly taking in your very prim exterior. He had never expected to have such an attraction to the Victorian style, but he finds that it’s very becoming on you. “Exquisite.” He manages. “It’s as big as a ball gown.”

"Hush." The warmth in your cheeks belies the tone in your voice though, seeing the slow way Max surveys you up and down like some kind of precious gem. "You look very handsome as well." The suit that was brought for him is simple but well-made, and even though you have no idea whether or not it's in fashion, he looks like the romantic lead of a BBC period drama come to life and you are absolutely here for it.

“So you’re allowed to compliment me, but I can’t say how attractive my wife is?” He huffs at you playfully and shakes his head. “That will not be cool at all.”

The term is unfamiliar to Mrs. Taylor but she tactfully does not react at all, simply nodding to you and Max in the doorway. "Breakfast will be served in the dining room in fifteen minutes," she informs you before disappearing again. "You look like Mr. Wickham," you tell Max with a grin, doubtful that he'll get the reference but not really caring. "Dashing and handsome, and a little bit like trouble."

“Mr. Wickham.” He looks at you in utter offense, huffing. “I am no wastrel, I’ll have you know.” He grins back at you to show he’s teasing, and holds out his arm to you. “I’m Darcy, of course.”

"Hmm, maybe you're right." Taking his arm is soothing and grounded, reminding you that no matter how crazy this situation is, he's right here with you. "Alli and Eddie are definitely our Jane and Bingley, after all."

“Yes, they are.” He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Obvious to everyone but them that they were crazy about each other.”

"I think it's sweet." Their enthusiasm for each other has been endearing, and a pang of missing your friends makes your heart ache but you have no choice other than to shake it off. "And it looks like we'll have some very, very interesting stories for them when we get home."

“Yes we will.” The dining room is straight ahead and he reaches over and pats your hand. “Are you ready to get to know her in ways you never imagined?” Max asks, not wanting to say ‘your mother’ in case she has hearing like a vampire.

"I'm nervous," you admit, knowing that this is an enormously big deal for only you. Max has no emotional stakes in this meeting, but you have them in spades. "What...wh-what if she doesn't like me?"

“There’s no way that would ever happen.” Of that, he is confident. You are amazing, even if you don’t see it.

"You're biased." It's bolstering, though. It makes you feel a little bit like you have a champion on your side to help square your shoulders when they start to round down again. "But I hope you're right."

“I know I’m right, babe.” He tells you cockily, sending you an air kiss. “They are both going to love you.”

"I hope so." A soft nod is what you can manage right now, knowing that beyond that doorway are two women who have been completely lost to you for so much of your life. "I really hope so."

“I’m with you.” Max promises. “After this, we will see how you dance in that dress of yours.”

"With really big swishes." That is a welcome thought, though, and you revel in the idea of dancing with him becoming so normal that it can happen pretty much anywhere. It has you smiling again, and visibly relaxing, and you nod to Max before gently squeezing his arm. "Okay. Let's do this." The dining room table has been laid with fine China. There are five places set and five chairs, while the sideboard is filled with piping hot serving pieces full of all manner of breakfast items. Tea and coffee and a third carafe that you have to assume is blood are all set out on the opposite wall where a footman stands at attention waiting to pour.

Max glances at you, wondering if it’s a reprieve that your mother and grandmother aren’t down yet. He hums as he guides you towards the table, deciding that he would set you on the opposite side from the door so you can see them when they come in. “At least there is coffee and tea, right?”

"And more, it looks like." You nod toward the third carafe. "Good morning." The next figure to sweep into the room is your grandfather, and he sets himself down at the head of the table without hesitation. "I trust you had a restful night?"

“She slept through the night.” Max answers with a polite nod. “Thank you for the clothes as well. It will be better to blend in.”

“Indeed.” He nods, not reacting at all when the footman in the room steps forward to fill first his coffee cup and then his drinking glass with blood. “The appointment to make your wardrobes is essential. We are throwing a ball in just a week’s time and you must be properly attired.”

Max winces when the blood is poured into a wine glass and when the footman comes around the table, he covers the glass. “Please pour it into the coffee cup.” He instructs.

The footman says nothing but nods and adjusts the angle of his pour once he is standing beside Max. “Your room is comfortable?” Yayo asks. He knows that his staff works hard but he also knows that humans are particular.

Max looks over at you for the answer. Knowing that you were the one sleeping, although he was comfortable as he laid with you. “My dear?”

“Very comfortable,” you assure him quickly.

“Good.” He nods and gives a pleased smile. “The gold room has a special fondness for me.”

“Oh?” Whatever stories your grandfather is willing to share are wonderfully welcome. Only for a moment do you find yourself distracted by the appearance of the footman, who pours tea for you when you indicate your preference.

“Cookie and I spent nearly a year exploring the far East.” He tells you with a soft sigh as he leans back in the opulent chair. “When she had fallen in love with that bed, we bought it and had it shipped back.”

“It’s very beautiful.” Even before now you had thought so. Even considered asking to have it moved to your bedroom on the second floor. But you had decided that that would be an immense thing to ask for and instead started dreaming of one day having visitors who might use the room.

“Our daughter was conceived in that bed.” He admits with a small smirk and raised brow as he stares at the two of you. As if expecting you to say that you are also expecting a joyous occasion after one night in that bed.

“Is that…so?” It’s a little more than you need to know, considering that’s your mother he’s talking about, but it’s still worth noting. With everything you’ve been finding out about your family and your magic lately, who knows if it means something or not.

Nodding, he’s amused by your reaction. You are not timid, you dress far too boldly for that, but you are slightly embarrassed by the idea. Further cementing the truth that you are his granddaughter in his mind. “My wife and daughter should be downstairs shortly. They are not exactly morning people.”

“No…” A slip of a memory runs through your mind and you smile. Your mother dragging herself downstairs in her robe with a yawn only to find that your father had already made her coffee for her. “No…that seems to be true no matter what the age.”

“Since she was a babe.” He chuckles softly. “A fortuitous arrangement, considering that I do not sleep. So I could be up late into the night with her when she was fussy. My wife and I did not allow a nurse to care for her.”

“A fairly unusual choice, but I can see why.” Not knowing how much can or cannot be said around the house staff in this time, you just smile and politely add, “She must have been a rare child. And very loved.”

Everyone in this house is aware of what his child is and he nods. “We are free to speak of all issues but yours,” he tells you meaningfully. “The staff are all vampires. Easier than explaining to humans.”

“I see.” Well, that certainly explains how things are the way they are in the future. When your staff never ages or dies, there’s no need to change them. “That certainly does simplify things.”

“Quite.” He agrees. “The coven and social circles provide Cookie with human companionship when she so desires.”

“I know the Newport coven to be full of kind and caring women.” Of course, it might not be entirely true now, you don’t know for sure. But in your time? Those women became your friends as easily as breathing.

“Then the reputation of the coven has endured over the years.” He hums. “There were some turbulent years, but Cookie is not one to deal with much foolishness.”

“It is my understanding that she is very much beloved.” Before you have the chance to say more, you spot two women approaching from the great hall and nearly swallow your tongue. Your mother looks nearly identical to how you remember her, with the biggest difference being just her style. You remember a woman with short hair and a fondness for berry-tone lipstick, who wore dresses only on the most special of occasions. This version of her blends perfectly into the time, with none of her natural features tempered by makeup, her long hair swept up into a complicated style, and the gown on her frame affixed perfectly to make her look as elegant as a flower in soft pink. Memories of your grandmother have been coming back — many as dreams — since the spell that kept them from your mind seemed to break apart. And now that you are in a different time it seems as though the veil over your mind has been lifted entirely. Your abuela looks just as you remember her as well, all dressed up as she liked to be, with a twinkle of mischief in her eye and a perpetual smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. As though she were intending to save it for later.

“John, you didn’t mention we had guests when you came downstairs.” Her tone is apologetic as she sails into the room and to the seat that is at her husband’s elbow. “My apologies for seemingly ignoring your arrival.”

“Not at all, my dear.” He softens measurably when he looks at her, and seems to forget everything else in the room for that moment. “Some family arrived late last night. One of my sons, and his young bride. I insisted they stay on with us.”

“Oh?” Her eyes brighten and she glances back at the two of you with a warm smile. “Then welcome. I must assume that your bride is breathing?” She asks curiously as she tilts her head. The footman brings the coffee over and pours her a cup silently.

“Max’s wife is as you and Annie are,” he informs his own wife and daughter politely. Just because they can speak freely in the house does not mean he will be crude.

“Delightful.” She nods and turns towards you with a smirk on her face. “Perhaps you will be willing to take tea with me this afternoon, then?” She asks. “John has some business to attend to and my daughter is expecting a caller.”

“I would be delighted.” Tea time has become a sacred ritual for you because of Mrs. Taylor and your grandmother. To actually sit down to tea with her is a privilege higher than you can articulate.

“Lovely.” She smiles at you and then looks over at Annie. “This is my daughter, Annie. She’s normally more engaging than this, but she’s not had her cup of coffee yet.”

“I fully sympathize.” And having seen your mother before coffee on many, many occasions, you expected nothing less. Even so, it’s the seeing her again that has you struggling to hide emotion. “And I’m…I’m very glad to meet you, Annie.”

Her smile is polite and tired. “Forgive me.” She begs. “I become more social as the meal continues but I mean no offense.” She takes a sip of her coffee and sighs. “I believe I should have been an owl.”

“There is a certain magic in seeing sunrise at its beginning instead of its end. The nighttime can have magic in its own right.” At least, that’s what you’ve always thought. Hopefully it doesn’t sound cheesy.

She perks up slightly and nods. “Yes, you are right.” You seem so familiar but she cannot place where she knows you from.

“You seem to be two peas in a pod,” Cookie observes, seemingly delighted by that revelation.

“Do you only have the one child?” Max asks, hoping to draw out more information for you to soak up about your family while you are here. “Or is she the youngest of the group?”

“We only have our darling Anne.” Cookie beams at her daughter as the two of them pick up their plates to serve their own breakfast at the side table and you follow suit. “She is our entire world, I am happy to say.”

There needs to be a conversation about how he can reproduce and other vampires cannot. Max hums. “That is good. We thought to have one, maybe two.”

“Children are an infinite blessing.” While the three mortal women are serving themselves breakfast, the man known as Mr. Brown smiles at the son he barely knows. “An unpredictable and bewildering blessing.”

“I’m sure that we will discover that blessing for ourselves sometime in the near future.” Max wonders if the child you and he will have will be more vampiric or more like you.

“Most families like ours are not so blessed.” Cookie smiles at her husband. “But we have been lucky. And you will be too, I think.”

“Hopefully so.” It’s a truthful answer. He had always assumed that he couldn’t have kids since he was technically dead. Since learning that it was possible, he’s been imagining a little girl that looks just like you, but her favorite parent is him.

“I think my husband has hopes he has not yet shared with me.” It's impossible to deny how much you like calling Max that, and you break out into a smile when you come back to the table with your plate. “Not that I mind, of course.”

“Dolly, you know that I am your willing servant.” Max hums dramatically. “If you wish to be childless and not go through the pain, we will have our friends and my vampiric offspring to surround ourselves with.”

“Not at all.” In fact, it warms you straight to the bone that he has even thought of a family with you. The fleeting thought is far more than you’ve allowed yourself, but now the fantasy seems to jump fully formed from his mind to your heart. “I think it’s very sweet.”

Mad smirks and takes a sip of his blood in the tea cup. “That’s me, my dear.” He teases. “Sweet.”

“You certainly seem to be.” Cookie offers with a polite smile. “May I ask how long you have been married?”

“Recent.” Max laughs, picking up your hand and kissing it. “Very recent. Yesterday as a matter of fact.”

“Truly?” Annie perks up at that, returning with her plate to the seat on your other side. “How romantic!”

“Yes, we were suddenly overcome with the need to marry.” Max sighs softly. “Her parents do not approve of me - I was reluctant to share my true nature with them and they found me odd.”

“So you eloped?” This seems to appeal to Annie even more, and she sighs dreamily at the sheer romance of it all. “What utter devotion.”

“I would not spend eternity without the other half of my soul.” Max nods and leans over to kiss your hand.

"Soulmates." It is your grandmother who sighs this time, and for the moment your extended family seems utterly besotted with the idea as you and Max share a sweet smile. "Well," Cookie's expression is wholeheartedly maternal. "You must stay with us as long as you need to settle yourselves and begin this next chapter of your lives. Mr. Brown may be able to help you find a new home, or lend you the ear of our architect if you choose to build."

“That is a very gracious offer.” Max didn’t expect much else, but it’s honestly a relief. He doesn’t know anything about this time and to be around his sire and your family will help him relax. He knows that they will help protect you. “We humbly accept with our thanks.”

"It is very kind of you." There was a lot more tension in your shoulders than you realized, and when they drop it's out of full relief rather than anything else. Since you have no idea how to get home, there is a remote possibility that you're going to have to buck up and make a life here in...whatever year it is.

“Think nothing of it.” Your grandfather assures you. “There is nothing like having family while you are starting out and you are now family.”

******

You find out quickly that the planning you have been doing for the Samhain Masquerade at home pales in comparison to the levels of planning that Cookie has been doing for her own. There is a small ball to be held in two days time -- something your grandmother refers to rather affectionately as a dinner dance but sounds to you to be an enormous undertaking, and then the full-blown Halloween masquerade in a few weeks time. From the look of the menus she is sifting through in the green salon and the sound of the dresses that are being made as well as the decor and band being hired? It's very clear that you have been planning a dinner dance for Samhain and not a full-blown ball. Maybe you ought to be taking notes, as you sit near your grandmother with a book and she bustles through her papers, but all you can do is watch in awe.

“Lobster bisque with a curried quail or roasted prawns and lamb with mint cream?” She asks, looking up as she decides between the two menus that appeal the most. “I don’t think that I care for the tomato custard with beef shank.”

“Prawns and lamb, I think?” Not ever having eaten quail before, you don’t feel safe recommending it over something else. “Or…that is what I would choose. Although, if you are fond of curry, it is delicious with lamb as well.”

“We will have to have a tasting menu, I believe.” She decides, finding your idea intriguing. “We will have both menus and your curried lamb. Do you have a recipe for Mrs. Taylor? Or just use a curry like with the quail?”

“I actually do have a recipe…” It might be a little too intense for Gilded Age palettes, or it might go over like gangbusters. There’s no way to tell. “I can write it out for you, if you like.”

“If you would not mind.” She asks with a smile, tilting her head imploringly.

"Of course not." The recipe had been your mother's, in fact, and now you can't help but wonder if this is how it made its way into your family in the first place. "It would be my pleasure."

“Delightful.” Cookie beams at you and offers a pen and paper. “We will have Mrs. Taylor make the menus for dinner tonight.”

"I hope very much that you will all like it." Writing with this pen is going to be a nightmare, but you valiantly dip the nib in the ink pot that she offers you and begin to write out the recipe as you remember it from cooking with your mother.

“I am sure that it will become a family favorite.” She predicts, watching you scribble. “You have such unique technique with the pen.” Cookie offers. “Do you often write letters?”

Unique technique. You almost snort at the way your grandmother politely calls out the fact that you can barely write with such a common instrument. "I did not have many people to write to," you tell her by way of neatly avoiding the question. It's not like you can explain texting.

“I see.” Her heart aches for you, finding you a wonderfully charming young woman. Reminding her so much of her own daughter that she feels very protective of you. “Well, if you and Max decide to settle elsewhere, I insist that we exchange letters.”

"I truly doubt that we will, but if it ever does happen, I hope to share many letters between us." That box of letters from her is at the forefront of your mind, and the smile on your face ends up slightly bittersweet before you remember that you're here. Here with her and with your mother.

Cookie interprets the slightly sad smile as a remembrance of your family. Perhaps you still mourn their lack of acceptance of your life. “Don’t worry, my dear.” She reaches out and pats your hand. “Family has a way of coming back to you.”

"More than anyone could possibly know." And that brings your smile back to a much brighter place instantly. "Perhaps my life with my husband will have many more surprises in store."

“Men, especially vampires, are always full of surprises.” Cookie trills and shakes her head fondly. “Even when he drives me to wail, there’s no one I would rather spend my life with than John.” She admits and reaches out to take your hand. “Max has explained that he can lengthen your life, correct? A mortal existence is just but a blink of an eye to a vampire.”

"It has not been the subject of a long conversation yet, but I do know of the possibility." You can't tell her that you know about it because of her, but it doesn't matter either way. The fact is that you'll eventually have to talk to Max about it. "But he cannot tell me if it hurts. Or if it has any other...effects."

“There is no pain involved.” Cookie assures you, happy to share the information she possesses with the wife of another vampire so close to her soulmate. “Truly, you only need to drink but a drop of his blood every day. Just a drop. I know that partaking of their…habits, sounds unsettling, but it is masked wonderfully by a cup of coffee.”

"Really?" It hadn't seemed like it should be that simple, and you tilt your head at her with a small laugh. "I expected it to be far more...dramatic. They are terribly dramatic men, after all."

“Lord, they are.” She joins in the laughter, her own bright and vivacious. “John has a flare for it and it seems he chooses others with that same inclination to change.” She huffs. “As far as effect….you will feel stronger, be stronger. I have such horrid eyesight but since I’ve been partaking in my soulmate’s blood, my eyes are perfect.”

"The strength that it lends them...we get some of it as well?" Truth be told, you hadn't considered that before. But it makes perfect sense now that you hear it out loud.

“Most of the favorable attributes we would share with them.” She explains. “However, we will never have their full strength.” She sighs. “But it does have one ill effect.”

"That seems only fair." A nod of your head asks her to go on, willing to hear whatever unsavory side effects this otherwise magical situation.

“You…” Cookie leans in, cupping her hands around her mouth as if she were telling a secret. “Have horrible smelling body functions.”

It's so unexpected that you sort of freeze, feeling like time has slowed to a surreal whirl, right before you burst out in the most unladylike laughter of your life. "Is that all?" You manage, gasping for some semblance of control between guffaws. "Why--we deal with that on a monthly basis anyway. That hardly seems to make a difference at all!"

“I suppose so.” She straightens and wrinkles her nose. “John sometimes cannot be around me, the smell is too much for his sensitive nose.”

"That seems almost useful," you joke, still laughing harder than you can control. "It gives some time alone, doesn't it?"

She stares at you for a moment and then gives a very un-ladylike snort. “I suppose you are correct, Dolly.” She muses, finding your way of thinking refreshingly bright.

"There is nothing wrong with a little solitude now and then." While you would never ask for it from Max, there are plenty of times when he's off doing other things and you fill your time on your own. That's just how life works.

“Individuals need to be free to pursue things that fulfill them.” She agrees. “My coven accepts John, but they also know he will not be there every time. Society does not know about his…nature.”

“You have been very lucky, I think.” With your grandmother’s hand still holding yours, it’s hard not to be overly emotional. There is something in your chest just aching to burst out but as long as you’re here you won’t be able to let it. Knowing even a small part of her story makes you feel oddly like the Grim Reaper in ways you dearly hate, but can’t ever show. “I hope the rest of the life you choose continues to be happy.”

“Even if it’s not, it will be my journey.” She hums softly, squeezing your hands gently. “Every journey, good and bad, teaches us. Helps us learn for the next life.”

“Maybe you’re right.” It’s such a bittersweet thing to hear from someone who has already begun their next life journey, but you offer her a smile and nod. “That is a soothing way to think of it.”

“Isn’t it?” She smiles softly. “The only problem is; I don’t know when John would meet up with me in the next life.” She admits. “Even though he is immortal, and very much older than I, we are joined in this life and every life we will have.”

“Then perhaps it is you who will find your way back to him?” You suggest, hoping it sounds as soothing to her ear as it feels to you. “And not the other way around? I know…whatever comes next…I will do everything I can to find my way back to Max.”

“Your paths have been destined to be intertwined.” Cookie sighs lovingly, her own eyes soft and dreamy. “Every person should find their soulmate and their happiness. Although the two are not mutually exclusive to one another.”

“I think that’s very important to remember.” And bittersweet, considering you know that it will be forgotten along the way. When your mother falls in love with a man who isn’t her soulmate. Well after that man is taken from her.

“Are you feeling peckish?” She asks after a moment. “I feel as if we should have some tea.”

“Tea is always welcome.” The morning seems to be that much longer when breakfast is served sharply at 7:30am, and with more than an hour left before luncheon, a cup of tea sounds perfect. Down the hall you can hear the soft sound of laughter and conversation from the library, and you can’t help but smile. Your mother’s laugh sounds so much more polite in this day and age. Which makes perfect sense, considering how young women were supposed to act. “Do you suppose Annie and her caller would join us? Or would that be imposing?”

“We can see.” She agrees with a small smirk on her face. “If she can drag herself away from Emmanuel long enough to take tea.”

It’s impossible not to stare when the name crosses your grandmother’s lips, realizing that the man your mother has been talking to in the library for more than a half hour (well over the societally-correct fifteen minutes) is her soulmate. The most you can manage is a weak “Oh?” Out of the need to make some sound.

“It seems as if he will be a regular caller.” She continues on, not noticing your reaction. “He is from a nice family and my husband is impressed with his business dealings.”

“So, it is a…a good match?” You remember Yayo speaking of it with fondness. Saying that your mother had loved her soulmate and that was why he had taken such drastic action. This seems like it is the very beginning of that attachment and your heart aches knowing what your mother has yet to go through.

“Very much so.” She nods. “My daughter is a very powerful witch and will take a strong man to stand by her side.”

“And a good one, I hope.” Never having met Emmanuel, you can’t say. But you’ve seen what strength looks like in good and bad men all your life. “Strength in a bad man can break even the strongest of women. Not help her.”

“You are right.” Cookie nods seriously. “It has happened before and it will happen again, I am sorry to say.”

“A tale as old as time, some would say.” Even if you hate yourself for the reference just a tiny bit, it’s too good to resist.

“Oftentimes the best of tales are older than time, just as some of the worst.” Cookie muses with a wry smile on her face. “I have seen time pass far more than most and I believe that to be true.”

“I will trust your word,” you tell her honestly. Your grandmother has seen far more of the world and far more of humanity than you have and you both know that even at face value. “My life has been sheltered until now, for better or for worse.”

“Then we will have to make sure that under the protective shield of your husband, you live the life you wish.” She promises.

“Then I suppose I ought to decide what it is that I wish for.” Whatever it is, it will have Max and it will have dancing. Anything else that life decides for you is still very much up in the air.

“Agreed.” She smirks slightly and her toe presses the button that is discreetly placed near the table leg by her chair. Allowing her to summon Mrs. Taylor.

Mere seconds later the vampire housekeeper arrives in the doorway of the drawing room with her hands folded and an expectant smile. “Ma’am?”

“Please ask Annie and her guest if they would join Dolly and myself for tea?” She asks, smiling at the housekeeper. “And we have a new recipe for you to try.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The recipe is a surprise, but Mrs. Taylor accepts the paper from Cookie with only a slight look of disbelief at the handwriting before she curtsies lightly and turns the corner toward the library.

“Shall we adjourn to the morning room?” She asks with a small smile. “Give the lovers a moment alone to discuss having to be around someone else?”

“It’s always a rude awakening. To have to remember that there are other people in the world when you are in your own little bubble.” That expression probably doesn’t exist here, but it’s probably self-explanatory. Hopefully.

“You have the most charming colloquialisms I have ever heard.” Cookie hums in delight. “It has been so refreshing having you here. I feel as if we will be lifelong friends.”

The best you can do is sigh your relief that she doesn’t call you out on being odd, and instead embraces it. So you smile warmly. “And perhaps those lives will be much longer than other friends could ever hope for.”

“The advantage of being with a vampire.” She laughs. “One of many, although I’m sure you are finding out the others when you retire to your rooms at night.”

“Oh, um…” You really have to wonder how odd it is that you claim to be married to Max but haven’t breached that particular nighttime activity yet. Thank the gods your abuela can’t feel the heat rolling off you as it rises in your cheeks. “I—of course…”

“Do not worry, we are not as uptight as some families might be about that sort of thing.” She assures you, standing up and offering you her arm. “If you wish to talk to another woman about those things, you just come to me anytime.” She is assured that your mother never spoke to you about a wife’s relations with her husband behind closed doors, and she doesn’t wish for you to be ignorant.

“That is most generous of you.” And it is, really, except she can’t possibly understand how awkward it is to have that offer made by your grandmother.

She can sense you won’t but she just pats your hand. “Well, we will talk about something else, shall we?”

Like a merciful saving grace, your mother appears in the doorway a moment later followed by a tall man with masses of wavy, dark brown hair and crystal blue eyes. It’s pretty clear your mother’s physical type is tall and strong, though. If the similarities between Emmanuel and your father are anything to go by. “You sent for us, Mother?”

Your grandmother tuts playfully. “You act as if you have been summoned to a hearing, rather than tea.” She teases. “I was hoping you and Emmanuel would join Dolly and I for tea?”

“Of course.” Even though she says it with all manner and politeness, you recognize the tone from your mother as placating and bite back a smile. She called it her ‘PTA voice’ for when she had to deal with the other moms at your schools when you were growing up. Apparently it had existed long before her involvement in any PTA. “Mr. Aubert was just saying how lovely today would be for a walk,” Annie tells the room as if it was some momentous declaration. “Perhaps you could spare me this afternoon, Mother? To accompany him?”

“I think an afternoon walk after tea would be a very delightful undertaking.” She grins because she knows that her daughter would like to be alone with her beau. “Perhaps Dolly and I will join you.” She has no intention of joining, simply meddling to meddle.

“Oh!” Annie’s head whips back to look at Emmanuel and reminds herself to smile before looking back at her mother. “Of course. If you would like to join us, you are both very welcome.” It’s clear that wasn’t her hope, but she isn’t going to say no. Saying no might have her chance at a walk revoked altogether.

“Although….” She tilts her head towards you. “Dolly and I still have so much to plan for the ball. Since she has volunteered her help.” She reconsiders. “It would be best if we stayed and continued to work, wouldn’t it?”

“There is considerable planning to do.” You manage to pick up on it almost right away, the way abuela Cookie is messing with her daughter, and you even manage not to crack a smile or laugh. “Perhaps it would be best. Will you be terribly disappointed if we are forced to stay behind?”

If your mother could look any happier, she would be crying tears of joy. Bobbling her head quickly, she’s not even looking over at Emmanuel. “That seems like a proper plan, I would hate for our outing to put you behind. Perhaps another time?”

“Yes. Another time.” Cookie’s face shows no trace of teasing or amusement until her daughter looks away and shoots you a sly smile. “What a pity. But I am sure you are more than capable of being a charming companion for Mr. Aubert.”

“So, tea?” Your mother looks around for the tea set eagerly. As if beginning it will get it over with quickly. She is eager to be alone with Emmanuel.

“Yes, miss.” The footman that appears with the tray and sets it on the low table in the center of the room. “Thank you, Franklin. We can manage for ourselves.” Cookie smiles when she dismisses the footman, but it is definitely a dismissal.

“Emmanuel, allow me to fix you a cup of tea.” Annie flirts, smiling winsomely at her caller and moving over to the tea quickly.

“Mr. Emmanuel Aubert, may I present Mrs. Dolly Phillips. Her husband is family to Mr. Brown and they will be staying with us for the foreseeable future.” Ever the gracious hostess, your grandmother makes you sound as grand and important in her introduction as royalty and you nod politely as you have now seen several women in this time period do. Shaking hands seems to be considered something quite intimate so you refrain from offering the gesture like you normally would. Seeing your mother act exactly like a teenager with a crush is sort of sweet, but you don’t comment on it at all for now. Hopefully having the other guest in the room get a bit talkative will take some of the focus off of you. “How long are you in Newport for, Mr. Aubert?”

“Business brought me to Newport for the next three months.” He explains, looking towards Annie again with a smile. “But I think I will be staying longer for personal reasons.”

"That's wonderful to hear." And more than a little heartbreaking, considering Yayo told you what happens to them. But right now your mother is happy. And being able to sit next to her again? See her smile like that? It's everything.

“Quite.” Emmanuel’s gaze at Annie is nothing short of adoring and he’s already sent for the heirloom ring that his grandmother had made him promise would rest on his spouse's finger.

“And…what sort of business are you in? If you don’t mind me asking.” So much curiosity overwhelms you at this other possible direction your mother’s life could have taken. It’s a little maddening but fascinating at the same time.

“Railroads.” Emmanuel answers simply. “My family builds railroad cars. My grandfather is George Pullman.”

“Really?” That’s probably too enthusiastic a reaction to be considered ladylike, but you weren’t expecting such a fascinating answer. “I—that is—how remarkable!”

“Then you have heard of our sleeper cars?” He asks with a proud smile. “Have you traveled in one?”

“I have not been so lucky yet.” Pullman cars being a thing of the past — now that you’re in the past maybe you’ll have a chance. “But I saw a photograph of one printed in a newspaper once.” In the archives at Vanderbilt, there had been loads of old newspapers on microfiche. It had been something of a hobby to go through them for little tidbits, and you ended up finding some fun things there.

“Then we will have to rectify that.” He smiles at you with the excitement of a man being able to show off a favorite toy. “My personal car is at the rail station. Perhaps we can take a small trip to showcase the luxurious ride available?” He clears his throat. “Your husband is welcome to join us, of course. As well as you and your husband, Mrs. Brown.” He adds politely.

“Alas, I think perhaps Mr. Brown and I will be too busy to join you.” Cookie smiles a very knowing — scheming — little grin. “But perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Phillips would be entertained by a train journey? There is time yet before the masquerade, if you choose to go sooner rather than later. A few days away does young people a world of good, without interfering with any of your responsibilities.”

“Would I be able to go?” Annie’s eyes are wide and pleading, wanting to spend as much time as possible with Emmanuel.

The knowing smile on your grandmother’s face is everything, and she nods once in polite agreement to her daughter’s plea. “I think it would be lovely for you and Dolly to make friends,” she hums, pleased with the idea. “As long as your father agrees, you may depart on Sunday as long as you return again before the Astor’s ball next Friday.”

“Mama, thank you!” Rushing forward, she kisses her mother’s cheek happily and nearly buzzes with excitement.

“Mind you behave yourself.” Cookie accepts her daughter’s love with glee, though, before going back to demurely sipping her tea. “Mrs. Phillips shall be my spy while you are away.”

“There will be nothing to report.” Annie promises, nearly giddy and she rushes around to hug you as well. “We will become the best of friends during our tour.”

“Wherever you would like to go.” Hugging your mother again — despite the corsets, despite her not knowing you yet, despite every obstacle — nearly has you in tears and you have to blink them away as fast as lightning so no one notices. “Whatever you would like, Annie.” It doesn’t even matter that using her first name is a foreign concept to bend your mind around. You’re getting to hug your mother again.

She beams and nods, happy that you are willing to be a chaperone so she can spend more time with Emmanuel. “Perhaps tomorrow morning, we can walk through the gardens together?” She asks softly.

“That sounds wonderful.” So wonderful you could damn near cry, but you’ll save that for the privacy of your own room tonight, where you know Max will understand.

“Then we have a date.” She had picked up on some of Max’s unusual phrases at breakfast, liking them immensely. Nodding and letting go of you, she rushes back over to her caller’s side.

“Wisely and slow.” Cookie says, in a moment that would seem rather enigmatic if it didn’t immediately trigger a core memory somewhere in your mind that you hadn’t even given a flicker of recognition to in years. “They stumble that run fast.” Both you and Annie finish the line of Shakespeare in unison, exchanging a look of surprise immediately afterward.

Annie is the first to break, giggling and humming playfully. “Did your mother dole out wisdom from Shakespeare as well?”

“Rather constantly.” And now you know exactly where she got it from. “And took me to the plays, as well.”

“How utterly delightful.” Annie nods. “Mother always makes sure Father secures tickets. Experiencing Shakespeare is a requirement of being a cultured lady.”

“My mother thought so as well.” And how you wish you could just dive across the room and hug her and just never let go. Or just say anything. But you promised Yayo it would be a secret.

“Well, I am glad that you are also well versed.” Your grandmother beams at the two of you. “This is like having two daughters, if only for a while.”

“I’m very glad you think so.” For you, the dream of seeing your family again is very real. It only makes sense that they recognize those traits in you, as well.

She smiles softly and nods, aware that your own parting from your family must be bittersweet for you. “Well, I think that we are going to have a marvelous masquerade this year, don’t you?�� She asks you.

“It sounds like it will be wonderful.” If you ever get back to your own time to plan another, the second Samhain Masquerade you plan is going to be a hell of a lot fancier, you know that for damn sure.

“Mother enjoys planning events.” Annie offers with a proud little smirk on her face. “No one would dare turn down an invitation, not even the Astors.”

“I know I can speak for my husband when I say we are both honored to be included.” The morning for Max has been time alone with his sire, and you know that this afternoon when you have to venture into town to get fitted for clothes he’ll be talking your ear off about everything that’s been said.

“You will not regret it. The salmon pâté is probably my most favorite bite of all the buffet.” The other woman practically moans at the prospect.

“Then I dearly look forward to it.” It seems like Mrs. Taylor has always been both cook and housekeeper here and you know her cooking is impeccable. She’s made things for you that you had never imagined trying before and they’ve always been wonderful. “You’re very fortunate to have such a talented chef.”

“Mrs. Taylor has a passion for cuisine that I have never seen before.” Cookie answered honestly. “If she were born a man, she would have been accepted to the top culinary schools.”

“Perhaps she should start a school for women cooks. Share her talent with any who wish to learn and let the pool of talented women become talented, trained women.” Just because you know for a fact that it does not happen between this time and yours, doesn’t mean it never could. And it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t either. Mrs. Taylor would be a wonderful teacher.

“That would be something she would adore.” Mrs. Brown admits. “She cannot have children of her own, so the people she cares for become her children in a way. I know students would be no different.”

“Perhaps one day.” Annie chirps with a smile. She knows that something drastic would have to happen to separate her mother from their housekeeper.

“Perhaps.” Your grandmother hums softly with a smile on her face. “For now, we get to sample her delightful creativity. Why Mrs. Phillips had brought her a new recipe to try.”

“It is nothing. Really.” A bit of bashfulness has you not wanting to have your offering pried into. It all happened by accident anyway.

“Nonsense. Mrs. Taylor was floating around the kitchen with glee.” Even if she hadn’t seen the other woman, she knows how she reacts to new challenges.

“Then I hope the dish turns out to be a popular one. So she may enjoy her triumph.” You offer, and just let the facts settle over you privately and silently, that the reality of time travel is very weird.

“We will find out tonight.” She reminds you with a smile before she takes a bite of her finger sandwich.

******

"I guess they aren't up yet." Allison shrugs her giant cardigan a little closer around her body, overcorrecting for the lack of body heat from Eddie even though her vampire boyfriend is wrapped around her like an ivy vine as they slowly descend the stairs to the dining room for breakfast. There's no sign of you or Max being up or around the house, so the logical conclusion is that you've chosen to sleep in and Max is by your side. "More breakfast for us, then," she looks up at Eddie with a smile. "Or just me? Are you eating with me this morning?"

Eddie smiles down at her, amazed that she is here, that she’s in his arms. He hadn’t even heard Max’s car come home, so apparently he had been completely preoccupied. “I’ll eat with you.” He promises. “I love eating with you.”

"There's an entendre there somewhere," she hums, grinning when he leans down to kiss her halfway down the stairs.

“Didn’t think you’d want Mrs. Taylor to hear what else I love eating.” He teases her softly, grinning against her lips.

“Menace.” She’s giggling though, and pinching Eddie’s side before she starts down the second half of the stairwell. “You’re an absolute menace, Edward Cowper.”

“That’s me.” He never thought he would be classified as a menace, that was thoroughly Max’s area of expertise but Allison brings it out of him. “A menace.”

“Something smells like paradise.” The scent wafting up from the kitchen is rich and fruity and cinnamony at the same time, and Allison groans happily. “I’m getting spoiled being in this house all the time. With the Menace and the best cooking in the whole world.”

“That is nice to hear.” Mrs. Taylor bustles through the door, a distracted frown on her face as she looks at the pair. “Did Max and Dolly indicate that they would be lodging elsewhere last night?” Her question is abrupt, showing none of her usual tact.

“They didn’t come home?” Eddie’s frown matches Mrs. Taylor’s instantly. “I figured Dolly was just still asleep.”

“Max’s car is not in the garage and Renee said the bed was undisturbed.” She tells them, her jaw set in a very unhappy stance.

“They only went to Portsmouth.” The younger vampire’s frown deepens and he pulls out his phone to see if he’s missed a text but there’s nothing there. “There’s no reason they shouldn’t have come home.”

“That is what I am afraid of.” Mrs. Taylor frowns even more, her fangs descending in worry.

“If anything had happened to Dolly, Max would have brought her home instantly,” Allison reasons, though her arm around Eddie’s waist tightens with nerves.

Unless he couldn’t is the unspoken fear that passes between the two vampires in the room. Making the normally calm and collective Eddie ruffle slightly with a shudder.

“If you are wondering after his brother and his soulmate, they won’t be returning for some time.” From the darkened doorway, his voice is quiet but firm

Allison’s eyes widen at the sound of the new voice, unaware that anyone else is there and her head swings around to peer at the voice. “Why?”

“They are traveling.” Is the enigmatic answer, as the master of the house enters the room with one long, sure step.

“Where would they have gone?” Eddie asks, but a look of understanding immediately passes over Mrs. Taylor’s face. “I see.”

“Not far.” His sire assures him, seemingly nonplussed by the concern on Eddie’s face. “But I am afraid it will be some weeks before they return.” His eyes slide over to Mrs. Taylor, who nods. “Allison,” he addresses her without shifting his gaze. “You will take up Dolly’s place in finalizing plans for the ball with the coven. Mrs. Taylor will tend to things in the house. She knows what to do.”

“I- me?” She asks, slightly alarmed by the presence of Cookie’s soulmate. She has not seen the vampire since her funeral.

“Yes, my dear.” He regards her with the warmest expression he’s capable of this morning, knowing what has befallen you last night in those woods. “Cookie taught you how, and I know you have been helping Dolly. You will manage it well and have Mrs. Taylor to keep you moving forward.” His cool hand touches her arm and he nods as if to say it will all be well. “My soulmate regarded you as something of a second granddaughter, you know. I know you will make her proud.”

“I- I don’t know what to say.” Allison says, teary eyed at the beautiful words. “I will make sure that everything is perfect for Dolly and Max’s return.”

“Second granddaughter?” Eddie frowns, not quite understanding and looking to his sire curiously. “I didn’t know Cookie had a first granddaughter.”

The elder vampire smiles enigmatically. “The cat is out of the bag.” He hums and shrugs slightly. “Dolly is our granddaughter.” He reveals as simply as if he was stating the weather outside and not some surprising news.

“I knew something didn’t make sense!” Allison nearly leaps out of her seat but anchors herself by grabbing Eddie’s hand in her eager surprise. “Cookie would never have left this house to some far-flung, unknown relative!”

“You are correct.” The smirk on his face is both slightly sad and proud. “In order to break the spell, my darling Cookie decided to give up her immortal time to allow Dolly to know all of you and myself.” He pauses. “Once she is settled, I will end my existence and find her in my next life.”

The shock of that announcement sucks the air out of the room instantly, leaving even the undead breathless as Eddie’s jaw hangs wide open and Mrs. Taylor grasps the nearest piece of furniture in an uncharacteristic moment of uneasiness. She doesn’t question him, knowing how devoted he had been to his soulmate for hundreds of years, but she clasps her hand over her heart as though it were breaking. “You…” Eddie swallows air he has no need for, the harsh sound echoing in his chest. “You have an entire family here,” he protests, knowing it sounds weak — and maybe it is weak. But there are only so much family he will ever be able to have in his afterlife, and they are all because of his sire.

“I do.” His decision was not made lightly, and Cookie had protested against it, as much as he had protested her decision. “And every one of you is special to me, but she is the other half of my soul.” He reminds Eddie. “The Devil made me walk this earth for over a thousand years before my soulmate was ever born. I cannot walk another thousand without her.” He refuses to, is the real answer, but he is more dramatic than that. “I know that my chosen successor will fill my role fantastically and keep our family together.”

“Then you have already chosen.” Mrs. Taylor nods in understanding and recognition, as solemn as it is.

“All will be revealed when it is time.” He intones seriously. “It will be a joyous occasion amongst my vampiric offspring.”

______

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[absurdthirst]

Can't Fight Cupid {Max Phillips x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: Human Max, sexism in the the workplace, insults, bickering, drinking, sexual harassment, mentions of drugging, drunk sex, impaired decision making but everyone consents, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, cream-pie, angst, oral sex (male and female receiving), confessions

Comments: Your morning show co-host, Max Phillips drives you mad. Constantly annoying you and bickering with you. At the Cupid's Ball, the weekend before Valentine's Day, you get a little drunk and do something incredibly stupid. Sleep with him.

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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

BEEP BEEP BEEP

  You groan, rolling over to slam your hand down on top of your alarm clock. 

It reads 3 am. 

“Fuck.” You huff, feeling exhausted after staying up late last night to talk to your agent, and you regret it now. There’s no choice to snooze, you need to get up. 

Moaning as you force yourself out of your comfy bed, you stumble into the bathroom, turning on the light, and it’s bright enough to make you wince. “God.” You whine, palming your face. Every day, you’re closer to being replaced by some teeny bopper with perky tits and an annoyingly high-pitched voice. You pee and brush your teeth before you start your morning routine. Treadmill. Weights. Protein shake. Shower. Get dressed.

The car pulls up outside your apartment building on time, and you get in to meet your producer, and she starts to ramble about the segments for the show.

You listen to her half-heartedly but stare out of the window. The street lights reflect as they twinkle overnight without anyone but you and a tired few to admire them.

When you arrive at the studio, you’re ushered inside and to your dressing room to get started on the exhausting daily routine of getting ready for TV. 

Your makeup artist is putting on your lipstick when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Goooood morning Vietnammmmm!” He shouts with enough energy to make you want to punch his stupid face. 

“Max.” You huff, turning your head to see him swagger into your dressing room with his designer bespoke suit.

“You ready for the Coleman interview? You sure you’re up to it?” He tuts, leaning over you as he checks out his reflection in the mirror.

“I think if one of us is prepared and able to interview a woman who survived sexual assault at the hands of a powerful man, it’s me. If you did it, she’d be traumatized all over again.” You scoff, crossing your arms.

Max snorts, “whatever, princess. Just don’t make us look bad.” He says, and you roll your eyes, “It’s not me who makes us look bad. You’re the one who flirts with anything that has a pulse.”

Your co-host leans in, a smirk on his face as he meets your eyes in the mirror, “I think you’re just jealous that I never flirt with you…off air.” He adds, his eyes narrow slightly, and you push him away from you. 

“In your fucking dreams, Phillips.” He chuckles, and you want to slap him, but he has already been in the makeup chair and Shelly would kill you if your handprint ruined her work.

Max chuckles again, slowly backing out of your dressing room, but he turns to look at you and says, “see you on the stage, wifey.” He teases and you growl under your breath.

You and Max are the darlings of morning news. The Daily News Show. You’re the “husband and wife” of daytime TV. You aren’t together. No, fuck no. You are both painfully single, unable to hold down a relationship when the show is your entire life. You live and breathe the news. Max has his liaisons, as detailed in every gossip mag from New York to L.A, but you’re the good girl. You could never get away with what he manages to do. You are held to a higher standard and it’s bullshit. You were called a “slut” when you went out with three men in six months. Max has ten flings - barely a weekend each - and he’s revered as “daytime’s most eligible bachelor.” 

You exhale shakily, trying to control your hatred towards Max before you go on air and put on your persona as the loving “TV wife.” You close your eyes and focus until Jimmy, the AD, comes in to tell you that it’s time to get on set. You nod, standing up to make your way through the halls to the set and Max is already sitting at the desk when you arrive. Shelly comes over to dust your face with setting powder and the producers are going over the segments one last time. 

“Right, everyone. Thirty seconds to live.” The director announces, headset on, and you swallow harshly, getting yourself in the zone.

“Don’t fuck up.” Max murmurs and you turn your head to glare at him. 

“You’re the only fuck up here, Phillips.” You hiss back and he chuckles, “at least I’m getting fucked. How long has it been again…? Last one was…that dude from Fallon?” He reminds you of your ex who was a writer over on The Jimmy Fallon Show. 

“Your last one still asleep in your bed?” You spit back, “you even get her name?” You ask and Max frowns. 

“Jessica? No, Jamie. No…shit.” He shakes his head and you roll your eyes. 

“As we are live in ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…” The director lowers his fingers to be silent and then you straighten up and plaster a smile on your face.

“Good morning and welcome to The Daily News Show.” You introduce yourself with a grin. 

“And I’m Max Phillips. It’s three days until Valentine's Day. Are you ready for the day?” Max asks you as per the teleprompter and you chuckle, “is anyone ready? Our friends over at Saks have some ideas for last-minute gifts later on in the show. Max, did you already get my present?” You question him teasingly like the TV wife you are.

“Of course.” He responds like it’s obvious, “I couldn’t not get my gorgeous co-host something special.” He winks and you internally scoff at his slimy smile. 

“I guess I’ll have to wait and see what you got me.” You giggle and turn back to look at the camera, “let’s take a look at your morning forecast.”

You go off air while the weatherman takes over and Max leans in, “did you get me a present?” He asks and you snort, “you’re lucky I put up with you.” 

Max chuckles, “well, at least we got the Cupid’s Ball tonight.” You groan softly under your breath, having forgotten that was tonight.

You have to go. You need to go. But you desperately want to curl under your duvet with a glass of wine and forget that you will be spending Valentine’s Day alone.

****

You tug on the hem of your skirt as you walk through the hall to the bustling private area of a skyscraper restaurant that overlooks the city where the party is being held. You feel ridiculous in the short red dress your stylist had picked for you, styled with a pair of heels that make you question if they belong in a torture room in the rings of hell. They are insanely uncomfortable and you’re reminded again of why you wish you were back at home curled up on your sofa with a glass of wine watching rom-com movies and shoving chocolate in your mouth. You inhale deeply before you make your way into the room.

Leaning against the bar, Max is already a few drinks in, bored out of his mind and questioning why he has to attend these things. No one wants to talk to him, they want to talk to his morning show personality. The Cupid’s Ball is an annoying reminder that despite his popularity, no one was special in his life. At least no one that he really wanted. Taking a sip of his drink, he nearly chokes when he sees you walk into the room. The blood red dress calls to him and he smirks as he puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly across the floor, catcalling you obnoxiously.

You roll your eyes and make a beeline to the bar where Max is, greeting people who are half drunk along the way. “You have one too many or you trying to make me doubt myself in this dress?” You question Max, trying to figure out his motive. You feel itchy in the dress now as his dark eyes trail along your form.

Max chuckles and waggles his brows suggestively. “You did get me a present.” He jokes. “Now put it on the floor where it belongs.” He knows that the network wouldn’t be happy with a sexual harassment lawsuit, but you wouldn’t file one of those. You enjoy cutting him down with scathing retorts too much. “Drink first, fuck later? Or fuck now, drink later?” He asks, offering you his own glass.

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head, “in your fucking dreams, Phillips.” You huff and he chuckles, “if only you knew…” 

You shake your head and push his glass away, “knowing you, you probably roofied it.” You call the bartender over and order a Cosmo, wanting to enjoy the evening even if your co-star insists on annoying you to death. “What are you doing hanging by the bar? No pretty interns to harass?”

“Why harass interns when I can harass you?” He gives you a hurt pout and takes his drink back and takes a sip of it to prove that he hasn’t done anything to it. “Besides, if I didn’t bother you, you would think that I was body snatched.” He snorts and looks out over the throng of people filing in.

You snort, “that’s true. I would think you’d been abducted by aliens if you didn’t make my life hell every day.” You thank the bartender for your drink. “To being painfully single because we made our careers our lives.” You toast as you hold your drink towards him.

Max lifts his glass in salute and snorts. “You’ve still got time, sweet cheeks.” He tells you. “You can put those birthing hips to use.” He smirks when you glare at him and shrugs. “What? You don’t want to have rugrats attached to the tit?” His eyes drop to your chest. “Pity.”

Your eyebrows raise, “and you are thinking about reproducing? Good God. The world couldn’t cope with a miniature Max Phillips.” You chuckle and shake your head, “besides…you’re lucky. You could knock up every woman from New York to L.A and you would keep your job. Me? I’d be out the door as soon as I peed on a test.” You take a sip of your drink and shift from one foot to another, unused to this kind of talk directed at you from Max. Usually he’s boasting about his conquests and how much better he looks on camera.

“In the year of our lord, 2024?” Mad huffs and shakes his head. “No. The network would exploit it. Have ‘baby and me’ segments.” In reality, the only way the network would do that is if their hand was forced, but Max isn’t willing to give up his co-host. Despite your attitude towards him off camera, the public loved you two together. “All you’d have to do is announce it on air and tell viewers the special segments to come. A taped sonogram. Let our morning show viewers fall in love with the little brat.”

“The only way they’d do that is if it was our baby and to do that, we’d have to have sex and I know that you prefer them pliable and dumb.” You glance around the room, spotting the producers laughing together and the execs making a short experience before they helicopter out to their mansions.

Max scoffs. “That would never happen.” He agrees, although there’s a frown on his face as he turns back to the bar. “Better that we focus on our careers, right? That will keep us warm when we’re in our nursing homes.” He chuckles. “When we turn forty-five.”

“You’re closer to that than me, old man.” You taunt him, “forty this year. You gonna be able to handle getting older?” You nudge him, knowing that he prides himself on his looks and Devil May care attitude.

He shoots you a dirty look before glancing at the mirror behind the bar. “Don’t look a day over thirty-four.” He huffs before looking at you with a smirk. “Must be all the endorphins from sex.”

You can’t deny that he looks good. He always looks good. Must be the pussy and Botox he gets on the sly. “You gonna come out of my cake at my party like Marilyn Monroe?” Max asks and you shake your head, “no way, Phillips.” You snort and down the rest of your drink, gesturing for the bartender to get you another one. “Didn’t even know you were planning a party.”

He pouts at you again, looking hurt. “If I don’t throw myself a party, who would?” He asks, rolling his eyes. “Not like you would throw me one. You don’t even want to go out for that drink after work like I keep asking you to.”

You huff, turning to face him after you thank the bartender for setting your drink down. “Because it’s just to - to mock me. You don’t like me. I’m not your friend. We act like we like each other on tv but that’s it. I have a face for radio, remember?” You remind him of what he said to you the first day you met five years ago.

Max stares at you for a second and then laughs. Bending over the bar and laughing so hard tears come to his eyes. “You thought I meant that?” He gasps out, looking over at you and laughing again. “Sweetcheeks- that was- I was yanking your fucking chain.” He admits, calming down enough to speak. “You’re fucking gorgeous and you know it. Charming, witty. The whole package.”

You stare at him, shocked at his outburst. He’s flirted with you, especially on screen, but to hear him say he thinks you’re gorgeous…it takes you back. You pick up your drink, taking another gulp. “You gave me a fucking complex. I- I thought I wasn’t good enough.” You hiss at him, “I always thought - well, it doesn’t matter now. I’m going to go suck up to the execs before they leave. Try to keep my job another year.” You say and pick up your drink, striding over to Mr. Parker, the head of daytime tv.

Max shakes his head, watching your hips sway as you stride away from him. He had never imagined you would have taken him seriously. You always treat him like a joke, so why would you believe that? Of course you’re gorgeous, the network thrived on beautiful people and made it their mission to hire the prettiest talent in the business. Max orders another drink for himself and for you before deciding to join you. A little corporate ass kissing was never a bad move for the career.

You smile as Mr. Parker looks down at your cleavage. It’s not the healthiest dynamic at the network but you let some things slide in the interest of keeping your job. You giggle at his lame joke, trying to act like he’s so clever, when Max comes over and replaces your now empty glass with a new drink. “Ah Phillips, I was just telling your pretty co-anchor here about some changes we will be making to the outfits. I’m thinking we could get away with a couple of inches higher, don’t you?”

Max lifts his brows and pretends to consider it. It’s an insult and everyone here knows it. “Why don’t we have the weather girl in a bikini?” He suggests. “But for our hard hitting stories, I think the length of the dress won’t matter, we’re behind a desk.”

“I was thinking maybe our lady here could be standing up. Presenting in front of the screens like they do on other shows. That way she can show off those stems.” He says and you shake your head, “the whole point of the show is for me to be beside Max. That’s what the viewers like, that’s what they want.” You explain and Mr. Parker hums, “we shall see. I’ll speak to the producers…see what they think.” You nod, offering him a forced smile. You know the producers will have your back on this ridiculous suggestion.

Max glances at you and knows that you are unhappy with the idea and he will back you up. “So what’s your golf game looking like, Paul?” He asks, hoping to steer the conversation on to friendlier topics. “Every time I’m in the weeds, I think of your epic shot.” Paul puffs up proudly and nods, starting to tell Max about his latest game.

You down the rest of your drink and smile at your boss, “excuse me.” You say and make your way back across the event room to the bar, ordering another drink. You shouldn’t drink so much but between all the men in the room that look at you like a piece of meat, you’re ready to get drunk and forget the reality that your time is limited because of your age. They’ll want some twenty year old to take your place soon. You lean against the bar and thank the bartender when he sets another cosmo down. You sigh and turn to pick it up when you feel someone behind you. “Looking gorgeous as ever.” The voice of the foreign correspondent, Jack. 

You turn to face him, a stiff smile on your face. “Jack.” You greet him, hating how he leans in even closer. His disgusting cologne wafting over you. He’s always been a little intrusive.

His eyes are dark and his smirk is supposed to be charming, but it comes off as creepy. “What are you doin’ over here by yourself?” He asks. “Rarely ever see you off Phillips’ dick.”

“I’ve never been on his dick. Ever.” You clarify, “I’m just sipping my drink. Enjoying the party.” You hum and take a step back from him. 

“Nice to hear. You could be on my dick if you want.” Jack smirks, licking his lower lip and you recoil. 

“No. I- I don’t want that.” You say, shaking your head and trying to let him down gently.

“You know, you’d probably move up from the morning show if you weren’t such a stuck up, frigid cunt.” Jack hisses, a scowl on his face, pissed off at being shot by the morning bitch. He is a foreign correspondent, respected and revered. He shoots you a nasty little grin. “Pretty soon your tits won’t be perky enough to keep your job and you’ll be doing the weather in Kalamazoo.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “and I’ll be telling everyone about your unwanted advances to me every single time you’re near me. I will tell HR and get you fired.” You hiss and Jack growls at you, “you’re a fucking bitch.” 

You smile, “thank you, Jack.” You remain tall just as Max appears, his hand on your back. “Everything okay here?” He asks and you stiffen slightly, “everything is fine, isn’t it Jack?” You ask the correspondent, who scoffs and walks off. 

“What happened?” Max asks, a frown on his face. 

“Jack was being an asshole. As per usual.” You huff and turn back towards your drink.

There’s more to it than that, but you will never confide in him. Apparently he can’t even try to pretend to care. He pulls his hand away, and slips it into his pocket. “He’s an old drunk that thinks the weather girl is still picked on a casting couch.” Max snorts. “No means yes to him.” He warns you. “You say I’ll spike your drink, but I wouldn’t put it past that prick.” He scoffs.

You sigh, leaning against the counter, “you’re right. He - I’ve heard stories about the interns and some of the make-up girls.” You confess, rubbing your neck, “you know…you’re not as bad as him. You’re a good man really. I just like seeing that vein pop in your forehead.” You confess, starting to feel giddy from the booze.

Max snorts and rolls his eyes, his own alcohol consumption starting to make his body hum. “You just say that because you have to pretend to like me.” He huffs, sending you a pout before he slides into a grin to cover his hurt feelings. “You think I’m pretty though. No matter how much you don’t want to admit it.”

You scoff, rearing back from him, until you soften and lean closer again. “You are pretty. So pretty.” You confess, reaching out to run your finger down his cheek, “unfair how handsome you are.” You whine slightly, “I don’t have to pretend.” You admit with a whisper.

​​He shivers at your touch and leans into it the drinks clouding his judgment and making him speak before thinking about it. “You think I’m unfair?” He huffs. “I have to constantly hide the fucking hard on I’ve got around you.” He pouts. “Do you know how fucking distracting your perfume is? You don’t need perfume for tv, and when you’re near me, all I can smell is you and imagine….”

The booze doesn’t let you question the validity of his confession. You decide to revel in it and you lean in towards him, “imagine…?” You question, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

“Imagine you.” Max is too wrapped up in his confession to realize he shouldn’t say this to you. Shouldn’t say this at all. “Head between your thighs, tasting you, making you moan my name so sweetly before I slide inside you.” He pants breathlessly, cock twitching in his pants. “Watching you cum because of me, because of the way I touch you.”

You can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips at the thought. “Maxwell Phillips.” You gasp, your stomach twisting with arousal as you soak the lace panties you’re wearing. You glance around and are grateful that no one notices when you grab Max’s hand and drag him through the crowd and out into the hallway. “I want you to fuck me, Max.” You beg him breathlessly, grabbing onto his tie to pull him into the nearest empty room, a function room with tables and chairs.

“Wait, really?” His eyes widen and he’s not hesitant, he’s shocked as shit. But the way you are dragging him closer makes every caution sign in his mind filter away as you eagerly press your lips to his as you continue to back into the dimly lit room. “Fuck.” He moans, pressing against you when your ass hits a table and his hands are cradling your hips, helping you up onto it as your tongue slides into his mouth.

You don’t think about the consequences of this. Deciding to just feel for once, you groan as Max slides his tongue against yours and his hands explore your body. You moan echoes in the empty room as he kisses your jaw and he settles between your thighs as you open them for him.

He turns greedy. Hands filling themselves with your flesh, groaning into your mouth at the taste of the liquor from your tongue. The pure sense of you. The heat of your skin makes him twitch and groan again when he presses two fingers to the damp core of your lace panties.

You whimper, “please Max” into his jaw as he rubs your clit through the lace. He doesn’t deny you as he slides his fingers beneath the elastic of your panties and presses his manicured fingers against the bundle of nerves. “Oh God.” You moan, sliding your hands down his chest to fumble with his belt, trying to undo the stupidly expensive buckle until you can finally reach in and pull his hard cock out of his equally expensive pants. “Fucking hell.” You curse as you wrap your fingers around the girth.

He chuckles, kissing along your jaw. 

“Try hiding that all the time.” He jokes, breaking off into a groan when you squeeze him firmly and start to stroke his cock. “Fuck, baby.” He whines, hips jerking forward into your grip and he twists his wrist to press his thumb against your clit while starting to work two fingers inside you.

You pant as he pushes two thick digits into you. You hate to admit it but you’ve imagined his hands on you, inside of you, many times during segments where the camera is off of you. You jerk his cock, swiping your thumb over the head to gather the pre-cum that has gathered there. “I need - I need you to - oh shit.” You moan when he curls his fingers just right inside of you.

“That what you needed?” He groans, biting along your neck gently while he’s trying not to get too excited. Your cunt is so tight and he doesn’t want to cum too quickly when he finally gets to fuck you. “Fuck baby, you’re so tight. My cock is gonna feel so good inside you.” He moans, kissing along your chest and nudging his nose between your breasts as he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“Yes. Oh shit. Max. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me-” You cut yourself off with a squeal as you clamp down around his fingers. Your grip on his cock loosening as your orgasm hits you and you pant his name into his hair as he licks along the top of your breast. “Fuck me.” You beg, “need you inside of me, Phillips.”

He doesn’t even consider birth control, he’s listened to the segments where you’ve talked about your own choice and knows you well enough to know you don’t have anything. His fingers are soaked and he pulls them out with a groan of your name. Batting your hands away to wrap around his cock and soak it with your juices.

You spread your legs wider and watch him as he positions the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing inside of you with a low groan. “Oh God, Max.” You whine, throwing your head back as he pushes into you and stretches you out.

He hisses as your tight walls surround him. You’re so much tighter and hotter than he ever imagined and he imagined it a lot. Slowly bottoming out and groaning your name again as he tries to keep from cumming. “Holy shit babe.”

You slide your hands under his bespoke jacket, clawing at his back as he twitches inside of you. "I need you to move." You plead. You'll think back to this moment later and cringe at how needy you sound but for right now, you need him to fuck you like you've secretly wanted him to since you started working together.

“Fuck.” Max can’t resist you. One hand planted on the table beside your head and he draws his hips back to plunge into you again. Enjoying the sharp gasp you give him and craving more as he leans down and presses his lips to yours. Starting to thrust into you with harsh, sharp slaps of his hips that rock the table while you cling to him and writhe underneath him.

You slide your tongue against his as he rocks into you. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could hear you. The music is faint from the function room where your work event is being held but you don’t care, too busy focusing on Max and the way he’s thrusting into you like his life depends on it. “Fuck, this is - it’s so good, baby.” You whine and wrap your legs around him, your heels falling to the floor.

Max grunts, agreeing completely as he bites his lip. “So- fuck- so good.” He groans your name again and bites down on your lip hungrily. “Baby, fuck, you’re so tight. How- fuck, you’re so good.”

"Ke-Kegals." You reveal breathlessly, "gotta - gotta keep fit to stay on TV." You whimper when he hits deep and you lift your hips up to meet his thrusts. "Keep going, Phillips, don't you dare stop." You demand when his pace stutters.

“So demanding.” He huffs, flashing you a grin as he nods. Taking a deep breath and rocking his hips harder. “Fuck, it’s your fault. So fucking tight.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes, "you're so fucking thick, Max. God, I don't - no wonder you have so many damn flings." You pant and he drops his hips just right to make you gasp when he hits something devastating.

He chuckles breathlessly, not even bothering to admit that he doesn’t have as many flings as he might have led you to believe. You would never think he was telling you the truth. “You’re tight.”

“Shit, Max. I- I’m gonna- just like that. Keep going like that.” You demand and groan when he keeps hitting that spot. “That’s it baby. Oh shit. Max!” You cry out, clamping down on his cock as he makes you cum hard. Harder than you have for longer than you’d ever care to admit.

“Thaaaaaaat’s it.” He groans, eyes nearly rolling back and he has to put more effort into fucking you from how hard you squeeze hum. “That’s fucking it. Cream all over me baby.” He groans. “Soak my cock with that pretty cunt.”

His words would usually make you cringe if you weren’t practically shaking beneath him as he makes you cum. “Oh God. It’s so good. So good. I want - want you to cum.” You plead, pressing your heels into his ass to push him impossibly deeper inside of you.

“Gonna - fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He pants out breathlessly, sweat rolling down his forehead but he ignores it. Too lost in the sensation of your cunt. “Fuck, fuck you’re so fucking wet, baby.” He praises. “Gonna cum, fuck, fuck-“ he lets out a strangled groan of your name when his hips stutter and he thrusts deep one last time, painting your walls with ropes of cum.

Moaning in delight as he fills you up, you caress his back under his jacket, and tilt your head up to kiss along his jaw. “Not too bad, Phillips.” You tease breathlessly as he rocks himself through his orgasm.

He huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head, rocking slowly as he pumps every spurt of cum into you. “Not too bad yourself.” He grunts, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours once more before he starts to pull out of you to watch his cum drip. “Now that’s a pretty sight.” He hums, delighted to see his cum leaking out of your cunt.

You roll your eyes and sit up, standing on shaking legs to pick up your panties. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. You’re gonna go back in there and act like this didn’t happen. We have to act like this didn’t happen, you understand?” You ask him, your eyes wide and pleading. If everyone knew you and Max had sex, you’d be branded a slut and he’d be revered for conquering you.

Max’s plan to ask you if you want to get out of here dies on his tongue and he adopts an easy grin. “No problem, sweet cheeks.” He chuckles and looks away from you as he tucks his cock back into his pants. “Can’t have anyone thinking that something happened. Might keep me from getting lucky with that new intern tonight.” He lies and starts to straighten his tie and smooth down his vest. Once he feels like he can look at you and not show you how upset he is, he tosses you a wink. “Thanks for the sex, baby.” He hums as he turns around and whistles while strolling out of the empty room.

You watch him walk out and you swallow harshly, ignoring the way your eyes sting with tears. It’s not his fault that you gave in and now you wonder what will happen to your working relationship. You let your guard slip. You can’t let that happen again. Walking out of the room on shaky legs, you make your way back into your work event, grabbing your clutch from the side and you don’t say another word as you swiftly exit the party, ignoring Max’s stare as his cum settles in your panties while you quickly leave before anyone notices what happened.

Sighing softly as you walk out of the party, Max wonders why you let him touch you. Was it a drunken mistake? A calculated ploy to get him fired for misconduct? He frowns as he turns back to the bar and motions for the bartender. He will pretend like it never happened and see if you do the same.

The weekend passes and you freak out about sleeping with Max. It’s changed everything. You don’t know if you’re going to be able to look him in the eye as your car travels to the studio. The producer calls your name, bringing you out of your thoughts and all you can do is nod. You have no idea what they were saying but soon, you’re entering the building and making your way up to the floor for the show. “Good morning.” Your intern, Natalie, greets you with your morning coffee and you thank her. Praying you don’t see Max until you get on set, you settle into your chair to review the segments and wait for the make-up and hair artists.

Max rolls his shoulders back and purposefully changes his step to one that is lighthearted and full of energy. “How are we doing this gorgeous morning?” He asks as he steps into the hair and makeup room, seeing you already in your chair and he hates how his heart pangs because he didn’t hear from you at all. Not that it’s surprising, just disappointing. “Everyone have a good weekend? Mine was amazing.” He boasts, waggling his brows playfully. “Didn’t get out of the bed, if you know what I mean.” He lies, knowing he spent the weekend depressed and wondering what the fuck happened Friday night. 

He breezes by you and settles down into his own chair, pulling out the eye mask he carries with him with the serum that costs an arm and a leg, the promise of less wrinkles meaning he will pay any price. “Need some more rest.”

You swallow harshly, keeping your eyes on the script. The ghost of his touch has haunted you all weekend and you don’t know how to feel about his nonchalant attitude to you and the artists in the room. You wonder who took up his bed after you, your stomach twisting at the idea of it being that young new intern that seems eager to please. You turn to look at him when he places the eye mask on his face and your expression is one of heartbreak and longing - at least that’s what the make-up and hair stylists will say later when they gossip over coffee. “Busy weekend?” You ask eventually, trying to sound lighthearted.

“Yep.” He pops the p and sighs with a nostalgia that is solely for you and the night he got to touch you. “You? How was your weekend? Anything fun and new?” He asks, tilting his head up and removing the mask now that his stylist is here. His eyes focus on you with a serious gaze.

You can’t tell him you sat around all weekend having a crisis about what happened between you. “Oh, I was busy. I went out. Had dinner. Some drinks.” You say vaguely, “had a late night on Saturday so spent most of Sunday in bed.” You smirk, forcing yourself to give the impression that you weren’t alone.

“Ohhhh ho! Someone got lucky!” Max plasters a cocky look on his face and waggles his brows even though he’s pissed you fled and apparently went to fuck someone else. “Was it good? Bet it was good, but I would have been better, sweet cheeks.” He teases like he normally would have, but the words taste slightly bitter.

“In your dreams, Phillips.” You spit half heartedly, not wanting to elaborate on your lie as you hate the fact that he’s ruined everyone else for you. You’ve never cum so fast and so hard. Most men finish before you can and then won’t even help you get off. You’ve never felt that kind of electricity. The artist's exchange looks behind you as you and Max are distracted by your own turbulent thoughts. “Besides, sounds like you were warm and cozy in your bed with a new floozy.”

“You know how it is.” Max shrugs carelessly. “Friday night plans fell through so I had to improvise.” He stares at you for a moment longer before turning his attention to the hair stylist. “Can you make my hair extra shiny this morning, babe?” He asks, dropping his eyes to his hair and reaching up to fix a hair out of place. “Want to look my best for the cameras.”

You huff, shaking your head, “always the same. Always wanting the spotlight and - and always being so goddamn selfish.” You growl at him, batting the brush away from your face as you stand up and mutter about needing the bathroom before you rush out of the room. You hate that Max doesn’t even seem to remember that you had sex on Friday night. You were just another notch on his belt.

Max’s eyes follow you out of the room and the frown on his face isn’t even registering to him, although it’s being noticed by the other people in the room. Their glances to each other pointed and the hairstylist finally answers him. “Sure, Max. No problem.” She hums, running her fingers through his hair and Max sighs. “Just do whatever.”

You stare into the mirror in the bathroom, preparing yourself to head back out there and act like nothing is wrong. One drunken night with Max and your world is spinning out of control. You’ve worked so hard, focused on your career, and now you feel like you’re losing it all because you can’t stop thinking about how he felt, how he smelt, how he sounded. His moan of your name seems to play on a loop in your head and it’s driving you crazy. Hands shaking, you gather yourself as you head back into the make up room, glad to see Max is gone as you get ready to go on air.

Sitting behind the desk, Max tries to shake off the feeling that you are upset at him. You are the one who had left. Fled the party after begging him to fuck you. He’s kind of pissed off about it now. Setting him up to look like an asshole. He shuffles through the notes for the upcoming show and clears his throat, trying to get the smell of you out of his mind, his cock refusing to soften.

You spritz on your perfume, just to torture Max after what he told you, and you step onto the set to sit down at the desk next to Max. The team comes over to adjust your mic and you pick up your notes.

As soon as you sit down, a cloud of your perfume settles over him and makes Max groan. His cock twitching in his pants and he drops his head into his hand. “Max. You good?” The producer calls out from beside the camera man and he has to lift his head and pretend he’s not incredibly turned on. 

“All good, just remembered I didn’t turn off the coffee maker this morning.” He lies.

You turn your head to look at him, eyebrows raised, and you think that the groan is in annoyance at having to sit next to you. “I should’ve called in sick.” You mutter and shake your head before the AD announces the countdown to live. When you are counted down to one, you plaster a smile on your face and straighten your back, eager to do a good job even if inside, you’re angry and confused at Max and his reaction like Friday night was nothing.

“Good morning and welcome to the Daily New Show.” Max tries to keep himself even more energetic than normal to make up for his turbulent feelings. “I hope everyone is having a fabulous Monday morning and we’ve got an impressive show for you today. As you know, it is Valentine’s Day so I hope you’re all prepared. I know I am.” He chuckles and turns towards you and introduces you as his lovely co-host. “Did you like those chocolates I put in your room this morning?”

You know Max didn’t put anything in your room but you play along, “of course. I’ll be enjoying some of those with my coffee later. Did you get my present?” You tease him playfully on camera, knowing you didn’t get him anything either but you want to make the viewers think you and him are the best of friends.

“No…” his eyes widen playfully and he tosses you a grin. “Whaddya get me?” He asks, knowing you didn’t get him anything. “Hopefully something good, because I’m worth it.” He winks at the camera and chuckles, knowing that you would not be thinking the same thing.

You shake your head, "you'll have to wait and find out. I'm sure you're gonna love it." You promise with a grin and turn back towards the camera. "Talking of gifts, let's go to Katie who has some last minute gift ideas for those who need something for the one they love." You smile at the camera and slump when they count you out. "Chocolates." You scoff, "you've never even gotten me a coffee."

Max rolls his eyes and snorts. “And? Not like you’ve ever given me anything either? Maybe looks of disgust, but I don’t count those, sweet cheeks.” The sad thing is, he had bought you some chocolates, the first year you were on air for your birthday, but you hand said you wanted no reminders of getting older so he hadn’t given them to you. “Only another fifty-six minutes in my company, you’ll survive.”

You sigh and sit up straight, unsure of what to say. You hate that you’ve reverted back to your old bickering, knowing that this won’t get you anywhere after what happened on Friday. You’re confused about how you feel. You wanted to ask him to come home with you after you slept together but you know you’d put your job on the line if something went wrong and Max would always be looking for the next best thing.

Max sighs softly when you don’t say anything and rolls his shoulders back as the countdown to the cameras being back on you starts. He should just forget Friday ever happened, it’s obvious that you regret it. “Thank you, Katie. Hopefully all the men out there without a plan can get it together and not disappoint their ladies, right?” He asks you, turning his head to look at you seriously. “Although I’m more of a romantic dinner at home, myself. Candlelight, soft music, bottle of wine.” He shrugs. “Nothing like a homemade carbonara.” It’s scripted, but true. He did prefer evenings in. 

You offer him a nod and a smile, “sounds like my kind of romantic night in, Max.” You wink and continue with the prompter. It’s hard to ignore the way he stares at you sometimes. The intensity in his look has you shifting in your chair and when you are countered out, you immediately stand up and remove your mic, making your way into your dressing room. It’s impossible to forget the way he felt inside of you, the way he sounded. You can’t forget him and it’s torturing you. You wipe your forehead and place your hands on your hips as the door opens and you turn to see Max standing there. “I can’t do this anymore.” You admit, “I can’t sit next to you every day and act like nothing happened between us.”

“You?” He snorts and shakes his head. “You are the one that left. Walked away without a word and you didn’t call me. So how am I supposed to know what you want? You want me to quit? Too bad.” He scoffs. “You will just have to deal.” He’s pissed off now. Pissed that it meant so little to you and now you want him gone so you don’t have to live with your mistake.

“I- I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about how you sounded. How you felt. I- it’s torturing me.” You choke, “I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I thought it was for the best and I figured you would act like it didn’t happen and go back to your one night stands but - shit, Phillips. I fucking hate you for getting under my skin like this.” You hiss at him, pissed at yourself as well.

“I don’t have a lot of one night stands.” Max admits, shaking his head when you scoff. “You were- you don’t fucking see it?” He asks, lunging forward and pressing into your dressing room so the door closes and grabs your neck to drag you closer to kiss. “You don’t see that I’m crazy about you?” He hisses before he kisses you feverishly.

Your eyes widen at first contact until your brain stops working and you relax into him. Letting him kiss you, his fingers digging into the back of your neck, and you moan into his mouth until your senses return. You push him away, "stop. We - we can't do this. If it goes wrong. It will go wrong and then our careers - we can't do this, Max."

“Goddamn you.” Max hisses, stepping back and his eyes are filled with nothing but hurt. “You only give a damn about yourself and you’re fucking toying with me.” He clenches his jaw and turns around. “Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.” He spits, storming out of the room, humiliated that he put himself on the line again and you are rejecting him.

You stare at him as he slams the door behind him, your lips tingling from the kiss and your hands shake as you touch them as if trying to erase his kiss from your skin. It doesn’t work. You feel your eyes sting as you grab your things and change into your leggings and hoodie before you head home. Your head is aching and you try to think about the reasons why it would be wrong to give Max a chance.

Max berates himself the entire way back to his apartment. Hating how he had admitted to you that he doesn’t have flings. Knowing that you would just use it against him. His phone contacts land on his agent and he wonders if he should call him. Let him know what’s going on in case you decide to go for the throat and in the end, he can’t do it. He will quietly put in for evening anchor and let you have the morning show. It’s what you want anyway.

You bite your lower lip as you stand outside of Max’s building, the doorman recognising you and sending you up. You thank him and fiddle with the bag in your hand, the present you bought for the man you’ve secretly been in love with for years. You ring the doorbell and wait for Max to answer the door.

Max had changed from the suit he had worn to comfortable sweats and a t-shirt, figuring he would spend the rest of the day wallowing in self pity and order DoorDash for dinner since he was all alone for yet another Valentine’s Day. Groaning when the doorbell peels, he wonders if it’s the lady from the third floor who loves to come give her his opinion on the show. She’s old and her husband died last year, so he tries not to shoo her away too quickly, but he’s not in the mood for company. Dragging himself off the couch he opens the door to find you standing there, no make up and in leggings, looking more beautiful than you deserve. “What do you want?” He demands.

You stare at him, unused to seeing him in relaxed clothing, he looks younger. You sigh and shift from one foot to the other. “I was wrong. To push you away. I can’t - I can’t keep denying myself the chance to be happy because I am terrified that everything I have worked for will go up in flames. I have been in love with you since we started working together and that day I saw you speak to that old lady when we did the segment on Alzheimer’s and you were so sweet and kind. I had never seen you like that before, and it made me realize that I had fallen in love with you, but I kept that hidden because I was scared. I was fucking terrified Max, that you would reject me because you have the world at your feet and can have any woman you want, what would make me special enough for you to love me? then you kept mentioning all your flings and I knew that I would never get the chance to be with you. I didn’t want to risk everything but Friday, I put everything on the line and then realized that everything could go wrong and I got scared. I got so fucking scared and I am so sorry that I acted like nothing happened when all I want is to have you again and again until you send me away.”

Max stares at you, digesting the verbal book you’ve just thrown at him and he drops his shoulders. “Do you want to come in?” He asks, unsure if you are planning on running away again or if you want to actually talk. He opens the door wider and none of the normally sarcastic comments come out of his mouth, unable to put on a front any more.

You deflate, nodding as you step into his apartment, and you admire the decor. Masculine but warm and you know he probably paid an interior designer to help him out. He shuts the door behind you and you fiddle with the bag in your hand. “I’m sorry to just show up.” You murmur, glancing around his apartment.

“Not like I had plans tonight.” Max shrugs it off and sighs. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, tea, tequila?” He swallows and rocks his jaw before you can even answer. “Why did you leave? Did you regret it?”

You stare at him, wondering if he heard everything you said. “Did you not- I left because I was scared you’d reject me. That I was just a conquest and you’d go back to your flings. I didn’t want to ruin our careers by getting messy emotions involved. Because - because I was a coward.”

“But you aren’t a coward.” Max argues, frowning fiercely at the idea. “You’re fucking amazing. Powerful, confident, a real ball buster when you have to be. You push boundaries and demand respect - and earn it.” He tells you. “You’re gorgeous, smart, kind of funny, brilliant at reading an audience and you have so much compassion. But one thing you are not….is a coward.”

His words make your eyes widen and you swallow harshly. “I was - I am scared. Scared of getting hurt. Scared of reaching for you, for something that could ruin me. In every way in life. I love you, Max, and that night…I broke. I couldn’t hold back from what I wanted anymore and I was an asshole to run away. I don’t want to run anymore. I know what I want. I know how I feel.”

“I thought I had you that night.” Max admits quietly, your words scaring him slightly and making him wish this had happened years ago. “I thought I finally got what I had wanted for so long.” He sends you a small grin. “Was going to ask if you wanted to leave the party. Go get dinner that night.”

You shake your head, tears stinging in your eyes a little. “I shouldn’t have - God, I was an idiot. I should’ve stayed. I’m sorry.” You confess and he stares at you again. “I- I can go. I just wanted to give you your gift.” You say, handing him the bag.

“You- you got me something?” He asks, taking the bag and then reaching for your arm as you try to turn away. “Wait.” He begs quietly. “Don’t run away again.”

You don’t move, looking down at his hand on your arm, and you nod, turning towards him again. “I want you to open it.” You say, “and read the note.” You tell him and he nods, setting the bag down on the counter.

The box is one that he recognizes and he shoots you a confused look. “I don’t-“ he starts but you shake your head. “Read the note.” You repeat and he nods, diving back into the bag to pull out a red envelope.

You watch him open the envelope. You had them write on the note “to the one I adore” and you hope he doesn’t reject you. You wanted to show him how you feel, to show him that you know him. Even down to his dream watch.

“I don’t- I can’t believe you bought this.” He admits, looking up at you and looks at you with amazement. “It’s the exact watch I’ve been wanting.” He admits. “I just could never justify buying it for myself. How did you-?”

“Saved up. I got a bonus when I resigned my contract. Got myself a purse and I only made it this far because of you…wanted to say thank you for being there for me every day.” You tell him shyly, “I wanted to show you how I felt without actually telling you.”

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head and sets the card down before he steps closer to you. “I can’t believe you.” He reaches up and caresses your cheek. “I feel bad because I didn’t get you anything.”

You shake your head against his palm, “it’s fine. I didn’t know when I would give you this. I’ve had it for a while. Trying to summon up the courage to tell you how I felt, to not be terrified.” You bite your lip as his dark eyes burn into yours.

“You shouldn’t have been terrified.” Max scoffs quietly. “I’ve not actually slept with anyone in months, nearly a  year.” He admits. “Too busy being hung up on my co-worker.”

You lean into his palm and reach out to caress his cheeks with your hands. “Gladys the cleaner?” You tease and he chuckles, “damn. How did you know?” He asks and you giggle, leaning in to nudge your nose against his. “Please don’t break my heart.” You plead, “because it’s yours.”

“I sat home all weekend and sulked because you left.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “I don’t want something casual. If we do this, I want it to be a real relationship. Dates in, dates out in town, sleepovers and being disgusting together.” He smirks at you. “Everything.”

“People already think we are fucking. The unofficially married couple of daytime tv. I don’t see why we can’t make it official? I want to be disgusting with you, Phillips.” You grin, “I want everything with you.”

“Yeah?” Max grins back at you and leans in to nudge his nose against yours. “You know what we didn’t do Friday?” He asks teasingly. “I didn’t see how fucking hard you can cum on my tongue.”

You whimper, your hands sliding down to caress his neck and his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You can find out if you want? I want to see how much you cum down my throat too.” You murmur, sliding your hand lower until you’re rubbing his semi through his sweats. “I gotta say, I love you in casual wear.”

“Yeah?” He groans quietly, hardening under your touch. “I think I love you in leggings. You like it for the easier access?” He twitches when you squeeze him and pant softly. “Baby. I- fuck, can I touch you?” He begs, a gentleman despite his bragging. “Please let me touch you.”

“I think I’ll have to kill you if you don’t touch me, Phillips.” You demand playfully, reaching into his sweats to pull his hard cock out. “God, I didn’t get a good look and - no wonder you’re so damn cocky.” You groan and let go of him to spit in your hand, wrapping your fingers around his girth.

Max would chuckle, but he’s too busy diving under your shirt to cup your tits. “Want you naked this time.” He moans, rocking his hips into your hand. “Touch you everywhere. Fuck, baby, I- should I eat you out first, have you sit on my face or kneel between those pretty thighs?” The good thing about getting up so fucking early is that it’s not even noon yet, he’s got the rest of the day to spend with you if you don’t run away again.

You whimper when he squeezes your tits over your bra. "Fuck, Max. However you want me. I am yours." You promise, "just touch me." You plead, pressing your thighs together to get some friction.

Max leans in and bites your jaw. “Come on, baby.” He coos, excited to touch you properly. “Want to show you my bedroom.” He teases. “Give you the full Max Phillips tour.”

You would normally roll your eyes but right now, you desperately need him. The ghost of his touch has been on your mind since Friday and you need it, you need him. He guides you into his bedroom and it's clean, the bed is made. “I like your style, Phillips.” You smile at him as he lets go of your hand so he can pull your shirt over your head.

“Can’t sleep in a messy room.” He admits, although he tosses your shirt to the floor with a grin. “But I will happily leave your clothes on the floor allllllll night.” He promises, unhooking your bra with two fingers before dragging it down so he can wrap his lips around one of your nipples.

You gasp and arch your chest into his mouth, your hand quickly finding purchase in his hair. “Shit Max.” You whine when he bites down and you love it, you love how he seems so hungry for you.

Max growls against your skin, loving how you start to tug on his hair. His hands tug down at your leggings before he pulls away to push you down onto his bigger than needed bed. Grinning when you bounce slightly and he goes back to attacking your pants. “Fuck.”

You help him by kicking them off and his fingers are hooking into your panties, dragging them down your legs. “Fuck baby. I need you.” You beg, dripping wet for him and his hair is not gelled, falling into his face and your heart clenches at the grin on his face as he crawls up your body.

“You’ve got me.” He promises, stopping to nip, lick and kiss different places on your body. Stopping and staring at you with a serious expression on his face. “You’re beautiful.” He murmurs softly before leaning in to press his lips to yours.

You slide your hands down to caress his back as his tongue slides into your mouth. His cock is heavy against your thigh and you grab his shirt in your hands, wanting to see more of him. “Take this off.” You demand, tugging on his shirt.

He chuckles, pushing onto his knees to comply. “So pushy,” he teases, grinning as he tosses it away and starts to tug his sweats down over his ass. “I like it. Order me around baby, tell me to lick your pussy until you cream in my face.”

You giggle at the enthusiastic look on his face. “Want you to lick my pussy until I soak your face.” You demand, grabbing his face to drag him down between your thighs, maybe pulling on his hair a little too hard but his resounding groan tells you he likes it.

Max loves when a woman is demanding, taking what she wants because he also loves to do the same. A true switch when it comes to the bedroom. “Fuck, you have such a pretty pussy.” He groans when he sees your wet folds. “So tight too.” He tells you before he lunges forward to bury his tongue inside you.

Your cry echoes in his large bedroom and you moan his name, your hips immediately thrusting up into his mouth as he slides his tongue through your folds. “Holy shit, Max.” You throw your head back as he sucks on your clit.

He chuckles against your clit, sliding a hand between your thighs and he starts to rub your entrance to gather your slick before curling two fingers inside you. Loving how quickly you clench down on them as he licks at your nerves expertly.

His fingers and his tongue are magic. No wonder he has the reputation he has when it's so damn good. You whimper and lift your leg onto his shoulder so his fingers push deeper. "Holy - holy shit." You choke when he curls them just right and his breath washes over your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” Max coos, completely obsessed with the way you whimper his name. “Be a good girl and cum for me. Cum all over my fingers and face, pretty girl.” He keeps curling his fingers and sucks your clit back into his mouth as he watches you intently, wanting to witness the moment you cum.

"Oh shit. Shit. Just- fuck - just like that." You whine as he sucks your clit like those stupid caramels he unwraps between segments. You can't deny him as he curls his fingers just right and you cum, clamping down on his thick digits.

You’re louder than that Friday, of course you are. You are in a private bedroom where you won’t be discovered if you scream his name. Plus, this orgasm is completely centered around you, Max continues to pump his fingers and suck in your clit to work you through it. Greedy for your sounds and the way you soak his fingers.

When it becomes too much, you push him away, gasping his name, and you grab his shoulder, dragging him up your body. "I wanna-" You don't voice your desires as you shift to push him back on the bed, shifting to kneel between his legs. "God." You murmur as you wrap your fingers around his cock. 

"Baby. You don't-" His protest dies on his lips as you lean forward to wrap your lips around the head of his cock. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” Max hisses in pleasure as your mouth takes his cock. Twitching and groaning your name when he feels you swallow around him. “Never-never thought I’d see this.” He admits breathlessly. “But I love the view.”

Your eyes crinkle as you smile around his dick, taking him deeper, and you love the way his jaw drops. "You are gorgeous." He murmurs and you slide your hand along his chest, caressing his skin as you start to bob your head.

It’s quite possibly the best fucking blowjob he’s ever had. Not sure if it’s because you are so eager to blow him, or that it’s just you, but you have him breathless and gripping the duvet quickly. “Baby, baby, you are so good. You’re gonna make me cum and I can’t do that right now.” He whines after you swallow around him again.

You reluctantly pull off of his cock, moving fast to straddle his thighs and you shuffle closer, sitting up until you can grip his cock and notch him at your entrance. You look into those dark eyes and sink slowly down onto him.

“Shiiiiiiiiiit.” Max grabs your hips but he doesn’t try to control you, just hanging on while your walls surround him. “Can we do the show just like this?” He pants out, “you sitting on my cock? Fuck, baby.”

“We’d either get no viewers or a ton of viewers for daytime tv.” You giggle, caressing his chest and you lean in to kiss his neck. “You feel so good inside of me, Max.” You murmur, kissing his jaw as you lift your hips until you’re sinking back down onto him.

Max blows out a loud breath, sliding his hands up and down your back. “I’m trying not to blow my load here, sweet cheeks. Don’t mistake that. Fuck, you feel so amazing. Like a fucking glove.”

You moan, loving the way he twitches inside of you. “All yours. Yours baby.” You promise and lean in to kiss him softly before you start to rock your hips, taking him deep inside of you every time you sink down onto his cock. He’s so deep and you aren’t in a rush for this to be over.

The pace is slower than before and Max groans every time you rock your hips. “Fuck baby.” He whispers, turning his head to kiss along your neck. Loving how you are slowly unraveling him.

You rock back onto him, caressing his neck and sliding your fingers through his hair. “God, I love you.” You murmur, shifting to press your lips to his, your hands cupping his cheeks.

His breath catches, hearing you say it like that for the first time. “I love you too, baby.” He promises, lifting up to kiss you thoroughly. His hand slides up to your neck and he drags you closer, loving how your tits press against his chest and he slides his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss.

You savor the kiss, moaning into his mouth, and you whimper his name as he kisses along your jaw. You bounce on his cock a little faster, wanting him to cum for you. “Fuck, baby. I- I want you to fill me up.” You murmur, nudging your nose against his.

“Shiiiit.” Max hisses. “That is so fucking sexy.” He admits with a breathless laugh. Watching your tits bounce and he reaches back to slap your ass.

You groan as he helps you bounce harder on his cock. “Fuck baby. Yes. Yes! Just like that. Oh God. You’re hitting just right.” You ramble, lost in the sensations as he rocks you on his cock and the coarse hairs at the base of his cock rub against your clit.

Max chuckles at how desperate you sound, how greedily your cunt clenches around him. Groaning as he rocks you harder and plants his feet to thrust into you. “Want you to cum.” He grunts. “On my cock this time.”

You whimper, "gonna - oh God. Ma- Max. Oh fuck. Maxxxx." You squeal. clamping down on his cock and you cry out as he thrusts up at the right angle and sends you over the edge, making you shake against him as you orgasm.

Max chokes out your name, wrapping his arms around you and starting to thrust up into you wildly. Letting his own desires overtake the sedate pace and chase his own orgasm now that you’ve cum.

You let him thrust up into you, making you moan as he extends your climax. “Baby. I need - I want you to cum for me.” You beg, kissing his neck, and you end up biting his earlobe. “Cum for me, Max.”

“Ohhh shit.” You biting him throws him over the edge. Squeezing you tight, he rocks his hips up to bury himself inside you. Groaning as his spurts of cum paint your walls.

You caress his neck, running your finger through his hair as you kiss all over his face. His fingers dig into your flesh but you don’t care, loving how he feels surrounding you. “I love you, Phillips.” You murmur, enjoying how he feels surrounding you. “I’m sorry I ran away.” You murmur, knowing you aren’t running now.

“I love you too.” Max hums softly. “If you run this time, I’m coming after you. I don’t give a damn who knows it.” His arms loosen slightly and he looks into your eyes when you lean back. “Will you go to dinner with me? Not tonight, because we couldn’t get reservations anywhere, but I want to take you out properly.”

You nod, unable to say no to him and you lean in to kiss him again. “I’m not running away. I want the world to know about us. It’s - I’ve been thinking, this could make our career. The TV husband and wife that become husband and wife.” You tease and Max’s eyes widen. 

“Marriage? Slow your roll baby.” He says and you giggle, rolling your eyes. “I’m joking. I want to marry you. Shit, I’ve never said that to anyone. I want you baby. I’m in this for the long haul.” He promises and you nod, leaning in to kiss him. 

“Mrs Max Phillips has a ring to it.” You murmur and he chuckles, “who says I wouldn’t take your last name? I’m a modern man.” He winks at you and you snort, leaning in to nudge your nose against his. You don’t know why you’ve been running from your feelings and now that you are here with Max, you’ll never run again. He’s now your home.

****

“It’s that time of year again.” Max grins into the camera as the red light reappears. “Valentine’s Day. The day where men either panic as they figure out to impress their partners or prepare to take the next step.” He clears his throat as he looks over at you. His girlfriend of a year, even though the public was still guessing at how serious the relationship was. There had been plenty of photos of dinners out and cozily walking around town together. While you weren’t discreet, you both decided to be mum about the status of your relationship. Especially after a closed door meeting with the producers. Everyone at the station knew, and that was all that mattered. “Tell me, Valentine’s Day proposal, tacky or romantic?” He asks you. “I personally think romantic if done right, but what do you think?”

You hum, not picking up his reasoning for the question when it's on the teleprompter. "I think...if it's done right, it's romantic. If it's a 'shut up ring' then it's tacky." You explain, turning back to the prompter. "So today, we have a big surprise. Someone is going to be getting engaged on the show." You grin, still not suspicious as the producers told you about a guy who was going to surprise his girlfriend. "Look at Max." You read the teleprompter and frown, turning to see Max out of his chair. "What are you doing?"

“Baby, honey, sweet cheeks, I don’t think there’s anything tacky about the way that I feel about you.” Max tells you as he takes your hand and kneels down in front of you. “I couldn’t think of any place more romantic than the place I met you, the place I fell in love with your laugh, your heart, your brain and everything that makes up my partner at work.” He smiles at the shocked look on your face. “I wanted to propose today, since one year ago, we finally confessed how we felt and it’s been a magical year. So now I just have one little question.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring box. “Will you be my partner in life? Marry me, darling, be my wife please?”

Your eyes widen and you glance around at the crew who are grinning at you and Max. You inhale shakily, tears stinging in your eyes as the man you love kneels in front of you. "Baby. I - yes. A million times, yes!" You squeal and shift to kneel down in front of him, cupping his cheeks to kiss him without even caring about the ring, you're more excited to marry the man you love.

Grinning against your lips, Max knows that you’ve just made history, a morning show host proposing to his co-host on live tv. It will be the talk of the town. He doesn’t care about that or what the executives think. All he cares about is that Valentine’s Day is the day you became an official couple, the day you agreed to marry him, and next year - you’ll get married on Valentine’s Day. He will make sure that every Valentine’s Day you spend with him will be one to remember.

#pedro pascal #max phillips #max philips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips smut #max phillips imagine #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips fic #human!max phillips

[tightjeansjavi]

Pedro Pascal Character Community Fic Recs-Writer Recs 2023 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Thank you to everyone who sent in their fic/writer recs 🤍 I absolutely loved compiling this list for all of you! To all of the writers, thank you for everything that you do in this community ✨

***PLEASE HEED THE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS FOR EACH WRITERS FICS/MASTERLISTS. ALL CONTENT IS +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT***

**Rec’s are in no particular order**

@radiowallet masterlist fic: Pretend Alleyways Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno

@chronically-ghosted masterlist fic: TOTWHTFIFI Max Phillips x f!reader

@for-a-longlongtime fic: I Fought The Law Tim Rockford x Javi Peña x reader

@sin-djarin masterlist fic: Homecomings Multiple Pedro Characters

@secretelephanttattoo masterlist fic: Fort Bravo Dieter Bravo x gn!reader fic: Donut Debauchery Marcus Pike x f!reader

@wannab-urs masterlist fic: in the a.m Javier Peña x f!reader

@corazondebeskar masterlist fic: well it’s love, make it hurt dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

@beskarandblasters masterlist fic: me and my husband Married!Din Djarin x F!Reader fic: Mothman Fever Mothman!Joel Miller x F!Reader fic: apotheosis Sith!Din Djarin x Rebel Spy!Reader

@planet-marz1 masterlist fic: I Know it’s For the Better Joel Miller x f!reader

@idolatrybarbie fic: the world tipped on its side stunt pilot!francisco "frankie" morales x fem!stunt coordinator!reader

@proxima-writes masterlist fic: my tears ricochet husband's best friend!joel miller x female reader

@pedge-page masterlist fic: cravings Frankie Morales x F!Reader

@ghosmooth-operator fic: I've Got To Fill The Void no outbreak!Joel x f!reader

@mrsmando masterlist fic: Sweet Treat frankie morales x f!plus-size!reader

@joelscruff masterlist fic: Feelings on Fire joel miller x f!reader

@frannyzooey masterlist fic: Short Days Long Nights Joel Miller x f!reader

@chaotic-mystery masterlist fic: code red dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader fic: ‘Atta Girl Joel Miller x f!plus sized reader

@justagalwhowrites masterlist fic: Lavender Joel Miller x Female Reader fic: New in Town BFD!Joel Miller x Female Reader

@chloeangelic masterlist fic: seeking what is desirable Joel Miller x f!reader

@amanitacowboy masterlist fic: blue dream frankie morales x f!reader

@pedgito masterlist fic: meet me in the woods Joel Miller x fem!reader

@atinylittlepain masterlist fic: apothecary joel miller x witchy!reader

@intheorangebedroom masterlist fic: pleased to meet you Frankie Morales x Gabrielle Tourneur (OFC)/French fem!Reader with a dash of Ben Miller x Gabrielle Tourneur (OFC)/French fem!Reader

@smok3r7 masterlist fic: Latching On To You Joel Miller x f!reader

@joelsgreys masterlist fic: a safe haven Joel Miller x f!reader

@5oh5 masterlist fic: From Eden Joel Miller x f!reader

@netherfeildren masterlist fic: The Cassandra Complex Din Djarin x f!reader

@cavillscurls masterlist fic: divined dynasty Mafia!leader Joel Miller x f!reader

@atticrissfinch masterlist fic: meet me in the back sleazy gas station clerk!joel x fem!reader

@kiwisbell masterlist fic: Loser Frankie Morales x f!reader

@bageldaddy masterlist fic: sundown Joel Miller x fem!reader

@hier--soir masterlist fic: a lover’s pinch Professor! Joel Miller x f!reader fic: raising cain spy!Din Djarin x spy!ofc

@theywhowriteandknowthings masterlist fic: the princess and the duke (cowritten by @angelofsmalldeath-codeine) Dave York x reader

@sweetercalypso masterlist fic: Texas Hold ‘Em Joel Miller x afab!reader

@janaispunk masterlist fic: Making Forts Under Covers Joel Miller x f!reader

@cool-iguana fic: refuge

@ilovepedro masterlist

@macfrog masterlist

@saradika masterlist

@penvisions masterlist

#community fic recs #fic recs #pedro pascal fanfiction #end of the year fic recs #fanfiction community #writing community #pedro pascal characters #boost #signal boost!!

[misspearly1]

Day Twenty: Double Penetration - Max Phillips

Kinktober22 List

WC: 3.2K Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Early relationship stages (Max and Reader are dating). Smut. Max finding Readers Sex Toys then being Silly and Perverted with them. Panty Sniffing. Unprotected PIV sex. Anal play. Butt plugs. Vibrators. Fluff. Humour. AN: Ok, so I started writing this when I was feeling giggly and humorous, so I hope you found what I wrote Max doing as funny as I did 🤣. Enjoy the read, my lovelies!

-

You should have known better. You should have known that Max Phillips was up to something when he asked to go back into your apartment to take a leak and took too long to return. He’s like a child. You can’t leave him unattended for too long, otherwise he’ll get up to no good, doing shit he isn’t supposed to. You should have known better. 

Standing in the hallway outside of your apartment, you look through the open door and call for him. “Hey! You better be finishing up there, Max.” There was no answer, just silence. You look down to your watch, seeing that you’re already ten minutes late for your dinner reservation and sigh frustratedly.

This is your third date with the vampire and things are moving at a comfortable pace. Well, it’s moving at your pace. If Max had it his way, you’d already be back at his place, naked and rolling around in the sheets. 

After a whole minute goes by still with no answer from him, the silence quickly filling with mischief, you head back inside your apartment and march straight to the bathroom. The light wasn’t even on and the door was wide open with Max nowhere to be seen inside. A noise from your bedroom caught your attention and your stomach dropped. “Oh no… please no.” You groan. 

Rushing over to your bedroom, you push the door open and freeze with a mixture of emotions coursing through your bloodstream. In your bedroom, the man stood with your panties over his head, the crotch of the your underwear over his nose, holding a plethora of sex different toys in both hands. Max had even put your chained nipple clamps around his neck, wearing them like a necklace, and you both just stood staring at each other. 

Initially, you were mad; madder than a hornet because he was snooping around where he shouldn’t be, looking into your pretty pink box filled with sex toys, but it was the panties over his head that made you feel… amused and giggly. You tried to fight it, with all your might, you tried to fight your own emotions but it was useless, especially with the way he looked at you with an unbroken ‘I am proud of myself’ smirk on his face. 

Big brown eyes sparkling with glee, he rested his weight on one hip, tilting his head to the side a little, as if you were the problem right now, not him. “What?” He chokes out a laugh and shrugs. “Either tell me off or laugh with me, toots. One or the other.” 

“What th- I can’t do this.” You drop your gaze, still trying to fight back the urge to laugh. “What do you think you’re doing, Max? These things are private. They’re not for you to see or touch-” You look up at him, your lips rolling together with hilarity as your cheeks burn. “-And my panties are not for you to wear over your head so you can sniff the crotch either.” 

“Um. Well you see the thing is,” The man begins explaining himself flamboyantly, waving your toys around in his hands. “I’ve never really been the type to follow the rules. And you already know that. So, I would argue that this is kinda your own fault.” Max points to you, with your dildo, and laughs. 

“Max stop.” You shake your head at him - giggling. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t look at him and be angry. The sight before your eyes is too comical not to laugh at. He’s holding all kinds of toys in his hands. Cuffs, dildos and butt plugs. It’s as if he saw the bright pink box and zoned in on it, then started pulling everything out excitedly to look at all your dirty little secrets. But it’s still those damn panties over his head. They were thongs, so the crotch was pulling his nose up a little, like a pig's nose, and he just looked so funny, cute and silly. 

“God. What am I going to do with you, huh?” You sigh while walking towards him. Taking the toys from his hands and dropping them into the box, you look back into his eyes and reach for your underwear. “I swear you are a fifteen year-old boy trapped inside of a grown ass man.” 

“Hey, what are you doing?” He protests as you throw the underwear into the laundry basket. “They weren’t used. I got them out of your drawer, toots.” 

“Yeah, I know.” You retort, eyes widening like you were mad. “But they’ve been on your face and God knows where your face has been before you got here.” 

“Oh.” Max relents with a nod of understanding. You were right to think that. His face was covered in blood thirty minutes before arriving at your apartment after devouring a couple batches of blood like he was starved. He’s got an older lady friend that works in a blood drive and she drops some off every week for him. “Well I don’t know about God or anything,” He steps closer, perversity and lust burning red in his eyes, “But I do know where my face will be later tonight, baby.”

You shake your head again, this time with a little disgust, though you were still amused, especially with the way he was wiggling his eyebrows. Moving back when he reaches out, you know that look on his face all too well and also know that you’ll struggle to fight it once he wraps his arms around your lower back. “We’re not doing this right now. We’re already late for dinner, Max.” You explain and don’t fall for the puppy dog eyes. 

“Not even just a little bit of this?” He counters, stepping forward and still reaching out with grabby hands to hold you. “I only want one kiss. I swear, gorgeous.” The man promises, but the little smile on his lips betrays him. You’re not stupid, you know Max better than he does most days, and he wants more than just a kiss. And you do too, but you wanted to at least make it to the fifth date before having sex with him. 

“Alright, just a kiss.” You fail and give in. His natural charm is just too good to ignore. Max can’t glamour you, he gave you a necklace filled with special plants and herbs that blocks his powers when around you, therefore his alluring technique that he used just now was all him and not the vampire. 

However, as his hands snake around your back and he leans down to seal his lips over yours in a chaste, soft-like kiss, you pull him back for another. Not the other way around. “I thought it was just one?” He mumbles, calling you out, to which you cup your delicate hands over his cheeks and reply. “Just shut up and kiss me, Maxie.” 

An offer that no sane minded man could refuse, he does shut up and kiss you. Lips pressed against yours passionately, conveying without a need for words about how hungry he was for your touch. You don’t stop him when one of his hands moves down to your ass, in fact, you moan into his mouth, wordlessly welcoming him in to take more. Which he does. Max gropes the meaty flesh of your ass, grabbing handfuls of it like they were his own personal handles to pull you into him. 

“Fuck.” You make a surprised sound when feeling his fingers contacting your heat through your underwear. It was apparently enough to make Max feral as he bent his knees slightly to sweep you up off the floor by your thighs and wrap your legs around his back. “I guess dinner's off tonight?” He asks, not because he cares for dinner, but he cares whether or not you want this. 

Max knows you wanted to wait to have sex and tried his best to respect that, but he couldn’t help take a sneak peak at your sex toys when seeing the bright pink box in your closet. The man could smell your desire on the toys regardless that you’ve washed them and could even tell that you’ve used them recently. Today as a matter of fact. He knows you’ve used one of the little vibrators today. The more he looked over your toys, the more turned on he became, but when he heard you coming back into your apartment to find him, he quickly grabbed your panties to put over his face and hoped you’d find it as funny as he did. 

And you did, but he didn’t think you’d get turned on too. “We’re already late,” You sigh breathily, fingers threading through the curls of his hair with a gentle pull. “So we may as well indulge, Maxie.” You giggle, then moan as he slips his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss. Your answer gave the man all the reassurances he needed - gave him the permission to pleasure you. 

“I want-” He breaks the kiss to look into your eyes with request. “-To use your toys too. Would you be ok with that, sexy?” He asks oh so kindly, the sweet voice making you blush. Tugging your lip between your teeth, you nod bashfully in agreement and it drives the man up the wall so see you acting so shy. “You won’t regret this.” He growls and leans in to kiss you again. 

Walking towards the bed and laying you down, Max slides his hands up your dress and hooks his fingers inside your panties to pull them down. Your legs quickly fall open after your underwear was thrown over his shoulder and he takes the invitation by slitting his hips between your thighs, grinding his bulge into your bare pussy. He breaks off again and pulls back to look into your eyes, asking. “Do you want me to go clean your toys again? I had my hands all over them.”

“No,” You moan, shaking your head. “I cleaned them already today. It’s fine, just hurry Max. I’m so horny.” You sink into the bed with a whine from the loss of his bulge pressing into you. He’s so firm and hard down there, it was delightful to feel against your core, but you didn’t want him to stop grinding into you. You wanted him to keep going. “Hang on, baby.” He reassures, and you close your eyes with a nod, waiting patiently for his return. 

Gasping from the noise of your sex toy box being dragged across the floor, you bite your lip and hold back the moan in your throat, knowing that Max is looking around in there trying to decided which toy to use. It made you feel sexy and special. Sexy and special because he’s putting you first, wanting to ramp up the pleasure by adding the toys into sex. It makes your cheeks burn slightly with humiliation because of how badly you want him to fuck you with them. 

“The plugs,” You breath stutters as you still hear him rummaging around for which toy to use. “Choose one of the butt plugs, Max. Start with that.” You suggest, to which the man replies with a deep, husky command. “Turn around and lay on your stomach for me. I got one in my hand for you.” Doing as he asks, you turn around and lay on your stomach. You rest your cheek to the duvet, hands splayed out on the fabric with anticipation. 

“M-Max.” You moan upon feeling his trail of kisses up the backside of your legs, the action making you clench around nothing and your tight little hole pucker. Then you wonder if he even saw the lube, if he would use it or just use his spit. The latter of those two options makes you quiver. “Fuck!” You gasp again, feeling the ice cool touch of the butt plug dancing up your leg. He’s chosen the metal one, you can tell, and you know that it’s the biggest out of your collection. 

“Think you can take it, toots?” He growls against your thigh, tongue darting out to lick a path up your skin, towards where you want it most. “Hm? C’mon now don’t be shy. Answer me.” He whispers seductively, the smirk showing through his tone of voice. “I don’t know,” You answer him honestly while leaning into his touch. “I haven’t used that plug yet, baby.” 

“Haven’t used it yet, have you?” He asks rhetorically, “Well let’s change that, sexy girl.” Lifting your dress up your back, you hear him groan out from the sight of your pussy and ass from this angle, and upon lifting your head to look over your shoulder, you even see the man’s expression as he drinks the image in. It just was pure lust and admiration. Though, he caught you looking at him and locked onto your line of sight. “So pretty and wet, Y/N.” He says, brows pulling together as he keeps glancing at your cunt. “Your lips are pink and puffy-” He pauses to lick his lips, “-I want a taste.” 

“Are you asking for a taste or telling me?” You tease with a smile, then lay your head back down onto the covers, lifting your ass up for him. Max chuckles, finding amusement out of your question, but doesn’t bother wasting anymore time to think of an answer. He was in fact, so fucking hungry and leaned in to satiate himself to delve his tongue between your folds. “Oh fuck,” You sigh, arching your back for him. “That’s it, Maxie.” You praise his actions, hoping it appeases him enough to not stop. 

Listening to the man lap up your juices then swipe his tongue left and right, your hands now grip the bed covers as your toes curl inside your shoes. It feels so good; his tongue feels so good. It’s warm and soft, stroking your clit wonderfully before he moves up to your swollen clit, taking the little num into his mouth with a gentle suck. You hear the pop when he releases your clit and moves back, a groan escaping him as reaches out to spread you apart with his hands. 

“Holy shit!” You jolt with surprise from the cool sensation of your butt plug sliding through your folds. He was gathering your desire with it, using your own slick as lube before spitting on your puckered hole. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.” You babble when he notches the object against your tight ring of muscle. 

“I know, toots. I know.” Max reassures with a comforting tone, squeezing a handful of your ass cheek as he prepares to push the plug inside. It burns as you open up, but his gentle movements and reassuring gestures distract you from the pain. “Easy does it. We’re almost there, gorgeous.” He caressed your ass, rubbing circles on your skin with his finger. “Fuck!” He couldn’t help but admire the way you opened up and took the metal ball inside, your tight ring of muscle pulsing around the bar with the softest whimper slipping past your lips. “Are you ok?” He asks, concerned. 

“Y-yes.” You puff and pant, your pretty cheeks rosy red and your eyes screwed shut. “I’m ok, just… trying to relax.” You admit to him truthfully and Max leans into pepper praising kisses to the globes of your ass, using his fingers to hold the handle of the plug. He likes feeling it move against him as your muscles squeeze. 

“Oh,” He sighs breathily, “Such a good girl taking that big plug in your ass.” Moving away to retrieve something, you whine from the loss of his touch again and he quickly soothes your plight. “Hang on, baby. I got something else for you right here.” You moan at the sound of his zipper being pulled down, eager to feel him stretch your open with his cock. 

While Max removes his clothes, you kick off your shoes and move up the bed a little to get more comfy. When he came back to you, he reached for your dress and helped lift it up your body and over your head before tossing it to one side. “I want you to cum on my cock.” He whispers a request, slipping his hand around to your front while holding a vibrator. “As many times as you can, ok toots?” 

“Mhm.” You nod into the covers, clenching around nothing as he presses the toy to your clit. Max doesn’t turn it on yet, not until he’s inside of you first. Using his free hand, he drags the tip of his cock through your folds, coating himself with your desire before breaching your entrance. 

“Fuuuck me!” A guttural groan is released directly into your ear as he slowly pushes his way inside, savouring the feeling of your velvety walls squeezing around him with every inch that he buries. Bottoming out deep inside, he holds his free hand over yours, finger slipping between yours and kisses your cheek. “Ready, gorgeous?” He asks, to which you whine and nod in reply, already pulsing around him before he turns the vibrator on. 

“Max!” You cry out, jerking away from the vibrator, but pushing towards him buries his cock deeper. It was on the highest setting, the sensation much too powerful to start off with. 

“I got it, I got it.” He whispers quickly and presses the buttons until it is lowered back down to the first setting. Max was about to apologise for the simple mistake, but your moans of pleasure cut him off right before the words could spill for his lips. “Fuck yes, that’s it baby girl.” He praises instead; praises your sweet little sounds in hopes you’ll provide more. “Feel so nice against your clit, huh girl? With my cock buried deep in your pussy.” 

“Yes, yes!” You pant and jerk against him, but no matter which direction you move, each was sensational. “You’re so big and t-t-the plug, Max. Fuck! You’re pushing on the plug!” The man heard the pleasure in your tone, understood how delightful it felt for you that he was adding pressure onto the plug and then acted on it by gently grinding into you. Oh the filthy noises you produced for him, high pitched and croaky, gasping for air with each roll of his hips, your throat was already starting to become dry and cracked. And he loved it.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum like this.” He whines - actually whines. Needy and desperate, he buries his face into the nook of your neck and breathes raggedly into your skin, barely even grinding from how tight you were squeezing him. The grip was strong, vice-like grip kind of strong, though your little movements provided him pleasure as you rotate your hips to pleasure yourself with the vibrator. 

Falling apart for him beautifully, the man experienced the same type of high he gets when drinking blood and fucking at the same time. It was powerful and intoxicating, only he hadn’t drank a drop of your blood or barely made an effort to actually fuck you. The vibrtator did all the work, did all the work for you both and made you climax together as one. When Max discovered your sex toys, he knew instantly that he wanted to explore them with you, but didn’t expect them to be this pleasurable for him too during sex. 

And now that he’s had a taste, he’s insatiable for more.

-

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[oonajaeadira]

I'll Leave a Light On For You

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n. (There is a little description, but it’s still you. Believe me, it will make sense. We’re dealing with the supernatural here.)

Rating: T. 

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons.

A/N: This is my entry for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. While I played one selfish card in my hand and wrote something of a companion to Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are, this can still be read as a standalone.

To my giftee, the amazing and wonderful @artemiseamoon : First of all, I admire you so much and I was really nervous to write for you. But I looked among your generous prompt choices (omgs thank you for so many good choices) and was surprised to find Max as an option. I wasn’t going to choose him at first but then my eye caught “past lives” and something in me zinged. Soul mates, angsty romance, second chance at love… and I’ve been itching to write an angsty Max. I know you are a fan of soft and whump, so all those elements had a party in my heart and here we are. I really hope you’re having a nice holiday and a good time off. Happy Secret Santa, Arte. <3

What we’ve been told is that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That’s almost correct.

The truth is…it’s not just your current life.

It’s all of them.

Max hardly remembers the fear, the pain, the cold of his draining. Even though he knew what was coming, bought into the cult, the human instinct of fight or flight is hard to dismiss no matter how well they’ve been prepped and it was to be expected. But it was a flash in the pan and once he came around to the undead side of things, those pesky human responses were all quickly forgotten.

For a time. Until he saw your light and–

Anyway. Human instincts. Pffft. Adorable. Trading the constant possibility of fear for that of glee, of rapture, of delight? Human instincts are trash. Not to mention their senses, poor suckers. The things they can’t see can’t hear can’t smell can’t taste? Tragic.

If only the feelings weren’t heightened too. It makes some things–some people–hard to ignore–

Feelings were something he could also have done without in his human life–the latest one anyway–and did whatever he could do to avoid.

It wasn’t until he died that he understood why.

As the life drained out of him and the delirium set in, there was a rushing sound, a pull through his soul like the drag of blood from his body, and he was laying, feeble, wailing, bloody and naked among the limbs of his mother.

But not the mother he so recently remembered, the one that showed her approval only when he provided her with some accomplishment worthy of crowing about to her society friends. No, this one was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she died of fever when he was only five years old.

Max saw it all, from within himself and without, remembered the pull of his heart and watched the tears fall down his little face as they nailed his mother’s body in a pine box and put it in a hole at the top of a hill under a tree.

He always imagined he heard her singing to him in the grasses after that.

The world welcomed a new century, and not long afterward, he was a young man, looking to take over his father’s wine fields. But the chance was stolen when an archduke was shot. Max–Pierre, as he was called then–and all of the close friends and cousins he had were thrust into a great war. 

He was the only one to walk out of the fray. And when he came home, he found his father’s fields had been burned and that nothing remained.

That was a dark time. Ten years of looking back rather than looking forward. Ten years–it went by so fast–while he watched the world around him try to repair itself and find its footing again, not realizing that the roots of evil still grew beneath the soil.

He kept his head down and his hands working wherever he could.

But then he met a woman.

And she was Pierre’s life. Max’s life. Before he was Max.

It happened in the winter, just before Noël. And her name was Yaëlle.

Max remembered that before she even told him as he watched the story of this strange old life.

Yaëlle. It means “beautiful one.”

“It also means ‘goat,’” she’d said. “That seems more fitting.” She never thought of herself pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t fashionable and maybe she was stronger than she was dainty, with a weak chin and curly dark hair she couldn’t control. But the light in her eyes when she laughed–and what a laugh, like a little bird–the sway of her hips and the confidence in her carriage, her air of easy care and comfort caught his heart like a surly bear in the prettiest trap.

She’d simply been passing through the marché de Noēl, looking but not stopping, taking the kerchief off her head so the snow could land in her curls, when a child approached her selling buns in the shape of a cross and she gave the child a franc before sitting down at the statue of some cardinal or other in the center of the square.

She could have sat on any of the other benches, but she chose to plonk down next to Max. Next to Pierre.

“You want this?” she asked, offering the bun. “Not really my thing.”

How could she have known he was hungry? That he was lonely? That he was facing the market rather than the river because he was trying not to succumb to his inclinations, a pull to walk out onto the thin ice and let himself be taken by the stream?

He was instantly entranced by her. He felt himself smiling. Something shifted within. A destiny.

“You sure?” he asked.

She peered at him, scrutinized his whole self like she could see a glow around him and was looking for its source.

She found it in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I already ate three hand pies today. The last thing I need is more bread.”

He laughed for the first time in a long while. They talked. He ate.

On Christmas Eve when everyone was at the evening’s mass, she was there again, sitting alone, and this time it was he who had hot food and came to join her on the bench while the night was silent and cold and the stars were twinkling.

It was then that he learned why she was not in church–her folk did not observe Noēl. And she learned why he was not in church–he had lost his faith, that everyone he had ever loved was taken and there were not enough candles in the sanctuary to light for all of them.

“What if I lit one?” she’d asked.

“Who would you light it for?”

“For you. So you don’t have to sit in the dark.” When he was only silent, she said, “You fought in the Great War, didn’t you.” And when he looked away–when he shut her out–she continued. “My husband fought in that war. And he never could find his heart again. He said he loved me, but I don’t think he ever really did, not all the way. But I loved him all the way and when he put an end to his own life I thought I would have to do it too. Instead, I sat in the dark for a long time. It’s something I can see in a person. I can see you’re sitting in the dark.”

They stayed quiet for a time on the bench under the statue of the cardinal and when the church bells started to toll–signaling the magic of the empty square would soon be disrupted by the mass emptying into its streets–she stood and pulled her coat around her.

“My home is down that street, a little one with a red roof. It’s warm and I’ve plenty of hand pies--I made too many. I’ll leave a candle in the window until I’m asleep. You’re always welcome there, Max.”

And then she smiled and turned down the avenue where she’d pointed.

He blinked. Just before she reached the edge of the square he called out, “My name isn’t Max. It’s Pierre.”

She turned and gave a sly wink. “Good to know. I think once you get a belly full of my pies, you’ll let me call you whatever I want.”

He only sat long enough to watch the churchgoers file out of the holy service, many of them with people they loved, humming, happy, cheeks glowing in that way when one steps into a fresh cold world after being an hour or two soaking in the warmth. And once the square was empty again, he stood, gave only a fleeting look to the river, and then walked resolutely down Yaëlle’s street.

A little house with a red roof and a candle in the window.

He stayed for supper and came back many nights after.

And then one night he never left.

Max recalled the rest of that life with a lurking despair. While he couldn’t quite remember how it went, something in him carried it through to the life he’d just left…and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was yet.

A few years of joy, of the greatest love he’d felt since his childhood. Like the mother he’d lost, another woman who was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she couldn’t anymore.

They never celebrated Noël as the others did, but in their own way. For a handful of years they would go sit on the bench in the square and hand out pies to their neighbors and anyone who came to join them where they sat. They would listen to the singing in the church and watch the stars scintillate overhead. They would leave their shoes by the fireplace and wake up to find gifts they’d bought for each other with the little francs that they had. And they would never talk about what they would do in the future, because they knew it would be this and that’s all they aspired to and it would be a happy life.

And Max watched Pierre forget about the rot that still ran its roots through the soil.

And one day soldiers came to town when he was out in the fields and they took Yaëlle and some of the other dark-haired, joyful, bird-laughing folk about town and murdered them. By the time he returned for the evening, the soldiers had gone and left him nothing but a ravaged house and a body to bury.

There’s nothing he could have done, the mourning neighbors told him, the tide was rising. If he had fought them, they would have shot him too.

Pierre said that it would have been better that way.

Pierre stopped working in the fields when he started to hear his mother’s voice singing among the grasses again…now joined by Yaëlle’s sweet alto.

He had one more Noël in that life. He drank as much as he could take without falling over and stumbled out to sit on the bench in the square, weeping once the churchgoers had gone. He didn’t say a word, but Max remembered what Pierre was thinking then.

Love hurts too much. It is always taken. It’s not worth the trouble.

And then Pierre fell asleep on that bench and never woke up again.

There wasn’t much time between that first life and this one, maybe a few decades in the dark. Just long enough for a voice to reach him in the void–a voice he knew well and loved with his whole heart for only a short time–to say,

“That was a good first try, Max. Let’s give it another go, okay? Another place, another time, when it’s not so hard. I’ll leave a light on for you.”

____

Max’s life had been shorter this time. But he’d learned a thing or two and kept love at arm’s length. Sex was good and companionship was fine, but he wouldn’t invest in anything that could drain him in an instant and leave him destitute. 

Now power, that could fill the void. 

So when fortune smiled and he was given the choice, he swallowed hard and put his neck to the teeth, traded in his humanity for power that nobody could take away from him…and a heart that had no need for warmth.

He was wrong about that last point though.

And he didn’t even know it until he saw something that humans couldn’t see.

Heard something they couldn’t hear, a long ago and far away voice singing.

Smelled you on the wind.

Followed it to you–a woman, just another human woman–walking out of a bar along some street in the city.

And he saw a light glowing from within you.

You wore another face, another body, but all he saw was you.

Yaëlle.

Beautiful one.

He followed you that night, and several nights after. He was the reason that car swerved before it hit you, the reason you weren’t approached by that seedy guy at the club. He was the reason you kept looking behind you now and then and when you finally saw him–having dinner at the same restaurant, totally by coincidence, you on a friendly outing, him trying to charm a client into a contract–it broke his heart that you did not know him instantly.

He found he was surprised that he still had a heart to break. He’d been so fucking careful.

Max almost gave into the anger, the disappointment. Replayed the pathetic way Pierre let himself be brought down and tried to remind himself not to let himself be broken again.

But then he heard your voice in a way only those who walk in death can.

Let’s give it another go. I’ll leave a light on for you.

____

Heightened feeling is the one drawback of all this power. It’s one thing to latch onto a target, to fixate on some middle manager or accountant or IT specialist until there’s a good time to finally strike. That is an itch that can be satisfied with a well-timed, fear-seasoned, adrenaline-soaked kill.

But love sinks its fangs in and doesn’t let go. It sucks at something that can’t be drained, has no end, can never get enough. It can drive an immortal--a never-ending being of heightened existence--to madness.

There will come a day in the future when you’ll trust him for no good reason, when you’ll understand the monster he is and whisper under your breath against your better judgment, when you’ll invite him in. For dinner.

And he’ll come around again and again.

And then one day, he’ll stay.

And you’ll yawn ask him on the edge of sleep, “Why me? Of all these humans that you could easily enthrall and have without question, why choose this?”

Max will look at you in the darkness and see nothing but your light.

You won’t understand when he puts on a show of an irritated sigh and tells you, “You gave me another chance, sweetmeats,” but you’ll doze in his cold arms, absolutely confident as he is that nothing will ever hurt you again. Including himself.

And that night he’ll stay until you wake.

He won’t have you sit in the darkness alone.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader

[supernaturalgirl20]

Love to Hate you

Part 5

Pairings: Max Phillips x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), angst, mentions of drinking blood, cursing, enemies to lovers.

Summary: You and Max have been working together for the last year and there is only one thing you have in common - you both hate each other! Now you are both in competition with each other for Ted’s job. Who will win? Who will lose? Will you both realise that’s there’s a fine line between love and hate?

Part 4

Comments and reblog really appreciated 🥰

Co-Written with @misspearly1

Max insisted on driving and honestly, you were grateful - your anxiety was becoming overwhelming and you would not have had the focus to drive safely.

Fidgeting with your fingers - something you did to try to calm yourself when you were like this, you closed your eyes briefly and took a deep breath inwards, trying to calm your racing heart. Please let this day go off without an incident from Dad.

Max threw a sideways glance at you, a worrisome feeling settling in the pit of his stomach with what he had just heard in your mind - he’s never seen you like this - and it wasn’t something he wanted to get used to either.

“Everything ok, toots? You seem a little on edge.” Opening your eyes and looking in his direction, you gave him your best fake smile. “I’m fine, promise.”

“Hmm, and if I believed that, I’d believe anything.” Max narrowed his eyes on the road and insisted that you share what's on your mind without trying to pry it out of you. “Come on, you can talk to me, Toots. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye but I care about you and I want to help if I can.”

“I appreciate it, Max, I do, but you can’t help me. My family - more specifically my father - is a fucking pain in my ass and he hates me.”

“Come on he doesn’t hate you, parents don’t hate their kids - they can get angry, sure, disappointed, but not hate.”

“Ha, you don’t know my father. I’ve never been able to do anything right, not in his eyes anyway.” The words spilled from your mouth like it was normal, it was normal and it shouldn’t be, but it’s something that you’re used to now.

“Then why don’t we just say fuck it and not go. I’ll drive us anywhere?” Max countered with a different idea, a much better idea than attending this wedding that you’ve dreaded for months. If only it were that easy.

“I can’t. The irony of it all is that I'm constantly seeking his approval and if I don’t show up - I’ll be disowned.” Shooting down the suggestion, Max reaches over and places his hand on your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. “I could just kill him?”

Erupting into a fit of giggles, it really shouldn’t have been funny but your emotions were all over the place. You’re laughing so hard that you could barely see Max through your watery eyes. God, I love you.

The laughter died off with that thought, amusement had been replaced with another worry. You were so caught up in the moment that you forgot that he can listen in if he wants to, so the question was, did he hear it?

Max is frozen. He definitely heard it and he kept his eyes straight ahead with doubt circling his mind. Did she just say what I think she said?

***

Arriving at the venue - an overpriced hotel with too many sparkly chandeliers - you take a deep breath before exiting the car. Max appears at your side, wrapping an arm around your waist as you both make your way inside.

Fake smiles and formal greetings are made as you pass distant relatives and family friends; people that you only ever see at events like this. Max can already hear your heart begin to beat fast again and he leans down to whisper in your ear, “it’s ok, breath, I’ve got you.”

Fuck! If you didn't already love the man, you certainly would after that. A simple yet meaningful gesture of reassurance in a time that you really needed it made you feel weak in the knees. You smile up at him with appreciative eyes. “Thanks, for coming with me. I’m glad you're here, Max.”

There’s that flutter in his chest again and he battles with himself silently. Say it! Say it now before you lose your nerve. “There you are, you're late.” Max’s thoughts of saying what's on his mind were halted as he followed your gaze to see an older man approaching - small, slightly rounded stomach and the only resemblance you have to him are your eyes. Those gorgeous eyes that Max loves so much.

“We're not late, half the guests haven’t even arrived yet by the looks of it.” You defended yourself and Max to your Dad, but he fired back. “Don’t take that tone with me-” Your father stopped mid sentence, looking at Max with scrutiny, “-and who is this?”

Immediately taking action, the vampire moves his hand from around you and goes to shake his hand, making sure to squeeze tight. Your fathers face scrunches in pain a little before you nudge his side. “I’m Max Phillips, Y/N’s boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to meet your sir.” He doesn’t say anything as he turns his gaze back to you. “Your boyfriend can’t sit up front with us.”

“Why not?” You realtialted, to which your father retorted. “He isn’t family.” Your blood boiled with the audacity of this man and you fought back, again. “Max is my boyfriend, he’s my family.”

“He still can’t sit with us,” your father states before getting distracted by some guests, turning away from you and ending this discussion. I’m going to fucking kill him. You try to storm after him but Max wraps his arms around your waist, stopping you. “He isn’t worth it baby. How about you go sit with them and I’ll find a seat at the back.”

“Hell no! I’m sitting with you, come on.” You wrap your hand in his and pull him along to the back where you take your seats. Max can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. I am so fucking proud of you.

***

The ceremony is beautiful. Your sister is a stunning bride and her husband Gerry absolutely adores her. Even though you’ve always been the shadow in her light, constantly compared against each other, you're happy for her. “Ever thought about it?” Max whispers in your ear as you make your way to the reception hall.

“Though about what?” You asked. Turning to face him as he jerked his chin outwards with his answer, “This. Marriage?”

“Hasn’t every girl at some point.” He gives you an incredulous look and you roll your eyes with a half smile on your face. “Ok yes, I’ve thought about my wedding. Happy?”

“Yup.” He turns his attention away from you to the sign displaying the seating arrangements. What the hell, why is he asking that? “Have you thought about it, Max?”

The man laughs, sounding shy. “Not until recently.” What? He grabs your hand and leads the way to your table. Even though Max doesn’t need food to survive - for obvious reasons - he still has a few mouthfuls. I need to blend in sometimes toots he’d said, and you couldn’t help but smile at the concentration on his face as tried to act like a regular sociable human.

I could get used to this, you thought and ducked your head, forgetting once again that he can hear you. Though, Max looked at you, as if he were about to say something but a voice cut him off. “Y/N! There you are, I’m so happy you came. I know this was hard for you so I appreciate it.” Your sister - the bride was the voice that cut him off.

Pulling you in for a tight hug with a bright smile, she’s breath-taking, always has been. “Claire, this is Max my..”

“Her boyfriend,” he speaks for himself with a wink before pulling Claire in for a hug too.

“It’s lovely to meet you Max,” She beams, then pulls back to look at you, “my sister failed to tell her little sister she was dating. Don’t pay any attention to our father, he can be…well difficult. Anyway, better go mingle. Don’t leave without saying goodbye, ok?”

“I won’t.” Max nodded as the bride walked away. “She seems nice.” You glared at him then. “Well she’s married now, so hard luck.” Max looks at you with a confused expression. Without questioning it, he simply listens to your inner monologue instead. Everyone always thinks she is better than me - funnier, smarter, prettier. Of course Max would think the same.

“Yeah she’s pretty, I’d be lying if I said otherwise but in a cute way.” Acting quickly, Max tells you what you need to hear, “Definitely not my type. You are my type. You’re not cute, you’re gorgeous, you don’t put up with my shit and put me in my place, and you are amazing in bed. You do this thing with your…”

“Ok enough.” You say putting your hand over his mouth, a blush on your face. “Thank you.”

As the day progressed, your nerves slowly easing off with Max’s soothing presence and reassuring gestures, you started to actually enjoy the celebratory atmosphere and put your own worries aside, to be there for your sister.

Occasionally she and Gerry would lock eyes with you, raising their glasses with a nod and almost every time, your father would scowl. When dinner was served, you and Max just enjoyed your own company, giggling at his remarks about your dad. The champagne helped a bunch too, loosening up the tension in your body and mind.

“I need to take a leak, toots,” Max kissed your cheek and pushed his chair back to stand, “I’ll be back shortly.” Sitting alone with just your thoughts, you concluded that this day wasn’t all too bad and you were thankful that Max accompanied you, he made it better in every way possible.

However, with a quick glance over to the head table and noticing that your dad was not there, you instantly sighed with a plea under your breath, “Please Max, if my dad is in the restroom, don’t cause a scene.” Using his absence as an opportunity, you stood from your chair also and walked over to chat with your sister and brother in law.

“Hey, you. Getting lonely over there?” She leaned up from her seat, opening her arms wide for another hug. “Yeah, you could say that. Max is in the restroom,” you smiled and leaned in, kissing her cheek. “Please tell me Dad is at the bar?”

Pulling back and greeting Gerry, the look on your sister's face confirmed your worries and you immediately started fidgeting with your fingers again. “Stop that,” Clair noticed your anxiety straight away, she always does, “and don’t worry. I’m sure Dad won’t cause a scene on my wedding day.”

It’s not Dad that I’m worried about. Nodding to her, you put on yet another fake smile and kept looking to the gents restroom, dreading for Max to reappear with blood dripping down from his fangs, but to your absolute surprise, the men walked out together - laughing?

Both you and Claire shared a look of concern, and even Gerry voiced his opinion on the sight, “Huh. That’s weird, a minute ago he wouldn’t shut up about Max now they’re best buddies.”

“Oh that’s good old Max. He has a way with… charming people,” Laughing to the couple nervously, you made an excuse to leave and go back to your own table while Max and your father stood at the bar, ordering a round of drinks and being rowdy about it. This can’t be good. What have you done Max?

The man turned to look at you with your thoughts, winking with a cheeky smile before turning his attention back to your dad. Clearly he has glamoured him, put him under some sort of compulsion. Though, you can’t complain considering how happy and laid back he looked, so Max must have said something right.

A couple moments later, Max came to join you at the table again, your father walking past with a waving smile and a glass of whiskey in his hand. No, you certainly can't complain about the compulsion, he’s in a better mood.

“You’re not going to ask about your dad?” Max sat down and leaned into your side, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “No.” keening at his touch, your hands roamed the expanse of his thigh beneath the table cloth. “Don’t need to know, just really grateful for the result, Max.”

“Oh yeah? How grateful?” He smirked. Tensing with the touch of your deft fingers trailing up his thigh, Max hummed deeply and whispered sweet nothings against the shell of your ear, drawing out a soft sigh to escape past your lips. “I’ll show you later in the bedroom,” you say, biting your lip. “I’ll do that thing that you love.”

Max groaned eagerly, his gaze was intense with impatience for the night to hurry up and come to an end. You gave his thigh a quick squeeze before retracting your hand at the sounds of a microphone being tapped excessively, followed by someone speaking into the thing. “Can everybody hear me ok?”

Marc, the best man, prepared his speech. You and Max paid little attention as his hand kept sneaking up your thigh now, payback for your actions mere moments ago. Marc went on to talk about his younger days with Gerry, specifically of the time where he first met your sister and how he knew that his buddy was in love at first sight.

You did finally pay attention when your father made snide remarks here and there, fueled by alcohol no less. Or was it? As Max nipped a path of kisses along your neck, without a care for who sees, your eyes narrowed in on Gerry, on his red angry facial expression.

When he snapped his head to the side to reprimand your dad quietly, you knew something else was going on. It wasn’t just the alcohol. “Um, Max?” Tilting your head with a quiet whisper, you now want to know exactly what the vampire had done. “What did you say to my dad in the restroom?”

“Told him to relax, have a good time…” Placing a wet kiss to the back of your ear, your eyes threatened to roll shut as his hand inched closer to your heat. “...Told him to squash whatever quarrels he has with you and let bygones be bygones.”

“Uh-huh.” That didn’t sound too bad. However, it didn’t explain why your dad was being a bit of a dick about the best man's speech, so you persisted with Max. “Anything else you might've said to him that you’re not telling me?”

“Hmm,” Max smirked against your skin. “Let’s say it’s my gift for you. A little payback.”

Just as you were opening your mouth to protest, you stopped to gasp when the man had made contact with your core, finding your panties hot and damp. Max’s touch had a much more prominent effect on you, far more than you yourself anticipated it would.

A broken whisper of his name bubbled up from your throat as he started to pull your panties to one side. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slid a digit through your slick folds with ease. “Look at you, toots. So wet for me and I barely touched you.” Max degraded with a dark chuckle, pulling his hand back, you whimpered with the loss as he brought his finger to his lips and sucked the evidence of your desire.

At the sound of music filling your ears, you tore your eyes away from Max’s dark taunting smile and looked to the dancefloor. Claire and Gerry were rising from their seats and walking out hand in hand. It was the first dance and it couldn’t have come at a better time, Max was becoming feral. You’ve seen that look in his eyes before.

Max wrapped an arm around your waist, resting his hand to your hip with a grabbing squeeze and you leaned into his touch with a question. “Are you finished teasing me now?”

“Not even close, baby.” The man laughed. Looking at the dancefloor as cool as a cucumber, like he hasn’t just had his hand between your legs then tasted a sample of your juices off his finger, Max jerked his chin outwards, “But first we have a show to watch.”

“Don’t you mean the first dance? It isn’t a show Max,” You corrected him, jabbing a finger into his ribs playfully as your own little payback for him playing games with you. Giggling to yourself when he jolted with the action, he repaid the favour by tickling your sides, causing your hands to reach out onto his chest with a plea, “Ok-ok. I yield. Please stop that.”

Granting your wishes, Max resorted to just resting his hand on your hip again, but he brought his other hand up from under the table to look at his watch, sparking your intrigue, “What’s up?”

“I told you, we have a show to watch,” Max replied nonchalantly, “Patience, babe. Your gift is coming any minute now.” Instantly turning your head to face the head table, your father was not there and your stomach dropped with dread. Oh God, Max what have you done?

***

The sound of a mic tap draws your attention and you look up to see your father on stage looking around nervously. “Stop! Stop right now.”

Everyone gasps at your fathers interruption. Gerry is being pulled back by Claire who whispers something to him. “That’s it Claire, tame that beast of a husband. Bloody sham of a wedding. Cost me a fortune, ungrateful bitch. I need everyone to quieten down, I have something I want to say to my daughter, Y/N.”

You can feel people's eyes drift to you and a worrisome feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. Max’s hand - the one resting on your thigh - squeezes gently in reassurance and you meet his gaze for the briefest moment before turning back to your father. Max hopes he’s done the right thing. That you won’t hate him after this.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I’ve always treated you. For making you feel like you were never good enough and always comparing you to your sister Claire. You are far better than her in every way. You’re beautiful, strong willed, independent and amazing at your job and any man would be lucky to have you.”

“John!” You hear your mother gasp out in outrage. The only thing you can focus on though is Max. How these are his words coming from your fathers mouth and how you want nothing more than to grab his face and kiss him hard. I love you. You let the words linger in your mind, knowing full well he can hear but you don’t look at him, you don’t want to see the rejection on his face.

Suddenly your father drops to his knees and starts barking. Barking! He begins to move around on all fours, licking himself and sniffing some of the guests' asses. He throws himself onto his back and waggles his arms and legs in the air - looking for a belly rub?

Your hand shoots to your mouth and Max looks to you now, worried he’s gone too far but then he feels you shake beside him. Is she laughing? You can’t control it anymore, the laughter falling from your mouth as you hold your stomach. Max feels a sense of relief. “Did I do good?”

“That was amazing. I love you…” You gasp, having realised you said it out loud. It’s out there now and you can feel him stiffen beside you. Tears form behind your eyes threatening to fall at any moment. Well done, you’ve ruined it all now. Max’s hand grabs your chin and suddenly his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately. “I need you, now.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Max stands and reaches for your hand, leading you out to reception. “I need a room for the night.” What is he doing? Max leans into you - his breath hot on your skin. “I want you to fuck you so hard, everyone in that reception hall knows who you belong to.” A shiver runs through you and your cunt is aching with anticipation. Oh yes please.

Part 6

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#pedro pascal #max Phillips x reader #pedro pascal x reader #max phillips x female reader #pedro pascal x female reader #max phillips x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #max phillips x fem!reader

[the-blind-assassin-12]

writer wednesday #18 - 11/02/2022

Happy Wednesday, everyone! Apologies for falling off the bike last week with this list - I had a weird one. But I’m back on the bike now, and I’m making up for the lack of list last week by going on a massive reblog spree for the rest of this week, so if you’re looking for things to read that will make you say WOW!” start with these three, and then stay tuned for more recs and reviews!

*as always, this list is ordered by length*

This Max Drabble by @cyantomatos

Max P x GN!Reader

October Writing Challenge

WC: ~500

Okay, first thing’s first: I typically don’t read a ton for Max P. Did I enjoy the movie? Yes, I laughed my ass off. Especially because when I first watched it, I worked in an office that was literally sucking my soul, so I found it v relatable. And would I let Max turn me or keep me as a pet or drain me as a snack in a heartbeat? You bet your bottom dollar I would. But I still don’t typically seek out fics for him - for no real reason, I’m realizing as I write this. This one though? This little drabble? It grabbed me by the throat and throttled my heart. This is certainly Max... but its Max like we’ve never seen him before, because its Max in the future, once he’s spent lifetimes living with someone who sees (and loves) him for who he is. Its a classic “love soothes the savage beast” but with a really beautiful and bittersweet twist that I don’t want to give away, but be prepared for this one to pull at your heartstrings. Yes, even though Max P is a four loko frat boy business student turned vampire boss. Trust me. 

Hunter and Prey (part 1: The Girl With the Golden Eyes) by @mandosmistress

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Spooktober 🎃👻🦇

WC: 3k

OH BOY AM I STOKED ABOUT THIS ONE! Since this is the first part of a series, there’s some set up here, but it is fascinating. There’s absolutely great Din characterization. There’s an extremely intriguing Reader character. And there is hot fire when it comes to the chemistry between them. Because even though it’s just the beginning, there is still some intense smut here, and I for one can’t wait to see what happens when these two get their hands on one another again. And I can’t wait for him to learn who - and what - she is. I love it when Din is matched with someone who is just as capable and dangerous as he is, and that seems to be just what he’s dealing with here even if he doesn’t know it yet. Buckle in, Djarin, I think you’re in for a while ride (and I’m thrilled to get to take it, too!) 

Stunt Double by @something-tofightfor

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (Locked Down universe)

Kinktober - Sex Toys

WC: 8.3k

Aside from maybe a modern Oberyn, I cannot think of a character who would enjoy (and make the most of ) making their own “stunt double” more than Dieter Bravo. This man is such a sexual being. Yes, by now we all know that there is more to him - especially this version (Locked Down) of Dieter. But a large part of who he is is someone who is adventurous and open minded when it comes to sexual exploration. And now that he’s got a partner who he trusts completely and who knows him inside and out and who would never judge him and who has been there for him through ups and downs and who he is head over heels in love with? This man is ready to chart entirely new territory. I absolutely love that almost everything that happens between them, no matter if its serious or fun or simple, always boils down to the solidity of their relationship. The actual smut in this one? HOT AS FUCK. But I’m just as dazed and dizzied by reading about their love and how damn strong it is. The bonus of getting Dieter Nye the Science Guy with this one is the cherry on top. #Science. This was flipping great, and I will be reading it over and over just like the rest of LD. 

#three great things I read this week #writer wednesday #fic rec fic rec fic rec!!! #kinktober #spooktober #october fic recs #something tofightfor #mandosmistress #cyantomatoes #max phillips x reader #din djarin x female reader #dieter bravo x female reader