#Bloodsucking Bastards FanFic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carusolikey · 24 days

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The Blue Hour

a Max Phillips & Bloodsucking Bastards FanFic

Chapter 3: This is the Skin of a Killer, Bella

This week on 'The Blue Hour' - a Max Phillip's vampire always pays their debts. We’re finally going to learn the true definition of a Peña Colada (get your notebooks ready, this will be on the final), and we’ll be playing a tricky game of “Are You Smarter Than a Twilight Vampire?” Reader beware, you're in for graphic fare!

Pairing: Max Phillips of Bloodsucking Bastards x afab!fem!reader

Rating: Explicit / NSFW 18+ (No Minors)

Author’s Note: I wrote this piece during the month of April 2024 - Adenomyosis Awareness Month, and the idea came to me during March 2024 (Endometriosis Awareness Month). This will not have any type of pregnancy kink, but will touch on infertility of OC due to the aforementioned; canon for this story is also that Vampires are infertile - there will be no Renesmé. OC is intended to be around the same age as Max, reader’s choice up or down, but no age gap. Because older afab/fem lovers are sexy - we drink and we know things.

Warnings: This will continue to be a blanket coverage of this point forward.

A bit of rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration - P in V, oral [m + f receiving]), food play, 18+ only content, able bodied fem afab reader, alcohol consumption, non-gendered pet names, fem can be carried and has hair - though length is not mentioned, consensual "bondage", some use of y+n - but not explicitly, though consensuality is implied and intended through actions and reactions, no protection used for Vampire reasons TBD (be wise and always use protection, this is fiction). Did attempt to stay away from gendered pronouns and nicknames, although did use the word woman, 3 times throughout the entire piece (not fully published yet) referring to OC. Discussion of history of endo / adeno, and future chapter will mention previous relationship / SA; there will also be Vampire hunting, murdering, and blood….sucking bastards.

Wordcount: 8k + a few, but who's counting?

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Shaking my head, I tried to pretend like I didn’t just wake up with a pillow tightly squeezed between my legs, and let out a huge, exasperated sigh, screaming a little bit into the pillow my head laid upon.

“Siri, play My Song 5 by Haim.”

“I’m sorry, I’m having trouble connecting to the internet.”

“Gaaaah!” I groaned in anguish. “Fine. I’ll do it the hard way.”

Opening up Spotify on my phone, I flipped to my mega, 78 hour and 53 minutes long playlist and searched, clicking on the song I wanted.

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The rough beat perfectly matched my grumpy mood at waking up so unreasonably horny. Dammit, I thought to myself, I cannot be this starved for the Vitamin D.

I got out of bed and noticed Mr. Rochester, forlornly abandoned on the floor. Oooh, better wash him off.

As I gave Mr. Rochester a thorough scrub, laying him on a clean hand towel on the side of the bathroom sink, I felt my stomach grumble. Whew - I guess Max really did give me a workout last night! I blushed, grinning to myself as I thought of his charming grin with its dimple, the way he looked up at me, as I pulled on his tie - the feeling of straddling him as I sat on his lap, facing him.

Quickly giving my face a wash and brushing my teeth, I tried to put those thoughts out of my head. Once I was done in the bathroom, I put on a robe and went straight into the kitchen - opting to start my day with Yerba Mate instead of coffee.

Oh, dear. You must have it bad, if coffee is reminding you too much of his eyes. I shook my head, trying to think of what I might do with my day off instead. Books to catch up on? Poetry to write? Call my sister? No. She can always tell when something’s up with me. Call my mom? Maybe - she loves telling me about the latest hometown gossip, and I can just listen while I do something productive, like - OH! That hat I need to finish knitting! Perfect.

After making some toast with peanut butter and strawberry jam, and enjoying a bowl of fresh strawberries and blueberries, I was just about to call my mom when a text popped up from Max. It was a gif of Ryan Reynolds making a sassy come hither face, with the words, “you up?” flashing underneath.

I giggled to myself and texted him back, “Yes, Ryan Reynolds. I am.”

Immediately the text dots popped up, and Max’s response came through, “Mind if I stop by? I believe I have something that belongs to you.”

Looking down at my robe and silk set, I had to think for a moment, “Uh, I’m not dressed yet, if you want to give me 10-15 minutes?”

Almost instantaneously, Max’s reply came through, “Don’t get dressed on account of me.” Followed by a prompt knock on the door that caused me to spill tea over a small portion of the dining table.

“Oh, no.”

I jumped up and reached over the kitchen bar for paper towels, calling out, “I’ll be right there!”

Unwrapping about 20 towels from the roll, which was significantly more than needed, I cleaned up the spill as quickly as possible, then hurriedly tossed the paper towels in the trash. Finally, I headed straight to the door while adjusting my hair and checking my teeth on my phone camera. Alright, that’s as good as it gets! I opened the door, and Max was leaning against the door frame - his grin pulled up to one side, dimple on full display, better than I remembered.

Mr. Vilallonga’s door was open, but he had his hand over his eyes as he picked up yet another package, already apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”

“I told him that he has to do that from now on.” Max smiled a big toothy grin, his eyes crinkling, as he stepped away from the door frame and entered the apartment.

He closed the door behind him as he gave me a kiss on the forehead.

Laughing, shocked at Max’s gall and a little impressed that he went to such lengths to ensure that I wouldn’t be caught in the same compromising position again - my hand instinctively went to my forehead, as I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair.

“It’s okay. He likes it.” Max assured me, giving me another kiss on the cheek and the neck.

As he straightened up, I realized that he was holding a bouquet of white orchids and white magnolias. They smelled absolutely wonderful, fragrant and sweet like a bakery in the morning - a bit of vanilla, with a hint of citrus and honey, and the musky scent of lemon-verbena.

“Is this the thing that belongs to me?” I asked, my tone of voice betraying me, revealing my surprise and delight immediately.

“Well, it’s - part - of the thing that I believe belongs to you. It’s sort of an apology.” Max scrunched up his nose, looking a little self-conscious. That’s funny, I thought, never thought I’d see him with that look on his face.

I took the flowers into the kitchen, giving them a happy inhale, as Max followed closely behind. Opening a cabinet next to the sink, I let my eyes roam until I spotted what I was looking for on one of the top shelves. Hmm… a bit high. Max reached above me and grabbed the deep red, clear glass vase.

“Thank you!”

“Anytime.”

He smiled down at me, and then leaned on the counter as I trimmed the ends of the flowers before placing them in the vase. As I arranged the last flower, he pulled out a small box he’d had tucked under his arm.

“I believe I owe you a debt.”

“What??” looking at him, confused, I hesitantly took the small, thin blue box. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, waiting for me to open it.

Carefully, cautiously, I gave a light tug on the ribbon, which easily gave way and then set it on the counter. I took off the lid and folded back the tissue paper, biting my lip as I laid eyes on the loveliest vintage silk, teal and black lace silk bra. My mouth slightly agape, I set down the box, holding up the bra and admiring it.

“There’s more,” Max nodded towards the box on the counter, and I eagerly peered into the box.

“Oh, really?” I asked, giving him a cheeky little laugh.

Inside the box was a matching garter of the same vintage teal silk and black lace, and a pair of black thigh highs with the seam going up the back.

“They should fit, if you want to try them on,” Max gazed at me expectantly.

“So vampires have the ability to actually size people up by looking at them? That’s a thing?” I asked him dubiously.

“Well –” he began, a bit apprehensively, “I did grab your moderately destroyed lingerie this morning, when you left the room, so that I could replace it with the correct size. I felt pretty bad about wrecking it. Even though I loved it in the moment - sorry?”

He shrugged his shoulders, and to be honest, his apology was very half-hearted, and I had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t going to be the last time he ripped an item of clothing off my body. At least judging by the playful glint in his eye.

“Tentatively forgiven, Max. Tentatively.”

Squinting at him, I continued, “I reserve the right to rescind that absolution should the crime be repeated. In which case, recurrent offenses may be subject to increased punishments and fines. As per prevailing statutes regarding Lingerie Law.”

“Oh, of course. Lingerie Law - that’s closely related to Bird Law, right?”

“Obviously. The fact that you even have to ask.” I scoffed at him.

He laughed, and then took both of my hands in his, locking his eyes with mine, “Please try on the lingerie. Please.”

“Of course.” I felt my cheeks flush, and Max leaned in, kissing me on the lips - gentle, sweet, but firm in their resolve to get me good and kissed.

Gathering up the box of lingerie, tissue paper, ribbon, I took it with me into my bedroom and closed the door behind me. Inspecting the contents of the box, I was struck not only by how tasteful the lingerie was, but how it was really exactly my style. It was weird to feel… so seen by something so - simple? Naughty? Sexy?

Putting it on, it fit perfectly, and it felt very nice as it hugged all of my curves in all of the right spots. I looked in the mirror and felt a little bit like Bettie Page, it was empowering.

Taking the ribbon from the box, I tied it in my hair like a headband. It felt like I was missing something, so I took a look in my closet, a smirk crossing my face as my eyes strayed toward the perfect accessories.

Walking out of my bedroom in some patent leather Mary Jane style shoes and a lovely long red floral robe draped over my shoulders, letting the lingerie peek-a-boo through, Max looked up - immediately dropping his crossed arms, standing up straighter, and his jaw dropping slightly.

“What, this old thing?” I teased.

“Yeah. Yes. That old thing.” He walked over to me, taking my hand and bringing it up above my head, giving me a twirl, “Max likey. Max likey a lot.”

“Oh! So I’ve earned third person accolades?”

“Uh-huh.” Max kept nodding and spun me into his arms. As his eyes washed over me, he dazedly continued, “I have something else I want to share with you.”

“Something else?” I asked, incredulously. What more could he have for me? This felt like quite enough. Although, I was curious. Dammit. Damn my curiosity.

He stepped back, and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, sitting on one of the dining table chairs. I had no idea what to expect, but I certainly was not prepared for what he presented to me.

“What do you think of this?” He smirked, “They were just going to throw these out at work!”

It was an old school label maker. The really old kind that had a dial for the letters, and for each letter you had to squeeze the handle very tightly in order to get it to make an impression on the label tape. They were a pain to use, but to be fair, those types of label makers always made the wickedest labels.

“Okay, that’s actually pretty cool, Max.” I admitted, “But what made you think of me when they were getting rid of it?”

“Well, I was thinking it would be helpful - we could use it to label our relationship.”

“Label the relationship? How do you mean?” intrigued, I wanted to hear where he was going with this.

“As in–” he started punching letters into the label maker, “EXACTLY–” punch, punch, punch, “what–” punch, punch, punch – punch, punch, “I–” punch, punch, “said.” punch.

He finished, very satisfied with himself, and held up the finished product - a label that said, “Max’s Favorite”, with a huge smile on his face. Max immediately pulled off the protective paper on the back, and stuck the label on my forehead.

Admiring his work aloud, “Perfect.”

I felt a bit less sexy with a label on my forehead.

Max was all in on the label maker, he kept punching in more letters, and the next thing he came up with was, “Best Kisser,” putting it right on my chin. Followed by, “Sexiest Décolletage,” just below my clavicles, “Stinkiest In a Good Way,” on my neck, “Most Likely to Be Bitten by a Vampire,” on my wrists.

And then he got really excited and asked me, “Where’s Mr. Rochester?”

Confused, I gave him the downlow, the lowdown, the 411, the fax - no printer, the webmd, the no cap, “Mr. Rochester has retired to the bath - he’s taking a day off.”

“Good!” Max sassily and decidedly replied.

When he came back from the bathroom, he showed me Mr. Rochester, who now had his own label: “UNEMPLOYED”.

“Unemployed? Did you just fire my vibrator?!” I exclaimed, shocked that he would take the initiative to terminate my household staff’s employment. Frowning, “I think that’s outside of your purview.”

Max shrugged, setting Mr. Rochester on the dining table behind me and then picked me up, gliding easily from my little dining nook into the kitchen area, where he delicately set me on top of the L-shaped peninsula of the kitchen counter. I crossed one leg over the other, as I leaned forward with my palms on the edge of the counter.

“Well, Mr. Phillips - it seems like you’ve got a prerogative for this evening.”

He put his hands on either side of me, looking down at my legs, my chest, while talking, “I do, actually. But I - I wanted to ask you something.” He looked up into my eyes, waiting for me to give him the go ahead.

“That’s fine. Ask away.”

“How are you feeling today?”

I laughed, “I’m good. I’m very good, Max.”

“No. No, I mean–” he hesitated again, biting his lip, “was I too rough with you last night? Are you sore or in pain?”

“Oh.” I sighed. “Okay.”

“I really - I would hate myself if I hurt you.”

“Listen–” I took ahold of his hands and looked him straight in the eyes, “After the second surgery, I went on a bunch of dates and felt obligated to tell the men I dated that I was still in healing mode, and that kids might be an issue - if they were looking for something serious.”

Taking my right hand, I brushed my fingers through a little curl forming along his forehead.

“Which sucked, of course, because who wants to hear about that right away? Although I felt like it wasn’t fair to let someone get emotionally involved with me if my endo was going to be a problem for them. And I wanted someone who could be gentle as I was healing. Unfortunately, it led to a lot of them being afraid to have sex with me. A real bunch of cowards they were.”

Max’s eyes took on a watery depth, not quite on the brink of crying, but of deep warmth and caring.

“At this point, I’m many months post-op, and while my hormones are still driving me a bit batty,” he flinched as I said that, “I’m in much, much better shape - I evicted the organ that was causing the most pain, and I’m way hornier now. It might seem like ‘in theory’ I don’t have as much space for you, but vaginas are magical organs that get really stretchy the more turned on they get. I mean - it’s built for pushing out a new human, so… it’s good to go. Do not back down on my account. You know what Hal Sparks said, right?”

He squinted at me, and I went on, “Pussy bleeds every month and it never dies - it’s like The Predator.”

Max burst out laughing, “Okay! Okay! I trust that you’ll let me know, I won’t back down.”

“Good. Do not go gentle into that good night.”

“I will not. I will rage until the dying of the light,” he said passionately, still chuckling.

“Now, I will admit that while I can take a pounding –” Max tilted his head, curious where I was going with this statement, “I’m actually extremely sensitive to a lot of other things, because of the whole residual nerve sensitivity - my body tends to be on high alert when it comes to most of my senses, touch - very much so, taste, smell, sometimes I can be sensitive to sound / noises, super bright lights. Besides sound and light, the other senses can actually be very sensual with the right person.”

“Oh, reaeeaaallly?” Max asked, an idea seemingly sparked within him.

“Yeah. Totally.”

He reached over and pulled the vase of flowers he brought closer to the two of us, “Do you know why I chose white orchids and magnolias?”

“They’re beautiful, and I love them!?” He turned and looked at me. “But other than that, no.”

“All flowers have meanings. White orchids can be used to convey hope - new beginnings,” he raised his eyebrow as he looked at me.

“Magnolias represent beauty, and in Victorian times it was the flower of choice for lovers sending correspondence. But the white magnolia in particular, well - it represents the Lunar Goddess.” He brushed his fingers across my cheek, then drew them down the line of my jaw, stopping at my chin, where he held my face so that I was looking up at him - his thumb gently stroking my bottom lip.

“My beautiful, midnight, Lunar Goddess.”

I smiled up at him, and kissed his thumb.

His eyes grew wide, “I want to try something.”

“Uh, okay?”

“I want to test your sensitivity.”

“Uhhhhh….”

“We can try it, and if you hate it as soon as I start, we’ll stop, but I have a feeling - you’re going to enjoy it.”

I shrugged, “Okay, Max. I guess - I trust you.”

He gave me a look like his heart was going to burst when he heard that, pausing only for a moment, and then getting back to the business at hand.

“Let’s remove your outer layer, shall we?” He gestured to my floral robe, and I used both hands to release it from my shoulders.

Max sat and stared for a moment, pleased with how well the lingerie fit and looking like he couldn’t decide whether to keep it on me or take it off. Slowly, he took his gaze off me, and reached for a stem of orchids from the vase.

I cocked my head to the side, unsure how he was going to proceed.

He took the orchids, and reaching out, let them lightly drag down the crook of my neck and across my clavicle.

My skin pricked up, I could feel the sensation rushing to my nipples as he drew the petals down across my new silk bra.

Quivering, my hands gripped the counter. Max followed the line of my bra strap, up around my back and he walked behind me. Feeling the bra unclasp, one of his hands lightly loosened the straps so that the bra fell forward, while the other continued to trail the orchid up and down my spine. My breathing quickened, and I felt my legs start to shake a bit as my vagina clenched, breasts moving up and down as I tried to pace my breathing - and closed my eyes.

“Look at me.”

I opened my eyes, and Max was in front of me again, watching me with his mouth slightly open, his tongue hungrily, precipitously waiting between two slightly open lips.

Drawing the flowers across my untethered breasts, over my peaked nipples, my legs clamped together like a vice. Gingerly moving the orchids lower, underneath my breasts, around my rib cage, moving straight down my stomach, towards the top of the garter.

The moment he got to the top of the garter, I let out a small squeak of a moan, and he immediately put the flower back in the vase, tapping my knee with one hand, and grabbing the back of my neck with the other as he pulled me in for an extremely passionate, breathtaking kiss.

Like an upside down Heinz 57 Ketchup bottle tapped in just the right spot, my legs opened for him, and he used his available hand to start massaging my pussy and clitoris through the fabric. Meanwhile, he continued to open me up with his kisses, deep and rolling into me like waves from the ocean. Right as we came up for air, he immediately began kissing down my neck and focusing his fingers on my clitoris, moving in steady, focused circles, until I gasped.

Max pulled back, his breathing a bit deeper. He walked over to the sink and washed his hands, and immediately I knew what he was planning on doing. The effort, though - the consideration, knowing what I’d been through, and not taking any risks with my body. Fuck. That’s hot. Coming back over to me, he gave me another intense kiss, and then leaned me back down on the countertop, sliding my lingerie down my waist, and off completely. As I laid there on the counter, he put his left hand on my lower abdomen, and with his right middle finger, he started massaging against my cunt and up to my clitoris, his left hand slowly moving up my abdomen towards the middle of my chest, right between my breasts.

I arched my back, feeling the power of his hands on me, in me, but not trying to hold me down. Just trying to please me. Slowly, Max leaned his face over to where his right hand worked me, his thumb switching places with his middle finger, stimulating my clit with steady, firm circles, and licked into my vagina. I clenched and twitched, and his left hand moved to my breast, massaging, squeezing, then focusing on the nipple, giving it small pinches. Moaning in pleasure, I looked down my body at Max, who was staring right back at me - eyes crinkling. I couldn’t see his mouth, but his eyes were definitely smiling.

He moved up a bit, switching places with his hand so that his mouth was sucking on my clit, and his middle finger was pumping and curling inside me. Trembling, I grabbed onto his left hand, still on my breast, and through haphazard breaths, “I’m coming - I’m coming.”

With an involuntary jerk, I almost kicked him, but he held my leg in place, easily. Stars exploded as my vagina clamped and convulsed around his finger, which continued moving into me as it gradually altered to a slower pace. As the ebb and flow of my orgasm finally ceased, Max pulled his finger out and stuck it in his mouth all the way up to his knuckle - licking the entire thing clean, saying, “Mmmmm,” the entire time, while I laughed and covered my face.

Max pushed the vase of flowers further back from where I was on the counter, to give me a little space as I sat up, but almost knocked it over. “Oh, shit! What’s this?”

“Whoops. I think I accidentally left that out - from the last time I used it.” I grimaced in a classic “Whoops! My bad!” expression.

Smirking as he chuckled, Max cupped my face in one hand, and used the other hand to pick up the jar that nearly caused the fall of the house of orchids, examining the label closely.

“Organic, virgin, unrefined, cold-pressed, natural coconut oil, preservative free and fragrance free.” He scrunched his nose up at the jar, then said, “That feels like a lot to ask of your coconut oil.”

“Hey! Only the best for me!”

“Okay, fair enough. What do you use this for?”

“Well,” I started, “it’s great for skin, for lip care, for hair, and - are you allergic to coconut?”

Max shook his head. “No. I like coconut a lot, actually.”

“Okay, that’s good.” I gave him a sly smile. “Why don’t you hand me the jar, and a spoon out of the second drawer there,” I gestured to a middle drawer across from the peninsula I was sitting on.

“Hmm. Okay.”

Max inquisitively handed me the jar, turned to the designated spoon drawer and retrieved the required item. Which, he then handed to me, as I sat there naked as a jaybird, save for the black thigh highs and heels.

I opened the jar and scooped out a very small amount of coconut oil with the spoon, closing the jar again.

“Hey Siri, play Playa Tropical by Passion Coco.” I called out.

Max raised an eyebrow, “Oh, this requires mood music?”

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As the retro-surfer beat and reverb-drenched, twangy guitar started playing, I gave Max a cheeky grin, “Would you rather be asking questions or receiving right now?”

Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he made the international symbol of locking his trap and throwing away the key, an eager and excited expression etched on his face.

With the spoon in one hand, I grabbed Max’s tie with the other. Why is he always, always wearing a three-piece suit every time I see him? It’s just not fair. Tugging him towards me just a little bit at a time as I wrapped his tie around my hand, I brought Max close, but not too close. Dropping the tie, I used that same hand to unbutton the top button of his pants and unzip the zipper. Untucking his shirt, I was able to reach his navy blue boxer briefs, slowly pushing them down in the front and I was not disappointed. I could see the top of his shaft was already hard and licked my lips, as I reached my hand inside the briefs to pull out his dick. Glancing up at Max, his eyes were trained on my hand on his cock, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

Letting his penis free of the confines of his pants, I released it and Max let out the breath he’d been holding. Using the spoon to apply the coconut oil to my free hand, I rubbed the oil between my hands to warm it up. Then taking my fragrant, slick hands, I reached down, making a loose circle with each, index finger to thumb. I tenderly and deliberately placed one hand in front of the other, over and over and over again, in the same direction. Max happily moaned, reaching up and grabbing my breast, until I reversed directions and he jerked slightly. His breathing became a bit more labored, and he leaned in to give me some heated kisses along my neck, holding himself up on my shoulders.

I could tell he was getting closer, and there was no way I was letting him get any further without tasting him. Slowing down with my hands, I slid off the counter, submitting myself on my knees for him - licking the precum off the tip of his exquisite, mouthwatering cock. Bringing him into my mouth, wrapping my lips around his coconut flavored dick, I felt like I was finally on the vacation I always wanted - sipping from the exact tall, delicious drink of which I’d always dreamed. Swirling my tongue just past the head, applying just a little bit of pressure on the just the right spot, feeling him shiver with pleasure, I couldn’t help but move one hand down my own body.

As I knelt on the floor looking up at him, he looked straight back down into my eyes with his mouth slightly agape - his penis in my mouth, one hand working his shaft, my other hand working my own clit. He tried to speak, “I’m gonna - can I - can - in your mouth?”

I nodded, continuing what I was doing so that he could finish inside me, and then I felt the abrupt convulsions in my hand, in my mouth, while Max’s whole body shuddered, and felt the warm, sticky cum running down my throat. The taste of coconut, with rum raisin, pineapple and a bit of salt - it was unusual, but seemed to be Max’s signature flavor and I licked that dick clean, while he leaned over me, watching.

“Sweetness, that was fucking hot.”

I looked up at him from the floor, and he offered his hand, lifting me up.

“Watching you masturbate while sucking my dick –” he shook his head, almost in disbelief, “But I can tell you still have a lot of heat and tension, and I’m gonna fuck that right out of you.”

I let out a loud guffaw, and covered my mouth, “Are you?”

He stepped closer to me, pressing me against the kitchen counter, “That’s satisfaction guaranteed, or your money back.”

I could feel his dick already starting to get hard again as it pressed into my hip.

Immediately, I started unbuttoning his vest, which he pulled off as I started working on the buttons on his shirt, which he yanked off and tossed on the floor. Then he pulled his pants and briefs off, leaving just his black business socks on. He picked me up and took me to my leather couch, laying me down, kissing me deeply - bestowing a thousand little kisses up and down my face and neck, moving down to suck on my nipples. When I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, he started rubbing his dick all along my pussy. Up and down, dipping in just enough to tease me, pulling back out and teasing me again. He was incorrigible.

I scowled at him, and he smirked, “I know what you want.”

“Then give it to me.”

“You asked for it, Sweetness.”

He rammed into me, and I cried out in bliss, each lunge into me, touching that magical little g spot, as the hairs above his shaft rubbed against my clit, creating an amazing dynamic of friction.

I could feel my release coming, “Don’t stop!”

My words fortified him, and he kept going, a teensy bit faster, a little bit harder, and Goldilocks perfect. I would not be surprised if two universes collided as a result of our build up and eventual release. We laid on the couch for a good 20 minutes after, not saying anything. Max on top of me, inside of me, curled up against me as we both caught our breath. Giving each other little kisses, but content to stay in place for the time being.

Until my stomach gurgled. Max lifted his head and looked at me, squinting at me beneath furrowed brows, as I gave him my most innocent, wide-eyed expression.

“Was that your stomach, growling like a baby cougar?”

After an elongated, awkward, Tina Belcher laugh, resistance was futile and I admitted the truth with a sing-songy, “Mayyy-beee.”

“Alright, yeah. I could eat, too.” Really? He can eat? Interesting. Put a pin in that for later.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Hmmm –” giving it a moment while I thought, “Well, obviously there aren’t a lot of places open at this hour, but there is this amazing little Brazilian bakery/market that’s open 24/7. They have the most absolutely scrumtrulescent coxinhas,” sitting up, I started to get very excited, speaking with my hands, “perfectly crispy on the outside, with delicious, tender pulled chicken, veggies, cheese on the inside, and the dough is,” I put my hand up to my mouth, giving a chef’s kiss, “They use tapioca flour in their coxinhas and cheese bread, so every time you take a bite into them, it’s stretchy and cheesy and lightly crunchy and exquisitely savory.”

Leaning back against the couch, I sighed, content by the mere thought.

Staring at me with a grin on his face, Max nodded, “How about that? Sounds like I better not get in between you and this Brazilian bakery - if I want any chance of sticking around.”

Turning red, I rolled my eyes at his ridiculous implication. He chuckled and grabbed my leg at the calf, kissing my ankle, before reaching for his phone. As he scrolled through the meal delivery app, reading off different items on the menu, asking which things sounded better and whether or not I would share with him, I wrapped myself in my grandmother’s afghan thinking, Sorry, G-Ma, I know you’re jealous, wherever you are. Rest in Petty.

I know what you’re thinking, but she was judgy, okay? Good vibes only.

“So, what would you like to do while we wait?” Max asked, booping me on the nose.

“Let’s see if there are any good movies on the ol’ streamer,” sitting up again, I reached for the remote, turning on one of those popular streaming services, probably the one that begins with an “H” and ends with an “ulu” - because the first movie advertised on the main screen with an extremely loud preview was Twilight.

Jerking my head to the left to look at Max, a grin rapidly turning into a smile rivaling The Joker, nodding furiously, he laughed at me. He laughed with me? He laughed. In what appeared to be a good natured way. So I hit play and we were immediately transported to Forks, Washington.

“Uh, uh, wha - uh,” I did my best Kristen Stewart as Bella Swan impersonation, as Max slammed his hand over his mouth and nose, his face expressing pure disgust when I looked over at him, in a perfect “Edward reacts to Bella entering Bio class” move.

“Cool, cool,” was my automatic response, “Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool,” as my face contorted in overdramatic mock worry.

Taking his hand down from his mouth, Max smiled, rubbing my leg reassuringly. I didn’t need to be reassured, but it was nice anyway - I enjoyed the pampering from this confident, borderline arrogant man, sharing my grandmother’s (now “sex”) afghan with me on my couch.

“Okay - be real. You’re a vampire, you live forever, right?”

“Uh, yeah?” Max cautiously responded.

“Are you actually going to go back to high school and graduate 25 times?”

A deep chuckle, rumbling in his chest, “No! Absolutely not - I would never be that bored or boring to not move on to college, at least. There’s a whole world out there and so many people and vampires to meet. It’s not that small of a world that you don’t get a whole new set of people every lifetime to meet and explore.”

He was still laughing, when he looked over at me, recognizing by the far off look in my eye, that I was mulling over the fact that I was only one lifetime for him. His face dropped.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m such an asshole.”

“No - no. It’s okay. It’s true, though, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he lamented, “It’s something that I really had to come to terms with after my unholy transition, and while I’m in a better place now, the idea is honestly a bit scary to me. I think it’s going to be one of the hardest things I do - to watch the people around me disappear, while I just keep going. I’ve made connections in the vampire world, so I’m not completely alone, but I’m not sure it’s going to be quite the same.”

He gave a light, hollow and sarcastic chuckle, shaking his head.

I mulled over his admission, the sadness that seemed to hang in the air despite his attempt to convince me otherwise by laughing about the permanence of his situation.

How should I approach this? How do I let him know that I’m here and he can talk to me? How do I give him the space to open up to me, without feeling obligated or feeling like he needs to protect me from difficult feelings? I can’t imagine there’s such a thing as an undead vampire therapist, to help humans becoming vampires with the emotional transition?

“If you could go back in time, and give yourself advice before you were turned - so that you could maybe have more choice in the situation, what would you tell yourself?”

Max shrugged his shoulders, “Hmm…” gazing into the distance, he went on, “I don’t know that it matters.” He looked back at me, “In the end, I’m exactly where I want to be - now.”

My heart, glowing as it beat a little bit faster, pumped blood straight to my face, as Max and I held each other’s gaze for what felt like too short a time. Though I’m sure it was at least a few minutes - until Max’s phone rang. On the TV, tires screeched, a horn honked, and just as Bella was about to get hit by a car, Edward jumped in front of her, denting the side of an oncoming van that surely would have crushed her against her truck.

We both laughed as I paused the movie and Max answered his phone.

“Yep, we’ll buzz you in. Thanks.”

Standing up while opening the buzzer app on his phone, he was completely naked. Save for the tie I left on him from our earlier shenanigans. I think I have a tie kink? Is that a thing? Max, abruptly aware that I was sitting on, and therefore hogging heretofore named Sex Afghan, giggled as he looked down at me, smiling doe-eyed as I gave him the up-down and the ‘how you doin’?’ Surveying the room, he paused as his gaze caught hold of something in the kitchen, drawing him there without a second to waste.

Trying not to be creepy, I decided to check my phone, instead of watching him walk away. Which technically, I did have my phone in my hand, I absolutely caught him in the corner of my eye as he sauntered towards the kitchen. Beauty, thy name is Max. However, I was truly tickled when he returned wearing my red floral robe, with the tie and the black socks. I couldn’t help but clap my hands together in joyful delight!

“Oh, you like this, huh?”

Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door and Max went to answer it, quietly talking to the person on the other side of the door, “Yeah - thanks. That’s for you, slugger - no change.”

“Thank you so much, sir! Have a good night!” came a disembodied voice from the hallway.

I jumped up and went to the kitchen, grabbing some plates, utensils, napkins - carrying them back to the living room, where Max was setting the bag of take out on the coffee table. We sat down together, looking at our spread and admiring the feast before us, each getting excited to serve each other from the next container that we’d opened, “Have you gotten any of this, yet?” - “Make sure you try these with this sauce!”

Hitting resume on Twilight, we contentedly consumed both food and questionable media. As I watched Max happily biting into a coxinha, I was overcome with a very pressing question, “Max?”

“Hmm?”

“Twilight is telling me that vampires don’t eat people-food, but here I am, watching you eat. What the fuck is going on here? This movie is based on a book, and books don’t lie. Who even are you?”

In a fake rage, Max slapped his coxinha on his plate and pointed at the tv, “That’s fake fucking news is what that is. FAKE. NEWS.”

Switching back to his pleasant smirk, complete with adorable dimple, “Vampires need blood. It’s like I said before about the extreme anemia and vitamin D deficiency. We don’t need food. Food is a want. Food is icing on the cake. Can you imagine how terrible eternity would be without being able to try new cuisines?”

He shook his head, clearly imagining a hellish future in which food was no longer an option as he took a big, greedy bite into the coxinha - cheese stretching from his hand to his mouth.

“That - makes me incredibly happy to know.” I beamed at him, glad for the small joys that remained in a life lived undead.

On screen, Edward and Bella were in the middle of the forest, as Bella queried her own vampire, “How long have you been 17?”

“A while.” Edward huskily breathed.

“I know what you are.” Bella said, accusingly.

“Say it.” Edward demanded. “Out loud. Say it.”

Gasping in an almost orgasmic tone, “Vampire!”

We both threw back our heads and laughed, and then I cut my laughing short, leaving Max to stop also, out of confusion. “How old are you?”

“Wait - what?”

“I need to know that I’m not dating someone who’s trying to groom me.”

“Well, in vampire years –” he started counting on his fingers, and I gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

“Human years, Max! Human years!”

His mouth dropped open and he cried fake tears, holding his shoulder, “You’re so strong!” I squinted at him. “Okay, okay. I’m 42 in human-years. Not like a permanent 42, but I turned 42 this year. Also, I’m glad that we’re officially dating. Your words.”

He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, then popped a mini cheese bread in his mouth without breaking eye contact.

Relieved, I sighed, “Good. I refuse to date someone 80 plus years older than me. That’s not healthy.”

Max agreed, nodding while sipping his drink from a crazy straw he found in one of my kitchen drawers.

While we continued watching the movie, I had a few more questions for him, although I tried not to press too deeply, in case any subjects were still sensitive.

“Sparkly skin - yay or nay?”

“In the sun?” Max scoffed, “Vampires don't make a habit of going in the sun. It hurts. On account of the burning and the minor flames.”

“I was wondering about that –”

“I mean, I can go out in the sun.”

Puzzled, I stared at him, awaiting some clarification.

“Vampires aren’t the only things that exist that you wouldn’t normally expect in the natural world.”

“Do go on, I’m all ears.”

“Witches.”

He chuckled at my stunned pout, “Down in New Orleans, there’s a heavy presence of those who practice witchcraft, Wiccan, and so many other varieties of, well, magic. It’s incredible really. But the vampires and the witches down there also have an understanding - which allowed me to procure this –” he held up his left hand, pointing to a silver ring on his middle finger.

“It’s a Daylight Ring. Its enchantment allows me to go out in the daylight whenever I want, without suffering from the excruciating side effects of being ‘sun averse’ and prone to burning.”

Laughing, I couldn’t help but respond, “Of course - why shouldn’t magic exist in the world? And when you have magic, why not use it to create accessibility options for vampires? It’s pretty genius.”

Slogging through the rest of the movie, unable to get through more than a few minutes at a time without finding ourselves providing what we both deemed to be constructive criticisms, we reached a point where I found myself with even more questions for Max.

“Are werewolves really that much of an occupational hazard?”

“OH, you don’t even know.” Max started, “They stink, they pee everywhere, there’s a truce in place, but it’s extremely fragile.”

“Seriously? A truce? Who put that in place?” I laughed, incredulous at all of this new information I was learning.

“Well, there’s actually a vampiric council. You’ve got the international branch of course, and then there’s regional ones. I’m still learning about the specific regions, but the one I’m most familiar with is the one in Staten Island. They’re - not the brightest. But they are definitely a good time.”

“So, this type of weird pack, coven, roving roommate pod of vampires where they feel the need to establish boundaries and lay claim to certain areas is more bureaucratic than animalistic as portrayed in the film?”

“Uhhhh –” Max took a moment to think, “They can feel very protective of their familiars and that bond is generally respected, but boundaries? They kinda don’t give a shit, unless someone is messing with their specific living space. Kinda like humans, honestly. Familiars are pets, don’t fuck with them. And stay off their lawn.”

“That sounds - surprisingly reasonable?” I waved my hand at the tv, “As opposed to whatever is going on here. Dramaaaa!”

Biting his lip, snickering, Max took my plate and set it on the coffee table, pulling me close to him as he set a throw pillow in his lap. Urging me to lay my head down, he gently started brushing his fingers along the hairline of my forehead, behind my ear, and down my neck. Repeating the motion, he continued to stroke my hair, occasionally using the tips of his fingers to massage along the back of my neck, as we finished the movie. Or, at least I think we finished the movie.

It felt like I just closed my eyes for a second, but when I opened them again, the tv volume was way down. On screen Bella, Jacob, and Edward were in some sort of heated threesome argument, with Edward begging Bella to come with him, Jacob making empty threats, and Bella asking Edward to read Jacob’s mind, because that’s obviously not a violation of anyone’s privacy.

Stretching, yawning, I asked, “Is this New Moon? Did you turn on the second movie?”

“Ehhhh —” Max hemmed, not entirely eager to answer, “Yeah. It is. It’s not - great. But it is a challenge to look away. It’s like when all the cars stop on the road when there’s some unfortunate incident, and everybody can’t help but slow down and look. I want to look away, but I’m powerless for some reason. Also, you were like a kitten in my lap, I couldn’t move while you slept - you seemed like you really needed it. I was kinda hostage to these movies.”

I guffawed, “Ha! Sure, absolutely. Nothing else to stream, huh?”

He gave me a playful warning ‘tsk, tsk, tsk’ between his teeth, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes down at me.

Taking the hint, I casually changed the subject.

“This mind reading business - is that a thing? Can you do that? I mean, sometimes you’re –”

Max laughed, interrupting me.

“No, no, no. That’s not a thing. Not for vampires at least, as far as I know. Our senses are heightened - taste, touch, smell, sound, sight…”

“And the sixth sense? Dead people?”

“Yes, but not in the way you’re hoping.” He said with a huge grin. “Unless, you want to find out?”

The way he phrased it was extremely flirtatious, but my inner instinct felt like the subject matter was - not? He can make anything sexy. Is that another vampire thing or just a Max thing? I wondered to myself, unsure whether or not to dissect the sexual innuendo of that last statement outloud.

A smile curled upwards on Max’s lips, “Your heart rate just rose.”

Putting my hand over my heart, as though I could hide it, he cackled, “It never gets old. Watching your changing expressions and how you react to me.”

Frowning up at him, he leaned down and kissed me, as one hand snaked its way into mine, stretching in between my fingers, flexing in and out. We continued our slow kiss, until the opening chords of House of the Rising Sun broke our focus and our calm.

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Leaning back up, Max stretched, reaching for his phone and shutting off the music.

“Alarm.” He sighed, looking back down at me, “Time for this vampire to turn back into a salesman.”

As I sat up, I turned so that I could face him - lifting my hand up to stroke his cheek, and he nestled into my hand, kissing my palm.

“Thank you for tonight, Max. Thank you for the beautiful new lingerie, dinner, the –” I spelled it out and exaggeratedly whispered, as though we’d done something unforgivable, “S-E-X.”

“Anytime and every time, Sweetness.” Giving me a wink and a kiss on the forehead before he stood up, “I’m wearing this back to my apartment,” indicating my red floral robe.

I frowned at him, unsure how I felt about him stealing one of my favorite clothing items, but then he took his right hand and lifted the right side lapel to his nose, sniffing deeply.

“It smells like you.”

Geezus, fuck. That was hot.

“Oh, oh. Okay, sure.” I nodded, suddenly very fine with it.

He gathered his clothing from the pile we’d left in the kitchen, and taking his white button up, he placed it around my shoulders, as I put my arms inside the sleeves.

“I want to see you in this later. Just this.”

Mimicking what he’d done with my robe, as we walked to the door, I gave him a curt response, “I suppose that can be arranged.”

He stared at me, mouth open slightly, for about 30 seconds before saying, “No. No - I’ve gotta go.” And pulled me in close for a quick kiss on the lips, before heading down the hallway. Turning around to throw me a cheeky smirk, he looked sufficiently ridiculous and somehow very, very spicy in the robe, socks, and tie.

Closing the door behind him, I proceed to walk over to the couch, where I picked up my sequined Nic Cage pillow, smoothing down all the sequins, before calmly jamming it against my face and giving a pleased groan, “Oh My Goooooood!”

Why did he make me feel like such a teenager?

My dopamine levels soaring, I knew I needed to pull myself down from these heights so that I could get some sleep. Lighting a lavender & sage candle, I started the shower, and put on a random selection of albums by neo-psychedelic surf-pop band, La Luz.

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“They love you today, soon they’ve gone away. You will know me by the way, I won’t ever hesitate.”

Crooning along to the trippy tunes, I thought about Max’s life as a vampire, “If the golden glow simmers into black and leaves you reeling. I won’t take it back. When I say I’m yours, you know I mean it.”

I stepped out of the shower, and remembering the melancholic undercurrents that he so coolly skated over in our earlier conversation about his vampiric lifestyle, I considered what I’d want my options to be. To at least have a companion, someone dear with me to spend the rest of time, to explore the world, to always consider that person my special place to hang my heart and call home. Forever is a long time to be a strong, independent person, who doesn’t need anyone else.

All this time that we were spending together, made me wonder if Max was flirting with the idea of turning me? Not once had he brought it up, so this would certainly be presumptuous on my part to expect him to make such an offer. From what I’ve seen of him, he doubtless goes after what he wants. Albeit, he has been very considerate of my feelings, my boundaries, my wants and needs. But I’m putting the cart before the horse - would I even say yes to that proposition?

Dressing in my silk night set, I grabbed my journal. Let’s write this out - maybe a stream of consciousness poem will help me to work out how I feel. Putting pen to paper, I thought about the way his jaw clenched a bit, right before his mouth turned up into a smile on one side, his dimple becoming prominent. The way it warmed me up from the inside out when he teased me, making my stomach drop like I’d just gone down the biggest hill on a rollercoaster, my fingers tingling, and my face a bit dizzy with the rush of blood to my cheeks.

In the warmth of your smile, I melt like wax rolling down the edge of a candle. Flame licked and flickering under your glow. If I’m not careful you might soften what the world made hard in me. If I’m not careful the fire in you might jump my wick. But maybe, that’s how we were meant to meet - your flame igniting what was intended to be consumed, illuminating my darkness - bringing light to my nights.

Hmmm. I scrunched up my nose as I read over the words. Not entirely sure that made anything clearer - I closed my journal, and opted to sleep on it.

To be continued...

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#Pedro Pascal is a sexy vampire!#Max Phillips x afab!fem!reader #Bloodsucking Bastards FanFic #NOT Twilight #GTFO Renesmé #Endometriosis Awareness #Adenomyosis Awareness

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morallyinept · 7 months

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A list of all my favourite MAX PHILLIPS Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Max Phillips Fic Recs - Part 1

Max Phillips Fic Recs - Part 2

Will be added to as I find more...

Jett's Pedro Character Favourite Fic Recs

#max phillips #max phillips bloodsucking bastards #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #bloodsucking bastards fanfic #vampire max phillips #max phillips smut #max phillips fluff #max phillips vampire #max phillips angst #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x m!reader #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x gn!reader #jetts fic recs #fic recs

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chaoticgeminate · 2 years

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Who is in Control

Part of the Iridescence Fictional Universe Blood Price Series Part One

Pairing: Lord Regent!Max Phillips x Light Elf f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2.3K

Series Summary: After being named Eastern Regent of the Vampire Queen Max meets the Elvish ambassador of his new territory, he expected a stick in the mud noble and learns that he was both correct and incorrect. Possible Warnings: Blood (it's vampires), Max being a bit of a dick (it's Max)

Series Masterlist | Iridescence Masterlist Previous Chapter

“Lady Ambassador, I’ve brought you the crimson heather blossoms you requested.” A servant from Maximos’ estate knocked gently at the door to the study you’d commandeered as your own, the tables laden with tomes in a variety of languages bearing spells and knowledge you were working through at an accelerated pace. You barely looked up from the small diary in your hands, waving to an open spot on the wooden table top, and the door closed quietly behind the girl as she fled the room.

To avoid looking lesser, weaker, in the eyes of any of the Blood Court you had taken to keeping stern and focused at all times when others were around; polite laughter and smiles were the most you awarded anyone, and when your vassals had reported and then dispersed all of them had decided to do the same. It wasn’t as though any of you thought yourselves superior to any of the Blood Court but quickly the arrogance of the vampires and their people had become apparent, especially when Lady Lynsendre had tried to proposition you directly after the meeting, so to avoid trouble it was easiest to keep as distant as you could.

Working around the natural discourse of magic between the blood magic and the light magic your kind used was proving to be a problem, but then again the blood magic that made vampires what they were had no known origins to your people or any others. So far whatever their magic was could only work on humans, records of Sidhe or Elvish vampires were non-existent, and any vampire that tried to drink the blood of an Elf or Sidhe reportedly would burn from the inside out. Even Dark Elves, whose natural magic abilities leaned toward death magic and control over elemental magic -as opposed to harmonious usage like yours- were just as deadly to the vampires.

But it made no sense why.

Sliding a piece of ribbon into the pages and closing the tome, beginning an examination of the blossoms you now had, was the first step to figuring it out. Your magic had always leaned toward nature and plants and you’d chosen to take advantage of the fact that there was latent blood magic all over, it was almost too easy the way you drew that deep red magic out of the petals. As if you were drawing something contagious, infectious, from the natural Wilding magic within the flowers.

What surprised you most was that the flower was normal after the blood magic was stripped from it, a simple heather blossom, and you needed to decide what step would come next. It was possible that there was something bigger involved with the blood magic itself but to really, truly, look into it you would need help from a Dark Elf to do so. Since there was little you could do with the essence of magic you’d extracted you began to seal it into a vial for keeping, that way you could possibly send it to be thoroughly examined.

What you hadn’t counted on was the energy to not only fight you, alive in a way much like Wilding Magic itself was, but to steadily grow and shape itself into a vaguely bipedal form by extracting energy from the garden of flowers just outside your window.

“A blood elemental?” The figure made to attack you, expanding like a red cloud, worming its way into your body only to shriek as your natural magic quickly swelled to combat the foreign energy. It burned like a fire had been ignited under your skin and you wheezed in pain as you fell out of the chair, bracing yourself on the floor with one forearm as you covered your mouth to prevent the swirling bile and rising need to vomit, and the rushing sound of white-noise blocked out everything before you felt two extremely cold hands cup your face and wrench your gaze up.

Maximos’ eyes scanned your entire face and there was a red glow to them, casting an almost maroon color over the brown irises, and he practically slammed his mouth to yours before you felt the release of that energy trying to claw its way through you. He was devouring it through your mouth, his thumbs pressing at the hinge of your jaws to hold you open for him, but even if he thought you’d fight you just couldn’t.

All at once you fell against him, like a puppet with its strings cut, trembling with the occasional jerk of your muscles as he drew his face back; the red to his eyes was much brighter now and every bit of strength you had was just gone. The Reagent Lord gestured to someone, you didn’t know who, and you heard the rapid footsteps as whatever servant had been there rushed off.

His hands were cold on your arms as he picked you up and placed you back in the chair you’d fallen out of, crouching so that he could stare at you while your head hung limp.

“Ambassador, I need you to look at me.” His voice was soothing and warm, soft and tender and musical, you lifted your eyes to stare into his and Maximos’ lips curved into a frown. He surged up again and slotted his mouth back to yours, mindful of his fangs, and the lethargic drag in your limbs finally began to fade as a better sense of clarity finally returned. Like he’d extracted poison from your very magic core.

This time when he drew back you were able to support yourself and sit up properly, to shake your head and feel the foreign magic no longer attempting to leech off your magic and your body.

“What in the name of the Immortals was that?” Your voice was weak from the unexpected incident, feeling a sense of dread begin to bubble up at the encounter, and Maximos could only shrug gently. His eyes stayed on you though, following you as you stood up, and the servant that had disappeared was back with a large tankard of tea as well as regular water.

“What happened to you, who tried to turn you?” Maximos’ was looking around the room and you realized that he was looking for signs of a vampire that’d been burned from your magic, that had been dusted by your natural defenses, and you glanced at the empty vial that had shattered on the floor. For any magic to have an elemental manifest like that it had to be a magic that wasn’t alive like Wilding Magic was, it had to be a secondary school of power, and while it shouldn’t come to a surprise that Blood Magic truly was its own entity like Fire or Death Magic… it was a surprise.

“I extracted the blood magic from those heather blossoms, they were crimson and from your garden, and when I went to seal it for further examination an elemental formed.” Maximos’ eyes snapped to look at you now and you wondered what he was thinking, his expression was very carefully blank, and after a long moment where you sipped the hot tea you’d been given he finally seemed to decide what he wanted to reveal to you.

“I thought that I imagined it, when I was turned. Blood elementals exist?” He sounded… lost, almost. His tone was so soft, so very different to what you’d witnessed in the past few days, that you believed him. The Regent stood up and looked around, you realized that the servant was gone and that you couldn’t hear or sense anyone else nearby, now his vulnerability and the delay made sense. Maximos sat down across from you and quietly you recounted the entire experience again.

“I think it’s the elementals that are creating the problem with other magic types, since I was able to extract the blood magic itself safely and handle it up until the elemental formed.” Which meant that there was a chance that a blood elemental was living inside every vampire, or leeching off them somehow, and you held up your hand carefully; Maximos’ eyes met yours before he pressed his palm flat to your own. He was cold, as you expected, and you carefully began to focus on the feeling of his magic.

As a low level mage you couldn’t do very many advanced spells, it was something you used to hate, but what you lacked in raw magic talent you made up for in knowledge; or at least you had, until now.

He felt it, the call of your magic, and Max felt his instincts flare in warning; he forced himself to calm, watching as the faint glow around your hands began to spread to his, and for the briefest of moments it felt warm. Not the searing heat of blood down his throat, not the searing heat of living skin or a hot cunt, but a gentle warmth; the warmth of the sun on his skin before he was turned, the warmth of a cozy sweater when the winds were just starting to turn to autumn’s chill.

Something about your magic made him think of the faces he no longer remembered, of his mother’s gentle smile and warm brown eyes and his father’s face weathered from age but wrinkled from kindness around the corners of his mouth and eyes. Faces he hadn’t thought of for decades now, that he’d chosen to forget.

All at once his vision blurred, a crimson haze cast over everything, and Max had to throw himself away from you as the urge to rip you to pieces with his bare hands became overwhelming. It was like he was fighting with his own body, the sensation of something else living under his skin trying to make his limbs follow orders other than his own, and your magic abruptly stopped before you were pressed back into the corner of the room with a shield spell in place.

He hissed and stared at the way his veins had swelled and were pulsing under his own skin, breathed against the pain that flared as he forced whatever this was to settle, and if he were alive he thought he might’ve thrown up as he took great heaving breaths -more out of reflex than need- and stared at you. He’d never lost control like that, ever, and yet now he had.

“I think- I think your theory has some sound logic.” Admitting you were right wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do, after all the idea of any caster figuring out how Blood Magic truly worked -when his own kind didn’t exactly understand it- was a terrifying one. But it would be worse if the enemy were able to begin truly eliminating the humans volunteering their blood to keep his people sane, his kind would target any living thing and no doubt die attempting a meal of the Elves and Sidhe.

“This just got a hundred times more complex. I’ll- I have to call on the Dark Elves, they would likely be able to speed up the process of figuring this out. If that’s agreeable to you, Lord Regent.” You were putting your things to right, some of the various books and parchment had gotten tossed around in the magic mishap, and Max found himself considering it. He’d never really met a Dark Elf before, he’d heard of them of course and that they were the dark natured cousins of his now political allies, but if you didn’t seem worried about having them around he suspected that there was a good enough reason for it.

“One only, I can’t have a bunch of Elves running around my Keep acting like they own the place.” He’d noticed you kept mostly to yourself, kept your emotions dimmed to a polite coolness, and the fact that you were so… unbothered by being here shouldn’t have been as offensive to him as it was. But he felt it was a bit arrogant, that you were so unwilling to be whoever you truly were around him and his people, that even if it was a defense mechanism it came across more as distrust and a superiority complex than anything else.

Your long ears twitched in the same motion of your lips quirking upward on one side, like you’d bitten back some snarky comment, and Max couldn’t help himself. He wanted to see if your attitude was all ice, if you were as cool as you were trying to come across, or if there was a bit of fire under that veneer of yours.

“You’ve got more than enough of a superiority complex.” He was honestly mildly impressed that he couldn’t tell if the remark landed right away, it was clear you were definitely an experienced Ambassador, but that little lift of your lip turned down and your ears twitched again. The smell of blood was sharp, you’d bitten your cheek to stop yourself from rising to the challenge, and he turned to leave since you clearly weren’t going to let him see even a little bit of the real you.

“Says the man who decided to showcase his position by fucking his feeder in the middle of a political meeting, or were you trying to scare me off?” Max paused and couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face, turning his head only a little to look at you over his shoulder.

“It obviously didn’t work, so either you’re arrogant or you’re stubborn.” He watched you, he could hear the blood rushing in your veins and smell it rising to your cheeks, your anger was sharp and floral and enticing. Max found himself turning fully, ready to engage further just so he could see you lose control, but you caught yourself. The fire vanished faster than he could blink, extinguished and smothered beneath that calm veneer, and Max honestly hated it.

“I’m just good at my job, Lord Regent, now if you’ll excuse me I need to send a message.” Max watched you go and found himself exhaling reflexively, hating that you could reduce him to human mannerisms so easily, and his eyes darted back to your books only briefly. He would just have to try a little harder, that was all, you clearly weren’t infallible.

Maybe he could tolerate you after all.

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

genre: smut, office romance

word count: 5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not listening are you?”

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

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

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

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

“Family?”

“Shitty breakup.”

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Max.

What the hell?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you?” you answer, unsure.

“You’re very much welcome.”

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

“So, how did it happen?”

Your throat goes dry, “What?”

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

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

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

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

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,”

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

You laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max…” you warn.

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think it might be worth the risk.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then why are you so upset?

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

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

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

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

“Just get your gorgeous self over here.”

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

“Max…”

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

“You want it…to go somewhere?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, sir.” you choke out.

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

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

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

"Say. It."

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

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

“Fuck me, sir. Please.”

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

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

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

“Max, please. . .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe out, “Yes—”

And he gives you everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a plan.”

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

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wardenparker · 8 months

Text

Vampire Waltz - ch 1

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

My Masterlist!

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

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suzdin · 8 months

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Two for One: Series Masterlist

( Dave York x Max Phillips x f!reader )

✧˖°. Summary: You leave your unsatisfactory life in Texas to move to Boston to be with your boyfriend. He dumps you soon after, leaving you stranded and alone. That is until you meet Dave York and Max Phillips.

✧˖°. Warnings: Everything. Minors DNI. Non-vamp Max and non-EQ2 Dave. Max is a cocky asshole and Dave is a broody creep (we love him for that). Explicit smut. Mentions of drug use/abuse. Familial drama and angst. Reader is kinda an alcoholic and smokes. Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

✧˖°. Notes: This whole idea came about because I’m always seeing Dave pairings with softer characters (understandable). I wanted to see it play out with two dom personalities. I’m glad everyone is enjoying it so far 🥹

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Thank you to everyone who’s been on this freaky journey with me. I love you. 🥹💜✨

#pedro pascal #writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro fanfic #max phillips #dave york #bloodsucking bastards #equalizer 2

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leslie-lyman · 2 years

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i cannot get you close enough [alpha!Max Phillips x omega!fem!reader]

[title from the Florence + the Machine song “100 Years”]

summary:

“You have to invite me in, sweetheart.”

Oh. Right. Vampire.

“Come in, please,” you say demurely, and Max’s smile widens as he steps over the threshold into your apartment. He reaches for you again immediately, kicking your door closed and pulling you close.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Such a polite little Omega.”

rating: E 🚨 (you must be at least 18 years old to read/interact with this fic or anything else on my blog)

warnings: oh lordy, here we go. A/B/O dynamics; one small scene of men being creepy and threatening towards reader (but, perhaps surprisingly, one of those men is not Max); extremely self-indulgent Halloween costumes on the part of your author; a bit of angst; fEeLiNgS; absolutely way too much plot and character backstory for what was supposed to just be porn; Alpha!Max is his own warning; heat sex; biting; blood-drinking; breeding kink; many, many creampies; Max has an absolutely filthy mouth; look, it’s heat sex with Max, it probably (hopefully?) entails exactly what you think it does

word count: 12.4K. You heard me.

a/n: HAPPY (belated, forgive me) BIRTHDAY @ezrasbirdie!!!!!! This one’s for you, babe. Thank you for encouraging me to finally write down my alpha!Max idea and for always being the most supportive, wonderful, amazing friend. I love you to bits and hope you had the loveliest of birthdays. ❤️❤️❤️ also thank you to @whataperfectwasteoftime for being my sounding board while I worked on this and for willingly subjecting yourself to increasingly unhinged screenshots of snippets of heat sex as I wrote them.

Masterlist. Taglist.

———

You meet Max on his very first day.

Water cooler gossip had preceded him:

He’s the youngest person in company history to be made a Senior Director of Sales.

He really turned around a failing branch in Albuquerque, if you know what I mean, and now he’s being brought in here to HQ.

He’s a vampire.

He’s an Alpha.

“A sales guy, a vampire, and an Alpha? Sounds like this guy won the douchebag lottery,” Morgan, your closest work friend, murmurs to you over lunch one day after overhearing some of your colleagues gossiping about the impending new addition to the sales team.

You snort into your salad, fiddling with the silver bracelet on your right wrist - a subconscious tick you did whenever your conversation involved talk of an Alpha.

“Well for better or worse, at least we have lots of experience dealing with men like that around here,” you reply. And lord knows you did.

The company was full of men like that, especially here in its New York headquarters. Men who swaggered around, cocksure and confident whether it was warranted or not (it usually wasn’t), hitting on female subordinates and superiors alike (though there were unfortunately few of the latter).

And good god, the smell. Most Alphas, in your experience, smelled like they’d recently emerged from a dunk tank filled with Axe body spray. It was a scent that pushed its way into your sinuses and took up residence like a squatter, overwhelming and nausea-inducing.

But most Alphas, in your experience, also overlooked you. Why should they give you, a Beta, any more than a glance, when they could otherwise be chasing some poor unmated Omega? And you were glad of it, the Alphas you encountered in your workplace and out in the world rarely giving you more than a passing leer and a sniff before they realized you gave off no scent of your own and moving on.

You can’t imagine trying to navigate through life if they knew the truth: that you were an Omega. You just went to great lengths to hide it.

Modern suppressants worked wonders, acting as birth control while keeping your Omega subdued and limiting your heats to two miserable weekends a year. But pills alone could not hide what you were entirely. The delicate silver chain around your wrist did the rest, the unassuming metal imbued with a powerful charm that erased all outward evidence of your designation, making your Omega undetectable to the senses of others. An old-fashioned relic from a time long before the invention of suppressants, handed down across many generations of your mother’s family.

Apart from your heats, you never took it off, and were grateful for it every day. You were content to make your own quiet — if often lonely — way in the world, confident that if someone ever were to take notice of you, they’d do so because of who you are, not what you are.

And you were comforted by the knowledge that Max Phillips, whoever and whatever he was, would leave you be just like every other Alpha you’ve met, and be none the wiser.

Max’s boss, Hector, an older vampire, brings him by your division as part of an introductory tour on his first morning. You’d been prepared for the perfunctory handshake and sly, flirty grin he gives you as you tell him your name.

“Nice to meet you, Max.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart,” he responds in that overly confident, borderline-inappropriate way typical of both Alphas and salesmen.

You had not been prepared for how handsome he is. The smooth, sharp cut of his jawline looks like it could cut glass. His strong nose is slightly hooked, but it only enhances his features, rather than detracts from them. His skin has a golden hue that’s a richer shade than most vampires you’ve met, who tend to have a paler, more washed-out quality to them. His expensive three-piece suit fits him like a glove (with the exception of his cuffs, which, you note, are a half-inch too long), and it shows off his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He’s going to break hearts all over this building, you can already tell.

But how he looks is nothing compared to how he smells.

It had hit you the moment he’d walked in, strong and overwhelming. But where other Alphas’ scents make you want to retch, this scent makes you go weak in the knees. You can almost feel it curl around you like a living thing, warm and comforting, with a hint of spice and an undertone of something a little sharper, like clean linen, and you wonder if that’s his vampirism’s influence. You want to wear it like a favorite sweater, you want to rub up against this man like a cat, you want him to scent you…

That ridiculous thought makes you shake yourself back to reality. Hector is introducing Max to your coworkers, your brief moment of introduction long over, but you notice Max stealing a glance or two back in your direction. There’s a hint of a frown tugging at his plush lower lip when he does, like he’s confused about something. You resist the urge to spin your bracelet around your wrist, not wanting to draw attention to it.

It’s alright. You’re fine. He can’t smell you. He can’t know. Even with his enhanced vampire senses, your Omega is hidden. And that’s for the best. Just like it always has been.

You watch as Max and Hector round the corner to head to the next suite of offices, and Max’s scent begins to fade. For a moment you have the ludicrous desire to follow him, but you quickly shove it aside and turn back to your work.

You’re a paralegal for the company’s legal department, so you and Max will be working on complete opposite sides of the office from each other. It should be easy enough to avoid him going forward.

And you need to avoid him, because even though you’ve only interacted for a few moments, one thing is painfully obvious:

Max Phillips is, above everything else, trouble.

———

His first month in his new role has Max busier than he’d anticipated. Unlike in his previous roles with the company, working at HQ has him surrounded by more Alphas and more vampires than he’s ever been before. Forget the endless cubicles of lazy mediocre employees spending their time building their fantasy football leagues and watching porn instead of working; the New York office is full of people like him: driven, competitive, ruthless, intelligent. Alphas. Vampires. He can’t coast here, not when he’s amongst so many peers who all have the same sorts of biological and supernatural advantages that he does.

Max has to work hard to keep up and get ahead here, to outmaneuver the other Senior Directors, to suck up to the bosses, to think up the Next Great Sales Idea before someone else does.

He loves it, even if his schedule is more packed than it ever has been. This is what he’s meant to do, this is what he’s so good at, and however much time and effort the company demands of him, he’s happy to give it.

So why, then, during his rare moments of free time, do his thoughts keep returning to the pretty Beta over in Legal?

There’s something about her that he can’t quite figure out. He only sees her occasionally, happening to pass her in the hall or going in or out of the break room with a mug of tea (never coffee, he notes). Rarely he’ll manage to catch her eye, but she always looks away the moment he does.

He can’t help but notice the way her clothes always fit her perfectly; dresses in rich jewel tones that sweep over her beautiful curves; high-waisted trousers that make her petite frame seem tall and statuesque; blouses with jeweled buttons or other delicate details. He should ask her, he thinks, where she buys it all, and how she affords such an immaculately tailored wardrobe on a paralegal’s salary.

Someone brings donuts into the office one day, and Max has the strangest urge to bring her one. Before he can waste too much time thinking about it he plucks one from the box and makes his way over to her desk.

———

You aren’t in your chair, but your purse and coat hanging off the back of it make clear that you’re here somewhere. Max deposits the donut and napkin next to your keyboard, and takes a moment to snoop.

There aren’t a lot of personal items on your desk - a framed photo of an older couple who must be your parents, a coffee mug emblazoned with the name of your alma mater currently holding an assortment of pens, a little figurine of that baby Yoda character from that Star Wars show everyone but he seems to have seen.

But then he notices the drawings. There are a few tacked to the fabric walls of your cubicle, all women in different outfits, done in a combination of pencil, marker, and watercolor, all of the kind you would find in a fashion designers’ sketchbook.

Then Max realizes that there is, in fact, a sketchbook sitting on your desk, large and well-loved but cheap-looking, something you could pick up for a few bucks at any craft store. Is this your hobby? More importantly, why does he suddenly care to know? Max is no judge of art, but the drawings are beautiful, and he can’t help but imagine what these dresses, if made real, would look like on you…

“Can I help you, Mr. Phillips?”

He jumps, turning to find you standing there, watching him be far nosier than he should be around your desk. You’re wearing a sleeveless dress and matching long blazer in deep cream linen today. He glances down at the donut he’s brought you and feels uncharacteristically foolish. What is he even doing here?

“No, sweetheart, I was just…” A coworker - one of the actual lawyers - walks by. “I was just waiting for you, Clark!” He swiftly catches up to the other man and throws an overly friendly arm around his shoulders as they walk back towards Clark’s office. “Buddy, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’ve been told you’re the man to talk to about IRS compliance issues, or, rather, how to get around IRS compliance issues…”

———

Well that was odd.

You sit back down at your desk, reassured that Max doesn’t seem to have opened your sketchbook. You just keep it around in case inspiration strikes at work.

Then you notice the donut, the unmistakable scent of a certain Alpha all over it. Did he - did Max really - ?

Alpha provides, your Omega purrs, and you want to roll your eyes at yourself. Is the bar for men really so low that one of them bringing you a donut should make you want to open your legs for him?

But you also can’t help but smile, finding it a sweet gesture in spite of yourself.

———

You and Max become…workplace acquaintances, shall you say, after that. You don’t force yourself to avoid eye contact with him whenever you pass in the hall. You allow yourself a few moments of small talk when you happen to be in the break room together. You start calling him Max, instead of Mr. Phillips.

His scent doesn’t get any easier to bear, though. Nor does the way his shoulders fill out his suits.

It’s pleasant and superficial, even if you know it can never go any deeper than that. He’s friendly and nice, and even seems to get a little flustered by you sometimes, which you enjoy. And he doesn’t openly hit on you, which is a surprise, one you tell yourself you’re grateful for even if your Omega desperately wishes he would.

It’s all well and good, until it isn’t.

You’re crammed into the back of the elevator one day when you're running late and trying to get up to the office. Max and several of the other Alphas he spends much of his time with get on last, and suddenly you’re privy to an ongoing conversation you soon wish you could tune out.

“—nothing like it. But you’re telling me, Phillips, that you don’t see the appeal? Having a little Omega mate always waiting for you at home? Some insatiable thing always there with a warm meal and a wet cunt?”

You can hear Max make a hmm of acknowledgement at the other Alpha, who apparently sees nothing wrong with sharing his misogynistic views of Omegas in a public elevator surrounded by colleagues. Typical.

“Omegas can be fun, don’t get me wrong,” Max replies. “But they’re also so clingy and always want to talk about bonds and mating and commitment.” His dismissive tone makes very clear what he thinks of those ideas. “Why would I tie myself down when there’s so much of me to go around? Omegas are more trouble than they’re worth.”

It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t. There’s two rows of people separating you; Max doesn’t even know you’re in this elevator, let alone that you’re an Omega. You should be glad he feels that way — then if he ever discovered your secret, you wouldn’t have to worry about him being interested.

Omegas are more trouble than they’re worth.

The elevator dings, and Max and the other Alphas file out.

“Just wait until you meet your mate, Phillips. You’ll change your tune real quick.”

“Yeah, and god help whoever ends up mated to this asshole.”

“Shove it, Bret, you’re just still pissed my team outsold yours last month.”

The rest of their conversation fades away, but the inexplicable nugget of pain in your heart does not.

———

The company’s Halloween party is its biggest employee event of the year, surpassing even the annual Christmas soirée. It’s always held at a ritzy hotel in downtown Manhattan, the kind of place you couldn’t afford a room at even for one night. Attendance is optional.

Technically.

But really, it’s one of those events where failure to show up signified a lack of enthusiasm for the company. And even though you approach this job as just a thing you do that lets you afford rent instead of your great calling in life, you don’t want to risk making things more difficult for yourself by skipping out this year. Besides, you just finished an incredible new costume and you’re eager to show it off.

Even if you are cutting it awfully close with your heat this time.

You’ve felt it coming on all week, that telltale prickle of warmth under your skin that won’t dissipate even in the crisp autumn chill that’s finally descended upon New York. The Friday night of the party, it’s almost upon you, but you figure you have until the next morning before it truly arrives. You can make it to the party. Say hi to a few people, make sure your bosses see you there, have one drink, then bail.

You’ve already put together your nest, the pile of blankets and pillows and the odd stuffed animal carefully arranged on your bed. You’ve stocked up on Gatorade and cheese cubes and popsicles, things you can snack on quickly in between rounds of feverishly fucking yourself on one of your knotted toys. You’ve done everything you need to do to make this heat bearable just like you have for your whole adult life, to minimize the deep ache in your core that will never stop reminding you of the one thing that’s missing:

An Alpha.

And you know, deep down, that this time when you’re alone in your nest and begging out loud to no one for an Alpha to come and fill you up, you’ll be picturing a very specific Alpha in particular.

You try to put Max from your mind as you zip yourself into your dress and put the finishing touches on your hair and makeup, making sure your silver bracelet is secure around your wrist. You’ve managed to keep your interactions with Max to a minimum in the two weeks since overhearing him in the elevator, and that is for the best.

Nothing but trouble, you remind yourself. He can be absolutely nothing but trouble.

———

You are sure that most of the time, the ballroom where the party is held each year is a perfectly elegant place. Multiple chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and large gilded mirrors on the walls lend the place an elegant, old-fashioned, Gatsby-esque vibe.

Unfortunately, whoever at your company is in charge of planning the party insists on ruining the natural classiness of the room by putting a light-up dance floor in the middle of it, over which looms a DJ playing tacky remixes of “Thriller” alongside whatever counts as Top 40 these days. The walls are flooded with aggressively purple uplighting like you’re at every wedding in New Jersey circa-2012, and there’s a bar shoved into every corner serving every liquor imaginable and featuring multiple bowls of questionable punch on beds of dry ice. It’s like all the loud, drunken Halloween parties you went to in college, but with a much larger budget.

But it’s fine. Get in, be seen, one drink, get out.

You smooth your hands over your skirt as you walk in. Your costume with its petticoat is a far cry from the skimpier outfits many of the other women in your office tend to gravitate towards for this party, but you don’t mind.

You’ve been making your own Halloween costumes since you were a teenager. Your mother made them for you growing up, and passed on her love of sewing and fashion to you. Last year, you were the Scarlet Witch, handmade headpiece and all. The year before that, you came to the party in a replica of Belle’s blue and white dress from the beginning of Beauty and the Beast.

This year’s costume is more obscure, but near and dear to your heart. The bodice is blood-red satin, with a swooping boat-shaped neckline that shows off just a hint of your breasts. The fabric bunches together in off-the-shoulder sleeves that stop at your elbows, with a scrap of delicate ivory lace attached to the end of each one. The skirt falls in ruffled tiers of black, but for an open panel at the front that shows off the layers of white petticoat underneath. Black lace bows cut across the white three times, and the silhouette makes your waist look small while the skirt flares and moves like waves when you walk.

You’ve built a few pockets into the skirt for practical reasons, but otherwise, it’s a damn near exact replica of Catherine Zeta-Jones’ dress from The Mask of Zorro.

You quickly find Morgan and your small group of work friends giggling over drinks in a corner, and they appropriately ohh and ahh over your outfit, having come to look forward to seeing what you’ll come up with for your costume each year. A trace of Max’s scent reaches you, but it’s faint, and hard to detect under the myriad scents of the other Alphas in the room. He’s here, somewhere, but you don’t see him. Which doesn’t matter, because you aren’t looking for him, despite the way your nearly-in-heat Omega is growing increasingly wild over it.

You’re halfway through your one drink when it gets to be too much — too many people, too many scents, music loud enough you have to shout to be heard, a room that feels far too warm. Pinpricks of light start to dance at the edges of your vision, and your bodice feels too tight; you can’t get enough air. You excuse yourself from your friends, and take your drink into the hall.

You wander until you find a much more quiet corner where the noise from the party is subdued. There are several padded velvet benches along the wall and you sink onto one with a sigh, closing your eyes and trying to determine whether you’ve stayed long enough and whether you’ll be missed if you head home now. What you wouldn’t give to be able to snap your fingers and skip the ride home, to just be magically transported straight to your cozy nest in your dark, quiet apartment…

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don’t notice the way a particular scent grows stronger, indicating that you’re no longer alone.

“Buenos noches, Señorita Montero.”

Your eyes fly open.

It’s Max. It has to be, the way his delicious scent sinks into every inch of you, invading your senses and making your stomach clench. But for a split second you blink at him in confusion, forgetting for a moment that you’re at a Halloween party, because the person standing before you isn’t Max.

It’s Zorro.

Zorro, in head-to-toe black, from his boots to his (tighter than in the movie) pants to the billowy shirt that exposes a significant amount of his chest. A fancy-looking sword hangs from his belt, his shoulders draped in a cape that falls to behind his knees. The trademark black mask covers his eyes, but the wry twist of his lips gives the illusion away — that look he’s giving you is all Max.

You recover from your initial surprise, laughing at your serendipitous coordination.

“Well, if it isn’t Zorro himself,” you say, playing along. “I’m surprised to see you at a party — you’re not here to cause trouble, are you? Should I be worried that there’s danger afoot?”

“Tonight, I am only here for the entertainment,” he replies, in a surprisingly accurate imitation of Antonio Banderas’s accent. “And to perhaps enjoy the company of a beautiful lady.”

You chuckle, but the humor’s gone out of it.

“Well if I see any, I’ll be sure to send them your way.”

Max frowns.

“On the contrary,” he says softly. “I’m speaking to such a woman right now.”

You flush, your body growing even warmer at his compliment.

“Can I sit?” He asks, dropping the accent. You gesture to the bench cushion beside you.

He settles next to you, maintaining a respectful distance and taking care not to step or sit on any of your dress.

“I had such a crush on Catherine Zeta-Jones in this movie,” he admits. “It’s still one of my favorites.”

“I had such a crush on her and Antonio Banderas in this movie,” you tell him. “That scene where they dance together basically invented sexual chemistry.”

Max nods in agreement.

“Where did you ever find a costume of Elena’s dress from the party?”

“I made it.”

“You…made it?”

“I’ve always made my own Halloween costumes. I make most of my own clothes, actually.” You’ve also got a shelf holding several awards from cosplay competitions you’ve accumulated over the past few years, but you don’t mention that to him. He doesn’t need to know the full extent of how nerdy you are.

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise (or at least, you think he does under the mask).

“So that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why you always look so good. I mean — ” if he still had the ability, you think he might be blushing right now. It’s adorable. “Why your clothes always look so good. On you. Why everything always seems to be…well-tailored.”

“Well-tailored,” you repeat, your Omega preening at his praise, odd though it is. “That’s one of the more unique compliments I’ve ever been given, Max. Thank you.”

He grins at you for a moment, before his features soften into something else.

“I haven’t seen you around the office as much lately,” he says quietly. “Everything okay?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. Your fingers go to your bracelet, the metal cool and comforting.

You can’t tell him you’ve been avoiding him, let alone tell him why.

“I’ve just been really busy lately, I guess. Some days I feel like I never have a free minute to leave my desk at all.”

“That’s a shame,” Max says, shifting just an inch closer to you on the bench. “But perhaps if you don’t have time at work, we could find a time to see each other outside of the office? Maybe…I could take you to dinner next week?”

Oh my god. Is he — did he just — ?

It’s not a come-on, it’s not a lewd proposition, Max Phillips is genuinely asking you out. You’re sitting here dressed as Zorro and Elena and it feels like you’re no more than five damn minutes away from your heat and Max Phillips is asking you out.

You want so badly to say yes. Your Omega is screaming at you to say yes (and then jump his bones right here in this hallway).

But you can’t. There are so many good reasons why you can’t.

That overwhelmed feeling is starting to suck you under again. You can’t think clearly, not when he’s this close to you and you’re this close to your heat. You have to get out of here.

You stand up.

“I’m sorry, Max, I — ”

“Whoa, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” He stands and reaches out a hand to steady you, but you step away before he can.

“Nothing, I just, I don’t feel well. I should be getting home.”

“Let me walk you out — ”

“No!” You nearly shout it at him, and the look that crosses his face makes you feel like you’ve just kicked a puppy.

“I’m sorry, Max. Let’s talk about this in the office next week, okay?”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he says softly.

You beat a hasty retreat for the exit, and don’t look back.

———

The entrance to the hotel is on a more quiet side street rather than one of the main avenues, and you’re grateful not to be thrust into the ebb and flow of a crowded Manhattan sidewalk the moment you step outside. But it also means there aren’t many cabs venturing down this way, and you know you’ll never make it if you have to take the subway. You whip out your phone and call an Uber.

Eight minutes away. You can handle that. Eight minutes in the fresh, chilly air, eight minutes to clear your head of the Alpha your body is craving more desperately with each passing minute. Eight minutes, then twenty minutes drive to your apartment. Less than half an hour until you’re home, until you’re safe in your nest.

“Well now, look at what we have here.”

Shit.

Three Alphas are stumbling their way down the sidewalk towards you. Their scent and their inability to walk straight making it very clear they’ve been drinking.

“Look at this pretty little mouse,” one of them says.

Maybe if you just ignore them, they’ll keep walking past you.

“Little mouse is all dressed up like she’s going to a party,” another says.

No such luck. They stop only a few feet from you, taking up the entire sidewalk. Each of them is nearly a foot taller than you are, and they’re blocking your path back into the hotel.

“You wanna come party with us, pretty thing?”

“No, thank you.” You try to say it calmly, but your voice wavers.

“Aww, don’t be like that, honey, we can show you a good time!”

The third one leans towards you and inhales.

“Shit, she’s just a Beta.” But that doesn’t seem to deter them either.

“We can still have fun with a Beta. C’mon little mouse, come have some fun with us.”

“I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.”

“Maybe she’s just never had a real Alpha show her a good time,” the first one says.

“I bet we can make you change your tune real quick, honey — ”

It happens so fast. The second Alpha reaches out to grab your arm, but as you flinch away he catches your wrist instead. When you try to jerk away from him, his thumb snags on your bracelet, and you watch in horror as the clasp breaks.

It falls soundlessly to the ground. But the Alphas harassing you barely notice, all of them immediately interested in something else.

Your skin immediately breaks out in a cold sweat, your scent glands on either side of your neck now visible, red and swollen. And you can see the moment your scent — your real scent — hits them. The three men seem to grow bigger, all of their Alpha instincts triggered at once by the sudden scent of an Omega in heat right in front of them. All three of them breathe deep, and you’ve never felt more like prey.

“Not a Beta,” the third one growls, practically licking his lips.

“Look at that, it’s a little Omega mouse,” the second one says, and his malicious delight makes your blood run cold. The bitter taste of adrenaline floods your mouth. What should you do? If you scream, someone from the hotel has to hear you, right?

“Looks like this is our lucky night,” the first Alpha grins. “Come here, Omega.”

You fight it, you try to fight the compulsion of an Alpha’s command with everything you have, but it’s useless. You take an involuntary step towards him—

But suddenly the Alpha isn’t standing in front of you anymore. Some invisible force yanks him away from you and flings him clear across the street. There’s a painful-sounding crunch as he lands on the windshield of someone’s parked car and shatters it. The effect of his command dissipates.

His companions are just as confused as you are until the next moment they find themselves both shoved up against the building, a figure dressed entirely in black holding them up with a hand on each of their throats.

Max.

The sound he makes is inhuman, a warning snarl that starts deep in his chest. Alphas are strong by nature, but against a vampire, there’s no winning.

There is only one predator here now.

“‘Evening, boys.” He must be showing them his fangs, you can hear it affect his speech. “Looks like you’ve chosen a lovely night to die, hm?”

“Max! Don’t!” You place a placating hand on his shoulder. These men frightened you, yes, and would have done who knows what else, but you didn’t want them to die for it. And more importantly, you didn’t want Max to get in trouble for killing them.

“They threatened you,” he seethes, his grip on their necks tightening. “They touched you.”

“They’re not worth it, Max. Please, I’m safe now.”

He doesn’t let them go. But then the first cramp of your heat hits you, and you gasp in pain.

“Max, I need you. I — please, Alpha.”

That gets through to him. He cocks his head like he’s listening for something.

“Sounds like your friend is still alive over there. You’d better get him to a hospital. And if I ever see any of you again…”

He throws each Alpha one-handed to the ground like they weigh nothing, his point very clear. They pick themselves up, wheezing, and go collect their companion before slinking off into the night.

Max gathers you into his arms, your whole body starting to shake.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, “I have you, I have you, you’re alright.”

“How did you know?” You mumble the question into his shirt.

“I could smell you. All of a sudden. Your scent — you were afraid.”

He tilts your chin up so he can look at you.

“Omega?”

There are so many different questions contained in that one word, but you only have one word for him in reply.

“Alpha.”

Then he’s kissing you, his lips soft but demanding and you yield to him instantly.

“Omega,” he breathes, kissing his way down your throat till he reaches your gland, tracing it with the tip of his nose, his lips, his tongue, scenting you. “Omega, all this time…”

You cling to him, your hands scrabbling to pull his shirt free so you can get your hands on his skin, though you’re not sure to what end.

There is every chance you would have let this man fuck you right here on the sidewalk if not for the interruption of your Uber driver honking at you, having finally arrived.

“Oh shit,” you say, suddenly coming back to yourself. “That’s my ride.”

“Let me make sure you get home okay,” Max sounds like he’s out of breath, an impossible circumstance for a vampire. “I swear to you, sweetheart, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, but please, just — let me make sure you’re safe.”

The absolute last thing you want is to be alone right now, so you nod.

Max bends down and scoops something off the concrete, a thin silver chain glinting in his hand.

“My bracelet,” you say, having forgotten all about it.

Max turns it over in his palm, and seems to understand. He loops it around your wrist, despite the fact that it’s broken.

“I need you to hold this right here until we get you home. Can you do that for me, baby?”

You can, and you tell him so. When you hold the ends together, the charm re-activates, camouflaging your designation once more. When Max slides into the Uber next to you, you think you see some of the tension leave his body, that at least he won’t have to sit in this confined space with the scent of an Omega going into heat. He settles his hand on your knee, and his touch helps calm you.

You pass the drive to your apartment almost in complete silence. You use the time to consider your options. Max knows you’re an Omega. He knows, and he helped you anyway. In fact, based on the hungry way he kissed and held you back there, maybe you could ask him to help you a little more…

By the time you arrive at your place, you’ve come to a decision. You’ll ask Max to help you with your heat, but that’s all. If he’s willing to do that, despite his stated aversion to Omegas, you can make it through the next 48 hours without doing too many of those Omega things he finds so distasteful. You won’t alienate him completely. You will not be more trouble than you’re worth.

Forty-eight hours, and that’s all you’ll give yourself with him. There’s no use getting attached and hoping for more now that he knows the truth. You’ll ask Max to be yours for the weekend, and no more.

When you finally make it to your front door, it takes you several attempts to get your key in the lock. Max hovers behind you, a hand on your lower back, like he can’t help but touch you.

You turn to him.

“Thank you, Max. I don’t know what would have happened if — ” You can’t even finish the thought.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, but I’m glad I was there.”

“Listen, about my designation, I - ”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Max says, shaking his head at you. “And besides, I think I got a pretty good example of why you’d hide it a few minutes ago.”

You both fall silent, just looking at each other, and it’s obvious neither of you wants to part.

“Do you want to — would you stay?”

His lips quirk up.

“What I mean is, it’s my heat, and I was wondering if you…”

“I know it is,” he says quietly. “Since the moment I caught your scent at the hotel, I’ve known. You’re in heat, baby. You want me to stay and take care of you?”

You whine, but that’s answer enough.

“Good,” Max nods. “I want that too.”

You reach behind you and somehow get your door open, letting your bracelet fall to the floor. There’s a moment of confusion as you don’t feel Max follow you inside, his hands slipping from you and for the first time since outside the hotel he isn’t touching you. You turn to face him as anxiety rises, fast and irrational: is he having second thoughts? Does he not want to do this? Is he going to leave you to face your heat alone after all?

These questions must be written all over your face because he gives you a small smile and gently says:

“You have to invite me in, sweetheart.”

Oh. Right. Vampire.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Such a polite little Omega.” And even that bit of praise makes you shiver in his arms, slick starting to leak into your underwear. Max’s nostrils flare and you know he can smell it. Perhaps you should be more worried that you’ve essentially invited a fox into a henhouse, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Alpha is here, and he wants you.

You’d assumed the moment Max got you alone he’d be all over you, and you can feel the tension in his body and smell the desire pouring off of him, but he holds himself back, pressing almost lazy kisses against your lips while he holds you flush against him, his hardening cock thick in his trousers.

“Where do you want to do this, pretty girl? Tell me now, before I strip you down and knot you against your front door.”

Another whine escapes you, your Omega having no objections to that plan, but the rational part of your brain prevails.

“Could we - ” you start, trying to take a step backwards towards your bedroom, “I made - ”

Max grins against your cheek, moving with you down the hall without letting any space come between you.

“Did you make a nest, baby? You make a nice, soft place for me to fuck you in? You wanna show me?”

You nod furiously, pulling him back down to kiss you as you both stumble inelegantly into your bedroom.

———

Max takes care as he undresses you, peeling you out of the layers of your costume without damaging it.

When he’s finally got you bare, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you, just once, before pulling away.

“Go get in your nest, baby, and let me get you ready.”

You obey him eagerly, making yourself comfortable among your blankets while Max strips, his body just as broad as his suits make him seem, but not overly muscled. His cock is big, thicker and longer than any you’ve taken, and you can’t wait to have it inside you.

He strokes himself lazily as he kneels on the bed and looks at you, a little wave of self-consciousness rising in your chest. Does he like how you look? Does he like your nest? You press your thighs together, suddenly worried about what this Alpha might think of you.

But Max quickly puts those fears to rest.

“Spread for me.”

You part your legs, and Max lets go of his cock to run his hands up your legs, just barely ghosting the tips of his fingers over the lips of your cunt, already shiny with slick.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “You gorgeous girl. Made such a good nest, made such a perfect place for me to breed you.”

Your cunt bottoms out at his words, your Omega all happy and warm at his praise. He drapes himself over you and proceeds to cover your whole body with kisses, starting with your lips, your throat, your glands. He plays with your breasts, cupping them in his palms, and sucks and bites at your nipples until you’re a squirming mess beneath him.

He’s sucking a little bruise into your tummy, just next to your belly button, when he finally breaches you with his fingers, three of them filling you with ease.

“This okay, baby?”

“Mmhmm.” You bite down on your lip and roll your hips, wanting him deeper.

“You’re so wet already, Omega. You wanna cum for me?”

Yes, yes you tell him, and he curls his fingers and puts his thumb on your clit. In a matter of minutes he has you rippling around his fingers, slick gushing onto the bed below you.

“Good girl.” Max sticks his fingers in his mouth, licking up every drop of your slick. He leans down and kisses you, his tongue possessive as it tangles with your own, sharing the sweet flavor of your slick with you.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart. Get on your hands and knees for me.”

His cock pushes into you slowly once you’re in position, his hands on your hips holding you firmly, not letting you fuck yourself back on him.

“You’ll take it slowly this first time, Omega,” he says, finally seating himself to the hilt. He gives you time to adjust, until finally your patience breaks.

“Please move, Alpha. I’m ready, I wanna feel you.”

He obliges, driving into you with long, powerful strokes. The tip of him bumps up against your cervix, stretching you on his cock, and it’s indescribably good. His fingers had been one thing, but this is something else entirely. You’re surrounded by him, drowning in his scent, and it works you up to another climax astonishingly quickly.

“Alpha, I’m — I’m gonna cum — ”

Max reaches down to rub at your clit and you clamp down around him, keening his name.

“Yes, Omega, let me feel it. Fuck, you get so fucking tight when you cum.”

He plants one hand by your head, fingers splayed wide. His thumb rests barely an inch from your face, and without thought you stick out your tongue and lick it. Max hisses above you and you do it again, shifting your chin so you can take his thumb fully into your mouth.

“Oh, baby girl,” he growls, slamming his hips against yours, “you need it, don’t you? You need me in every hole? I’ll fucking give it to you. Need me to fuck your ass next? I’d love to see you all stretched out on my cock, watch you try to cram my knot inside that pretty little asshole - ”

You manage to garble out a little mhm around his thumb and Max moves his other hand to your shoulder for better leverage, trying to go faster, to get himself deeper inside you.

And it feels so good, his cock filling your pussy, his fingers in your mouth pushing you even further into the submissive haze of your heat. Drawing your Omega further up from where you’d buried her for so long, until she rises to the surface, set free. It feels good to be used, to be a good set of holes for Alpha to fill as he wishes, to have such a clear and useful purpose.

“You ready to take my knot, baby? You gonna take it all for me? Gonna let me breed you?”

“Yes, Alpha,” you moan, and Max comes undone. You feel his knot swell and catch inside you, locking you together and he cums and cums, filling you over and over with his spend. He trails kisses across your back, murmuring praises into your skin.

“You okay, sweetheart? Does it feel good? Such a good Omega for me, taking my knot, taking all my cum. Gonna make me such pretty babies, aren’t you? Gonna keep all my cum inside you until it takes, hm?”

You try to lift your hips, try and press yourself even closer to him. He won’t get you pregnant, he can’t. Vampires only shoot blanks, but when your heat takes control of you, your body doesn’t care about such technicalities. You’re so eager for it, you want it so badly.

And the small part of your brain that’s still capable of rational thought wonders how the hell you’ll ever come back from this, from him. Now that you know how good this can be, how can you ever go back to going through your heats alone?

You are, in more ways than one, so, so fucked.

———

Max is a surprisingly attentive Alpha. When you make to get out of bed to get something to drink, he pulls you back in, going to get it himself with a small growl of “stay.” He brings you back a bottle of Gatorade and a glass of water, along with some crackers and trail mix you’d left out on your counter. When you reach for the water, he makes a noise of discontent.

“No, let me,” he says, sitting down next to you and holding the glass to your lips. He looks a little sheepish at insisting on doing this for you, and it occurs to you that his Alpha instincts are probably riding him as hard as your Omega instincts are riding you. His innate need to care for you a perfect compliment to your need to be cared for.

Max tips the glass up and watches as you take several long sips.

“Good,” he murmurs, eyes on your throat as you swallow. When you’re done, he sets the glass on your bedside table. A drop of water clings to your bottom lip, and he leans over to kiss it away. He licks along the seam of your lips, politely asking for entrance, and you happily grant it. He tugs you into his lap and you can feel the fever rising again, your brief reprieve from the all-encompassing need to be fucked nearly over.

Max’s eyes darken and you know he can smell it, the way your body is starting to get you ready to be bred again.

“What do you need, baby?”

You squirm in his arms.

“You, Alpha.”

The grin that splits his face is so cocky that under normal circumstances you’d be tempted to smack it off him. But doing so is the last thing on your mind when he twists you around so your back hits the mattress, your entire field of vision taken up by your Alpha.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he coos, reaching down to line himself up with your entrance, “that’s fucking right.”

———

This is the odd routine you find yourselves in: your mutual desire rising to an inevitable peak, culminating in a furious round of mating that ends with Max’s knot filling you over and over with his seed. But once you’re both temporarily sated, you get periods of lucidity to rest. Sometimes you take a short nap on Max’s chest, other times he feeds you from the plethora of snacks he’s fetched from your kitchen.

One time he carries you into the shower, refusing to let you walk there on your own. You intend to finally get all of your makeup off and product out of your hair from the night before, and you do, but barely have you done so before Max has you pressed up against the tile, frantic to replace the scent of him on you that you’ve washed down the drain.

He fills you again but doesn’t knot you, instead wrapping you both in a towel and rolling you back into your nest, still damp all over. He wedges his shoulders between your legs, spreads you open with his thumbs, and just looks, mesmerized. Then he leans in and licks up the steady trickle of slick and cum that leaks from you with a groan.

“You taste like me, baby. Look at how much of me you have inside you. You can’t even keep it all in.”

He gathers what his tongue missed on his fingers and pushes it back inside you.

“That’s what - ngh - that’s what your knot is for, Alpha,” you pant.

Max nods sagely in agreement.

“It is, Omega, that’s true. But I think I need to make some room for more before I breed this needy pussy again, don’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for your reply before diving in with his tongue once more.

———

“How long have you been a paralegal?”

“Since I finished college.”

In all the things people told you about what to expect during your heat, “making small talk with an Alpha while you wait for his knot to go down” was not one of them.

But you find you don’t mind it. Max is surprisingly easy to talk to. He’s sharp and funny and laughs at your wit. He asks you more questions about yourself while you’re locked together on his knot than you’ve been asked during the entirety of some first dates you’ve been on, and seems to genuinely care about your answers.

You like him. A lot. Fuck.

“My parents want me to go to law school,” you tell him. “Being a paralegal is a way of appeasing them, though I don’t know for how much longer.”

“You don’t want to be a lawyer?”

You shake your head no, brushing against Max’s chin from where he’s lying on his side behind you.

“I like my job well enough. It’s predictable, and I’m good at it, and it’s good money and rarely insane hours. But the law isn’t my grand calling in life.”

“What is?”

You burrow your head into the pillow.

“It’s silly.”

Max gently runs his hand up your side, trailing his fingertips along the outer edge of your breast.

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

You take a deep breath.

“You know how I told you I make most of my clothes?” He hums the affirmative. “I’ve done it a few times for other people, too. A few formal dresses, some Halloween costumes, even a cosplay outfit or two, all for friends or their kids. If I could do anything…I think I’d do that. Make beautiful clothes for people that make them happy.”

Max is quiet for a moment. Then he asks:

“Why don’t you?”

You snort. “What?”

“Why don’t you? I’m sure you’d be amazing at it.”

“I can’t exactly work full-time and take commissions, Max.”

“So quit your job.”

You almost sit up in surprise before remembering at the very last second that you need to be careful how much you move right now.

“Quit my job? Just like that?”

“Why not?”

“I — I wouldn’t even know where to start. I don’t know the first thing about how to set up a business.”

“That’s okay, I do.”

You freeze.

“What do you mean?”

You feel him shrug.

“Well, not to brag or anything, but you may have noticed that I’m kind of amazing at the whole business thing. If you need help setting up a business plan and getting things off the ground, I could help.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. He isn’t yours, you remind yourself. So what if he just casually offered to help your biggest life dream come true? Who knows if he even really means it. It’s dangerous to get too close to him, it’s dangerous to let him into your life that way. This is. Just. Temporary.

“That’s…very kind of you, Max.”

“I know. I’m really quite something.”

You reach back and elbow him in the ribs the best you can from this angle, but he just chuckles and curls himself back around you.

“What about you?” You say, eager to change the subject. “Why sales?”

“I like making money and I’m very good at it,” he says simply.

“Typical Alpha.” You roll your eyes.

He tickles your side in retaliation.

“Hey!”

You giggle, trying not to move in a way that will pull painfully at his knot.

“I just mean…Alphas like to win. Lots of opportunities to do that in sales, where you have exact numbers that can show exactly how much you’re dominating your competition.”

Max playfully nips at your ear.

“I guess that’s true. I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

He curls his hand over your hip and grinds his knot even further into you, making you gasp.

“Although, Omega, speaking of dominating…”

———

Max is asleep next to you. At least, you’re pretty sure he is. Do vampires need to sleep?

Regardless, his eyes are closed, and he’s unnaturally still in a way that’s a bit unnerving. His chest doesn’t rise or fall, he doesn’t snore or twitch, his pulse doesn’t beat beneath his skin. Still, he must be tired. You’ve probably exhausted him. He’s sure as hell worn you out over the last 24 hours.

But your skin still feels flushed and hot, your body insisting that it’s time again. Slick leaks steadily onto your thighs, your cunt starting to throb with the need to cum. You hate the idea of waking Max up, hate the idea of seeming that desperate and needy, of embodying all of the things you know Max doesn’t like about Omegas.

Maybe you don’t have to bother him this time. Maybe if you can just sneak your hand down towards your clit, if you can just get yourself off one time, it’ll trick your body into calming down until Max wakes and can fuck you properly again. If you can just be quiet…

You circle your clit with two fingers and bite back a small sigh of relief. It’s nowhere near the same as when Max does it, but hopefully it’ll suffice until -

“What do you think you’re doing, Omega?”

You freeze, turning your head to see Max now wide awake and pinning you with a stare that lets you know you are in a lot of trouble.

“N-nothing.”

“Nothing?” Max hums, shifting until he’s hovering over you. He pulls your hand away from your cunt and secures both your wrists above your head in a one-handed grip. He trails his other hand down your body until he’s petting gently at your clit.

“It looked like you were touching yourself. Were you?” His tone is calm, but there’s a wicked gleam in his eye that says otherwise.

“Yes.”

Max tuts, his fingers still barely stroking you, enough to make you squirm but not enough to get you anywhere near your climax.

“I - I thought you were asleep,” you say by way of apology.

“Vampires don’t sleep. We - ” Max searches for the right word, “rest, in a way. But if this pretty little pussy needs to cum, all you have to do is say so.”

He dips his head to pull your nipple into his mouth before letting it go with a dramatically loud pop.

His fingers start to move faster, pressing more firmly against you, touching you in a way you know will make you cum, but you’re still so empty. You need something to cum on, you need to be full of Max’s cock. You can feel it hard and hot against your thigh as he lightly grinds it against you.

“Max, please, I need to feel you - ”

“Oh no, sweetheart, I don’t think so,” he tells you sternly. “You decided to take this orgasm for yourself when you thought I was asleep, you decided to make yourself cum without being filled up, and now that’s exactly what you’ll get. Naughty girls don’t get to cum on their Alpha’s knot.”

You writhe underneath him, seeking more stimulation, but he’s so much stronger than you are that you’ll never be able to get more than exactly as much as he’s willing to give you.

“It’s not enough, Alpha,” you whine.

“Shh,” Max hushes you, his fingers never stopping. “Of course it isn’t. But punishments aren’t supposed to be satisfying. Cum for me like this, just this once, and then I’ll give you what you need, okay?”

You can’t do anything other than nod, and it isn’t long before you’re cumming, your orgasm barely more than a few ripples of pleasure compared to the tidal wave you know Max is capable of giving you when he’s fucking you full. He watches your pussy clench weakly around nothing.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos at you with false pity. “That wasn’t a good one at all, was it? See what happens when you don’t let your Alpha take care of you like he should?”

“Yes, Alpha,” you say meekly, trying to appear as submissive and compliant as possible.

“You still wanna be my good girl?”

You can’t tell him yes fast enough.

“Then turn over, sweetheart. Show me all of that pretty cunt.”

You scramble to obey, going down on your forearms with your hips in the air. Max spreads your cheeks apart and inspects you, everything on display for him. You nearly jump when you feel him run his tongue all the way from your clit to your little puckered hole, tasting every inch of you.

“Mine,” you hear him murmur, almost to himself. Then you feel his cock nudge against your folds, and in one swift stroke he fills you. You don’t get even a second to breathe before he starts to move.

Max cups the back of your neck, his hand large enough that he can reach both of your scent glands at the same time, and presses his fingers and thumb into them. The message is very clear: submit. You instantly go limp like a ragdoll, the pleasure overwhelming. Another orgasm rolls through you from the stimulation, this one so strong you’re reduced to whimpering and drooling onto your blankets as you quietly pulse around him.

“Oh fuck, atta girl, atta girl,” Max grunts behind you. “This is what you really needed, isn’t it? Just needed a firm hand and a big cock to take care of you, hmm?”

And it is. It really fucking is.

———

Keeping track of time isn’t the highest priority for you at the moment, but you’re vaguely aware that Saturday night has bled into Sunday morning has bled into Sunday afternoon. The periods of rest you get are slowly becoming longer. Another twelve hours or so, and you’ll be almost entirely out of your heat. Normally, you’d be counting down the minutes. Instead, you’re dreading having to give Max — or at least, this fantasy you’ve built with Max over the past two days — up.

You’re lightly dozing and trying to forget about it when you become aware of Max spooning himself up behind you. His cock is hard against your ass, which isn’t surprising, but what is surprising is the way he nuzzles into your neck, kissing and lapping at your gland before moving up and fixating on a spot just under your jaw—where you know he can hear your heart beat.

“Max?”

“Mm?” Is his only response. He hooks an arm over your stomach and pulls you closer, precome smearing from the tip of his cock across the small of your back. He sucks at the skin of your neck, rolling it between his lips and giving you what you’re sure will be a hell of a hickie. You hiss at the feeling, and the sound snaps him out of it.

“Fuck.” He sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Max? Are you alright?” You reach out and lay what you intend to be a comforting hand on his forearm, but he goes still under your touch.

Run, whispers some primal part of your brain, some base instinct that understands before the rest of you does. Max runs a hand over his face and nods, but his gaze falls to your wrist and fixates there.

Right where you know your pulse is beating.

“You’re hungry,” you breathe, and the instant you say it you know you’re right. “You need to feed.”

“I normally shouldn’t, not for a few more days. Though in my defense,” Max says with his typical dark humor, “I’m expending an amount of energy I wasn’t necessarily anticipating this weekend.”

A pang of guilt lances through you. More trouble than they’re worth.

“No, hey, it’s alright.” Max places two fingertips gently on one of your glands, responding instantly to the distressed change in your scent and going to soothe you. “I have people I can call.”

He shifts away from you like he means to get up, like he means to leave your nest, and you tighten your hold on his arm.

“Just feed from me.”

Max shakes his head.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” It comes out perhaps more harshly than he intends. He turns back and crowds you into the bed, cupping your face in his hands.

“What if I can’t stop? You smell so good, you have no idea how much I want to devour you, consume you, in every way you’ll have me. You smell better than anyone I’ve ever - ”

He cuts himself off with a groan, burying his nose in your skin and licking a long stripe up the skin of your sternum.

It should scare you, the way he talks. You should heed the little voice that now screams danger, predator, run. But instead you thread your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, grinding your hips up against him, and all you can think of is yes.

“You won’t hurt me,” you say, and you mean it. “I trust you. You can have me, in whatever ways you want.”

You tilt your chin up and to the side, exposing your neck to his wild gaze. An invitation, followed by words you know he cannot possibly resist:

“Please, Alpha. Take it, it’s yours.”

Max snarls, flipping you both around so that you’re in his lap, the hard length of him trapped between you. The first hint of his knot is already starting to pulse at the base in his excitement. You roll your hips, rubbing your clit along the underside of his cock, automatically seeking that friction. His hands wrap around your waist and egg you on, your slick starting to coat him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, can you take me again? Let me be inside you when I - yes, that’s it baby, there you go - ”

He lifts you up just enough that you can sink down on him, and despite how wet you are and how many times you’ve done this it’s still a delicious stretch. There’s something about this position, too, where you’re face to face and chest to chest, that feels more intimate than the other times he’s fucked you. Max’s skin may be cool to the touch, but his eyes are so warm, a rich, deep, unrelenting brown you’d never truly noticed before.

He’s so beautiful, you can’t believe he’s yours.

For the weekend, you remind yourself. Just until your heat is done. You have to try your best not to lose sight of that fact.

You duck your head down to press your nose into the skin of his neck. He has a pair of scent glands here too that match yours, larger but usually less obvious. Now, though, you can see how they’re swollen and reddened like your own, and the little bird called ego flutters in your chest that that is all your doing. You swipe your tongue over one, and the taste of his pheromones is exquisite. It makes you clench around him.

“Come here,” he murmurs, guiding you up with a hand on the back of your neck. He kisses you, slow and deep, gliding his tongue across yours like he’s trying to capture the taste of himself from you.

“Are you sure?” He asks, grasping onto his very last thread of control.

“I’m sure,” you reply, offering him your neck again.

“No,” he tells you, one hand circling your wrist and pulling the inside of your arm towards his mouth. “Not your neck, baby. Too much risk.” You open your mouth to protest, but Max reaches down to circle your clit with his thumb and your ability to form complete sentences deserts you.

“Cum for me first. Let me make this so fucking good for you.”

You’re not sure how he could make this feel better than it already does, stretched on his cock that hits something deep and spine-tingling inside you at this angle, his thumb expertly working your clit and pushing you quickly towards your orgasm.

You hang onto his shoulder with your free hand and rock against him. Max rubs his nose against the soft skin just below the inside of your elbow and breathes you in. At first you think it’s a trick of the light, but then you realize his features really are starting to change. His skin darkens to a ruddy red. His brow bone thickens and distorts his face. His eyes go black, and when he speaks, you can see a hint of his fangs.

“Don’t be afraid, baby. You’re doing so well, doing so good for me. Perfect little Omega, giving her Alpha everything he wants, everything he needs - ”

But you’re not afraid; the very last thing you feel at this moment is fear. Max presses his lips against your arm, right where you know he’s going to bite you, drink from you, and it sends you over the edge.

You cry out and Max growls in triumph, finally sinking his fangs into you as you cum. It hurts for the barest moment before the pain blurs into pleasure, a numbing, tingling warmth emanating from his bite. His other hand leaves your clit and grips your hip hard enough you know you’ll bear marks from that too, pulling you down onto his cock as his knot swells and catches inside you.

It’s so much, it’s too much - you’re sure you’ve never cum so hard or felt so good in your life, and all you can do is hold Max’s head against where he suckles at your arm, breathing a litany of yes, Alpha, yes, against his temple.

Eventually, you start to come down from your high, the two of you still locked together by Max’s knot. He lifts his head away from you, blood coating his mouth, and presses his forehead (which morphs back into its usual size, shape, and color) against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You nod, or at least you think you do. You haven’t been awake long, but you’re so tired all of a sudden, and are content to fall against Max and sleep.

———

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s time to wake up. I need you to wake up for me, c’mon now.”

Max strokes a hand up and down your arm, gently shaking you into wakefulness. It takes longer than usual for you to fight your way up to consciousness, your head a different kind of fuzzy than what you typically feel during your heat. Finally you blink your eyes open to see Max above you, and you swear you see relief cross his face when you do. He cups your cheek in one massive palm.

“There she is, my pretty Omega.”

You smile, leaning into his hand, sleep already trying to claim you again.

“No baby, stay awake for me. I need you to sit up, okay? Can you do that?”

You make a noise of protest, but allow Max to maneuver you into a sitting position. He climbs up behind you and settles you sideways across his lap, one arm supporting your back.

You rest your cheek on his chest. The lip of a bottle is pressed to your mouth.

“Drink some of this for me, okay?” Max says. “Wanna make sure your blood sugar doesn’t get too low.”

“Can I keep my eyes closed?” you mumble, still so tired.

He chuckles, and you hear it reverberate through his chest.

“Yes, baby. Now come on, drink up.”

You let him tilt the bottle and it’s not until the taste of sweet lemon-lime sports drink hits that you realize how thirsty you are. You down half the bottle before Max takes it away. Maybe Max feeding from you took more out of you than you thought.

“Eat something and then you can rest again, okay?” Max says. “Open your mouth.”

You do, and Max places a square of dark chocolate on your tongue. You close your lips a moment too soon, catching just the tip of his finger as he withdraws it. You hear him murmur a barely audible “fuck” above you, but he makes no move to turn things sexual. You let the chocolate melt in your mouth, and when it’s gone he gives you another, then another, dripping a soft litany of praise into your ear:

Good girl, that’s so good, such an obedient Omega, so good to let me take care of you like this.

He smoothes one hand over your hair and you swear you’ve never felt safer or more cared for in your entire life.

“Told you you wouldn’t take too much,” you tell him. “Told you I trusted you.”

Max’s nose nudges at your hairline.

“I was so scared there for a minute,” he admits. “You had more faith in me than I had in myself.”

“How often do you need to feed?”

“It depends,” he says. “But usually once a week or so.”

“‘M sorry I interrupted your routine.”

“Don’t be,” he rushes to reassure you. “It’s…I’m glad you did.”

And it has to be a combination of exhaustion, blood loss, and the last of your heat hormones that finally removes your self-preservation filter.

“You don’t have to say that, y’know. I know it’s just…” you wave your hand weakly in front of you, “instincts.”

You can feel Max frown.

“What are you talking about?”

You huff a sigh, still not processing the potential consequences of what you’re saying, but instead slightly annoyed at having to summon the energy to explain further.

“Instincts. Like when you call me your Omega - I know it’s just all heat of the moment stuff.” Whatever combination of factors is making you loopy also has you smiling at your pun. “And I know this isn’t even usually your thing. Being with an Omega.”

Max puts a hand around your jaw and forces you to look at him, confusion and anger starting to permeate his scent. You blink up at him.

“That’s what you think?”

“I heard you!” You say, growing indignant. “I heard you that day in the elevator, talking with all your Alpha buddies. Omegas are more trouble than they’re worth, remember?”

You having overheard this is clearly news to Max, who looks away from you. And this is the thing about heat hormones - you can’t resist the urge to soothe your Alpha, even when you’re cross with him, just like you can’t resist the way your body pingpongs from one mood to another so easily, feeling tears start to prick at your eyes.

“But it’s okay, I appreciate you helping me, and I - I promise I won’t do that clingy, needy Omega thing to you. I hid my designation for so long because it was just easier that way, you know? And we can just - just go back to how things were before, after this, and no one else at the office has to know - ”

“Fuck, I was an idiot.”

Wait, what?

“I did feel that way, for a long time. Everyone always says when you meet the right person, it’s different, and I thought that was a load of shit. I didn’t want a mate. I didn’t need a mate. I’m sorry I said those things, and I’m sorry you heard them.

“And I think…I think my Alpha knew, even from the beginning. I liked seeing you in the office. I liked talking to you. I wanted to spend time with you. And then this - ” he gestures around you, “this happened, and it feels…right. Yes, my Alpha instinct is to take care of you while you’re in heat, but I like taking care of you. I want to take care of you. I like…I like having you rely on me, I like knowing you need me. I’ve never felt that way before. And it’s, y’know…it’s not so bad.”

Max smirks, but it’s entirely self-deprecating. There is a feeling in your chest that is dangerously close to hope.

“Really?”

“Trust me, no one is more surprised than I am at this turn of events.”

“So…what happens now?”

“From your scent, I’d say you’ll be out of your heat tomorrow morning, does that sound right?” You nod. “I’d rather we finish this conversation when we’re both more clear-headed. But I think it might mean something, that we’re so…compatible. And I think we should explore that in the near future when we’re not both being driven by a bunch of chemicals that make us want to fuck each other’s brains out, if you’re amenable to that?”

“I am.”

“Good.” He smiles at you, and for once it’s not smug or coy or full of wry humor. Max smiles at you like he’s simply…happy. You want to see him smile at you like that all the time. And maybe you will.

“As for what happens right now,” and ah, there’s the smugness again, as he slides a hand between your legs and cups your mound, “I have a few ideas.”

And it turns out you’re amenable to those, too.

———

It’s Tuesday morning when you show up back at work, having taken Monday off to fully sleep off the effects of your heat and get your bracelet repaired. Max had (very nobly, he claimed) offered to take the day off too, just to make sure you were okay (“and, you know, just in case we need to have sex again” he’d told you with a grin before you’d playfully shoved him out of your apartment). But now you had his number in your phone and a promise to talk later this week.

You walk from the elevator to your cubicle, oddly nervous and excited at the prospect of seeing Max again, even if it’s barely been 24 hours. You don’t spot him, and you try not to be too disappointed. He has his own office, of course, quite a distance from you, and a very busy schedule.

But as you approach your cubicle a familiar scent greets you, and while there’s still no sign of Max, you know he’s been here recently.

A donut sits on your desk. There’s a note scribbled on the napkin underneath it, of a kind you haven’t gotten since about the third grade, but it’s so perfectly Max that it makes your heart melt a little.

Do u like me?

[ ] yes

[ ] no

If yes, dinner Friday?

[ ] yes

xoxo,

Max ;)

You reach for a pen.

[Fin.]

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #max phillips fanfic #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #bloodsucking bastards

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heyhilana · 7 months

Text

Sink in (Max Phillips)

Summary: Your job changed overnight with the arrival of your new boss, Max, as he was blurring every line with you, and your once tolerable co-workers have turned into living nightmares. But a chance meeting in Max's office reveals everything about the true nature of your job.

A/N: Hi lovelies! I hope everyone is having a great holiday season and a great new month overall 💙 This was originally slated for Halloween, but I just finished it yesterday, whoops. Anyway, this is a new venture for me as I have never written for Max before, but I figured why not? So enjoy this and drink lots of water 💚

Pairing: Max Phillips x !f reader

Warnings: (uhm...don't call me out) Just blatant filth. Breeding, vampire biting, squirting, oral (m kinda and f receiving), voyeurism, unprotected sex (safe sex is great sex), spanking, fingering, heavy creampie, mentions of male masturbation, female masturbation.

Word Count: 7k

Masterlist

You were walking to your car, thankful for your lunch break as all your coworkers within the past week had turned from tolerable to unbearable. Andrew, who you could usually ignore, was itching to be at your throat over the smallest issues. Your boss, Ted, was strangely happy about the change in his employees, although you couldn’t figure out why. Tim and Evan were trying to convince you to leave your job as Max’s secretary as they were convinced something was wrong, but they couldn’t prove anything, so you dismissed it. The most perplexing of it all was Max, your new boss, who took a special interest in you that you were finding hard to ignore or even dislike.

Max was charismatic, to say the least. Sure, he was hard to figure out, so you never knew if his nature with you was professional or blurring the lines of attraction, but it made your job less mundane. Max kept you on your toes, and from the way he looked at you, you wondered if there could be more with your boss if you did move to a different sector. But based on the rumors swirling around in the legal department, you would rather work under Ted as the legal department would’ve brought you more boredom than before.

You stepped out of the door and saw Frank at his regular post.

“Going on your break?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. I need it since everyone’s so weird up there.” You answered.

“Well between you and me, I believe Evan and Tim.” Frank whispered, and you were unsure about why he was whispering when no one was around.

“I would too, but they haven’t proven anything.” You responded, and Frank looked at you as if you were a goner.

“Suit yourself. But I’m prepared for anything.” Frank tapped his chest, and from then on, you knew to never cross him, literally and figuratively.

You faked a smile for good measure. “I’m sure you are. See you in a bit.”

“See ya.”

You shook your head and walked off, convinced that even with Frank still acting the same, there were still a few screws that were loose in his head. Still, you weren’t able to shake the feeling of your entire company turning into a group of paranoid psychos. But to take your mind off things, You checked the clock and saw you had 25 minutes to eat, figured out if you wanted to leave and never come back, and possibly relieve yourself as the moments before you walked out the door left you questioning your self-control.

You walked into the elevator and hit the basement level and the close doors button to get down as fast as possible. But a pair of hands slid between the doors as they were about to close.

“You didn’t think you would get away from me that easily now?” Max asked with that familiar mischievous smirk on his face.

“I wasn’t trying to, sir.” You answered, holding your bag a little tighter for your sanity.

“What did I tell you about using sir? I’m your boss, but I’m not Ted.” Max reminded you, and somehow, you knew that calling him Max would blur the already murky lines between you two. But calling him sir riled him up, and you liked seeing him like that.

“So I should call you Max then?” You asked, and you noticed how Max raked his eyes up and down on you.

“Yeah. It rolls off your tongue better.”

Oh. Suggestive words in an elevator that made it harder to ignore him? Amusing, really.

“S-Max.” You corrected yourself.

“Atta girl.” Max clicked his tongue, and you were thankful he replaced good with atta, or else you would’ve turned into a puddle.

To save yourself, you changed subjects. “Where are you headed off to?”

“I gotta get something from my car. You’re off to lunch?” He pointed to your big bag.

“Yep. I need it since I’ve been working since I got in at 8 and it’s 12 now.”

“You’re the best worker we have, even without being turned.” Max complimented you, but you couldn’t make out the last part.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. But you got a little something on your shirt.” Max pointed to your chest.

“Oh, where is it?” You tried to look down, but his hand was already on you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it for you.” Max flicked off a chip crumb that was on you, but then he moved up to your collarbone, flicking something else off as well. His fingers were dangerously close to your neck, and you realized he could grab your neck right now if he inched up any higher.

“D-did you get it?” You interrupted, and when you looked into Max's eyes, you thought you saw a twinge of red before it reverted to its normal color.

Max cleared his throat. “Yeah, it was just a little something that wasn’t in one spot.”

“Well, thank you.” You were relieved that the heat you felt on your face wasn’t as visible as the elevator had dim lighting. And speaking of the elevator, it dinged finally for the ground level for you to leave unscathed.

“Anytime. And is that a new perfume you put on today?” Max asked as he walked out with you.

“Yeah. But you know my old perfume?” You were perplexed, wondering why he would notice such a minor detail.

“Mhm. I always smell it on you when you walk in and I enjoy it every time. But I like this new one too..” He answered before taking a left, leaving you stunned and slightly aroused.

You tried to keep yourself composed while you ate your food, with somehow the savory flavors of your comfort meal not doing enough to keep your mind off Max. Did he have to say he enjoyed your perfume? Did he have to touch you in that way, even letting his thumb ghost your skin? Most of all, did he have to eye fuck you at every moment possible? A boss like Max was a dream come true and a curse because he was forbidden fruit. Everything you wanted, your mind told you no. But your desires, oh, they loved to toe the line of professionalism and uncontrollable impulses. Look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t taste. Taste, and now you’ll be unable to draw the line again.

Unfortunately, it was easier said than done. Now, you resorted to finishing your lunch quickly and setting everything off to the side so you could slide your seat back for your daily venture into your deepest fantasies of Max. What you didn’t anticipate, however, was Max walking near your car as he took the opposite direction to go back into the building. He saw you were in your car, and he moved quickly, hiding behind the pole so that you couldn’t see him, but he could definitely see a glimpse of your body. No one else was near except you two, and you were blissfully unaware of his presence as he stayed out of eyesight. You unbuttoned your shirt, giving yourself some breathing room since you knew it would get hot and heavy in your car. Your bra would have to stay on this time, but it didn’t keep you from pulling your breasts out, letting them fall out of your shirt. Next, you pulled up your skirt and slid your panties off, thankful that this was one of the days you opted for skirts so it would be easier to access. Max couldn’t see as much as he wanted to of your face, but he could definitely hear the moans from inside your car once your fingers slipped in between your glistening folds.

Barely through with your shift, you were going through another pair of panties, but that didn’t stop you from teasing yourself. It was important to build up your orgasm long before you chased it so you could replay the day’s events one by one until you were coming undone from everything all at once. That was why every soft pinch and grip on your nipple, every swipe of your index finger on your clit, and every pump of your fingers inside your hole was worth teasing yourself for because you thought of him. It was impossible not to fantasize about him finally teasing your breasts as you caught him staring at them one too many times during ‘important’ conversations about work. It was inevitable to dream about his skillful tongue that he used for flirting would be equally useful in licking up and down your slit, gathering every drop of your elixir. Hell, you were going right down that dangerous path of imagining what his plump lips would feel like kissing both your vertical and horizontal lips, plus that little bud that laid right in between your vertical ones that would be a treat to feel him suck on. And the two you saved for last, even with them being the best, was his pulsing tip pushing right up on your clit and tapping it, and finally, feeling soul-snatching strokes right after to make you undoubtedly his.

That was why time went fast for you as you were knuckle deep in your pussy, feeling how wet you were and letting those wet sounds, along with your moans fill the car up. But for Max? Oh, he was in for the show of a lifetime as he felt his cock stretch his boxers and press prominently against his trousers. It was taking everything in him not to knock on your door, get inside, and fuck you right in the backseat. For one, he could smell it from a mile away that you were still a virgin. Perhaps it shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did, but knowing that you were the last one unturned, that he saved for last, and you were a virgin, it was the icing on the cake for him. But he didn’t want to interrupt you. He found watching you without you knowing to be erotic beyond his imagination. A voyeur enjoying his prospect’s desires and seeing how hard and fast you were going, all with the thought of him on your mind, was an ego boost along with an insatiable appetite that would culminate within the day. In his mind, he was begging you to cum all over his cock. In your mind, you were wishing he was telling you to cum for him.

It was a chant that rang through both of your heads, with your walls tightening up and his one thread of self-control threatening to snap if this went on a minute longer. But neither of you had to wait much longer once you let go. Your seats that were evident of your arousal were drenched more as you half moaned, half screamed accidentally as you wanted to keep it down. But Max enjoyed everything about it. He wanted to take you there and higher as soon as possible, but he had to wait for the right time. It was hard not to cum in his boxers at how hard you came, but he was sure the precum clung to his boxers from the whole time he stood there watching you.

Once he saw you were cleaning up, he disappeared quickly so you wouldn’t see him. You cleaned up your mess and got dressed again, seeing you had five minutes to spare, which would put you in the nick of time to return to your cubicle. But while you cleaned up your seats, you wondered what would happen if Max did approach you. Would you accept? Deny? It was hard to say, given that your job would be at risk, but this torment of getting off in your car was hard to keep up with. Alas, you shrugged it off as it would never happen given that he could have anyone he wanted, giving you a false sense of reality once you were decently presentable for work again and could resume your duties. On the other hand, Max had other things in mind for you once the end of the day came around.

You looked at the clock and saw it was 10 minutes, close to 7, with your coworkers upstairs for an HR meeting. However, Max asked you to stay behind and finish some work. Just as you were done, Max opened his door.

“Hey, do you mind coming in for a second?” Max asked.

“I’ll come in. I’m also done with the work now.” You got out of your chair and pulled down your skirt, noticing that Max was watching your every move.

“See, this is why you’re my top girl.” Max winked at you, making you avert your eyes as he looked damn good with his suit jacket off and his shirt undone. You walked in as he held the door for you, and when he followed, his hand ghosted the small of your back, which made your hair stand up. He closed the door behind him as you walked to his desk.

Max clasped his hands below his stomach. “Do you know why you’re here?”

I know what I would love to be in here for.

“To go over my work?” You asked.

Max tsked as he walked over to you. “I know you’re a little naïve, but that pretty head of yours can give me a better answer than that.”

There were a few thoughts rearing to the front of your head, but you wouldn’t dare utter them. “Well, what else could it be?”

“I can give you a few ideas,” Max took his hand into yours, rubbing his thumb over your skin as he looked into your eyes. “You’re a very hard worker, you’re at my beck and call whenever I please, and there’s something else about you that I can smell on you.”

“My perfume?” You tried, and Max shook his head.

“No. Something else that is a little harder to smell.”

For a moment, you were too distracted by how he licked his lips to understand what he was saying.

“What would that be then?”

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Max went straight for it, and it caught you off guard.

You cocked your head to the side, unaware that the small move left him twitching in his pants. “That’s a bit personal to ask, don’t you think?”

Sure, draw the line of professionalism when you already made a mistake coming into his office with no one else around.

“It is, but you liked it.” Max saw right through you, given that it was hard to ignore the way your thighs closed together against him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You feigned confusion, but there was no use.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Max continued, baiting you into his trap.

“Not at all.”

“Okay, I’ll spell it out for you.”

Max took his other hand and parted your thighs without much effort, showing that he had a lot more strength than you anticipated. His fingers danced along your skin, making you breathe deeply as you felt him getting closer to your core while never breaking eye contact. But Max was surprised when his fingers reached up, and he felt nothing but your soft, bare skin that covered the slick that had been growing since you returned to your desk.

“Commando at work? Seems you took my relaxed work outfit memo a little bit further than I thought.” He joked, and if you weren’t in this position, you would’ve laughed. “But just so you know, I know that you’ve been getting off to me in your car.”

“I haven’t been-“ You tried to lie, but Max slapped your folds.

“Don’t lie to me. I saw you in your car fingering yourself, your shirt undone and those pretty breasts of yours on display. I knew exactly what you were doing, and you can’t deny it because I watched every second until you came.”

Fuck, I’m caught. But why does it feel so good to be caught?

You were intrigued, embarrassed, and aroused all at once. “Then why didn’t you come and knock my car?”

“Didn’t want to ruin the show. Besides, hearing you moan my name thinking that no one could hear was invigorating.” Max answered as he pressed further in between your folds, now feeling how wet you were from the ordeal.

“Sir,” You tried to take a step back, but he knelt down before you, letting go of your hand to push your skirt all the way up past your ass.

“Oh? We’re back to formalities now? Because I think with my fingers in between these pretty lips of yours, you won’t be able to lie anymore.”

His fingers were pressed up against your hole, slick coating the tips, and his face was inching forward to your clit, making it an unforgettable sight that you couldn’t say no and move away from. It would feel wrong to deny yourself what you desired, which is why you jutted your hips up to his lips to take slight control. Max laughed at your eagerness, relishing how you were giving in to him.

“Should’ve known you wanted to fuck my face,” Max muttered before moving in, and his fingers slipped deliciously inside you. His fingers were bigger than yours, which proved to be a deeper stretch than you were anticipating, but that slight pain melted away once you rolled your hips on his nose, using his face to get what you needed. Your hands went up to unbutton and discard your shirt, leaving you in nothing but your riled-up skirt and the heels you wore that accentuated your legs. The icy air in his office left your nipples rock hard, but it was a forgotten feeling as his hand reached up to your hip to slow your movements so he could kiss and suck on your clit.

“Max, fuck you’re so good at this,” You praised, feeling him swirl his tongue around your clit and alternate to sucking, making your toes curl. Max fingered you harder than you did in the car, and you didn’t mind it at all. It was hot, feeling him toy with your body as he gave and took control over you at different moments, making you a pool of desire. Your sweet sounds filled up his office as your leg went over his shoulder and your ass was further on the desk.

Max lifted up his head to look at you. “Look at how your body speaks to me. You couldn’t help yourself for a minute longer if I didn’t start.”

“I need you, Max. I can’t help it anymore.” The truth flowed out of you recklessly. Admitting that you were unable to control yourself around him was slightly embarrassing, but the look he gave you was undeniably hot and commanding.

“I can’t help myself either. Your pretty little pussy is delicious and I’m gonna ruin every inch of you on this desk. So lay back, and I’ll make you wish you did this sooner.” Max commanded, and you obliged, laying back with your ass off the table.

Max went back down quickly, his speed increasing more than you ever did to yourself. It was intense as he ate you out as if you were his last meal, the only meal he wanted to have if his life depended on it. His tongue drew shapes and letters on your clit that you couldn’t make out, but Max was marking you completely. There were shapes of hearts, triangles, circles, and stars that he alternated from to make you feel like you were floating on air. Max spelled submit, mine, mía, and forever, all because he wanted you desperately. To have you at his will, submitting to his ministrations, making you his, and soon, for all of eternity, seemed to be the gift that kept on giving to him, and he would continue to take it if it meant it was always with you. Max was everything you could’ve imagined and more, and despite your strong will from before telling you to stop, it was long gone as all you could do now was grip his desk and keep your hand over your mouth to keep the noise down.

But your attempts to conceal your moans were futile as your orgasm was near. It was building in every fiber of your body, its power unwavering as it was more than you had ever experienced before. It was confusing, but Max knew exactly what he was trying to do to you. If there was one fantasy he had of you that never left his mind each time he stroked underneath his desk, it was making you squirt all over his face. Max would cum hard each time he imagined you squirting, with his face coated in your desire and drinking it all up. There were many ruined shirts at the thought of burying his face into your pussy, ignoring everything else in the world so he could be laser-focused on your moans and making you cum endlessly, as it got him off more than anything. Oh, that man would edge himself to the very end over wishing that he could hold you down and taste what was his. Gripping you like a vice in his mind and gripping his tip in reality, Max would mumble your name each time he spilled while hoping you would spill on his face one day. And now that this day was here, he was doing everything in his power to bring you to that peak he yearned for.

You lifted your hand for a moment. “M-Max, please don’t stop it feels so good!”

That was all Max needed to hear as he gave you everything, curling his fingers to pulse on your spot, beckoning you to let go all over. He sucked and swirled his tongue on your clit, never letting up as he wanted, no, needed to be drenched by you. And while it was hard to keep his fangs from coming out, as his desire for you often brought out his other side, he was determined to let you enjoy every second of this before he marked you permanently.

“Max, I’m gonna cum!” You whimpered out before the electrifying feeling took over completely.

Your thighs were clamped around Max’s head as you squirted all over him, and he nearly came in his pants. He pulled his fingers out of you to hold you up better as you were slipping, but he still licked up every drop and all on your slit to gently coax you into giving him more. You felt relieved, euphoric, and most of all, pleased above all your expectations as you made a mess on his face. It was endless, with the hairs on along your body standing tall and your hips rolling into Max’s face to use him for more. Max never wanted it to end, and there was only one thought that was on his mind;

Use my fucking face until I can make you cum again.

But, faintly, you could hear the elevator ding, which startled you out of your blissful high. You moved your legs, and Max got back up on his feet. You were frantic, not realizing that your extra time with Max exceeded the time for the HR meeting. Time was now of the essence as you pulled your skirt back down and fixed your shirt.

“I have to hide. Someone is on this floor and I can’t be seen like this.” You said.

“You can hide under my desk.” Max fixed his shirt and grabbed his suit jacket from the chair.

You went around, seeing a spot underneath where no one would see you. “Are you sure I’m going to fit?”

“I’m sure you will. But you didn’t have to stop.” Max answered as he walked over to his chair.

You were confused, knowing that there was definitely an unspoken rule about not hooking up with your boss that you broke. “I did have to stop. What if someone sees us and that costs us our job?”

“Look, I don’t care who walks in and sees, baby. Let them see me in between your legs and let them see you bent over on this desk taking every inch of me.” Max pulled his chair out for you to get under.

“Max, what if it’s Ted?” You asked as you heard a knock on the door.

“I don’t care if it’s Ted. I want you, and I’m not letting him stop that. Are you going to let him?” Max questioned.

“No.”

“That’s my good girl. Now get on your fucking knees for me.” Max commanded.

His eyes were burning red, and you felt every compulsion to get underneath his desk, which was high enough for you to fit. Max slid in with his chair just enough to not box you in and kept his legs open for you once Ted walked in.

“Max! There’s my best worker.” Ted greeted as he closed the door behind him.

“How’s it going Ted? Was the HR meeting good?” Max asked as you took it upon yourself to unzip his pants.

“It’s going well. Sales are through the roof, and everyone at the HR meeting was keen on making sure our numbers stay that way.”

Even without seeing Ted, you knew that man had his mega-watt smile on his face that he only had when a big sale was made. But for Max, you could see that he was stifling a groan once you pulled his cock out of his pants. By looking at his cock, you realized why he was strained. It was thicker than you imagined. Pre-cum painted around his tip, his veins prominent, and a curve that you knew would hook inside you more than your fingers did.

What did I get myself into?

“I’m glad that you’re getting what you want. What do you think the numbers will be at the end of the quarter?” The strain was evident in his tone, making you hide a giggle before you kissed the tip.

“These numbers will be the highest ever! I’ll- I mean we’ll be richer than ever!” Ted exclaimed, and you were sure Max wanted to do something similar based on how his thighs tightened once you sucked his tip gently.

“That’s all I want for us. Big numbers lead to big checks, and we get to expand and ensure that the train keeps going.”

Max’s hand snaked up your head, pushing you to take more of him despite the risks. The stretch in your mouth tugged at your lips, and the stretch in your dripping pussy would be worthwhile. With how he felt in your mouth, you were confident that his width was much more desirable than length, and thankfully, he had both.

“But I have a question for you. Where’s your secretary?” Ted asked, and you pulled Max’s cock out of your mouth.

“Oh. She went home early for the day. Got sick with something she ate but she got all her work done.” Max lied.

“Well that’s good to hear. She was the only one that was missed at the HR meeting so I wanted to check in with you.”

“Yeah. I’ll have her watch the recording of it when she comes in tomorrow. But is that all?” Max tapped his desk with one hand, and he moved his other hand away from your head.

“No. I was going to ask if you turned everyone, but you already answered that with letting her go home early.”

In that second, you realized that Tim and Evan were right. What was more of a problem was that now you were trying to fight the urge to hit Max while Ted was still in the room.

“Listen, I’m gonna get around to it.” Max reassured, but Ted’s sigh indicated that it was a futile attempt.

“I know she’s an efficient worker but sooner or later she’s going to find out.”

“Ted, I’ve got it under control.” Max was stern, and you never heard him speak like that until now.

“If you say so, but if you don’t do it, I will.” Ted threatened as he turned on his heel.

“Don’t touch her.” Max warned, and Ted laughed in response.

“And what are you going to do about it? You work for me, not the other way around.” Ted corrected.

“But you need me more than I need you, and if I say to leave her alone, you don’t touch her. Or else would your wife like to hear about you sleeping with your secretary?” Max countered, and you covered your mouth in shock.

“N-no.”

“That’s what I thought. Now are we done?” Max was livid, and if there was another word said than what he wanted to hear, he would blow a fuse.

“Yes. I’ll leave you be.”

Ted walked out fast and closed the door behind him, and you didn’t explode until you heard the elevator doors open and close to be sure that it was just the two of you again on the floor. Max zipped his pants up and moved out of the way for you. You climbed out angry, jetting for the door, but he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t leave. I’ll explain everything.” Max pleaded, but all it earned was a slap in the face.

“Max, you’re a fucking vampire! I don’t need to hear anymore to figure that out.” You exclaimed, and Max sighed.

“Yes, I’m a vampire. But I was never going to turn you the way I did the others.” Max explained, and that earned a cold laugh from you.

“Oh, that’s so comforting, really.”

Max pinched the skin in between his brows. “I was going to tell you before I did it.”

“So I was supposed to just let you tell me with your fangs out and take two seconds to process that you’re a vampire and that I’m going to be one too?” You asked sarcastically.

“You’re clearly angry with me. Do you want to slap me again?” Max offered, and that threw you off.

“You’re offering me a slap?” You were bewildered, but you had to expect that from Max as everything he did was borderline unorthodox, and now you understood why that was.

“It seemed to work the first time. Besides, they don’t hurt anyways.” Max responded, and it was time for you to see red. You slapped him harder than the last time, and you saw that his eyes flashed red, but they went away quickly.

“I knew that would work. And now I have two questions for you.”

You huffed, knowing that there was always a trick up his sleeve. “Do I have a choice in answering them?”

“You know the answer to that. Anyways, did you ever have a suspicion of me being a vampire? Or did someone tell you that I’m a vampire?” Max asked.

“That’s two questions right there.” You pointed it out, and Max rolled his eyes.

“Answer the fucking question.” He demanded.

“No. I didn’t have a clue.” You lied, and you soon realized your mistake once his eyes turned crimson red, seeing right through you.

His grip on your wrist tightened. “I’m going to ask you again, and don’t lie because you’re a terrible liar. Did you ever have a suspicion?”

“Yes.” You answered truthfully, and his eyes turned back to normal.

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Max praised, and you were sure that while he was a vampire, there were a few screws loose in his head based on his demeanor.

“How did you know I was lying?” You asked.

“Well, you are a terrible liar and I can also read your mind so that helps me.” Max smiled as he answered, and you sighed.

“Should’ve known you had powers.” You muttered, and Max smiled at your frustration.

“Comes with the job. Now, second question: does it turn you on that I’m a vampire?” Max continued with his eyes turning red, and you felt your cheeks burn.

While you were livid moments before, there was something in seeing Max with glowing red eyes that made being angry with him a lost cause. It was hot, and you didn’t have it in you to lie to him now.

“Yes, it does turn me on.” You admitted, and Max’s smile turned into a smirk.

“I figured because I can smell that sweet desire on you. Also, I let go of your wrist and you didn’t notice.”

You looked down and noticed that his grip was gone. But still, you felt a different grip that begged you to stay, and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave as you had planned before.

“I guess the questions took up all my focus.”

“Or you want to stay so I fuck you against the wall.” Max suggested.

You were confused. “I didn’t say that just now.”

“You didn’t. But you thought about it while you were working earlier.” Max clarified.

You shook your head. “And just how many times have you used these powers on me without my knowledge?”

“Since I met you,” Max grabbed your hand. “I know every desire, every orgasm, every dirty thought you had about me, and I’ve enjoyed all of them.”

“W-well, why did you wait until now?” You stuttered as your feet had a mind of their own and walked with Max to the wall.

“I wanted to toy with you. Every flirtation, praise, and touch that I gave you, it was because of how proud I was of you, but also from noticing what they did to you. I enjoyed every time you clenched your thighs, the times you got off in your car and the moments you would remember the previous night when you got off to what I did. It all allowed me to build up our tension until it was impossible to ignore so I could bring you right here.” Max pushed you against the wall with your hand behind your back. It was exactly what you fantasized about earlier, and it showed his incredible attention to detail would be the death of you.

“Baby, please.” You begged, giving in to him as he pulled up your skirt again.

You heard him unzip his pants and let them fall to the ground. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“But you know it already.” You whined as Max’s cock reached your folds, pushing in between them to slide up and down your slit. From there, you could feel how big and hard he was, with his tip constantly brushing up on your clit, which made you rock your hips to match his speed.

Max slid his hand in between your hands to grab his cock, tapping it against your clit with every word he spoke. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Please fuck me against the wall. I need it, baby.” You pleaded, and soon, his tip was lined up at your hole.

Max placed his lips near your ear lobe, kissing it. “That’s my good girl.”

Max entered you slowly, thankfully not letting his desire get the best of him. He was slow, methodical in gauging your pain, slowing up if you were uncomfortable. He kissed your ear, neck, and jaw as he entered, giving you a distraction as he bottomed out inside you. You tried to relax, allowing yourself time to adjust to his sheer size and breathing through it.

“You’re doing great, baby. I promise.” Max praised as he pulled out, leaving just the tip to relieve you. You felt empty when he pulled out, and he pushed back in to fill you up again. It was sensual, with him thrusting slowly in and out, holding you close as he wanted to appreciate every inch of you. The feather-like kisses that adored your shoulder, neck, ear, and jaw were like fire on your skin, setting you aglow as you never wanted to forget what his lips felt like on you.

Max grabbed a handful of your ass before smacking it, making you gasp. “Your body is perfect. I don’t know how I waited this long to have you.”

“I don’t know how I waited either,” You responded, and soon you pushed back with your hips to match his thrusts as your discomfort transformed into pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so needy for me. You want more of me, don’t you?” Max thrusted faster, finally giving in to what he had been fighting.

“Max, I want everything. Please, give me everything.”

Permission. That was all Max wanted from you when he called you into his office. Permission to ravish you just as you both had dreamed of and that was what set him off. In an instant, he thrusted faster, pushing you further into the wall to make you arch your back. His curve hooked more inside you, stretching you and getting closer to brushing up on your g-spot. Every vein rubbed against your velvety slick walls deliciously, making this sin of sleeping with a vampire worth every second of it. There was power behind every thrust, wanting to bottom out each time so your walls could hug every inch of him.

You were utterly drunk off of him, becoming a loud whimpering mess that everyone could hear if they were on your floor. You didn’t try to cover your mouth or close it. You wanted Max to listen to what this was doing to you, and once you used your spare hand to spread your ass cheek, it pleased him.

“Look at you, spreading yourself wide for me to take every part of you. You’re such a pretty girl for me,” Max commented, making you clench around him. “Fuck, mami. You do that again and I’m gonna cum inside you.”

I really want him to cum inside me. Fuck, I want him to breed me, actually.

“Oh, you really want that.” Max noted, and you nodded frantically.

“Fuck, I do!”

“Can’t help it, can you? Laid out on my desk and squirting, sucking me underneath the desk to tease me, getting fucked against the wall, and now you want me to breed you. The pretty secretary getting fucked by her boss and begging to get filled up. Should’ve known you’re not as innocent as you look.” Max laid it out and showed how much you broke your rules for him, but you didn’t care. All it did was bring you closer to cumming to where your legs began to shake.

“Baby, I-I’m gonna cum again!” You cried out, and Max began to let his fangs grow in.

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over my cock for me, please.”

You immediately shut your eyes, letting go as you coated him and your inner thighs again. You took every thrust he gave you to fuck you through it, and the praise that he gave you was muffled due to your mind going blank. It was too good to think, and once he stalled his thrusts and you felt warm, thick ropes paint your walls, you knew that he was a goner as well. Max transformed as he came, giving you every drop so that you would be forever marked as his, but there was one last thing he had to do to seal it.

You felt his lips against your neck, a light kiss that made you tilt your neck more to the side, giving him access. But then, you felt his fangs sink into your skin, the pain making you yelp as it stung, and you could feel him twitch inside you more from turning you. But it was hard to get mad at while he was pumping you full of his cum. Bred, turned, and marked by your boss. What more could you want based on your fantasies from earlier?

When he was close to finishing his mark on you, you felt drained initially, with your orgasm departing and your body momentarily falling limp. But that all changed in a split second when your eyes shot open, and you took a deep breath as your body changed from head to toe. Your energy rose, your strength increased, your entire being changed from that of a mortal and into an all-powerful entity. It was electrifying, and you only came down from that high when he pulled his teeth and cock out of you.

“You taste and feel wonderful.” Max complimented you as he turned you around.

“Thank you. Was that your plan all along?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“More or less,” He drifted off, looking at your amber-yellow eyes with satisfaction. “How do you feel?”

“Different. I feel strangely more alive even though I’m now considered the living dead.” You joked.

“You’ll be fine. It becomes normal after a while, and then you’ll wonder why you had to wait so long to change.”

You cocked your head to the side. “So you don’t miss mortal life?”

“What’s there to miss? I have a simple diet now, plenty of energy, and I have powers. There’s nothing special about being human when you get all of this from one bite.” He elaborated, and you loved seeing how passionate he was about his new lifestyle.

“Well when you put it that way, I can see why you wanted to turn everyone here.”

“Well turning people I’m not turned on by isn’t exactly fun,” Max joked, cupping your cheek. “But turning you was very exciting.” He finished, rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone.

“It was. Makes me wanna do it again.” You admitted bashfully.

“Who said I was stopping now? I’ve only just begun with you,” Max leaned into you, his lips ghosting yours.

“Then give me all of it, forever.” You whispered, and the kiss that followed left you weak at the knees and your heart soaring for eternity.

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 8 months

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Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 11 Boss/Employee Max Phillips x Reader

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Working for Max Phillips is easily one of the best, and worst jobs you’ve ever had. The hours are long, the work thankless, but you’ve achieved more in the last six months than in any other job. And the salary is more money than you’ve ever earned.

The only thing you don’t like about working at Bleeding Ink is the party culture. Everyone else in the office loves to go out and get hammered, Max included, and it just isn’t your scene. Never has been, and you doubt ever will.

But this weekend is different, it’s Halloween and you are willing to make an exception for your favourite holiday of the year. You put your hair into a simple up-do, apply a little lip gloss, and step into your white tennis shoes before checking yourself out in the mirror.

Your dark jean shorts, green apron, and white t-shirt with the Merlotte’s logo screen printed over your heart. You smile at yourself in the reflection once more before grabbing your purse and heading to the bar. You try to ignore the excited energy building in your gut at the thought of seeing Max out of hours.

~*~

Max watches you from a booth in the back, all night he’s been paralysed by how much skin you have on show. He can barely keep his fangs in his mouth, they keep extending of their own accord, like a teenager popping a boner just at the sight of you. He’s furious with himself, he prides himself on his restraint, he hasn’t fucked you in the six months you’ve worked for him. He takes that as a personal achievement, especially with how close the two of you work.

“Get it together asshole.”

He grumbles under his breath as he runs his palms over his face. He’s dressed in a black suit, with black trousers and a red tie. He wants to be out on the dance floor, where you’re currently grinding against Lisa from accounts. He watches with reverence at the way your body moves to the rhythm of the song playing as you knock back another shot.

What he sees next sends him over the edge.

~*~

“I said no.”

You try to shove the stranger away as he tries to shove his hand down the front of your shorts as his lips suck aggressively over your pulse point. Lisa has disappeared into the crowd and suddenly you don’t recognise anyone around you. You’ve only had a couple of drinks, but you suddenly feel incredibly vulnerable.

“Don’t be such a bitch.”

The stranger grabs both your wrists and starts to drag you towards the toilets at the back of the bar. You don’t hesitate to act as you plant your feet before yanking him back towards you, eyelashes fluttering up at him as you dart your tongue out over your bottom lip. The sudden compliance makes the douchebag pause just long enough so you can aim your kick just right.

He drops like a sack of shit, howling out as he holds his bruised manhood. You feel the adrenaline spike in your blood stream as you try and back away, terrified of what will happen when he gets back up.

You turn and run face first into another male body but before you can so much as start to apologise your eyes go wide. It’s Max. You almost groan at the way his broad hands hold you steady, the way his fingers press into the flesh of your biceps. But you swallow it down, pretending like you weren’t thinking about how nicely those fingers would feel pressed elsewhere.

“You ok there, sweetheart?”

His voice washes over you, calming you instantly as you throw your arms around him. You’ve not so much as bumped fists with Max since you started working for him, you’ve tried to keep your feelings at bay. Living by the motto of don’t shit where you eat even if you have it down bad for your cocky playboy of a boss.

“Yeah, can you walk me home?”

You ask as you glance warily at the man still cradling his crotch, you know he’s not going to be happy once he can stand again. You also don’t feel like staying out anymore, the whole incident souring the night completely.

“I’ll do one better, I’ll drive you.”

Max offers his arm to you, and you loop yours through it without hesitation, you weave through the throngs of party goers. Once outside you realise how cold it's gotten and start to shiver as you make it to the parking lot.

“Here.”

Max says as he drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders. You slip into it gratefully and flash him a nervous smile.

“Thanks, and I’m sorry you had to leave the party.”

“It’s ok, I wasn’t really feeling it anyway.”

Max shrugs and you narrow your eyes at him as you reach his black Audi. He opens the door for you, and you get in with the grace of a wounded gazelle, falling into the expensive leather seat with a huff as you wait for Max to get into the driver’s seat.

As the door shuts behind him you feel the atmosphere change. Max tenses in his seat, hands gripping the steering wheel as he tries his best to fight the urge to pull you onto his lap and have you.

“Max,” You start, placing a hand on his forearm as you turn in your seat to look at him, “You ok?”

“Fine, just, fuck, you looked really good tonight and seeing that asshole ruin the party for you, to see him touch you like that. It got under my skin.”

“Hey, it’s ok,” You rub your thumb over his wrist as you try and placate him, “You know I’m not much of a party gal.”

“I know, but I just wanted you to have fun tonight, I was really looking forward to seeing you.”

Max winces as he realises what he said, turning to look at you with a pained grimace on his face.

“Max Phillips, the boss who can barely look at me when I work in the room next door, wanted to see me? Now that I don’t buy.”

You tease as you narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out his angle.

“It’s complicated, I’m your boss, I didn’t want to be that guy.” Max shrugs as he finally turns to face you, his dark eyes sombre as he tries to keep them fixed on your face, he can’t risk letting his eyes trail down your body right now. It’s already torture enough that he can hear your heartbeat amping up with each passing moment. It’s taking every shred of will power not to just eat you alive. Literally.

“I mean I’ve seen you fuck Ashleigh from HR on your lunch breaks, heard her too.”

You shrug and the look of horror on his face is almost comical. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel a pant of shame for revealing that titbit right now.

“Fuck.”

Max finally releases the steering wheel and jams the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Hey, Max?”

You say softly as you place your hand high up on his thigh, you can see the bulge in his suit trousers and you’re done being subtle.

“What?”

“Do you want to fuck me in your car?”

Max peels his hands away from his eyes and looks at you with something between shock and excitement. Then you see it, as he opens his mouth to answer you, the sheen of curved fangs slide out from his gum line.

I fucking knew it.

“I don’t think-!” Max starts but you cut him off, a devilish smile spread across your lips.

“Do you know who I’m dressed as Max?”

You know he does.

“Sookie Stackhouse, from the Southern Vampire Mysteries, of course I do.”

“Why do you think I’m dressed like her?”

“Because you have excellent taste in smutty literature?”

He still hasn’t noticed his fangs are out, yet his speech isn’t altered at all, which you feel is pretty impressive judging by the size of them.

“Oh Maxie, as much as that’s true it’s not that,” You smirk at him as you climb over the centre console, “Your fangs are out.”

You settle on his lap as he freezes beneath you, you trace your fingertip over the curve of each fang, slowly, before leaning in to place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. You close your eyes for a moment and inhale his musky cologne as you brace your hands on his shoulders.

“How long have you known?”

“Since I walked in on you hiding a fucking IV bag full of blood in your desk drawer, like, on my first day.”

“Fuuuuuck.”

Max groans as he balls his fists at his sides, not daring to touch you, he’s starving and so horny he doesn’t think he could control himself if he let go right now.

“Max, if I’ve gotten you all wrong,” You breathe against his lips as you press down against his erect cock, “I’ll get up off your lap right now, let you drive me home, and we won’t speak of this ever again.”

“But why?”

Max’s question pulls you out of your lusty-haze and you lean back, looking down now into something you never thought you’d see. Max Phillips, looking vulnerable.

“Why what?”

“Why do you still want me?”

“Because Maxie, in the six months I’ve worked for you, I’ve not once felt like you would hurt me, even knowing your secret. If you wanted to hurt me, you’d have done it already.”

There’s a flash of realisation that illuminates Max’s dark eyes. It’s quickly replaced with a darkness that makes your spine tingle.

“I’m taking you home, no way is our first time going to be in my fucking car.”

You smile in triumph as you try to move back into the passenger seat. But a firm hand on your hip pins you in place.

“I didn’t say you could move.”

Your eyes go wide as you see Max look up at you with a look that just screams “try me”.

Max starts the engine, leaning around you before pulling you closer as he backs out of the lot. Your head falls to his shoulder and you smile to yourself as you feel him move under you. With every turn of the steering wheel and shift in gear you can feel his body shift under you, his hard cock pressing against your core. None of it is deliberately sexual, but being pinned so tightly to him makes your cunt throb with every movement. You pant and whine at every turn, baring your neck to him wherever you can.

By the time you arrive at your apartment you can’t keep your hands off one another. You storm through to your bedroom and let Max throw you down on the bed. You’re still in your costume with Max’ suit jacket over your shoulders.

“So, dressed like a fang banger to get my attention huh?”

Max taunts you as he undresses himself slowly, revealing a scarred but beautiful tapestry of tan skin and tight muscles.

“And what were you dressed as? Yourself?”

You give him a roll of your eyes as he snorts at you, as if you’re the one being ridiculous.

“I’m dressed as a hitman, you know from the video games?”

“And it’s just a coincidence you could literally just wear whatever you had in your wardrobe?”

“Fuck you’re bratty. Where’s this attitude in the office? Would make work so much more fun.”

“Because, unlike you, I can pretend to be professional for eight hours a day, unlike Mr fucked-Ashleigh from accounting over his desk last week-Phillips.”

“Fuck me, do you see everything in that office?”

“I’m head of IT and cybersecurity Max, I know everything, including the fact that you haven’t changed your password from Bl00dLuvver2012 since, well, twenty-twelve.”

“You’re insufferable.”

You chuckle under him as you pull your t-shirt over your head and reveal the white lace bra you put on especially for him. His eyes go wide and his mouth hangs open at the sight.

“You need to take your sticky note off your monitor, I also know your social security number and your home address. How have you survived this long Max?”

His eyes narrow at this and you watch as his demeanour changes at your incessant needling. You don’t see clearly what happens next, as Max’ movements are a blur. Your shorts fly to the other side of the room and suddenly he’s naked on top of you, pinning your arms above your head as his naked cock rubs teasingly against your lace-covered cunt.

“By shutting up nosy little brats that get too close to the truth.”

His voice is lower, darker as his lips hover over yours, fangs so close to your bottom lip as you whimper. Arousal floods through you and you can feel the slick between your legs, soaking the lacy thong as Max grinds down into you.

“Go on then, shut me up.”

You arch your back, pushing your breasts forward as you tenderly run your tongue over his right fang. The way Max shudders over you, combined with the breathy grunt that escapes his lips, tells you to do it again. So, you do, moving to the other one, tracking the curve up to his top lip before pulling him in to a soft, tender kiss.

Max forces his tongue into your mouth, claiming it as he pulls your panties to the side, transferring your pinned wrists to just one of his broad hands. A thick finger glides through your folds, smearing your slick all over your clit as he hums in approval. He pulls away from your lips to look down, marvelling at the sight of your glistening cunt as he toys with you.

“You going to let me fuck this tight little hole? Let your sleazy vampire boss ruin you?”

“Max please.”

“Please what? Tell me what you want and remember your manners.”

Max looks down at you with a face like thunder, betrayed only by the way his lips curve up into a devilish grin as he sinks a finger into you. You whine as the thick digit presses deep inside you with ease. If you weren’t so wrapped up in the moment, you’d be a little shy about just how wet he’s made you before even touching you properly.

“Want you to fuck me, need your dick inside me. Sir.”

Max kisses you again as he lifts you up by your waist with his free hand, angling you just right so his cock notches at your core. His mouth is ravenous, tongue crushing against your own as he lets go of your wrists, moving his other hand to grip your hip.

“Good fucking girl.”

He punctuates the statement with a snap of his hips. You cry out in a strangled wail as he fills you up completely. His dick is fucking perfect. He’s snug inside you as he just stops shy of your cervix, letting you get used to the intrusion as he nips at your jaw, leaving tiny red marks on your skin as he moves up to your neck.

“Touch yourself.”

He growls and you comply, almost without thought as you drop a hand to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen bud. Your other hand trails up Max’ muscular back, nails scraping along his firm skin and he hisses in your ear as his dick twitches inside you.

“Careful there, get me too riled up and I might just bite you.”

It’s a gentle scolding with a very serious warning behind it but you don’t care.

“What if that’s what I want Max? What if I want you to fuck me and feed on me?” You whisper against the shell of his ear as your hand reaches the crown of his head. You hum contentedly as you feel him seize up, his entire body going rigid.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, I meant it when I said I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” You breathe as you pull hard on Max’ short hair, “I trust you Max, with my life. Bite me.”

The only response you get is Max pulling almost all the way out of you before thrusting in so hard you see stars. He’s unrelenting as he fucks you, pleasure rocks through you as you continue to rub your clit as every snap of his hips has soft mewls and whines slipping past your lips. Max leaves open mouthed, sloppy kisses over your pulse point and you know you’re not going to last long at this rate.

As you’re about to come you feel it, the sharp scratch of his fangs as they plunge into your flesh. It’s everything you ever imagined, pain like nothing you’ve ever known. It’s like being spanked hard, yes, it hurts, but the pleasure that floods you engulfs the pain, morphing it into an acute burn of pleasure that sears through your body.

You come around his cock as you feel him feed from your neck, his thrusts don’t falter as you choke his cock, if anything fucking down into you harder than before. His thrusts get harder, faster, somehow deeper as your vision begins to blur. You’re so lost in the pleasure of it all that you don’t even think about the fact he’s been feeding for too long.

You’re lost in the firm cocoon of Max’s entire existence. His lips on your skin, his fangs in your neck, dick buried inside you. You could die here, and you wouldn’t even be mad about it.

“Woah, hey, stay with me,” He mutters your name so sweetly you writhe as you feel wet lips on your ear, “That was dangerous of you, next time you feel like things are slipping away you tell me yeah?”

Max’ voice is thick with desire but the fear spliced into his tone makes you blink a few times, it grounds you as you look up to see Max’ brow crinkled with worry. You smirk up at him almost drunkenly as you lean up to lick the blood from the corner of his mouth. Your blood.

“Yes boss.”

Max makes a noise like he’s sighing, though you know that’s physically impossible, but it only makes you smile harder. His fangs retract into his mouth, and you smile at the restraint he’s showing.

“You got another few in there for me baby?” The pet name makes you clench around him and you nod enthusiastically.

“Good, because I can go all night.” He says with a cocky grin and you laugh as you shake your head incredulously at him.

“You’re so fucking cheesy.” You swat his shoulder and he responds by capturing your lips with his, your blood lingering on his tongue as you meet his enthusiasm. He fucks down into you hard and you can feel another orgasm reaching its peak.

~*~

Cheesy or not, Max Phillips is anything but a liar. By the time your bodies still, the sun is coming up and you fall back against the sheets, freshly showered and wearing one of Max’ t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. You never thought he would even own sweatpants, but here you were.

“Hey Max?” You ask sleepily as you snuggle into his side, mind reeling a little as you fear this was a one-time thing, that now he’s had you that’s it.

“Hmm?” He asks as he traces patterns on the arm draped over his chest.

“I want to do this again, not now,” You say as Max raises a hopeful eyebrow at you, “My pussy needs a break, but I don’t want this to be a one-night stand y’know?”

“You really think you’d be rid of me that easily?” He pulls you against his chest, strong arms hemming you in as you bury your head in his broad chest, “You’re not going anywhere, and if you want, we can talk about a future some other time, but right now you need to sleep.”

“Good.” You say softly, your heart fluttering about the thought of a future with Max.

You lie in silence for a while, your breathing the only sound as Max lays there almost impossibly still.

“Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you sleep?”

“Not really, but I can kind of power down, like going into standby, why?”

“Just curious.” You mutter as you realise he’s staying in bed with you for your benefit. And that makes you feel safe, protected, special.

“Now sleep, you really need to get some rest, stubborn girl.”

“Mm, but I’m your stubborn girl.”

Max doesn’t respond except for pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head and pulling the blankets over you both. You’re asleep in seconds, dead to the world, as you still can’t believe you just fucked your boss. The vampire bit, unsurprisingly, doesn’t bother you at all, which leaves an amused smile on your lips as you fade into the warm embrace of sleep.

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 2 years

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Negotiations

Summary: Max doesn’t want to turn you into a vampire because he loves drinking from you too much. Especially when you’re on your period. Okay and he wants you to stay human because of the ✨experience✨. But you’re in pain very single month so you make him a deal. You shut up about becoming a vampire when he manages to get through the menstrual pain simulator.

Pairing: Max Phillips x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Rating: T

Warnings: established relationship, fluff, implied sex, talks about becoming a vampire, lots of talks about menstrual pain, humor?

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It was dark when Max entered his penthouse. Which was… weird? You should be cooking or reading or rearranging the living room. Again.

It was quiet, it smelled of candy and caramel and… blood.

A smirk sneaked to his lips.

Getting out of his shoes and his jacket he loosened his tie as he walked towards the bedroom, where he knew he would find you cuddled under every blanket you owned.

“Sugarbabe I’m hoooome,” he sang as he walked into the bedroom, finding you indeed under at least four blankets, candy wrappers on the bed next to you. There was a bottle of painkillers on the bedside table and he could hear the hum of your heating blanket.

Pride and Prejudice was on, the Matthew Macfadyen version and he didn’t question that he recognized just from one look on the tv hanging across the bed.

“Hi,” you mumbled and he pouted at you before he carefully climbed into the little nest you made for yourself.

“How bad is it?” he asked, pulling you into his arms, kissing your forehead.

“Like a demon is fighting itself out of my uterus,” you took a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry,” and he was. He hated to see you in pain. And he knew there was a solution to seeing you like this. A solution you argued at least once every month about.

“You know I wouldn’t be in pain if you’d turn me,” you groaned and he sighed, kissing your nose.

“I know, baby. But… You have to understand… You just… taste so fucking delicous. Especially around that time of the month… And you know… the whole human stuff is important too. Chocolate will never taste as good and don’t even get me started on pasta. Let me make you feel better?”

“You’re disgusting,” you said.

“Tell me something new,” he chuckled and you rolled your eyes.

“No seriously. You claim you love me, yet you don’t do the one thing that keeps me from being in pain every single month. I can go without tasting chocolate. I… think.”

“I do love you. So very much that I want you to stay human as long as possible.”

“You mean stay a happy meal you can snack on whenever you feel like it?” you pouted.

He began to kiss your neck, his usual tactic to distract you. Sadly it was working every single time.

“You’re just so damn delicious,” he hummed, his teeth scratching over your neck before he kissed himself down. You sighed, turning to lay on your back as he got closer, his cold hands trying to get under the five blankets you were under.

“We’re not finished talking about this,” you mumbled, helping him get the blankets off.

“Ahhh there she is,” he grinned, a wicked smile on his lips as he finally found your body in just a shirt of his lying beneath him.

“Gonna help make you feel good sugarbabe,” he wiggled his eyebrows, pulling his shirt off.

Against your better judgement you smiled up at him as you parted your legs.

“This discussion is not finished, Max,” you reminded him as he kissed down your body. He looked up at you, his fingers pulling at your panties.

“Oh I know,” he grinned before he settled down between your legs,

“But maybe my tongue can make you forget about it for a little longer.”

A week later he found you sitting in your living room, a smile on your lips that was somehow off and slightly unsettling. And not in a good way.

“Hi baby!”, you grinned sweetly at him and every instinct within him screamed danger at him but it was you. The love of his life. What bad could happen?

“I want to make a deal with you,” you said, standing up and walking over to him, your arms crossing behind his neck, blinking your beautiful eyes up at him.

“A deal?” he asked, a little interested.

You nodded.

“You keep saying no to turning me,” you said and he nodded.

“Because you deserve to stay human,” he said.

“Right. Let’s say that’s the reason. We both know you love to eat my pussy when I’m on my period.”

“What can I say? It’s…. It’s like sex ketchup. Ya know?”

“I am…. Going to pretend you did not just say that. Anyway, I am in pain. Every single month, for at least two days. Sometimes so bad that I can’t get out of bed, and yet you refuse to turn me. So I’m gonna make you a deal.”

“I am… listening,” he hummed.

“You get to experience the same pain I go through every month. And if you still think I should suffer through this I will shut up about you turning me,” you said with the sweetest smile.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Just like that?” he asked.

“Just like that. I will be complaining though. Maybe even more than before. And I expect more gifts. And cuddles. But maybe you can understand why after a little better.”

“How?” he asked.

“There’s a machine that simulates menstrual pain. I’m gonna go first, and then you’ll go. I expect you’re not even gonna make it to Level five,” you shrugged and he huffed. Insulted.

“How many Levels are there?”

“10.”

“Will you suck my cock?”

You looked confused at him

“Orgasms seem to help you with the pain. Maybe it’ll help me too,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

You chuckled and rolled your eyes.

“You know you can just ask for me to suck your cock. I’ll never say no to that.”

He looked at you.

“And if I can make it to level 10 you’re never gonna ask me to turn you again?” he asked.

You nodded.

“I will demand more orgasms though. If you make me live in pain. And we should talk about it again in the future cause I'm not getting younger and I do want to spend eternity with you,” you said and he grinned.

“I’ll even take time off to make you feel good,” he kissed you and you hummed against his lips.

“So what do you say?” you raised your eyebrow.

“Deal.”

Max had spent an hour reading the manual of the simulator you rented, making sure everything was working fine (and you weren’t cheating) before he put it on your stomach exactly as shown in the manual.

“Gonna turn it on now,” he said, looking at you. You nodded as he turned it on, almost not feeling anything.

“Turn it up?” you said and he frowned at you.

“You sure? It’s already on Level 4,” he said and you chuckled.

“Babe, I’m sure. This is nothing,” you squeezed his hand.

“How are we sure this is even working?” he asked, turning it up. At Level 8 you felt some cramping, but still not as bad as on the worst days of your period.

“I can feel it. It’s just not that bad? I definitely get worse pain.”

He hummed, his lips pursed, looking at you as he turned it to the upper level and you groaned, closing your eyes.

“You felt that,” he said and you nodded.

“It feels like in the beginning? My pain still gets worse though,” you shrugged.

Max checked the machine but he could hear it working. The hum of it reaching his sensitive ears. After seeing you he felt more than confident that he’d make it through this little challenge you put on.

As if this could be that bad? Not that he’d say you weren’t in pain. But you were human. Maybe you just… had a low pain tolerance?

And he’d even fuck you all night as a reward for staying his little human blood bag. A blood bag he loved very much. The best blood bag. Okay he should maybe stop calling you blood bag even if it was just in his mind.

He shook his head to himself as he turned the machine off and you smiled at him.

“Your turn,” you leaned in to kiss him and he nodded.

“I hope you’re ready to stay human sugarbabe,” he hummed as he unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest.

You just smiled, looking at him as you pulled the machine off your stomach to put it on him.

He giggled as you brushed your fingers over his stomach and you grinned at him.

“Am ticklish,” he said and you kissed him again.

“I know,” you winked as you sat back.

Max looked at the remote in his hand and then at you, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He checked if everything was how it was supposed to be before he took a deep breath.

He died.

He literally died to become a vampire.

So why was he feeling so hesitant about this? He looked at you, your eyes looking expectantly at him.

“You good to go? You don’t have to. You can just turn me,” you shrugged and he shook his head.

“You know it’s not the easy blood access, why I want you to stay human right? Cause I really love you and all your little cute human traits,” he said and your eyes softened.

“I know, babe. And I really appreciate it,” you kissed him and he pulled one of his hands to your cheek, humming against your lips.

“But you’re still doing this,” you whispered against his lips and he sighed.

“Okay. Turn it on,” he said, giving you the remote.

He was dying.

He was dying again and it was all his ego and this fucking machine’s fault.

“Fuck,” he threw his head back, taking deep breaths his lungs did not even need oxygen to breathe through the pain, yet he was panting like he was in labour. It felt like someone was squeezing his insides slowly. He felt your hand in his and he opened his eyes, looking at you, seeing you try not to laugh.

“Fuck you did not have to turn it on on the highest level???” he groaned loudly.

“It’s level three babe,” you said, trying to keep a straight face and he looked at you with wide eyes.

“You're shitting me?” he said, pulling the remote from your hands, seeing that indeed he was on level three.

“Fuck me,” he got up, walking through the room, turning it up to level four by himself, his hands grabbing a chair as he bend over in pain.

“You want me to suck your cock to find out if it makes it better?” he heard you ask.

“Fuck you,” he said with a laugh.

You hadn’t even reacted until level eight and he was ready to give up at level four? You were in pain worse than this every single month?

He turned it up once more, grunting in pain before he decided to give up, turning it off.

“Fuck this,” he said, ripping the machine off, finding you grinning at him from your spot on the couch.

“Women are fucked if they are in this much pain just because of fucking evolution or some shit,” he opened the fridge, the one with his blood, to get some A negative into his body.

You watched him drink, his eyes still on you.

He sighed, a little pout on his face.

“I’m gonna miss your warm body at night,” he licked his lips as he set the blood down, walking over to you. You raised your eyebrow.

“You want to do it now, or wait?” he asked, kneeling down in front of you. He inhaled your scent deeply.

“Just like that?” you asked. He nodded.

“If I had known, I would have done it years ago, sugarbabe,” he said, his teeth springing out.

You smiled, your hand brushing over his cheek.

“What if… we wait for three weeks and make the most of me being your warm tasty human until then? I just got off my period, so we’re good?”

He smirked at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You should take time off work,” he said, before you shrieked as he picked you up in his arms.

“Why?” you laughed.

“Cause I will enjoy marking your whole body before I’ll turn you to spend eternity with me,” he said, kissing you deeply as he carried you to your bedroom.

#my fic #max phillips x fem. reader #max phillips #pedro pascal #bloodsucking bastards #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction

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carusolikey · 17 days

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The Blue Hour

a Max Phillips & Bloodsucking Bastards FanFic

Chapter 4: Lemonade - Hold Up Part 1 of 2

This week on 'The Blue Hour' - Max reveals the "special skills" portion of his CV, as well as what's lurking just under the surface. Someone from the past causes unrest and threatens to break the pleasant bubble in which we've all grown accustomed to living. Is there a bridge over this troubled water? Or will we simply have to make lemonade out of lemons? Special warnings apply to this chapter - take care to peruse, dear reader!

Pairing: Max Phillips of Bloodsucking Bastards x afab!fem!reader

Rating: Explicit / NSFW 18+ (No Minors)

Warnings: 18+ only content, Discussion of previous relationship / SA - not explicitly graphic, but important to mention. Able bodied fem afab reader, alcohol consumption, non-gendered pet names, fem can be carried and has hair - though length is not mentioned, consensuality is implied and intended through actions and reactions. Did attempt to stay away from gendered pronouns and nicknames, although did use the word woman, possibly more than 3 times throughout the entire piece (not fully published yet) referring to OC. Discuss history endo / adeno. Future chapters will also include Vampire hunting, murdering, and blood….sucking bastards.

If you or someone you know has been affected by current or previous experiences of SA or toxic relationships, this week's Chapter includes a special Easter Egg section with access to resources and support.

Special Easter Egg Section Here.

Word Count: ~ 7,100+ (total between Part 1 + Part 2)

Return to the Masterlist!

Continue Chapter 4 - Part 2

After eating breakfast the next evening, while watching a nature documentary on honey badgers, I started thinking that I really needed a vampire nature documentary. Hmm. Honey badgers really don’t give a shit, I thought, as I watched a honey badger get repeatedly stung while digging its way into a beehive just for a little bit of larva.

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My phone lit up with a text from Max, and I swiped it open, immediately bursting out laughing at the Twilight meme he sent of the scene in the forest between Bella and Edward.

More texting dots showed up, “I love making you laugh.”

“What?” I said softly to myself, about to text him that he shouldn’t get so cocky - when he responded with, “I can hear you, silly - we talked about this, it’s my unfortunate super power.”

Oooooh. Right. Kinda creepy, but he did tell me very soon after we met, so I guess I’m glad he’s honest about it? Not like he can help it, I suppose.

I went ahead and sent him a gif of Tom Cardy from the Red Flags music video, saying “Cool!”

“You know, you can just talk aloud and I can respond to you via text.” Max replied back to me.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” I asked aloud.

“Oh, it’s definitely fun for me.”

“Cheeky.” I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn’t see me.

“Did you just roll your eyes? Lol”

“Are you kidding me? You can’t see me, can you?”

Max sent a bunch of the shrugging emojis. “🤷 🤷 🤷 🤷 🤷 🤷 🤷”

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“But that’s why you like me. You like a challenge. 😉” the next text read.

I walked over to my fridge, and since I was technically hands free, I decided to continue with what I had originally planned on doing. Grabbing a bunch of lemons, I brought them over to the sink and started rinsing them off.

“So what other special powers do you have that I’m not yet privy to?”

My phone lit up, “Wow. You are being LOUD right now. Can you calm down and ask again?”

Laughing, I turned the faucet off.

“Ask again - that’s a very Magic 8 Ball response. Okay - I’ll ask again: do you have any other powers that I don’t know about yet, that you’re willing to divulge to me?”

“That’s better, thank you. Just the usual powers.”

“Seriously? Just ‘the usual’? What is that supposed to mean? Can you fly? Do you have super speed? Are you super strong? Can you sniff for drugs? Perform basic math and tap out the answer with your hoof?”

Going back to slicing lemons, I waited for a response, but not for long.

“I understand your confusion - while I am a stallion, I’m not a one-trick circus pony or a trained DEA drug-sniffing dog. Obviously, I’m incredibly strong, have you seen me?”

I giggled at his text.

“Why are you laughing? This is very serious. I’m being very vulnerable with you right now.”

He sent a gif of an adorable puppy, and I couldn’t help but groan, “Oh, nooo,” mock sobbing.

“Yes. Good. That’s the reaction I wanted. Fawn over me, thank you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Did you roll your eyes?”

I shook my head.

“I need you to say it out loud.”

Okay. That’s good. Some privacy, apparently.

“No, sir! No eyes rolled here!” Providing him with a chipper and faux-obedient response.

“I’ll continue then. In addition to being very strong and super fast, I can also fly.”

“WHAT?!” I exclaimed.

“Yep. I can fly. Regular Clark Kent over here.”

“First, Clark Kent was the alter-ego. Second, I think I need to see this.”

“Tomato, potato. And of course. As you wish, Sweetness - but you’ll need to open your window.”

“Max, my windows don’t open that wide - no offense, but I don’t think you’re going to fit.”

I opened the window in front of me, right above where I was cutting lemons.

“Well - it actually won’t be a problem.” he texted.

“What do you mean it won’t be a problem?”

“When I say ‘BAT!’ I turn into a bat and I can fly.”

Standing there completely silent, reading the text, I took a moment to process what he was saying.

“Sweetness?”

“I’m sorry, I’m a little in shock. I was not expecting you to say that at all.”

“I don’t have to show you if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Chuckling nervously, incredulous, but wanting to believe what he was saying, I went ahead and said what I was thinking out loud.

“A few weeks ago, I don’t believe I would’ve been able to handle knowing a literal bat-man. But no, it’s okay, I think you should - fly - over. I need to see this.”

As my words barely left my lips, Max’s next text came through, “On my way.”

The faint flutter of wings grew louder and I stepped back from my kitchen window, as a bat flew in, and in a sudden ‘puff!’ transformed into Max. I leaned back against the counter, just staring, a smile transfixed on my face in pure amazement. He gave me a wink, then picked up one of my lemons.

“What are you doing with so many lemons?”

Reaching over the counter, I closed the window.

“Hey! That’s my way out!” he whined at me.

“Yeah, I don’t need any more bats flying in, especially if I’m not sure whether they just have regular rabies, or vampirism.”

“Fair enough.” Max responded.

“And the lemons - I’m slicing, so that I can squeeze them for their juice.”

“You making lemonade?”

“Kind of - I’m making chia seed lemonade.” Max frowned, “A cup of water, ½ oz - ¾ oz lemon juice, depending on how tart I’m feeling –”

“You’re definitely a little tart.” He bit his lip, raising his eyebrows, and put his hand on my lower back, stepping closer.

I groan-laughed while giving him side-eye.

“And then I add a bit of honey, rosemary & lavender bitters, and 1 tbsp of chia seeds. I like to let it chill for a while in the fridge so that the chia seeds are almost like mini-boba.”

“Mmmmm.” Max gave an overly enthusiastic and very sarcastic hum.

“Hey! These are super healthy! They’re good for your heart and bones, they’re rich in fiber, they’re great for your skin, they’re an excellent source of omega-3’s without the risk of mercury, they help regulate blood sugar –”

“Cool. I don’t care about any of that. Because I’m a vampire - and my body is self-repairing.” He gloated, with his smarmy side-grin, “Just something to add to the pro-column, for anyone who might be considering becoming a vampire.”

I stopped squeezing lemons, and looked at him. “Very subtle, Max.”

He pursed his lips, raising both his hands up in surrender and leaned against the counter.

Looking sheepishly embarrassed, he then dropped his hands and clasped them together as he looked at the floor.

Chuckling, my face got a little red as I thought about the fact that this was the first time Max was bringing up potentially turning me, I went back to squeezing lemons. After a moment, I could feel his eyes as he raised his head and looked at me.

Suddenly, he pointed out the window and said, “What’s that?!”

Surprised by the sudden exclamation, I dropped what I was doing and looked up in the direction his hand was pointing.

Instantaneously, his pointing hand came down to my chin and turned my head, right into where his face was leaning down towards me. His lips pressed against mine, and I stumbled backwards, just as his other hand pulled me into him by the waist. My instinct as I was falling back was to immediately grab onto him for support. I started laughing in between deep kisses in our awkward low dip, with Max bent over me. He pulled me upright, his chest shaking as he chuckled.

“Well, I certainly was not expecting that.” I commented.

“It seemed like you might need a distraction, probably.”

Oh, really? After the vampire turning comment? I squinted my eyes at him as my phone lit up with a new text, and Max handed it to me from the counter.

My mood palpably shifted.

“Nat and I are moving in together, and I have a box of stuff that you left in the apartment,” the text read. “I can bring it over tomorrow, if you’d like?”

I slid down onto the kitchen floor, sitting with my knees up to my chest; one hand clutching my knees and the other holding my phone face down, and stared straight ahead.

Max bent down, sitting on the floor next to me and putting his hand over mine. I looked up at him, looking back at me, and leaned my head on his shoulder. It was hard for me to feel anything, except nausea - but feeling my face against Max’s strong shoulder, felt like it was grounding me.

Is there any point in telling him about this? Does it matter? It’s drama. It’s too much, right? But - if it matters to me, it matters, and if we’re going to be anything, I guess I have to let him get to know me.

A good ten minutes of silence had passed as I debated my internalized desire to “be so chill” against everything I’d learned in therapy. Which was admittedly excellent advice that I wasn’t always keen to follow.

Lifting my head from his shoulder I took a deep, slow breath in, and another out.

“That was my ex.”

I glanced over at Max, his eyes watching my face intently, and he squeezed my hand reassuringly. Meanwhile, I looked back at my knees, picking imaginary lint off my pant legs.

“We have a very complicated history, and he –” I sighed.

“It’s okay. Start from where it feels right.”

Letting out a somewhat sarcastic laugh, where it feels right?

“God. Okay. I guess I’ll give you the summary. We did love each other - I think. I’m fairly certain I loved him. We were together for several years, you’d hope love existed between us, right?”

I paused, thinking, my eyes reading the air in front of me.

“He had a hard time getting work for a while, and he always hated his job, no matter what job it was - he was always quitting and then looking for another one. I actually worked in marketing at the time, so I carried the financial burden of the relationship. Which I didn’t care about. I loved him.”

Taking a break to look at Max, he lifted my hand and gave it a kiss.

“Then he finally found a job he really loved, working at a brewery. He made a bunch of friends - we ended up going to a party one of them threw and playing a drinking game. I was drinking cocktails because I’m not really a beer person, while everyone else was drinking beer. So, I definitely lost the game. After the party ended, he invited a friend and their girlfriend back to our apartment to keep the party going. At this point, my endo was definitely symptomatic, but none of my doctors were concerned - just to keep in mind.”

The next part I was hesitant to bring up, because it was always something that fucked with my head. Some days I would tell myself it was nothing and other days I would think, but it did happen.

“I knew that I was way too drunk to keep hanging out - I had a snack from the fridge. Then I ended up getting sick from too much alcohol almost immediately, so I went into the bedroom to lie down. He spent another hour or two or three, I’m not really sure, with his friends. But then he came into the bedroom. I was still very, very drunk, but I was somewhat aware of what was happening.”

As I looked down at the ground, Max put his arm around me.

“He didn’t stop. He knew I wasn’t fully conscious, and he just kept going. I wasn’t in any shape to push him off, I just waited for it to end. And then it did. Until he decided to do it again. I lost track-- The nausea was overwhelming and I could barely think through it.”

Max brushed his other hand through my hair and kissed me on top of my head, as I went on.

“The next day I was so confused - why would someone who loves you, hurt you? But I also felt like maybe I should have seen it coming? He never asked for consent the first time we were together, he never let me lead. Very often he would wake me up in the middle of the night even when I hadn’t been drinking and was fully sober, to needle me while I was exhausted - until I gave in.”

I could feel Max’s muscles tense under his shirt and vest.

“When my doctors finally started to take my endo seriously and scheduled surgery, I had to get my mom to come stay with us, because he didn’t want to take off from work. And when that surgery was immediately a bust and I had to schedule a follow up surgery, my mom came back to help. He cried in the waiting room when the specialist told him everything that had been going on inside my body. Because he hadn’t believed me when I told him that I was in pain.”

“While I stayed home, healing, I started to pick up on some things - I learned that he was spending a lot of time talking to someone else. When I asked him about it, he claimed they were ‘just work friends’, but one night he told me he was going over to a mutual friend’s to hang out. When 3 a.m. rolled around and he wasn’t home, I was worried something had happened to him, and texted our friend, who texted me back immediately saying that they weren’t together. I checked social media, and he was tagged in an intimate photo with the person he’d been ‘talking to’.”

“This fucking guy.”

I looked up at Max, and his fangs were out. Although I was stuck in the feelings that this text had uprooted, something about seeing him in defensive mode pulled at my heart, bringing me back to the here and now, where I’d done the work to move past this.

“The next day, I stood on my own two feet, cleared to start doing chores around the house and put the song, Burn It Blue, by Caetano Veloso & Lila Downs, on repeat and on blast."

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"He came into the kitchen, confused and for the first time worried - worried that I was upset with him. I told him that I saw the picture that was posted, and that his lying was the final straw. To be his bang-maid was beyond, but to add the insult of lying to my face? Enough. I found a new place. This place. And moved out within a week.”

Max’s fangs retracted and he gave me kisses all along the side of my face, while giving me a squeeze in our side-hug on the floor.

“But this text,” he stopped to listen as I continued. “He’s moving in with them - the person he was fucking around with behind my back, and he wants me to meet him, so that he can give me some things I left behind.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Max spat out his response, full of disgust.

“Listen, if you want to meet with him to get your stuff, fine. I can come with you, if you want - or I can just go for you, so that you don’t have to see him. Tell me what you need.”

“Well, I don’t want him in my place. And, I think maybe, based on your reaction, it would be best if I went alone.” I picked up my phone and started texting. “I’m just gonna tell him to meet me in that Belgian Café across the street tomorrow evening.”

“Okay. And what do you want to do now?”

“I need to clean up these lemons, and I definitely need to get my mind as far off of this as possible.” I stopped for a moment, biting the inside of my cheek. “I don’t love that I had to share this with you.”

Max frowned, “I don’t love that this happened to you,” then gave me a kiss on the forehead, “but I love that you felt comfortable enough to share it with me.”

He helped me finish my lemon goals, keeping me company and tossing lemon husks in the trash like each one was worth 3-points for his imaginary lemon-based basketball team.

We cleaned up quickly, and then he said, “You know what? We’re going on a field trip,” opening his eyes super wide and giving me a huge, enthusiastic grin.

“Where??” I asked, intrigued, excited, and already feeling a bit less anxiety ridden, just being in his presence.

“It’s a surprise. But you don’t have to change your clothes or anything, you’re perfect just as you are - and you only need to bring your keys, we’re not going far.”

“Uh, okay.” With only a tinge of uncertainty, I put my trust in him. Max hadn’t failed me yet.

Taking my hand, he led me out into the hallway and I locked my door, while I could hear Mr. Vilallonga from behind his door saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Pulling me down the hallway towards the elevator, I dragged behind him.

“Hey - is Mr. Vilallonga gonna be okay?”

“He’s fine. Don’t worry about him.”

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside with Max, who pulled me close, and pressed the button for the top floor.

“We’re going up?” My eyes widened with surprise - we’re going to someone else’s apartment!

Max smirked, giving a quick flash of his eyebrows, and before I knew it, we had arrived. Stepping off onto the top floor, there were only three apartments. This was penthouse level, for sure.

What was I getting into? Oh god. I wasn’t walking into any Christian Grey shit, was I? Too soon, Max. Too soon.

As he unlocked the door at the far end, I had no idea what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t what I ended up walking into. The style was a mixture of mid century meets craftsman, no greige here. It was colorful, vibrant, retro, eclectic, lived in, and so much more light than I would’ve expected for a vampire.

“Okay, so why have we been spending so much time in my place when you have all of this?” I asked, in awe.

“Your place is cozy, and it smells like you.”

“I will happily rub myself all over your furniture, spreading my scent, if that’s all it takes to get you to let me spend time here.”

Max laughed, “I will happily watch that take place.” He stopped briefly before continuing, “But to be honest, I wanted to make sure you were comfortable first before I invited you into my den of iniquity.”

“Den of iniquity? You running a speakeasy out of this joint?” I walked further through his apartment, admiring his choice of wallpaper in the bar, and then immediately got distracted by the grand piano in the living room. “You have a grand piano in here?! You play then, I assume?”

This man never fails to surprise me.

Chuckling, “Yes, my abuela had me taking piano lessons by the time I was nine. She loved the piano, loved hearing me play. I was actually going to be a music major because of her, but in between my freshman and sophomore year of college, I dropped out. She got sick and I wanted to help take care of her. When I was able to go back to school, I re-enrolled as a business major.”

“So, when you helped me with my bath, and washed my hair –"

“I used to help her, yes.”

I took his hand in mine, giving it a kiss before moving in closer to hug him.

“If it’s okay to ask, why did you switch to a business major instead of sticking with music?”

He sighed, “It’s fine - it just, it made more sense for me to do something more practical with my life. And it was more her dream for me. I think it just really hurt too much to keep doing it after she passed away. I was a real asshole after I returned to school, though.”

Max gave an empty chuckle, shaking his head like he was trying to get rid of the memory.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. There was this guy who was kind of a little punk. His girlfriend was into me, and I definitely slept with her just because I could. And then he had me kicked out of school for cheating, so - I punched him. I was kind of a mess.”

“Max!” I wanted to cry for him, but I settled for leaning into him instead and giving him a squeeze. “That’s not great, but college age is still very young, and it sounds like you were having a really hard time grieving. I think having you kicked out for cheating is a bit of overkill, though. What did you do after that?”

“Oh, it was fine. All of my credits transferred, I had good grades, and good recommendation letters from other professors, so I ended up graduating - just a bit later than anticipated.” He stood, holding me, thinking for a bit, “I actually ran into the guy a little while ago.”

“Really? What did you do - how did you react?”

“Uhhh, well. It turns out he worked at a branch of the company where I was hired - right before I was turned. After I was turned, I discovered that corporate was actually mostly vampires.”

I was stunned to hear this, and my face definitely reflected that as I leaned back to look at Max.

“Yeah. It’s true.” And he moved on, like it was no big deal, “Anyway, that branch of the company needed to, as HR put it, ‘be redistributed’, so that guy is no longer my concern.”

“What happened, Max?”

“Ehhh, there was some bad blood.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

“Okay, I was still pretty fresh and hyped up from the transition, and I probably should not have been put in the same room as him. Because I definitely tried to turn his new girlfriend and fuck her on the branch manager, Ted’s desk, and ended up just killing them both. Oopsy-daisy.” He shrugged as he said that last bit.

Blinking slowly at him, I responded, “What I said about overkill before? THIS part - is the actual overkill.”

“What was it you said earlier? My bad? I’m gonna go with that.”

“I didn’t say that. I might’ve said ‘my bat’?” I said with some snark.

He pulled me closer, “Oh, was that it?”

His face close to mine, he swerved past my lips as I went to kiss him, and nibbled at my ear, kissing my neck instead.

“You know, they started vampire group therapy sessions as part of our company benefits and it’s really worked wonders for morale.”

I laughed, “Really? Because I did wonder if such a thing existed.”

Squinting down at me, he said very low and smooth, “Oh yeah. Many, many wonders for morale. And for individuals, too.”

“I’m impressed that vampires are able to put together such comprehensive mental healthcare plans.”

“Can’t have a sound body without a sound mind.”

He said it like he was selling sex and reading off a Yogi Tea bag label. I rolled my eyes playfully - although, I was ultimately pleased to hear that he had access to it.

Breaking away from Max, I wandered over to the piano, “So - you still play?”

“Yeah. Of course - after I got kicked out at my first school, and I finally got going again at my second school, I decided to be a music minor. I took piano lessons, had to perform in a recital once a semester, performed and had my skills tested in juries at the end of every semester, the whole nine yards.”

He scooted the piano bench back, giving his long legs room, and his arms space to move as he sat down. He pointed at the white chair near the piano, encouraging me to have a seat.

“My abuela was a huge fan of Enrique Granados, and I used to play his Spanish Playera, Op. 5, No. 5 for her every time she asked.”

Running through a few scales first to warm up, he looked back at me and winked, “Okay, now I’m good to go.” I chuckled at how bubbly and eager he seemed to be, to show me his passion.

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As his fingers gracefully touched the keys - the low note grace notes, combined with offbeat chords, giving the harmonic sensation of a Spanish guitar - I relaxed back into the chair. Soon, the melody sang over the bass line, haunting and virtuosic, moving through sweet soft moments, into more intense, demanding chord progressions then back again, cycling through various sentiments of ardent fervor and subtle emotion.

Watching his hands was mesmerizing. His large fingers, you would think would be so cumbersome across the keys, but they were not. Quite the opposite, actually. Agile, smoothly running across, loosely reaching between keys with a practiced posture - the small tendons raising in the back of his hand, the muscles gently flexing. The way he pressed down on the keys, ensuring that each one was only as loud as he wanted it to be, his nuanced rubato was downright erotic.

As he finished, he let his hands sit on the keys, lifting them slightly, holding his foot on the pedal as the final delicate chord hung in the air, allowing it to breathe for just a moment before carefully lifting his foot off the pedal, releasing the notes from their captive audience of one.

Naturally, I slow-clapped for him. He turned around, and gave me his half-smile, and I let him have it, “I enjoyed every second of that. You play so passionately,” I put my hand on my heart, “I felt - everything. It definitely evokes the sensation of dance.”

His smile grew, “I’m glad you liked it. The composer, Granados, was a huge fan of the painter, Francisco Goya, and even wrote an entire piano suite called, Goyescas, based on his paintings and tapestries - which he then adapted into an opera, and then that even got turned into a movie.”

Max spoke quickly, invested in his subject, “But the saddest part is that he died when he was only 48 years old, after traveling to the U.S. to perform for President Wilson at the White House, and then premiering his Goyescas Opera at the New York Met Opera. He and his wife missed their original boat, and had to take another steamer ship to the U.K., which crossed the English Channel and was attacked by torpedoes from a German submarine. Because it was right in the middle of WWI. The boat sank and Granados and his wife perished, leaving behind six kids. Isn’t that incredibly sad?”

“Uh, yeah, Max. That’s super sad.” Leaning my head against my hand, furrowed brow, “But I certainly appreciate the backstory. I’m very curious about the Goyescas and how they relate to Goya’s paintings –” I drifted off, leaving space for him to tell me more.

“I thought that might interest you. I’ve always appreciated how much you communicate via music.”

He gave me a gentle smile, “There is another piece I’d like to play for you, a little bit calmer - if you want to grab that pillow from the chair, you can lie down under the piano and experience it in complete surround sound.”

As I picked up the pillow and set myself up awkwardly beneath the piano, with a healthy view of Max’s feet on the pedals and his legs - he bent over and peeked down at me, “This piece is by Debussy, it’s called Rêverie - it’s impressionistic, but it uses a lot of 5-7 chords that have a richness predating their common use in jazz. It’s a whole thing.” He waved his hand in the air, as a sort of ‘whatever’.

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Breathing out, I watched his foot step on the pedal before he’d even started playing a note. Suddenly I was surrounded by left handed rolling arpeggios, as I stared back into the inky black of the piano above me. The right hand melody came trickling in, cutting through like a boat through the mist, slowly floating along the musical river that carried it to its unknown destination. Each lift of Max’s foot on the pedal, a breath between phrases, sentences of a poem, and I relaxed in its embrace.

He lifted his foot after holding the final chord, and I wiped away the renegade tears forming that sought to make a fool of me. I knew they weren’t there because I was sad, but because I felt relieved to be with someone who sought to take such thoughtful care of me - with me. It had been so long, and I had been holding myself in so tightly, that my own body had started to feel like it had become a part of the wall I had put up to protect myself. Every ache and bruise felt new, but at the same time, I felt the warmth of being able to set them down without judgment.

This was a safe place. Max is a safe place.

Peering under the piano, Max gave me a wondering look, “Are you okay? Do you want to, maybe, come out from under there?”

I laughed lightly, “Yes, of course - that was really, really lovely.”

Max had come around the side of the piano, offering me his hand as I slid out from underneath.

“I can’t for the life of me figure out why you chose to switch to a business major, though? You play so beautifully - talent like that deserves to be shared.”

“Piano is very competitive,” he started, “and after my abuela passed away, I was all alone. I didn’t feel secure enough to pursue a career that didn’t guarantee that I would have financial security. Can you blame me for wanting a future?”

I shook my head sadly, not completely understanding his situation first hand, but of course, capable of comprehending that life sometimes makes difficult choices for us.

“Besides,” Max smirked, “It could’ve been worse.”

Confused, I tilted my head, “How so?”

“I could’ve grown up to be what I wanted to be in the seventh grade.” His eyes widened, and so did his grin, “A hype man for The Mighty Mighty Bosstones.”

“Are you kidding me?!” I yelped, laughing.

“I had all the moves, I even wore suspenders with a bow tie, and checker-print Vans.”

Looking pleased with himself, he stepped back to give himself space to dance.

“Oh no. I’m trying to picture you in suspenders and a bow tie and all I’m getting is Orville Redenbacher.”

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“The popcorn guy?? No way, I was way cooler than that! Check me out!”

He danced. It was dancing. Definitely of the 80’s and 90’s persuasion, some hype-man in there, a little bit of Jack Black. Of course, I gave him a soundtrack and turned on the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Heads Will Roll.

“Hey! This isn’t Ska! It’s not the right tempo.”

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Bursting out laughing, I told him, “I know. It’s just so much funnier to watch you try to dance like you’re dancing to Ska, when the music doesn’t match.”

I was crying a little bit, my breathing halted by my laughter, “I had a roommate in college who really struggled with rhythm, and always danced just a little bit faster than the music.” Pausing to gasp, wiping my eyes. “This is bringing back some very happy memories.”

Clutching my stomach, I leaned against the couch to hold myself up, laughing as Max continued dancing, just a little bit too quickly and frantically.

The song ended, and Max did a graceful leap over to where I was laughing, “Oh, I’m sure you had all of your shit together when you were in seventh grade.”

Still laughing, “No. No, no, no.” Resting a moment to catch my breath before continuing, “I was super bored in my math class, so I started drawing Kermit the Frog, and my friends had me draw him doing different things, being different celebrities - Tommy Boy, Pamela Anderson, Jerry Garcia. I made the mistake of showing the pictures to my mom, and from that point on, I never stopped receiving Kermit themed gifts. Henceforth, I was a Muppet Person - everything was Muppets whether I wanted it or not.”

I cried while laughing, caught in a state of humorous melancholy.

Max roared, as laughter tumbled from his lips, “No. No! Really?”

“I wanted to be so much more than that.” I wailed.

“That means you can draw, then - you’re an artist?”

“No, absolutely not. I haven’t drawn since. Well, actually - that’s a lie.”

He cocked his head in intrigue.

“I did do a bit of chalk art for this cocktail shop I worked at, and uh, after I tried to draw a chalk ad in the style of Ryan Gosling’s ‘Hey, Girl’ Era, they informed me that I no longer needed to do the chalk art, because they would be paying a professional.”

Sighing sadly, I went on, “My dreams for my own chalk art business named Chalka Khan went up in smoke, just like that.” I said, snapping my fingers.

“Was your slogan going to be, ‘I’m every woman’?” Max shook his head dramatically, as though he had long, flowing hair, suddenly channeling his inner diva.

Shaking my head at him, “Psssshhhh. No.” and then I sang, “Anything you want done baby, I do it naaaturally.” Giving him a little wink at the end.

youtube

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He held up his hands, palms forwards as if to beg me to stop. “That’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, but my art wasn’t - good - enough.” Punctuating those last three words, really hitting home the point.

Max frowned, “Awww. I’m sure it was so good.”

“It wasn’t. Everyone kept asking me why I drew my coworker, and not Ryan Gosling. I actually - I have proof.”

Pulling my phone out from my back pocket, I showed him the art in question.

He burst out laughing, immediately covering his mouth, “No, no. It’s not that – okay, it’s not Ryan Gosling. At all. I’m not sure who it is, Nic Cage - Jeff Golblum, maybe? But the font’s not bad.”

“Thank you for that! I’m actually really into fonts, and I’ve been into them ever since middle school, when someone got me a little book with a fancy pen. I did them all! I don’t care for Papyrus, though.”

“What about Wingdings?” Max asked, focusing his eyes on me.

“Are you kidding me? I live and die by Wingdings. It’s in my will - my tombstone will read, born: file folder, open mailbox, telephone, pencil - died: peace sign, open book, boat helm, scissors-mid-cut, lit candle.”

“Wow. Planning on living a long time, huh?”

“Who knows?” I smirked. “Maybe forever.”

Keep Reading Part 2 of 2

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#Pedro Pascal is a Sexy Vampire #Max Phillips x afab!fem!reader #Bloodsucking Bastards FanFic #Twilight is Waaaaaay Too Big of an Age Gap - Put Max's Name Down Flip It and Subvert It - That's Missy Elliot Y'all #Endometriosis Awareness - Adenomyosis Awareness #Healthy Relationships

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pintsizemama · 6 months

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Fruitcake

Day 14

Summary: A neighbor gave you fruitcake…Max is not a fan.

Pairings: Max Phillips x You, Max Phillips x Female Reader

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards

Rating: Mature

Warnings: language

Word Count: 383

Day 12 Day 14 Christmas Masterlist Main Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist

“I’m home!” You heard Max call out as the front door slammed shut. You were snuggled on the couch reading a book and savoring a hot cup of coffee.

“How was work?” You called out distractedly. You were completely engrossed in your book. It was a steamy romance that was just starting to heat up.

“Same old, same old,” Max replied. “Didn’t have to kill anyone today, so pretty boring.” You were barely listening. you were vaguely aware of your boyfriend bustling around between the kitchen and living room.

“Fuck!” Max’s sudden outburst made you jump and nearly throw your book in the air. “Bleh! What the fuck is this?” You looked up to see Max standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen a large piece of fruitcake in his hand and trying his hardest not to throw up.

“Fruitcake,” you answered. “Clara brought it over earlier.”

“Clara?”

“The women who lives next door,” you supplied.

“That old bat?” You chuckled. Clara was probably pushing ninety, and was as sweet as could be to both you and Max. “This is disgusting.” He tossed the offending cake into the trash.

“It’s fruitcake, Max,” you said. “Of course it’s disgusting.”

“Why would she give that to us? Is she trying to kill us?”

“Tons of people give out fruitcake for Christmas,” you answered. “You’re not supposed to eat it. You just say thank you and throw it away when they leave.”

“If everyone hates it then why the hell do people give it to each other?”

“No idea,” you said. “Just toss the whole thing. I meant to earlier and got sidetracked.”

“Ugh,” Max grimaced as he threw it away. “I’m never gonna get that taste out of my mouth.” He came in to sit next to you. You were back to being fully submersed in your book. “Sweet cheeks, wanna give me a little blood to help me get rid of this flavor?”

“No can do,” you said. “Clara wanted to see me eat a piece before she left, so you’ll have to wait a few hours for my blood to taste normal again.”

“God dammit,” Max groaned. He got up with a sigh. “Guess I’ll have to settle for some bourbon then.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, once again tuning him out to read.

Day 14

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

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Oneshots

Reflective: Max Phillips x F!Reader (Part 1)

Effective: Max Phillips x F!Reader (Part 2)

Negotiations: Max Phillips x F!Reader

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

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in-for-a-pennyx · 2 years

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Going to Scotland with Pedro boys.

This is very random yet very specific but it's been knocking around in my head for ages and I needed to get it out. I'm not entirely sure what this is but it's half headcanons, half imagines? Drabbles? I don't know what to call them. But here they are!

A/N: I'm not Scottish and I don't live in Scotland so I apologise if this is offensive 😅. I do live nearby though and absolutely love visiting. It's one of my favourite places. This is my first piece of writing and contribution to Pedro's fandom so please be gentle! I'm sorry if it comes across as muddled but this concept has been banging around in my head for so long and I really wanted to get it out.

Javier Peña - It's the first proper holiday Javier's taken in ages and the first time he's flown across the pond. You've always wanted to go and you'd put your foot down that both of you needed a break. Javi is always reluctant to travel for pleasure so he needed a bit of convincing but he'd go anywhere with you, really. You'd thrown in a "road trip!" and he was a bit more amenable after that. Plus Javi wouldn't mind trying some Scotch straight from the source.

Javier loves long drives so you both decide to drive the North Coast 500 route along the north coast of Scotland and through some of the Highlands, stopping in small villages and the cutest BnB's. Some of the drive reminds Javi of the route from Bogotá to Medellín, especially when it rains and the vegetation turns a lush green colour. The parts you drive through are sparsely populated and Javi loves the feeling of solitude: he loves the comfortable silence you share. He feels safe in it. Some days are cold and windy and it won't stop raining and the food is a bit... interesting in parts (Haggis?!) but you're with Javi and he's warm and relaxed and present and you're sharing a flask of whisky sitting in the open boot of your car with his arms around you looking out at the sea and there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

Ezra - Being the traveler that he is, Ezra has been to Scotland numerous times and he's excited to take you. He tends to visit around Burns Night in January. Sure, he likes Robert Burns’ poetry but what he really loves about the whole thing is the national celebration of a ‘Bard’. It nurtures him to be surrounded by such reverence for storytelling. Ezra usually attends various events in Edinburgh and is thrilled to be taking you. It’s January, which means the weather is freezing so a Burns Night supper of Haggis, neeps and tatties (haggis, turnips and potatoes) in a cozy pub next to a crackling fire is the perfect way to warm up your bones, bellies and hearts. With whisky-warmed cheeks and fire-lit eyes, you’re the most beautiful creature Ezra has ever seen.

Dieter Bravo - Dieter wanted to visit Scotland when he was in the UK shooting for Cliff Beasts 6 but it was during the pandemic so of course he couldn’t. He’s somehow never had the opportunity to ever film there. Two films that really made a mark on Dieter were incidentally Scottish. He wanted to entertain big like Braveheart but also do the gritty, more indie films like Trainspotting. He’s good mates with Ewan McGregor now but please don’t talk to him about Mel Gibson.

You both visit one summer after the pandemic when he’s shooting another movie in London. He’s instantly obsessed with kilts and wants to wear one everywhere. “Easy access for you, sweetheart”, he smirks and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. He’s not entirely wrong though. You’re lost in (sexy) thought when you find out he’s invested in a Highland Cow farm. “They’re so cute and fluffy! Just look at them!”, he half coos, half sobs. The next time he visits, Dieter wants to go to the Shetland Islands to see Shetland ponies because animals are clearly cuter in Scotland. You have a feeling his resolve will be tested once he finds out just how remote the Shetland Islands are.

Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels - Always one to mix business and pleasure, Jack takes you to Scotland on a Statesman business trip. He has meetings with various whisky distilleries and he takes you along. You get your own private tour of the best whisky distilleries in Scotland. Jack still insists that Kentucky Bourbon is superior even though he secretly loves scotch. “What can I say darlin’, you can take a cowboy out of Kentucky, but can’t take Kentucky out of a cowboy”, he quips. But the actual reason for this visit is to meet Merlin for some Kingsman business. Merlin needs Jack to visit an old Kingsman’s lodge in the countryside. It’s a long drive but you enjoy it nonetheless as you get some time together with Jack - just you and him.

Max Phillips - Max, in true Max fashion, knows the Loch Ness monster. He has visited her off and on over the years and could probably introduce you if you wanted. Uhhh, you’ll have to think about it. “Oh c’mon sweetcheeks, it’ll be fun! Don’t be such a party pooper. Nessy’s just the sweetest", he pesters you. Yes, he does call the Loch Ness monster Nessy. He thinks it’s adorable. Doesn’t get why Bella was so offended in those books.

“Now, the vampires there? I’m not gonna lie, they’re on another level. Fucking brutal, man. I’m practically a saint compared to them.”

“What? Oh don’t worry babycakes, I’ll be your vampire in shining armour.”

Pero Tovar - Pero has been to Scotland before but he’s never really talked about it. You figured he must've stopped over while visiting his friend William in Ireland. Pero's talked about William but you've never met him. Once you’re in Scotland and planning some day trips, Pero mumbles something about a group of stones and time travel, and that you should avoid them. You swear it sounds like the plot of your favourite TV series but there's no way Pero would've known that as he hardly watches TV. You look at him questioningly but he turns away with a sheepish look. Oh boy, it's about to be a long walk and a longer conversation.

Oberyn - you mean The North? Why would you want to go somewhere so cold and bleak? London's more his scene. “King’s Landing”, he corrects you.

Dave York - You're surprised when he suggests a holiday, that too in another country. Usually he travels alone for work, and if it's family holidays, he'd rather go places he can drive as it's easier to manage with the girls.

You visit a few different cities and stay in lovely hotels. A few mornings you find Dave’s side of the bed empty but you just assume he’s gone for a run. But one day you find blood on his t-shirt while he’s in the shower after he returns. The stain doesn’t seem to be one caused by a fall or a cut. There’s just too much of it. You don’t ask him any details as you don’t want to spoil the rest of the day. A few hours later there’s news of an oil tycoon being murdered in a university town near you. The one where Prince William had studied. St Andrews - yes. Apparently it was graduation season and the man was in town for his son’s graduation. So it was work then, you sigh. And here you thought Dave was taking you on a holiday. Oh well. You better get the blood out of the t-shirt before housekeeping comes along.

Javi G - Javi flies you privately to Scotland and rents a whole castle for your romantic getaway together. He treats you like a princess and arranges for the best of everything to be available for you. During one of your strolls in the castle gardens, he gets down on one knee and proposes to you. You’re absolutely taken aback and all but shout “Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”. Oh, you’ve never been happier. Javi flies in both your friends and families to celebrate. An actual ball is arranged and you have to pinch yourself multiple times to believe that it’s all real, it’s all happening. That this generous, loving, sincere man is going to be your husband.

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wardenparker · 6 months

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Vampire Waltz - ch 11

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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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