cozylittlepigeon - Tumblr blog

cozylittlepigeon · 4 days ago

Text

The Roommate Agreement Part XIV - S A V O R

rating: 18+ for smut, gore and vampire shit

words: 13.3k (heeeeeeeeeeeeelp)

story summary: Facing immediate eviction you needed a roommate and you seem to have found the perfect choice in Max Phillips. He's charming, tidy, works nights at a marketing firm and even fixes things around the apartment. He's the perfect housemate. . . except for those strange scratching noises coming from his room at night...

a/n: My loves I had to add an extra chapter because bat Max and his sweet Sunshine insisted. I don't make the rules. I just love them so much. There's so much of them that I needed to break it up a bit and give them... well... you'll see...

However after this I might be taking a little break. I wasn't able to raise enough for the writing workshop through my ko-fi but they are offering the workshop again in a few months so I'm going to be putting my attention to working on making money for that.

I've been writing at a mad pace this month and my fingers are tired (but my brain is not!) anyway. Thank you to all who donated! You're the reason bat Max was able to get his extra chapter!!

Please remember to comment and re-blog! Engagement is what keeps a majority of us writers going! For me, without engagement I wouldn't bother posting here!

series masterlist here

PART XIV- S A V O R

Love hurts.

That's how the song goes, right?

Well it hurts right now. It hurts a whole helluva lot.

When the first beam of light struck Max’s face he was still slumbering around you, his body warmed by yours, inhaling the fragrance of your hair and skin. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep but you were so comforting in his arms, so peaceful, that he felt a sort of calm he hadn’t in ages.

Love.

That’s how he felt with you against him, your breathing even and your trust in him evident even in sleep. Deep, incapacitating affection for you lulled him into a deep and soothing sleep.

And then all of a sudden there was a searing pain that sent him flying back from you, pinning him in place to your bed.

He felt his body paralyzed by the light that began to spill in through the wide window, flames starting to erupt on the exposed side of his body and a pain that he didn’t know he could still experience.

And then the screaming torn from his throat, his eyes red and fangs exposed like a cornered animal. A howl that he didn’t know his body could produce. One that had you jerking up in bed, staring down at him in horror.

Light is streaming in through your window. Beautiful golden rays that slice through the parted blinds like daggers. You jump out of bed, disorientated from the loud screaming and the scent of burning flesh.

Max is struggling in pain, body writhing in the sheets. His head is stretched back, fangs exposed sharp and facing the ceiling. The skin along his right cheek bubbles. His hands are in claws at his side, as if he's been stuck in place.

It takes you a moment of terror stricken delirium before you snap into action, grabbing the large comforter you’ve kicked off in your sleep. You turn back just in time to see Max's left hand burst into flame, his howls of pain unbearable.

"Max!"

With a grunt you throw yourself across the mattress, the heavy blanket tossed over his body, shielding him from the light of the day before you tackle him to the ground beside the bed.

His howls continue as you smother the flame, your entire body shaking. You stand on wobbling legs to move to your large bedroom window, snapping the blinds shut and then tugging the drapes together.

The room is blanketed in fuzzy darkness, the edges of the drapes faintly illuminated from outside.

When all you can hear is your ragged breathing, you realize that the screaming has stopped.

The sheets at the side of your bed are rumbled in a ball and there's no movement. Something about that sight pierces you below the sternum and you crawl over the rug to the prone form of Max.

"Max," you murmur, hands coming to shake the lumpy form under your bedding. "Max are you okay?"

Silence.

Your body goes cold in a completely new way, eyes blowing wide as you glance from Max to your closed door.

What can you do?

He needs blood. That’s how he survives. You jerk to a stand, bumping your shoulder into the doorframe as you burst through, making a beeline for the kitchen. You crouch in front of the small min fridge as you tug the door open.

"C'mon c'mon," you whisper to yourself as you dig in the back of the mini fridge. Your fingers curl around the shelving, your eyes peering only to see an empty space in return. Oh fuck. Of course.

"No. No no no."

Thanks to your tantrum you are completely out of product. Panic suffuses you now, the kind of blind worry that has your brain and reactions stuttering.

It's so bright this morning. Or maybe it's the same as every other morning, only now you're more cognizant of it. You go whipping around the apartment, closing blinds and tugging drapes together until the entire space is as dark as you can make it.

After a moment's hesitation, in an act of desperation you grab the nearby steak knife and rush back to the bedroom, your feet slapping the wood floor. There's still no movement in the dark space and you drop to your knees beside the bundle of blankets, your voice shaky.

"Max? Are you awake?"

Silence.

You drop the knife next to him, your eyes trained on the blankets.

"Max, if you can hear me, I'm going to draw back the blankets,” you say as your trembling fingers come to the edge of the blanket. “I've closed all the blinds and curtains in the place. Just relax okay?"

There's no response.

You nearly yelp when you peel back the blanket and see Max's placid face. The left side of his body is completely fried, bubbled in parts. Patches of hair are missing and his entire left hand is charred black and withered.

"Max," you whimper, shaking his shoulders. "Please, just wake the fuck up."

The knife is still there, sharp and ready to bite into willing flesh. It's a moment of internal deliberation before you grasp it and drag the tip over your outstretched forefinger.

A fat, garnet droplet forms under the blade and you thrust it against Max's lips. The half that are still pillowy and un-seared. It sits there, the drop not even enough to fill the cracks of his dry mouth.

"Fuck."

It’s not enough. He needs more.

You give a grunt of frustration before you pry his lips apart, the left side crunching and flaking ash onto the floor.

There's a minute of hesitation as you look at your open palm before you press the blade to the flesh there. You draw the blade across your hand, retching at the sharp sensation. Blood bubbles up from the faint line and you curl your hand into a fist overtop his open mouth and squeeze, gratified when fat droplets of blood begin to trickle into his mouth.

You watch them dissipate over his tongue, sliding back to his throat.

He doesn't stir. It’s still not enough.

You bring the blade back over your hand and dig it into the flesh a little deeper. You whimper at the stinging pain. But when a steady stream begins you bring it back over Max's open mouth, the pain forgotten.

C'mon c'mon.

The blood slides over his mouth, down his throat. You wonder if he’s swallowing.

He still doesn’t move moments later and you clutch your throbbing hand to your sternum.

What if he's dead? What will I do if he is?

Tears are falling down your face, fat droplets along your cheek as you consider Max may actually be gone. No more movie nights, no more cheeky smiles, no more Sunshine. Your head drops between your shoulders, soft sobs starting.

“Sss-un..”

There's a rasping pause and then the faintest sputtering groan. You jerk your head up, gaze locked on his face. As if he's just been electrocuted Max's body jerks to life, his still working eye jolting open as he arches slightly.

Your heart leaps and you let out a choked laugh of relief of his name.

He raises his head dizzily, his world a mix of colors and pain. And then there in the madness is you peering at him, holding your bloodied hand to your chest. There are tears in your eyes and on your cheeks.

"Sunshine?" He winces as his voice comes out in a pained croak.

You’re about to respond when Max's head falls back to the floor, his eye shuttering and his body going limp. He's lost consciousness again.

You watch him go still once more and you feel panic overtaking you again. You pulled all the blood last week. You were so fucking stupid. And now Max is here, desperate, and you've nothing to give him.

If you keep cutting yourself open you're not going to be alive long enough to help him. What to do?

Inspiration hits like a lightning bolt as your eyes land on your cell phone. With your bloodied hand wrapped in a towel, you use the other to shakily compose a text to Alan, riddled with spelling errors.

Do u havve anyyyy suipppply??? Romate is desperate and we've run out.

... ...

You grimace, waiting for the reply.

Give me one hour.

"Oh fucking thank g-" you break off as a groan sounds out from Max. He's still weak, but he's twitching a bit. It’s enough to give you hope.

You run from the room, unlocking the front door and running back to the still twitching Max. You attempt to lift him, but with one arm and your head swimming from blood loss it's a no go. You manage only to bring his head onto your lap.

“It’s okay,” you whisper down at him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re gonna be okay. Alan’ll help us.”

As if summoned a text from him appears on your phone.

I'm here.

door is open

Max groans in pain and you feel your heart lurch.

“Just hang on,” you whisper thickly, fingers gently gliding over the smooth parts of his face. “Please Max, just hang on.”

Heavy boots make their way from the hallway into your apartment. You call Alan’s name, drawing him to your bedroom. He appears in the doorframe, his body shiny with sweat and his chest expanding. He holds a large cooler in one hand and when he sees Max his eyes bulge.

"Holy shit."

"Please help me," you whimper, looking up at Alan with desperation. "I don't...I don't know what to do. I can't move him."

Alan nods, placing the cooler onto the ground and coming towards where you and Max are next to the bed. He shuffles to Max's head, hands sliding under his shoulder blades.

You wince when you hear Max's plaintive yowl as Alan gently shifts him to his feet, wrapping an arm around Max's waist. You do the same on the other side, helping to prop Max's body between the two of you.

"C'mon," Alan grunts, heading out of the bedroom. Max is passed out again because his head slumps forward and his socked toes drag along the hardwood floors.

"Just to the right," you tell Alan as you move towards Max's room.

Alan punts the door open with his boot and the two of you carry the still slumped form of Max inside. Alan sets him on the bed, grunting before he looks your way.

"Grab the-"

"On it," you say, nearly tripping over your own feet as you rush into your bedroom. You retrieve the cooler and come hurtling back into Max's room.

"A spoon," he says over his shoulder as he props Max against the pillows in a semi seated position, his mouth agape.

You jog to the kitchen and pull out several spoons, running back out of breath.

"He can only have a bit at a time," Alan explains to you. "Too much will shock his system."

He demonstrates, taking the small spoon in your fist and a blood bag from the cooler. He removes the clamp and pours a small amount onto the spoon. Your fingers shake as you gaze down at Max's half crisped face.

You didn't realize how dear his face had become to you or how reassuring that smarmy smirk and dimple were now that they're charred.

Max's mouth is still parted and you watch in quiet fascination as Alan delicately places the spoon in his mouth, tipping it in to cover his tongue.

"I don't get it," you say quietly. "How is he so hurt? He's undead."

"Parts of him are, but the blood they consume makes it so that parts of their bodies operate human-ish,” Alan explains as he pours another spoonful, feeding Max. “Like, you need things like breath to talk right? But their digestion system doesn’t work like ours and their hearts don’t beat. There’s no reason for them to.”

As you listen to this your hand rests next to Max’s on the mattress. Without thinking you slip it overtop his knuckles. His skin is icy to the touch.

“He’s so cold,” you whisper.

“He’ll warm up after this,” Alan says motioning to the spoonful. “They’re always warmer after eating.”

That makes sense. You think of all the times Max has felt chilly and then randomly felt warm certain days. You watch as a bit of blood slips from the corner of Max’s mouth. Alan’s thick thumb wipes it away.

When he's finished the first bag he pulls another one from the cooler. He motions for you to take his place on the side of Max's bed, handing you off the fresh blood bag and spoon.

"Small spoonfuls about thirty seconds minutes apart." Alan glances down as his phone chirps in his pocket. "I have to call my Mistress. She wanted to be informed of your roommates’ condition."

"Uh huh, of course," you reply absently. All your focus is on the convalescing man asleep in the bed.

It's been about thirty seconds and you pour a small amount onto the spoon, wincing at the stench of coppery pennies. You spoon it into Max's mouth, watching it disappear down his throat. His throat bobs lightly before going still again.

Before long the bag is emptied, the spoon cleaned and Max is still so placid on the bed. Despite his large frame he seems diminutive, his muscled body more frail. It frightens you, making your stomach hollow out.

Don’t die.

Your parents, your grandparents, everyone you cared for is gone. Van and Lucy and Mina are as good as gone. Max is all you have left and that compels you to dip your mouth to his ear.

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper, knowing he can’t hear you. “Please, Max.”

His eyes flicker beneath his lids, but he still doesn’t stir.

“That’s enough for now,” Alan says popping his head around the doorframe to see you gazing down at Max. “We’ll give him an hour and do more.”

“Are you sure it’s enough?”

Alan nods and you stand, casting one last look at Max before following Alan towards the kitchen. He places the heavy cooler onto the tiled floor, crouching down.

"He must've gone through a lot this week," Alan whistles when he sees the mini fridge is empty. "He have a party or something?"

"I threw them all out."

Alan twists to look up at you with his face etched in horror. It's clear he could never imagine doing the same to his mistress.

"You did what?"

"We were fighting and....” you trail off and wince at how childish it sounds, “anyway it doesn't matter.”

Alan nods, pulling bag after bag from the cooler and stuffing the mini fridge full.

“Thank you so much for bringing all of this,” you say effusively. “We can pay-"

"Money isn't necessary," Alan says shaking his head. "Our mistress insisted we bring over as much as you needed. And if you need more just send me a message. She insists he be helped in any way he can.”

You want to thank his mistress, want to throw your arms around her neck and cry for helping Max so quickly. You don’t care that she’s a vampire that turned Max; all you care about is that she’s come to his aid so readily.

“Why was he in your room?”

“Huh?”

“Max isn’t a newbie,” Alan says frowning as he continues to load the fridge. “It’s strange he would put himself into that position you know? Of exposing himself to sunlight?”

You feel your cheeks flame. “Uh, not sure.”

Alan gives you a short nod, clearly not believing you. You watch passively as he fills up the mini fridge until its almost bursting then stands up and gives a cursory look around the room.

“You have gauze?”

“One sec.”

You rush to the bathroom, throwing open the cupboard doors and crouching down to sift through a basket of band-aids, rubbing alcohol and give a hiss of irritation before standing. You stand and reach for the medicine cabinet mirror, stopping sharply when you jerk it open.

It’s well organized everything in its place. You rarely use it aside from the odd soap refill. But this is well taken care of, toothpaste, soap and more organized into neat piles. There are bigger band aids and large swaths of gauze. You let out a relieved exhale when you notice in the far left of one shelf is Max’s bottle of cologne. It’s an expensive brand, the bottle gold and black.

You reach out, unthinking, and slip the top off. You bring it to your nose, inhaling deeply. The spicy, masculine notes make everything in you tighten. It’s the same scent he wore on that first day you met him. That alluring mix of this cologne and something else though you can’t quite place it.

A scent that is uniquely Max. You catch your reflection in half of the mirror and see the strange far-away look in your eyes.

Why the fuck are you trying to save Max?

He could have just died in your bed. No one would have known. It wouldn't have even been at your hand! You would have been free of him and the drama of his life. And yet here you are, feeding him blood, looking for gauze as if you want him to be healed.

“Find any?”

As Alan’s voice calls to you from the other room you hastily shove the bottle back before reaching for the gauze.

“Got it.”

Alan nods, taking it from you as the two of you walk into Max’s room. He’s still in that same position; on his back, arms at his side, head slightly tilted back. Alan works quickly and efficiently, wrapping the gauze around Max’s blackened hand before moving to Max’s head, specifically over the eye that has all but melted shut. You can’t watch when he does that part.

Mercifully it’s over quickly and you hear Alan’s phone ping with an incoming message. He types furiously before placing the phone back in his pocket, shooting you a look.

“The next twenty four hours are crucial,” he explains seriously, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Every hour he needs two of those bags in the fridge. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“If he seems to be getting worse, three bags.” Alan pierces you with his gaze. “And if he’s still worse for wear in twenty four hours you need to contact me immediately. Understood?”

Your head whips to the side, watching as Alan tugs on his jacket.

"You're not staying?"

"I can't," Alan says, bending to retrieve the cooler. "I need to get back to my Mistress."

"Of course," you say, feeling silly for taking up so much of his time. "Thank you so much for all your help."

"Of course," Alansays with an understanding look in your direction. "Keep feeding him. I promise he'll be fine. And like I said, any issues you call me immediately."

You nod emphatically at Alan before looking down at Max. His chest rises and falls shallowly and you note that yes, he does in fact breathe. You continue to stare at him, your eyes glassy.

“S’weird,” Alan mutters looking between the two of you. “I got the impression you kind of hated him.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm and the room seems smaller. All the things you’ve said about Max suddenly affront you: monster, bastard, creep. But the man sleeping in bed in a near coma doesn’t look like a monster, he looks like a man; an injured one. One that you do want to save.

“No,” you finally whisper. “I don’t hate him.”

///

It's so dark. Dark in a way that makes Max tremble in fear. Dark in a way that feels endless.

And he's so hungry. Hungry for blood, hungry for life. And he thinks he can taste it, slipping down his throat but it's not enough.

Why is he here in this darkness? Why is he so weak?

He thinks he heard your voice, a soft sweet melody that calms him.

“Max. Don’t leave me.”

He thinks of the way you felt in his arms last night. How you nestled under his chin in a way that felt so natural. How he held you against himself so tightly, a kiss pressed to your forehead. The way you sighed Max's name against his throat as you slipped into slumber.

And Max thinks, for a fleeting moment that this pain, this fear, this darkness, it was all worth it.

///

After Alan leaves shortly after, you drag one of the kitchen chairs into Max’s room and set it up next to his bed. There’s a timer on your phone so you’ll know when to administer his next dose.

You remain in there, striped blanket over your legs, phone in your hand watching Netflix.

Every so often you glance over at him, seeing the odd twitch of a finger, the purse of a mouth and then stillness once more.

You feed him through the night, hour after hour. His color seems to come back to his face, the waxy pallor gone. You go to feel his temperature, the back of your hand against his forehead, thankful that it’s not that icy chill from before. You can’t help but slide your hand down to cup the side of his face, thumb roving over his cheekbone.

You’ve only ever seen Max awake; brash and cocky and occasionally open. Right now his face is smoothed in sleep, his mouth parted slightly. You look at the wrap around his head and eye, feeling your heart drop.

Why were you in my bed at sunrise, Max?

It’s almost four a.m. when you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, the stress of the evening catching up to you. You don’t mean to fall asleep, but you slip into the peaceful oblivion just long enough to relax.

Max jerks awake beside you, everything in him on fire. And he knows that something is wrong because one eye is blackened, unable to be opened. He struggles with it, growling angrily. The other is blurry, the world swimming in the space in front of him.

Why can't he open one eye? Why is the left side of his body so limp? What the fuck is happening?

You jerk up in your chair, looking over to see Max hunched onto his side, blinking furiously. You pitch yourself off the chair, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, your breathing shaky with relief.

Max can smell something, something delicious, something alive. His head tilts back and he feels his fangs extend in anticipation. Ready to sink into the flesh of the blurry figure in front of him. His hand jerks out, wrapping around a mix of warm skin and muscle. A shoulder.

And then like a trickle of water over scalding flesh, there is the sound of his name.

"Max!"

Sunshine.

Your name is a croak, offered in a rasp before his rapidly blinking eye seems to clear. It's your face, pinched and terrified. His hand rests on your shoulder, fingers curled.

"Max," you whisper again, voice shuddering.

His harsh grip immediately loosens as he realizes where he is and who he's holding. You pant heavily, your eyes scanning over his body before going to the empty blood bags beside you on the bed.

You stand and rush to the mini fridge, grabbing a few new ones and returning. He watches you tear the tab and accepts as you shove the plastic end into Max's dry mouth.

"Drink this," you tell him. "Drink it all."

Max doesn't fight you on it. He's too weak to hold the bag for long, so you hold it for him. And when he drains the bag in record time you open another one and do the same until that too is drained. You consider a moment before grabbing a third, watching him take it.

He fights to clear his throat but it feels parched. His words are still a struggle to get out.

“What happened?” Max murmurs belatedly looking around his room in confusion.

You seem to relax a bit, your eyes searching his face.

"You fell asleep in my bed," you say evenly. "And the sun came up..." You trail off, the implication obvious to anyone. “How are you feeling?”

“Wait, what happened?” Max repeats before groaning, his bandaged hand coming up to rise towards his eye. You stop it, gently urging his hand away.

“Sunlight.”

Max groans again, nodding. You urge Max back into a laying position, watching as he slumps back. His one good eye blinks up at you, dark and drowsy-looking.

“Why the fuck were you in my bed when the sun came up?” you ask, trying not to sound harsh but failing. “I mean I’m not a vampire but even I know you’re supposed to be in your coffin or bed or whatever during the day.”

"I.... I fell asleep in your bed. I was gonna leave but..." Max trails off and you can sense a growing hesitation.

"But what?"

"You asked me to stay."

Your mouth already formed in a frustrated reply immediately falls shut. It's your fault he nearly turned to a crisp. You're the one who insisted he stay. Your face must betray your guilt because Max tries to grip your hand, but he’s too weak to lift it.

"Because you were cold," Max adds, trying to stop you from your internal chastising.

He licks his lips, you notice they’re dry. You move to the kitchen and return with a new blood bag. You pour out another spoonful, feeding him the viscous red liquid until the bag is drained. His eyes shutter.

The thing is you didn’t ask Max to stay because you were cold. You may have been half awake at the time but you remember just fine that you'd felt the lift of his body from the mattress behind you and you had been disappointed at the prospect of his departure. But you couldn't just tell him that could you? Then he'd know.

What exactly would he know? You're not even sure yourself.

“I thought you would leave my room before the morning,” you finally offer lamely.

He goes to answer you but he’s exhausted, his dark eyes shuttering as he falls back into a deep sleep.

///

The nights are quieter without your movie companion and you take to working on research to keep your mind busy. You want to know if there are other Mister Morris’. You want to know if they’re close, if they could possibly find Max. You want to learn more about vampires, curious about what Max is all about. In many ways you had thought him invincible, but seeing him asleep so often, his face drained of confidence, has you uncertain.

You tried the library but that information was all outdated and you worried you looked like a twilight-loving loser when you took out a bag full of vampire lore books. You spent hours sitting beside Max’s bed as he slept, reading through their pages.

When Max came in and out of consciousness you wanted to ask him questions, but didn’t want him fatigued. You fed him and kept finding new ways of research.

It’s Reddit of all places that you find your best answers. An innocuous search on the /vampires sub that catches your eyes.

AITA: Wife is annoying AF when sire is around

You click on the body of the message, eyes scanning the page in fascination.

My wife and I met at a year ago and it was love at first bite. We have the best marriage, I love her so much, and despite being new to this world I feel confident with her at my side. But it seems like every time her sire rolls into town she’s like a different woman. Running after him to make sure he’s comfortable, at his beck and call all hours of the night, ignoring me in favor of him. When he leaves town things go back to normal, she’s my wife again. But I’m sick of being treated like shit when her sire is here. Am I the asshole?

There are so many replies to this that you scroll for what feels like an hour, taking in mostly useless responses like:

This is such clickbait. You know what you signed up for. Stop bitching. You guys get this is satire right??? Vampires aren’t real… Can we keep this sub for vamp fic recs pls? Another case of a man trying to keep a woman down. She’s not your property asshole!!!!! This is hilarious.

It’s the longer response that’s been down voted to hell that draws your eyes. One written by a someone called fangedapparition22

If this post is serious you need to know that your wife’s sire will always be her number one focus. Vampire sires and their progeny have a deep bond that goes beyond just turning. It’s a mix of power and responsibility. The connection is always there, like a constant push and pull, where the sire’s influence never really fades, no matter how much the progeny grows.

You read this over and over, not quite sure what to make of it. You read a few more paragraphs before venturing to a /modernvamp subreddit and typing in something new.

Vampire hunters.

Hundreds of links pop up, but you click on the first.It’s an article written by a now deleted user.

Okay, I’m(22M) new to this concept but my BF(24M) is really into all this shit so hear me out. Modern-day vampire hunters aren’t just some random people who decided to pick up a crossbow and go hunting. I’m convinced they’re chosen somehow.

This subreddit is more welcoming and supportive of the last one. No one jeers or mocks. The responses are respectful.

You are totally right. A lot of them come from long, ancient bloodlines of hunters that stretch back centuries. It’s literally in their genetic makeup. These families have passed down not just the skills and knowledge, but a specific genetic predisposition to sense and track vampires.

You go back and hit another link, this one titled How can you tell if someone is destined to be a vampire hunter? From a user with a bunch of numbers in their name. The responses are again well written and informative.

Their senses are heightened, their reflexes faster, and they can even spot weaknesses that most would never think twice about. It’s like it’s hardwired into them, like being born to hunt, and some of them don’t even realize it until they’re older.

You glance at the responses under the main thread.

>So if you come from vampire hunters that means you’re destined to be one? >No. Not necessarily Like any genetics it can skill a generation or die off. Usually parents try to teach their kids at a young age, seeing if they have a propensity for it.

You think of Van and wonder if he’s ever noticed anything. He left his father didn’t he? Maybe his father wanted Van to be something he couldn’t be. If that’s the case, your heart breaks for them both.

///

Alan checks in every day that week, insisting on updates that you’re happy to give them. Max is getting better by the day. Last night he was well enough to shower and you were able to change his sheets. He’s awake more often, not just when you’re bringing him meals. He stays in his bed though, his body still fatigued.

You mention this to Alan via text and when they come to grab their restock on Thursday evening, Alan slips you a small flask.

“Mistress insists this will help Max’s recovery speed along.”

You take it with a grateful hug around his neck and red-faced, he mutters that it’s no big deal. You bring it home to Max who is looking brighter, his one good eye scanning your face as you rush in to see him.

You drop your purse to the ground without thought, coming over to him and sitting on the edge of his mattress, your usual place. He feels weak but he tries to put on his best winning smile.

“Hey Sunshine, how was-”

“This is from Eleanor,” you interrupt, handing him the flask. “She says it’ll help you recover faster.”

Max looks at the flask for a moment, his demeanor subdued before he opens it and sighs, tipping the blood back and draining the flask. He hands it back to you and you look at his face as if you expect it to somehow show in his pallor.

He smiles at you, that one eye fixed on you. “It’s good to see you.”

You smile back at him, relieved before remembering something, snapping to a stand. “One sec.”

Max leans back against the pillow; feeling relaxed as the blood floods his body. He feels better than he has in days, his mind going to the woman with raven locks and blood red lips.

He hasn’t thought of Eleanor since this happened, but now as he imagines her he recalls the desperate way she used to fuck him, the confidence in her self possessed attitude, the way she commanded everyone’s attention and reverence. He’s ashamed that the thought stirs a dormant arousal in him.

Your footsteps pad back into his room and he knows that his pupils are heart shaped when you smile at him. Is it you or does his face seem a bit healthier?

"Thought it might be boring stuck in here with no real entertainment," you tell him as you bring your laptop into the bedroom along with Max's usual meal. "It's got Netflix and prime and whatever else they're trying to sell us these days."

Max gives you a grin, accepting the blood bag, watching as you set up the laptop beside him on the bed. He doesn't bother mentioning that he has a perfectly working cell phone in the desk drawer.

"Just turn it on and hit play when you're ready," you say straightening. Max looks at you with the beginning stages of a pout.

"You're not staying?"

You pause, struck by the question. Mostly because your first instinct is to crawl right next to him under the covers. But that's just because you're relieved he's alive. No other reason.

"Uh. Sure, if you want," you finally manage. "Lemme just grab the chair-"

"The chair doesn't seem very comfortable," Max observes casually. You watch him tap the mattress next to him. "Why don't you rest here? You've been working hard and deserve a rest."

You look at the empty spot on the narrow bed. You'll have to snuggle together, bodies pressed tightly together. You shouldn't agree. But you're so tired and the bed looks so comfy.

“Please?” he asks quietly.

Your resolve leaves you and you nod. You climb onto the bed next to him, knees digging into the mattress before you slide back against the headboard and pillows, shoulders touching as Max sets the laptop up on his folded legs.

"Rom com? Drama? Horror?" Max asks as he navigate to one of the streaming services. "What do we feel like tonight?"

"Dealers choice," you answer with a yawn. "I've had a long day of making decisions."

"Fair enough."

In the end Max decides on "Day Shift." In between scenes you sneak looks at him laying there under the covers, thankful you rest on top of the sheets. At least with that between you this feels less intimate.

His arms are exposed in his soft grey T-shirt and you can't help but linger on the biceps that bulges when he moves his arm. The light from the screen plays on how face, shadows and light dancing over his profile.

"This is hilarious," Max murmurs, eye on the screen. He chuckles and you can feel the vibration in his shoulder. You smile.

But it's not long before the warmth of Max and the softness of his bed overtakes you. You feel your eyes drooping and before long you're slumped against his shoulder, asleep.

Max registers the change right away; hearing your soft snores and feeling your body go pliant against him. You have been incrementally more unguarded with him, but it still feels like you hold yourself back. He goes stiff, concerned he might wake you if he moves too much.

You don't stir. He smiles to himself, the movie forgotten as he gingerly rests his cheek against your head, his un-dead heart full.

///

In the following days Max improves quicker than ever. His spirit is buoyed, he’s awake more of than than he is asleep and he seems more cheerful, even cheeky at times. He’s starting to seem like his old self again. It brings you as much joy as it does relief.

You bring up your phone as you head to work one morning, your smile threatening to break your face in half.

Alan the blood really worked! Max is doing so much better.

The blood my mistress last gave him is the best of the best. She is a benevolent and caring sire.

Your heart swells with gratitutde.

Please tell her how much I appreciate her help. I don’t know what I would have done without her kindness and your help. I’m so thankful.

There is a pause before you worry your lower lip between your teeth, stepping onto the subway platform and typing.

Do you think he could have died?

You don’t really want to know the answer, but it’s been plaguing you.

Not many vampires can survive a burn by sunlight. Not one that extreme.

Your gratitude for Eleanor has been so intense this week that you wrote her a letter explaining how much you appreciate her kindness. You plan on giving it to Alan the next time he comes for a pick up.

As you ride the subway to work you can’t help but bring out your phone and compose another quick text.

Hey just checking in. Any chance you want some company this week?

You’re shocked when you get a reply shortly after.

Tomorrow after work?

Sure!!!!

You feel acute relief at the knowledge that Van is up for talking to you. Maybe there’s a hope for things to go back to normal. Maybe he’s given up on all this vampire shit. You haven’t given him any hope to believe the alternative.

You make it to the office with time to spare, but your stomach flips unpleasantly. Work is stressful these days with Van still out of the office, not responding to your texts. However the chill from Lucy and Mina seems to have thawed. They greet you one morning with genuine smiles.

“Any weekend plans?”

You’re struck dumb by their question, so used to their ignoring that you gape at them a full moment before answering that you were going to stay in and watch movies.

When the flowers arrive at work later that day you don't think anything of them. They arrive just before lunch time, fragrant and beautiful. You're passing the reception, checking in to see what blood panel Mrs. Harris needs to have tested.

Mina and Lucy are at the front desk giggling over a particularly saucy selfie that Jonathan sent Mina. Lucy stands to accept the delivery, grunting under the weight of the colorful flora. The clients watch this with passive interest before looking back at their phones.

"Another secret admirer?" Mina shoots Lucy's way.

You pretend to be reading your clipboard, but your eyes drift above it to see Lucy plucking the pale yellow envelope from the vase and reading the name.

Her smile drops and you feel struck as her eyes suddenly dart to your face. She flips the card over and you catch the name briefly.

Sunshine.

The handwriting is unmistakable. The sharp slash of the S. Lucy and Mina know he calls you Sunshine. Your stomach drops at the knowledge that there's yet another excuse for them to despise you.

Your heart begins a sickening beat in your chest. Eyes are turned in your direction as Lucy walks over to you, hefting the large arrangement into your arms.

"These are for you."

Her voice isn’t full of its usual malice. And if you’re not mistaken she and Mina look at you with softer gazes. You’re not sure though and you curl into yourself, arm wrapping around the vase as you take a step backwards.

"Thanks," you mumble with heating cheeks.

The two of them look at you expectantly, clearly curious. You want to turn, but Mina's voice reaches out to you quietly.

"What's the card say?"

What's worse? Ignore them and walk away or open the card? In the end you open the card attached to the vase. With shaking hands you raise it to your eyes.

Thank you for being my light in the darkness. - Max

Goosebumps rise all along your body, heart lurching and leaving you breathless. Why does everything in you want to break apart at this? Why does it squeeze you from the inside, making you feel soft and warm all at once? The words go blurry as you reread them.

"Oh shit," Mina breathes, her eyes widening. It drags your attention from the card over her way.

You were so distracted reading that you didn't notice the two of them coming to crowd you. And unlike all the times before, they don't look dismissive or cold. They look concerned.

"What?"

Mina peers into your face. "You're crying."

Your free hand flies to your cheek, surprised to feel the warm damp of your tears lingering. You sniffle, rubbing your cheeks against the back of your wrist.

A patient walks through the door and Mina squeezes your arm before going back to the front desk. Lucy remains at your side before linking her arms with yours and guiding you back to the phlebotomy office.

"Let's talk."

///

Max can't stop smiling.

He's in his bedroom, in total blackness and he's supposed to be asleep. But all he can think of is you you you.

A beep sounds on his phone and he reads the message.

M. PHILLIPS: Your flowers have been delivered.

Max smiles again.

The flowers were a classy touch, if he's honest with himself. Something he'd never done for any woman. He can imagine how excited you were to get them. The way your eyes go big and bright when you're delighted.

He wishes you were home right now, sitting with him in bed watching something ridiculous on the laptop. He wishes the two of you were laughing and talking about your day. He wishes that he could take your hand and walk with you in a garden under the bright sun.

But you’ll be home soon enough and that has to be enough for him. He thinks about it before sending you off a little text.

Have a good day, Sunshine. Hope they made you smile. Xo Max

He’s taken to staying up later in his room now, waiting for you to leave for work before sending little messages, some cheeky, some sweet.

Dinner was great last night but not so much salt next time.

Don’t work too hard!

Sometimes you reply with a laughing emoji or a sly comment. It makes him smile to himself, his body thrumming. And he goes to sleep with a dopey look of contentment on his face, his dreams all of you.

And then he wakes up, hearing your feet pad into the apartment. When he’s better he tells himself he’ll go back to making you meals, greeting you with a smile. The two of you will share about your day and you’ll end the night in each other’s arms in front of the television.

Is this what it could be like? Living with you in this in between world of light and dark? It’s not perfect by any means, but it’s possible isn’t it? He makes you happy, he knows it. He can see it in the way you come into his bed and watch movies now, not needing to be prompted. He sees it in the way he catches your eyes lingering on his face when you think he doesn’t notice.

Is it possible?

///

Lucy steps into the phlebotomy office behind you, shutting the door with a quiet click and ushering you to your desk. You place the flowers by the window, your fingers tracing the soft petals before you take a seat behind the desk.

Lucy sits across from you, her expression softer than usual. You’re surprised to see her, but you don’t question it.

"You really like him," Lucy murmurs.

Her voice is quieter than you expected yet her tone is heavier. You look up from your folded hands, a lump forming in your throat. You’ve been doing your best to ignore it, to push down the fluttering sensation in your chest when Max's eyes meet yours across the room or the way your body tingles when he touches you.

So, you bury it. Bury it deep. Max doesn’t need to know. You’re not ready for that. Even if you feel the pull of his presence every time you’re near him.

A manicured hand reaches across the desk, clutching your hand for reassurance. For the first time in a while, you see a flicker of the friend you used to have, the one who didn’t look at you like she’s caught in the middle of something she can’t control.

“Be honest,” she says her voice thick.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing. You don’t want to tell her, don’t want this sudden sympathy to twist your emotions. You pull your hand back, even though it kills you to sever the connection.

“What’s going on, Lucy? Why are you suddenly being nice?”

Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t back down in the face of your sneer.

“Max told me everything."

Your stomach drops. You can feel the chill creeping up your neck, the tension thick in the air between you. Max told her everything? You go quiet, eyes rounding. Lucy tosses her soft red hair over one shoulder.

"Yep. Explained that he didn't know he and I were exclusive at the time."

Oh, so not that he's a bloodsucking bastard. Cool.

You almost want to laugh in relief. Lucy continues looking at you in a way that seems remorseful.

"He also said that he was pursuing you and that you kept turning him down because you thought he and I were dating."

"I did," you promise in a thick voice. "I swear."

Lucy swallows hard, finally lifting her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes are full of regret, and for the first time in weeks, she looks like your friend again, not the distant version of her that barely acknowledged you.

"I believe you." She tenses, eyes scanning yours. “You’ve just been acting so weird lately.”

You continue to sit across from Lucy, your eyes going no higher than her chin. You feel so exposed by this conversation. How can you explain this to Lucy why you've been so strange without revealing that Max is a vampire? There's no possible way. And there's no way she'd ever believe you.

"I thought it was because you were dating him behind my back or that you two were fucking when I was so clearly into him," she explains to you with a nervous half smile that ghosts over her lips. "I was only upset when I thought you were lying about it."

"No!" You all but shout. "Trust me, never."

"I know," she says with a nod. "Max told me he pursued you for months and that you continually turned him down. That you said you thought he and I were a good couple. That you "

A bit of indignation rises in you as you recall her treatment of you.

“I’ve never done anything like that to you. Ever.”

You continue watching as she fidgets with the hem of her sleeve, unable to meet your eyes.

“I know. I think you just kept acting so secretive, like you were hiding stuff from me."

“And Mina?”

“She felt the same way. Like you were just pushing us away. Like you didn’t think we were worth your time anymore. Like you didn’t care about us anymore.”

You feel your heart drop at her words, guilt spiraling inside of you. You’ve been so focused on protecting Lucy and Mina from Max that you didn’t even realize how much you were hurting them both by holding back.

“I’ve never not cared,” you say, leaning forward, "And I get why you were upset. If I thought my friend betrayed me like that, I’d be pissed too. But you didn’t even ask me. You just decided I was guilty and cut me off like I didn’t matter. You hurt me," you whisper with tears in your eyes.

Her face crumples, and for a second, you think Lucy might cry. Lucy never cries.

“I know. I'm so sorry."

"I just can't understand why you were so mad at me about this. It's not like you."

Lucy winces, her expression sheepish. You watch as her high cheekbones stain pink.

"This is so fucked up," she admits. "But I think I was like, insecure, or whatever."

You blink at her, caught completely off guard.

"Lucy, are you serious?" You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around it. "You’re literally one of the most beautiful, confident, put-together people I know. You walk into a room, and people notice. You’re smart, funny, and you don’t take shit from anyone. How could you ever be insecure about anything?"

Her face is almost as red as her hair at this point. Lucy’s eyes shine with unshed tears, but her voice stays steady.

"I've never had someone not be into me as much as I'm into them."

She looks uncomfortable with the admission. Like she's just revealed a piece of herself she prefers to hide.

"Max's rejection hit different because I was so into him." She sighs, scrubbing her face. " I thought if I liked him that much, he had to like me back, right? But he didn’t. And then I saw you two talking, laughing and I think it hurt when I saw how he was around you."

Lucy sighs, rubbing her hands together like she’s trying to warm them.

"Max never looked at me the way he does with you. He looked at you like you were the most interesting person in the room. He actually listened when you talked, leaned in like he didn’t want to miss a word. With me, it was different, like he was just being polite, waiting for the conversation to end so we could fuck. And I told myself it was all in my head, but then I saw you two together, and it just hurt."

You flush, shaking your head at the suggestion. "He's just a horny male, Lucy. You know that."

Lucy lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.

"No, he's totally obsessed with you. Pretty sure he's in love with you."

She thinks Max is in love with you, it’s all over her face; that knowing look, the way her head tilts like she’s waiting for you to catch up to the truth. You force your features to remain neutral.

"I don’t think Max is the fall in love type,” you reply lightly. “More the conquest type.”

Now Lucy sits back in her chair, looking at you with a mix of confusion and awe.

"Oh wow, you really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"It's like he's attuned to you at every single moment, even if he's across the room. His body language, he’s always slightly tilted your way, his eyes on you," she says with a bittersweet expression. "And I will never forget seeing you two kiss for the first time."

Ah, games night.

Lucy leans back, a wistful smile playing on her lips as she recalls the moment.

“The two of you were so ... Beautiful. It's the only word I can use. The second your lips met it was like everything just shifted. The way he looked at you afterward, like he was seeing you for the first time and that nanosecond when you forget to pretend it didn’t mean anything. The way he held you, the way you both seemed so fucking into each other. I was so jealous of you.”

Jealous of you? The thought feels almost ridiculous but clearly she saw something worth envying. The realization knocks the air out of your lungs. You’ve spent so long feeling like you were the one in her shadow, and now, here she is, admitting she was standing in yours. Only you never cared that you were in the background, you just enjoyed being with your friends.

"I never wanted Max, Lucy."

"I know that now," she insists with a wave of her hand.

"I would never be with a man who hurt you like that if he did it to be cruel," you explain. "I really think Max thought things were casual."

"I told him they were casual," she admits, her face reddening further. "I was trying to look cool and detached. Usually it works. When he pulled back I just felt so exposed and vulnerable and I lashed out at who I thought was responsible. But I should have known you'd never hurt me like that." Her eyes are downcast.

"Thanks," you tell her. You sigh, the weight of the silence between you both heavier than it should be.

"I was wrong," she eventually whispers. "I should have talked to you."

"Yeah, you should have," you say softly. "But I'm here. So what do we do now?""

In a blur Lucy stands and walks over to you and for the first time in what feels like forever, she pulls you up into a bear hug. The warmth of her embrace soothes you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. You bury your face in her shoulder, breathing in the comfort of her presence

“I'm so sorry,” she whispers, her voice thick. “Please forgive me even though I don't fucking deserve it."

You cling to her, your thoughts a swirl of relief, and anxiety. You want to tell her everything about Max. You’ve been running from it for so long, trying to protect everyone and only hurting people in the process.

"And please don't be mad at Mina," she whispers to you. "She was so hurt that you weren't asking about Johnny. All she did was talk about how much she missed you and I was the one that told her you were moving on without us."

"Why didn't she bother talking to me?"

"She was hurt. She's always been so happy for your stuff and she was really upset that you didn't seem to care about hers."

There's validity to that statement. Mina may have handled it poorly but you can see where she may have started to believe it was true.

"She's also been in a love bubble for months. It's very fucking annoying," Lucy giggles and you join along with her.

"She deserves it though. She was into Johnny for months!"

Lucy nods, her smile turning contemplative as she looks at you. “So Max…”

"Yeah," you whisper, throat tightening.

“The flowers?”

“A thank you, I guess?”

“For what?”

“I’ve been taking care of him.”

Her brows rise. “Huh?”

“He was really sick,” you tell her in a shaky voice as you recall his prone body, smoking on the floor. “I didn’t know if he was going to make it.”

Lucy’s eyes widen. “Holy shit. What happened?”

Your brain searches for something realistic. “He burnt himself really badly.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah and when I thought he might die I just…. I was devastated,” you explain. “And I know he’s not perfect, and I know it’s insane, but all I could think was that I wanted him alive. That I wanted him here. With me.”

“Because you care about him. Because you like him.”

Your eyes drag to hers. “I can’t like him, Lucy.”

“Why not?”

You're about to reply to her when Mina knocks on the door, peeking around and glancing between the two of you. A hopeful look crosses her sweet features.

"Are we friends again?"

The two of you laugh, wiping wet eyes and nodding. Mina's eyes are glossy as well and she rushes into the room to join the hug. She flings her arms around the two of you, the trio of you in one big bear hug.

"I'm sorry," she whispers to you, her forehead against your cheek. "It felt like you were so uninterested in my life and I was so hurt."

"I'm not, I swear," you say as their arms envelop you. "I love you both and I care about what's going on in your life. I always have."

"And we love you. I’m so so sorry."

It goes on like this for a while with whispered apologies and explanations. Before long the three of you are crying softly and promising shit like this will never happen again. That your friendship is worth more. It's not until a rough knock begins at the door that Mina starts.

"Oh fuck, I forgot. Mr. Holmwood is here for his blood draw!"

///

Max lies in bed listening to the sound of you preparing his breakfast that evening and he feels the hot, heavy sensation of need for you.

Not the scalding desire that prickles everywhere. Not the greedy energy that desires you under him. No, it's that steady, unrelenting feeling that verges on pain when you're nearby. The kind exacerbated when you knock on his door, walking into his room without waiting to be invited.

You're tired from work today; you've obviously just come home as he woke up. He sits up in bed with ease, his body feeling fully healed. His sheets are cleaned, his body scrubbed. He feels better than he has in a long time.

You knock on his door.

"Hey," you say in a quiet voice. "You awake?"

"Mhmmm. C’mon in."

You enter and smell like the outdoors. Sunlight and fresh cut grass. He longs to touch the warmth of your cheek if only to feel a ghost of it.

"I have breakfast for you," you say motioning to the metal tumbler with matching straw in your hand. A recent purchase when you realized he would be recuperating for a while.

Max pushes himself up in the bed. He can still only see out of one eye, his left side remains bandaged.

"I'm going to check on the eye later," you tell him, as if you can read his thoughts. "I think once you have a bit of food in you, that'll help. The hand too."

You sit on the edge of his bed placing the tall glass of warm blood in his waiting hands. He knows that you warm it in the microwave even though the smell makes you sick. He takes it and slowly brings the straw to his mouth.

"Thanks, babe."

“No problem.” You look him over, noticing the damp curls. “You had a shower.”

“Yep. Threw out the old sheets and got new ones delivered.”

“They’re nice,” you offer, looking at the pale blue sheets and blanket.

The two of you lapse into a thoughtful quiet as he drinks, his good eye roving around your downturned face. You play with his new blanket, distracted. He can't help but reach to you, fingertip tracing the curve of your cheek.

When you look back up at him he can see your eyes are glossy. You blink away the glaze to your eyes before nodding, taking the empty cup from Max.

"Okay, let's get this gauze off, hmmm?”

“Yes please.”

You start with his hand, unwrapping it slowly to reveal a perfectly smooth palm, strong fingers and delicately clipped nails. It’s perfect. Max flexes it with a grin, delighted.

“I hope the eye is just as good,” he says, looking to you expectantly. After a moment’s hesitation you shift closer to him on the bed, your fingers trembling. You bend down, eyes level with his own.

You draw closer to him as your hands go behind his head, your faces not that far apart. He can feel your warm breath on his lips and thanks to his breakfast he can feel his body thrumming with life. Your eyes catch his parting lips and you feel suddenly flustered.

"Okay," you tell him breathlessly. "Let’s do this."

He senses as you fumble with the wrapping, your fingertips trembling. Max feels as you finally get it, unwinding slowly. Slivers of light are appearing in that eye and he blinks rapidly. Finally you remove it completely, and with two working eyes Max watches your features break into a smile.

"Good as new," you say with relief. "And you'll just have to take my word for it since, you know, the whole mirror thing."

The two of you chuckle lightly at the joke but Max doesn't look away from you. He can see you again, both his eyes able to behold your perfect face. You sit on the edge of his bed, the silence between you heavy and you can't stop shaking, you can't explain it. You've been around Max so many times, in close quarters especially this week. And yet here, looking into his eyes you feel like you're being seen the first time in so long.

Sunshine, I l-

His voice is there, a quiet murmur in your head. But for the first time you don't want to know what it says. It's too intimate, too private. But as you break the connection, blinking away from him as you feel a sorrowful swell begin in your chest.

The side of his pointer finger gently lifts your chin, his eyes worried.

“What’s wrong?”

The truth hits you like a punch to the chest. You’ve been denying it for months, this feeling that’s been growing quietly inside you, but now, with him here, looking at you with so much adoration, it all crystallizes; you're not just relieved he's alive, you’re thankful he is. And for the first time you admit to yourself that your feelings for Max aren't as neutral as you once thought.

"I really thought you were going to die."

"If it helps, so did I."

You're confused when tears spring to your eyes. He props himself up on his hands, watching as you wipe your tears away hurriedly before looking back at him.

"Were you scared?"

Scared I'd never see you again. He bites back the admission, giving a light shake of his head.

"Nah. You die once; you've died a thousand times."

He tries to give you a shaky smile, but it comes out more tense than expected when he sees how somber you look.

"Don't die on me, Max," you murmur. "I'm serious."

His body warms with affection. "I promise, babe."

You blink back fresh tears at the beauty of his soulful eyes and you think of a world in which he did die. It breaks your heart.

"Don't leave me," you whisper shakily.

Max tilts forward slowly, lips almost touching yours as he gazes into your eyes. He needs you to see the sincerity in his expression, feel the emphatic honesty in his words.

“Never.”

He looks softly down into your face, about to say something else but you suddenly close the distance. With your palms you push yourself forward and up, mouth catching Max’s as your eyes close.

His eyelids shutter as your lips make contact. They touch delicately, as if he's afraid to crush your petal soft mouth with his. You sigh as the prickling sensation of anticipation overtakes you, causing you to quiver against him.

He pulls back, suddenly concerned that he’s read the situation wrong, but your mouth chases his, your sudden whimpers all the indication he needs to continue. He flips back the sheets and his arms jerk out to circle your middle. He pulls you into his lap, urging you to straddle him. One hand splays against the base of your spine, the other sliding up to the back of your neck to hold you in place as his mouth finds yours again.

That same searing heat goes through your middle and your arms crook around his neck as you deepen the kiss.

His tongue slowly begins tracing along the seam of your lips, kissing you deeply before licking into your mouth. Your body breaks out into goose bumps as his tongue dabs yours. You give a soft gasp as he raises you both up on his knees before gently pushing you down onto the mattress, his body following yours as your spine touches the mattress.

You kiss one another feverishly, groans and spit and desperate clinging to one another. Max groans when you kiss his jaw then his neck, licking at the hollow notch between his collarbones. You take your time kissing there, marveling at the gold of his skin, inhaling that alluring scent that is uniquely Max.

You don’t want to hesitate, don’t want to over think this but the realizations keep pummeling you. You’re happy Max is alive; you’re relieved because it’s not just that you didn’t want his death on your hands. You wanted Max to survive.

You want him here with you.

Your hands rove under his t-shirt, tugging it over his head and leaving his hair messy. He grins down at you before doing the same. He’s so hard he can’t stand it and you want to feel all of him. He groans your name as you slide your hands under his pajama pants to glide your fingers along the head of his silken cock.

“Fuck, baby, don’t do that,” he hisses, pulling your hand from his clothing. “I won’t last.”

His fingers begin fumbling at the button of your jeans. You shimmy out of them and the two of you slide out of any remaining clothing. Soon your nude bodies are soon pressed together under Max’s new silken sheets. His body is warm from his meal, his breath like sweet peppermint.

Max can’t stop looking at you, seeing the way your eyes scan his in a dreamy, far-off way. The two of you are breathing heavily, pupils blown wide and bodies trembling.

Finally he bends his neck down, going to capture a straining nipple in his mouth. The feeling jolts through you, a small whimper of surprise leaving you. He cups your breasts, kissing each with reverence, he laves and licks and nibbles as you arch into him, your breasts desperate for his wet mouth.

“So fucking perfect,” he murmurs, seeing the way you gaze at him as he takes one into his mouth. You can’t stop watching how his large hands hold your soft flesh or the way he smirks at you when you twitch.

You gasp when Max pulls off your breasts, leaving them slick with his spit. Then he slithers between your legs, kissing down your body, leaving glossy O's in his wake. You don't fight back when he tosses your legs over his broad shoulders, desperately dragging your body to his face.

You whimper when he grazes your inner thighs with his soft lips, gentle, feather light things that soothe your nerves. Your hands clutch at the sheets as you feel his hot breath at your glossy core, feeling exposed and excited.

His hands grip your ass, pulling you against his waiting mouth. His tongue licks a stripe up, fingers opening you to him as he holds in a moan. You’re so fucking wet for him. His tongue slides into your honeyed core, grinning as his nose nudges your clit and you whimper for him.

"You smell like sunshine," he groans between wet, open-mouthed kisses to your pussy. "And you taste like fucking sin."

Your head falls back into the pillow; both Max’s touch and his words causing you bite your tongue to keep from moaning. Max wraps his arms around your thighs, holding them in place as he devours you.

You're shaking as one broad hand goes to your knee, urging you to spread yourself wider for him. It falls against the mattress, your cunt exposed and your clit being laved at by the beautiful man between your thighs.

His eyes jolt open, watching your face. You're already staring down at him with your lips parted, a look of lust making your face slack. At the meeting of your gazes you throw your head back once more, biting your lower lip. Max grins carnivorously from between your legs, his voice thick as he gazes up the length of your body.

“Mhmm,” Max groans as he fucks you with his tongue. “Let me hear you.”

As you explode on his tongue he can hear you moaning his name over and over before he crawls back up the length of your body and collapses next to you, his eyes glued to your fucked out expression.

I did that to her.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of your breath catching as his hand brushes against yours, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. You can feel your heart racing, but it's not fear, it's the undeniable pull between you, the moment that feels like it's been building for so long.

"Max... Please."

He rolls over and gently slides his hips between your still shuddering thighs. He settles there gently, his forearms bracketing at your shoulders, his thumb caressing your cheek. The warmth of his hand against your skin sends a shiver through you.

He kisses you again, slow and sweet.

You reach down between your bodies, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. He bites back a groan, eyes blown black at your touch. He remains holding himself there hesitantly, as if he’s waiting for some sign or permission that he should continue. You can only nod, urging him with a lift of your hips. A signal for him to begin.

“Max, I want you,” is all you can manage to whisper before he feeds himself into you at an achingly slow pace. You gaze up at him, no fear, only lust. He feeds himself into you slowly, the muscles under his back rippling as he moves his hands to pins your wrists to the mattress. You sigh his name again.

Max can't understand why you go blurry again and for a moment he panics that perhaps he isn't as healed as he thought he was. Then he blinks and watches several fat droplets fall from his cheek to land on your jaw.

Tears.

When his vision clears he can see that your eyes are full of them as well.

"I'll never leave you, Sunshine. Never," he rasps before his lips come crashing into yours again.

Never.

He slides deeply into you all the way to the hilt, his spine tingling with pleasure. You gasp in unison, your mouths hanging open inches apart, hot breath meeting, eyes blown wide.

It's never felt like this. Never.

His ass raises as he pulls out of you, sliding back home with deliberate slowness. Your response is to clutch his shoulders, body twitching. He withdraws again watching your brows saddle when he pumps back into you, that sweet tight center welcoming him deeper than before.

He doesn't know how long he does this for, but you continue to writhe under him, bodies tacky and sweat forming on your forehead. Wet sounds fill the room, mixing with your ragged breathing. When you make a soft gasping sound Max feels his cock twitch inside you and he knows he needs to hear that sound that over and over

The buildup makes your mouth tremble. It's nothing like it was before. Memories of that harsh fuck against the wall are wiped away as he saws in and out of you at a slow and devastating pace.

He kisses you long and languid as he rocks you into a deep and lingering pleasure, his breath fanning over your cheeks as he feels your thighs tremble. Your hands still lay there on either side of your head and Max reaches slightly to lace his fingers with yours, his hips picking up speed.

He kisses you again, tongues dancing as white hot pleasure builds everywhere in his body. Your eyes roll back in your head, spine arching. Your toes curl in the sheets as he rocks between your already trembling thighs. Your head moves back, throat exposed.

Your pulse beats hypnotically and Max realizes what you want. For him to turn you. That’s what this was. He can’t deny the devastation that goes through him at that and he slows his hips. Your eyes jolt open to meet his, whining his name desperately.

"I can't bite you," he tells you, his voice husky. "I won't turn you. I can't-"

"You don't need to," you cut him off him breathlessly. "I just want this. I just want you, Max."

Max pauses, his breath catching as he looks at you, eyes wide with disbelief as the weight of the moment sinks in. You see the awe in his gaze, as if he can’t quite believe you’ve chosen him, in this way, after everything. His entire body goes warm as you gaze up at him.

I just want you.

Your mouths join again and Max begins to thrust quicker, his body unable to slow again. He reaches down, hitching your leg over his hip as his cock pistons in and out of you even deeper.

The mattress squeaks, the bed frame crashing against the wall as the scent of earth overtakes the room. You feel wild, like you're fucking in the forest, animalistic and pure as Max's body slaps against yours.

And then there it is that same overwhelming pleasure. But Max isn't biting your neck. No, this is just the communion of your bodies alone and it has your brows saddling and your body quaking. Max can feel the flutter and tightening of your cunt around his cock, almost strangling him.

"That's right, baby, that's right," Max groans as he pumps faster and harder. “I’ve got you.”

Your body breaks out into goose bumps, your ragged moans pulled from the very base of your soul, loud and echoing in the room as Max smiles against you jaw in satisfaction. He watches as you shatter around him, your fingers still laced with his.

"That’s my girl," he murmurs, lips grazing along your jaw.

My girl. My girl. My girl. Why does it feel so perfect when he says it? He loosens your fingers from his own and your arms wrap around his neck.You're weak, but you tilt your head to capture his eyes.

"Now you."

Max grins at your blunt order before kissing you, a groan of your name escaping from his mouth into yours. You taste your name, his desire, and his need. You taste it all and urge him to come deep, your body still undulating against his, desperate for him to fill you. Desperate for him to give instead of take.

And he does, arms wrapping around your middle to hold you in place, fucking furiously into you as he groans out your name, your real name. It sounds so sweet on his tongue, so perfect in that husky way of his. And he comes with a strangled sound halfway between a growl and a moan. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, your blood pumping with renewed arousal.

And then he cracks open his eyes, drowsy and dreamy and filled to the brim with what seems like love, though you’d never admit it out loud, so you store it away as affection.

“I wasn’t sure if you could…um… you know,” you offer to break the intensity.

“If I’ve eaten, yeah,” he nods almost shyly.

“Good thing I’m on the pill.”

He chuckles to himself before je slowly extricates himself from between your legs, murmuring that he’ll be right back. He leaves the room, his taut ass twitching as he exits the bedroom. You stare after him in confusion before he returns with a warm washcloth and bowl of fresh water.

He sits on the edge of the bed and you stare at him as he cleans between your legs, a contented smile on his face. You feel cared for, like he’s trying to repay you for how you’ve taken care of him. Soon enough he’s placing the wet cloth in the bowl and crawling back under the sheets with you, his arms going to pull you into him.

You settle against his front, hands folded under your chin as one muscled leg snakes between yours, resting there comfortably. You breathe him in, the scent of long summers and the first snowfall invading your senses. It makes you sigh happily, your body relaxing.

You lie there with the warmth of his body against yours. Max’s breathing evens out, steady and calm, but you’re already drifting, the weight of the day’s emotions finally settling into a peaceful, heavy sleep.

Your breathing hitches every so often, your body twitching before going placid. Your hair is frizzed from the day and Max can see the wrinkles starting at the corner of your eyes. You're so human it's almost painfully beautiful for him to see and for a moment he feels a wave of jealousy.

He knows he hasn't aged in decades, knows that when he was turned he already had crows feet and eleven lines, but that's where it stopped. Forever early forties, his hair forever that medium brown, no streaks of grey.

Forever.

And you'll get older, your hair will turn white, your skin will become beautifully soft with delicate lines that tell the story of your life. Your eyes will go cloudy with memories and your fingers will twist with a lifetime of experiences.

But he'll remain forever the same; a mirror of the youth you'll eventually leave behind. And will you want that? The constant reminder of your own draining vitality? Will you want Max in your life as some cruel reminder?

Max reaches out to brush a wayward stand of hair from your cheek, thumb grazing the soft of your skin, your eyelids fluttering at the contact before going still once more. He watches you sleep for several hours, memorizing each part of your face. He kisses your forehead tenderly, smiling to himself as he thinks about the way you came for him. The sounds he dragged from you. The pure ecstasy he found in you.

He doesn’t know how long he lays there gazing at you, but he does know that if he doesn’t move the night will slip away from him. And yet it’s four am before he finally forces himself to a stand next to bed, scooping you into his arms and carrying you to your bedroom.

The floor creaks under his footsteps and he nudges your door open with the ball of his foot.

You make a soft snorting noise as he places you onto your own mattress, before curling onto your side. Max pulls up the warm sheets over your body, the back of his knuckles grazing your cheek as he stands. You sigh gently and he waits standing next to your bed until he hears you fall into a deeper sleep.

You make faces in your sleep, murmuring what sounds like his name before your brow relaxes and smoothes once more. He watches you for a while, smiling serenely to himself before he catches sight of the clock.

Almost sunrise.

He should leave right away and yet he can't stop himself from leaning down, his lips brushing yours.

"I love you," he whispers against your mouth knowing you can't hear him.

You'll never take in these words and that's okay.

He just needed to say them to you, at least once.

#ahhhh #perfection #max phillips x reader #max phillips smut #max phillips

223 notes · View notes

cozylittlepigeon · 4 days ago

Text

THE ROOMMATE AGREEMENT PART XIII - N O U R I S H

rating: 18+ for smut, gore and vampire shit

words: 7.6k

a/n: I know y'all are waiting for more chapters of other stories but the slutty muses are all about bat boy shrug. Also I got some of the FUNNIEST reviews on the last chapter and they had me twirling my hair and kicking my feet. Also next chapter is my faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaavorite so I can't wait for y'all to read it. (Yeah, its already half written).

Please remember to comment and re-blog! Engagement is what keeps a majority of us writers going! For me, without engagement I wouldn't bother posting here!

series masterlist here

PART XII : N O U R I S H

The next morning you jerk awake, blindly groping at the blankets around you. Your heart is pounding and your fingers slide over the smooth plane of your forehead. No cut. No scar. After everything that happened last night you’ve awoken with nothing more than a headache.

You pad past his closed door, your pulse spiking as you recall his mouth on your skin.

As you shower your mind tosses over and over the events of the previous evening. The way that Max held you when you danced, the way that he asked you about Germany. You try not the linger on those thoughts.

Instead you recall Danielle, her death, the blood and the terror.

At work you can't stop thinking about it either, even as you do your blood draws and testing.

If Max did kill Danielle he's a mighty fine actor. The surprise on his face that evening really did seem sincere. But then again, he also convinced you he was a flesh blood mortal and not a bloodsucking vampire.

According to the front desk Van has booked off the next three weeks for ‘vacation’, though you know better. He has a locum doctor come in to cover the surgeries, but it falls on you to do some of the intakes.

You’ve tried texting him a few times since your last heated exchange, but he’s made no attempts to write back to you. It stresses you out as well as angering you. You weren’t trying to hide anything from Van.

Needing a distraction between patients you pull up Mina's Instagram, feeling your stomach drop as photos come into view. Her most recent picture is from The Demeter sitting in the booth the three of you used to occupy.

Lucy and Mina sit in the middle of the photo smiling brightly and clinking beer bottles.

You swipe through to Lucy's account to see another photo from the same evening tagged "girls night". This photo was taken by Lucy, and behind her is Johnny with his arm around Mina. A cute woman has her arm around Lucy's waist, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Lucy’s eyes are squinting, her smile wide.

Everyone looks so... Happy.

A lump forms in your throat. You remember how it used to feel when you were with them. That joviality that ran through you with their friendship.

Max took that from you.

You'd never had friendship like this in Romania. The language was a barrier, being home schooled was no help. Friendship seemed like a pipe dream.

That was in addition to the pervasive gloom seemed to hang in the house your mother grew up in. Your father's parents were already dead and this was all you had. Your mother had been a nurse and your father an insurance broker. What you remember of life is that it was a simple, happy one.

Your parent's life insurance held in trust allowed you to move to America and attend the phlebotomy training program after your grandparent’s death.

So much death in your life. So much pain and bleak imagined futures. You'd always been a bit more sardonic, prone to introspection, but the isolation from your friends hits deep.

They've taken to being a little kinder at work. Not as frosty, but it's nowhere near the relationship you had before. You know why. Lucy's trust issues are the hallmark of her character. It's not that she thinks you're into Max, it's that she thinks you lied to her about it.

Should you write a letter explaining? How would you even start?

Hi Lucy, so it turns out my roommate is a vampire...I can sometimes read his thoughts and despite how much I hate him I fucked him the other night against the wall.

Yeah. That'd go over like a turd in the punch bowl.

And Mina has always been closer to Lucy, always more of a follower. It’s no surprise at her allegiance would be to her closer friend. Especially since she truly believes you're in the wrong.

Your eyes swim as you blink back tears, throwing your phone down and wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

It's mid afternoon when a knock sounds at the door. You rise to see Lucy and a young blonde woman with a pink Lulu lemon tracksuit on.

"…And that's who does my nails," she's saying before she turns around to see you. "Oh hi!"

Lucy watches the blonde woman enter, her face flushed and eyes sparkling. It takes you a moment to understand her reaction, but when you scan the name at the top of the file it all comes together.

Carmella Kinsey.

She's one of those insanely popular Social Media Stars. The ones who travel the world staying in expensive resorts, sponsored by name brands. The perfect beach-y women who claim that they eat clean and exercise a ton to get the ultimate body.

Judging by the nicotine that still clings to her clothing and the file that cites she is in here for breast enhancement surgery consult you have a feeling Carmella might just be full of shit.

She takes a seat, smiling briefly at Lucy as she closes the door. After the basic intake questions you begin the draw. She chatters away as you tighten the rubber band around her slender bicep. However when you place the needle in her arm she flinches and her cheery smile drops.

"You okay?"

She nods, watching as the first vial quickly fills up. You shake it, placing it in the collection site before replacing it with another.

It's when you're about to attach the third vial that she seems to hyperventilate. You quickly remove the needle, untying the rubber band from around her bicep.

"Hey, hey," you croon gently as you place the tools to the side. "What's going on?"

"I-I can't do this," the young woman says through a hiccuping cry.

"The blood test?"

"The surgery," she says as tears line her lashes.

You go to grab her a cup of water, handing it to her before taking a seat across from in your rolling chair.

"Okay. Let's take a minute here," you tell her calmly. "Tell me what's going on."

Carmella's pouty mouth trembles around the plastic water cup. You wait for her to swallow before leaning forward in interest.

"My agent says I'll book more endorsements if my breasts are bigger." She looks ashamed, crumpling the waxy dixie cup in her hand.

"But you don't actually want the surgery," you confirm.

She shakes her head, her glossy blonde head catching the light. "But I have to."

The injustice of this situation is not lost on you. The thought that this beautiful young woman thinks that she has to alter her body to fit into some stereotypical image of femininity makes your blood boil.

"You don’t have to do shit," you confirm, surprising yourself. It's not professional to speak this way, but you don't care. "Tell him to go fuck himself."

It's one thing when people come in eager to enhance a part of themselves or when Van volunteers to works on children born with cleft palates. It's quite another to see this poor thing sitting in the chair looking so lost and forlorn.

"My girlfriend agrees with him," Carmella says with a wince.

"Then dump her," you shoot back.

"We've been together for like, three years," Carmella insists. "It's normal to go through stages-"

"Of asking your partner to change their body?" You interrupt angrily. "Do you honestly believe that?"

If Van was here he would fire you on the spot for how you're talking to the woman.

"No," she finally whispers.

"Your partner should make you feel safe," you tell her impassioned. "They should love you for who you are the ugly and the beautiful parts."

Carmella sits there, stunned by what you've said. Clearly no one has talked to her like this in a long time.

"Don't change your body for anyone else," you implore. "And fuck anyone that tells you you're not enough."

The office feels very quiet when you stop speaking. Carmella blinks at you, thick lashes fluttering. For a moment, you're gravely concerned that you have professionally stepped out of line.

But then her glossy mouth climbs into a warm smile.

"Thank you," she says with glossy eyes. "I think I needed to hear that."

She leaves moments later, letting the front desk know to cancel any future consults.

You go to the computer cancelling her blood panel. You turn to the vials of her blood, knowing that there's no reason to keep them. You should place them in the fridge along with the rest of the hazardous materials to be removed next week.

But instead you place the clinking glass vials into an old plastic bag before hiding them in your purse.

The door to the phlebotomy room opens shortly after and you dart a glance up from your emails to see Lucy entering with two cups of coffee in hand. You look at her warily, confused that she looks more approachable.

"Thought you could use one," she says, smiling briefly as she hands you the drink. You take it gratefully, eyes stuck on her.

"Thank you so much," you say with a genuine smile. She responds with a short nod, raising her own coffee to her lips. The two of you exist in the room like this, quietly sipping your drinks. She got you mint mocha, your second favorite drink only to the lavender iced latte from the same coffee place.

"You doing okay? You look tired."

She doesn't say it cruelly, there's sincerity in her tone. Everything in you softens and you have to swallow the sorrowful whimper that threatens to leave your mouth.

"Yeah just... tired."

She nods again and for a moment you see a glimmer of the old Lucy. The one with expressive eyes, the one who brought you soup when you were sick. The one who painted your nails and taught you how to flirt. You miss her.

She flushes suddenly, her mouth expanding into an amused grin.

"I can't believe Carmella Kinsey was here," Lucy says giggling, shifting the moment into more playful territory. You grin back at her, nodding.

"She was so sweet."

"It's too bad she won't be back," Lucy says with a dejected huff. "Is she going to another clinic?"

"No, she changed her mind on the surgery."

"Thank goodness," Lucy says emphatically. "She's so hot. She does not need to go changing anything."

"I couldn't agree more."

The two of you are smiling and giggling when the door cracks open and Mina enters. She surveys the both of you, walking in your direction.

"Delivery for you," Mina says with an unreadable look. You glance over to see a large lavender iced coffee in her hands.

"Huh?" Your brow furrows. "I didn't order-"

"It's from Max," she says, cutting you off. From your peripherals you see Lucy straighten.

Mina places it on your desk and you don't miss the look that the two of them exchange. A look that makes you feel like an outsider; a pariah.

"Delivery guy just dropped it off along with a bunch of specialty donuts for the office," Mina adds coolly.

Your face feels hot as you two friends look at you in not so subtle animosity. Lucy's high cheekbones are stained pink. She’s angry.

"I don't know why he did that," you mutter.

“Right,” Lucy says, barely suppressing a scoff as she moves from the room with Mina following close behind.

You don't overlook the box of donuts crumpled into the garbage can when you leave for the day.

///

There are nights when Max craves it.

The pulse of a vein beneath his tongue, the sensation of sharp fangs slowly piercing the pebbled flesh of a sweet smelling neck. And oh that heavy blood over his tongue. The texture, the heat, and the way it always tasted so perfect.

But he doesn't miss the shrieks of terror as throats were ripped. He really doesn't miss the drained corpses staring up at him with lifeless eyes.

When he was first turned, there was a heady power that came along with his new found immortality. He convinced himself that there could be no better sensation in the entire world then being an apex predator in a world of prey.

He fucked everyone with a pulse, lived in excess and had summarily decided that there was no better un-dead life to be led. He killed without remorse and he thought himself a god.

Sure, he couldn't see his parents anymore. But was that really an issue? If anything, it was the final nail in a coffin that was long overdue to be buried.

And okay, he couldn't eat human food anymore, but what were a few martinis or French fries when he could feast on blood and live forever?

And fine, there are times when he missed the sun. Summer had always been Max's favorite time of year. Women in skimpy clothes, skin tacky with sweat, long swims in the ocean as the sun warmed his shoulders. That sweet, drowsy feeling somewhere around sunset.

Sunset.

What he wouldn't give to watch one with you.

///

That evening Max creaks his door open just as the sun drops below the horizon. He didn't sleep very well last night and despite what everyone thinks about vampires, he doesn't feel amazing all of the time.

Your blood is potent. He's never had so much of it and the amount he consumed from the injury to your head has him feeling hung-over. He's never experienced anything like that before. Normally he feels refreshed and like he can tackle anything. However right now he feels sluggish and foggy.

He stretches with a yawn, ready for a shower when you suddenly appear before him looking irritated. Your hair is wild around your face, your brows sharp.

"Why the fuck did you send me coffee and donuts today?"

"Good morning to you too," Max grouses.

Right now his head hurts, he's hungry and he needs a shower.

You don't say anything; you just fold your arms over your chest and watch him leave.

As he showers Max can't help but wonder why you're so upset about the coffee he had delivered. He was only trying to be nice after the stress of last night, how had that managed to blow up in his face?

He's dressed casually in sweatpants and a white T-shirt that strains around his shoulders and biceps. His hair is towel dried as he exits the bathroom, finding you at the table eating leftovers.

When you catch sight of him you swallow, indicating that he should take the seat across from you at the table, which he does.

"So?"

"I sent you a coffee because you're always going on about how much you miss your friends and your little coffee tradition," Max explains. "I just didn't want you feeling left out anymore."

The sneer that had been starting on your face quickly wipes away. This explanation wasn't what you'd been expecting.

"And I included the donuts because I thought it'd win you some brownie points with them." He pauses. "Or... Donut points, I guess."

He watches you bite back a smirk and feels his own lips curl into an amused smile.

You look thoughtfully at Max for a moment, eyes scanning his before reaching into your purse and producing a plastic bag.

"A patient left the appointment early. Stated that she changed her mind on getting the surgery so the blood panel was cancelled."

You dump the contents of the bag into your hand and Max sees the unmistakable sight of two glass blood files filled to the brim.

"Figured I shouldn't let these go to waste."

You hand him the vials. Max looks down at them in his large palm, knowing that this is the equivalent to a bag of chips. It won't satisfy him, but it will take the edge off.

However, it does satisfy him completely in a different way.

You went out of your way to do this for him. You were thinking about him today. He suppresses a grin that threatens to spill across his face.

"Thanks," he eventually murmurs. "I appreciate it."

You give a shy duck of your head, lifting one shoulder up in a casual shrug.

"You got me a drink, I got you a drink. I guess we're even."

He chuckles to himself and you watch as he unscrews the first vial, sipping it before his face breaks out into a look of shock.

"Oh shit, is this AB positive?"

You nod, amused at his delighted reaction. He throws back the rest of the vial, then the second. He feels better, his head clearing, his mood brightened.

"Fuck, that was good," he says, licking his lips. He notices that you're eyes follow the path of his tongue before forcing themselves to the table.

An uneasy silence falls between the two of you, full of unspoken words about last night. The feeling that went through him as you pulled him away from Danielle, the obvious claim on him, the way your bodies moved together on the dance floor.

He wants you so desperately it’s incapacitating. He craves your nearness but knows that you still assume he's a monster. He needs you to know he's not.

"I didn't hurt that girl," Max says. "I didn't kill Danielle."

It's like every sound is heightened, the occasional drip of water from the faucet over the sink. The kick of the heater as it starts up. And the steady sound of your heartbeat that picks up is pace when you drag your eyes to his.

Your gaze searches his, your pupils expanding the longer you stare into his dark brown eyes.

"I believe you, Max."

And you do. You don't know why but you just know he's not responsible.

He wouldn't lie to me.

Max wants to kiss you at that response. A desire that claws is way up his middle, leaving him in pain when he holds himself back. Now isn't the time.

You drain the rest of your water, taking the dishes to the sink. He watches you from lowered lids, content to see you scrub and hum to yourself.

He doesn't know where he stands with you right now. Just because you believe that he did kill Danielle, doesn't mean that you trust him. He continues to sit silently at the table, watching as you flick on the television. You search a streaming service before coming upon what you're searching for.

You glance over your shoulder at Max as you settle onto the couch.

"I've got a good one for tonight. You ever seen "Daybreakers"?"

///

Later that week on an innocuous movie night later that week, you have an errant thought enter your brain. It starts with Max using your striped throw blanket, tossing it over his lap as you begin the movie.

You sit next to him in your oversized pyjamas, a respectable distance away as you are all nights. The popcorn bowl sits between the two of you. You’re trying to ignore the questions floating in your mind, but by the time Gerard Butler floats into the Virgin Records store, you can't stop turning to face Max.

"I thought you didn't feel the cold."

"I don't.”

"So why the blanket?" You motion to the blanket over his legs. He glances down, as if he completely forgotten it was there.

"Habit I guess."

You nod, the two of you lapsing into silence is the movie continues though you can't help but feel compelled to glance over at your viewing partner every so often. He’s enraptured with the movie, not noticing as you stare from the corner of your eyes.

If you didn't know anything about him, you would think he was the most normal person on Earth. Normal looking face, normal dresser, normal everything. Even the way he sits is normal; arms spread out in a T-position behind him over the sofa. He looks so casual, so completely at ease, as if he isn’t a dark monster with a terrible secret.

"You know all that stuff you told me about your parents?"

He glances your way with what appears to be mild interest at your sudden question. He takes the remote, pressing pause on the film.

"That they were rich assholes who never thought I was good enough?"

"Yeah. You told me that before... Everything," you hedge. "I didn't know if what you told me was actually true."

"Everything I told you about my life before was true," Max says softly. "I grew up with shitty parents who thought I was worthless. I met a woman who promised me everything I wanted; power and love and riches and immortality... And I walked away from it."

You fall quiet, your fingers hovering over the popcorn bowl. "Did you ever think about going back to her?"

"For a while, yeah," Max replies, folding one ankle over the other on the coffee table. "But that was just because I was lonely. Other people in my community are okay but they lack... Humanity I guess? You were the first real friend I had since I became whatever I am."

You blink in surprise, confused at this proclamation. Were you and Max ever really friends?

You think back to the days before you knew what Max was. Back when he made you tea and laughed with you for hours. The way he gave you mace before your blind date. How he was so excited to co-host games night that he made that silly prochuttio rose.

He never had to do those things for you. He could have hypnotized you like he did Mr Morris. He could have kept you desperate and wan, lifelessly serving him. But he didn’t. But can that really be construed as a friendship? You doubt it.

"I guess you have a twisted take on friendship," you say with a lifeless laugh.

Your eyes move from the screen back over to Max. He looks upset, his normally smooth face pinched.

"You know, I hated threatening you and your friends."

"If you hated it so much then why did you do it?"

"Because I didn't want to leave you."

The silence that follows feels cloying. It's compounded by the fact that Max looks embarrassed, his face down-turned. And if he'd been eating regularly you're sure that he would be blushing.

"It's hard to feel all alone," Max finally says to the decorative pillow between you both, trying to break the silence.

"Yeah." Your eyes drift away from him, overcome. You can relate.

The tension continues to rise between you, your skin tingling when you feel him shift next to you on the couch. He looks to the screen, about to press play on the remote when you continue to pepper him with questions that have been lingering in your mind since you found out he was immortal.

"What's the biggest thing you noticed being a vampire?"

His eyes move from the television back to you, cloudy with confusion.

"Biggest thing?"

"Yeah like, super speed and I bet you can hear really well-" you suddenly jerk up, excited. "Oh shit, can you turn into a bat?"

"No," Max says laughing. "I can't turn into mist either. I don't know what the fuck Bram Stoker was thinking about with that shit."

Disappointed you lean back against the couch, eyes lazily trained on the television. Max notices that you seem more relaxed your body loose.

"Eyesight is different for me though," he murmurs as you nibble on another handful of popcorn. "I remember that was hard to adjust to. I see differently from you."

"Yeah, you see in the dark."

"Not just that. I see.... more."

Your eyes drift over your shoulder, intrigued."More?"

Max nods and flexes his jaw as he struggles to find the words to explain it.

"Like... You know when you see old photos and there's a kinda noise to it? Extra colors or kinda faint whispers of movement?"

"I guess, sure."

"That." He pauses. "Like when hippies talk about auras and stuff."

You begin peering into his eyes curiously. "Auras?"

He's got a funny little smile on his face that you have to look away from.

"Mhmm. That's how I see everyone. Just as they are but that noise and colors are there."

You think about this a moment before your self-centeredness compels your eyes to crawl back to his.

"What color do you see when you look at me?"

"Yellow," Max murmurs without pause, his eyes drifting over your face. "A warm, goldy yellow like the sun."

The earnestness and sincerity in his response disarms you into silence.

"You're the closest thing I've seen to the sun in years. You even smelt like it the first day I met you," Max says remembering fondly.

He closes his eyes, re-living that first night here. The way your head poked around the door nervously, the way he was so eager to touch you that he offered you a handshake, disappointed when you didn't return it. But you amused him with your skittery nervousness.

And he remembers the scent of your skin. The way you tilted your head and it was like Max was alive and out in the day again. He could smell the sprinklers watering lawns, feel warm sand under his feet, and hear the distant sound of children laughing. Things he's lived without for so long.

"It was sticking to your skin, warm and gentle," he murmurs, "and you were practically glowing."

His eyes open a crack to drift from your mouth back to your eyes.

"It took everything in me not to touch you that day."

"To bite me, you mean," you correct him, that flicker of irritation always so accessible under the surface.

"No." Max shakes his head, but his eyes don't leave yours, his voice dropping to a slow whisper. "Just to touch you."

Something about his sultry voice makes your body tingle more violently. It also propels you off the couch, bringing the blanket with you.

"Thanks for answering my questions. I’m gonna get to bed. Have a good night or day or whatever you think of it as."

Max gives a little chuckle up at you, nodding.

"Night, babe. Sleep tight."

///

Van isn't returning your phone calls.

He's told reception he's not to be disturbed during his time off.

Each day you walk by his office with a pit in your stomach. You're responsible for this. As much as you want to blame Max, you never should have given Van that book and just left. You should have stayed behind and supported him.

You're worried about him to the point that you go over to his apartment after work and ring up.

He doesn't answer.

This goes on for several days until you come home one evening to find Max dishing out your dinner. It's a strangely domestic tableau and you note that Max has set up a wine glass at your customary seat at the table as well.

The warmth that builds in your chest is dimmed slightly when you realize that this entire arrangement is completely fucked up.

Roommates with a vampire. What the fuck has your life become?

"Hey babe, how -" he stops himself when he sees the devastated expression you wear. "What's wrong?"

You collapse at the table, head in your hands as you exhale. Do you really want to get into this with Max? You're pretty sure he hates the Van.

You inhale the aroma of curry chicken, your stomach growling. Max sets a plate at your elbow and you dig in immediately.

"Thanks."

Max nods, coming to take a seat across from you as you try the first forkful. It's delicious.

Max watches you eat in silence, his face open and non-judgmental. He knows that you need a minute to collect yourself. He takes the opportunity to uncork the wine and pour you a glass.

He looks good, you notice passively as you watch him pour. His hair is tousled and he's wearing a navy sweater. He smells good, like expensive cologne.

He takes this time watching how your throat bobs with each swallow, how your eyes dart to his every so often. He watches how his food nourishes you and pride swells within his chest.

When the plate is cleaned you stand, taking it to the sink and washing it. Max allows this, knowing if he tried you'd get upset.

You cook the meal, I do dishes, you told him once. That's how it was when I was growing up.

He's never pushed it since. He watches the way your hands soap the plate, the almost meditative quality to your actions. He muses that he could spend hours watching you in your quiet moments.

Then you're gone and he can hear you brushing your teeth in the bathroom.

He wipes down the kitchen table and counter, remembering his own childhood and his mother who was constantly reminding him to straighten up.

You'll never find a woman if you live like a slob, Maxwell.

Pick up those dishes this instant!

All these clothes everywhere. You live like a pig.

Max knows that his mother was just a result of her own flawed upbringing, but that doesn't stop him from feeling bitter. It doesn't stop the compulsive need to tidy.

"Thanks again for dinner. It was so good."

He turns to see you exiting the bathroom, giving him a shy smile.

"No problem. You gonna tell me what's going on now?"

You shift from foot to foot, exhaling through your nose.

"I'm worried about Van," you sigh, your fingers massaging your temples lightly.

Max tries not to scowl too widely, schooling his features into passive interest as he draws nearer to you.

"How come?"

He replaces your fingers with his own, rubbing small circles there at your temples as your eyelids shut and you continue speaking.

"He's acting weird," you say slowly, soothed by Max's hands.

"From what I recall he was a weird guy," Max replies.

You open your eyes, extracting yourself from his touch and fixing him with a level look.

"He's taken all this time off work, he's not answering his phone." Your voice trembles "What if something happened?"

"Maybe he's just grieving."

"Maybe," you acknowledge even if you don't believe it. "Or maybe he's hurt."

You think of Murray alone in the apartment starved for food and drinks as Vans prone body lays on the floor, motionless.

Max can see the quiet anguish in your eyes and he knows that you're blaming yourself for Vans sudden depression in truth. Max knows that he's the reason for this, and his heart breaks to see his actions resulting in your pain.

"Do you want me to check on him?"

Your eyes fly to his in shock. "Really?"

"Yeah."

He'd never offer this normally. As far as he's concerned, Van is his romantic rival. And a large part of him is irritated at how defeated you look in the face of Van's lack of communication.

"You won't be invited in," you tell him slowly, interest piqued. "Even if he's feeling okay he's not exactly your biggest fan."

"I don't plan on going outside."

"But he's on the seventh floor."

Max nods nonplussed, causing you to stare at him more head on. You know from the other evening that Max can leap high distances and keep himself elevated. But if he can make it to Van's with no issue...

"Wait, can you fly?"

He holds out a flat palm, tipping it back and forth.

"Sort of. Extreme Floating is more accurate."

You stare at him unblinking, your mind a billion miles away. If you were turned you could practically fly!

"Will you show me?"

Max looks surprised at your request, tossing it over as his tongue pokes to one cheek in thought.

"Let's go to the roof."

You've never been out there on the roof, nor have any of the other tenants and you tell Max as such.

He shoots you a charming wink.

"We'll be fine."

You nod, following him out the door and up the stairs to the top of the building. A large metal door with chipping paint and a rusted padlock greets you. A yellowed sign is posted there, marking it DANGER: DO NOT TRESPASS.

Max just rolls his eyes and breaks the padlock with a snap of his wrist. You're amazed at this casual show of strength.

He pushes the creaking metal door open with one arm, taking your hand in his.

The night is cool and the breeze ruffles your hair as the two of you step out onto the rooftop. Max surveys the space, ensuring your safety.

What could have been a rooftop terrace with the right amount of cleaning and decor is instead a forgotten mix of old furniture that Mister Morris thought was worth saving.

A small garden plot exists as well, you discover. Withered and brown, uncared for since his death. You frown at the sight, more guilt creeping into your bones.

Max glances over to see you looking at the garden and slides an arm around your waist. He brings you forward and your attention snaps to his face.

"Are you sure about this?"

Max chuckles, urging you to the edge of the building. You poke your head to peer over the side, yelping when you see the long distance below.

"Fuck!"

You attempt to move back, held firm by Max.

"You're okay," he assures you with a soothing knuckle drag down your spine.

He knows the longer that you think about it the more you're going to talk yourself out of it.

You give a small gasp as Max bends his knees, scooping you up into his arms. You've never had a man do that to you and your arms go around his neck, heart pounding.

"Max!"

"You're okay," he repeats gently down at you. "Ready?"

You gaze up at him. You marvel at how despite the fear of what's about to happen he's making you feel so cared for, so secure. You nod shallowly.

You feel the incremental lift from the ground and the sensation is like sitting in a canoe trying to keep it from tipping. You panic, eyes slamming shut as you press your face into his shoulder, your breathing tight and fast.

"I've done this a million times," Max chuckles into your hairline. "You're safe."

Max soars upwards, his grip on you tight, his cheek against your temple. You're shudders fade and he remains bobbing you both gently in the darkness.

"Open your eyes."

You crack an eye open, gasping as you tighten your hold on Max who chuckles richly again. You're several feet off the ground, hovering over the building. Due to the time of night you're both practically bathed in darkness, hidden from any prying eyes.

From this angle you can see so much of the city; the flashing lights of faraway buildings and traffic. There's a beauty to it; a quiet rhythm you've been too distracted to notice.

"Wow."

Max looks at you, his eyes drinking you in. You stare at the world below, the lights reflected in your eyes. And he thinks he's never seen anyone more beautiful.

A smile breaks over your features and he swallows when you turn your eyes on him.

"This is the most amazing thing..." you say trailing off when you see the limpid pool of Max's dark eyes surveying you. "Don't you think?"

Max nods with a curl at the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, Max," you say softly.

You don't miss how he shifts you in his arms, drawing you nearer to his face. His head tilts as he drops his eyes to your lips.

"This is all I've wanted," Max tells you in a soft murmur. "Just you in my arms."

Your breathing is hitching, fingers curling around his shoulders. Your lips part, your breathing in sync. His lips are so soft, so plush. You let your eyes fall shut as your mouth almost grazes his, but not before you whisper to him.

"Turn me, Max."

Max's eyes fly open, his mouth thinning as you flutter your own eyes open to see his glare. The dreamy quiet between you two is shattered and you feel the energy shift immediately.

"Never."

You jerk back at the cold rejection, your face flaming and your stomach in a pit.

"Why not?"

His brows knit and his mouth drops as he searches for how to respond to you. When several minutes passed and he still sits there gaping at you, your patience finally snaps.

"Eleanor is giving Edgar and Alan it! Why should they get to live forever and not me?"

"I would never do that to you."

There's the initial hurt at his rebuff, followed soon by indignation. You're not going to have this conversation like this floating in his arms like a furious balloon.

"Let me down."

Max's jaw tics but he nods, lowering you both back to the rough top of the building. His shoes scrape the top and your feet meet the ground seconds later. You wrench free of his grip, your lash line wet.

"You owe me," you spit at him, your voice tight.

Max just stares at the ground, his jaw clenching before he finally just shakes his head.

"Baby," Max starts, his voice melancholy. But you're not staying around to listen to whatever excuse he has for you.

You stalk back hurriedly for the metal door, flinging it open and running back to your apartment.

Max watches you leave, the metal door snapping shut before he drags himself to the edge of the building, sitting and throwing his legs over the side.

He watches the quiet chaos below, noticing the couples hand-in-hand, the busking musicians, the shouts from a scuffle, the beautifully raw sounds of being alive.

The things you overlook every day. The things you take for granted just like he did decades ago. And while Max wants to give you everything he could never turn you.

Not when he knows what it would mean.

///

You don't know how you make it downstairs without falling considering your eyes are swimming with tears, but you stumble through your front door sobbing.

You throw yourself into your bedroom, slamming the door and falling into bed, still crying before collapsing onto your mattress into the fetal position.

It's all you can think about. Starting a new life, being reborn. It sounds like a dream come true.

The window beside your bed shows only the faint light of nearby apartments in the inky black of the sky. You sniffle, rubbing your wet eyes and look into the night. For the first time in so long you wonder if anyone looks down at you from the heavens or if you are completely alone.

Your tears soak your pillow and as you pull the covers over your body you can't stop the hiccupping sobs that escape you. You haven't felt this raw since the death of your family. It hurts like physical pain, searing up your middle.

When something dips the mattress behind you and strong arms wrap around your middle you let out a gasp thick from tears.

"Shhh," Max whispers against the back of your head, his hold loosening. "I'm here, baby. You're okay."

His kindness in the face of your anger makes you cry harder. Even if he deserves your ire, being held at a moment like this is meaningful to you. You go slack in his arms, letting out the rest of your tears.

Max holds you like spun glass, tender but gentle. There's nothing possessive or lewd in it. Just the clear desire to bring you comfort.

Like a friend would do.

If his heart still beat in his chest, it would have cracked at the first sound of your sob. The one that pulled him to stand outside your door, the one that made his brow crumple as he tilted his forehead against the chilled wood.

You should never been in pain. Especially not from him.

"Max, please," you say through sniffles. "You asked me once what you could give me in return for my service. This is what I want. I want you to turn me."

Max squeezes you tightly against him, his teeth clenched at the thought of you becoming anything close to what he is.

"Do you know how horrible it is to live like this? I have to be forever in the dark, forced to drink blood. I can't make real connections with anyone and knowing that this is all I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?"

You're quiet, letting his words sink in.

"I'll never get older, never have kids, never really appreciate my life because it'll never end. There are only so many places I can travel, so many ways I can fuck; only so much money I can spend. Then what?"

Max's voice is so sharp it could cut glass.

"Do you know how devastating that is? You think I wouldn't go back and give it up?"

You turn, glancing at him over your shoulder. He can see the tears that cling to your lashes.

"You would?"

Max nods, half his face concealed in shadow, half in a blue from the moonlight outside your window. For the first time you've met him he looks lost, like an innocent child his first day of school.

Max wasn't born like this. And he wants your help getting blood from work because he doesn't want to be like the creatures of his sinister ilk. He doesn't like hurting people. You've pinned him a villain for his killing, but he's more nuanced than that. A man of grey instead of the black and white you've colored him as.

"I'm sorry," you whisper in the darkness, not quite sure what you're apologizing for.

Max's face softens and he nods. Your eyelids shutter, emotional exhaustion taking you over. Max reaches a free hand towards your face, brushing back a stray tendril that has fallen against your cheek.

"You should get some sleep."

You stifle a yawn, nodding. He's right, you should; you have work tomorrow. You turn back to face the window, your eyes closing.

It's not long before you feel Max's arms sliding back, his body tilting to move off your bed. Panic suffuses you and you grope blindly behind you. Your fingers land on his sweater, holding tight.

"Stay," you murmur, not wanting to be alone right now. "Just until I fall asleep. Please?"

Max doesn't need to be asked twice. He lowers himself once more beside you in the bed, overtop the blankets. You slide back until you feel his hips and in return he curls behind you, like some guard to protect you from bad dreams.

One muscled arm is draped loosely over your waist and you pull it gently, sandwiching it between your arms and closing your eyes. Your spine rests against his front and that's how you remain as you drift off to sleep.

Max feels the way your body slowly goes lax in his arms, soft and pliant. He feels his own body relax in turn, inhaling your hair and skin. He wishes he could sleep, but he's wide awake. Its past midnight and he could leave you but he doesn’t want to. He wants to linger in this quiet moment with you.

He could never turn you, could never make you into a monster like him. He strokes the side of your cheek, a small plume of joy in his chest when you sigh peacefully in your sleep. You are the sun; he is the moon, beautiful in your own ways but never to be found together. But he nourishes the sunlight you bring into his nights, stowing it away behind his ribs.

When your bedside clock reads three a.m. Max thinks it's best if he goes. You're snoring lightly and you feel toasty warm. He slowly extricates himself from around your body, careful not to jostle you.

He gently pulls his arm back from where it's pinned under you, about to slide off the bed when he hears you rustling the sheets. He can see you perfectly in the pitch black darkness, your eyes still closed as you twist his way and grope for him.

Your hand lands on his wrist and you he's surprised when you tug him back into the sideways position he was in before.

"S'too cold," you pout sleepily, snuggling up to chest and burying your face against his neck. "Just lay there."

You nuzzle against his neck and he feels himself melting. A small smile creeps across his face and he brings you further into his arms. He hears your soft sigh as your bodies press against one another.

"Sweet dreams, Sunshine."

----

The scream that wakes you from a dead sleep is blood curdling. It's full of shock and pain and it has you jolting up, momentarily confused.

Your head swims as you begin to glance around, blinking back the blur of sleep from your eyes to see a figure writhing close by.

Max is there next to you in bed and he's screaming, a deep, unholy sound that feels more animal than man.

And he's on fire.

#max phillips x reader #max phillips smut #max phillips

209 notes · View notes