#also i didnt proofread because i didnt feel like it so kindly ignore the tragic grammatical errors that are certainly in here

[haileymorelikestupid]

Curiosity Killed the Bat

Pairing: Max Phillips x reader

Summary: Max thought he was prepared to finally tell you the truth about what he is. He was dreading it, but he knew it had to be done. He expected the worst. He didn’t expect this.

Warnings/Tags: language, no use of Y/N, soft and not-at-all-cocky Max Phillips

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Nothing says October to me like writing about a vampire while watching college football to procrastinate doing my actual homework. Enjoy the product of my musings about how tf vampires even work. P.S. This should be gender-neutral and non-descriptive but let me know if there’s anything non-inclusive in here and I’ll make the necessary edits :)

“You’re a what?”

This is precisely why Max didn’t want to tell you. He is a selfish son of a bitch and you are too good for him and he was just trying to hang onto you for as long as he could.

He knew it would come to an end; he couldn’t hide it from you forever, and you’re too good to stay once you know what he is. But he was enjoying the delusion. He was enjoying the illusion that you would actually want anything to do with him. You were the best thing that had ever happened in his miserable life slash not-life. Was it so bad to want to hang onto that?

“Baby, please, I know you might be shocked—”

“Oh shocked is not a big enough word for what I’m feeling, Max Phillips.” And you sound so angry, a tinge of hurt coloring your tone, and Max doesn’t think he can handle this. He’d rather you stake him right now.

“Okay, yes, you’re angry, and you have every right to be—”

“Well I am so glad I have your permission.”

Now he’s panicking. He’s been stressed out since he decided to start this conversation but now he’s really panicking because now he’s being condescending and he wasn’t trying to, seriously, and this is all going even worse than he thought.

Slick, suave Max Phillips is at a total loss.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. Please believe me. I know I should have told you sooner, but I knew this would happen and I’m a shitty, selfish, monster of a being and I wanted to have you for as long as I could.”

Here it comes, he thinks. Here’s the breakup you expected but never wanted and it’s going to hurt more than you could have possibly imagined. Have fun living with this for a literal eternity.

“Yeah, Max, you should have told me sooner, and I’m not happy that you didn’t.” And now your tone is more disappointed than before and fuck, he’s changed his mind, he’ll take the anger back. Anything but the disappointment.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, okay?!” It’s a desperate exclamation and the Max Phillips of a few months ago would be embarrassed at the lack of control in his words. “I knew this would happen when I told you, I knew you would leave me, and I wanted to put it off for as long as possible!”

There. It’s out. Vulnerability that Max has always struggled with showing itself when it’s too late. Maybe he should have told you how much you mean to him sooner. Maybe it would help him now. He’ll never know, though. Within the next five minutes, you’ll probably be out the door and he’ll be left thinking about what he should have, could have, would have done.

“Leave you? Who the hell said anything about leaving you?”

If snapping necks worked on vampires, he would have just unintentionally ended his own existence with how quickly he turned to look at you. He is utterly baffled, and after multiple attempts the only thing he can get out is a meek, “Isn’t that what’s about to happen?”

“Um, no? Why would I leave you when I have so many questions?” you ask, brow furrowed with genuine confusion etched across your face.

Okay… so you’re not leaving yet? Is that what’s happening? You’ll ask him a series of cliché questions, decide you don’t like his answers or his existence in general, and then you’ll leave?

It gets him a few more minutes with you, right? Better than nothing, he supposes.

“Questions?”

“Yes, Max, questions.”

“I thought you were mad at me.”

“Oh, I’m livid.”

His answering wince must be more obvious than he meant for it to be. Your brows lift just a tad, your shoulders drop, and your voice has lost part of its edge when you speak again. “I’m not mad at you for being a vampire, babe.”

Okay, he seriously has no idea what the hell is going on. Your words are equally as confusing as the use of the pet name.

“Then why are you mad?” He knows it’s a stupid question, yes, but he can’t help but ask it.

You sigh, a small sound, and it’s not even that frustrated. Maybe just… exasperated? Almost fondly so? Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me sooner. There’s so much we could have already talked about!”

And he doesn’t even want to ask, honestly. He knows that you’ll want to know all the gruesome details: how he was turned, does he kill people, all the things that he’ll answer even though he knows it only heightens the chances of you leaving, even if you said you weren’t. “Like what?” he asks, and it’s already so defeated.

“Um, where do I even start?”

And he sighs as you think a little bit, but before he can open his mouth to start telling his story or whatever, you speak again.

“I mean, first of all, just off the top of my head, do you digest blood?”

What.

The.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry?” is the only thing that he can get out.

“Well, it obviously has some nutritional value to you, but how does that work with organ function and all? You’re like, technically dead, right? Except you still have some organ functioning, so… which ones?”

“Which… ones?”

“Yeah, which organs work? I mean the consensus of vampire lore is that your heart doesn’t beat but your brain obviously works. If you need blood as sustenance, is your digestive system functioning, too? Do you have to breathe? What determines which organs you need to stay – well, maybe not alive, but existing? I guess?”

“I am so confused right now.”

“Uh, yeah, me too, Max! Why do you think I’m asking you?!”

His brain is so stuck that he can’t figure out any other response except, “So, you’re not leaving me?”

You do some sort of half-sigh, half-scoff and throw your hands up before letting out an emphatic, “No, Max, I already told you I’m not leaving you.”

“But you’re mad at me?”

“Yes, I’m mad! I could have already been picking your brain about all this stuff and you’ve prevented me from experiencing that joy until now!”

The two of you have just been a few feet apart in his living room this whole time, but now he needs to sit down. He crosses to his couch and collapses on it before burying his face in his palms. He doesn’t need the deep breath that he takes, but the motion makes him feel better. More stable.

The warmth of your body close to his just precedes your careful hand on his shoulder. Your voice is soft and concerned when you say his name.

He knows he should pick his head up and look at you, but he doesn’t feel ready to just yet. He needs just another moment to reorient himself in this conversation before he can face it.

You speak again before he can muster up the courage to say something. “I’m not really mad. I wish you had told me sooner, but I’m not mad at you. I’m just nosy and want to know everything all the time. And I have a lot of questions that the internet isn’t really able to answer.”

He chuckles softly, just a couple of quick exhales through his nose, and he finally feels able to look up and meet your eyes. When he does, he notices the soft smile gracing the corners of your lips and the way your brows aren’t furrowed anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I know.”

“You’re just so good. Too good for me. And I figured that once you knew what I really was, you’d never want to be with me. I didn’t want to let you go yet.”

“Oh, my love. I’m sorry if I did something to make you think that. You’re everything to me. It might take a minute for me to fully comprehend that you’re a vampire, but I know you, and I have no intention of leaving you.”

God, you’re perfect. It’s the only explanation. You are the most perfect person ever created and he is wretched, but somehow the universe has decided to give him the best thing it has to offer.

He lets his hand float up to your face, lets the backs of his fingers brush over your chin and up until he’s smoothing his fingers over your cheek. His thumb rubs gently over the space just below your eye, and he revels in the warmth he feels below the skin.

What’s two bombshells in one day, he decides.

“I love you.”

Your smile loosens in favor of your lips opening on an exhale, and your eyebrows raise. Your eyes are round and open and gleaming, and if he weren’t already immortal, the way his reflection in them is outlined in fondness would be enough to make him so.

He doesn’t have time to think about whether he should add some sort of qualifier, some sort of statement that you don’t have to feel the same, because he feels the breath of your response against his wrist when you say, “I love you, too.”

A few gentle kisses later, you pull away and your face changes, a slight smirk and a hint of mirth in your eyes as you say, “Okay, so can you answer my questions now? Digesting blood, yes or no?”

His answering laugh echoes through the room, and his non-beating heart swears to always answer whatever you ask.