#blood-sucking bastards | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

Third Base.

rating: 18+, explicit

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 9K

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

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

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

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

Prev | Next | Series Masterlist

🤍Masterlist

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

There is only warmth and rocking, gentle waves.

There is only this.

There is only him.

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

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

It’s not fun any more.

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

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

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

Max.

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

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

You asked for this.

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, now open the fucking door.”

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

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

“Alright, jesus. Gimme a fuckin’ –,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallows whatever was sitting behind his teeth and stares.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So unlike him.

“Can we talk?”

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

“Max, it’s late and I’m exhausted –,”

“Then I’ll make it quick.”

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

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

“You said you’d be quick –,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No – I mean, yeah, but –,”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? Then what was?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

Desire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, suspicious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah. I mean, I am if you are.”

“I am if you are.”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

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

“Then I wanna kiss you first.”

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

“Finally, something we agree on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you owe me a base, slugger.”

Max’s eyes widen. “Here? Now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just stick your head up my skirt.”

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

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

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

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

“No. I’m a monsterfucker.”

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

“Max, baby, please–,”

Your cunt actually aches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M-Max,”

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

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

“You taste different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What woman told you that?”

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

“The office manager?” You gape at him.

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

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

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

“But you didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

Max doesn’t eat. He feeds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you feel it.

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

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

Don’t fucking move.

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

He sucks and you come. Long and loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? They’re that bad?”

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

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

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

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

“Shark Week?” You giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s disgusting, Max.”

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

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

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

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

This can’t last, right?

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Max, let’s do it.”

Prev | Next | Series Masterlist

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

137 notes · View notes

fortjester · 7 months ago

Text

ur supposed to get one period a month yea? not me. i'm periodmaxing. we're on the fourth month of the year and guess how many periods i've had. brother, we are solidly on no. 7

#fuck off lou #my post #i know this is bad and yes im trying to figure out why this is happening #if i wasnt anemic before i sure am now #losing more blood than a stabbing victim #how was there only four days between my last one ending #and this one starting #a damn mystery to me ill tell you that much #i want to rip my uterus out and replace it w a cd player #make better use of the space ya know #but i cant even get my tubes tied until im 23 #like hell are they gonna let me throw the whole ute out #but guys. what if he sucks. like doc i kbow youre just doing your [patriarchal] job #fr. get real. he sucks. hes a bastard. he hates me and wants me dead #lemme kill him first it will be SO so funny #in other news. i may be in hell

25 notes · View notes

icanbeyourjedi-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Interview with a Vampire A Max Phillips One-Shot

Summary: Reader is sick, a curled up on the sofa while Max is at work, little did she know he'd surprise her coming home early while 'Twilight' is on TV Words: 1962 Rating: E for EVERYONE --Its a lot of fluff- Warnings/Triggers: Max is a vampire, he's kinda of an asshole, but its mostly fluffy, mentions of the movie Twilight, mention of sex and God...nothing really to bad. No mentions of reader descriptions, but it is written in first person from a female.

It's Friday the 13th it felt like a good day to share a Max Phillips story, something I wrote quickly to help get out of my writers block. And thanks to @musings-of-a-rose-writes for reading it before I posted ;)

**Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. **

The perks of being sick, besides the fact I don’t have to go to work. I get to snuggle into my boyfriend's old Princeton hoodie while having my lower half burrioted in a fuzzy blanket. I’m laying on the way over-priced leather couch that he just had to have. “It’s classy sweetheart, and I am a classy man," he had said when the delivery guys dropped it off in his great room. I’m warm in the little cocoon I’ve created and my eyes slowly close and I drift off for yet another nap.

My senses start to come too when I feel the fuzzy fabric moving, the feeling of his large hand rubbing the soft fabric up and down my calves that are now draped over his lap. I slowly blink awake, glancing at the wall clock on the far wall, it’s too early for him to be home. The sun has just started to descend. I stare at his sharp profile. The strong jaw, his Romanesque nose, and those pouty lips. Those lips that should be a sin to be able to kiss. I mean, technically they are a sin. He is a sin. He is the definition of sinful.

I turn my head seeing that Twilight happened to be the movie playing. His eyes focused on the images moving in front of him. He hated vampire movies, always complaining about how Hollywood portrays them. I see the remote sitting on the coffee table, in the same spot I left it. I lean forward reaching for it when his hand snatches it before I can even lift my arm.

“Now, baby girl…” he says, smirking and raising an eyebrow looking at me, “Bella is just about to tell Eddie boy what he is”

Maximus Phillips, senior sales manager, my boyfriend…and a vampire. Now you see, dating my boss was never part of my plans. And dating a vampire definitely wasn’t on my life BINGO card, but here we are.

“Max, give me the remote” I sniffle, sitting up and pulling my legs away from him

“But this is the best part” he puts his arm around me, pulling me close, rubbing his nose along my neck before placing a kiss to my pulse point

He is trying to distract me, and god damn it…it’s working. He sucks on the delicate skin he can reach. His hand sliding up my arm, his fingers grip at the material and pull it out of his way. A little nip has me meaning his name. “Mmmm Maaaax”, he nips at my skin again, and I feel him smile. Knowing Max it is probably more of a smirk. His hand slides around my throat, keeping me in place “shit foooooocmmmcus” I think, as I wrap my fingers around his wrist

“I know what you are”

“What are we baby girl?” Max asks, he sharp teeth grazing against my skin

My free hand grips his thigh, waiting for him to sink his fangs into me. “A vampire…” I say in unison with the movie.

“That’s right” he presses his lips against my skin

I open my eyes and see remote sitting next to him, I slide my fingers up, lacing them with his. I run my hand up his thigh, leaning into him more. Hoping and praying that he is still laser focused on my neck. My hand flies from his leg to reach for the remote. Before I can even realize what happened he is sitting on the lazy-boy, remote in hand. Almost teasing me with it.

“You gotta be quicker than that baby girl” he smirks. Turning his attention back to the movie.

“Max, please. Can we just watch something else” I beg

I watch Max, he throws his head back in laughter shaking his head as Edward sparkles in the sunlight. “This is the skin of a killer” the TV says, he laughs at that even harder. “This movie is full of lies”

“Aren’t they all?” I groan. I knew this was going to happen, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. But really this is all his fault, he came home early

“I don’t fucking sparkle in the sunlight, in fact I don’t know a single vampire that does”

“Well yeah, because you turn into a pile of dust” I smile at him

“How many bad vampire movies have you seen?” He questions, taking off his dark charcoal suit jacket, setting it over the armrest “I don’t turn into a pile of dust, and I don’t catch on fire either”

“The daylight ring protects that” I watch as he stands, undoing the knot I’m his red tie, and pulling it from around his neck. He drops it into my lap, walking to the covered floor to ceiling windows on the far side of the room, “Max…Max, what are you doing?”

“Showing you what happens to me in the sunlight” pushing a few buttons on the wall, the dark blinds begin to rise, letting the setting sunlight fill the room.

He starts to unbutton his white dress shirt. He stands in the middle of the windowsl, letting the sun hit his entire body. My eyes are locked on to him. His fingers slowly finish unbuttoning his shirt, “now sweetheart, I want you to watch…” he slides the silver ring off his finger. It makes a clink when it hits the hardwood floor beneath him.

“Max, don’t…you don’t have to do this”

I honestly have no idea what is going to happen. I mean he wouldn’t put himself in danger of melting, burning, turning into dust or wax..no wait that’s a witch. He gives a wicked small, while he lets the shirt fall to the ground. I sit and wait, and watch. He’s right…nothing happened. No sparkles, no smoke, no turning to dust.

“I told you baby girl, nothing was going to happen to Daddy” he smirks.

“Don’t call yourself that, it’s weird” I say, watching as he bends down to pick up his ring. He slides it back on his finger before picking up his shirt. There’s a faint glimmer from where the sun was hitting his back. I cough, trying to hold back my laughter. I end up coughing harder than I probably should have.

Max is sitting next to me in the blink of an eye. A hand rubbing up and down my back. “Sweetheart, are you ok? Baby?”

“I’m…cough..ok” I get out finally

Max pulls me close, pulling my legs over his lap as I snuggle into his chest. The sun had warmed him slightly. He was never ice cold to the touch but his body was always cooler than mine. Never even breaking a sweat when we fooled around. I turn my head up to look at him, I barely open my mouth “and no, I can’t read your mind” I swear I could almost hear his eye roll

“But, you just did” I smile, resting my head on his chest, “the movie does have one thing right”

“That we vampire’s are incredibly sexy”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. Confidence was something he didn’t lack. Nope, not one bit. Maximus Phillips knew he was attractive and he made sure everyone knew it too “it’s part of my charm” he would always say. I lace my fingers with his and set them on my lap. “I was going to say moody…” I grin turning my head to look at him, “but, sure sexy weeks too”

He frees his hand from mine, tucking his fingers under my jaw tilting my head up. He slowly brings my lips towards his. His eyes looking into mine, his tongue darting outs, quickly wetting his lips. A sinfully playful smile before they crash onto mine. It starts slow, gentle; his hand slowly moving to wrap around my neck. Licking the seam of my lips I let him in before quickly pulling back, “it’s alright baby…I can’t get sick…remember”

And he says he can’t read my mind. His thumb brushing the delicate skin just below my ear. I close my eyes and look down at our joined hands. Max leans forward, resting his forehead against mine.

“You sure you can’t find minds?” I sigh

“Maybe, just yours” he shrugs grinning from ear to ear

He places a quick kiss on my check and returns to watching the movie. I put my head back on his chest, his hand on my thigh. His thumb gently rubbing soothing circles while his other hand rubs my arm up and down. It’s gentle moments like this that I forget who and what he is, a man who can flip and switch. A man who is incredibly capable of snapping my neck with just a flick of his wrist if he wanted.

“Ugh…” he throws his head back, groaning and yet another vampire cliche “our eyes don’t change colors. They especially don’t change based on what we eat. Baby, why do you watch this crap?” it wasn’t a question though

It was a good question, I don’t really know why. Maybe because it was nostalgia, maybe it was because at the time, I thought it wasn’t just a cheesy vampire movie. Did I know at the time that a handful of years later I would actually be dating a vampire? No, it definitely wasn’t on my life’s ‘bingo’ card. I didn’t even believe vampires were a real thing…not until Max Phillips walked into my life.

“But they do, I mean not like that…but yours do”

He shakes his head, “they stay this awful shade of brown…they always have been” he kisses the top of my head before I turn to look up at him

“They are always brown, yes, but sometimes they are lighter. They have a honey color to them, sometimes they have a speckle of gold to them especially when you look at me and tell me you love me. Then, sometimes…when you are just about to ya know, they are almost black.” my hand holding on to his broad shoulder, he stares down at me and I see that little fleck of gold I was just telling him about. I scrunch my face, trying to hold back a sneeze but it doesn’t work. I have been holding it back for too long.

I closed my eyes, and sneezed all over his face before I could get my elbow up to cover my nose. I open my eyes to Max's face, something between annoyed and shocked that I actually sneezed on him.

“You sneezed” he comments

“Thanks, I didn’t realize that's what I did” I roll my eyes at him “wait, you can’t say it can you? You can’t say bless you…” he shakes his head no, “you can’t say God either can you?”

“No, I can’t say it, but I sure as hell can make you scream it…just before mine” he smirks, pulling away from me and going back to watching the movie

“Max…gross” I shake my head, wiping my nose on the sleeve of his hoodie and laying my head back on his chest. His laugh, deep makes his entire body shake and it’s moments like this. A domestic moment with him that makes me forget he's a vampire.

I had fallen asleep at some point, waking up to a dark room. Max had laid me down on the couch, a blanket wrapped around my body. My back pressed up against his chest, the thick, warm blanket between us. The final scenes playing out in front of us. Edward and Bella sharing a dance. He leans her back, his lips moving to her neck. Max’s hand resting on my hip, I can feel his lips moving against my ear. “I love you too…” he whispers

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal Characters #Chirstina Writes #Max Phillips #Max Phillips x Reader #Max Phillips x you #Blood Sucking Bastards #Pedro Pascal Character Fic

49 notes · View notes

legolasofmirkwoodforest · 4 months ago

Text

Modern AU Rhaenys and Corlys would be one of those couples who say, "He had an affair, but we pushed through it and came out stronger!" and you'd actually believe them.

8 notes · View notes

boredzillenial · 1 year ago

Text

Day 6: of @flightlessangelwings fawktober!

Max pays a visit during your first heat trying to “help”.

Theme: A/B/O, vampire!Max, Omega!reader, Omega heat, dub-con if you squint, pinv, praise, bit of Dacryphilia

A.N: My first time writing A/B/O! I get the jist of “heat” but I’m gonna play with the concept a bit!

You were curled under a mountain of blankets, shivering in a cold sweat as you rode out your heat. Surprise surprise one of Max’s colleagues was a werewolf and turned you, surprise surprise again when the “pills” Max gave you for your incoming heat didn’t work. Your pussy ached as you soaked yet another pair of underwear. You’d never been so wet in your life and no one was even around.

Masterbation took the edge off at first but now your body was throbbing for the real thing. Suddenly your ears perked for a moment, footsteps? Then a soft knock on your front door and… was someone fucking laughing?

You crawl your way out of the pile of blankets on your bed, your clothing sticking to your skin from the sheen of sweat and your thighs slid against each other. Peering out of the peep-hole in your door you saw the one person you truly did not want to deal with today. Your anger outweighed your better judgement as you whipped open the door “You…” you growled.

“Hey there,” Max’s shit-eating grin sent your blood boiling more than it already was. “We missed you at work tonight. I just wanted to drop by and see how the pills were working for you.”

“How does it look like they’re working…” A shiver rocked through you as his woodsy cologne hit you like a tidal wave. You shift on your feet as you lean on the door.

Max let out a dark laugh as he inhaled deeply, his eyes flickering to your groin. “Oh no, not very well it seems.” He feigned a nonchalant shrug as his next words came softly “I can help with that, since I’m already here.”

“Fuck. You.” Your eyes flash in a golden hue as your anger and lust fought for control.

“With. Pleasure.” His eyes darkened as he took a small step forward, gripping onto both sides of the doorframe. The wood creaked under his supernatural grip as he remained just on the other side of the threshold. The heat of his stare sent lightning through you. Werewolves weren’t susceptible to vampiric persuasion but your heat had your body screaming for any touch.

“You, you bastard -“ you shook your head in a desperate attempt to regain control.

“Let me help you.” He cooed, smirking as he began to undo his belt. Your eyes went wide as you watched him, knees practically buckling as you eyed his bulge through his boxers. “I won’t even make you beg for it. It’s right here.” He gripped himself through the thin fabric, the outline of his cock sent your mouth watering. “Just invite me in…”

“I - I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Your voice broke as you closed your eyes and took a shakey breath. “Come in-“

In an instant you were slammed against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist and his cock already pressing against the soaking fabric of your panties. His growl felt as if it tore through you as he ripped your soaked panties off you, the fabric biting your skin. The pain was soon forgotten as he sank into you stretching you the way your body was screaming for. His cock felt cool compared to the heat of your slick core.

He groaned and grit his teeth against your heat, “Fucking incredible.” His hips snapped, slamming into you over and over as he held you up. “That’s it, that sloppy cunt swallowing me so well.” He panted.

Your mewls and moans turned to sobs as your body reveled ��in what it was aching for. His cock like a cold compress in your feverish channel. “So good, why is it so good.” You whimpered pressing your cheek against his as you struggled to cling to your sanity. The slap of his skin against yours filled your house along with the soft drip, drip of your juices splattering the hardwood.

“Good girl, fucking cry for me.” He grinned as he licked a tear from your cheek. “So, fucking, good.” He punctuated each word with a thrust, the force against your clit sent stars across your vision. Your cunt fluttered around his girth as your orgasm washed through you. “Cum, cum on my cock that’s right.” He muttered into your throat as he grazed his fangs across your skin, his pace never slowing.

Your second orgasm came right after the first as a silent scream while you clung onto him. The chill of his body through his suit felt incredible as it sank into your own burning skin. “T-the bed.” You muttered as you tried to hang on. Two orgasms so close to one another sapped your energy.

Max carried you to the bedroom as you slacked in his grip. His dark chuckle filled your head as he laid you down with his cock still throbbing inside you. His reddish brown eyes bore into yours as he removed his suit. “For the next few days I’m staying buried in this hot little hole, you hear me?” He gripped your jaw as that dark fanged grin spread.

“Fucking leech.” You huffed. He rolled his hips and pressed into you as deep as he could, wrapping his hand around your throat. You took the chill of his skin against yours with a contended groan.

“Oh no sweetheart, I’m a tick -“ he began to grind his hips against you, the friction against your clit causing you to whimper again. “And I’m staying buried right here.” The slow churning of his pelvis against your clit and the stretch of his cock in your cunt sent you over the edge a third time. “Attagirl.” He smirked “We’re gonna have a fun few days. We’ll just tell the others it was team building.”

——————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @lunar-ghoulie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

#fawktober2023 #max phillips #blood sucking bastards #pedro pascal characters #max phillips fanfiction #vampire #werewolf #a/b/o fic #a/b/o fanfic #a/b/o au #max phillips fic #blood sucking bastards fic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction

25 notes · View notes

suckinitup · 4 months ago

Text

I love how all the characters are, even when their motivations are good, still Rat Bastards. arthur? Wants to find a cure for vampires and bring peace to two warring species. he also mega ate some dudes to death. Emizel? licherally vibing. protecting his brother and his friends. wouldnt give up one of HIS lives just on the off chance it would hurt his favourite weird cat. he’s also mega ate some dudes to death. shilo. deacon is kind / neutral to people who dont screw him over and he clearly prioritizes what he thinks is the wellbeing of his people over his dislike/apathy of whoever’s in charge. hes here to keep the masquerade, give convenient second chances, and have the coolest vampire horse in the world. He’s also a cop.

#deacon one of these days youre gonna feature here #in this whole little thing about your presentation of goodness being informed by your copliness allowed a Huge Bastard to menace #someone who was under your charge just a few short days ago #but also. maybe he was also blood bonded so he gets a lil slack #we dont know for sure #the suck

2 notes · View notes

talentforlying · 1 year ago

Text

there is definitely a rumor around that constantine's tongue is a diviner of occult phenomena because he always goes around licking shit and putting things in his mouth, but it's definitely not true. he's just a freak.

#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS.#in fact he's probably the one who started the rumor just to boost his own legend #also yes take all the innuendo you want out of that it's free of charge #like i think different kinds of magic / realms of existence Do leave behind tangible evidence that Does probably have different tastes #but i also think part of his methodology is simply 'will it fuck me up if i taste it'#bc the demon blood has a regenerative factor to it so like. what does he have to be afraid of #supernatural cooties might suck but they won't stick And he'll know what was going on in the end. win win #also i think he gets a weird amount of pride in having that shock factor card to play #'yeah demons taste like vinegar and angels taste like the oversaturated aftertaste of honey'#'how? do you know this??'#( enigmatic shrug. wiggled eyebrows )#( headcanons. ) I'M JUST LIKE THE BASTARDS I'VE HATED ALL ME LIFE.

9 notes · View notes

popcornforone · 2 years ago

Text

A Quick Snack

A Max Phillips Fan Fic

Do actual writing I need to over a long weekend… nope. Write a new Max Phillips Fan Fic… absolutely. Yep this was not on my radar, but here we are. Our favourite Vampire. Before you read I’ve only watched Max once & it was years ago but I have read enough to think I can get him right. Sorry if he’s not.

Synopsis: Max is your hangover cure, which give him his own high & is a good arrangement. But does a family reunion mean you will become more than a Snack for the creature of the night.

Word Count 6k

Warnings: DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 NO MINORS! PIV sex, mentions of other types of sex, Vampire lord & Vampiric traits including blood, murder, drinking, violence & devouring. Anger, stress, alcohol, drugs. Established relationship. I thinks that’s everything.

As always thank you for the read all feedback is welcome.

“We found love in a hopeless place, we found love…” it’s 1am & the bar is closing in half an hour & you’ve had a lot of cocktails & fun tonight, the perfect night with your friends. Dancing your heels away has started to hurt, but you are on such a high. A high that will definitely leave you with a hangover. That is a bit of an issue, you’ve got a family reunion lunch tomorrow & then party in the evening. If you turn up drunk, your parents will be disappointed in you & your grandparents will be disgusted. It’s okay though, you have a plan to cure it, which works every time.

As the bar closes you count your friends after they get filthy burgers & chips to help sober them up but you know not to, it’s not part of your cure but you do buy a bottle of water. “Are we all here & ready to go home” “no” Jess shouts “i still want to dance &…”she stumbles to the ground spilling her bag across the floor. You’re the mum of the group even drunk & help her up. You get everyone in the taxi line & when you know you are two taxis away you message him.

*almost home baby, ready for a quick snack*

You giggle as you get a reply that says

*ooooh nice, always delicious*

“Wooooo I’ve seen that face on you before, what’s his name?” Clare asks. You hide your phone but don’t see Maya look over your shoulder “It’s Maxie! that’s what her phone says ahhhhhh” “shhhhhhhh” you go to her. “When do we get to meet him?” “Is he nice?” “Why isn’t he out?” “Is he good in bed?” “Girls seriously!” You stop them all. “If you remember all of this tomorrow night I might let you know about him on Sunday” the taxi pulls up & you all climb in.

You are so grateful your apartment is on the ground floor, the idea of walking up flights of stairs is a step too many for your feet. You go inside & kick your shoes off sighing in relief”finally oh that feels good”. You stumble into the dark to the kitchen, past you remembered to put a bottle of water in the fridge & you grab it, before grabbing a bag of peas from the freezer & placing them on your neck. You gasp at first, feeling the coolness connect to your skin but it needs to happen to help your hangover cure. Without doing this you’d be in no fit state for tomorrow.

You remove your dress when you get into the bedroom & pull your thick blinds. You’d hoped he would already be here to make this even more enjoyable for you but he’s not. You take off your bra as well & slide on your strappy night dress. It’s made of silk & is red & clings to your body. The bed sheets you lie down on are also dark, so it can cover up for any mishaps. This is all preplanned & ready for your nights out & it works well for the both of you. You look at your phone, no messages to say he’s late or delayed. You remove the peas, lay on your back & your ears are pounding from all the music & booze. No weed or drugs, he doesn’t enjoy that & you want to make him happy.

You are almost asleep when you hear the bedroom door creek open. His broad shadowy figure instantly recognisable. Your hangover cure, your lover, & the man you are tomorrow going to to introduce to your family at the evening of this reunion party. Max Phillips. A creature of the night who you met on a drunken night out 18months ago. He was after prey but felt sorry for you as you tried to deal with your friend who was being kicked out of a bar. He helped you get her home & you asked him what you could do to thank him & that you’d do anything. You thought his fangs were fancy dress before he started kissing your neck & then bit into you, getting him drunk & curing you of your hangover in 5mins. He flew off but he’d already added his number to your phone. The next time you went out you asked if he was free & you had passionate sex in your apartment as he sunk his teeth in your neck. You both enjoyed it. He gets a high each time it’s not as potent a feeling as your hangover, but he sleeps it off during the day. Because of his powers it wears off much quicker than yours would. He loves it & so do you, it’s a good arrangement, but you now both agree that this needs to go a step further. He’s agreed to turn you at Halloween, the perfect day for you to also become a creature of the night.

“Even in a tipsy state & in a half light, you are still beautiful, my beloved” he smirks & slowly walks across the room. You’ve left the bed side light on so there is a small glow to the room. “Max, what took you so long” you reach up as he sit on the edge of the bed, undoing the top button on his shirt, dark blue. His skin always feels cold but so smooth. Lips that despite having no life in them always are so succulent to kiss. He may not have a beating heart but he makes yours race fast enough for the two of you. “Sorry darling, a guy was smacking his wife about & verbally abusing her while they walked their dog, so I am actually pretty well feed, & I had to go get changed before I got here.” “This is still going to work right baby” you question worried that he won’t want to feed on you as much, that you will feel rubbish tomorrow. “Also I wouldn’t have minded you being messy when you…” “yes you would have, he was a lot more than a snack” you blush. Max always is a moral person & doesn’t drink or drain for fun anymore, well he says that he always was but not since meeting you. But every now & then there is an exception because someone’s not a very nice person.

You sit up & place the bag of peas back on your neck again, ready to help numb the initial pain of the bite. You caress his face when you make eye contact before he kisses you. He may be cold but it still electrifies your soul, & the idea that this could go wrong always makes you shiver a little, there is always a slight risk. Max has always promised that if this ever does go wrong you will wake up after being turned 3 days later. “You ready my beloved, I know asking you in a drunk state isn’t exactly consent, but I need to know you are still happy with the risk?” He moves your long hair away from the left as he cups your chin “Maxie get bitey,” you giggle. That’s always been your confirmation. He removes the bag of peas,”the pleasure is all mine.”

You yelp. You always scream slightly. Feeling something sharp stab your skin always makes you yelp. Blood tests, piercings & tattoos always make you flinch & respond. His fangs have the same reaction. You grasp his thigh to make sure you don’t move so much, that he can sink into your flesh enough to get his flow to feed. The sensation is weird but arousing as he sinks deeper within the crook of your neck, knowing he will later be nuzzling into it when you have sex. You then feel a small trickle go down your shoulder. He’s found the vein that supply’s his meal. It’s cool as it starts to flow & you try to control your breathing. Being to turned on by this can lead to accidents & you pumping blood to fast. You have passed out twice because you’ve not controlled it. Thank god Max can also stop the bleeding with his vampiric powers.

Max moans as he slowly removes his fangs from deep inside your neck, making sure not to snip any over veins on his way out. His eyes have gone darker than they are anyhow, always large pools of chocolate dazzling back at you. “This is always my favourite meal, maybe it’s because we are dead soul mates” he sucks exquisitely on your neck taking his first slurp. His pupils dilate as the blood starts to coat his mouth. He loves you & that’s what makes the taste so delicious. He knows when he turns you he can’t drink from you anymore. He can’t drink from you all the time, he needs you fit & healthy & the best version of you before he turns you, he wants you to be happy with how you will eventually look for eternity. Fortnightly snacks are perfect or one off specialities like tonight when you need to be ready for the day ahead. His tongue glides across you & makes you moan & sigh. This means you’re safe, he’s not hit anymore veins & you’ve been calm enough that the stream he is feasting on is at a good pulse. He won’t spill a drop tonight.

You can hear him enjoying himself as he drinks, you know this roughly takes 5minutes, anymore & it becomes dangerous for you both. You don’t remember him setting a timer as he started to drink & you know you haven’t as you were almost asleep when he arrived. Anymore than 7 minutes will cause you to pass out & if he drinks too much he’s likely to want to devour all of you. No amount of turning would bring you back from that, you would be dead & that would be it. He can hear you gasp at this realisation & he can feel more liquid is his mouth as he swallows. He grabs your hand & rubs your knuckles, instantly soothing you. He knows he is too full to drink any further than 4mins tonight. He can feel your pulse & knows your heart rate so knows when to stop each time, unless he gets taken away, he only sets the timer to keep you at ease.

“Max you feel so good oooh baby, suck, drink it all, I’m actually going to miss you snacking on me I really am, it’s so intimate” the words are in a hushed tone as they part your lips. He has a smile on his face as he drinks thinking about how good his final snack of you will be. He slowly starts to move away, getting the last few drips in his mouth & presses his thumb across the two small holes on your neck. His mouth edges towards your ear, “delicious as ever baby, let me just seal you up.” His fangs as well as sinking into you, create an ooze that heals within minutes. It’s what flows in his veins to keep him undead instead of blood, but it does make him weaken, which is why he gets a little hungover from drinking you, after you’ve been out partying. It’s when the taste of your blood enters his system in these few seconds. The essence lands & seals the bite marks in seconds. It always hisses like a hot frying pan does when someone cooks bacon in it. You grown at the sensation, almost now feeling sober, but still with a slight high. He didn’t drink as much as usual but you know you will be fine for lunch tomorrow.

Max places the bag of peas back onto your neck to make sure there’s no residual follow up pain, before he licks his lips seductively & starts to take off his shirt. You glance up & see him roll his shoulders & start to rock his hips. The alcohol he’s drank out of your starting to make him playful & a tease. “Your hips know how to move baby they really really…”but your mouth drops open & the bag of peas fall to the floor & split open. Max has in one motion taken off his trousers & briefs, he’d been working on his fly & belt while he finished drinking you. He may not have any blood in his veins but he’s still long, girthy & erect, waiting for you to say yes. His trousers when he’s not hard, still show that Max should be very proud of what he has, he likes wearing those tailored trousers for that exact reason. “Bet no man danced like this for you tonight” he jokes a devilish grin appears on his face as his grooving body thrusts into the air. “I mean you’re technically not a man either baby” you laugh but then his hand is over your mouth. His blistering speed & reflexes means he’s hoovering over in a micro second as he also palms your mound as you moan into his mouth. “Do you consent Max?” You ask, knowing by the time he’s pounding you he will be drunk, “I do baby I do” he places his hand around your neck, not to harsh or forceful, but it means he can kiss your lips as he pushes you back into your pillows, & he glides his cock through your folds & into your core, your walls feeling every inch of his bare cock inside you.

Max is always silent during sex with you. It freaked you out the first few times, wondering if he felt anything due to him being dead, but he assured you he did, & that if he made noises it would shake more than just your body, the growl would shake the walls of the building. You learnt this when you had sex at his the first time. His sound proof room creaked as he plundered you. You enjoyed it but you love the pants & the eye contact he makes with you while he fulfils your needs. It’s intense beautiful yet disturbing & scary at the same time. You do make enough noise for the two of you. Each thrust you moan his name screaming at the end of any sex session. You moan into his mouth as he try’s to silence you with kisses which also keeps him quiet. His hand grips your throat further & makes you squeak, he wants to control your breathing, & by doing that makes you clamp down on his cock harder.

He stealthily withdraws, realising he was actually as well as his cock was pushing your knickers inside you, so he smoothly rolls them off your arse so they are now round your ankles, & then his relentless pace inside you starts again. A much firmer entry this time not holding back, a blistering pace to make you groan. He’s loving the sweet caress his hands are doing over your silk dress. Max doesn’t care that you’re covered by some slinky sexy material. Your breast are still hard & lifting the dress up as a tent due to his tease. As for your pussy, he is already inside you grunting, trying not to shout your name. He only needs to look at your face tonight, if he is going to go to euphoria with you. It’s not like he’s not seen your folds glistening for him before, though that’s his kryptonite. Seeing you masterbating as you are high on life is something else he would like you to do for him before you are turned into a Princess of darkness.

“Fuck Max fuck oooh yes yes” you body is pulsing at every thrust, every touch. You pull him close to you & lick the sweat off his long neck. Such a long neck. Perfect for nuzzling during a come down. Whoever got to feed on that neck before he was turned must have had an amazing time. He, she, they, them or a count, Max would have been delicious alive, because he’s pretty exceptional dead. He’s rocking into you hard, thrusting & biting his lip so he doesn’t cause your apartment to move. He is in a moment. He can feel the alcohol affecting him so he speeds up even more. His quick reflexes make him even faster than any man in the world, as his cock obliterates your core. You wonder as you sense your orgasm approaching, if he will be as fast when you also have these reflexes & speed. Not all vampires get the same power but you always pick one up from your master. You’re not his familiar but the deal is cast & he is the one who will be turning you.

You scream & growl “Fuck Maxie so bitey so big fuckkkkkk” & you cum. The orgasm hits you like a freight train & makes your whole body jolt & spiral. It’s the hardest you’ve ever had. Every sense is on fire igniting your being. You grasp his throat & can feel his rhythm change. He snarls & then digs his long nails into your hips. He fills you up, his seed coating you. He’s never asked if you were on birth control & has no idea if his swimmers actually could you pregnant, he’s dead after all. But you are on birth control just incase. As he slows & then leans into your body & whispers into your ear the 3 words you’ve always wanted to hear from any man. “I love you”. You gasp & kiss him deeply. When he’s done & collapses nuzzling into your neck, your stay in the embrace. You are sure for a second you can feel his heartbeat but then remind yourself he doesn’t have one. You eyes meet & he caresses your face. You sigh & say “I love you Max, beyond the forever, now help me sle…” Max blinks 3 certain ways to hypnotise you & you fall instantly asleep.

It’s the evening of the family reunion & it’s all gone well so far today. You’re a bit concerned, your cousin Amber is fretting about her husband who she argued with last night but he left the house & hasnt come home, but you’re also concerned that you’ve not heard from Max yet today. Usually he messages after he gets home from feasting on your neck & sex, so you will see it when you wake up. But not last night. You’ve message to remind him of tonight & that he is meant to be meeting your family & that you are sober, but not had a message back at all. So you’ve started drinking properly again & are on your 6th glass of champagne.

“Come do the monster mash” your sister try’s to drag you to the dance floor at your grandparents hotel that they own but you shake your head “no no no, my feet hurt to much from dancing last night, I can’t do it…” “did the hangover cure not fully work then?” Comes the smouldering tones from behind your left shoulder. You turn your head & smirk, pulling the biggest innocent but sexy eyes you have. Max is in a Black suit, white shirt & red tie. Hair pristinely in place. The perfect look to introduce any new boyfriend to your family “well I did get a very very good night sleep” you blush. He’s purposefully slow walking towards you before your fling your arms round his neck. He’s not hesitant in his kiss at all, rounding around your lips, kissing you with all the warmth in the world. His eyes dazzle back at you as you as always fall under his vampiric spell. He blinks once to make sure your still not hypnotised from last night & you pull on his dark red tie & lean in for the next kiss, only for your sister to say “erm hello I am still here, please finally introduce me to Maxie” you giggle & face her, as his hands pull you in close to his body. This is a big thing for him tonight, he doesn’t want you out of his grasp.

The last person you need to introduce Max to is your Grandpa which could be very awkward. “I’ve warned you about this Max okay please try & be you, but not you” Grandpa wheels over in his wheelchair & grabs Max hand firmly to shake it. Max hisses a little. “Max Grandpa was a priest, Max is Recruitment Manager & Motivational Influencer” you state. Years of touching holy water, means there’s still some residue on your Grandpa plus he had been to church that morning, Church & vampires don’t mix. “So will you make a honest woman out of my little snack” he asks. Max looks at you confused “snack?” He asks “when I was 4 I used to run round this hotel on a snack hunt, irritating the staff, so I became little miss snack” you giggle with your Grandpa & Max if he could would blush, he can feel he’s a little bit embraced as that’s his name for you too. “Yes, we’ve had a complicated relationship for a long time but I’m finally ready to commit to this, forever & beyond that” Max devilish smile is on his face as you sip more champagne “well if you do I still have my license, if I’m still around I can marry you in the name of…” “Grandpa!” You shout, trying to make sure Max doesn’t hear the word God & start to enrage, especially as he is a man of God, it would be too easy for Max to start devouring him. “It’s okay my beloved, your offer is sweet sir” Max says grabbing your hand “but my family, well there’s a lot of us, we have a very special commitment ceremony that happens, it takes place over lots of days & is very enjoyable” “I’m sure you can fit one more tradition in there for the brides family, all my grandkids have got married by my in my old church under God watchful protection”. You couldn’t stop it that time, Max is making a fist with his hand & is doing some heavy breathing. “Grandpa im sure that we will be able to sort something out with his, but Max & I still need to discus a few things before we get to that point” “well hurray up & decide you two, your not going to live forever & neither am I & id like to give you both a blessing” as he says that word he grabs both your hands, which sting Max as the grip is much firmer.

You leave your Grandpa & head into the garden for some air. Max did his best but all of that has made him uncomfortable & seething. He is proud he didn’t lose control for you, however if he doesn’t drink soon, he may snap into his full monster if provoked by anyone. Out of your hand bag you produce a small vile for him of your blood from when you cut yourself accidentally the other day & automatically thought to save us much as you could for Max. It’s not much but he smiles & it’s gone in 3 gulps. “Little does your Grandpa know that we will live forever my beloved” he tentatively kisses you, trying desperately not to bite your lip for more blood “he also wouldn’t like to know that I was born in the year 1916 & am older than him, imagine that.”Max chuckles “me finding my souls mate who’s 72 years younger than me” “& you don’t look a day over 35” you giggle & finish your alcoholic drink. He looks deeply into your eyes before he kisses you with hunger & desire. You push him away slightly & raise a finger to his lips. “Maybe we should both be drunk for the end of this party?” You ask, Max raises an eyebrow “the flows from your finger is not good enough to cure you baby” he says “that is true but why don’t you concentrate on sucking my finger while I…” your other hand is undoing his belt buckle. “Oooh my little snack oooh yes” he licks up your finger, when you both suddenly hear a high pitched scream from the house of Sheer panic.

You both run back inside when you see Amber screaming hysterically at everyone. She’s just been asked to go & identify a body that they think might belong to her husband. “Max can drive her there he doesn’t drink, I’ll come with you baby” you volunteer the two of you & you head off. “It’s okay Amber I’m sure it’s a false alarm it’s fine.” “But they said on the phone it was like he had been eaten by a lion, whoever’s body it is, even if it’s not Kanes, im scared to look at” you calm her down in the back seat of the car, her dad mum & 2 siblings are following in a Taxi. “Im sure he’s fine, no one would hurt him” “yes they would he’s not a good person” & that when you can see through here tears the bruises on her face. “Did he…” “every night for the last month he’s either physically or mentally abused me, he left in anger when I said we didn’t need to walk around the block with the dog again last night, he punched my face, called me a whore & then left…” you sit there saying reassuring things to her. However it’s only when she gets out of the car & heads into the station with her family, that Max sighs & puts his foot down to drive away very suddenly.

“Max what the hell what’s up” you say as you crawl Into the front passenger seat from the back of the car, he slows down as you attempt this, but speeds away once your in the seat “did he have a buffalo tattoo?” “What!?” “Her husband Kane did he have a buffalo tattoo?” “He had lots of tattoos Max I’m not sure…” you pause & then look concerned “was the dog a Jack Russell?” You ask & his face looks embraced as he turns to face you “MAX!!!” You scream & he does an emergency stop. You’re panting & in a panic,”did you kill & eat Kane? Did you! DID YOU!?!?” Your stare is hard, if Max had a soul this look would be destroying it. “Max you promised me a year ago, you had stopped eating people at random. There’s no excuse for this at all” “he was abusing her” “two wrongs don’t make a right Max! I can’t believe it, I though you were on the straight & narrow” you grab your bag & go to undo the car door but it’s locked “Max let me out I…” be he speeds off into the Forrest, jolting you back into the chair in panic.

“Max, let me out, Max, I can’t do this, you’re scaring me baby, please I want to be alone, please” He stops the car & you face him. He’s not looking at you, but you can tell he’s angry. “Max please, drive me home please, please please…”& then you freeze, he’s turned to face you in his full vampiric hunting form. His eyes are dark crimson Red, his fangs long & his growl is earth moving. The car & trees surrounding you shake from the noise he just made. You’re petrified to the seat & can’t move. “Max no, Max I can’t, Max let me go I…I… ahhhh”… He lunges forward.

You leap out of bed screaming & you hear your alarm going off. “MAX!” You scream ferociously & you see he is in your kitchen in his briefs washing his hands. He turns around startled before dashing back into the bedroom “what is it my beloved, what’s wrong” you grab your phone & check the date, & time silencing the alarm, the family party starts in just over 2hs. It was all just a dream? Your breathing is raged & you know to calm it you should hug Max to feel him being cool against your skin, but you don’t want to until you hear him confirm something. “I… I had a dream while i slept in your hypnosis” “&..” he asks while caressing your knuckles & checks you are fully out of his trance. “last night before you drank from me, you said you’d snacked on someone who was abusive & was walking a dog… did you kill him… did he have a Jack Russell?” Max laughs, “of course I didn’t kill him, I don’t do that anymore, why did you dream I did?” “But it was a Jack Russell right?” Max sighs “yes it was” you go to complain but Max continues “I hypnotised him then ruined his mental state & then started to drink him but he had been smoking pot, so I just dumped his hypnotised ALIVE body back on the porch. The reason I was late getting to you was because I hate blood that tastes of drugs, so I wanted to clean up first, if I’m gonna drink from my best supply I don’t want my mouth contaminated” you blush a little. “Sorry Max I dreamed you murdered him & then kidnapped & tried to devour me instead of turning me” Maxs grabs your hand, “the only thing I want to devour of yours is that glorious little cunt you have”

He straddles across you on the bed, & pushing you into the mattress, before finally Removing your red silk night dress exposing your naked body to him. “Do I have time for a taste before you have to leave?” He mumbles as he trails kisses down your neck. His large hands palming & squeezing your breasts. “I think you’ve only got time for one, I need A shower before I go, so sex or oral baby? You pick” you giggle. The way he sits up & puts his thumbs in his waist band answers your question. “I want to make your walls quiver around me while I fuck your precious little cunt” he releases his length stroking it leisurely before swiping it through your slick to lubricate it. You gasp as he nudges nearer & the you wrap you legs round his waist. “I know you have all the speed & vigour in the world baby, but I want you to fuck me like you would have when you were human” he giggles a little “so rampant after the Second World War sex it is then” you laugh & go to speak but your voice turns into a whine as he slots his penis inside you & starts rocking his hips.

Max sighs as he hears you gasp for air, his cock sliding through your walls as he rocks into you. One had on you hip massaging it, the other between your two bodies teasing your clit, the way he knows you like it. “Over 70 years of sex dead or alive, has helped me work out what to do with a woman’s body when she’s needy bbbuutttt…..oooooh fuck” you push into him & he can feel every inch of your core “but I….”he’s panting “I’ve never had a cunt as responsive as yours my beloved” Max rolls his head back & the shoulders jutter, his torso breathing breathily. He may not have blood or a pulse but it still doesn’t mean he can’t get a work out or out of breath as he has sex with you. “Max your talking during sex, should I be concerned…” “no my love, just RTwwaeeeerrr Arghhh” he grabs onto your hip & growls loudly & you can not just feel your body move & respond to his passion but you can feel the bed frame wobble. If this was hard fast vampiric sex you’d expect this but no, this is because his growling & talking, it’s is actually shaking your bedroom. You swing your arms round his neck & pull him down to you “kiss me through it Max, that will keep us both quiet & keep the building in one piece”.

Lips of desire, that for over 90 years have kissed countless women. Have feasted on everyone & everything, that can kill you in an instant. Which house fangs sharper than a butchers knife. Poison coursing through his veins & a curse of the undead. & yet when his mouth connects with yours in this moment, it’s sweet, silent & succulent. He has decided you are his undead souls mate, you were just drawn together. He’s never had this connection with another person before or after being turned. & he’s looked, oh has Max tried everyone, but now here he is with you in your 1 bed apartment in 2023, on the city outskirts, making love to you a receptionist for a local adverting company, pounding into your pussy at the slowest rate he can (which is still fast compared to most men) knowing your blackout blinds won’t fail, & that the only burning sensation he will have is his frozen heart trying to come back to life to make you stay & not go to your family party. He loves you & he can’t wait to have you as his when he has turned you. You might be normal & boring to the rest of the world, but you are the person Max has been searching for all his extraordinary life.

As your lips part he has to go faster he needs more friction, more moans from you. If your neighbours hear he doesn’t care. In 4months time you’ll be living together as vampiric soul mates else were. Let them complain about your moaning, you’re both having fun & not hurting anyone. His pelvis is thrusting & his cock throbs as he can feel you tighten more against him “Maxie ooooh Max fuck fuck fuckkkkkkk” “arghhhhhh” Max growls & the painting on the walls start to shake as he screams the words “this fucking cunt is insane”. Those words & the glass in a frame shattering make you both cum within 4 thrusts of each other. You shut your eyes & scream in desire before you feel his hot lips, covered in sweat from his face, lock with yours. “Fuck yes baby oh ooooooh my g…” he shhhs you before you can say the word god. It’s always been hard to to scream that during sex with him.

After snuggling for a few minute you realise what the time is & know you’ve got to get a move on. You shower & get dressed “ooooh you’ve gone for Dark Red & Gold I see, I’ll make sure to pick out my tie that matches” Max giggles & you throw a pillow at him as he wraps his dressing gown around him.”it’s a ruby wedding anniversary it makes sense doesn’t it & you are sure you’ve got my grand parents address, remember he…” “used to be a … yes yes I know my beloved” & he follows you to the door of your apartment. You wrap your arms around him & deliver 3 pecks to his lips. He tries to bite it on the third. “Remember not to eat any of my family later okay, especially Kane even tho he deserves it” He laughs & stands in the door frame as you step into the natural daylight in the hall way to leave the building “why would I want to bother with them, when I can snack on you later, especially as I’m driving, drink all you want baby, I can get high off you later.” You lean back in & kiss him once more “Oooh Maxie, always so bitey” you say as you let go of him. “7pm see you then” he calls out as you leave your building. You get in the taxi & send him a message

*were both each others snack baby*

*well I’d best get some sleep to work up all my appetites for tonight then could be a long night*

You smile at his reply, realising that soon he will be your forever. He might no longer have you as a snack, but you both know that forever with each other won’t be long enough for the plans you have.

#smutt #fanfic #my fics #no minors #pedro pascal #max phillips #max phillips fics #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #blood sucking bosses #blood sucking bastards #vampire #vampire fiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

17 notes · View notes

kaldurrr · 1 year ago

Text

watched the last voyage of the demeter

#i hate him #i hate that blood sucking bastard #dracula daily #last voyage of the demeter

7 notes · View notes

sundial-bee-scribbles · 2 years ago

Photo

“maybe i was meant to be alone...”

cutely combines two of my hcs: he’s got blue blood [b/c it looks cool], and he’s very unlucky when it comes to relationships

#my art lol #vocaloid #vocaloid fanart #fukase #fukase vocaloid #vocaloid fukase #blood tw #gore tw #blue #blue blood #red #tears #heartbreak #IM GETTING TO THE ASKS SORRY lemme just post this before the day's over 😭#last fukase friday of the year...#man i can never draw this mfer consistently 😔 something's always fckin different when i draw him #either i forget some detail or its the hair. HIS HAIR. ITS NOT EVEN THAT COMPLICATED OF A HAIRSTYLE BUT IT SCREWS ME UP SO HARD #I DONT KNOW WHY I SUCK AT DRAWING HIS HAIR SM 😭😭😭 it legit looks different every fcking time i draw this bastard.#if you compiled all my art of him im positive he'd look wildly different in each fcking one. UGHH. why is consistency so hard

13 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

Second Base.

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 3712

summary: you try out second base; hand stuff only, but it changes things between you two, as much as you don't want it to.

warnings/tags: cute little outfits designed to drive max nuts, hand jobs (m and f receiving), more blood, fangs, one emotionally unavailable vampire

a/n: this contains one of my favorite lines i've ever written!

Prev | Next | Series Masterlist

🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

Second base.

Because you aren’t actual sadists or masochists, after the first bite, your sex life with Max went back to normal. Well, as normal as sex with an immortal creature of the night ever was in the first place. Okay – as normal as sex with an immortal creature of the night who is Max Phillips ever was in the first place. Which is to say, often, hard, and loud. It had been weeks since you’d seen that worried look of consternation, that sweet vulnerability he expressed, as if feeding on you might be the thing that kills you and not being railed against your couch for the better part of an entire day. Sometimes you wished he had much respect for your ability to walk upright as he did your jugular vein.

On some level, you were aware that his recent overexuberance was in part due to that vulnerability. As if you might lift the curtain and find that the man behind it all might leave you wanting. Truly a frat boy at heart, Max struggled to express anything that couldn’t be summed up with the three “ings” – licking, sucking, and fucking, obviously – but now, he had been exposed as someone capable of those deeper feelings, as if he had been the one to split open a vein for you. And despite the heavenly glow you indulged in after the first bite, you really weren’t quite sure how you felt about it all. You hadn’t started dating Max with any illusions about who exactly he is. In fact, you might have started fucking him in the first place because it seemed wildly out of character that he or you would get attached at all – to anyone or anything. The dating thing just sort of happened, when you both came to the same conclusion at roughly the same time: no one else was really doing it for you, so why not? So what if you only directly referred to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend in the privacy of your own apartment, or his? So what if half of the office was entirely clueless about your relationship and the other half was actively placing “secret” bets about how long you two had been fucking? Annoyingly, Tim had been the one to be almost right: “six months ago, I’m telling you, man. That’s when he stopped eating secretaries and she got so much nicer.”

Technically, he stopped eating secretaries about a month into your relationship, and what Tim accidentally overheard was not him “eating” a “secretary”, but you weren’t about to correct him. But Max found it all hilarious: “he’s right, you’re so much nicer when that pussy has been taken care of. But I like it when you’re mean.”

You actively choose not to think about what he meant by a “deep emotional connection” last time.

Fine, Phillips, I’ll show you how mean I can be.

“Nope, no, uh uh.”

You put your hand just over the frilly blue lace on your hip. “I’m sorry, I don’t see the problem.”

It had been about a month since first base and while Max had gotten notably more relaxed around you seeing him eat – he now occasionally walked around your apartment with his food in an opaque smoothie tumbler with a straw – he was still very strict about moving onto second base.

Which, if left up to him, meant you’d be wearing a straight jacket and thick flannel pajamas.

“Max, if we’re ever going to do this thing for real, you’re going to have to get used to seeing me naked. I’m not letting you fuck me and bite me while I’m in riot gear.”

“Okay, but, baby,” he whines and he can’t help himself from rubbing the satin bow above your crotch between his fingers. “You look like a birthday cake.”

Is the baby blue lingerie with a strapless bra that catches around your biceps with white lace a bit overboard? Yes. But last time was ridiculous.

Max frowns, his visible pout morphing into something subtly dangerous as he realizes he can unpeel your bra with a string in the back. “Can’t I just fuck you normally in this and then we’ll try again later?”

You swat his hand away as it sneaks across your ribs.

“No.”

“You know, if I wasn’t already dead, I’d think you’re trying to kill me.” Smirking, he drops his hands down to your waist and, not so subtly, curves them around the mold of your ass. Distractedly, he slips one finger under the seam of your panties. You press your hands against his chest and blink up at him coyly.

“Whatever gave you that impression.”

He shakes his head, squeezing your ass once. “And I’m supposed to be the soulless demon with a heart of darkness.”

“So you’ll do this?”

With a sigh and his eyebrow jumping, he nods. “Yeah. Fine. Go get on the bed.”

Trying desperately not to squeal, you tear away from his arms and all but run and leap on top of the white towel. Max slips out of his shoes, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You bite your lip, nerves humming in anticipation, as you sit up on your knees to watch him. To your enormous dismay, no matter how hard you worked, no matter how much spit or cum you used, you could not make him purr again. You’d had wet dreams on the idea alone of putting your head against his chest as he vibrated but he swore it was involuntary. “And,” he added as a way to soothe your ego, “I’m pretty sure it can only happen when I’m feeding.”

“Does it happen every time? Like with blood bags or back when you hunted people?”

“No,” was all he said about that.

Max slips his shirt off over his shoulders and goes to work unbuttoning his pants. When they slide off his hips, you frown.

“The boxers with the hole in the waist? Ooh, baby, I’m so turned on when you make such an effort.”

He rolls his eyes as he climbs in next to you. “Look, I didn’t think you’d be seeing my underwear and I need to do laundry.”

“You didn’t think I’d see your underwear in a situation where we’re going to specifically jerk each other off?”

Attempting some version of contrite, Max’s gaze falls from your face to your throat, to your clavicle, to your tits, pillowed up for him beneath the blue lace. He leans in as if pulled by magnets.

“I’m sorry if I thought we’d both be a little more preoccupied.”

His broad palm smooths across your thigh, around your hips, to just above your tailbone, his nose drawing indistinct lines from your shoulder to your ear. You sort of hate how quickly he can make you not irritated with him. You shift to take him into the cradle of your thighs, when he winds your panties up in his fingers and tugs. The gossamer material tightens just over the seam of your pussy, teasing your clit, you choke. That heated, teasing Max Phillips smirk spreads like hot butter across his lips.

“What are the rules again?”

“Max,” you whine as you drag your nails over his chest and up his shoulders. But he hesitates, his hand knotting your underwear in his fist. One move and it’ll rub against you again.

“I’ll stop,” he murmurs in a half-sing-song voice. You huff.

“Silver. Bad touch, on your skin. Lightheaded or dizzy, I use the safeword. And,” you sigh. He’s so painfully handsome sometimes it hurts. He’d set out candles again, as if he needed any help in his seduction of you and he just sort of glows. You don’t know if it’s your anticipation or some vampire illusion, but every line on him is blurred. Soft, as if he doesn’t have your pleasure literally in his hands. There it comes again, that small bit of light in his eyes, the emergence of the early morning sun over the horizon. The way he looks at you makes your chest heavy. “And . . . only hand stuff,” you grumble.

He chuckles, pouting at you in faux-sympathy as he reaches out, other hand wrapping around the back of your neck. “Only hand stuff, she’s so sad about it,” he whimpers into your cheek with a high, mocking voice.

Your fingers dig into the skin on his chest, daring to hold him away as he goes for your mouth. “I swear to god, Max –,”

In one single fluid motion, he pushes on your tailbone, and swings your hips forward as he tackles your mouth with his own, effectively yanking you under him. You huff in surprise, before pulling away to find menace and glee in his eyes. Grins again as he nips with flat teeth on the curve of your neck.

He plants wet, hot kisses across your chest, heat blooms against your ribs and tunnels down between your legs, as he tongues the softer places along the hollow of your throat, then up the other side of your throat, teasing your earlobe.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “that was mean. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Pressing your chest up against his, knowing he can feel the squish of your tits, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. His hard cock rubs up against your seam and he lets loose with a muffled groan into your mouth. You roll your hips once with him between you and he turns his head to your jaw, as you both pant at the sensation.

“You know exactly what I want.”

His teeth graze you gently. This is an exercise in restraint for you as much as it is him. Given any other night, you’d have his pants off by now, on his back, or behind you, but you refrain. You can’t squeeze him like you want to and that only frustrates you more, makes you heated and ruffled, makes you want more of his skin on you, around you, as if he could smother you. You want to merge your bodies. Your knees dig into his ribs.

He whispers something, too low and fast for you to catch it, but it ends broken and uneasy as if you’re touching something delicate within him. Bending back with one hand, Max reaches between your legs and cups you, one finger barely pressing the wet material back inside you.

“Was this waiting for me under all those layers?” You nod as he pushes deeper, your mouth dropping open. He kisses your chin, before tucking his head under your jaw again. “No wonder you were burning up.”

He inhales as if his face was pressed right up against your cunt, two fingers rubbing up and down over that sodden material. It scraps against your clit and it burns. “I could eat you. Just like this.”

“Max, c’mon–,”

“I know, baby, I know.”

Smearing that pink little bow with the smell of you, he dips his hand under the line of your underwear, past your damp curls, and soothes your overheated sex by filling it with two thick fingers. You arch, brow furrowing, mouth open, fingers clamping down around his shoulders, arousal crawling up your spine, higher and higher the deeper he goes. Max likes the build up, the tease, it’s why his thumb only hovers above your clit, the heat doing half the work for him, as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the wet squelching almost embarrassing. Behind his hand, his hips swing in time. He groans, deep, into your ear, breathless.

“Could come like this, baby, could come right like this.”

The bend of his cock bumps the back of his hand as he thrusts against nothing. You hitch your pelvis up, opening wider, pussy easier within reach, and you forgo any teasing for him, hand sliding right past his boxers, molding your grip around him. He’s hot and leaking all over your fingers.

“‘Ngh . . . shit, baby.” The arm holding him up shakes. You want to lick the salty precum but there has to be a rule about that, right? If you aren’t so desperate for that final fuck, you would have been a bit more careless. His fingers inside you press up into the places only he knows can send you into oblivion, as if grateful for tearing him apart. His wrist flicks quicker, faster into you, fingers plunging deeper, up to the knuckles, bouncing you as if you were on his cock. You match his speed with your own hand and Max hums, a dark sound verging on distressed.

You bite your bottom lip, eyes drooping, the rocking motion scraping against your pleasure again and again, like a match scratching against the box one stroke at a time. “Maaax –,” He adds a third finger and you keen, high-pitched and desperate, the width stretching you out for a cock he won’t let you have. You grind against his fingers, the bounce knocking loose every sane thought in your head.

Opening your eyes, you realize he’s been staring at your tits this whole time. His chest warm and glowing with sweat, his eyes track every bounce and jiggle, the cups of your bra putting them more on display than if you held them up yourself.

“Where do you want it, darling?” His voice is strained, softer than it should be with your cunt sucking up his fingers.

Max Phillips doesn’t do cutesy nicknames. Not during sex, not ever. Your his slut. His monsterfucker. Not –

Your already unspooling mind struggles to grasp at darling before it slips away.

His cock is throbbing against the palm of your hand. If you could see it, it would be flushed red, the vein at the base protruding. You pump him faster and his hips stutter. He’s so close and so are you.

But he’s not talking about that.

“On my tit, Max. Bite me on my tit.”

With a groan that is all growl, all tension and feral hunger, his arm collapses and he sinks his weight against you. He manages to get his hand out, but yours is still trapped there, pinned between your tender cunt and his painfully hard cock. You writhe. “Max–,”

His kiss against your lips is a starving sort of one, one that steals the breath from your lungs, wiping any lingering ache temporarily from your body. He licks the inside of your mouth, swallowing the moan that races from your throat into his. It’s all need, desire, a blistering familiarity that you didn’t realize existed between you two. He’s trying to say something with this kiss.

He doesn’t give you long to read into it, as he pulls back, sinking more into his knees as he mouths the skin under your neck, above your clavicle bone, and in between the valley of your tits. His weight shifts off you, enough to pull your hand out. You arch, pushing your chest deeper into his mouth, using the back of his neck to pull you higher, he groans and licks, and you yank the tie of your bra behind your back.

“Max, you can –,”

His hand claws at your cups, mouth consuming yours again, the ropes almost stinging your back as they are ripped so fast across your heated skin. Before you lie flat, his hand cups under you, fingers pressing into where the threads burned and forcing you to maintain that bend in your spine.

The moment is coming. You can feel it. It’s different from a rising orgasm, or the first time he ever sucked your nipple into his mouth. Your lizard brain is sending off warning flares, but you ignore it once again. Those flares arc and bend, your arousal now fire hot.

His tongue pressed flat, Max draws a long stripe of spit from under your breast, over the weight of it, and up your nipple, where he swirls it between his teeth. Whether Max Phillips was an ass or tits man depended on the day of the week, or whatever was blowing in the air, but he laved attention onto yours like they were the first pair he’d ever seen in his life. The skin on your other breast shines from where his fingers mold around it, smearing your wet juices all over your pebbled skin. He switches over and laps up that smell off you.

He’s wavering, caught between drawing it out and doing it so instantaneously he might black out and miss the whole thing. Your heart racing, skin almost too sensitive, you feel like you might shudder apart.

“Max, please –,”

He chooses the second approach.

Without warning, his fangs spring out and he latches onto the skin near the valley of your chest on your right breast.

You yelp in surprise, pain and pleasure zigzagging like rough scissors from his bite out through the rest of your body.

Okay, that hurts.

You gasp, bucking, yanking on his hair. “Baby, baby, gentler, be gentle–,”

He swallows and the ache lessens. Hot blood pools out of the spot where his fangs punctured you. It runs warm then cold, teasing like a feather, as it rolls down your stomach. It’s not a lot, but it's more than last time. It stains his chest too.

Slowly, that same sort of miraculous fog sinks down into your bones. The grip on his hair eases, softens, and soon you are petting him against you.

You swear you feel his fangs scrape your heart.

“That’s good, Max, that’s so good.” Your eyes roll lazily in your head and you nuzzle his hair. “God, how does this feel so good?”

As though determined to remind you he is more than just fangs, his hand pulls away from the mattress and slides back between your legs. You feel only one finger brush against your folds through your underwear – you’re almost disappointed, go back to using three, Max –

His finger plunges deep, deep inside of you, and you gasp, feet scrambling against the towel, as a swell of pleasure almost smothers you in an overwhelming wave. You nearly choke from the force of it. You were so overly sensitive but the gooey haze didn’t let you realize it until it was too late. You come hard, harder than you thought possible, seeing eons of galaxies and stars behind your eyes, with just one of his fingers inside you and his thumb distractedly circling your clit.

He feels you gush around his hand, wetting his wrist, and with a moan you can feel in your ribs, he spills in his boxers, the spend running down his thigh and smearing on yours.

Your entire body goes slack, as if someone had made all your bones disappear. His hips jerk slightly as if his orgasm is still trying to wring him dry before he stills and plucks his head from your chest, unplugging his fangs from the holes he made.

Blood immediately bubbles up from the wound and without his fangs there, it spills freely and violently over your tits, your ribs. The whiplash between your orgasmic high and a full-body weakness sends hot nausea swooping into your stomach and the room spins.

“M-m-ax,” you murmur, barely opening your mouth, your voice weak and thick as if stuffed with cotton balls.

“Fuck, sorry –,” you can’t quite see him clearly as he moves and suddenly there’s a warmth over your chest, comforting and heavy. The blood trickles to a stop and you breathe deeply. The darkness of the room stabilizes as you fully open your eyes. The room spins but this time pleasantly.

“Hmm, whoo, wow, ah, okay . . .”

You don’t realize he’s gotten off the bed until the mattress sags again and he’s cleaning you up with cold cotton balls.

“So, I’m going to take that mindless babbling as a good thing.” He smiles gently, but he’s holding something back. He keeps his head low like he doesn’t want you to see his face.

You wiggle your shoulders, as he delicately wipes you down. “What, you don’t wanna clean me up with your tongue? And why do you even use disinfectant – there’s no open wound.” You poke him in the shoulder with your toe. “And you didn’t even purr that time! I demand a refund!”

“Next time, okay?”

You frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just let me–,”

You sit up, the dried blood pinching your skin, and he pulls away. “Max, what is it?”

He pulls away so much, he’s on his feet by the dresser before you can touch him, the back of his arm tearing at his mouth to wipe it clean. Max is a lot of things but cold when you need aftercare is not one of them.

“It’s nothing.” The line of his shoulders is taught, tense. But he cracks his neck and takes the Gatorade from the dresser. He finally sits back down on the bed in front of you, offering the bottle to you. You take it, unease mounting, your fingers brush his, but this time he doesn’t retreat. Instead, gently, his fingertips ghost over your wrist, down the fine hairs on your arm, drop from your elbow and settle delicately on the blue material covering the crease of your hip. Where your blood had pooled, wet, and stained the blue to a deep magenta.

“I ruined your pretty underwear,” he says softly, forlorn.

You move closer to him, your knee touching his hip, but you refrain from seeking out the warmth of his hands.

“Max, I can get new ones, I don’t care about that. Please, talk to me. Did I do something wrong? Did I push you too far?”

His fingers flex around the towel, now also appropriately ruined. He shakes his head, more firmly this time. He snags his shirt off the floor, over his head, then moves towards the bedroom door.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m sticky. I’m gonna take a shower. You wanna come?”

The invitation, it’s something, an encouragement you genuinely feared he might not give. Maybe it’s not you he wants to part from.

You didn’t enter into this for the emotional connection and neither did he. You have to remember that.

“Y-yeah. Of course.”

He invited you. He still wants you around.

Prev | Next | Series Masterlist

#max phillips x you #max phillips smut #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x reader #max phillips #max phillips x f!reader #blood sucking bastards

97 notes · View notes