#bloodsucking bastards fanfiction

[wannab-urs]

Red Right Hand

Summary: You and Max have dinner and then you get freaky. It’s almost too much for poor little Maxxie to handle. 

Pairing: Sub!Max Phillips x Vampire!Dom!f!reader

Warnings/content: Pure porn, pwp, Blood drinking (they’re both vampires), minor character death (your victim lol), murder… obviously. sub!Max, Dom!reader, unprotected PiV (they’re vampires, you are not), uhhh blasphemy probably, face riding, cum eating, Max’s vamp face, oral m! and f!receiving, overstimulation m!receiving, multiple male orgasms, refractory period nonexistent due to vampire fuckery, ass play m!receiving, praise kink, use of pet names/titles (Mistress for reader/ baby boy, pet, Maxxie, and one surprise for Max), aftercare, no use of y/n. Lemme know if I missed anything! WC: ~2k

A/N: I read this post about male overstimulation and fucking loved it. So then I decided I Bite Back needed a sequel (but this can be a standalone). Reader is a vampire just like Max. More notes on their dynamic at the end. Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @atinylittlepain, @beskarandblasters and @theywhowriteandknowthings for betaing for me <3 Also for another pathetic sub!Max and a big inspiration of mine, check out @butchmandalorian’s A Little Lipstick Never Hurts (now featuring Dieter).

Smut below the cut

Crimson coats your lips, your chin, runs down your neck and in between your breasts. You fall back onto the bed, your victim’s blood rushing through your veins and lighting up nerve endings as it goes. You’re half drunk on the pretty thing… she was so sweet.

You reach up with one arm, slide your fingers into your lover’s hair and tug gently. Max drags his mouth away from your victim’s jugular with a questioning whine. “She’s empty, pet. C’mere,” you slur. 

“I wasn’t finished,” he grumbles.

“Max. Now.”

Max reluctantly lets go of the girl, and she crumples to the floor in a heap. He crawls onto the foot of the bed and kneels between your legs. As his face smooths out and his fangs recede, you notice a gorgeous flush in his cheeks and down his bare chest. He’s not nearly as messy an eater as you, but his plush pink lips are tinged red with your dinner. He looks down at you with hunger in his dark eyes, a different kind of appetite taking over now that you’ve both had your fill. “Kiss me, Maxxie.” 

Max settles over you on hands and knees, dropping his mouth to your sternum and dragging an open mouthed kiss all the way up to your neck. You let out a near delirious moan and wrap the short strands of his hair around your fingers. He slips his tongue along your jawline, licking up the mess you made, before finally melding his mouth with yours. 

You hook a leg behind Max’s knee, using the leverage and your grip on his hair to flip him underneath you and he yelps. You settle on his thighs and wrap your fingers loosely around his cock. “Want me to ride you, pet?” He nods enthusiastically. “Hands by your sides.” 

You spit in your palm and slick up his cock, dragging your palm up and down him slowly and barely giving him any pressure at all. Just as it looks like he’s going to beg, you slide forward, dragging your pussy lips along the length of him and trapping him against his stomach. You keep up the tease until he breaks. 

“Fucking please, Mistress,” he bucks his hips and whines. “Let me feel you.” 

“Only because you beg so pretty for me, Maxxie.” You lift up on your knees and notch him at your entrance. You groan low and long and as you sink down on his impressive length. You let your head fall back between your shoulder blades and dig your hands into the meat of his thighs. He’s so deep inside you at this angle, hitting spots that white out your vision. You bounce on his cock, grinding your clit against the neat curls at the base on every downstroke.

Max’s hands slide up your thighs and settle on your waist. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, you don’t reprimand him. Not even when he starts meeting every bounce with his own sharp thrust. “Max, fuck!” You feel your core tightening, you’re so close. You bring a hand to your clit, rubbing circles in time with Max’s thrusts.

 That ever tightening coil in your core snaps with mind blowing ferocity. Your whole body tightens up and you scream Max’s name as he fucks you through it. You slump forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You feel a little more wet between your thighs than you would expect. 

“Maxxie baby?” You let it drip with false sweetness. There’s a pause, long enough you don’t even need to ask what happened. You do anyway. You sit up, grabbing his jaw and forcing his gorgeous brown eyes to meet yours. “Did you come?” He has the decency to look ashamed. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he whispers hoarsely, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You will be,” you growl into his ear. You give his face a quick pat and sit up, letting his softening cock slip out of you. Your legs are still a little shaky as you crawl up his torso until you’re hovering over his face. “Clean up your mess, Maxi Pad,” you command, voice coated in condescension 

His mouth falls open, tongue out, and you drop your hips, letting your clit settle against his curved nose. His tongue is heavenly, but the noises he makes into your dripping cunt are sinful. His tongue dips inside you over and over again, lapping up your combined release like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. “G-Good boy, Maxxie, fuck,” you stutter as he groans into your pussy. 

The vibrations of his deep voice against you, his nose grinding into your hypersensitive clit, and his tongue lapping at you have you on the edge of coming again. Max can feel your walls tightening around his tongue and he burrows his face impossibly deeper into your cunt in response. He wraps his hands around your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you. You feel like you’re being consumed by holy fire, burned up from the inside out. You come with an incoherent cry, grinding down on Max’s face so hard it has to hurt a little. Good thing vampires don’t need to breathe. 

You finally slump to his side, giving your legs a rest. You consider stopping, the both of you sated and Max properly punished for his mishap. But then a little whimper slips from your pet’s lips and you notice his cock is hard and leaking against his stomach again. “Maxxie? Did you touch yourself?” He couldn’t have, his hands were on your thighs. 

“No, Mistress,” his voice is breathy and his hands twitch by his sides. He clearly wants more. You push yourself off the mattress and settle between his legs. You form a plan, a way to have him whimpering and begging for you in a way he never has before. You take him in your hand and kiss the tip of his cock. 

“Now, Maxxie, you can come whenever you’re ready, okay? Don’t have to ask.” He looks a little confused but also grateful. 

“Thank you, Mistress.” 

You suck him down in one go, relaxing your throat. Max groans, low and gravelly, fisting the sheets in his big hands. You allow him to thrust into your mouth once, before grabbing his hips and forcing him down into the mattress. You bob your head up and down at a steady rhythm, swirling your tongue around his tip on every upstroke. 

When his legs begin to shake, you gently hold his balls, rolling and tugging them lightly. You can tell he’s close. His chest is heaving despite the fact he doesn’t need air (habit, you guess), and his head is tipped back into the pillows, exposing the long thick column of his throat. You slip one finger behind his sack, pressing into the sensitive spot you know will push him over the edge. He shouts your name so loud it’s nearly a scream and comes down your throat, hips still attempting to thrust deeper into your mouth. When his cock softens, you hollow your cheeks and pull off him with a pop, drawing out another pathetic whimper. 

“Do you feel good Maxxie boy?” 

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you.” He’s being so good you almost feel bad about your plan. Almost.

“Get hard again.” 

“What?” He looks horrified. 

“You heard me, Max,” you say sternly, sitting up on your knees so you tower over him. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

“But it’ll hurt!” he whines. “Let me make you feel good again, Mistress. Please.” God, he’s pitiful… you can make him worse though. 

“You know what would make me feel good, pet? If you did what you were told instead of being a brat.” He pouts and you slap his inner thigh, hard enough to sting.

 He flinches and whines, but you see his spent cock twitch. He can play like he doesn’t like it, but you both know he does. His brow furrows and he closes his eyes in concentration. You watch his cock fill, untouched, as he focuses on sending blood to it. 

“Good boy, Maxxie.” You bend over and kiss his still pouty lips. You replace your lips with two of your fingers. “Suck.” He eagerly pulls your fingers into his mouth, sucking them down to the knuckle and laving your digits with his tongue. 

You pull your fingers from his mouth, patting his pretty cheeks with them. “Good boy.” You get back between his legs and wrap your dry hand around his cock, using your left over and mostly dried saliva as lube. You place your wet fingers against his hole and feel him jolt away from you before he settles and pushes his ass toward you instead. All at once, you push your fingers into him and drag your hand up his length, twisting your wrist at the top. He howls and you watch his face morph, smooth olive skin turning red and wrinkled. His mouth opens wide and you watch his fangs descend, little growls leaving his throat. You think both his faces are beautiful, but he knows better than to change when you’re in charge.  

You let your fangs descend and snarl at him, pressing down on his prostate at the same time. His growl tapers into a whine as his face returns to its human form. You retract your fangs and take his tip in your mouth, pumping your fingers in and out of him.  He grabs the sheets and pulls so hard you hear the threads ripping. His beautiful broad chest is again heaving with the effort of dragging in unnecessary breaths. 

“Mistress pleeeeease. Stop. Please. Fuck. Please, stop. I can’t take it,” his voice is high and whiny, rambling and begging and pleading with you. But he doesn’t say the safeword (crucifix) so you don’t intend to stop. Max bucks his hips into you, forcing him further down your throat. He quickly pulls back, trying to escape your mouth, only to push himself farther down on your fingers. You don’t think he knows if he’s trying to get away from the sensations or if he’s chasing them, but he obviously doesn’t want you to stop.

His eyes roll back into his head and he lets out a strangled moan. “Fuck!! Mistress please, can I come, please please.” He’s writing and tugging on the sheets so much they’ve come off the bed. You sit back on your heels, relieving him from the overstimulation of his cock, but press your fingers against his sensitive spot again. You see tears in the corners of those pretty, lust blown eyes, and know you achieved your goal. 

“Come for me, baby boy” You don’t even have to touch him again. He explodes all over his cute little belly, scrunching his eyes closed and moaning low and long. You work his prostate through it, then remove your fingers from him. You let him be for a moment, not moving away, but not touching him either. 

“You did so good for me, baby boy,” you praise him. “Can I clean you up now?” He nods slowly, still riding the high from his intense orgasm. You lick his cum off his stomach, drying the rest with a blanket, and lay on the bed on your side facing him.

 “Come here, Maxxie,” you whisper gently. He sort of flops over to face you and you pull him fully against you and cradle his head against you. “Good boy, Maxxie. You looked so pretty whining and begging for me. Do you feel good?” He nods sleepily into your chest. “Good,” you whisper. You press kisses to the top of his head and run your fingers through his hair as he falls asleep. Your mattress is exposed where he ripped the sheets off and there’s a dead body on the floor, but you really could not care less right now.

You’ll worry about cleanup tomorrow. 

–----

Endnotes: my headcanon for why she doesn’t let him “vamp out,” as I call it, is that they are in reality very equally matched strength/power wise, but this dynamic is obviously dependent on an imbalance of power, so she wants him to appear human when she doms him. I also think he turned her when he was doing a corporate takeover and she went from human secretary he harassed to vamp secretary he fucked. Then she got tired of his attitude and decided to put him in his place. 

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Thanks for reading <3

[prolix-yuy]

For the Bangathon - I spun the wheel and got Reverse Cowgirl, the obvious choice is Jack Daniels/ Agent Whiskey, but I think Max Phillips could be fun too. Up to you!

You know, I love an obvious choice...and then throwing caution to the wind and going for the underdog. Let's play with Max!

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Position: Reverse Cowgirl

Word Count: 816

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex (m receiving), allusions to sexual acts, cum play, tiny bit of ass play, PiV sex, subby bratty Max, FEELINGS because it's too much fun to watch max bluescreen.

Notes: Let's put this asshole with a heart of gold through it!

Normally Max loves it when a girl lays him down and rides him reverse. Cock buried deep, doesn’t have to make loving faces at her, ass on display and his own orgasm easy to chase? It’s a dream.

But not with you.

After weeks of playful quips and insults tossed back and forth at the swanky bar you both frequent, Max finally convinced you to come home with him. The triumph of winning was quickly dashed when you pushed him to his knees, fisting his hair as you guided him to eat your pussy under your skirt. Much as he’d hate to admit it, he was ready to burst in his Armani slacks from your firm grip, the praise you dripped across his broad shoulders, and the surge of pride at your release gushing on his tongue. 

And he should have been furious when you smoothed your skirt back down, gave him a toe-curling kiss, and walked right back out the door. He really should have. But when it took less than two strokes to cum pressed up against his door he knew there was something special between you.

So it continued, this battle of wills. He’d find you in the bar, make entertaining conversation (which is surprisingly fun, sex or not), and then you’d battle for who gets to cum that night. The thrill made him harden at your silhouette, his stamina shot when he gets to slide into your mouth or pussy. The way your eyes sparkle when he cums too quickly, and the smile that follows when he hisses for a second round, all haunt him when you’re not around.

So tonight he spins you into his arms before you even enter the bar, kissing you breathless against the side of the building. The pounding of your heart is loud in his ears, licking along the length of your neck. 

“I think we deserve a better night than we’ve been allowing ourselves,” Max posits in your ear, nosing along your cheek as you fake hum in contemplation.

“What did you have in mind, Max Two Minutes?” you tease back, the frustrating nickname making him nip at your jaw. 

“Stay the night. Let me show you all the tricks you never stick around long enough to see.” He hopes the offer doesn’t sound as desperate as it feels. 

“Ready to reveal all your secrets?” you say, pulling back enough for Max to see the agreement in your eyes.

“Only the best ones.”

He finally proves his stamina, bringing you to orgasm three times before finally cumming on your tits. Then he gets to brag about his refractory period, hard in your hand quickly enough for an impressed eyebrow raise. And that’s only the first hour.

Now, slick with sweat and release and the heady aroma of sex, you’re riding him the way he likes. He cups the globes of your ass, kneading at them to see his cock disappearing into your tight cunt. The curve of your spine is graceful, hands on your knees to support your rolling pace. It’s perfect, exactly what he wants.

But he can’t find the edge of his orgasm. 

He tries planting his feet and power bottoming, letting his mouth run wild, even running a thumb over your tight asshole, but nothing is mounting his arousal. Has he fucked himself too dry in an attempt to impress? Does he really not have another in him?

But then he shifts, and the curve of your cheek comes into focus. There, he realizes. In between all of the fucking and competing and biting remarks, he hadn’t realized what actually happened. 

He’s into her. 

It hits him like a goddamn freight train. He wants her smile, her teasing tongue, the mirth in her eyes. Her body gets him hard and begging, he’s not gonna argue that, but he wants so much more than her sensual sway above him.

“Baby, look at me,” he asks, eliciting a chuckle from you. His whole chest constricts, but he says oh so quietly, “please.”

Your body stills, and slowly, like you’re waiting for a cruel joke, you turn to look at him. The moment your eyes connect he watches the trepidation melt into amazement. Your lower lip drops, eyes soft as Max lets a little smile bloom on his face.

He guides you onto the bed, kneeling between your thighs as he leans in to kiss you. There’s no winner anymore; it’s full and languid as he slides back inside, your arms coming up around his neck. He drops to his elbows, hips rolling with liquid motion. Even when the thrusts become more purposeful, licking into your mouth and circling your clit, he’s still looking at you like something amazing and precious. It matches your own expression, a feedback loop of holy shit, there you are that surprises you both.

So Max’s favorite position used to be reverse cowgirl. But with you? It’s missionary for as long and as often as you’ll let him. Unless you’re both feeling a little fresh that night. In that case, all bets are off. Anything can happen, and that’s exactly how Max likes it.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[oonajaeadira]

LIGHT AND SHADOW (Max Phillips x f!reader) Masterlist

FANDOM: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

READER: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

RATING: Mature

No Minors Please: My work is 18+. I will respectfully ask minors to turn away to protect themselves and me. Thank you.

SUMMARY: A vampire takes a liking to you and appoints himself your guardian angel.

NOTES: A horror romance, more creepy than sexy. This story assumes that the Max we see in the films is Evan's version of the story and Max was never defeated, he just transferred to a different company. Max is still an egotistical asshole, but he's also very good with his vampiric gifts and very much not human anymore. This series is ongoing.

_____

LIGHT AND SHADOW SEQUENCE

Light Only Shows You Where The Shadows Are -- The only thing that can get rid of a minor jerk is a major jerk.

Shadows Take Root Within the Heart

A Heart Only Knows The Secrets It’s Been Told

Secrets Are Just Stories In the Dark

___

ONE SHOTS IN THE L&S UNIVERSE

I’ll Leave a Light On For You -- written for a Secret Santa challenge, a tale of a Christmas past that informs Max’s present.

___

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

[missredherring]

M. P. + "I wanna touch you too."

Max Phillips x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 229

Contents: non-graphic mentions of sex.

A/N: Max is a menace and we like him that way.

Not beta'd. Any mistakes are my own.

Summary: "I wanna touch you too."

Series Masterlist

It doesn’t sound like Max when he says it.

Maybe he does it on purpose. The hungry, almost desperate tone makes your heart beat faster and you swear you can feel the blood pumping in your ears. You can certainly feel it throbbing between your legs.

The nervousness is there, skittering along the edges of your senses, but then Max licks his lips and crowds into your space again. 

“Please, baby. I wanna touch you too- I’ll make you feel so good.” He says. His tone is more whiny now, but it’s still working.

There’s no body heat coming from him, but his presence is strong.

You inhale deeply, using the action to close what space is left between your bodies. 

“Go ahead, Max. Impress me.” You feel daring, spurred on by the naked want on his face.

His hands are on you instantly, puling you fully against him. You expect everything to be a blur once he has your consent, but he slows down. Max takes his time mapping out your body, first with his hands, and then again with his mouth. When he has you arching into him, he smirks. You can feel his lips curling on your skin, the puff of his breath, and the wet slide of his tongue.

“When I’m done with you, no one else’s touch will be enough.”

You’re afraid he’ll be right.

[psychedelic-ink]

He effectively chest bumps you, which sends you stumbling backwards into Fang, where you continue to fall further backwards headed for a hard landing on your butt. Max is thankful for supernatural reflexes, quickly grabbing your arms and hauling you upright back into his shower-damp chest.

ngl I might've giggled a bit while reading this also reader being grumpy in the morning is something I can relate too, especially if I was kept from sleep so late dfbfgbf I really want to live in this Christmas town, Max might be a grinch but I'm certainly not <33

The baking scene was ADORABLE (not max drawing abs on a gingerbread man dfvdfvd I love him) and the ending of this chapter I could imagine so vividly like a movie in my head. It was absolutely beautiful, I loved it so much ❤️❤️❤️

Snowed Inn

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Word Count / Rating: 4.1k / T

Summary: Business executive Max Phillips gets stuck in a small Christmas-loving town and meets the owner of the town’s bed & breakfast. Through a chance encounter, will Max learn to love the holiday season again?

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

For a small town, the diner is bustling. It seems everyone in town is packed into the place, creating a warm atmosphere with that unavoidable holiday cheer. The warm smiles offered to Max creep him out a bit, far more used to the city where everyone goes about their lives and ignores each other’s existence.

He’s guided to a seat at the little diner bar, one of the only two left. A friendly middle-aged woman walks up with a large grin, wiping her hands off in a towel. “Is this our handsome mystery guest I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Now he’s really weirded out.

“I should have known Roger would tell everyone,” you sigh and Max supposes that’s something apparently normal in a small town. He still isn’t sure how the handsome part got tacked on, not that he minds it. “Max meet Wendy, Wendy meet Max.”

Wendy offers her hand out to Max, shaking it firmly. “You must be hungry after the day you’ve had, what can I get you?”

You answer for him. “He’ll have the Lestat Special if you don’t mind, Wendy. I’ll have my usual.”

“You got it,” Wendy says, giving a wink before flitting off to the kitchen. For an older woman, she seems full of life.

Max raises an eyebrow at you and you pick up on the question. “The name started as a joke and then it stuck. It’s how most things get named around here.”

He takes that for what it is. Lestat Special probably sounded nicer than ordering raw organs and a cup of blood anyway. You’re blunt with your next question. “You don’t like Christmas then?”

“What makes you say that?” Max challenges.

“Oh I don’t know, the general disgruntled look on your face or the Santa’s village comment, take your pick.”

“Not going to let that one go, snowflake?”

“Cute that you thought I would.”

Max takes in the little diner around him. The ever-present Christmas cheer remains, accompanied with the friendly hum of conversation in the room and seasonal music playing overhead. He supposes it’s nice if you’re into it, but he sees it in black and white rather than the multi-color glow of string lights.

“I don’t see the point. I’m going to be forced to go through an eternity of these and it’s all commercialized garbage, marketed to the masses. Why should my life stop for some pointless yearly scam?”

You look thoroughly scandalized. “Yeesh, remind me to not ask your opinions on Valentine’s day.”

Wendy drops off your drinks with another smile before moving down the bartop to where someone is calling for her.

“I know you aren’t here for long, but try to enjoy it a little, Mr. Grinch. You might find that it’s not as bad as you think.”

Max isn’t sure he believes you, nor does he really want to take your advice, but your words sink in all the same. The warm welcome and fresh meal make it a bit harder to ignore.

Despite not sleeping, Max is still up early the next morning. He’d spent the early portion of his night working, video calling with Evan and Tim to update them on his situation and get a full run-down on the first day of the conference. Thankfully, it sounded like they hadn’t managed to mess up anything that couldn’t be fixed yet.

The rest of the night had been spent staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out just what exactly he was going to do while stuck in this nice, horrendous town. Wrapped up in his thoughts and the heated blanket you somehow managed to sneak into the room and preemptively turn on for him, he didn’t notice the pounds of snow that fell and accumulated overnight. It was a small miracle the power hadn’t gone out.

When the clock hits six, Max is out of bed. He needs to do something with himself and after peeking out the window and realizing between the weather and his current lack of wardrobe that a run was completely out of the question, he settles for a shower.

The water is still plenty hot, the first to use it that morning, and he’s thankful for the clarifying stream. Maybe he can facetime with Evan and Tim, have one of them carry him around in a pocket. It would be unorthodox, but certainly it would be better than nothing. There was a good chance some would even find it charming and could help them to stick out in potential partners’ minds.

Mind made up, Max resolves to finish his shower and update his team on the new plan. Only as he pours some of your body soap into his hands does he register that it smells like gingerbread. At least no one would be around him to smell that.

Max grabs the nearest towel and steps out, slinging the towel around his thin hips. Hopefully his clothes aren’t too wrinkly from yesterday’s travel and wear, at least needing the shirt and tie to look good while he’s on camera.

Opening the bathroom door, Max is shocked when he runs directly into you. Literally.

He effectively chest bumps you, which sends you stumbling backwards into Fang, where you continue to fall further backwards headed for a hard landing on your butt. Max is thankful for supernatural reflexes, quickly grabbing your arms and hauling you upright back into his shower-damp chest. It takes a moment for the rapid sequence of events to truly register for either of you.

Realizing that you're both pressed against each other, Max in nothing but a towel and you in a robe and fluffy slippers, you quickly break apart. He enjoys watching you splutter a bit, embarrassment splashed across your face. “Good morning to you too, babe,” he grins, eyes raking over your body.

Like everything else, even your robe is Christmas themed, the red and green flannel wrapped tightly around your body. Max is especially appreciating the tight part at the moment. It’s fairly obvious you’re naked just underneath, expecting your morning routine to go uninterrupted despite the additional guest. He likes taking you off guard.

You, apparently, are not much of a morning person and push past him without so much as a hello. Max doesn’t take offense to it, amused by your flustered and sleepy state. At least he’s found a new way to entertain himself while he’s trapped here – teasing you.

Max storms down the stairs into the bed and breakfast’s lobby. You’ve been nowhere to be found for the last thirty minutes and he’s on the edge of losing it completely. Somehow you snuck by him after your shower, in which he could hear you loudly and poorly singing along to some grating pop artist the entire time.

There’s an elderly couple sitting in the foyer, close to the fireplace with coffees in hand. The old man calls over to him. “Good morning! Haven’t seen you around here. Get in yesterday?”

Max doesn’t have time for niceties. “The owner, where is she?” He ignores the disgruntled looks he’s given.

“She’s outside, shoveling the sidewalk. Heck of a storm last night.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Max says dismissively, continuing his warpath out the front door.

The snow is deep, but a path has been dug out to where you are, shoveling away in your ridiculous hat. Max calls out your name from the porch but you ignore him, keeping your back turned to the door. His irritation growing, he marches down the path over to you.

He spins you around with a hand to your shoulder. You pull out an earbud, staring at him with complete shock. “Max? What are you doing out here, are you shoeless?”

“The internet is down.”

“What?”

“The internet. It’s down. Go reset the router or something. Fix it,” Max demands.

You stare at him with open disbelief. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. Now go back inside before you catch a cold,” you tell him. “If that’s something vampires can even catch,” you add under your breath.

You turn away from him, watching Fang bound across the snow covering the yard, a warm jacket on him to help protect from the cold. “I need the internet to do my job. If you could just go fix it, then I’ll stay out of your hair,” Max insists.

You huff and turn back to him. “I don’t know if you noticed the eight inches of snow that fell last night, but it knocked out the internet. We’re lucky to still have power. There’s nothing I can do so go back inside.”

This couldn’t be happening. Max needed internet access to facetime with Tim and Evan. His cell service was shit out here in the boonies, wifi being the only way he was able to get a good, consistent connection last night. Desperate for another answer, he goes on the defensive. “How are you listening to music then?”

“Downloaded playlist. I’m guessing yours was too last night or it actually would have stopped playing at some point.”

Shit. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. Cold suddenly seeps in, the look on your face chilling him just as much as the snow he’s standing in. He isn’t really sure what to say to you at this point. Thankfully Fang runs up at that moment and distracts you, allowing him to slip back off into the house without another awkward word.

He shuffles back upstairs and sends a text to Tim letting him know that the video plan is off. He can only hope that the internet comes back sometime soon.

You’re not really sure what to do about Max. On one hand, you feel bad for him. His car is messed up, he’s late for a work conference, and now the internet is down. He didn’t expect or sign up for any of this and things only seem to be getting worse for him. On the other hand, he’s been downright rude at times, kept you up late last night, and was the cause for a very flustering moment this morning. To say you have mixed feelings is an understatement.

Wendy’s feelings about him are no secret. Her little glances last night at the diner had spoken a thousand words. Her text later really hadn’t left anything to your imagination either. You’re sure she wasn’t thrilled by your response of not going to happen. And why would anything? He would be gone as soon as his car was fixed. It doesn’t matter how devastatingly attractive he is.

You’re thankful Wendy would never know about this morning’s bathroom run-in. You’re still having a hard time forgetting the way that it felt to be pressed against his chest or the casual strength he’d displayed while catching you.

Stepping onto the porch, you try to shake your head free of those thoughts. It wouldn’t do you any good and you made a promise to yourself to stop going after unavailable men. Everything about Max screams unavailable.

You whistle for Fang, chuckling as you watch him bound through the snow towards the porch. His love of the snow always makes storms like these a little more bearable. He gives a shake, happily following you into the house and waiting for his jacket to come off. After you give him a couple pats, Fang wanders over towards the fireplace and lays down in front of it, stealing your own idea to warm up. Smart dog.

Most of your day is spent normally – doing a bit of administrative work, checking in on your guests, keeping in touch with others around town to see if anyone needs help after the storm. You try not to focus on the fact that you haven’t seen Max for most of the day since your awkward interaction outside. You also try not to focus on the fact that his disappearing act bothers you more than it should.

After dinner you decide to do something about it.

Max spends most of his day bored out of his mind. After his little tantrum over the internet he felt too embarrassed to leave his room, an emotion already foreign enough to him, but worse than that, the longer he sat there the more he felt guilty. He had nearly been convinced guilt was an emotion that left him the moment he gained immortality and yet something about the interaction with you left him with a heavy pit in his stomach. He should probably apologize.

That realization set off another nearly forgotten emotion for him too though. He was nervous. Max couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made him feel that way. What did he have to feel nervous about anyway? A random woman he would soon never see again being mad at him? Ridiculous.

Tired of staring at the ceiling, Max resolves to get up and find you when there’s a knock at the door. Opening it, he finds you standing there with a pile of clothes in your hands. “I thought that maybe you’d want something to change into. I noticed you were wearing the same clothes from yesterday and figured you didn’t have anything extra to wear.”

It was true. Through some strange series of events even Max still didn’t fully understand, his suitcase had ended up going to the right location while he had not. Tim and Evan had taken it from the airport for him, but that meant as long as he was stuck in this town he had no spare clothes.

“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs.”

Max chickens out from apologizing for his behavior earlier. Instead, he takes the clothes with a simple thanks and shuts the door again. He has a horrible time understanding your kindness towards him. He’s not sure what it says about him that it feels strange to receive so much kindness from one person.

When Max comes downstairs after changing, he finds you in the kitchen. A sweet, delicious scent is wafting through the air and despite human food no longer having the same appeal, Max can’t deny that it smells divine. Fang has posted himself by the door, drowsily keeping watch for you.

You smile at Max when he enters the kitchen. “Did everything fit?”

Max looks down at his outfit, a far stretch from what he’d typically wear. He can’t remember the last time his clothes didn’t have a designer label on them. The jeans and old flannel you gave him certainly weren’t Gucci or Armani, maybe not even Levi, but they did fit. He supposes that’s all he can really ask for given the situation.

“They did,” he says. “What are you making in here? It smells good.”

He doesn’t miss the way your smile widens at his compliment. “Cookies. I’m making them for the Christmas festival.”

Max recalls you mentioning the festival at the diner last night. An annual event in town, the reason for all the decorations and festive cheer. This year was a big one too being the 75th anniversary of the event. Your eyes had nearly sparkled when you talked about it.

He’s not really sure what comes over him, if it’s the boredom he’s trying to abate or the adorable smear of flour across your cheek, but Max suddenly blurts, “Mind if I help?”

You seem equally surprised by the question, but you pick up a bag of light blue icing and offer it to him. “Another pair of hands couldn’t hurt. Just try not to make a mess.”

Max looks around the messy kitchen and rolls his eyes. There’s flour and sugar across most of the countertops, dirtied bowls and utensils surrounding your workspace. He can see dollops of frosting dotting the counter. “I hope that was a joke, sweetness.”

“Maybe,” you acquiesce, a wry expression on your face. He gets the feeling you enjoy pressing his buttons just a little bit.

Baking with you is shockingly easy. Despite the incessant Christmas music you have playing and the unavoidable Christmas themed shapes of the sugar cookies, Max finds himself having fun.

He isn’t sure of the last time he’d done something like this. Most of his decisions revolved around business and what it would take to make that new connection, new deal, or next step up the corporate ladder. It took him by surprise that he didn’t feel more resistance to the idea of relaxing for even a moment, but there was a good chance the company had something to do with that.

You seem undisturbed by his added presence, singing along to the music, occasionally allowing yourself to sway along to it too. When Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree plays you even have Fang join you, holding his front paws up while dancing together. Max still doesn’t like the dog per se, but even he can admit it’s cute to watch.

There’s a warmth that fills the kitchen and it’s not just due to the oven. Conversation flows back and forth easily, with the occasional silence equally as comfortable. Teases and laughter are traded, you nearly doubling over when Max squeezes an icing bag too hard and coats his cheek in bright red frosting. Your fingers are warm and gentle on his face as you help him clean his mess up.

He retaliates by rolling up the sleeves of his flannel, enjoying the way you go a little too quiet at the sight. To his own surprise, he doesn’t feel the need to poke fun at you for it. It wouldn’t be fair with the thoughts he’s been having while watching you flit around the kitchen in the little apron tied around your waist.

Icing the final batch of cookies, Max can’t help himself. Grabbing one of the cookies shaped like a gingerbread man, he pipes some carefully selected features onto the confection and hands it directly to you when he’s finished.

You take it from him, glancing at the design before looking at him with confusion. The cookie has been given a smile with fangs, a simplistic version of abs, and a healthy amount of frosting covering the cookie’s waist and upper legs.

“Max, what am I looking at?” you ask.

“Snowflake, I’m hurt that you could forget so easily. That’s very clearly me.”

It takes a brief moment, but Max watches with glee as the realization dawns. He’s created a cookie replica of himself from this morning. He expects you to become a bit flustered, maybe toss the cookie down and roll your eyes at his antics. You bite off his head instead.

“I think you were a bit generous with the abs,” you say around the mouthful of cookie.

There’s a joke about putting him in your mouth right on the tip of his tongue, but Max doesn’t voice it. Max leans against the counter, watching you happily munch the rest of his body away while you finish decorating the other cookies. He’s about to help you clean up when his phone rings, breaking him from this little fantasy he’s allowed himself to indulge in. Evan’s name is a sobering reminder of his reality.

You wave him off and Max slips out of the kitchen. The dining room is empty for him to answer the call in. “Evan.”

“Max. Where have you been?” Evan’s tone is already insufferable.

“Where do you think? I’m still waiting for my car to be fixed.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Just because you’re stuck doesn’t mean you can ghost us.”

Max leans against the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. “The internet is out here. Didn’t Tim tell you?” Their incompetence some days is more grating than others.

“No- he- whatever, you just need to get here,” Evan asserts. Any joyful feelings baking with you had provided disappear. Evan almost deserves a medal for how quickly he can change Max’s mood.

“Do you think I want to be stuck here?” Max hisses into the phone. “I’m living out a nightmare and hoping you don’t screw things up too badly for us before I can get there and fix it. So just worry about yourself and I’ll focus on getting to the conference in time.”

He hangs up before Evan can say anything more. Another word out of his mouth and Max would be putting his hand through the nearest wall, picturing Evan’s face where his fist connects with drywall. He really doesn’t want to pay for that. Caught up in his warring thoughts, he doesn’t notice the door to the kitchen swing closed again.

You’re gone from the kitchen when he walks back in. Cookies are still cooling on the racks you had set up, the icing setting, and you’ve simply dumped the dirty kitchenware into the sink. It looks like you tried to leave the kitchen in a hurry. He has no idea why.

Going upstairs, the door to your room is closed, a faint warm light slipping out from under the door frame. For a moment, he debates knocking and wishing you goodnight but the sudden cold from the kitchen keeps him from taking the step towards your door.

Entering his own room, he can’t help but smile when he sees a pair of pajamas nicely folded on the bed waiting for him. The cartoon Christmas trees adorning the pants are only mildly irritating.

Around two in the morning Max hears some scuffling outside his door. Curious, he rolls out of bed and peeks into the small living space. Fang greets him with a dopey smile, the obvious answer to what he had been hearing. Max gives him a couple pats on his head before looking up to see you sitting at the bench seat in front of the window.

You haven’t turned to look at Max. Your eyes are fixed out the panes of glass, the string of soft white Christmas lights you strung up around the small alcove giving you an angelic glow. He takes a step forward, which finally calls your attention.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t disturb you did I?” you ask.

Max feels relieved that the awkwardness he’d been expecting is missing. “No, I was already up. Sleep isn’t something that comes naturally anymore.”

You giggle softly, mindlessly reaching down to pet Fang who’s sitting directly beside you on the floor. “Oh right, I forgot about the no sleeping thing. Sorry if I bothered you anyway.”

His confidence returning, Max walks towards the window. “What are you doing up?”

“Come and see,” you offer, moving your feet so that he can sit beside you.

More snow is slowly falling, nowhere close to the storm that passed through last night but enough to offer a fresh dusting across the landscape. There’s considerably less light pollution here than what Max is used to in the city, but there’s still that ethereal nighttime skyglow allowing him to look across the yard. For a moment, Max feels like he’s inside a snowglobe.

“I’m sorry you’re having such a bad time here,” you say, the smallest Max has ever heard your voice. “Roger let me know your car should be fixed soon, the day after tomorrow at the latest. He’s just waiting on the part.”

Max turns away from the wintertime vista, realizing just how small this bench is and how close he is to you. You have a thick knitted blanket wrapped around yourself to protect from the chill, your toes just peeking out from underneath.

“It hasn’t been all bad,” Max says and he’s surprised to find that the statement is completely honest. He's not offering a half truth, purposely angling for a better relationship or some kind of deal. You seem to constantly be pulling unexpected reactions from him. Stranger still is that he doesn’t mind it.

“I am wearing ridiculous Christmas pajamas right now, so that’s not great, but I haven’t minded other parts as much.”

You give a real laugh at that, the blanket loosening ever so slightly. “I don’t know, I think they look pretty good. The trees really accentuate your muscles.”

“I’m flattered that you noticed, snowflake. Especially after that jab at my six pack earlier.”

“Riiight, six pack. And I have three eyes.” You nudge Max’s shoulder affectionately, turning back to look out the window.

A quiet ease fills the air and without saying anything you offer part of your blanket to Max. He takes the corner and wraps it around his shoulder, the blanket’s size forcing you closer on the bench seat.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” you ask.

Max smiles softly, appreciating the way the soft lighting from out the window highlights your face. Your eyes shine, perfectly content wrapped in a thick knitted blanket with him to watch the fresh snow fall.

“Yeah. Very."

Everything: @radiowallet @sergeantbannerbarnes @pilothusband @max--phillips @starlightmornings @moonlight-prose @practicalghost @mylovelycomandante @sharkbait77 @honestly-shite @shadesofnerdlygrace @salome-c @artsymaddie @paintballkid711 @niki-xie @hotchlover @doin-stuff @magikfanatic @astoryisaloveaffair @donnaa @linkpk88 @tintinn16 @mswarriorbabe80 @phandoz

PP boys: @iamskyereads @writeforfandoms @girlwholoveswords @beskarboobs @jediknight122 @littlemisspascal @ezrasbirdie @anaaaispunk @cannedsoupsucks @jaime1110 @lellowberry @castleamc @missminkylove @thirddeadlysin @maievdenoir @wordsnwhiskey @magpie-to-the-morning @deadhumourist @vaguely-here-wish-i-was-not

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

PART I: ANNOUNCEMENT

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH24 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | series masterlist | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheek. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals!

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed 

@burntheedges @jolapeno @la-eterna-enamorada29 @iknowisoundcrazy @guiltyasdave

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @sweetpascal 

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @helenanell

@pedgito @pastelpinkflowerlife @jessthebaker @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours 

@noisynightmarepoetry @kyberblade @beezusvreeland @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack 

@pedrospatch @yopossum @toomanytookas @sawymredfox @galway-girlatwork

@ppascalrain @bbyanarchist @amanitacowboy @milla-frenchy @schnarfer

[aurorawritestoescape]

ADDICTED || Max Phillips x f!reader || 3k

Summary: Max gives you everything you need but can you stop when the pleasure gets addictive?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamic, biting, blood drinking (not graphic), f/m oral, mind control (dub-con, then very enthusiastic), slapping, unprotected piv, heartbreak, themes of addiction, obsession. Reader has hair. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no physical description.

A/n: this is for @iamasaddie ‘s Kinky May challenge with a prompt daddy kink for Max Phillips. Thank you for hosting it, Aly😘 Thank you @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and holding my trembling hand♥️ it’s my first time writing Max and I’m very nervous. Hope you all will enjoy it!💖

dividers by @saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

You can’t get enough of him.

His fingers gripping your hair, his strong hips between your slicked up thighs, the burn his teeth leave behind, the pleasure his soft lips give you.

Yet most of all you can’t get enough of his voice.

It’s like the sweetest poison that seeps into your welcoming ear, tying you closer to him with every uttered sound. Making you addicted. Obsessed.

“You’re mine. All of you. Every drop, baby.”

“Yes, daddy,” you always agree with him. These are the rules of the game. You do what he says, he doesn’t leave you.

He gives you what you need. Purpose.

“You’re daddy’s hole. Nothing more. I’m here to fill you and feed on you. You don’t need anything else. Just daddy fucking his cum into you, load after load. While your blood satiates me. Drop after drop.”

“Yes, daddy…please, give it to me… want it…take it.”

You get so high on his voice telling you what to do, it’s euphoric. You’re always in a half trance. At work your mind is occupied by him; whenever you spend time with your family or friends, your thoughts are elsewhere. You don’t need them anymore. You are lost in him. In your mind you’re in bed, pressed by his heavy body. Limbs intervened, your sweaty skin flush against his as he’s claiming your body and soul.

It used to be easy. The first time you met at a club where Max tried to pick you up and succeeded. He was handsome, charming as hell, talkative, funny in an assholish way. Absolutely not your type, but you didn’t mind having fun. You two fucked in the bathroom and when he bit your neck and licked off the blood, you thought he was just kinky. The alcohol in your blood didn’t let you think straight. He made you come on his cock and you gave him your phone number.

Max came without a call, just appeared on your doorstep one night, and you let him in. You were cringing at your desire for some corporate suit, but he’d given it to you so good that night and you had never passed on a great fuck.

“I like you”, he said directly, lying on your sofa. He came right after work and told you that he was tired, at the same time exuding energy. You were staring at him, amused by his confidence. Max had an air about him like he owned the place and everything in it, including you.

“There’s something special about you,” he continued, pouting his lips in thought, “I don’t even need to command you. You’re so hungry. You do what I want all by yourself, baby.”

“Command me?”, you scuffed and snapped back, offended by his words, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, baby”. Max was hot but a man would never be the boss of you, you thought.

He bucked his hips, getting more comfortable on your sofa, and shot you a smug smile that made you want to slap him. Before fucking him.

“Get on the sofa. All fours,” He told you, nodding at the spot next to him. His voice was the same, deep and gruff but somehow different. As if he grabbed your will and caged it in his big hand. Made it his will instead. And to your astonishment your body followed the order.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, sitting up, as your hands and knees were already planted firmly on the surface.

He got up and made you stand still while his hands were exploring your naked body — kneaded your breasts, twitched your nipples, glided over your back, slipped between your folds and swirled your throbbing clit. Your head was absolutely empty, your mind already occupied by only him.

“Beautiful,” he praised you, spreading your ass cheeks and admiring the view, “daddy’s gonna have so much fun with you.”

You bit your lip when he called himself that and then whimpered when he latched onto your pussy. He tasted your desire for him as his hot tongue slid between your folds and traced your crying hole. A whine escaped your parted lips when his mouth stopped caressing your cunt and he stood in front of you.

With widened eyes you watched him perch on the armrest of the sofa, spreading his thighs wide.

“You know what’s my favorite thing to do?” He asked, smirking at you.

You couldn’t say anything, so you were just blinking at him while a myriad of emotions were swirling inside your chest.

“Oh, you can’t answer, right. Baby though she’s in charge, huh?” Max chuckled and then leaned closer to you face, bringing his lips to your ear and whispered,

“Let’s see who’s in charge,” and added, “Come for daddy.”

You felt burning in your stomach, your core tightened, pussy started clamping around nothing, and you cried out as a hard orgasm began shaking your whole body, making your limbs tremble. He was palming himself, watching your face twist in pleasure, loud moans leaving your lips as the waves of ecstasy were lapping at your heated body. It was hard to stand still and his previous command was the only thing that kept you from collapsing on the sofa.

“Relax,” he told you and you plopped on the surface panting heavily, while aftershocks were still going through your body.

He stood up and you felt his thumb brush your cheekbone.

“Do you believe me now, sweetheart?” He asked with a head tilt, as his bulge was looming over your head.

You looked up at his smug face, smiled a little and replied,

“Yes, daddy. Please, do it again”.

Now when he’s in your bedroom, time stops. Life stops. As soon as he sits on the edge of your bed, you kneel between his thighs, your big eyes full of deep admiration, a short sheer nightie barely covering anything. He often buys you new lingerie. He enjoys spoiling you. Also blood is hard to wash off.

If he wants you to suck his cock, all he needs to do is nod at his crotch. But tonight he wants all of you.

“C’mere,” he tells you, patting his thigh with his big hand. In a second you’re sat on his lap, your naked pussy soaking his black suit pants.

“Nearly snapped someone’s neck at work today, incompetent idiot,” He grumbles in a low voice and asks, “How was your day, baby?”

You’re pouting your lips. Who cares? Fuck life. This is what you need. This is what makes you happy, ecstatic, euphoric.

“-was ok,” you mumble, as your stomach churns with impatience. Your gaze is set downcast while you’re fumbling with his crimson tie. He nuzzles your neck and takes a deep breath of your scent. A shudder goes through him from the way you smell and you slightly roll your hips, rubbing your needy pussy against his thigh.

“So impatient, baby. Do you remember how Daddy punished you for your impatience?” his cold palm wraps around your throat and tilts your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, where his favorite vein is fluttering like a little bird under his hungry gaze.

You won’t ever forget that punishment. You have been kneeling at the foot of your bed, watching him languidly play with his cock and balls. Your mouth was watering whenever a drop of precum slid down the curve of his fat tip. He has been edging you and himself for what felt like hours until he gave you the permission to suck his cock and you came just from having him in your mouth.

“Yes, I’m sorry, daddy. I’ll wait.”

“Good girl,” he says before his lips start sucking on your delicate skin, right over the artery. He licks the patch of skin there as his hand slithers under the neckline of your nightie and squeezes your breast.

“I’m gonna take a sip and you’re gonna be a good girl and play with Daddy’s cock, ‘k?

“Yes, please”.

You tilt your head even more, offering your blood to him as your left hand slides between your bodies. You find his belt buckle and undo it, stopping yourself from rushing. You don’t want daddy’s punishment tonight. You crave his reward.

You open his pants and moan as he breaks your skin with his fangs.

You got so used to the feeling, you don’t even notice the pain. The pain is like a threshold that you step over to get to the pleasure. A small price you pay each time for the immense ecstasy he’s going to give you.

As he starts gently sucking, you take out his cock which is already hard as steel and caress its velvety skin with your fingers. It twitches in your hand and Max growls.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

You hastily spit in your palm and return your hand to his twitching length. You wrap your hand around it and begin pumping with a rhythm you know he loves.

You flutter your eyes shut, getting lost in the feeling, ready, so ready to give and get more.

You feel his precum on your hand, and without looking, you spread it over his soft skin.

Max’s lips smacking against your neck, his growling that sends pleasant vibrations through you, his tongue, gathering the blood off your skin, mixes with the squelching sounds of your hand, dancing over his cock. It’s throbbing, pulsating in your little hand and you press your body closer to his torso, wishing to feel his length against your belly.

“Daddy, may I have it, please?”

He groans and his lips leave your neck as he commands without using his powers, “lie down.”

You can’t follow the order quicker. You need him more than air. Your empty pussy is weeping to be filled, used, stretched by his manhood. Your whole being craves to serve his needs and after satiating his hunger for some time, your cunt is ready to be fed.

Your thighs fly apart and you look up at him with pleading eyes. Max is not cruel but he’s also quick to punish you if you piss him off.

His cock bobs when he gets between your thighs and a drop of precum lands on your mound. You already whine at the sensation.

“So obedient, you really want it tonight, huh?”

“I always want it… but yes, daddy, please,” you add hastily, batting your lashes at him.

“What do you want?”

As soon as he uses this voice, the atmosphere in the room changes. He was your ‘daddy’, now he’s your god. He asks and you reply without a moment of hesitation,

“I want not to feel anything but your cock deep in my cunt, not to think. Be so cockdrunk I can’t keep my eyes open.”

He smirks but there’s a trace of bitterness in his expression.

“I see.”

He sighs and grabs your thighs with his massive hands. He spreads your legs even wider, and when your pussy blooms for him he harshly spits on your throbbing clit, making you jerk and moan. The next second he lifts your hips up and pierces you with his cock. He’s either in a good mood which you doubt by his roughness or craves a release. With your ass lifted off the bed, you gasp suddenly feeling full as your walls are spreading for him. But you need more and he knows it.

“Do you feel me deep inside, baby?”

“Yeah, you’re so big, daddy.”

“Wanna feel more? “

“Yes, daddy, please. I’m begging you, I want nothing more.”

“ ‘k, baby. You’ve been such a good girl.”

Without a warning his voice changes and he starts ordering you.

“Listen to me, hear only my voice.”

The city noises from the outside are immediately gone. You hear nothing, not even ticking of a clock in your bedroom. Only his voice is in your ears as if he’s speaking right inside your mind.

“You feel nothing. Just. My. Cock. Deep inside your cunt. In your mind. In your veins. Everywhere.”

Your eyes roll back as you’re made to concentrate on his manhood in your trembling body.

“Your pussy is hugging me so well. Make her weep around my cock. Can never get enough of your juices soaking me, baby. You always feel so good. And you deserve to feel good too.”

“Yes, daddy, I do.”

You’re floating in a warm river, his voice, his being are enveloping you. Nothing exists anymore, just him and you are left. Then he rolls his hips and it gets almost unbearably overwhelming. His cock slowly slides in and out of your sopping pussy with ease and your brain, your core, your every cell light up brightly as you already feel yourself at the precipice.

He’s fucking you gently, then gets rougher and marks you with his teeth, drinking your blood. His cock is throbbing between your walls, his hands are sliding over your breasts, twitching your nipples and playing with your clit. His face flashes in front of your eyes and you’re kissing. That’s when you feel the explosion of pure, untainted ecstasy.

“Come harder”, he commands, and you know you’re crying at how amazing you feel. It’s all happening ‘there’, somewhere deep inside you, the place so wonderful you wish you’d never leave.

At the back of your mind you know that you’re getting obsessed. Sometimes you think there’s more of him in you than you. He’s behind your eyes constantly, his handsome face with a lopsided smile flashes there over and over. You could draw it by heart now. Day after day his teeth sink deeper into your neck, his cock pierces you harder and you welcome the pain. The high is so much better after a little bit of pain.

Max is careful with you. He knows his strength and knows the effect he has on you. He’s attentive. He sees your glazed over eyes, parted lips, your breathing almost stops. You’re not here with him, you’re nowhere. You start noticing fear in his eyes when it takes longer and longer to get you out of ‘there’.

Trickles of blood are seeping from two tiny holes in your neck. Your thighs thrown widely apart, his cum is glistening at your entrance as he watches you, sitting naked between your legs. His chin and mouth are red and he’s licking his lips, not wasting a drop of you.

“Baby, look at me.” Your eyes are staring up and to the left. You’re looking at something but don’t see anything.

“Look at me!”

He orders then calls for you, nothing, again and again, you don’t respond. He slaps your cheek, not hard, just to get you back but you refuse to return to him. In your mind you’re still coming on his cock, over and over, dripping, moaning, relishing the feeling of his cum filling you up to the brim. Why would you ever go back?

Suddenly it stings. He’s slapped you really hard and your cheek is burning.

“Daddy?” You murmur, gradually coming back to reality, blinking rapidly with tears in your eyes. He’s hovering over you, his hands gripping your shoulders, his black eyes under the furrowed brows look worried and sad. Then angry.

“I couldn’t get you back! Fucking hell! You were gone for a fucking hour. It’s never been that bad.”

“It wasn’t bad. ‘s good,” You mumble while your hand flies to rub your heated cheek. Your brain is still barely functioning and your whole body is tingling after such an amazing orgasm.

“I won’t do it anymore.” He throws at you, getting off you and sitting at the edge of the bed. “Fuck this!”

Your heart freezes, gripped by the fear, and you hastily sit up. You almost fall off the bed, drunk on the amount of endorphins in your blood and then slowly crawl to him.

“Daddy, don’t say it. I’ll get back alright.”

“Yeah, what if you don’t.”

‘It’s worth it,’ you think but don’t say it. Instead you lie to him. “I’m sure I’ll always get back. It just feels so good there.”

He’s shaking his head and your stomach churns with terror.

“You told me you’d killed people for fuck’s sake! Why do you care so much about me?!” You shout and he turns to you. His pained expression makes your chest hurt. Your heart is fluttering at how handsome he is, how much you love him but love quickly morphs into hate when he threatens to take away the best thing you’ve ever experienced. You beg again and again but he’s unyielding. Finally he gets tired of your whining and leaves.

Max visits you a couple of times after that. He fucks you but refuses to command you. He makes you come on his cock or tongue and every time you cry, beg and shout, demanding to tell you to stop feeling anything except him inside you. You unravel for him again and again but it’s just not enough. Not when you’ve been there, felt that much ecstasy.

“What if I turn you?” He offers at one point.

“Will you be able to tell me what to do?”

“No.”

“Then no”.

“But we can be together forever.”

“No, daddy, please, one more time.”

He curses and leaves and then he stops coming entirely. You text, call but he doesn’t respond. Your efforts to find him are fruitless. He’s never told you the details of his life. Or you just haven’t been listening. It’s like he has disappeared into thin air, like he was just a dream.

You cry and cry, not being able to sleep, eat, feel anything else except the void in your soul and life. Max has been filling it so well and now it’s sucking you in. Without that euphoria, without him controlling you, without your ‘daddy’, you have nothing. You wish for nothing else. Mindless hookups, rebound sex, numerous strangers in your bed— nothing can give you that satisfaction.

Max left and took your life with him.

Thank you for reading!♥️ Please, comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! It motivates me a lot!!🌸

Masterlist

Main tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag

Max tag @guelyury

If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

genre: smut, office romance

word count: 5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not listening are you?” 

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

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

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

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

“Family?” 

“Shitty breakup.” 

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Max. 

What the hell? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you?” you answer, unsure.

“You’re very much welcome.” 

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

“So, how did it happen?” 

Your throat goes dry, “What?” 

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

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

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

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

“Ouch.” 

“Yeah,” 

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

You laugh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max…” you warn. 

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think it might be worth the risk.” 

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

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

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

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

“I’m not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then why are you so upset?

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

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

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

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

“Just get your gorgeous self over here.” 

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

“Max…” 

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

“You want it…to go somewhere?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, sir.” you choke out.

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

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

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

"Say. It." 

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

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

“Fuck me, sir. Please.” 

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

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

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

“Max, please. . .” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe out, “Yes—” 

And he gives you everything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a plan.” 

[wannab-urs]

Prickly

Prompt #536 - “You’re like a cactus.” / “Because I’m what? Prickly?” / “No, because you can get killed easier than people believe.”

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Summary: You versus Max... Who will win?

Warnings: minor character death, canon typical violence, referenced smut WC: 391

A/N: Today's actual prompt fill (look ma i met a deadline!) Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for the beta and the title &lt;3 OH and this takes place in the Hand Over Fist universe

Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi | Hand Over Fist | Prompt Fills

“You’re like a cactus,” you mutter. 

“Because I’m what? Prickly?” Max taunts. 

“No, because you can get killed easier than people believe.”

“I’d really like to see you try, sweetheart.” 

You spin the wooden stake on your palm and stalk across the room toward him. There are bodies scattered across the office floor, vampires and humans alike. It’s down to you and Max. 

He grabs a broken office chair and hurls it in your direction, but you dodge it easily. 

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Maxxie.” 

You grab a stapler off a nearby desk and launch it at his head, but he simply steps out of the way faster than human eyes can track. 

The second you’re within his reach, he grabs you – one hand under your thigh and the other around your bicep. Your back hits the floor, Max landing on top of you and pinning your arms by your head. 

“Shame. I really thought you’d make this interesting,” he sneers at you.

You smirk at him before driving your knee up into his exposed groin. The shock probably affects him more than the pain, but he lets go of you nevertheless. 

You take the opportunity to drive the stake up toward his throat. He grabs your wrist and you use the momentum to flip the two of you. 

You straddle his hips and grab his hair with your free hand, yanking his head back at an awkward angle. His growl of frustration quickly turns to a whimper. 

He twists your captured wrist until you drop the stake and brings your hand to his throat, his eyes pleading.

“Oh Maxxie, you always make it so easy to win.” 

“‘M sorry, mistress. You’re just so much stronger than me,” Max whines, starting to grind his hips into yours. 

You close your hand around his throat and press a kiss to his forehead. Dragging your lips down to his ear, you whisper, “No, baby. You’re just weak.” 

You roll your hips and Max loses control, face morphing into something angry and red and fangs descending over his trembling bottom lip. 

“I’m gonna have to punish you now, baby. Think I’ll make you come in your pants and then leave you here to clean up our mess, yeah?”

Max ruts into the cradle of your hips even more frantically. 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

@creativepromptfills

[prolix-yuy]

Oneshots

Reflective: Max Phillips x F!Reader (Part 1)

Effective: Max Phillips x F!Reader (Part 2)

Negotiations: Max Phillips x F!Reader

[wardenparker]

HI MY BELOVED CONNIE WHO IS BEAUTIFUL AND SMART AND DESERVES A MILLION FOLLOWERS 🥹🥹🥹🥹

If I mayhaps could submit for the celebration ficlet! I was wondering if I could do my undead baby love of my life Max Phillips and “I thought you loved forehead kisses” OR “I’ll protect you”? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 Whichever one seems better for you!

OKAY LOVE YOU ANGEL CONGRATULATIONS 🥳🥳🥳🥳

Maddie, my darling. You've been a lovely inspiration lately 😘❤ Happy Spooktober! 🎃🦇🧛‍♂️

Max Phillips. 1,371 words. "I'll protect you."/"I thought you loved forehead kisses." Fic includes a flashback! (Warnings: cursing, sex in the workplace, blood, implied violence) Co-written with @absurdthirst

Max rushes into your office, a normal occurrence on the most normal of days, but today is not normal. “Stay in your office for the next little bit, okay sweet cheeks?” He demands. “No bathroom break, no fresh cup of tea. Just— uh, put your headphones in and vibe, m’kay?”

"O—kay?" As the office accountant you don't usually have a lot of interaction with your coworkers during the day, so you like to go out and have a few moments of social time when you refresh your drink or have to walk to the bathroom. Max is a social butterfly too, but your boyfriend of three weeks looks very serious at the moment. "Sure. I have some spreadsheets to work on. But...everything okay? Need me to come out there and give Evan hell or something?"

“No!” Max rushes out. “I mean, nahhhhhhh.” He tuts and waves away your concern as if it was nothing. “Nothing major. We just-“ he hears something and turns towards the door for a moment before looking back at you. “There’s a slight disagreement going on out there and it’s turning ugly.” He rolls his eyes. “You know how it is. We’ll call security, they’ll come remove him. I fired Dave.” He adds for good measure. “But don’t worry.” He winks at you. “I’ll protect you.”

"Dave's an asshole." You supply, as if that settles the matter for you, and you grab your headphones to turn on some music. Before Max can slip out again though, you snag his attention. "Are we still going out for dinner tonight?"

“Sure.” He nods eagerly and shoots you a grin and waggles his brows. “You wearing those little panties I bought you? The crotchless ones?” He leers slightly.

Tutting slightly, you still fluster and shift slightly in your desk chair. "Yes."

“Fuck yes.” He hisses and his head whips back towards the cracked open door when he hears a thud and a yell outside in the cubicle area. “Shit.” He looks back at you and mimes putting on the headphones. “Music on, stay here.” He repeats before he rushes back out of the office door and slamming it shut.

"Weird." You mumble to yourself, but put your head down and refocus on your computer. Max is a little weird and that's fine – you are too. It's how you've been able to see past the Finance Bro outer layer he presents at work to the sweet, odd man inside. It's why you dismiss the bullshit other people say about him at work. The version of Max everyone else sees is an act. It's okay if they don't know that. You do.

******

Sweet cheeks, what is a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Max smirks as he leans against the door to your office and watches you work. Your file had interested him just as soon as he had opened it, but you are so much more interesting in person. Right now, you look up and give him an almost bashful smile, a far cry from the tigress he had in his bed last night after a meal at the best restaurant in town and bottle of expensive wine. "Guess I'm just a little bit of a glutton for punishment." If he hadn't brought you home this morning to change clothes, you would have proudly rolled into work on his arm wearing the same clothes as yesterday. "I like coming into work because there's a super sexy new boss in sales." “You think he’s sexy?” He waggles his brows at you playfully. “What’s sexy? The incredible abs or that tongue of his?” He teases. “I’m betting the tongue. You were loud when I was buried between those thighs.” "I'm not a big fan of pretending to be something I'm not." You remind him, and toss Max a wink. "Which includes not pretending I'm enjoying myself any less than I am." He chuckles softly and steps into the office before closing the door behind. “Oh yeah?” He hums. “Give me the dirty details?” "I'm just glad I went to your place." A hum comes from somewhere deep in the back of your throat as he slides over to your desk. "My neighbors would have complained." “Yeah they would have.” He snorts. “Good thing I don’t have any neighbors to complain.” "A very good thing." When he sits on the edge of the desk, you reach for him immediately. "What are the chances you locked the door?" He hesitates for a moment before the slow grins breaks across his face. “Very good.” He admits shamelessly. “Sent Amanda off on an errand so HR isn’t here to complain to.” "We really are going to get in trouble one of these days." Although HR is aware of your relationship and can't object because you're in different departments, you're sure that these little worktime rendezvous will add up against you if anyone notices. He tsks and winks at you. “Not today.” He sing songs playfully. “You want it quick or slow?” "Better be quick." Any errand he sent Amanda on won't last long, and you are at work. It doesn't stop you from sighing so that your eyelashes flutter when his thick fingers dip down the front of your shirt. “Quick can be fun.” He plucks one of the buttons open and whistles at the lace covering your tits. "Quick can be very fun." You lean forward a little to give him a better view. "Like what you see, handsome?" “Fuck yes I do.” He grunts, biting his lip and shucking his jacket and pulling down his tie. "You do love my tits." But you don't hesitate either, standing up at your desk and shoving your chair out of the way so he can either bend you over the desk or lift your ass up onto the edge. This time, Max decides to bend you over the desk. Kissing you harshly before he spins you around and drags the zipper of your skirt down so he can push it up. You curse, knowing how strong he is, and wiggle your ass happily in anticipation. With no protection necessary, you really can have it wherever and whenever you want. Vampiric boyfriends have their benefits. “Fuck you are so perfect.” He hisses, his fangs sliding down in response as his dick twitches in his suit trousers. He has less control of his fangs when he’s turned on. “You want to keep the panties or…” He’ll rip them off of you if you give him the option. Shredding through your old panties and buying you new ones to replace them. "I've decided never to wear good panties around you," you admit, throwing him a grin over your shoulder. "Go ahead and shred them if you want. You can even keep the soaked evidence for later if you want." He chuckles as he shreds the panties from your hips. “You know me too well.”

******

You've lost track of time by whenever it is that your office door opens again, so deep in your work and in grooving back and forth in your desk chair that you don't even notice Max is there until he's right beside you and turning your chair away from your computer.

For a moment you startle, realizing he's there and then taking in the state of him. He looks torn apart, covered in blood with his fangs out and panting for the breath that he doesn't truly need when he leans over to press a kiss to the top of your head but you were already moving by accident.

"What?" Max huffs, looking a little hurt that you would flinch away from him. "I thought you loved forehead kisses?"

"I do." You can't help but laugh just because of the look on his face. He's so dramatic. "I was just going to ask if any of that blood was yours." Two fingers toy with the neckline of your dress. Whatever he's doing out there doesn't matter, he looks good covered in blood. "If you needed to feed?"

"Fuck." Max groans, kicking your office door closed just like he does every day and already reaching to undo his belt. "You are perfect."

------

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[baronessvonglitter]

Forever’s Gonna Start Tonight

Max Phillips x gn!reader

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: When your vampire boyfriend Max Phillips agrees to turn you, you enjoy one last day as a mortal.

WARNINGS: Rated T, reader is gender neutral, established relationship, some kissing and fluff (as fluffy as Max can get), mentions of vampirism and ways a vampire can be hurt/injured, mentions of blood drinking, one mention of "intimacy" but is not detailed, no gore, mentions of eating food, reader wears a hoodie but is otherwise not described, use of hypnotism, mentions of being bitten, no use of y/n.

Author's Note: This work is for the jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge 🧡 I chose Max Phillips and apple picking 🍎

I'd kept this idea on the very, very back burner because honestly I love the mythology about vampires, and I wanted a soft!Max story, just to shake things up, and this fic challenge helped kickstart that idea into motion. There was absolutely zero information on our guy Max, so I just kind of messed with the lore and added some good ol' vampire myths just for fun 😊 Also, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" was meant to be a vampire love song, hence the title I used 🖤 (Side note: if you don't already squeeze lemon on your apple slices I highly suggest it. It keeps them from turning brown and gives them a little sour bite if you don't like them too sweet)

Thank you to @jolapeno and @goodwithcheese for hosting this lovely challenge!

divider by @strangergraphics👑

Honestly, you made your choice two seconds after Max told you he was a vampire. There were no two ways about it: if he was one, you wanted to be one too.

"Honey.. you need to think about this seriously. It's not some knee-jerk decision. We're talking about the rest of your life.. or afterlife.. unlife?.. that's at stake here."

"You'll outlive me one day," you reminded him. "I don't want that to happen." You snuggled against him, feeling how warm he was, though now that he'd revealed his secret, you started to feel the cold that seeped through his skin, was ever-present in the physiology that still made him a human male, but also something else.. some preternatural creature that was just under the surface. Hiding.. or suppressed.

"I try not to think about that. I haven't been undead that long," he admitted. "Can't we be happy with what we have now?"

It stung, but you tried not to take it too personally. Max was the type to say whatever thought flitted across his brain, be it snarky or sweet, though around others it typically tended towards the former.

From then on, once he knew you would keep his secret, once he put that trust in you that he didn't place in anyone else, you had so many (too many) questions to ask, and Max was as open as he could be regarding your curiosity. Yes, he could walk around in the daytime, but it was a necessity to slather himself in the highest grade SPF that he could only purchase online from a small business in Romania and cost ten times as much as you made in an hour at your job. And it explained why he always had a scent of coconuts beneath the layer of Tom Ford cologne he practically bathed in.

There were some things that could kill him, primarily a stake through the heart. Garlic and holy water made his eyes water and skin burn, temporarily subduing his powers, and you understood why he dissuaded you from eating Italian food when you started dating.

Speaking of the powers (and that was a huge point of curiosity for you), he had strength, speed, hypnosis (although he preferred the term 'powers of persuasion' -- ever the salesman, that one.) Drinking blood powered him, made him strong, and he managed to drink a little to get him through the day, only succumbing to his deeper cravings after hours.

It was this part he didn't want to talk about. He didn't like you thinking of him prowling after his prey, planning his attack, taking what he needed from unsuspecting victims. He'd drunk from you during moments of intimacy, the small, sweet sting of his fangs was something you'd come to like, but you knew it had to be different for those he hunted. You could paint your own picture of such a scenario-- you'd seen enough movies and read enough Anne Rice and Charlaine Harris to put the pieces together of how he had to survive in the shadows.

If anything, it only further endeared him to you.

But when you'd try to press the issue all he did was sidestep it.. at first. When you were persistent he was firm, telling you in no uncertain terms, "No."

"Do you not think I have what it takes?" you'd asked.

"Babe, I don't doubt your ability--"

"Do you just want to keep all your vampiric secrets to yourself?"

He'd sputtered out a laugh despite trying to keep a serious facade. "You're being ridiculous now."

"Then.." you'd used your puppy dog eyes on him, "you don't love me?"

He'd taken your face in his hands, his gaze insistent. "Don't say that. Ever. Okay?" He'd kissed your forehead, taking in the scent of you, just at your hairline.

You'd been patient, dropping hints until one day you'd stopped, a part of you giving up.

But Max didn't like seeing you unhappy.

"All right, all right," he'd relented one night, during a viewing of American Psycho while hanging out at your place. "If you really want me to turn you, I'll do it."

"Max, you will? Really?" you'd beamed with excitement.

"Yes, sweetheart. If you really want it, I'll do it for you."

You'd pounced on him, kissing him as he pulled you down on the sofa with him, the sounds of Patrick Bateman chasing his victim with a chainsaw playing in the background.

You decide on a date: mid-October, your favorite time of year when the leaves crackle underfoot, and there's the sweet odor of chimney smoke in the air. Max tells you you should spend the last day of your human life doing whatever you want to do, and though it's something small, though it probably ranks low on most people's list of priorities before they begin a new life as a vampire, you tell him you want to go apple picking.

A part of you is relieved that Max doesn't poke fun at you, which he usually does when you tell him you want to watch Dead Poets Society instead of The Wolf of Wall Street, or when you'd rather go on the Ferris wheel than the Zipper with him at the carnival.

You typically play it safe, and he respects your playing it safe with your last day as a mortal, because he loves you.

The apple orchard is an hour and a half away, and Max holds your hand over the center console during the entire drive, letting you choose the radio station, and you spot the small twitch of his eye when you turn up the volume on a Taylor Swift song. He keeps his thoughts to himself but his opinion is written plain on his face. Ever the peacemaker, you switch the radio to an oldies station, listening to Bonnie Tyler belting out "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and even though Max refuses to sing along with you, a smile curves the corners of his pretty mouth as he indulges in your joy.

Upon arrival you jump out before the car is even in park, and are greeted with the scent of the sweet and crisp fragrance of the orchard. The skies above are pale blue, tinged with gold from the late afternoon sun's delicate rays. Grey threatens in the corners of the firmament, and you recall checking your phone's weather app and seeing there would be rain that night. You've come on the right day.

Max grabs your hand as you join the others in line, some families with young kids, some couples, and when he's not expecting it you plant a soft kiss on his cheek. Not typically one for PDA, he one-ups you by taking you in his arms and practically bending you backward in a passionate display of romance, lips claiming yours. "My baby doesn't deserve to wait in line," he whispers, and with a devilish grin he pulls you to the front of the line where the cashier is taking payment.

"We don't need to pay," Max tells her, and from the look in the woman's eyes you can tell he's mesmerizing her with his powers.

"You don't need to pay," she repeats in a monotone, handing over a wicker basket for you to collect the apples.

Max smiles at her charmingly, pulling you along as you enter the apple orchard.

There's a chill in the air as you walk into the wide expanse of land, the green of the apple trees and the ruby fruit of their production providing the perfect backdrop for your date. You cross your arms over your hoodie just as Max puts his arm around you.

"I'll never get cold, just like you," you wonder aloud, thinking ahead to your immortal life.

"Right. One of the perks," he grins. He's wearing a dark grey nylon bomber jacket, hair perfectly coiffed, and even though other people are checking him out as you walk by, he only has eyes for you. "You'll never grow old, either. You'll still be hot. Like me," he grins.

"Which ones look good?" he asks, directing your view to the apples red and ripe, swelling with sweetness, their tangy aroma dancing in the air.

You look up and select a few, holding each one in the palm of your hand before twisting the stem off and placing it in the basket looped around your arm. Max watches you, in awe of your thought process, and the careful way in which you make your selections. When the basket gets too heavy he carries it for you.

"Are you going to eat all of these tonight?" he hides a smile.

"Don't underestimate me," you tell him. "I might just do that."

He envisions what your blood will taste like later, at the time of your turning: bitter with hints of spice and sweet, the flavor inhabiting every blood vessel, flooding into his mouth as he begins the process of forever changing you.

Soon the basket is brimming over with sweet, tart apples. Some of them fall out of the basket on the walk back to the car, leaving a scarlet dotted trail behind you.

At home, you gorge yourself on the crisp flesh of your fresh-picked apples in all your favorite forms: sliced plain with a drizzle of lemon juice, some dipped in caramel, others covered in crunchy red candy. Your lips are sticky and sweet when Max kisses you, savoring the warmth of your skin that, come tomorrow, will be colder, room temperature at best, but still soft, still delicious.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his eyes glinting, irises blown full black, like a shark detecting blood in the water around him. You're settled on the sofa, hands linked, fingers intertwined as your heart races. Max senses it and his tongue flicks out across his pink lips.

"Yes," you answer, and for a brief, sweet moment your life flashes before your eyes, a memoriam to all the things you held dear, the good and the awful, the trail of tiny moments, the heartbreaks you thought you'd never heal from, that ultimately led you to Max and the love you uncovered within him as you broke through his egotistical outer shell.

You kept his promise. He knows his trust is well-placed.

As you offer your neck, the last thing you see before you close your eyes is the Castlevania poster Max gave you for Christmas last year, hanging on the wall above the sofa.

Only the death matters now..

You hear the click of his fangs protracting. Soon you'll be just like him. You have no regrets.

"Thank you, Max," you whisper before you feel the hot sting of his bite on your tender throat. "Thank you for the best day of my life."

[psychedelic-ink]

Oh god the snowball fight was just perfect, loved the "using my resources" banter and the way max was just being cheeky and the tension as they neared to kiss was just everything! and then the first kiss under the mistletoe!! istg everything I love is just rolled into one fic I love it so much <33

also for fucks sake max, a note???? really???? I'm at least glad he realized his mistake and came back ❤️ again I could visualize the last scene so clearly in my head it was just perfect

thank you so much for sharing this series with us, I really had fun reading it ❤️❤️❤️

Snowed Inn

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Word Count / Rating: 5k / T (PG-13, there's a smooch or two in here)

Summary: Business executive Max Phillips gets stuck in a small Christmas-loving town and meets the owner of the town’s bed & breakfast. Through a chance encounter, will Max learn to love the holiday season again?

A/N: The final chapter is here! A little after Christmas, but I got it out before the new year, so I'm happy. I hope you enjoyed this little slice of hallmark goodness for our favorite vampire man ❤️💚

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Fang wakes you up the next morning like usual. Getting up is always a struggle, but it’s easier with such a happy companion. You decide to forgo a shower this morning, definitely not because you’re trying to avoid another run-in with a certain someone, but because you need to shovel the sidewalk again and you’ll inevitably work up a sweat. That’s it.

You pull on your layers for the warm weather, following Fang down the stairs and letting him outside before following with the rest of your winter gear on. Stepping out, you look to the right on the porch where you keep the shovel only for it to be missing. Turning to look across the yard, you’re quick to discover why.

Max is outside, shovel in hand, finishing up the last of the sidewalk. You watch as Fang bounds over to him, barking playfully and biting at the snow Max tosses into the drift. To your surprise, he actually laughs at your dog’s antics.

His words from last night still ring in your mind. He said he was living out a nightmare, but then he seemed so content to join you at the window last night – he seems happy now. It’s a contrast that’s difficult to ignore, twisting your own feelings into a confused knot, but you push past them. Max is merely a guest. His car will get fixed, he’ll leave, and you’ll never see him again. It’s not helping that the little voice reminding you of his unavailability keeps getting quieter.

“Max?” you call, walking down the freshly shoveled path.

He turns to face you, a dazzling smile on his face. “Good morning, snowflake.”

“Did you shovel all of this? You’re a guest, I could have-”

Max interrupts you. “It wasn’t like I was sleeping and the internet is still down. I thought I was going to go crazy laying in bed.” Before you can thank him, a wicked little smile crosses his face. “And you looked so miserable out here yesterday, I figured I’d save everyone else the pain of watching you suffer.”

His little dig takes you by surprise, but you can tell he’s joking from that ridiculous smirk and the light in his eyes. He’s looking for a fight. You can give him one, just not the one he expects.

Quickly, you stick your hand into the snowdrift and expertly pack a snowball together. Before he has time to think, you’re throwing it at him and watching it explode across his chest. Max is clearly shocked, the shovel dropping from his loosened grip. “You’re going to regret that.”

You run away laughing before he can do something like tackle you into the snow. Fang follows behind you, completely unaware of the war you’ve just begun, but endlessly happy to run around. You take cover behind a tree and start to quickly stockpile, peeking around occasionally to keep an eye on Max.

He throws the next wet missile and it probably would have hit you had Fang not bitten it out of the air. “Unfair!” Max yells across the yard. You step out from behind the tree and throw one back his way.

“Using my resources!” you shout back.

The snowball fight doesn’t actually last all that long. You get a few more throws in, Fang and the tree protecting you from Max’s return volley, when Max suddenly disappears. One moment there and the next he’s gone, seemingly vanished into thin air. Confused, you stand up and turn around only to bump directly into Max’s chest. The squeak that escapes you is anything but dignified.

“How did you-?”

“Using my resources,” Max teases back, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you down into the snow with him. Max and the thick inches coating the ground take the brunt of the fall but it’s cold, snow finding its way down through the neckline of your coat. Fang does nothing to help you, bouncing around and offering happy barks.

Despite the sudden tackle and the cold seeping in, you can’t help but laugh. It’s absurd. Here you are, two grown adults having a snowball fight and tackling one another into the snow. Only once you open your eyes and realize just how close you are to Max do you stop short.

He’s right there. A very short distance away, his lips agonizingly close to yours. His eyes dart to your mouth and before either of you can make the final and fateful lean in, Fang barks loudly and shoves himself between you both. You always knew your dog had a jealous streak.

The moment shattered, you pull yourself up from the ground and wipe off some of the snow. “I’m going to go inside and warm up.”

Max gives a small nod, brushing the snow off of his own borrowed jacket. You pat your leg, Fang following behind, and walk back in towards the house. You don’t look back to see Max's reaction. You’re not sure what yours might have been if you had.

Max isn’t really sure what to do with himself. Shoveling had taken him longer than he expected – not anticipating you coming out to catch him while he finished. His supernatural abilities gave him the upper hand in the snowball fight, but watching your excitement had made him wait to use them. It was especially worth it to hear that noise you made after he snuck up on you.

He’s having trouble figuring out if he appreciates Fang’s interruption or not. Max would love nothing more than to know the warmth of your lips against his, the little sounds you might make as he slips his tongue along the seam of your mouth. Watching you walk away reminds him that he needs to focus on when he can get to his conference, not getting lost in phony holiday bliss.

Finishing the last bit of the shoveling, Max comes inside and sits by the fireplace to warm up. His phone goes off, Evan’s name lighting up the screen. He rolls his eyes, letting the call go to voicemail. There’s nothing to discuss that he doesn’t already know and if they fucked something up there’s nothing Max can do to fix it from here.

After speaking with Roger earlier this morning, Max left a voicemail to update Evan and Tim on the situation. The snowstorm delayed the part from being delivered, meaning that his car wouldn’t be fixed until tomorrow. It isn’t ideal, but it still leaves him with enough time to get there in time for the presentation. He doesn’t want to deal with the lecture and rehashing the situation right now.

A little bit of time passes by before you reappear, hat and coat in hand. “I’m going into town to do some work for the festival. Would you want to join me?” you ask. Fang is standing at your side, his tail wagging happily.

Physical labor isn't exactly Max's idea of a good time, but with nothing else to do around the bed and breakfast the decision is easy. The prospect of spending more time around you certainly doesn't factor into it.

"Sure, babe." He ignores the way his heart jumps at the smile painting itself across your face.

"How many more lights can this place need?" Max asks, holding another bundle up for you to take.

You laugh and connect the ends, carefully wrapping the lights on the metal archway. Max stands behind you, helping to keep the ladder steady. "I know it's a lot but it's worth it, trust me."

You dragged Max to the park in the center of town, adding more decorations to the already impossible amount. His first impression of the place looking like Whoville hadn't been far off.

Pathways carve through the park, little booths and small seating areas set up along the way. Everything leads to the ice rink in the center, the big Christmas tree set up directly behind, reminding Max of Rockefeller Center.

Strings of lights drip from everywhere in a variety of colors, garlands and bows clinging to every surface. There are even ornaments hanging from the branches of trees, regardless of species. He's half convinced a transformer is going to blow when someone turns everything on.

Finishing that strand, you climb down from the ladder. "Is that it?" Max asks, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets.

"No," you laugh. "We have one more box to put up. Then we're done."

Max follows you like a lost puppy, wondering why exactly he agreed to this. It's not like he cared about the truly insane amount of Christmas decorations that went up for the festival. He likely wouldn't even be in town to see them.

You find the box easily, pushing it into Max's hands. "What? You're strong, you can handle it," you say, looking at his disgruntled expression. Max tries not to let his chest puff too much at the inadvertent compliment.

Heading back towards the ladder, an older man approaches that Max has yet to meet. He has a wide smile and a trucker's cap perched on top of his head. "How's it goin'?" he bellows upon his approach.

Max is thankful you take it upon yourself to reply. "Nearly done! Only one box left."

"I came at the right time then," the older man laughs.

"Sure that wasn't intentional?"

"Naw, I heard you had help. Figured this one would prefer I worked on his car before the lights anyway," he says, pointing towards Max. Pieces shift into place and Max realizes who this must be. Roger.

Roger turns to look at Max and sticks out a hand. "Nice to finally put a face to the name, Max. My wife told me all about ya, but it's not quite the same."

Years of business professionalism override Max's confusion, firmly shaking Roger's hand. You then manage to answer his question before he asks it. "Roger is married to Wendy. It's why she knew about your car troubles before anyone else."

Suddenly the creepiness of people knowing all about his business fades away and Max is... charmed by it? It's not so much horror movie anymore as it is sweet, passing gossip between an older couple.

"Been my wife for just over 40 years and I wouldn't change a thing," Roger proudly announces.

Roger looks as though he's about to launch into a story, one of those friendly types who mean well and can't seem to help themselves. You apparently know this already, cutting him off before he gets started.

"We better finish up here," you say.

"Just one thing you gotta do first," Roger replies, pointing up above your heads. There's an archway loaded with lights and nestled in amongst the unlit bulbs is a ball of mistletoe.

Max's eyes widen at the realization, looking at you with seemingly equal panic. He still remembers how close you had been while laying in the snow this morning, the feel of your warm breath ghosting across his lips. If not for Fang interrupting he might have closed that final distance. He didn't think he'd get another chance to kiss you and certainly not like this.

"Roger-" you say, exasperated, and the older man shrugs his shoulders.

"Bad luck to not kiss under it."

Before Max can truly register it you huff, reaching over and pulling him in for a quick peck on the lips. It's almost nothing and at the same time it becomes everything. Through even the brief contact, he can feel traces of your chapstick on him – the feeling of your lips pressed to his more haunting than your breath had been. Max will admit he’s left in a bit of a daze from the barely there contact.

"There.”

Roger shakes his head and chuckles. “Probably need to do better than that to ward off bad luck.”

You roll your eyes, but turn back to face Max. For once in his life he's not sure what to do when a pretty girl wants to kiss him. Do you even want to kiss him? There's a box of Christmas lights in his hands that he doesn't know what to do with and an indiscernible expression on your face.

You take the box from Max's hands and set it on the ground. "We don't have to do this," you whisper.

"I can't risk any more bad luck, snowflake."

"Well kiss me then, hot shot."

Max doesn't need further permission – looping one arm around your waist and pulling you into his body while cradling your cheek with his other hand. Your hands press firmly against his chest and despite the many layers between you, he can feel the heat radiating from your body. You smell like your gingerbread body soap. He doesn't mind it as much anymore.

It starts slowly, hardly more than the tiny peck you already gave him. Max knows that it could probably end here, just that bit more to appease whatever deity or whoever presided over mistletoe kisses and deemed them worthy to pass the threshold to avoid bad luck, but he doesn't want to let you go.

He presses into you more, letting his tongue barely slip against your lips. You prefer a fruity chapstick it seems and as he sweeps his tongue a second time your lips part, letting him in.

You consume every one of his senses. As his lips glide against yours the rest of the world slips away. He forgets what it's like to do anything else beyond taste you, breathe you in. He can feel your hands pulling on his jackets sherpa-lined lapels, dragging him in further and he doesn't mind in the slightest. In this moment, his world starts and ends with you.

When you break apart, Max looks to see that Roger has already walked away, nowhere to be seen. It's more than a little relieving. He can't imagine the older man was suggesting that when he said they needed to do better.

Before he can capture you in another kiss, you've already picked up the box of lights. They're squarely between you both and you can't seem to look him in the eye.

You nod towards one of the pathways. “Go on ahead to the diner. I’ll meet you there in a few.”

He's not quite sure he understands what's happening. That had been the best kiss of Max's life, stupid mistletoe included, and he felt confident you held a similar opinion. He doesn't want to just leave you after that.

“Are you sure, snowflake?”

You nod, looking over towards the ladder. “Yeah, this is the last of it. Go and warm up.”

The warmth of diner is welcome after standing in the cold outdoors for so long. Max’s body temperature already running low certainly doesn't help and there's only so much a pair of gloves can do. He's happy you had an extra pair in the truck, even if they are striped red and green. Is there not a single item in this town left untouched by Christmas?

Wendy smiles, waving Max over to a seat at the bartop. It’s emptier than the last time he was in here and the older waitress sticks around to chat. “How are you doing, handsome? Heard your car will be another day.”

That's decidedly less creepy knowing her relationship with Roger. “Not much I can do,” he replies.

“You holding up in the meantime? Our girl treating you okay?”

Max thinks back to the kiss you just shared outside. Despite his confusion about your reaction after, he can't help but smile. "Yeah, she is."

Wendy gives Max a knowing look that he misses entirely, too lost in remembering how good you felt pressed against him.

“She’s a lovely girl. Such a shame all the difficulty she’s had to go through," Wendy says.

That captures Max's attention. It's not like you've had time to dig into each other's pasts, but he had no idea you went through any particular hardships. “What do you mean?”

Wendy leans against the counter. “Oh, you don’t know? She only took over the bed and breakfast last year after her grandfather passed. Had just left some sort of rocky relationship. Sorted herself out quickly enough and got that place humming right along though.”

There's an unmistakable look of pride on Wendy's face. Max imagines that in a small town like this, everyone is fairly close with Wendy and Roger seeming like larger figures in the town. They probably watched you while you got your life back on track every step of the way.

“I didn’t know any of that.”

Your sudden voice over Max's shoulder makes him jump. “Because I don’t really go around talking about it.”

You give Wendy a pointed look, clearly not thrilled with her broadcasting your personal drama. Wendy puts up her hands looking half apologetic. "Sorry, hon. I'll give you some pie on the house."

All things considered, you don't actually look all that upset with Wendy and the mention of free pie lights up your face. "Only if it's a big slice."

"Do I have small slices here?" Wendy jokes back.

She glides away to go service some other customers and grab your pie, leaving you and Max alone.

It's a bit awkward and Max finds himself asking a question just to cut through the silence. "Bad breakup?"

You don't answer right away, pulling off your outer winter layers and getting properly settled into your seat. He's not sure if asking about that was better or worse than asking about your dead grandparent.

"We were together for a while, wanted different things. I got tired of taking third place to his job and his boys, he got tired of me asking for more. When he wouldn't even come to my grandfather's funeral I knew that was it. Broke up, grabbed my things, and came out here."

You say it simply, as though this is something that you’ve hashed and rehashed a thousand times over. The harshness of the situation doesn’t pass Max by though. Even he isn’t so callous as to pass on an important funeral. The guy you were previously with must have been a massive tool.

“That’s uh- that’s rough,” Max says.

You snort before exploding into laughter. A couple heads turn your way before turning back around, Wendy chuckling to herself down the bar. You don’t stop until a few tears stream from your eyes, a few more endearing snorts mixed in. “I’m- I’m sorry. I just- That’s the best response I’ve ever heard.”

“What do you mean?” Max says, entirely lost and confused.

“Usually people give me condolences or say something like, I’m sorry you went through that. Not an awkward, that's rough.”

Thankfully Wendy reappears with your pie and a cup of blood for Max and saves the moment. “Give the poor boy a break, he tried,” Wendy defends.

You nudge Max with the toe of your boot. “He did, didn’t he?”

The rest of the evening is spent in the warmth of the diner, Wendy popping in and out of the conversation. At some point you help her in the kitchen, leaving Max to sit and appreciate the little diner. It’s a cute place, clearly well loved and important to the community, and he even finds himself enjoying all the Christmas decorations. It livens up the place a bit, giving it that special seasonal glow. When it’s time to leave, there’s a part of Max that never wants to go.

Getting back to the bed and breakfast, you offer to make some hot chocolate and Max finds that he can’t resist. It’s late and the other patrons of your establishment have already retired to bed. Max noticed that they’re all older couples and when he asked you explained they were either in town to visit family or to see the Christmas festival.

He should have expected the mugs to be Christmas themed as well. “I would have let you choose,” you say, holding out the snowman shaped mug, “but I already drank out of Rudolph here. A shame I don’t have a Grinch mug to give you.”

“Ha ha,” Max says, taking a sip from his drink. He doesn’t miss the mini marshmallows you’ve loaded in there.

You sit next to him on the couch, Fang curled up at your feet. The fireplace provides a perfect crackling soundtrack in the background. The stockings you have strung up for yourself and your dog look picturesque with the garland that adorns the mantle.

“Come on, you can admit it’s not all bad.”

Max looks at the little sprig of fake mistletoe you have hanging in the center of the mantle. “There are definitely certain aspects I enjoy more than others.”

You follow his eyeline and there’s no mistaking what he’s referencing. You splutter on your hot chocolate a bit.

“That’s- that was-”

“My favorite part of the Christmas season,” Max finishes.

You shove his shoulder playfully. “You pig,” you say with no malice in your voice. “No, it was- it was nice.”

Max can admit he’s never had a kiss from him simply described as nice before. It prickles at him a little more than it should. Rather than let you catch on he plays it off with a joke. “Don’t go out of your way to flatter me, babe.”

You give him another shove. He’s fairly certain the amount of hot chocolate you drink in one go after that is just an avoidance tactic. Feeling an odd sense of benevolence, he decides to let you off the hook.

“Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

Your face lights up at the change in topic. Moments later you launch into your favorite aspects of the festival, all the things you’re looking forward to and participating in over the extended weekend event. Max gets lost in your passion for it and your vivid descriptions. He can feel his own excitement mounting, looking forward to seeing it all with his own eyes.

“My favorite is the ice skating rink. I go there as often as I can during the festival. It looks so beautiful with all the lights surrounding it and the tree right behind.”

"I've never ice skated before," Max tells you.

You stare at him with complete shock. "Never? It's the best, I'll teach you."

Max reaches down and interlaces your fingers with his. A bit emboldened that you don't pull away, he leans over and kisses your temple. "I'd like that."

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you. You both finish your hot chocolates and Fang's occasional snores or little dream-induced boofs are the only thing that interrupts the soft atmosphere. Eventually you begin to yawn, eyelids falling heavier with each passing moment.

"I need to go to bed. Big day tomorrow," you announce, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

Fang rouses from the floor, ready to follow you up the stairs. Max knows that he could go up too, but the peaceful festive ambiance has him trapped in a pleasant bubble. He lets you walk away, quietly calling over to you as you begin to ascend the stairs. "Sweet dreams, snowflake."

The smile you give him nearly makes his cold heart start beating again. “Good night, Max.”

Max sits, enjoying the slowly dying fire when his phone rings. He assumes it will be Evan or Tim, but to his surprise it’s a number he doesn’t recognize. Answering, he’s met with Roger’s jolly voice.

“Sorry for the late night call, just thought you’d be happy to know your car will be all set in the morning. You can come pick her up whenever.”

Max can hardly believe the words. Days of being stuck in this town, missing his conference, only to be set free. It didn’t even bother him anymore that the rental company had never called him back. In just a few hours he’d be speeding off to give his presentation and putting out fires. Normalcy returned.

“Really? That’s great-” The sudden realization of what this means hits Max, his enthusiasm dying considerably. “That’s- thanks, Roger.”

“No problem, son.”

Hanging up, Max can’t get your words from the diner out of his head. You broke up with your previous boyfriend because he couldn’t prioritize you over work. The days of no internet and limited cellphone contact had allowed him to get swept up in the fantasy of everything. What was he thinking?

You wake up the next morning to find Max gone. His room is empty, borrowed clothes folded nicely on the bed, with a single piece of paper lying on top of them.

Sorry, snowflake. I’m no good at goodbyes. I hope all those Christmas lights shine extra bright for you tonight.

The paper flutters to the floor alongside the start of your tears.

Pulling up to the hotel where the conference is being held, Max sees Evan and Tim outside, loading suitcases into the back of a taxi. He pulls up directly behind and throws the car into park. “What’s this?”

Tim is kind enough to greet him with a smile, while Evan’s face turns all blotchy. “Do you not listen to any of the voicemails I leave you? The rest of the conference was cancelled. There’s another winter storm coming in that will mess with people’s flights. The rest will be virtual.”

For just this once in his life, Max wishes he had listened to Evan’s voicemails. It wasn’t his fault they were usually pointless worrying or irritating nagging from the man.

“FUCK!” Max shouts, making both Tim and Evan jump.

“Everything okay there, boss?” Tim ventures to ask.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Max says, catching Evan’s mumbled, that’s an understatement. He can’t believe that he actually finds himself agreeing.

The sheer size of the fuck up he’s made fully registers. Arriving just to learn that the conference was essentially cancelled makes him quickly assess his choices and priorities. He has eternity to work and build up a fortune. An eternity waiting for him full of business meetings, conferences, annoying coworkers, and presentations. Why that could have seemed more important than an eternity with you, he truly doesn’t know.

His mind made up, for good this time, Max takes his suitcase from Tim and walks back to his car.

“Where are you going?” Evan yells after him. “The conference will be starting up again tomorrow!”

“Fuck the conference,” Max yells back. “I gotta go see about a girl.”

The last thing he hears before slamming the car door shut is Tim’s yell of, “Bam-snap!” Max still doesn’t understand that phrase, but he thinks he’s catching on. Bam-snap indeed.

If Max thought the town looked like a movie set before, it’s nothing compared to how it looks all lit up for the festival. Christmas music floats along in the air, the thousands of lights shining brightly. It highlights the soft falling snow perfectly, the fresh dusting only adding to the look. The ornaments in the trees glimmer and gleam alongside icicles fake and real. If he had the time to slow down and enjoy it, Max might go so far as to call it a winter wonderland.

It fades into the background instead, completely zeroed in on his mission. He knows you have to be here somewhere, but with the festival in full swing on opening night it seems like the town has tripled in size. He’s forced to park down some weird side street, running as quickly as he can in dress shoes towards the center of town.

He pays no attention to the odd stares he gets as he calls your name out amongst the crowd. He could care less about what they think. He just needs to find you.

Wendy finds him first. She’s manning one of the stalls along the pathways, handing out the cookies that Max helped you to decorate. “Max? What are you doing here?” she calls over to him.

Max rushes over to her. "Where is she?"

Wendy takes mercy on him and doesn’t offer a lecture, instead giving a simple and straightforward answer. "The ice rink." Of course.

You’re easy to spot in your ridiculous Christmas beanie. You glide smoothly along the ice, no one else at your side. Max wants to remedy that the moment he sees it.

He hops the ice rink wall, ignoring the attendant’s shouts at him, slipping and sliding his way across the ice over to you. The dress shoes do him no favors, but he manages to keep himself from falling over completely.

You turn your head towards the commotion he’s making on the ice, quickly changing your path to skate in his direction. You meet him halfway across the ice. Max holds onto your arms for stability, sighing with relief the moment he smells the familiar gingerbread scent that clings to you.

“Max? I thought you left,” you say. He hates the look that’s in your eyes. So full of apprehension, worry over what he’s doing back here. He hates knowing he put it there in the first place.

He decides not to sugarcoat it. Brutal honesty with any consequences that follow. “I did. Made it all the way to the conference. The rest of it was cancelled but it made me realize just how stupid I was. I already made the wrong decision the moment I got into my car. Only an idiot would choose something like that over you.”

“Max, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I was stupid and I’d like another chance if you’ll give me one. Let me choose you over anything else.”

“Even if that means staying in Santa’s damn village?” you ask, a small smile etched across your face as you reference one of his first insults about the town.

Max can’t help but smile back. “Yeah. Even here.”

You grab the lapels of his jacket and pull him down into a fierce kiss. He wraps his arms around you, in part for stability, but also to feel you wrapped back in his arms. The Christmas lights twinkle in your eyes when you break apart. Max supposes that if it can look this good, maybe Christmas can grow on him too.

Everything Taglist: @radiowallet @sergeantbannerbarnes @pilothusband @max--phillips @starlightmornings @moonlight-prose @practicalghost @sharkbait77 @honestly-shite @shadesofnerdlygrace @salome-c @artsymaddie @paintballkid711 @niki-xie @hotchlover @doin-stuff @magikfanatic @astoryisaloveaffair @donnaa @linkpk88 @tintinn16 @mswarriorbabe80 @phandoz @amneris21

Pedro boys: @iamskyereads @writeforfandoms @girlwholoveswords @beskarboobs @jediknight122 @littlemisspascal @ezrasbirdie @anaaaispunk @cannedsoupsucks @jaime1110 @lellowberry @castleamc @missminkylove @thirddeadlysin @maievdenoir @wordsnwhiskey @magpie-to-the-morning @deadhumourist @vaguely-here-wish-i-was-not

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

a ghost!max phillips series

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader STATUS: In progress

SERIES CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), discussions of death, and reference to canon-typical violence, blood, gore, and body horror. Slow burn, eventual romance. Ghost shenanigans. More to be added as series goes on.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in. Now he'll do anything it takes to have you. OR: the ghost in your apartment wants you desperately.

ONE: ANNOUNCEMENT (read on tumblr)

TWO: INTRODUCTION (chapter post)

THREE: DECLARATION

FOUR: APPARITION

FIVE: CONNECTION

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals below!

@ak-vintage @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed @burntheedges 

@pedrospatch @jolapeno @la-eterna-enamorada29 @guiltyasdave @love-on-my-side

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @iknowisoundcrazy @evolnoomym @saradika

@wannab-urs @helenanell @pedgito @pastelpinkflowerlife @penvisions

@sixhours @goodwithcheese @morallyinept @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime

@noisynightmarepoetry @kyberblade @beezusvreeland @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @thundermartini

@jessthebaker @yopossum @toomanytookas @sawymredfox @galway-girlatwork

@ppascalrain @bbyanarchist @amanitacowboy @milla-frenchy @schnarfer

[sageispunk]

Control (18+)

gif from pinterest (@javier-pena i think)

Kinktober Prompt: sex pollen, thigh riding, forced orgasm (day 4)

pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

summary: Drinking with your boss goes differently than you'd planned.

“Mm baby, I bet I could get one more out of you, what d’ya think? Can you cum one more time for me, like a good girl?” You looked into his eyes, seeing his hunger for you, it was carnal, lecherous.

wordcount: 2.3k+

warnings: no Y/N, this is sort of dark, DUBCON, max has a thing for reader, boss/employee dynamics, drugging (w/blood), intoxication, dom/sub vibes, teasing, nipple play, grinding/dry humping, voice kink, praise kink, magic kinda, making out, overstimulation, small visual hallucinations, multiple orgasms (2), use of “good girl”, dirty talk

A/N: max is a little OOC also my vampire science is slightly based on true blood–if a human ingests vamp blood (so not sex pollen exactly), they sort of trip on it BUT there are less extreme visual hallucinations + it just makes you feel rllyyyy good and very h-word. he can also influence you if you make eye contact for a few seconds (which is just glamouring in TB lol)

“How’s it taste?”

Max watched as you took a couple sips of his fancy red wine (whose name you couldn't pronounce), eyes a bit widened in excitement. You let the taste linger in your mouth for a moment, before replying. “Not bad, it's a little strong, but smooth. Reds usually don't do it for me, but this, it's pretty good.”

He smiled at your candidness, subtly scooting a bit closer. The two of you sat on high stools in his kitchen, talking at the marble island. Max had invited you over early in the day, during your lunch break, stating that even though you'd been working there for a few months, he barely knew anything about you. Said it would be good to get to know each other, it would help ease you into the work culture.

“I’m glad you like it.. it's been fermenting awhile, probably longer than you’ve been alive!” He says, with a slightly obnoxious laugh, watching you giggle in response.

The both of you chat about random stuff, mostly about you– how long you’ve been in the city, where you came from, etc. Every time you want to ask him about himself, he sort of beats you to it, pulling bits and pieces of information out of you.

A few moments later, you start to feel woozy, more in your head and upper body. “Woah, that stuff was strong.” You’re giggling, reaching for the bottle that stood on the counter between you and Max, wanting to read it again.

“You feelin’ it?” He asks, eyes steadily trained on your face, his body turning to better face yours. A chuckle leaves your throat, “Yeah, it's…” You just shake your head and sit the bottle back down, at a loss for words to describe how your body was beginning to feel.

It was good, a sort of light feeling, as if every particle of your being was being lifted up by tiny little angels, washing away that heavy burden of being a person. No more stress, no more doubts, no more responsibilities, no more ego.

There was also a physical tingling slowly radiating from your spine to every other part of your body, your head, your tummy, your toes, fingertips..

You brought your hand up, eyes wide in amazement at the faint glowing you could see emanating from your nails. You eyes briefly left your hands, going up to meet Max’s, your mouth hung open as if to say do you see this? but nothing came out. He watched you, with a sort of amused, content look on his face, lips slightly upturned.

Your arm slowly reached out, hand stretching towards him, wanting him to see and feel what you were experiencing. When you touched, it felt like electricity– “Oh!” You gasped.

But the sharp feeling quickly turned into a soothing, warm sensation as Max fully took your hand in between both of his. He gently rubbed your hand, while you sat in complete awe. You met his eyes again, and this time you could see the darkness in them.

His orbs were almost black, gaze trained on you with such intensity that sober-you would've simply imploded. But right now– they were comforting, nearly tranquilizing.

“How are you feeling? Good?” His voice was deeper, more…sensual–it hit your ear in a different way than before. You wanted to hear more.

Nodding your head, you leaned your body in a bit more towards his, reaching your other hand up to his face. You were only slightly surprised to feel that jolt again, that static that seemed to sit on his skin. You stroked his cheek softly, soothing that electricity just like he did with you.

“Mmm..” Max groaned and his eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back slightly as your fingers graced his jaw. You watched as he reveled in your touch, leaning into your hand. Your fingers traveled along the outline of his face, going down until they were loosely grasping the side of his throat with your thumb stroking his cheek again.

Max’s eyes opened again, looking as though he was shocked that you could get him like this. “Come,” And then he was pulling you by your arms, so quickly that it didn’t feel real. For a split second, you stood there, in between his legs, with your faces only an inch apart, so close that there was equal static flowing between you two.

And then you were falling.

You’d been sitting for so long, you didn’t realize how numb your legs were. “Woah there, mama, let's get you up.” Max cooed, standing up to catch you and help get you upright. You weakly held onto him, less focused on your legs and more focused on how close you were to him, the woody scent of sage and cedarwood in his clothes, and the way he was holding onto your body, his own tall figure serving as a protector for you. “C’mon, baby, I’ve got ya.”

The lights were low, the constant whirring of the ceiling fan lulled you in the background, and you were in heaven. Max had led you into his living room, sitting the both of you down on the soft sofa with you atop his lap. He firmly grasped your chin with his right hand, bringing your eyes back up to his. ���Tell me how you’re feeling.”

His voice had a tone of dominance in it, and his eyes had you falling into that peaceful trance again, unable to focus on anything other than him and the wonderful sensations happening within your body. “Feelin’ good,” You meekly whispered, voice a bit hoarse from not having spoken in a minute.

“Mhm?” He looked pleased with your answer, leaning back into the sofa as you remained straddling his lap. His hand dropped from your face, both coming to rest on your hips. His eyes wandered, first to your lips, then your neck, down to the curves outlined in your short black slip dress, especially your breasts.

Max lifted his hands up to each of your breasts, gently holding each of them in his palms while you looked down at him, nothing but calm in your eyes. Then his thumbs lightly flickered across your nipples, drawing a gasp out of you. His eyes lit up at both the sound you made, and the way you jumped in his lap, subtly grinding into his hardening cock.

“Do you always wear such revealing clothing when at your boss’ house?

Your eyes widened at the question, head shaking in response, feeling yourself become needier the longer his hands were on you.

“Hm?” He stopped thumbing at your nipples, eyebrows raised with a stern look on his face.

You got the hint. “No, no I don’t..”

“It's just for me?” The touching resumed, now turning into soft groping.

You nodded your head, “Only for you.”

He squeezed and massaged your breasts, causing you to let out breathy moans above him. A cocky smile graced his face as he began to pleasure you. Max was now fully hard and slightly grinding his bulge up into your soaked panties, hissing at the feeling of your warmth, even through his pants.

“Fuck, baby…you’re so good, y’know that?”

A pang of electricity shot through your stomach, making you feel even weaker. His hands, his eyes, his cock hard under you, and his fucking voice… everything had you so far under.

“Jus’ wanna be good for you,” Your voice was so soft and hushed, but you knew he’d heard you. “Yeah?” He asked, and you nodded in response, your eyes low and focused on his.

He sat up to come in closer to you, his firm hands coming up to your face, pulling you in until you were an inch apart. You stared into his eyes, the depth of darkness pulling you in, enticing you. All you wanted was him. To become one with him.

You kissed him, a bit too fast, with a sort of hunger, and then you quickly pulled back and leaned your forehead onto his. He panted, a feral, frenzied look written all across his face, letting you know that he needed this as much as you did.

Your faces pulled back together and his hands shot down to your ass, pulling the bottom of your dress up above your hips. Feeling that you only had a thong on underneath, Max hissed in pleasure. His hands grasped each of your cheeks, squeezing and groping, more obviously grinding his bulge up into your heat. “Y’feel that baby? Feel how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” You let out a breathy moan, your head swimming in clouds. “It feels so good.”

“Show me. Show me how good you feel.”

Your hips began to move, rocking back and forth on his lap, your clothed clit rubbing against the hem in his jeans. Every time it hit that one spot you let out a moan, each one getting louder than the one before.

His right hand came down on your ass hard and fast, feeling like a lightning bolt shooting through your backside. You yelped, now humping a bit more frantic. You could tell you were nearing your peak already, though it felt much different than when you normally do, alone and in the darkness of your bedroom.

It was more intense. Your body trembled and your eyes kept fluttering shut as the waves of pleasure amplified. “M-Max, I-”

“I know, baby, let it out,” His voice grunted out, hands tightly guiding you back and forth on his lap, getting you closer and closer, until all you could feel was static electricity, all over your skin, on Max, inside of you…

He brought a hand back up to your jaw, holding your face up to meet your gaze. “Cum for me.” His eyes pierced yours and you felt yourself let go, hips stilling for a moment then twitching uncontrollably. You cried out as your eyes rolled back into your head, immediately feeling overstimulated all over your body.

“Good girl,” He cooed in your ear, his body stilling under yours. “You did so good, baby.” Your body continued to twitch slightly, still coming down from the most intense high you’ve ever felt. “So beautiful, all soft and sweet like this. I’d pay–no I’d kill to see you break down like that again.”

You whimpered at his words, his voice still having a strong effect on you and your body. “Mm baby, I bet I could get one more out of you, what d’ya think? Can you cum one more time for me, like a good girl?” You looked into his eyes, seeing his hunger for you, it was carnal, lecherous.

You wanted to say not yet, you needed time to recover, to fully come down. But his eyes, they bore into you, taking over every thought of denial your mind came up with. Ignoring your oversensitive clit and tired hips, your fuzzy head nodded.

Max patted his right thigh, “Up here,” You straddled his thigh and a shiver shook through your body at the feeling of the strong mass under your panties. “Look at me. I want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nodded, once again. He grasped your hip with both hands and began to pull you back and forth on his thigh. He kept it slow at first, only beginning to slowly speed up once he noticed your sensitivity wasn't as high anymore. “Touch yourself,” He ordered.

Your hands moved immediately, both gravitating towards your breasts again, this time you slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders. You gasped at the feeling of your own fingers pulling at your hardened nipples. You twisted and pulled until they were too sensitive to the touch, and resorted to simply groping your own tits.

“So fuckin’ beautiful…” His praise hit your ears and sent shocks down your body, right to your slick pussy. You were dripping, thong completely soaked and ruined, as were Max’s pants. Your hips found their rhythm again, wanting to chase that peak he had you nearing again.

Back and forth, and back and forth. You even added in a small circling to create a different feeling than before. The closer you got, the more your sensitivity intensified. It was twice as strong as your previous high, and you didn’t know it you would be able to take it. Max could tell, he could see the way you were beginning to doubt yourself, a nervous look written on your face. “Don’t think about it baby, just let it happen. You’ve got it, doing so fuckin’ good.”

“Max, I don’t know–” Your gaze began to fall from his, but he grabbed your face, not as gently as before. “No, you’re gonna cum for me. Right now, you’re gonna cum like the good girl that you are, and you’re gonna fuckin’ love it.”

“Ohhh, my…” Your voice trailed off into a high-pitched wail, your second orgasm hitting you, causing your body to completely lock up for a few quick moments. You watched Max’s face as you came, he had a proud look on his face, and you felt it within yourself as well.

You slumped in his lap, unable to hold yourself up at all. He rubbed your back and tucked your face into his neck. “You did so well for me baby, m’proud of you.” Strong butterflies pounded in your chest, his praiseful words aiding your harsh come-down.

The longer you laid there, the more you realized how exhausted you were. Your head felt heavy again, eyes low, nearly closed with drowsiness. Your body was tired and sore, in several different places. You didn’t focus on the pain though. Max’s hands on your back and head, rubbing in rhythmic circles, had you falling deep into a peaceful slumber.

A/N: that was so hot to write omg. it took longer than expected but i'm still proud i got it out:) max was a little difficult bc i don't know his character super well (i've only seen the film once) but it was still fun playing around with it. please like and reblog (and leave plenty of comments) if u enjoy reading this. feel free to send requests/suggestions!! <333 (follow @sageispunklibrary + turn on notifs for updates)

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

[palioom]

day four - teratophilia

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 555

warnings:18+ content; no use of y/n; vampires, office sex, blood mentions, drinking blood, unprotected p in v

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

She knew she shouldn’t be doing this. That the second she had seen those teeth, she should have been running for the hills. Anywhere, as long as it was away from him.

But it was quite the opposite, as she saw those sharp fangs for the first time, she felt oddly attracted to them. Their bearer was attractive, yes. Anyone who had eyes would call Max Phillips attractive.

Yet those teeth only added to it.

Her dreams became consumed by him, by his sharp fangs sinking into the soft flesh of her neck, piercing her skin elsewhere. Grazing over her skin, all while his strong hands left bruises behind with how tightly he was gripping her.

And now she was alone with him, in his office, her legs spread for him on his desk while his cock drilled into her again and again. Her dreams had become reality, his teeth nicking her lips as he kissed her, groaning at the taste of copper that filled his mouth.

Drinking down her sweet moans, his grip on her hip bruising, his voice darker and closer to a growl than anything else.

As his mouth descended onto her neck, only grazing his teeth over her skin, she couldn’t help the moan that slipped past her lips.

“Bite me.” She said and she was almost begging him to do it, his ears perking up at the sound. “Bite me, Max.”

“Bite you?” He echoed, his hips never losing their rhythm. Oh, what a sweet thing she was, so willing to give herself over to him. “You love that I’m a monster, don’t you, toots? Unlike everyone else who screams and runs?”

She nodded, whining when he lightly nibbled at her neck. But it wasn’t enough, she needed more of him.

“Yeah, fucking love it.” Her voice was high pitched and desperate, so close to an orgasm. Her fingers curled into his clothed bicep, eyes opening to see his dark eyes staring back at her. “Fucking bite me, please.”

He quite liked her, had smelled her nice perfume, had been lusting after her for a while. Max didn’t want to just turn her, wanted to keep her for himself and keep drinking from her. Because something about her was special, the way she came to him instead of him having to chase and capture her.

Her neck was warm and inviting, her pulse rapid. How could he resist that? While balls deep into her no less.

“Oh, toots.” He chuckled, voice dark. “You bet your pretty little ass that I will.”

Planting her teeth against where he felt her pulse, he waited just until her tight pussy began to convulse around his cock, sinking his teeth into her.

She cried out, her orgasm intensifying from the pain of his teeth, from the way she felt the blood leave her body, a certain lightheadedness taking over her.

That was her dream, at the mercy of this monster as he drank from her, pulling back eventually to press his bloodied lips against hers in a sloppy kiss. Tasting her own blood on her tongue, certainly hoping this wouldn’t be the last time she would get to fuck the monster of her dreams.

And the look in his eyes told her that this was far from the last time this were to happen.