#Max Phillips

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

sugar tits

Max Phillips x f!reader | wc: 3.8k | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: driving Max to meetings is part of your job as the assistant. providing him with snacks and your tits to busy his hands and mouth is part of your situationship.

warnings: no use of y/n, ablebodied reader, reader has tits big enough for titfucks, established coworker-with-benefits situationship (and a sprinkle of idiots in love), blood (duh), blood drinking (duh²), blood play (duh³), spitting, Max and reader being kinda switchy, pet names (sugar tits, Maxie), breast play, nipple play, titty fuck, breastfeeding but vampire style (you've read it here first), cum eating, dm me if I missed any

a/n: this is my embarrassingly late entry for @burntheedges roll-a-trope challenge. it sat half finished in my wips for months. I got assigned 'roadtrip' and road tripping is driving around and eating, right? This is for my titty fuck (fic) and Max enjoyer. A lot of love, as always, to @guiltyasdave for the usual: beta, hyping, going feral over the pointy teeth man 💛💛💛

“Sugar tits!”

You sigh and check the rear view mirror. Max smirks at you, splayed on the backseat of the car, looking dapper and cocky as always.

“Sugar tits, can I have a snack?” He bats his lashes and purses his lips into the fakest of pouts that you have ever seen on his face.

“You already had your snack. Remember? Before we left?” You raise a brow and glance at him again. Still this shit eating grin on his face.

“Yeah, I remember. But I can’t taste your pussy on my tongue anymore. My mouth misses you, sugar tits.”

You shake your head, not able to hide your own smirk now. “No. It hasn’t even been two hours. Patience is a virtue, Max.”

The pout on his face is a real one now. He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks, his fingers starting to fondle himself. “Bitch,” Max mutters and then sees a shit eating grin spread on your face. HIS signature facial expression. He would love to slap it out of your face, with his dick. “Whatever,” he grumbles, pulls one hand out of his pockets and reaches for some paperwork to look over.

Work trips with Max needed a little more planning. It was like traveling with a toddler at times. He needed attention, enrichment, constant skin contact, he needed his special seat (in the back, all windows blacked out of course) and snack breaks.

You spoiled him. Spoiled him rotten. And the consequences of your actions are now sitting in the backseat, glaring at you, licking over his teeth and gums. He looks like he’s gonna pounce on you any second now. 

You take a hand off the steering wheel and reach behind you, patting his knee.

“Maxie,” you coo and give him your best doe eyes in the rear view mirror.

He frowns, his lip twitches. He is hangry, and while your hangry makes you grumpy and verbally lash out, his hangry makes him snap necks. 

“Don't. Maxie. Me,” he hisses and licks over his gums again. They pulse in the same rhythm as his fangs that start to grow and push out. The same rhythm his dick throbs in his briefs, too. Hungry always means hungry for all physical pleasures. “Pull over. Now!”

Sometimes you couldn't tell if he was really about to snap or if he was just acting like the big bad vampire to get what he wants as fast as possible. And honestly, you didn't want to find out. 

You find a break area a minute later and when you join Max in the backseat, he is all over you in no time. 

The position is practiced, a habit formed through daily repetition over the course of months. It’s comfortable, almost cozy, it makes your heart flutter and not only because Max drinks from you.

You are pulled underneath him, one of your legs between his thighs, and like hormonal teenagers you rub against each other in the back of the car. 

You can feel it, sense it in the powerful movements of Max’ body on yours. He tries hard to hold back but the hunger in him is primal, raw. You let him take what he wants at this point. With his eyes darkened and fangs on full display, it isn’t about wanting anymore, it is about what Max needs.

“Need you, sugar tits,” he groans with his open mouth pressed against your pulse point already. He tries to hold back, because he likes you. Straight up eating you would not be a nice thing to do. He wants to be nice, just a little bit, and just for you. “Be a good girl for me, will ya?”

With his hands kneading your tits and his fangs grazing your neck, his thigh pressed against your crotch and you grinding down on him, there isn’t  much else left to do than to nod. You like that he needs you, that he takes a liking in your blood specifically, maybe even in your mouthy behavior.

“I’ll be good. Take what you need,” you murmur and pull down the collar of your blouse for him. “But no stains, I don’t have a-”

His patience wears thin, it’s barely there. Stains. As if he was a messy eater. He snarls a “shut up”, a hand finds the back of your neck to hold you in place, but also to make it as comfortable as possible for you. He is no monster. 

Max nuzzles the crook of your neck, taking in your scent, the blood, the perfume, your skin. His tongue licks over your pulse point, once, twice, he can already taste you.

Something sharp grazes your neck, it feels like two needles. Another lap, warm, soft, wet and then he bites you. His fangs cut through your skin and the underlying tissue with ease, a feeling you will never grow accustomed to. 

When your fingers clutch his arms, gripping the fabric of his suit jacket like he grips the back of your head, Max coos with his lips latched to you. He never asked how it feels for you, being fed from. But he imagines, sometimes, when he feels pathetic and sentimental in the emptiness of his apartment, that it doesn’t feel too good.

He is no monster. Soothing circles are massaged into your scalp, he shifts his weight to not crush you and he hums, hoping it would help you with the uncomfortable feeling. The first drops of your blood spill into his mouth and he licks them up like a cat licking up spilled cream. 

“Go ahead,” is all you murmur and it sounds like a quiet wince. “‘s okay, Maxie.”

He sighs softly, changes the angle of his jaw and the sweet coppery blood fills his mouth. So sweet, so warm, your heartbeat on his tongue. He laps, swallows, whines. You taste good. Special, lively, warm, like calmness. Whenever he feeds on you it fills his veins with your essence and his mind with your… acceptance of him being an abnormality of nature? You taste as if you like him. Not just the sexy vampire aura, but him, Max. Maxie.

He drinks a few mouthfuls, slowly, even though his hunger for you tells him to drain you. He would never drain you. That would mean killing you, losing his favorite blood bag, the only one he has. The only one he wants. Your blood warms his heart and he swallows it together with the emotions that start rising up in him. He is no monster. But he is no wimp either.

Your fingers relax, a hand roams up his arm and all that you can hear in the back of the car is the quiet suckling and swallowing coming from Max. He ruts against your thigh, semi-hard and with less neediness than before. His hunger starts to slowly disappear, and even though he still lays on top of you, even though he still feeds on you and rubs himself against you, this is for comfort. That's what you suspect, at least.

You once asked him why he did this, the hums and rubs, the pressing of his tongue on the tiny puncture wounds in your neck without really drawing any more blood. He scowled. He wouldn't need comfort. This was all part of the process. And you clearly had no idea about that. 

Max was right, you didn't know what was part of the feeding and drinking and what was not. 

But you tested your comfort theory out one evening: you stroked over his hair, hummed in response and spoke softly to him. And instead of making fun of you, Max almost became affectionate. He almost snuggled up, closer to you.

You never spoke about it again, about this moment of softness. When he lifted his head that evening, he smiled. You smiled back. Then the moment was over and he talked about a presentation for the next day.

The rutting stops and the languid licks over your wound turn into a soft kiss with his lips lingering, as if he's afraid to disrupt the connection with you.

“Feeling better now?” you ask softly, breaking the silence in the car.

“Mhmm,” he hums against your neck and for a second you think you might get another one of those cuddly soft cotton candy moments with him.

Max shuffles slightly, one hand still holding your head in a comfortable position while the other one creeps up your side and finally finds its place on one of your breasts.

“Been good,” he murmurs and squeezes you once. “Made no stains. I want a reward, sugar tits.”

“You already got your reward, Maxie.” You turn your face towards him and catch him licking the corners of his mouth clean. “The little sippy sip?”

“Yeah, but I also want your tits. Please?” He flashes you a wry smile and his teeth look like white marble with red streaks.

You tug on a strand of his hair, just harsh enough to see his smile turn into a lopsided pout. “No. There’s an important meeting in an hour and we still have to get there. Titty time takes forever with you.”

He knows you're right. And he hates the thought of arriving too late to the meeting and losing the pitch. With a groan his face disappears in your cleavage, one hand kneading you desperately. His voice is muffled while he whispers and gently tugs on a mouthful of your tits. Something about “be back soon, Linda and Rita” and you know he’s talking to your tits, again. Max truly is a tit man, a man sized toddler who is doing the grabby hands whenever you're wearing something that shows a sliver of cleavage.

“But afterwards, right?” He looks up at you, expectantly. The demand is clearly written all over his face. You nod your head because saying no isn’t an option with a moody and cranky vampire.

“Yeah, after the meeting.”

The meeting was good. Really good actually, of course. Max convinced the other party to throw a whole lotta money at him and the company. And when you exit the elevator together and enter the underground parking, he is strutting like he just got five inches taller and his balls bigger.

While you search for the car keys, Max is searching for the fastest way to feel your skin under his hands. He doesn’t care that someone could see, or that there are security cameras everywhere. He just needs to feel you. You manage to open the car before he pulls up your blouse and you get on the backseat with him. When the door closes with a quiet thud you know that there’s no escape. Not that you wanted one in the first place.

Max after a successful business thing is not so different to the everyday version of him: cocky, arrogant, horny, hungry. Dangerous. But everything is maxed now. His eyes are darker, teeth sharper, voice lower and somewhere between sweet and lethal. A predator needing his fix.

“Sugar tits…” he croons, licking his lips as he pulls on your hip and drags you under him. Vampire strength, manhandling but the supernatural kind. You don’t even question how you end up in certain positions anymore.

Max is straddling you, all you see is the strained fabric of his slacks, bulging thighs left and right of your torso, a throb behind the fly. His hands on your chest, palming, pawing, squeezing.

“You’ll let me have this, right? Let me have you like this?”

A rhetoric question, you both know it. So you just nod your head yes, hands already roaming over his thighs, higher, until you feel his hard bulge. Palming, pawing, squeezing. Two can play a game and you're always the lucky loser.

Max involuntarily bucks into your hand, immediately annoyed about his body’s lack of obedience. 

“Patience,” he snarls and contradicts his words with hasty fingers unbuttoning your blouse and letting your bra snap open. Front closure for easy access.

Both of you sigh in relief. You because the straps aren’t cutting into your shoulders anymore and Max because he finally can return to his playground, his homebase. He cups your tits, gently, as if holding something precious, and buries his face right into them.

“That's my good Maxie,” you coo with your hand in his hair. You get a happy purr from him when you breathe in deeply, your chest rising. His nose is nestled between the swell of your breasts and he almost can smell your heartbeat, taste the creamy thud on his tongue.

He licks you, the salt on your skin like an amuse bouche, the first little treat in a line of more tasty courses. Open mouthed, flat tongued, prickly fanged he moves over your flesh, his thumb rubbing over your nipple and making it stiff.

He pinches it, tugs at the bud until you wince and until he can hear you clench around nothing. Yeah, he fucking loves his hightened vampire senses. 

“Want you,” he slurs with his tongue kitten licking the other nipple, coaxing it to tighten and peak, “feed me!”

They are sensitive, hurting even. He knows it, your muscles twitch with every lick and every tweak. And when he closes his lips around your nipple, you suck in air and hold it deep in your lungs.

With his hands on your tits, Max settles on top of you. He loves this, your warm, soft flesh almost spilling through his fingers, the weight of them perfectly resting in his palms. He loves how sore your nipples taste. Because he licks them so often, sucks on them, suckles himself into a state of sleepy horniness every night.

It soothes you, too, despite the pain. Something inside of you always kicks in, something embarrassingly motherly. But when you hear him smack his lips, the sound of him swallowing his own saliva and your–

“Ow…” you hiss when his teeth cut through your skin, and he is still sucking your nipple into his mouth. A gulp, a purr, his hands kneading your breasts now in an attempt to increase the blood flow.

“Maxie.” A sigh falls from your lips, somewhere between affection and lightheadedness. 

He lifts his head a little bit, slowly sucking on your tit, drinking your blood. But his big brown eyes, the shine in them… Perhaps it’s some vampire poison that lets you have these thoughts, but he almost looks like he really cares for you, beyond the blood and breasts.

Another purr comes from him and when he moves to the other breast. Long threads of his spit mixed with your blood dribble from his lips. Max is messy on purpose. He likes the way you look like this, skin glistening like tart cherries, plump and sour and sweet on the tip of his tongue.

Max likes the feel, too. His hands press your breasts together and rub them to spread the bloody drool before you feel a sting around your other stiff peak and the wet heat of his tongue. This time the suction and slight pain makes you moan. The grip in his hair tightens and when you push him closer Max obliges happily.

Closer and more. That is all that is on his mind. Before you it was only ever more. But with you? He wants to be closer. On your skin, under your skin. And he wants you under his skin, too. In his bloodstream, flooding every cell in his body, running through his veins and heart and brain and dick.

“Fucking need you,” Max mutters, fangs and tongue still half-way latched onto your tit. He is hard, digging into your thigh with every roll of his hip. He pushes himself up enough to watch how his saliva slickens your chest, combining with the tiny drops of scarlet blood, running from around your nipples.

You only notice that he isn’t wearing his pants anymore when he’s straddling you again. Crouching over you, he makes the backseat feel even more cramped. Max’ thighs cage you in, his skin cold against you, but it’s the look on his face that sends a shiver down your spine.

Blood is trickling from the corners of his mouth, with his fangs on full display. He knows he looks like a monster. He is a monster. One with a hard cock begging to be taken care of. You’re already reaching for him, looking hungry for him. 

“Don’t, sugar tits. Just relax. Look pretty,” he says and spits in his hand. “Can you do that for me?”

You watch him wrap his fingers around his cock and stroking himself. He is impatient, you can tell by the way he squeezes himself and his nostrils flare again. You’re quick, appeasing the beast with a nod.

“I'll look extra pretty. And Maxie?” Your hands cup your tits now, and you pinch your sore nipples with a wince.

The leather of the seats creaks under his knees when he shifts, bringing his cock between your breasts. The sight alone lets Max moan. He tears his gaze away and looks back at you. Eyes half-lidded, your lip sucked between your teeth, the tiniest frown on your face because you’re aching for him. He can smell it.

“What is it, sugar tits?

“Fuck my tits real good.” You push your breast together, burying him between them. Smirking. Knowing exactly how to pull on his strings to make him lose it.

Max just scoffs, As if he ever doesn’t fuck you good. He pulls back and, with a groan, pushes his throbbing length in between your blood and spit slicked tits. You’re so warm and soft and wet. Not as tight as your pussy and so different to your mouth and ass. But nothing matches the look of your bloody tits and hands. And the look of his cock, covered in a mixture of spit and blood and his leaking precum. Max loves to see his tip appear and disappear again from between your breasts squished together. And he loves that sound, this distinct wet sound of fucking your tits, so sloppy and slippery.

He could take his time. He could make sure that you enjoy it too, with his hand between your legs maybe. But he doesn’t. He'll make it quick, because you’re hurting, basically folded in half on the backseat. Max will take his time later, with you in his bed and his fingers in your pussy, then his tongue, then his cock, then his tongue again. Fuck, he really is soft for you. 

With his hands clutching the seats he picks up the pace. Each stroke drags his balls back and forth over your skin, your sternum deliciously hard beneath every inch of his cock while there is still blood oozing from the bite marks he left on your nipples.

“So pretty like that,” he rasps between thrusts, whining when he sees you pinching your nipples again. “Best tits I ever had. Best. Fucking. Tits.”

The tinted windows start fogging up, the air inside the car becomes stale. It doesn’t need the senses of a supernatural bloodsucker to smell it. The iron stench, the precum, the spit, the arousal leaking out of you while you're rubbing your legs together. You love the tender Max, who sometimes peeks through in silent moments, but you also love him like this: raw, messy, needy. The perfect excuse to be nasty yourself.

”Cum in my mouth, Maxie,” you breathe softly, already licking your lips. “Cum down my throat.”

He snarls, lips twitching to bare his fangs as he tries to not lose all of his restraint. He never told you, and never will, but this is the hardest part. To keep himself human enough when you are feeding into the beast he is. Especially now. With your fingers kneading your breasts, smearing your own blood on them, keeping them pressed together so he can fuck himself stupid between your tits.

“No,” is all he manages to spit out, his hips stuttering now. “Fuck, sugar tits. Gonna cum.”

He hears you clench, hears the soft squelch of your soaked panties cutting through your folds so you get some kind of pressure on your clit. He smells it. Smells whatever was left of his last load trickling out of you. Jesus fucking Christ, you didn’t even clean yourself up since last night?

That does it for him, and with a howl he spills himself on your chest. Pearly white mixing with the scarlet that’s already coating your skin, his cum spouting up to your neck and chin. Max keeps thrusting until the rush ebbs away. He swallows thickly, admiring his work that almost looks like a Jackson Pollock, painted on your tits. Signed by the artist himself, with bite marks all over them.

Pulling back and yanking your hands away so he can get to his second favorite part: cleaning up. Tasting himself and you. Gathering his spent first with his fingers and then his tongue, he starts licking and slurping, lapping broad stripes up from between the valley of your breast to your collarbones. Licking over your nipples, just because he loves them so perky and sore, cleaning up the last drops of your blood. Saving up a small pool of his now red tinted cum.

“Want some, sugar tits?” He looks up, eyes dark and shimmering, his lips and chin and cheeks having a wet sheen. You just nod your head, opening your mouth and waiting for his fingers, dipped in cum.

But he leans down instead, licking the last remains of his load into his mouth and moving up to hover over your face. He smirks, fucking smirks at you, wiggling his brows and then spits his cum into your waiting mouth.

You swallow him down, the distinct taste of both of you spreading on your tongue. 

“Menace,” you murmur, your head lolling back onto the backseat. You need a moment. The thought of actually driving now lets you groan.

“Funny way of saying ‘thank you’,” he teases, his sharp edges softening a bit. “Here…”

He finds the wet wipes you have stored under the seats and starts cleaning you up, then he opens the wrapper of a granola bar and pops pieces of it into your mouth. “Your blood sugar is too low, sugar tits. You taste awful.”

“Funny way of saying you care about me.”

“Shut up. I don't,” Max hisses and scowls. And feeds you another piece of granola bar. “Just making sure my blood bag is kept alive.”

“Sure, Max,” you roll your eyes and close your bra and blouse with a few winces. He nudges your leg, bottom lip jutting out in a bratty pout.

“Sure, Maxie,” you correct and sit up.

His pout dissolves in a toothy grin. 

“That's more like it. Now move your ass and do your job, sugar tits. Drive your boss home, chop chop.” 

✨comment or reblog so Max calls you sugar tits, too. you know you want him to. 😌

find my general masterlist here

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

[lokischocolatefountain]

Pedro Pascal choosing roles

[papitopascal]

[pedrorascal]

It's the most wonderful time of the year 🎃👻🧛

[perotovar]

Uh, I'm the head of HR, so it's highly inappropriate for me to discuss this—

PEDRO PASCAL as MAX PHILLIPS Bloodsucking Bastards (2015) dir. Brian O'Connell

[missladym1981]

The Many faces of Pedro Pascal. 58 characters he has played through stage screen and television. A 6 month project just for fun. Have a lovely day.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024

All days will be completed with various characters. The Mandalorian, Ezra (Prospect), Frankie Morales, Javier Peña, Agent Whiskey, Pero Tovar, Oberyn Martell, Marcus Pike, Dave York, Max Phillips, Max Lord, Marcus Moreno, Zach Wellison, Dieter Bravo, Javi Gutierrez, Joel Miller, Tim Rockford, Marcus Acacius

** All prompts will be completed as Female Reader

Kinktober List Here

Day 1: Handjob - Marcus Acacius

Day 2: Double Penetration - Oberyn Martell & Marcus Acacius

Day 3: Sixty-nine - Frankie Morales

Day 4: Watersports - Dieter Bravo

Day 5: Rough Sex - Ezra

Day 6: A/B/O Heats or Ruts - Pero Tovar

Day 7: Bruising or Bitemarks - Agent Whiskey

Day 8: Cock Warming - Javier Peña

Day 9: Anal - Marcus Moreno

Day 10: Overstimulation - Dave York

Day 11: Shaving - Joel Miller

Day 12: Breath Play - Max Phillips

Day 13: Pregnancy - Javi Gutierrez

Day 14: Gangbang - Max Lord

Day 15: Glory Hole - Mando

Day 16: Cock Worship - Zach Wellison

Day 17: Period Sex - Max Phillips

Day 18: Foot Fettish - Tim Rockford

Day 19: Fisting - Frankie Morales

Day 20: Infidelity or Cuckolding - Oberyn Martell

Day 21: Monsterfucking - Marcus Acacius

Day 22: Deepthroating - Dieter Bravo

Day 23: Breeding - Javi Gutierrez

Day 24: Somnophilia - Marcus Pike

Day 25: Non Con or Dub Con - Dave York

Day 26: Pegging - Agent Whiskey

Day 27: Hate Fucking or Angry Sex - Ezra

Day 28: Phone Sex - Marcus Moreno

Day 29: Hunter/Prey - Pero Tovar

Day 30: Sex Pollen - Joel Miller

Day 31: Free For All - Mando

[almostfoxglove]

SOUNDS DANGEROUS

📧 a max phillips one shot for @jolapeno's dearuary challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | WORD COUNT: 2.6k PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader PROMPT: A long-distance relationship blossoms through emails, but the tension of being apart grows. CW: This is pretty goofy, a tiny bit sort of almost angsty, but mostly just silly. Reader uses a fake name.

SUMMARY: When you reply to a bizarre craigslist ad, a stranger on the other side of the country charms his way into your life.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs @foxglovenotifs

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 9:39 AM To: <mp-1260-sdkss9200043239921@sale.craigslist.org> Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad

Hello! Hoping to work out if you’re a weirdo or if the ad you posted here is serious. I could use the money, but would like to pass on being murdered in some random basement or finding out the hard way that this is code for some weird sex thing. 

Let me know!

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 3:21 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Re: Craigslist Ad

Dawn,

Thanks for reaching out. I can assure you the ad is very serious—unfortunately it is not “some weird sex thing” (sounds a little judgy, if you ask me), and my basement happens to be full up at the moment. And on the other side of the country, if that’s any comfort.

I need the package shipped ASAP. Looking for serious applicants only. Payment will be transferred when tracking information has been shared. Can you confirm you’re interested and available this week? Tomorrow would be best. 

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 5:10 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad

Hi,

Cool. Tomorrow’s fine with me, I’ve got an appointment in the afternoon but if it’s not too far by bike I can grab the package and mail it in the morning first thing. Can you share the address?

Just a heads up—I will be sending it to my roommate so she can, you know, follow up if I don’t make it home. Your email and ad too. I took screenshots. And I carry mace. For the record.

Dawn

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:01 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Re: Craigslist Ad [Sent with 1 attachment]

Dawn,

Sorry, got held up in a meeting. 

Share whatever information you need to. Smart girl with the mace, though it won’t be necessary. Still, bring it along! Always best to be cautious. However, I am concerned about your “bike.” Surely a car would be much more efficient. The pickup location is a little outside of the hustle and bustle, if you will. It’s very important I receive the package on time.

Perhaps you could scrounge up a more reliable vehicle for the morning? 

I’m attaching the address of the pickup location here. Please send confirmation.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:16 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad

A meeting? If you’re on the other side of the country, isn’t it like… 10PM where you are??

Also, my bike’s just fine, thanks. I can leave early and make it work. Wait - how do I know you’re actually gonna pay me? I feel like I should get half up front as a symbol of, I don’t know, good faith or whatever. 

Yeah, actually. I’m gonna need half now. My paypal uses this email address.

Best to be cautious, right?

From: PayPal <service@paypal.com> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:25 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: You’ve got money

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:27 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Re: Craigslist Ad

You haven’t heard? No rest for the wicked, honey.

Send tracking info when you have it, and I’ll send over the rest. Don’t make me regret it! Oh—I should mention, it’s very important you do not open the package. It’ll be wrapped and addressed, so you just need to pedal it over and make the drop, got it? You can ask for Victor when you pick it up, he’ll be expecting you.

Also, have you ever considered working in sales? I’m always hiring.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2014 at 10:04 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Sent your weird box [Sent with 1 attachment]

Max,

You’re lucky I’m strapped for cash. Maybe I should’ve backed out when you insisted I not open the package (super suspicious, by the way!), but I went ahead and cycled 27 miles to, oh, what’s that? A FUCKING CEMETERY.

No, I didn’t open your stupid box, but it was fucking heavy. If I’ve just mailed you someone’s head, I swear to god I’ll find your ass and take yours as reparations. Also, the guy was a total creep. Victor? Whatever. Not gropey, but like, I think I’ll sleep worse knowing I live in the same city as the fucking crypt keeper. So thanks for that!

Here’s your tracking info. I’d like the rest of the money now. 

Dawn

From: PayPal <service@paypal.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2014 at 3:08 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: You’ve got money

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2014 at 3:10 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Sent your weird box

Believe it or not, Victor looks pretty good for his age.

Thanks for doing business!

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2015 at 6:20 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Request

Dawn, honey!

What are the odds I might be able to talk you into running a little package to the post office for me again?

Same payment stands.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 7:22 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Anniversary

Hey, you know what today is?

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 7:53 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Hmmm… let me think. Two years since you swindled me into cycling in the pouring rain to meet the scariest man I’ve ever seen in my life? If you’re trying to build suspense, you really shouldn’t put the answer in the subject line. Just saying!

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 7:57 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I’ll pass on the snark, princess. Two years!

But let’s not count our ducks too soon. Victor’s only the scariest man you’ve ever seen in your life so far. Still plenty of time for me to claim the title when you set eyes on me.

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:21 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

You know, you talk a big game for a man who won’t send me a photograph of himself. For all I know you could be gorgeous. Or extremely average. Completely forgettable.

Anyway. Guessing you need another shipment. I’ve got a couple days off this week and can go pick it up. Also, do I get a gift for two years of loyalty? Feel like I oughta get a commemorative mug or something.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:30 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

It’s for your own good, sweetheart. One photo of me and our professional relationship would go up in flames. Would hate to mess up a good thing.

Re: Gift—I will not be making you a commemorative mug. You know how many of those corporate sends out? Garbage, all of them. Got anything better in mind? A little more exciting?

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:34 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I wanna know what I ship you every year. Please know that if it turns out to be someone’s head or any other body part, my promise to cut yours off as payback still stands. 

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:48 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

You wound me, Dawn. Such little faith, but alright. I’ll bite.

When you pick up the package this week, you can open it up. But no fucking with the shipping label, yeah? And no spilling anything. Be gentle.

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 11:02 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I’ve been mailing you a box of DIRT once a year this whole time??? Jesus fucking christ, Max. Do I wanna know??

Forget it. I probably don’t. I’m just glad it wasn’t a head.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 3:53 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

It’s just a little something from home! Helps me sleep. Harmless, no?

Real shame, this whole across the country thing. Would kill to have seen the look on your face when you popped that sucker open.

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 4:49 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Okay, that’s fucking weird, Max. I have, like, so many more questions. What are you doing with it that you need more once a year???

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 5:11 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I need more when I move apartments, obviously. Not going to vacuum it up and shake it out of the little bag. Would be filthy—and not the fun kind.

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 5:30 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Wait, you move apartments every year? No wonder you use a PO Box.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 7:24 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Company policy. They send me in, I whip a branch into winning shape, then move right along. Gotta let the kids make their own kills eventually!

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Mon, Jun 8, 2017 at 12:15 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Call

Hey, I thought about it some more and I guess I’ve decided that if you were going to stalk and murder me you would’ve done it by now (or you’re playing like… the world’s most boring long game), and it might be nice to put a voice to the name. Maybe you have a cool accent? 

Anyway, here’s my phone number I guess?

This feels so awkward for no reason.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Wed, Jun 10, 2017 at 11:29 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Call

I’ll call when I wrap up on Friday. Should be between meetings at 6 your time!

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Thu, Jun 11, 2017 at 8:00 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Call

You’re totally going to make me regret giving you my phone number, aren’t you?

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Thu, Jun 11, 2017 at 6:02 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Call

Sorry, sweetheart. No going back now.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 3:48 AM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: [No Subject]

Dawn,, ,

aRe you asleep? You better be aslepe. But if youre awake, call me. I like your voice,

Think this guy was rpetty drunk. Maybe high. Tha’ts my bad. HOpe my autocorrect is saving this but I mean it if you’re awake I wanna hear your voice, Okay? 

Your, s Max

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 9:10 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

You know, I don’t think I’ve ever received a drunk email before. It’s much better than a drunk phone call - these screenshots will live forever.

Anyway, I’m guessing you’re asleep right now (you better be) but you’re probably gonna feel like shit whenever you get up. I nonetheless expect a full report on my desk of all your debauchery tomorrow. Your coworkers seem rowdy as hell. I don’t know how you get anything done.

Happy headache!

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 6:04 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Sorry, honey. Tales of my debauchery are far too scandalous to be immortalized in writing. All disclosures must be done in person, off record, so you’re shit out of luck—serves you right for your little screenshots. So mean.

I won’t forget this.

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 6:23 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

You can pout all you like, Maxwell. You like the sound of my voice and I’ve got cold hard proof. Can’t take it back now!

Okay, but really, that’s gotta be the best email I’ve ever received (you’re competing against newsletters I don’t remember signing up for and updates from my cousins about their ten thousand offspring, but still, the title stands). 

And you’ve got a pretty nice voice too, I guess. I can see how you swindle all those unsuspecting civilians into forking over their life savings!

Got plans tonight, but I could call tomorrow if you wanted. You can keep me company while I, gasp!, fold some laundry. Pretty exciting stuff for a Monday, I know. 

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 7:10 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Evening plans? Don’t tell me you’ve got a date, sweetheart. Might break my heart.

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 10:27 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Har, har. I do have a life, you know, that doesn’t include being your dirt-runner once a year. Shipper? Smuggler? I kind of like smuggler. Sounds dangerous.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 5:53 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

I’d like to think you know you’re more than a “dirt smuggler” to me. Aren’t we friends? Three years isn’t nothing, you know. I don’t keep just anyone around.

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 7:42 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Jesus, Max. You make it sound like I should be fucking thanking you for talking to me. That feels pretty shitty. 

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 7:47 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Ugh ignore my last email, sorry

Sorry. My night was shit but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I know you were joking. If you still want to call, I wouldn’t mind hearing your voice. And I really do have laundry to fold. I could use someone barking at me to do it.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 11:08 PM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Ugh ignore my last email, sorry

I meant what I said, honey. That guy has no idea how bad he’s missing out, and I’d be happy to pay him a little visit on your behalf. You’d be surprised how intimidating I can be, when the need arises. Very scary.

Don’t be shy, hm? Always happy to boss someone around.

Sleep tight.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 2:22 AM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Delivery

Thought it was about time I send you a little mail—should be arriving shortly.

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 7:41 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Delivery [Sent with 1 attachment]

Hey… is this for real?

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 7:56 AM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Delivery

I don’t joke about airfare, honey. Ticket’s real and all yours—we’re long overdue for a little meet-up, don’t you think? Wanna see my smuggler’s pretty face in the flesh.

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 9:12 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Delivery

I’m picturing you in your late 60s, with a beer belly, comb-over, and black teeth. Am I close? Wait - don’t tell me. I want it to be a horrible, hideous surprise.

Thanks, by the way. I don’t really know what to say. 

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 9:30 AM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Delivery

I’ll try not to let you down at the big reveal. 

Happy birthday. 

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:09 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Delivery

By the way… is this a good time to break it to you that my name isn’t actually Dawn?

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:10 AM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Delivery

EXCUSE ME???

From: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:17 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Delivery

You were a stranger on craigslist!! This is a burner email so I don’t get stalked and chopped up into little pieces when I reply to sketchy ads. I didn’t know we’d end up friends. I never knew how to slip that in casually. My bad. 

But you can’t be mad at me on my birthday. So don’t be mad.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:18 AM To: Dawn <givemethewiggins@gmail.com> Subject: Re: Delivery

My world is shattered. You’re killing me, baby. 

I want your real email, please. And name.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 5:41 PM To: You Subject: Visit

Hi. Just got word a company-wide conference has been moved up to next week. Mandatory attendance, blah blah blah. Boring. Turns out they can’t have the boss of the highest earning branch playing hooky. Boo :-( 

Can we move your flights to next month? Want to give you my undivided attention—promise I’ll make it up to you.

From: You Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 5:43 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Visit

Wait, for real? My flight’s in like… 5 days. I booked the time off work two months ago. 

I don’t mind if you’ve got work stuff while I’m there! Sorta figured you’d be working at least part of the time I’m in town - I’m happy to entertain myself. We can just hang out whenever you’re done.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 5:50 PM To: You Subject: Re: Visit

Afraid these conferences tend to run a little… late into the night, and daylight hours aren’t exactly my specialty. Sort of a night owl. 

Would hate for you to come all this way and not get to enjoy you. Don’t want any interruptions.

Next month?

From: You Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 9:21 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Visit

Right.

I’ll have to check if I can move things. Can I let you know?

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Mon, Aug 15, 2018 at 4:11 AM To: You Subject: Call?

Can I call you this week? Hate that you’re mad at me. I’m sorry about our visit, baby. Just talk to me. What about next month, could you come then? Is your sister still in town? You could still come now, before end of quarter ramps up!

From: You Date: Wed, Aug 17, 2018 at 11:24 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Call?

I told you I wasn’t able to get my vacation time back. If you want to see me so badly, maybe you should fly here. It really sucked when you blew me off.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Wed, Aug 17, 2018 at 7:51 PM To: You Subject: Re: Call?

Travel doesn’t agree with me. Too much sunlight. It’s complicated. Plus I wanna show you my place. It’s very swanky, you know. Has a huge tub. You’d love it. And I’ll get you all your favorite snacks, hm? Won’t have to lift a finger—I’ll take care of everything. Just need you to come here, okay? I can explain in person.

I’ll call after this meeting wraps. If you send me to voicemail, I’m just gonna try again. I can be very persistent, you know. 

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Sat, Aug 19, 2018 at 1:32 AM To: You Subject: Please

This whole ignoring Max song and dance is getting old. Forgive me already! Work was out of my hands, but I miss talking to you. Like getting your little emails, even when you’re teasing me. I miss calling you. We don’t have to talk! I can listen to you fold your laundry and you can hate me the whole time. 

Feeling a little pathetic over here, baby. Put me out of my misery.

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <orders@lilyotvflorist.com> Date: Fri, Aug 20, 2018 at 3:00 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Your order has been delivered!

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <orders@lilyotvflorist.com> Date: Fri, Aug 27, 2018 at 2:15 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Your order has been delivered!

From: Rocky Mountain Chocolate <orders@rockymountaincocoa.com> Date: Tue, Sep 18, 2018 at 12:49 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Your order has been delivered!

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <orders@lilyotvflorist.com> Date: Mon, Oct 3 2018 at 12:49 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Your custom order has been delivered!

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Mon, Oct 3 2018 at 3:59 PM To: You Subject: Today

Hey, you know what today is?

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Tue, Oct 6, 2018 at 7:03 PM To: You Subject: Miss my smuggler

I know you’ve put me on ice—would still really like to talk about that, by the way—but it’s coming up on refill season, so to speak… 

Need to talk to you. I know you’ve blocked my number and that the flowers are arriving. Do you like them? Are you allergic? I had to guess. Thought you might be a ranunculus girl, but I’m open to notes, you know. I’m very trainable.

Just tell me what to do to make it up to you. Let me take care of you.

From: You Date: Fri, Oct 9, 2018 at 9:47 AM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: Miss my smuggler [Sent with 1 attachment]

Sent your box. Here’s the tracking info. 

The flowers are beautiful but please stop sending them. I don’t have enough vases and it’s getting a little ridiculous.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Fri, Oct 9, 2018 at 6:03 PM To: You Subject: Re: Miss my smuggler

So what I’m hearing is… you liked the flowers?

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <orders@lilyotvflorist.com> Date: Mon, Oct 12 2018 at 2:47 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Your custom order has been delivered!

From: You Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 4:30 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: *waving white flag*

Okay, I’ve unblocked your fucking number. Please stop sending flowers. I surrender. Oh my god.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 4:39 PM To: You Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

It’s the ranunculus, isn’t it? 

From: You Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:10 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

What’s the ranunculus?

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:11 PM To: You Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

Your favorite flower. I guessed it right.

From: You Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:14 PM To: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

Shut up. 

Please resume groveling on the phone. And no more flowers. I mean it.

From: Max Phillips <m.phillips@bbcorporate.com> Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:19 PM To: You Subject: Fwd: Your flight has been booked!

No more flowers. Cross my heart.

One little tweak—how about I do that groveling in person? Snagged a seat on a red eye.

dividers by @saradika-graphics! thanks again to jo for hosting the dearuary challenge - this was so much fun.

[bruhlpng]

Pedro Pascal as Max Phillips Bloodsucking Bastards (2015) // dir. Brian James O'Connell

[dilf-docs]

He Comes Alive At Midnight (Every Night)

max phillips x younger fem!reader

summary: everyone in your office is turning into vampires. literally. the unbelievable scenario only seems to get worst when you find out the one behind it all is your ex-boss, max phillips.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, dubcon, choking, thigh riding, bit of dry humping?, oral (f. receiving), p. in v., creampie, overstimulation, rough sex, dom!max, tw: blood, blood kink, stalking themes, humilliation kink

word count: 6,005 words

side note: hi. this movie sucked ass. and yes, yet again i've watched a movie for a man (are we surprised!). it was the camp so-bad-it's-fun type of movie, but at least me and @ann-gell had a good time. also, the random matthew lillard cameo wtf- we were both in shock IJBOL but anyway, we wanted to watch this movie for a while 'til the "blood kink fic" became a joke, but then i qtd a post in twitter abt the movie,, it was divine intervention atp. please enjoy while i cook the three joel miller fanfics inside my draft soup. GUYS IF THIS FLOPS I WILL KILL U ALL THEN MYSELF

This day couldn't get any worse.

First, Evan and Tim had been bothering you all morning. Your fault? Being Amanda's best friend in the office. You had told the men to (not so) kindly fuck off, and then the big boss had called you to his office to inform you about great news: you had to help Evan and Andrew's slacker ass to finish the Phallusite presentation. Just fucking great. Also, you woke up to find the knob of your main door broken. How? No idea, but you were just tired of the day, begging for it to end. But it's just started.

And it's about to get worse.

"Hey, y/n" you raise your view, stopping your typing. It's Evan, again.

"I think I was clear this morning" you say, not bothering to keep on looking at him.

"It's not about Amanda" you chuckle, and he sighs at your reaction. "Ted wants everyone on his office"

"Is this the part where you expect me to ask?" you drop, sardonic.

"He says he's got an announcement to make" it's not hard to miss the hopeful glint on his eyes. He bends over your cubicle and whispers, "I think he's going to make me sales manager"

You don't have time to entertain the man. No one in particular (sadly, just the customers, because that's about your job), but less the man partly responsible for your new assignment. So this means you too don't have motivation at all to assist to your boss' meeting, but hey, it's your job-- not like there's an option there.

In the end, the announcement was indeed about the sales manager position that had been empty as for now. But it only takes a turn for the worst for both you and Evan.

"So, I'm proud to announce our new manager of sales, Max Phillips"

Enter him: confident strut and cocky smirk. He takes off his dark shades (who in their right mind wears sunglasses inside an office barely grazed by light?) as people clap.

It's like the world stops.

"No, no, no. Not Max" you hear Tim whisper next to you. You turn your head, eavesdropping on their conversation as Mike asks him who the hell Max is. "Max, Evan and I went to college together. It's kind of a long story"

"That wasn't long" Andrew counters. Mike agrees.

"Oh, did I mention that Max slept with Evan's girlfriend, so Evan had Max kicked out of school for cheating, so Max punched Evan in the face?" he adds.

You raise an eyebrow.

"No. You skipped all that"

"Hey, y/n. You okay?" Tim nudges you with his elbow as Max keeps talking, but your brain has reduced his voice to a loud pitched ring.

"Huh?"

"You're pale" Andrew agrees.

You scoff. "Can't a girl be pale anymore this days?"

"Well" Mike coughs. Of course. "You're not exactly-"

"What's that noise behind?" Ted catches up on your chatter.

Now you figure you've gone at least ten shades lighter. Practically a fucking ghost by now.

Especially when he sees you. Oh, his auburn carry a wicked gleam, and he's licking his lips as he locks his eyes into you, despite being glued to the corner behind the rest of your coworkers.

"Sales is... seduction" he drops the word, gaze not leaving yours. Evan seems to notice, looking over his shoulder to see it's you who Max is looking at. "And when you seduce, do you say: I have a 401k? or I floss? No. You say... I love you"

You gulp down, nervously, your throat oddly constricted.

"Why is this guy looking at you?" Tim asks. You can't find the words to answer.

He continues talking, leaving you alone, but by the way he smirked, you know this is just the beginning.

And you're back to where it started: the sunny California, your old life in LA. You had a job, friends and a boyfriend. It was nice, like an ice cream while watching the sunset. It was safe-- this was all you knew.

Enter Max.

Your friends stopped talking to you, turning into weird versions of themselves: they only seemed to know how to work, fuck, not sleep and repeat. Then, your boyfriend broke up with you: couldn't even scramble off words to form a good excuse, despite being together for four years. And then the worst of it all: him, your boss, who couldn't stop finding ways to get under your skin, your back hitting all the walls of the office, where he'd corner your shaking frame. Words always seemed to be lost when Max breathed over you, his cologne still on your clothes as you arrived home. You rejected every advance with a silent temperance, not even giving him the pleasure of a reply. So then it started: the missing clothes, the broken windows and the previously locked doors open.

Suddenly, the knob this morning doesn't feel like a simple mistake and more of a sinister coincidence, making the pit in your stomach sink further.

You had left, hoping it was all in the past. But now he's here, talking about making a million dollar in sales this month like he hadn't ruin your life.

"It's aggressive, yes" Max agrees while sitting on Ted's desk, legs sprawled open on a manspread, "but I'm confident we can hit it. And if we don't, Ted and I have already agreed... we'll be forced to kill all of you"

A cold shiver runs down your back. You don't know what Max Phillips is capable of, but you believe it.

"So you better do what he says!" encouraging, but feels like a threat.

You catch Evan stay behind, probably to talk with Ted about what the fuck just happened. You would too, but how could you explain it? That your ex-boss had found a way to sneak back into your life, slithering with a deathly venom into your new office's grounds. It is during this brief stop that something hard collides against you. Well, someone. And of course, that someone is him.

"Small world, huh?" he chuckles. Before you can even think of replying, his broad shoulders brush with yours in a swift manner as he passes by, yet it feels like a deliberate violent hit. You watch him close the door of his office, which used to be Evan's, sliding his name over the position's plaque. He could've slid a knife over your throat as well and it would've felt the same.

Weird things had happened. First, the new intern dissapeared. No one noticed, of course, but you cared about these small things. Then, Dave started acting all weird and aggressive, long gone the pathetic man who only talked about his cat and couldn't bring himself to ask back the money he was owed.

And the office got darker, because you never needed glasses, but now seemed to squint your eyes to read your computer's screen. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep: you hadn't been able to close your eyes, rather positioned yourself in watch at your door, prepared for anything to happen. So far, nothing, but you wouldn't fool yourself to let your guard down.

Now, you sit with both Andrew and Evan as you try to finish the Phallusite presentation; everyone else has gone home.

"And you can call me Ward Cleaver 'cause I just banged out June"

"Nice"

You roll your eyes at their antics.

It's Andrew's turn. "You can call me Uncle Ben because I just nailed May"

Didn't uncle Ben die?

You keep it to yourself. Then, they both look at you, expecting.

"Call me Fed-Ex, because I always deliver!"

Andrew winces. Evan sighs, giving you an awkward smile.

"There was an attempt"

"Fuck you, guys. It was good!"

"Oh, shit" Evan curses. "Zabeth only brought up the hard copies through July" he looks at Andrew, "can you run downstairs and get August?"

He's not fully convinced, but then he's gone. Evan looks at you, and you give him a weird look.

"Why do you look at me like that?"

"I'm about to do something I shouldn't" he pauses. "Don't tell anyone"

You cross your arms over your chest. "You're overestimating how much I care"

"It's about Max"

He must've sensed your change in demeanor, the mask slipping for a brief moment, because he grins in satisfaction.

"Oh, it seems I'm not the only one with shared history with Phillips, huh?"

You spin your chair around, back facing him. "I don't want to talk about that"

"We don't have to" he's quick to agree. "I just want to get rid of him" Evan makes a pause, hoping you're in. When you turn around, seems like you are, "will you help me?"

Getting rid of Max Phillips (again) sounds the closest heaven on earth.

"But you can't tell anyone else about this" you pause, "or about me and Max"

"Whatever it is" he assures, "I'm taking it to my deathbed"

You purse your lips. "I'm still not telling you"

"Oh" he barely hides his dissapointment. "Okay, yeah. Not like I was expecting it-"

You get up from your chair. "Let's go"

"Right"

That night, you both broke into his office. Inside, you recognized Amanda's folder. It contained the profiles of your coworkers. The cutting employees was real then, huh? To confirm your theory, some pictures were circled while others were crossed over with red marker: Mike was crossed, and he was gone. Curiously, neither you nor Evan had anything scribbled over. You reach the last profile on the file: Ted, your boss. Crossed.

"We have what we need. You are free to go home and get some rest" he palms the file. "Tomorrow is a big day. Max Phillips will be history, and that's all that matters"

"And the meeting"

He seems to remember. "Right, sorry"

After biding proper goodbyes, you drive home, but your mind is elsewhere as you pass empty dim-lit streets. All you can think of is Max hadn't made a decision on you yet. Worse, you didn't know if that's good or bad.

You toss around in bed, unable to find some sleep. Glancing at the clock in the nighstand, and it reads three in the morning.

This is crazy. But you still get out of bed, shower, do your make up and speed the brakes back to the office.

Maybe it was the anxiety for Max's appearence or the Phallusite deal, you ponder as you ride the elevator up, which is why you're real early to your office day. You will practice, you tell yourself, and master the presentation until the words are ingraned into your brain.

You're in the middle of a slide when a sound catches your ear. You look around: it's not even five in the morning, the sun is still down, and aside from you, there's no one else in the building.

You try to calm yourself down, blaiming an animal or the wind. But then it sounds again. You get up from your desk, shaky legs doing a small round.

"Hello?" you ask into the eerie silence, "is anyone there?"

You walk towards your desk again, ready to sit down, when there's a banging sound heard from downstairs. Now you start to realize you never saw Andrew come back.

A cold shiver runs down your spine. You gulp, harshly, and jolt back to your desk. In a rush, you grab your things, but as you zip your bag, a swoosh passes by through you. Kneeling down, you hide below your desk. And then you hear it. Steps. Menacing, paused steps. You cover your mouth, trying not to make a sound, while the other one clutches your bag so hard, your hand turns white.

The steps move away, but the exit seems so far away. You take your chances, and run to the first door you can see. Inside, you lock it as fast as you can, bag dropping to the floor when a loud banging starts on the other side. You tremble in the dark office, thinking this is it: no presentation, no getting rid of Max. No, you would pathetically die in a telemarketing office.

"Go away!" you pleadingly cry to whoever, or whatever, is on the other side. "Leave me alone, please!"

The banging stops. Just like that? You doubt your good luck. Then, how was that phrase again?

If the predator leaves the prey, is because he has become it.

You pray to God, close your eyes and accept your fate. But then the lights turn on.

"Hello, little dove"

(The nickname. He had call you that once, laughing at the way your eyes avoided his gaze, like a coward. How the hairs on your cold skin had prickled, the blood rushing to your cheeks in a delicious red Max couldn't stop thinking about. You had worn white that day: the day he decided he was going to make your life impossible)

You could be deaf and still recognize the voice. Your body gives up, falling to the floor. Your heart and yesterday's reheated lasagna you had for lunch rise up in your throat.

What a terrible sick joke.

He, the one you had escaped from before. He, who you pictured be gone as of today, now cornering you inside an office you had locked yourself, outside God knows what.

He, Max Phillips in the flesh.

"Max" you say his name like it's forbidden.

You refuse to meet him in the eye, gaze trained to the floor.

"You have to calm down, y/n. Your heart is going like crazy!" he jumps up from his chair, where he had been previously sitting, legs drapped over his desk. "Tell me, what's got you so worried?"

Taunting. Mocking. Downright cruel. Like he spat in your face.

"Hey, I'm talking to you" his voice is soft, but then his fingers dig in your arm, pulling you up with a surprising strength. You yelp as Max raises you in your feet, still refusing contact. "I'm your boss, y/n. Don't forget that. I could get your little bratty ass kicked out, so you better do as I say"

You feel his breath ghost over your face in rapid puffs. It's too quiet. His fingers press on the soft tissues of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, eliciting a cry out of you.

"And look at me when you speak"

"You" you seethe out, tongue dripping in venom.

(You, who ruined my life. Who made me leave behind everything and everyone I knew. The reason why I was scared to leave my house and meet strangers in the eye. You, Max, who despite it all, lingers in my mind. Who's under my skin, deep in the dirty marrow of my bones, in my flesh, in my veins, rushing through with the same guilty pleasure nicotine does)

"Me?" he chuckles amused, "what about me, little dove?"

"I escaped from you once" you spit. "I will do it again. But you won't ruin my life this time"

He lets out a big laugh, right in your face. It makes your blood run cold.

"You think you escaped from me? Aw, little dove. That's adorable" he chuckles darkly. "You won because I let you"

It comes crashing down with the weight of a sinking ship.

"W-what...?"

A satisfied smirk paints across his features. "That's right, y/n. Let you get away just to see your pretty face shine in satisfaction. Have I told you how I love when your eyes shine when you think you've won? I gotta say, I missed it. Seeing them closed while you sleep isn't the same" he sighs, his face now practically buried against yours, and you swear you feel his teeth graze it when Max opens his mouth to speak. "Had to have the very real thing in front of me"

The open windows and broken locs. He had been there: inside the safety of your home, the illusion now gone.

"Liar" you grit, "you sick fuck"

"Face it" his nose digs in your flushed cheek, hand still on your chin. He takes a whiff out of your smell, the vainilla making him dizzy: it's the same one he remembers. Your scent is so inviting, mixed with your fear, that it makes him lick his lips. "You're as obssesed with me as I am with you"

"I don't know what makes you think that" his head dives to your collarbones. You squirm as his wet tongue licks a sleazy trail through your neck, staying on a spot.

"Oh, but I think you do" and his mouth starts to suck on that spot until the skin cries in a purple rain. "Thought I wouldn't notice, huh? Your perfume is all over my office, baby. Can I ask, what where you doing here?"

His other hand smacks harshly against your chest. It travels up, until it gets to the valley of your tits. He slides it inside the fabric of your white button up blouse, your heartbeat bellow.

"And don't try to lie to me" he threats in a low rumble, "because I'll know when you do"

"The papers, in your desk" you manage to whisper out. "Came to see who you were firing and who was staying"

"And was it just you?"

"Y-yes" you feel his squeeze one of your tits between his fingers, the calloused digits imprinting themselves on the plush skin.

"You sure?" you yelp when he roughly grabs a breast. "Have you already forgotten what I told you, little dove, huh? Or ar my hands too... distracting"

You let out a sharp breath. "Evan was there too"

"Fucking coward" he spits. "Can't get over our little fight still. Did he tell you what happened?"

You nod.

"Good, then you're aware I'm the better thing" his hand leaves your chest, but the other one still grabs you from your chin. Your eyes close when his free hand finds its way to your neck, his big fingers wrapping around your throat. As you feel a moan ready to leave your mouth, you sink your teeth into your lower lip. There’s no way you'll give him that satisfaction. "Looking so pretty with my hand around you"

His thumb presses on your weak spot, making you gasp for air.

"I need you to be a good girl and swear on it"

You squirm under his weight pressed on you, but it's futile.

"I swear on my life that I'll be a good girl" your lungs burn when you say it.

His grip on your throat tightens. "Say that again"

You gulp with difficulty. "I swear"

He slams your body against the wall. "Say it!"

"I swear!" you cry out, "I swear!"

"Good" he chuckles darkly. "Because this time, I'll make sure of it"

He finally cuts the distance, trapping your lips in his. He's pulling you closer by your waist, your name dropping from his mouth in a sultry sickeningly sweet voice.

"You know you can touch if you want, right?" he taunts, seeing how you ball your fists to the sides. "I'm all yours"

Your brain begs you to keep fighting, but you're stuck in the way his mouth feels in yours: invasive, like the way he'd stalk you, violating every bit of privacy, destroying every sense of safety you had. Now, he's eating you out, tongue in your insides as he chases your touch, his hand taunting your back with fleeting touches, up and down in your back, waiting for the moment you cave in.

A breathy moan pushes past your lips.

"Max" falls past your treacherous mouth, body dizzy and confused with pleasure.

You drap your leg over his hip, the pencil skirt riding up your thighs, as he puts his hand below to support it. With your fingers, you grab his short hair.

"That's right, little dove" he humms in approval. "Surrender yourself to me"

His thigh parts a space between your legs, thick muscle now grinding against your warmth.

"Please" you whimper at the friction.

He chuckles at that, eyes darkening.

"You sound so pretty when you beg"

You mewl at the praise, rolling your hips back and forth on his thigh.  The pressure on your folds burns like a candle: a warm burn, intense yet gentle. Max moves his knee slowly, trying to even your desperate movements. The air burns yet again in your lungs, and only then you allow yourself to kiss him.

He's quick to reciprocate, his palm cupping your cheek, the size so big, it practically covers all of your face. He swallows your moans in the heat of the kiss, and you only pull back when you need to breath.

Max then takes the chance to get to your neck again, sucking on the skin hungrily, especially on that one spot he had licked before. At the same time, his hard cock runs against your clothed pussy, his hips meeting where you rub yourself each time.

You roll your head to the side, reduced to a whimpering mess.

He tears open your blouse, buttons flying as he takes the opportunity to dip his head in your collarbones, nipping at the skin as he gets rid of it completely.

"Oh, little dove" he touches your waist as your hands grip at his back. "You're so beautiful, my sweet temptress. Lurking around, ever since California, couldn't stop thinking about you. Needed to have you, all for me"

He slides the lace of your bra in a harsh tug, almost ripping the lingerine. Now, your breasts are fully exposed, and the nipples perk with the cold hitting them. With one swift move, he picks you up and throws you into his desk, the papers flying everywhere. Max is back at the task of kissing your neck, like he's fascinated by it.

"Enough of the games, eh" he mocks your fucked-out state. "Gonna give you the real goods, yes? So you'll see why both Evan's college ex girlfriend and Amanda prefer me"

Once your skirt is rode up, he grinds his exposed cock against your pussy, your dripping wet folds receiving the change―the contact without layers anymore―in a welcoming fluttering clench at nothing.

"So wet for me" Max rasps, leaving hickeys down your neck until he can finally kiss your collarbones. He's then sucking on your skin, his teeth brushing against your skin. "Can you feel that?" you squirm, "that's how much I want you, y/n. Need to take a bite of you"

He can feel your pulse quicken, the smell of your arousal deepening as his teeth scrape against your skin.

"Bite?" you ask, despite the way your head is dizzy. "Why?"

"Use that pretty head of yours, little dove" he mocks, "and think: why is everyone in this office acting weird now? There's your answer"

"I-I don't get it" you whine.

His eyes darken, and you swear his teeth get pointer.

"Don't worry. You soon will"

The first time his teeth sink, your head stops working. Your ears ring, and there's this burning sensation that comes in waves, washing over you until all you feel is nothing. Numb. The room spins, skin tingling like crazy. You moan and tangle your fingers in his hair as he harshly sucks and then he releases it again to bite into your flesh. The bite goes deep, fangs piercing your skin, electric pleasure courses through you, forcing you to yelp because you weren’t ready for it. 

"Just a taste, baby" he groans. "Just a little taste"

But then slurping sounds bounce off the walls, and you begin to see dark spots in your vision. Max moans, sounds drowned in the crook of your neck as he takes another bite, cock throbbing in his pristine pants.

"Fuck, y/n. You do know how to satisfy a man's hunger"

He traps your mouth with his, tongue pushing past your lips. You can feel the metallic taste of your own blood as he keeps grinding against you.

"M-Max" you squirm under his insistent grinding and abuse of your skin. He just chuckles, rubbing his fingers over your clothed pussy. You grip his arm for support, your nails sinking on his bicep. He hisses at the sting, but by the way he's smiling, that's the least of his worries.

"You're soaked, little dove. Don't tell me you're getting off at my teeth in your skin?" he raps, "on me feeding from you"

Max places a hand on your pussy, making you gasp and squirm.

"Don't worry, fun's just getting started"

You bite your lip so hard, blood pours out. You swear, even in your hazy vision, that he licks his lips. Then, with a wet lazy trace of his tongue, he licks it off your lips. He gawks at your face, hungrily so.

You look ruined, and he had just taken one small bite.

His eyes fall to your free breasts. Max can hear the sound of the pump of your veins, the rush addictive. He leans down with a smile, tongue darting across your sensible tits. Your boss can't help it when his teeth sink again in your skin, ichor pouring out in a lustful trail he's quick to lick off. You claw at his back, begging him to stop, but he's got you at his mercy, pinned under him, his bites now deeper as he growls at the sweet nectar maroon taste of you. He lets go, releasing your bruised flesh from his hungry greedy mouth.

"Fuck" he mutters, running a hand through his now disheveled hair. "If I don't stop now, I'll be at it for hours; whole office will come back and find you over my desk, begging and moaning. But we don't want to put on a show, do we?"

Yet his hand slips between your legs, fingers pushing your panties to the side. All you can do is squirm, wimpering as he's tracing your pussy, coating his digits with your slick.

"Tell me, little dove. Is your blood as sweet as this pussy?" Max sucks his fingers, an obscene slurping sound coming out of his mouth. The taste of your sweet ichor and your arousal... it's too much, even for a man as experienced as him. "Use your words to tell me how this feels"

His fingers part your folds, touching your clit. You blabber nonsense, and Max darkly laughs at how easy it was to have you under him, moaning and squirming because of his mouth and touch.

"Talk to me" he lulls, caressing your cheek. "Where did that loud mouthed brat go, huh? Or all it took was my fingers inside this pretty pussy for you to be an obedient good girl?"

That's what makes it hotter, he thinks. That you, who ran away from him, but now are so wet and sensitive, like you hadn't defied him in the past and ignored all his efforts to woo you.

"N-no" you stutter, eyes squeezed shut.

"No, what?" Max mocks. Then, snaps his fingers in your face. "Hey, look at me" he grabs your chin roughly. "You look at me when I fuck you, understood?"

When you open your eyes, a few tears spill out, the pleasure deeply rooted in the pain.

"Good girl" he praises, then licks the side of your face where the salty drops have fallen.

He drops on his knees, hand cupping all of your knee as his mouth leaves wet sloppy kisses on your thighs, up to your core. You writhe, twisting your fists at your sides until they turn white.

"Let me reward you properly" he adds under his breath, but before you can ask what he means, Max's fangs bare in your inner thigh, making you scream his name. He then sucks on the bite. He releases your thigh until he's done, moaning deeply.

"So good" he groans against your warm skin, your blood on his mouth acting like a lipstick of some sorts, red imprints of his mouth up your inner thigh. "Now, let's get to the point, shall we? It's almost time" the sun rising in the back a reminder of the running clock.

First, he pulls your skirt off. Then, he hooks his fingers in your panties and rips them off. Without loosing time, Max's hungry form is quick to bury his mouth in your pussy, your blood and your slick mixing in a combination that strains his pants.

He puts your legs over his shoulders, keeping you parted for his hungry mouth. His tongue laps at your entrance, doing circling minstrations around your clit, his moans of pleasure sending vibrations that make your walls flutter and pussy clench.

"My little dove" he coos, tongue poking his sharp fangs. Max's chin is dripping with your slick, and he licks off some of it. "Can't get enough of you"

You roll your head to the side arching your back.

"P-please" you beg, "don't stop"

He squeezes your thigh, red droplets of blood oozing out of your punctured skin. Max sucks hard, strong fingers keeping you hostage and cock growing in desperation as your legs tremble. He lets out a deep growl, slipping his fangs out of your flesh. You whimper when he kisses your pussy with a soft press of his lips.

"I won't. Not when you're being such a good girl"

With a desperate quick motion, he gets rid of his belt and pulls out of his pants, moving closer to your cunt with his heavy cock grazing on your bare cunt. He spanks your clit with it, making you mewl at the lingering sting.

"Will you keep being a good little docile bird for me, dove? I will give it to you if you behave"

"Please, please, please" you beg, long gone in the pain of your pussy clenching at nothing, the need to have him inside of you blurring the world around of you. "I was a good girl, let me have it"

Whatever he's done to you, you're too far gone in your fucked-out brain to make sense of this: your boss, bending you over his desk, fucking you and kissing you like you weren't disgusted by his invasive antics, like he hadn't just sucked your blood with fangs you'd never seen before.

A fucking vampire, as real as the way he's handling your body which is closer to ecstasy than ever.

"Then do" Max growls, pushing inside.

You let out a sharp breath, eyes closing shut as your toes curl inside your heels.

"That's right, baby, take all of me" he rasps, grinding his teeth. "I know your tight little pussy can"

He starts to move, and you feel so full of him, you can barely breath. You mewl, arching your back with each thrust, your body spasming and wet down your legs. Max hums satisfied, looking at you.

"Fucking work of art" his voice drips with adoration out loud.

But how can he contain himself? If you look so perfect, all spread out and claimed by him. Breasts covered in his bite marks, thighs still red from all the bloody kisses he left on your skin and neck marked by him.

"You're mine, get it? Gonna ruin this perfect pussy for any other man, little dove. You belong to me"

Desperate moans fill the room as his pace picks up, fast, as your body consumes him whole. The way your warmth wraps his cock, your fluttering walls, the taste of your arousal, and your sweet blood makes him feel like the most powerful man in the world as he pounds into your tight walls.

"Mine. Mine, all mine" he repeats. "Don't fucking forget that"

He angles his cock deep into you, grinding his pubic bone against your clit as his girth pumps up and down. He can feel his throbbing cock pulse inside of your sticky folds at the sight of you: so far gone, so ruined. Can't believe this is the same girl who claimed to hate him.

Every little sound, every sharp breath and wet slpa of skin against skin is for him. Your nails clawing at his back and arms, the way your head and eyes fall back... how you say his name... Who is crazier, him or you?

"Max..." you exhale, barely able to control your body. "I think I'm-"

"I know, little dove" he taunts. "I think I can tell when I make a girl feel good"

His face goes again to hide in the crook of your neck, hot ragged breath warming the spot.

"Be a little obedient bird and come for me"

A sharp sting makes you scream as you come undone, body convulsing and pussy clenching around him, massaging his girth, coaxing out every last drop of his release at the same time Max's sucking blood out of your neck.

"Sorry, my sweetest y/n. I can't hold back when your sweet scent is taunting me like this" his voice croaks, rough with a primal desire, all consuming. "Had to hold back since the very first day you stepped into the Cali office, with your tight little slutty skirts and open blouse, giving me a delicious peak of your breasts..."

His head falls back with a tight growl, voice strained with the effort of not cumming on the spot.

"Fuck, y/n, I fucking love this perfect little cunt. So fucking soft and hot and tight, gripping my cock like it never wants to let it go"

His hips don't falter, every ridge and vein of his thick length dragging along your fluttering walls, your pussy seemingly molding itself to his shape. He was right: it was like your body was made for his, like you had been created just to take his cock and milk it for all it was worth.

He could feel it already, his thick cum starting to seep out around his shaft, leaking out of her stuffed hole. Max had marked you, claimed you, in the most primal way possible.

And in a few hours, it was just about to get better.

"You're mine now, little dove" he growls, voice low and possessive as he rolls his hips, grinding against your oversensitive clit, making you gasp and shudder beneath him. "This cunt belongs to me now, you hear me? No one else gets to touch it, gets to fucking have it" he lets out a dark chuckle, "or I'll kill them"

The dark shadow over his eyes tells you he isn't joking at all.

His cock throbbs inside of you, swelling even thicker. He grits his teeth, jaw clenching as he fought to hold back, to make this moment last.

Your eyes are dangerously close to shutting off, the overestimulation reducing you to a panting and blabbering mess.

"No, y/n. You look at me" he commands, voice in a low, dominant bark. "You fucking look at me when I cum, little dove, so you see how good you make me feel as I paint your tight little walls white"

And then, with a loud roar, he brutally slams into you with a final thrust, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pumps thick, hot ropes of cum out of him, filling you up until he could see your belly swell slightly with the sheer volume of his release.

He throws his head back, pointy teeth sinking into his lips to muffle screams as he rutts in you, grinding against your cervix, making sure every last drop of his seed was pumped deep into your womb. His body shudders with the power of his climax, and soon, your boss' body is collapsing over yours.

"Fuck" he pants, looking at how the marks had started to heal. The one on your neck, thought... It's coloring just right. Soon, you'll be by his side. Forever. "I guess that sums another point for me"

He looks up his window, seeing right Evan on the other side, panting in shock.

"And zero for you"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif (unknown pinterest source)

[baronessvonglitter]

My favorite things I've read this month! Please be mindful of the tags before you read 💚 Show the authors some love by reblogging and commenting 🌟I love all of you and your creativity so much!!

dividers by @enchanthings-a 👑

Frankie Morales

Bon Appetit by @everybodylovedcontractors ~ Francisco "Catfish" "Frankie" Morales and F!reader

Heaven Can Wait by @theewokingdead ~ Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!Reader

Neighborhood Watch by @joelalorian ~ neighbor!frankie x f!reader

Sizzlin' by @sunshinehaze1 ~ Frankie x f!reader

Strawberry Shortcake by @604to647 ~ Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Max Phillips

The Prettiest by @almostfoxglove ~ Max P x f!Reader (further chapters found on AO3)

Tim Rockford

confessions by @wildemaven ~ tim x f!reader

The Rockford Portfolio by @604to647 ~ Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Pero Tovar

Ambrosia by @sawymredfox ~ Pero x fem! able-bodied reader

Memories made, memories lost by @avastrasposts ~ Mercenary!Pero x female reader

Dave York

Affliction by @lavenderursa ~ Dave York x DIA Op!Reader

Hotel Ties by @honestly-shite ~ Dave x f!reader

Keystrokes by @mothandpidgeon ~ dave york x hacker!f!reader

Sedated by @luxurychristmaspudding ~ dave x f!contract killer!reader

Still by @sizzlingcloudmentality ~ Dave x f!reader

Under False Pretenses - Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 ~ Stepdad!Dave x f!reader

Joel Miller

game changer by @kedsandtubesocks ~ MLB pitcher!Joel Miller x F!Reader

game changer - timeout by @kedsandtubesocks ~ MLB pitcher!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Hungry-Man Ch. 1 by @slimybeth69

I want to smell like you by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Father in law!Joel x f!reader

Like a Boy Does by @magpiepills ~ Tess Servopoulos x f! Reader x Joel Miller

Like a Stuffed Whore by @pedge-page ~ Joel Miller x StuffedAnimal!Reader x unnamed stepdaughter

Mine by @secretelephanttattoo ~ Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

The one that got away by @stylesispunk ~ outbreak!joel x f!reader

The Other Woman by @evolnoomym ~ Joel Miller x F!OC Moon

The Prophecy by @schnarfer ~ Knights & Kings AU Joel Miller x f!reader

this is me trying by @majestyeverlasting ~ joel miller x female reader

Wherever You Go by @myownwholewildworld ~ outbreak!joel x f!reader

Javier Peña

Booty Call by @cxrsed-angel ~ Javier x Fem! Reader

The Condom by @toxicanonymity ~ Javi P x f!reader x Steve Murphy

Forehead Kiss by @greenwitchfromthewoods

Javi's Playground by @mermaidgirl30 ~ Javier Peña x fem! reader

Jealousy, Jealousy by @javierpena-inatacvest Javier x f!reader

Love me like a loaded gun by @joelmillerisapunk ~ fuckbuddy!Javier x f!reader

Marrying Javi by @milla-frenchy

Playgirl by @milla-frenchy ~ Javier x fem reader

Rotten luck by @milla-frenchy ~ Javier Peña x fem reader

Marcus Acacius

first fruit since winter by @cuppajoel ~ modern!acacius x reader

run by @almostempty ~ marcus acacius x f!reader

When in Ancient Rome by @cuppajoel ~ modern-day! Marcus Acacius x fem!reader

Clint

Hold My Hand by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Clint x f!reader

sweet surrender by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Clint x f!reader

Din Djarin

Healing Pains by @liltangerineart ~ din djarin x bounty hunter!femreader

The Only Time We Have by @nerdieforpedro ~ Din Djarin x Poe Dameron

Marcus Moreno

A Hero's Blessing by @joelalorian ~ marcus moreno x f!reader

Nobody's Gonna Know by @604to647 ~ Marcus Moreno x gn!reader

Multi

To Catch a Thief by @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist ~ Featuring one Detective Tim Rockford and a certain thief

Self Recs

the best part of waking up... ~ any Pedro character x f!reader

Keep On Loving You ~ Frankie Morales x f!reader

Strawberry Swirl ~ Joel Miller x fem!reader

Just a Ride ~ dbf!Dave York x f!Reader

[papitopascal]

Pedro being the babiest of babygirls

Too cute for words!

[brandyllyn]

Frostbite

Max Phillips x f!reader

Summary: By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man. Words: 1.9k

For the #pedrostoriesgift24 Holiday Gift Exchange. @almostfoxglove asked for:

* max gets reader/character for their office's secret santa (or vice versa) * office christmas party

And y'all know I can't resist Max.

My Masterlist <- So much more Max stuff here y'all. I've missed him.

Rated: Teen Warnings: This is romantic and sweet and I make no apologies for that. Max being Max, however.

If you had to listen to George Michael complain one more time about what happened last Christmas, you were going to cause a scene.

Looking around the room, you took some small solace that no one else seemed to be having a good time either. Derek had taken up a post near the exit, obviously waiting until just enough time had passed that he could make a break for it. Malika was on her third hard cider - if she wasn’t careful she’d be the Monday morning gossip.

And the very next day, you gave it away…

You slip your phone from your pocket as surreptitiously as possible, checking the clock. Not even 6:30, there was still the speech from the CEO, the sales award, and of course the office secret Santa to get through before you could make your escape. They always saved secret Santa for last - everyone marching one by one to open their gift from the table in the center of the room. Showing everyone the mug they had been given.

It was always a mug.

The table looked extra sad this year - filled almost entirely with bags, half of which didn’t even have a festive spray of tissue. It was the laziest possible wrapping job. Nothing more clearly said ‘I put no thought into this’ than a dollar store bag, taped shut.

You had wrapped your gift. An oblong box with a festive red bow. Inside was a designer tie - one you had been lucky to find at a local thrift store. You had no idea if your giftee would like it, he ran so hot and cold you never could tell if he even liked you. Or anybody for that matter.

“Hey there sweet cheeks, looking for me?”

Speak of the devil.

“Never.”

He sidles up next to you, all long limbs and expensive cologne. His suit is perfect; crisp navy blue with a sparkly snowflake tie. As usual he stands too close, forcing you to shift slightly sideways to avoid brushing against him.

“You tease,” he pouts with a puffed out lower lip. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

Max Phillips, rising star of the sales department. Arrogant, conceited asshole and inveterate flirt. He was handsome too, which was honestly just annoying. If someone was going to be that obnoxious, they should at least look like half a roasted ham.

“I have it on good authority you don’t have one,” you point out.

He pats his chest for a moment, giving you a wounded look. “Stacey tell you that? Don’t be jealous, baby.”

“Miranda.”

He has the decency to hesitate, eyes darting across the room before back to you. “Well, someone had to be my shoulder to cry on.” You snort at that and he grins, shifting closer again and almost backing you to the wall. “And don’t worry about them, that’s business.”

You were pretty sure whatever that was you had walked in on in the copy room hadn’t been ‘business’ but you don’t point it out. Miranda hadn’t been the same, something viscerally off about her, ever since.

“You,” he leaned into you and you felt a cubicle wall at your back, “you would be nothing but pleasure wouldn’t you?”

“We are at work.”

“Most couples meet at work.”

“We’re not a couple.”

“We’re not a couple, yet.” He takes a deep breath and frowned. “You don’t take good care of yourself.”

“Excuse you?”

It came out close to a shriek, several heads turning your direction. Max gave them a dazzlingly wide smile and as one they smiled back. Even Richard, the grumpiest at the best of times, blushed. He blushed.

“You’re not eating right.”

By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes scanning the room while he talked out of the corner of his mouth. “Dave is doing his speech,” you try to point out but Max gives you his attention long enough to roll his eyes.

“Don’t change the subject, babydoll.”

“What subject?”

Max takes the proverbial shovel you offer. “You’re gaunt. You’re not getting the right vitamins.”

“From the man who has an ‘allergy’ to sunlight.”

The grin he gives you is wolfish. “That’s documented. I have a doctor’s note.” You can’t help the small smile and of course he notices. “There now, was that so hard? I’m being charming all over the place here.”

“Why?”

The word is a hiss of air and he blinks at you, confused. “What do you mean, why?”

“You’ve fucked half the office.” You try very hard to keep your tone too low for anyone else to hear. “Am I keeping you from bingo or something?”

Another one of those deep breaths and he leans in to you, so close you think he might actually nuzzle you. “I like you.”

You snort, turning away.

“I do.” He scans the room again before he turns, blocking your view with his wide shoulders. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“I said no.”

There’s silence for several heartbeats before he admits, “You intrigue me.”

“You’re a liar.”

“All the time,” he concedes. “But not right now. There’s something for my people, a knowing of sorts…”

He trails off and you can’t help but ask, “Your people? Wasps?”

“Something like that.”

“Max Phillips!” The call of his name comes from out of the blue.

“Gotta run, sugar tits, duty calls.”

Of course he’s won the sales award. He shakes the CEO’s hand while accepting the plaque, turning and smiling - not pausing for even a moment when he realizes no one is going to take his photo. It doesn’t stop him from playing mayor of the cubicle farm, waving at a few people before stepping to the side. You notice him looking at you and studiously avoid meeting his eyes.

The secret Santa starts and you take a quick tally of how many people participated this year. Even if half the people make a fuss about it, you should be able to leave in fifteen minutes - twenty tops.

Since Max won the award he gets to go first, picking up the box you had carefully wrapped and tearing into it with the gusto of a toddler. He fingers the silk and you swear his eyes dart to where you’re standing. 

There is no way he could know you’d bought it for him. No way.

“Looks like we may have a tie for best present.”

People laugh at his terrible joke and he steps to the side, letting the next person fetch their mug. You try to be surreptitious as you gauge his reaction. Does he like it? Does he think it’s tacky? With one hand he pulls off the one he’s wearing and loops the length of red silk around his collar, deftly tying a full Windsor.

It looks good on him.

Dammit.

Your name is called and you shake yourself out of your stupor, avoiding looking to the side. The present is in a bright orange bag - not even a holiday color - and stapled closed. You reach in and pull out the small bottle.

“Iron supplements.”

There’s a small scattering of applause and you stare at the offending object for so long the new HR lady has to gently move you aside. 

Iron supplements.

Your secret Santa got you fucking iron supplements.

“You don’t look happy.”

The tie you so carefully picked out mocks you. You put thought into his present - and your Santa did what? Clean out their medicine cabinet? You wouldn’t be surprised if the bottle was already open.

No, you were not happy. You were fuming.

“You look pale.”

“Shut up.”

“And you’ve been having headaches lately.”

“How would you know?”

“I told you, you intrigue me.”

Something clicks and you finally look up at him, bottle clenched in your fist. “This was you?”

“You’re anemic.”

He sounds so absurdly reasonable you barely resist the urge to kick him. “You are not my doctor.”

“Do you have a doctor?”

You don’t, not that he needs to know that.

“If you did they might tell you your iron count is dangerously low. You should get checked for an autoimmune disease.”

“I do not have an autoimmune disease.” Derek shoots you a surprised look and you give him a wide smile before jerking Max’s arm and pulling him into a supply closet. “This is not appropriate. On like a hundred levels.”

“Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Tell me.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.” You shove a finger into his chest. “You may get other people to leap to your bidding but I’m not one of them.”

“I know,” he grins, “it’s fantastic.”

“Fantastic?” you repeat.

“Fantastic.” He’s faster that you expect, grabbing your wrist and flattening your palm to his chest. “Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

He sounds genuinely concerned and you deflate, giving in. “I don’t have the money for fresh food. I’m living off ramen at the moment, okay? I’ll probably develop scurvy soon.”

“We pay you a decent amount - not what you’re worth, of course - but market value.”

You don’t bother asking how he knows that. “My ex took a loan out in my name. I’ve been paying it off.”

“Why isn’t he paying it off?”

“Because he’s an asshole and I can’t make him do anything.”

“Want me to kill him for you?”

It’s said so casually you almost think he means it. “It’s fine. It’s only another year. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re going to get rickets.”

“Isn’t that what Tiny Tim had?”

He nods. “Yes, and you’ll be begging for a Christmas bonus just like he did, too.”

“I think that was his dad.”

“Which one did Kermit play?”

You scoff, trying to pull your hand away from him. “Have you only ever seen the Muppet version of a Christmas Carol?”

He doesn’t let you go. “It’s the only one worth seeing.”

“Max,” you say softly. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, for worrying about me. Even if this-” you hold up the supplements with your other hand “-is by far the worst gift I have ever gotten.”

He gifts you with that wide, easy smile of his. “Let me buy you dinner, to make up for it.”

“Sure you don’t already have a date?”

“I’d cancel any plans for you.” If you didn’t know better you’d say he was serious.

“Big words, don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

“I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

He’s standing close, so close your chest brushes his when you take a breath. “Max…”

Tingles shoot to your fingertips as his lips capture yours. A rush of heat floods through you and you can’t help but moan when he sinks his fingers into the back of your neck. The sound he makes is close to a growl, his mouth opening and his tongue is suddenly there, licking at the seam of your lips.

Would it be wrong to climb him like a tree in the supply closet?

He apparently has the same idea, lifting you from underneath your ass with an ease that takes your breath away. Your back is pressed to the wire shelves and his hips settle between your thighs as though he’s always belonged there. Your neck arches into the palm of his hand and he nuzzles beneath your ear.

“Take your damn iron pills.”

“What?”

“Your iron,” his teeth scrape along your jaw, “and maybe a multi-vitamin too.”

You were going to slap him. Just soon as your head stopped spinning from his kiss.

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Tagging in @almostfoxglove once more. Hope you liked your Max.

[softiedingo]

[absurdthirst]

When Max Phillips pisses you off, this is the amount of garlic you eat.

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

PART IV: VISITATION

🩸a ghost!max phillips series

RATING: Explicit (18+) mdni | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 9k 🩸CHAPTER CONTENT WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT, in case you'd like to avoid spoilers!

read from the beginning | series masterlist | masterlist | get notifs

SUMMARY: Something is happening to Max.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

“Gotta get that air-con fixed, honey,” Max tuts.  For once the accident of a pet name doesn’t phase you; you skip right over it. Rub the heel of your hand into your eye and ask him, “Can you lie down with me?” In what world would he ever say no to a question like that, in any version of its meaning?

READ PART IV ON AO3.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

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🩸CW: Mild smut (voyeurism, f!masturbation, max phillip's filthy fucking mouth, two (2) pussy pronouns as a treat). Discussions of death. General vampy behavior, reference to gore/blood, and enough yearning to send a man to his grave (if he wasn't already in it).