Like a Cigar feat. Max Phillips x menstruating!f!reader
Summary: You have cramps and Max has a holistic way that might help.
Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,879
Content Warnings: dubcon (bc vampires and their hypnosis), reader is a menstruating person, period sex, poor managerial skills, if he were her boss there would be hr concerns, p in the v sex, neck biting, blood
Author's Notes: This came about from a discussion about periods on discord and this is dedicated to @noxturnalpascal and @strang3lov3's cat, Gizmo.
Thank you to @strang3lov3 and @noxturnalpascal for cultivating this with me, and to @bitchesuntitled and @jennaispunk for their eyes and love.
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“Dammit.”, you swore under your breath as you dug around in the cabinet under the bathroom sink.
Only one regular tampon and one panty liner were not enough to get you through the night. The iron-rich flood that was about to destroy your underwear had arrived and you were not prepared.
Moving out of your ex’s apartment and having to start again in a city you didn’t know was hard enough, but realizing at 2 am that you had no period products when all the signs and your health app had warned you this was coming nearly had you on the verge of tears.To top it off, you had nothing to dull the twisting aches of pain but an old sock and maybe some rice to MacGyver a heating pad.
You hastily shoved in your final tampon, slapped the panty liner in your underwear, put on some old sweatpants, grabbed your keys and headed out to your car.
+++++
The speakers in the 24-hr Walgreens were blown out, causing John Dever’s Suzanne’s Song to sound like two sick frogs singing along to a car occasionally backfiring.
The cramps had really hit you hard en route, and you shuffled slowly to the Feminine Hygiene aisle. Turning the corner down that aisle, you saw a man. An extraordinarily well-dressed man at 2:16 am in a Walgreens.
You’d assumed that you would have seen a staff member or maybe another uterus-haver being in the aisle, but not this. The man turned from examining a pack of ULTRA tampons in his large hand and smiled wide, toothy grin and nodded at you. If you weren’t so exhausted and hurting, you would have been creeped out, or at least slightly unnerved, but in your iron-deficient and cramp-fueled haze, you nodded sluggishly and turned to face the wall of catch-it-all and plug-it-up products.
Your brain ignored the man and focused all your energy on picking the products you needed, bending slightly forward to try and lessen the pain in your abdomen. It wasn’t until you heard the deep inhale beside you that you clued into how close the man was standing to you now.
“Can I help y-”
“You’re bleeding.”
His tone was low and blunt, and carried the sound of the grin on his clean shaven face.
“Excuse me?” You turned to him with a wary scowl, feeling the inherent feminine rage start to boil up at his audacity.
“I said you’re in pain.”, he responded in the same blunt, grin-fueled voice.
You narrowed your eyes at him. It was then you realized just how well dressed he was; a light gray three-piece suit with a butter-yellow dress shirt underneath the vest. The gold cufflinks and rings styled him expertly and his hair was perfectly coiffed in a short, neat cut. He was extremely overdressed for the occasion of meeting you amongst the pads and tampons at this time of night.
“Who the fuck are y-”
“A period expert.”, he said while flashing a perfect smile at you.
You felt like you were about to be sold a used car with sawdust in the gas tank.
“A period expert?”
“Well, more of an expert in blood, but periods fall under the umbrella. And guessing by your being here at this hour, and you-”, he raised his brow and looked you over, his eyes darkened as he subtly flicked his tongue and wetted his bottom lip. “You look to be in the throes of Mother Nature’s cruelty.”
You took the lord’s name in vain under your breath and turned back to the neon coloured boxes of overpriced and taxed tampons, and clenched your jaw. You were not in the mood.
“I can help.”
“I’m sure you think that.”, you grunted through your clenched teeth.
You heard him hum a slight laugh; whether it was authentic or not, you couldn’t tell. What you could tell was that he was getting closer. As you squatted down, trying to alleviate your cramps and scope out the bottom shelf, his shoes stepped into your peripherals.
You stood up with an irritated sigh, and as you were about to turn to face him, to tell him to back the fuck off, you stopped. Or you were stopped. Stopped by some unseen force, making it harder to access your freewill.
“I can help.”
The smooth, deliberate tone was behind you and close enough that each syllable came with a breath that moved the hair at the base of your head, causing your body to erupt in a wave of goosebumps. Any and all irritation faded, and your senses dulled slightly. A warm, euphoric haze curled itself around you and all you heard was his words I can help bounce softly around your skull. From the corner of your eye, you vaguely noticed his hand moving in a slow, twirling motion.
His hands softly held your arms, just below your shoulders, softly squeezing and rubbing them soothingly, and he leaned in, taking in a deep breath.
“God dammit, you smell good. You smell like you’re in desperate need of some help and I am just the guy for you, sweetheart.”
“What are you - a… a gynecologist?” Your words were slightly drawn out, and to you, they sounded like they were spoken into an echo chamber.
“No. Not at all. Not a medical professional, but you could say I take a holistic interest in all things blood. And you’re full of it.” His voice sounded like it was eons away, echoing through space and time towards you, but based on his touch and the breath on your neck, you knew he was close. But the fog you were in made it easy enough for you not to care.
“My name is Max. Max Phillips, and I am going to help you, sweetheart.”
You sluggishly opened your mouth to say your name but he tsk’d you. “No… I don’t care about your name. I care about the current state you’re in.”
Max’s hand moved around your front to your lower abdomen and he pushed down with his palm. You let out a long, slow breath mixed with a groan, and he huffed a low chuckle into your ear.
“I know, sweetheart.” The mock pout on his face came though in his voice. “ It hurts, but I’m gonna fix this for you.”
His voice, his words, and his weird twirly hand movements had you sink further into the fog and it felt like a fever dream. Max seemed to move faster than your eyes could process it, flitting to the front and returning with a shopping cart, then loaded it up with what seemed like one of every kind, size, colour, and brand of period products - a smile on his face the whole time. You watched as Max walked behind the pharmacy counter with no objection from the staff, almost like they couldn’t see him, and he loaded up a white, prescription paper bag with several large scoops of acetaminophen and ibuprofen tablets. He then led you to the till where he paid for a ridiculously huge variety of pads and tampons, and some cheap chocolate from the impulse area by the registers.You carried a paper bag full of the painkillers as Max ushered you out into the parking lot, towards the backseat of his vehicle. But the whole thing felt like you were watching it unfold from above your own body and not actually participating.
Once you were seated in the back Max got in on the other side and flashed you another megawatt smile.
“Okay.”, he said with a gusto and slapped his hands together. “Let’s get started.”
He pulled the sack of pills out of your hand and tossed them into the front seat, along with the bags of items. In one swift motion, he grabbed your calf, turned and pushed you down, and your neck and head were at an awkward angle, butted up against the door handle and window
The haze that had enveloped you was lifting and the reality of the situation you were in was drawing on you.
“What the fu-”
“You’re fine.” Max’s tone was as sharp as the pad of his finger pressed into the crotch of your sweatpants.
“You’re fine, sweetheart. I’m just helping.” His dismissive and snide tone began to push you back into that fog, but this time, you tried to fight it.
You tried to sit up, but his deep brown eyes seemed to darken into the shadows the streetlights threw over him. You stilled, your limbs feeling heavier as you stared into his eyes, dulling your senses so you could only focus on him. A car honked loudly at the intersection in front of the Walgreens’ parking lot, but to you, the sound of it was muted and dulled, and far away. You laid back again, neck and head squished up against the door, as he maintained eye contact.
“That’s a good girl. No need to fight it. I’m gonna make it all better.”
And you trusted him to do it. For some unknown, god-forsaken reason you trusted him.
In one quick movement, your sweatpants and underwear were down to your ankles. He hummed and his tongue jutted out the corner of his mouth as he struggled to get the second pantleg over your Birkenstocks.
“There we go.” Max tossed your clothing into the front seat and looked down at your core.
He reached forward and gave the now-rust coloured tampon cord a tug, seemingly trying to gauge how easily it could be removed.
When you made a small noise expressing your concern, his eyes darted up to yours. “Knock it off. I’m helping you, remember?”
His hand moved up your thigh, roughly digging his fingers into your skin to keep you still, and his other moved back down between your legs then tugged the tampon out of you. He smiled as he held it up, noting how weighed down it was already with your blood and he placed it on the centre console. His finger then came in contact with your copper-toned nub. Rubbing small circles, he looked up at you and leaned in slightly, his non-occupied hand moving in a slow circular motion in the air.
“Fuck…”, you managed to breathe out. Your own voice once again sounded foreign and far away.
He smiled at you with a tooth-filled, smug smile, and you watched as fangs appeared, lengthening his canines, and your immediate slight panic was tampered down by a well duh! feeling. Between the fog and his cool finger pad drawing tight, soft circles on your clit, you let the ebb and flow of the situation take over.
“Good. You got it. Just helping you out, sweetheart.”
Max pushed his middle finger into your wet, hot heat, eliciting a gasping soft moan.
He smiled and wiggled the tip of his finger inside you. “You’re too easy, Bloody Mary.”
Before you could answer, he pulled his finger out, pushed you further up against the door and crowded himself up against you; the angle your neck was at should have hurt, but whatever spell he had you under had you not caring about your current circumstances, and it also seemed to be dulling your pain. He pressed his body down on yours, his nose buried into your neck, and inhaled again. He groaned, his eyes rolling up into his head, then took one of your ear lobes into his mouth, gently sucking it.
You let out a sigh that made your body feel like a deflated mylar balloon, just barely floating along. But as Max became more engrossed in your scent, specifically your out-in-the-open penny-flavoured pussy, his control over you began to slip. The feeling of him sucking and licking and nipping at your ear and neck started to lose its muted sensation, and the haze that had wrapped itself around your mind was lifting. The clarity you suddenly felt as more than one of his fingers pushed into your hole made you suck in a staggered breath. He lazily pumped his fingers in time with the licks and sloppy open mouth kisses he lavished your ear and neck with.
Despite that clarity, you couldn’t stop him. He sounded so… euphoric. His moans and his grunts and his groans, hums and small huffs of delight were hypnotic all on their own. That and you had never had someone seem so engrossed in having you lay starfish and make you cum. At least, your ex wasn’t like that - he’d haphazardly finger you with untrimmed nails and rub your clit raw, spend three minutes panting and whining in your ear as his dick missed your hole like a fly not being able to find a window and then crowed like a rooster when he came… why did I stay with him? you thought.
Max seemed to sense your mind wandering to past events and he lifted himself, hovering over your cramped up torso against the car door. His furrowed brow seemed exaggerated by the shadows being draped over him, and the dim light of the streetlight outside casted eye shines on his black orbs. His fingers continued to piston in and out of you harshly. The discomfort of his rhythm paled in comparison to the outright pain of the cramps that had your uterus in a vice.
“Turn off your fucking brain or I’ll do it for you.”
You swallowed and nodded as best as you could with your chin crunched down against your chest, and he lowered himself back down, resuming his mouth’s work on your neck, and you felt a slight sting. You let out a soft moan, and in response he licked where his teeth had grazed you then hummed and grunted as he kissed and sucked the spot, the vibrations adding to the stimulation on your neck. As soon as you started to let yourself get lost in euphoria, you could feel your orgasm building.
“I can feel it”, he hummed, bringing his face to yours. “Can feel her quivering and shaking…”
You let out a panting mewl as his breath huffed over your face in a laugh. You clenched on his fingers and wanted to grab him to ground your body, but you couldn’t. It was like you had no control over anything but your breathing and everything was tingling with pins and needles, completely useless to you.
“Good… finally. Jesus, took your fucking time.”, Max said, rolling his eyes. He pulled out his fingers and shoved his fingers into his mouth, humming satisfied, and closed his eyes in relishment.
It was so abrupt. He took away his hand before you had fully come down and you looked up at him confused as he sucked on his fingers. His brows raised and his other hand came up, making a circular motion, telling you to get a move on with… something?
“Wha–”
“My fucking pants! These are a cashmere-wool blend and I saw the Wal-Mart brand, multipack underwear you were wearing, Bloody Mary - I know you can’t afford my dry cleaner!”
You stared up at him like he had three heads, not putting the pieces together.
He leaned forward and his voice dropped into a low, menacing tone. “I am not going to fuck you with my pants on, Bloody Mary. My hand is a fucking mess because of you so make with the no pants.”
“Shit…”, you muttered as you sat up, shaky hands pulling open the dark, expensive looking belt. “Do you want to have anything else taken off? Like your shirt or vest?”
He rolls his eyes and shrugs off his overcoat, then his suit jacket, then muttered, “You deal with the fucking buttons.” He opened his hands to indicate he was talking about his vest, impatiently raising his eyebrows to tell you he was waiting.
With your shaky fingers on his buttons, you clumsily opened one at a time. The bliss from your previous orgasm had subsided and the cramps in your abdomen came roaring back along with a wave of hot nausea. Max groaned in irritation and impatience, watching your face contort. His hand snaked around to the back of your head and gripped your hair.
Yanking down, he forced your face up to look at his. The shadows cast across this face seemed deeper, highlighting every crease and fold in his skin as he scowled at you. “Focus. I’m doing you a favour, sweetheart.”
You felt the warm, liquidy feeling begin to ebb and flow over your mind again as you stared into his eyes and your hands seemed to be under his control, deftly unbuttoning his vest and dress shirt. He still held you by the back of your head, hair scruffed like you were a feral cat and not a docile, hypnotized, bleeding human.
Once Max had his smooth abdomen on display, your hands moved back down to his pants, unbuttoning them then pulling the zipper down, getting a peak at the pair of dark blue - with little red umbrellas - European style briefs underneath. Under his control, you tugged them down, showcasing the impressive outline of his semi-hard cock. You raised a brow as you gazed down from the awkward angle from which he held your head and made a complimentary ‘huh’. Even if the circumstances were different, you’d have a hard time kicking him out for eating crackers in bed.
“Take a fucking picture next time, Mary.”
Your eyes jumped up to him and he scowled at you impatiently.
“My dick could be out, rammed into your bloody slash, kicking your cramp’s ass, but you’re being pretty fucking ineffective with your and my time.”, Max snarled. “So knock off the ogling and get back to work!”
The tone at which he barked reminded you of the manager you had when you were 15 with your first summer job at McDonald’s. He had chastised you for cooking the fries too long and berated you in front of the entire crew on your shift, and left you in tears, sobbing on the dirty staff bathroom floor. This time though, the beratement made your hole twitch and ooze, and heat bloomed in your pelvis.
On your own volition, you pulled down his underwear to where his pants had landed mid-thigh and tugged both the rest of the way to his knees. Even though you were working as quickly as you could given the cramped conditions and the weird hold he had on the back of your head, Max still seemed to think you were moving too slowly and he shoved you back against the door and grabbed your leg at the knee, yanking your crimson core towards him.
“Finally.”, he grunted as he lined himself up and sunk into you. He wasn’t the biggest you’d had but he was thick and it felt amazing juxtaposed to the cramps. He let out a deep, low groan as his dick disappeared into you, feeling the hot, slick grip you had on him once he was fully seated in you.
“Please… fuck-move…”, you moaned, you eyes closed and brows pinched.
“Thank fuck you have manners.”, Max muttered as he started to slowly pull out and then push back in.
He kept the slower pace and at first you thought it was for your benefit, until you opened your eyes a crack then jumped - Max was staring at you intensely, mouth pulled into a tight frown. He looked like he was concentrating hard on something. He noticed you looking at him and he narrowed his eyes.
“Pacing yourself is important.”, he grunted out through clenched teeth. “It’s a good strategy in
not overwhelming yourself… and- fuck…” He stopped and worked to regain his composure. “And it’s effective to do something at a steady speed so you don-don’t get tired.”
Beyond the steady, rhythmic pace at which he repeatedly impaled you, his words made you want to recoil from him. He sounded as if Patrick Bateman wrote a ‘how to’ guide for managerial sex. It was clear he was enjoying this far more than he wanted to let on and his ‘pace’ was him trying not to blow his load quickly…
Which lead your thoughts down a tangent: do vampires have loads to blow? Is it like you imagined Edward Cullen’s cum being glitter glue-esque when you were 18? Was it like that neon green slime you saw at the Dollar Store? Was it just like regular cum but maybe Count Chocula flavoured?
Your thoughts were interrupted by the pinch you felt on the inside of your thigh and you caught Max glaring to you while he kept pace,
“Am I boring you?”, he spat out venomously. “I’m doing this for your fucking benefit, you know…”
You started to get lost in his eyes again, missing out on his face contorting as his features became gargoyle-esque. You only noticed when he began to quicken his thrust, becoming harsher and he leaned down almost nose to nose. The menacingly intimate proximity made your cunt tighten and flutter, bringing you right to the edge of another orgasm.
Before you could react, his face moved fast to your neck and he bit down. That was all you needed to set off the stick of dynamite in your pussy and you came hard, flooding any crevice or space that existed between you with your crimson tide.
Max released his bite and pulled back, mouth red, wet and dripping. “I bet you’re one of those leftists who just fucking loves unions.”, Max growled lowly, keeping up his brutal pace as he fucked you through your orgasm.
You have no idea why, but you nodded in response, panting a breathy, pained “Yes!” as you shook and cried out. His eyes rolled back and let out a groan turned high-pitched whine and stilled as he arched his hips into you, unloading whatever mystery goo vampires jizz.
Whatever vulnerability you thought might come post-vampiric sex never came, and before you could crawl out of the haze your mind was in, Max was wiping his crotch with your discarded leggings then fixing his pants and dress shirt. Then he was shimming your panty liner-saddled underwear and now-sticky leggings back on you. He opened the car door behind him, got out and walked around the vehicle. The door you were butted up against opened, and you fell back against him, and Max’s arms hooked under your shoulders and pulled you out, unceremoniously dropping you on your ass. He turned back to the car, pulling out the bags of pads and tampons he'd gotten and the paper bag of painkillers and threw them at you.
“There. All fucking better.”
Stunned, you watched him get into the driver’s seat and made the engine roar to life. He hit the gas and drove forward to the end of the lot then turned around. As he passed you to get to the exit, you watched as he picked up your bloody tampon and put it in his mouth like a cigar.
****
A month later, you woke up to the telltale twinge that heralded your period and as you rummaged under the sink through the ridiculous amounts of period products, you wondered if you should make a trip to Walgreens.
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