The Warm Hugs.
Pairing: Max P + Reader
Summary: Max is worried you think he’s too cold. You come home crying, and he tries out new strategies.
Notes: this guy has made a killing (literally) from having empathy issues out the fucking wazoo, so it’s natural that he has to remind himself you’re a person to do... person things with. For a guy who thinks of comforting as “damage control,” he’s doing his best.
Warnings: mentions of sex, cursing, hurt/comfort (if that counts), and the very sanguine menace himself.
For once, he was grateful you were human. Crying blood would have been a real inconvenience, especially because his suit was new and bespoke and devastatingly sexy.
Why him?
The last time he’d had to confront a crying person was when he was firing some slowpoke from logistics, and he’d ended up eating the lady in pure annoyance. And even that was unpleasant. She tasted like decades years of incompetence and hereditary dementia, with an aftertaste that could only be described as elderly.
This time, however, he could not kill the problem away.
This time, he was completely out of his depth.
He’d just gotten off of a phone conference when you came home. As soon as he heard the door open, he grinned, sliding out of his chair and sneaking down the hall.
It was a thing he’d do. Every once in a while he’d wait, grinning, for you to come home, sneak up behind you, and pounce with an obscenely campy “BOO!” 
The worst part was that it’d work. Every time. You’d jump three feet in the air with a reliable shriek and a “FUCK YOU,” and you’d both end up laughing on the floor (which led to fucking, but that’s not the point).
But today, when he crept down the hallway, he didn’t hear you humming or whistling or opening a bag of chips. He heard crying. No, not crying.
Sobbing.
You were sobbing.
His buddy. His pal. His tiger, even.
Fucking sobbing.
So he did what any reasonable person would do: he turned and speed-walked the other direction until he was far enough down the hall to be out of eyesight, and froze.
Just a moment to think and he’d be fine!
…
...Well. Uh.
So far, Max had come up with zilch. And he actually tried.
He’d considered paying you to stop crying. Straight up cash, too. But he that’s a tactic for worse situations. People being eaten alive, for example. And still, that’s a maybe at most.
He tried to think about what he would want you to do if he was crying, but every time he thought about it it always seemed to culminate in a blowjob. And, he reasoned, it would probably be hard for you to give a blowjob with a stuffy nose.
See? He’s a caring guy.
He’d give you one of his classic handshake-to-hug-to-pat-on-the-back moves, but his skin was freezing, and it was cold enough outside, and he had a hunch hypothermia wouldn’t improve your mood.
Well, you know what? Crying is stupid anyway. He scowled petulantly. The fact that he of all people had to deal with this shit was stupid. You’re stupid. Everything’s fucking stupid.
...He’s stupid.
He let out a small sigh, deflating a little.
He wasn’t built for this.
Simply put, Max was an asshole. He did it well, and with great relish. Indiscriminately. Methodically. Efficiently.
Not that that was the issue. No. It was you. Because now he had someone who he wanted to be an asshole with, and not an asshole to. Because now he cared.
As previously stated, stupid.
But even though he’d rather do nothing than do something and fail at it, his legs spurred into action as soon as a particularly broken sob echoed down the hallway.
And halfway there, he had an idea.
——————
You heard him before you saw him, which was a common symptom of being a loud, obnoxious, sexy little shit. But it wasn’t the talking that alerted you to his presence.
It was the crinkling.
You wiped your tears away, putting your dignity ahead of your crinkle curiosity, and rubbed your eyes even more frantically as the crinkling approached. When you were sure your face was now only puffy instead of puffy and tear-stained, you put on a forced smile and turned to him.
“Hey M-”
You stopped short at the sight that greeted you. He was wearing your puffiest coat, the ugly monstrosity with the billion pockets, and reminded you of… well, nothing. It was a one-of-a-kind sight.
He looked at you, crinkling hesitantly, and you couldn’t help but laugh.
“Max, what the fuck are you wearing?”
With an indignant glare, he straightened and plopped down next to you on the couch.
“Method to the madness, sweet cheeks. I,” he paused dramatically, “am consoling you. Some gratitude would be nice.”
“Ah. Well, consider me indebted,” you said dryly. “How… exactly have you managed to console me, by the way?”
The smile that spread across his face was nothing short of gleeful as he opened his arms and gave you a pointed look and a crinkle.
…
…Yeah, you had no idea what that meant. You stared at him, dumbfounded, prompting a rather melodramatic eye roll.
“A hug. I’m… offering you a hug.”
“…Oh. Um. Yeah, it’s- it’s a deal, man-” Wow. You’re even worse than he is with this shit. What a team you two make.
You looked at him, this strange, hungry, horny man perched on your sofa, and were bowled over by the sudden rush of affection that hit you. You launched yourself into his arms, squirming into him until you found the space under his arm that fit you just right. You sighed shakily, allowing yourself to finally relax after a long day wrapped in the broad warmth of his body.
God, on days like this you could almost fall in lo-
Wait.
…Warmth?
What in the fuck?
You shifted a little closer, making sure you weren’t imagining it. You weren’t. Max, the living corpse, was positively toasty. 
You looked up at him in complete bewilderment, wondering if you had a fever, or lost half your nerve endings, or were just plain hallucinating. He stared right back, grinning toothily.
“Ta-daa!” He said smugly. “Like it, babe?”
“…How?” You managed to squeak out, eliciting a look that was disgustingly self-satisfied. With a flourish, he unzipped one of the pockets on the puffy monstrosity, reaching into the parka to pull out…
“Hand warmers,” he stated complacently. “Twenty-seven hand warmers.”
“Max…”
“Because that’s what you always do for me, so I was thinking…” to his horror, Max began to falter. For once, he forgot what he planned to say. “That, uh…” Think, Max. “Well, the point is that… well… uh… yeah.”
…Nice one, slugger. Reaal smooth. Not lame at all. Fuck, where’s a wooden stake when you need it?
Gathering up his courage, he looked at you, wincing, only to find… tears.
TEARS?!?!
“Babe, I’m so sorry please don’t crypleasedon’tcry-” He was on the verge of crying himself. And as previously stated, tears of blood would be just awful for his new three-piece.
You just sobbed harder, curling into him as he pulled you closer.
“Y-you idiot,” you sniffled, “happy tears.”
He breathed a sigh of relief, quickly covering it with a laugh.
“Hold on, nope. You’re the idiot,” he countered. “Really, who the fuck invented happy crying? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever-” You cut him off, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“I love you.”
He blinked, your words taking a good few seconds to process.
“You’re sweet.”
His brain was fizzling out.
“And I love the jacket. Lemme in.” You unzipped the tent-sized parka and slipped in with him, sighing happily. He stayed frozen.
You love him. Holy fuck.
Holy FUCK YOU LOVE HIM YOU LOVE HIM YOU LOVE HIM!!!!
Holy fuck. He loves you too. Fuck.
“…I love you too, toots. So much.”
Grinning giddily, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, pulling you fully onto his lap as you squirmed and giggled until you both sighed contentedly. To his surprise, he found that his next words slipped out naturally.
“So, wanna tell me what happened?”
The smile on your face made his undead heart flop in his chest. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this stuff after all.
The end.
f0rever15elf