#I keep hearing horror stories about that...

[retiredteabag]

sorry for informality but i was stalking reading your pinned post and you’re in grad school at twenty!??!!!

unless i’m tripping or misunderstanding something, academic weapon tips please because holy shit that’s insane! what’s ur field of study if you want to talk about it/don’t mind me asking? any application tips/things you wished you knew before getting there/habits you wished you’d formed sooner? independent research has always been difficult for me because of how much i depend on structure (adhd imposter syndrome anxiety lets go) so if you’re working on a thesis/something similar, how has the process been in your experience?

i’m in undergrad atm and heavily debating going further, so i’d love to hear from someone my age who’s actually doing it! also unrelated, but i’m a certified notion/goodnotes girlie if you vibe with those as study resources!

🎸 tagging with an emoji in case i pop back around, yk?

I'm sorry to say, but my tips might come off as sort of typical... but I hope they're at least a little helpful!

I am currently in a masters program within the analytics field. Research/independent studies vary widely depending on the area of specialization, however, my program has an intensive practicum that is similar in nature. I have not started it yet, but what I can say for sure when it comes to research: make sure you are picking a topic that you could speak about for hours/answer argumentative questions about.

For applications, I would say to narrow your options down as much as possible and look into each program before applying. Know the curriculum and standard outline and what stands out to you as you decide.

^ on this same note, you will likely need at least one interview in the application process. Speak slowly and enunciate. Taking a moment to think of the proper words will always be better than speaking quickly without much thought. Most people say to use "down-speak" in these interviews, but in my experience, matching the examiners tone and energy makes the whole thing much more comfortable.

For study tips, I have a large notebook that I keep on my desk where I write down every assignment and the date that it is due. This is just for organization purposes, I find a physical copy helpful for a few reasons but also because crossing them off feels rewarding :]

Time managment is incredibly important. Everyone says this because it is true. Prep everything, organizing your day into chunks. Since you also like structure, this probably wont be an issue. I would also get comfortable with being self-aware of your priorities. There will come a time when you will need to choose between academics/work and other areas of your life.

Keep your spaces clean. Dedicate a day or so to just organizing/doing a deep clean. It will help you stay focused and minimize external anxiety. It’s also much easier to keep a place clean if you have put in such an effort.

Participate in class. I cannot make this clear enough. I promise it is not embarrassing to ask questions or "try". You will learn far easier if you put effort into the classroom/lecture setting.

It is a pretty typical "tip" is to just ask questions. Even if you feel like you might understand, just ask to make sure. And in this same vein, go to office hours if you need to.

Prioritize sleep lol, that and mental rest. You can't always be studying. For me, it is a real challenge to work and be full time in school so it's important to carve out those sections of "you time".

Try not to be on your phone tooooooooo much, I know it’s hard but I make an effort to not be on my phone while eating. Don’t use entertainment as a distraction, I find that it just delays anxiety :(

Lastly, apply for scholarships and know that you absolutely can appeal for more money.

I hope this was useful. Do know that it REALLY depends on your area of study and 5-year-plan. I would recommend not going to grad school unless you're absolutely sure it is worth it.

Good luck!

[nomie-11]

Ellie Williams x Reader, the Reader is immune like Ellie and both find out the other is immune while out on patrol. They have feelings for each other and when the truth comes out about their immunity and their feelings they start dating and eventually become a couple. If Joel is alive in the story maybe his reaction to there being another immune person.

Breathe Me In

masterlist!

synopsis: the above request!

pairings: ellie williams x reader

The floor gives way before either of you can react. One second, you’re moving through the abandoned building, snow melting off your boots, and the next, the rotten wood splinters beneath your feet. 

The world tilts. 

Your stomach lurches as you crash through layers of decay, falling hard onto your side in a pile of broken furniture and debris. Dust explodes around you—and despite the gas mask on your face—that wasn’t what made your breath catch. 

Spores. Thick, swirling clouds of them. 

Your heart pounds as you scramble up, your gas mask still snug over your face but your eyes immediately lock onto Ellie. The air was knocked from her chest, she’s coughing, and at first you think it's because she hit the floor so hard you could hear the air rush past her lips. But then you look up, watch her shake off the impact, and—her mask is cracked. 

A deep fracture splits the glass down the middle, already letting in the infection that should be filling her lungs. 

Your entire body goes cold. 

“Ellie!” Your voice cracks as you lurch forward, hands already ripping at the straps of your own mask. The rubber digs into your face as you yank it off, ignoring the awful sting as the air—thick with spores—hits your skin. Your only thought is her. Her, with her mask split, her with her lungs exposed to the infection, her with wide green eyes locking onto you in absolute horror. 

She’s on you in an instant, faster than you expected, fingers clawing at your wrists. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Ellie’s voice is sharp, bordering on desperate. 

You try to shove the mask at her, pressing it to her face, your grip shaking. “Put it on! Ellie, put it on, now—”

Her hands snap up to catch yours, her grip iron-tight. “No! Jesus, y/n! Keep it on!” She wrestles with you, trying to force the mask back over your own mouth, her panic rising. 

You don’t let her. You can’t let her. 

“Ellie, please! Just take it!” You push harder, trying to slip the straps over her head, but she’s fighting you like her life depends on it. And maybe she thinks it does. 

Ellie shoves at your hands, her breathing ragged, her green eyes wild with desperation. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You need to keep it on—just keep it on, okay?” Her voice cracks at the edges, and it kills you, the fear laced in her words. 

You shake your head violently, pushing against her resistance, your grip slipping against the sweat forming between your palms. “No, no, Ellie, you don’t understand! You need it more than I do—just put it on, please!”

She’s shaking now, her fingers digging into your wrists hard enough to bruise as she fights you, her entire body wound tight. “Stop it!” She practically begs, trying to force the mask back over your face, her voice trembling. “You don’t get it, you can’t—breathe this in—”

And fuck, if only she knew. 

But she doesn’t. 

Just like you don’t know about her. 

You can see the panic in her eyes, the way her chest heaves with frantic breaths, and it makes your own heart feel like it’s breaking apart, because she’s not scared for herself. She’s terrified for you. 

“Ellie—” Your voice wavers, your throat tightening. “Please, just take it. I can’t—” Your breath stutters, raw emotion bleeding into your words. “I can’t lose you.” 

Her face twists like you’ve just physically hurt her. 

And then she makes a split-second decision that nearly knocks the air from your lungs, yanking your hand down, the mask clattering to the floor as she grabs your face between her shaking fingers. 

Her forehead presses against yours, her breaths mixing with yours, warm and uneven. 

“No one’s losing anyone,” she whispers, her voice breaking on the words. “Not today. Not ever.” 

Tears sting at your eyes, your fingers curling into the fabric of her jacket as your body trembles with the weight that both of you are standing in the basement covered by spores without masks. The way she holds onto you, like you’re the only thing anchoring her to the ground. The way she’s so willing to put her secret at risk to save you, without hesitation, without question. 

And it’s unbearable, because you would do the same thing for her. You are doing the same thing for her. 

Ellie closes her eyes for a second, breathing you in, before she slowly pulls back just enough to look at you, her hands still cradling your face. 

“We have to go,” she says, her voice quieter now, but not less urgent. “We have to go before something shows up.” 

You nod, swallowing against the lump in your throat, your fingers reluctant to let go of her. “Okay.” 

Neither of you acknowledge the truth that hangs in the air between you. 

Not that you’re both still standing. Not that you’re both still breathing. Not that neither of you are infected. 

For now, you just hold onto each other, grip tight, fingers still trembling, as you push your way out of the ruined building, the weight of what just happened settling like a ghost between you. 

——————————————

The kitchen is silent. 

The kind of silence that weighs heavy, pressing into your skin like a damp cloth, suffocating in its own way. The only sounds are the occasional creaks of the old wooden house settling, the faint whistling of the wind slipping through gaps in the windowpanes, and Ellie’s foot tapping idly against the leg of the chair. 

Neither of you have spoken since you got back. Since you climbed out of that ruined basement, since you forced your breathing to slow, since you walked through the front door of Joel’s house Ike nothing had just shattered the foundation of your entire world. 

Ellie had thrown her jacket over the back of her chair, sat down, and you’d followed, dropping into the seat across from her. And now you’re here. Sitting. Waiting. 

For what, you’re not sure. 

The clock on the wall ticks. A fork in the sink shifts slightly. The sound makes Ellie’s jaw tightened, her fingers twitching against the wood of the table. 

You should say something. Maybe make a joke, ease the tension, bring up the fact that you’ve just experienced the most batshit insane moment of your life. That she's like you. That you’re like her. 

That you’re not alone. 

But the words won’t come. 

So the silence stretches. 

Until the front door swings open, and Joel steps inside, boots heavy on the wooden floor. He exhales as he shrugs off his coat, muttering something under his breath about the cold before turning toward the kitchen. 

And the second he sees the two of you, he stops. 

His brows furrow, gaze flicking between you and Ellie, taking in the way you’re both sitting there, shoulders tense, hands still. 

His expression shifts. “Alright,” he says slowly, crossing his arms, standing firm in the doorway. “What the hell is goin’ on with you two?” 

Neither of you answer. 

Ellie stares at the table. You focus on the small crack in the wood near the salt shaker. 

Joel’s gaze hardens. “Ellie.” 

She shifts slightly but doesn’t look up. 

“Y/n.” 

Your throat feels tight. You say nothing. 

Joel exhales through his nose, stepping further inside, letting the door shut behind him with a soft thud. “What, did y’all burn down a building or somethin’? Kill someone you weren’t supposed to?” His voice is gruff, laced with that sharp edge of concern he’s never quite been able to mask. 

Ellie’s fingers curl into her hoodie sleeves. 

Then, finally, she speaks. 

“You weren’t lying.” 

Joel’s frown deepens. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Ellie lifts her head, finally meeting his eyes. And when she speaks again, it’s softer. Almost disbelieving. 

“There are others.” 

Joel’s whole body goes still. 

Ellie looks at you then, and it makes your heart stutter. 

“She’s immune.” 

Silence. 

Joel’s expression doesn’t change at first, like his brain hasn’t fully registered what she just said. But then his jaw clenches, his eyes darken just a little, and his arms drop to his sides. “That ain’t somethin’ you joke about, kiddo.” 

Ellie shakes her head, voice steady. “I’m not joking.”

Joel’s gaze shifts to you, and suddenly, you feel like you’re under a microscope, every inch of you being examined. You swallow hard. 

He stares for a long moment, then exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.” 

Ellie leans forward, eyes sharp. I saw it, Joel. We were in a basement filled with spores. My mask was off. Her mask was off.” She swallows, voice quieter. “Look at her. She’s fine.” 

Joel doesn’t speak, he just turns his gaze back to you, and this time, it’s not skepticism. It’s something else. Ellie is still staring at you, something new in her eye, relief flooding her softer gaze. 

You’ve both spent so long thinking you were alone, and now, suddenly you’re not.

Joel finally speaks. “You told anyone?” 

You shake your head again. “No.” 

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face, muttering something like ‘fuck, I liked her more when they were just datin,’ 

Ellie is still looking at you, a hundred thoughts floating behind her eyes. Then, slowly, she traces a finger over the scar on her arm, buried under a chemical burn and layers of ink. “Where’d you get bit first?” 

You hesitate, before pulling up your shirt, revealing a similar mark, a faded bite on your hip. 

Ellie’s lips part slightly, looking between yours an hers, like she’s trying to make sense of it, like she’s seeing herself in you. 

“So, what now?” She asks, voice quieter, uncertain. 

Joel sighs, rubbing his temples. “Hell if I know.” 

But as you look at Ellie—someone who understands, someone who is like you—for the first time in years, you don’t feel alone. 

———————————

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and old wood as you and Ellie sat side by side on Joel’s porch. The rocking chairs he had made last winter creaked as you shifted slightly, your knees pulled up to your chest wile Ellie leans forward, elbows resting on her thighs. 

It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the good kind of quiet. The kind of quiet you only find when you’re sitting with someone who understands. 

Ellie exhales, tilting her head up to the sky. “You ever think about how fucking weird this is?”

You glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the whole ‘I should be dead, but I’m not’ thing?” 

She snorts. “Yeah. That.” 

Silence trenches between you again, but this time it’s different—warmer. It lingers, pressing against your ribs, curling around your fingers as you pick at the frayed hem of your jeans. 

“I wasn’t alone,” Ellie says suddenly, her voice quiet. “When I got bit, I mean.” 

You look over at her, but she’s still staring at the sky. 

Her fingers trace the mark on her arm absentmindedly. “Her name was Riley. She was my best friend. My…” she hesitates, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “More than that.” 

You don’t say anything, just let her have the space to breathe through it. 

Ellie sighs, her hands curling into fists. “We snuck into this mall together. We were just… being stupid kids, y’know? Drinking shitty alcohol, messing around, dancing like idiots.” A soft chuckle escapes her, but there’s no humor in it. “And then… the clickers came. I don’t even remember how it happened. One second, we were wearing Halloween masks and dancing, and the next, I’m curled into her side on the floor of the mall, my finger’s tracing over the bite on my arm.” 

Her voice gets quieter, barely above a whisper. “We decided to wait it out together. Just… go crazy together. But then she turned, and I didn’t.” 

She finally looks at you then, and there’s something raw in her eyes that makes your chest ache. “I kept waiting. I thought maybe it was just delayed. That maybe I’d turn later. But days passed, and nothing happened. And I had to—” she cuts herself off, blinking rapidly. 

You reach out, fingers brushing against hers, and she exhales shakily, but doesn’t pull away. 

“I was alone when I found out,” you admit, voice barely audible. “I was traveling with this group, people I barely knew. We got ambushed, and I got separated. A runner came out of nowhere, tackled me, and bit my hip just as I was about to shoot it.” You pause, your grip tightening slightly around Ellie’s hand. “I thought that was it. I just sat there, waiting to turn. Hours passed, then a day. Then another. And I was still me.” 

Ellie’s gaze is locked onto you now, her breathing slow and steady. 

“At first, I thought maybe I was just lucky. Maybe it was a fluke. But I couldn’t believe it, not really. So I tested it.” You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. “Again. And Again.” 

Ellie’s fingers tighten around yours, her expression shifting. “What do you mean?” 

You turn your hand over, rolling up your sleeve, showing the faint, scattered scars along your arm. “I needed to be sure,” your voice is steady, but your heart pounds. “So I let them bite me.” 

Ellie inhales sharply. “Jesus, Y/n.” 

You shrug, but there’s no real weight to it. “I had to know. I had to be sure I wasn’t just hallucinating it.” You force out a chuckle, but it just comes out hollow. “Turns out, I’m really fucking immune.” 

Ellie shakes her head, her thumb tracing absent circles against your skin. “That’s… fucking insane.” 

“Yeah.”

Another pause. The wind picks up slightly, rustling the trees in the distance. 

Ellie shifted in her chair, turning more toward you, her leg brushing against yours. “You were really going to give me your mask back there, huh?” 

You met her gaze, something tender blooming between the two of you. 

“My secret wasn’t worth you dying,” you admit softly. “I wasn’t gonna let you die.” 

Ellie exhales, shaking her head with something between disbelief and fondness. “You’re an idiot.” 

You huff out a laugh. “So are you.” 

A small smile tugs at her lips, and Ellie watches you for a long moment, her fingers still brushing against yours, her eyes flickering down to your lips just once before darting back up. Your stomach flips. 

You don’t think you just move. 

Slowly, cautiously, you lean in. 

Ellie doesn’t pull away. Her breath hitches, her fingers curling slightly against your palm as she tilts her head just enough to meet you halfway. 

It’s soft. hesitant. Just the barest brush of lips, warm and tentative, like neither of you are quite sure you’re allowed to have this. 

But then Ellie exhales against your mouth, something easing in her shoulders, and you both lean in just a little more. 

It’s not desperate, not rushed—just the quiet understanding of two people who have spent so long being alone, finally finding something, someone, who makes the world feel a little less heavy. 

When you finally pull back, Ellie’s eyes are still closed, her lips parted slightly. 

She breathes out a laugh, quiet and disbelieving. “I think I like you.”

You grin, heartbeat hammering. “Yeah?” 

Ellie opens her eyes, and there’s something so soft in the deep forest green that your heart feels as though it’s being squeezed. 

“Yeah.” 

The wind whistles through the trees, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can finally breathe. 

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[frost-queen]

Composer of music // part 2 (Reader x Benedict Bridgerton

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers,  @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @sweetheartlizzie07

Summary: A surprise visit brings music to the Bridgerton household once more. Something stirring inside of Benedict as his sister helps him unlock what is in his mind. Setting off the search for a necklace that belongs to the runaway girl. [series]

The suddenness of piano music this early in day brought many confusion into the Bridgerton household. Two doors opening simultaneously. Two heads popping out to stare as confused to each other as possible. Anthony and Benedict sharing a funny look of wonder. Listening in to the piano tickling.

Hearing as the music was smooth. No wrongs. Both their eyes widened. The very same question written clear on their faces. Could it be? Hurrying out of the door. Hasting themselves down the set of stairs into the entrance room. Taking a turn to barge into the drawing room. Anthony shoving the door open with a loud pant.

The music abruptly stopped. A sweet face blinking back at him before settling with a warm smile. – “Francesca!” – Anthony called out. Rushing into the room to hug his sister. Benedict on his tail. She got up just in time before Anthony could smother her in a hug.

“You are back!” – he called out, tightening his grip around her. Francesca tapping him gently on the shoulder to allow her a breather. Anthony pulled away, keeping her at arms-length. – “Where is John? Is he here?” – Anthony questioned, looking around curiously.

Benedict took that as his cue to slip in a hug with his sister. – “How have you been?” – he asked her. Francesca smiled shyly down. – “I have been well. John is not here.” – she informed seeing that Anthony was still looking around for him. The confusion on his face made her chuckle.

“Why not?” – He called out with slight horror. Francesca moved away from the piano, touching his arm. – “Do not worry. John has returned with me. He is simply out for some supplies.” – she answered. That seemed to satisfy him. – “Since when are you back?” – Benedict questioned.

Francesca looked shyly away. – “Since… yesterday.” – she mumbled out. Anthony’s eyes widened. – “Yesterday?!” – he repeated in anger. Benedict hushed him for making such a fuss about it. Anthony swallowed his next words back in, not wanting to argue on such a lovely day.

The door swung open once more. Violet, Gregory and Hyacinth running in. Embracing Francesca with warmth. Kate walked in after them, heading for Anthony. All welcomed their family member after such a long time. It had been a while since they had seen her.

To Scotland she had gone with John… and Eloise. John returned not a moment later, joining the little family reunion. All sharing stories in the drawing room. John more talkative than last time. With passion he spoke of his time with Francesca.

When the reunion had died a bit out, went everyone about his day once more. Hyacinth and Gregory had convinced… uhum forced John to join their little game of cards with Anthony and Kate. Francesca sat by the piano, playing a new piece she had learned in Scotland.

Her gaze drifted over to her brother Benedict. Watching him sit in the armchair. Legs over the side. Sketchbook on his lap. The scribbling of pencil on paper filling the silence between her pauses. She toned her piano playing down. Gently pressing on some keys. Tilting her head curious hearing a humming come from him.

A humming as his foot gently bounced in the air. Francesca listened in. Tilting her head a bit to the side. Observing. Letting it seep into her mind. Her fingers hovering over the keys. With one gentle touch she pressed down a note. Furrowing her brows as it was not quite right.

Pressing another key, it felt right. Letting her other hand join. Tilting her head slightly to the other side. Letting her fingers play the melody she was trying to decipher. Glancing over to her brother from time to time. Keeping a keen eye on him to see any changes.

She smiled bashfully down when he noticed. Benedict lifted his head up confused before looking in shock at his sister. Francesca chuckled loudly at his funny expression. – “How… do you know it?” – he asked her, swinging his legs from over the side onto the ground. Francesca shook her head.

“You were humming it.” – she gestured at him. Benedict blinked confused, his brows slightly furrowed. Francesca stared at him how oblivious he was about it. Benedict got up coming to join her. Leaning onto the piano. – “Where did you hear such a melody?” – she asked him with curiosity. Benedict looked shyly down with a smile.

“I heard it from her music box.” – he let slip. – “Her?” – Francesca said surprised. Benedict felt awkward, turning his head away. – “Who is she?” – she asked making some room for him on the piano stool. Benedict exhaled deep coming to join her. Arms resting on top of the piano with his sketchbook underneath his hands.

“I… I do not know…” – he responded. Francesca’s eyes fell on the sketch within his book. – “I know nothing off her.” – he added staring out into the distance. She let the sketchbook slide closer to her with a few fingers. Looking at the sketch of a necklace. A circle within a flower. Petals sticking out of the circle.

Benedict leaned a bit closer to her. – “This was the necklace she was wearing. She could open the music box with one of the petals.” – he informed her. – “So you know one thing off her.” – she responded, seeing him frown. Francesca gave him a typical sisterly glance. – “You simply must search for the necklace, then you’ll find your girl.”

Benedict laughed loud at how easy that sounded. – “I… I don’t even like her that much.” – he answered scratching his chin nervously. His sister came leaning in against him. – “And yet you were humming a song that came from her music box.” – she whispered to him.

Benedict turned red with shame that he was lying to himself. Francesca nudged him with a smile. Placing her fingers on the keys once more. Playing the tune he had hummed from your music box. Benedict watched his sister’s play. Pulled strongly back to that night of the masquerade’s ball. The vivid memories returning of the girl leaning against the balcony.

How her necklace opened the music box with the melody he hadn’t been able to get out of his head ever since. The way he held her into a waltz. Her sudden soft singing. All came rushing back in, letting him feel as if he was there once more. All alone in a room with her. Dancing.

It was the memories that made him blurt out the next words. – “Sun goes down but we are here together.” – he let out. Making his sister quirk her eyebrow up to him. Surprised that there were words attached to the melody and that her brother knew them so clear.

Curiously since he proclaimed to not like the girl attached to it so early. A smile curled up to her lips, already knowing enough. Understanding what his mind couldn’t process yet. His heart blooming for the mystery girl. The runaway girl. – “Fireflies glow like a thousand charms.” – he mumbled further as if it was only yesterday that he heard those words. Francesca smiling to herself as she kept repeating the same melody till it was burned in his mind.

Francesca let her head rest on his shoulder, stopping her playing. – “Tell me you’ll look for her.” – she let out. Benedict swallowed hard. Gaze falling onto his sketch of the necklace. – “I’ll try…” – he responded touching her arm as she wrapped it around his.

Within a fortnight the next ball came around the corner. All waiting in the hallway for the carriage to be prepared. A happily Francesca with John on her arm came hurrying over. – “I’m coming too.” – she let out. Her brothers staring fondly confused at her.

They turned to look at John, who gave them a simple clearance of his throat. – “There was no changing her mind.” – he told them. – “Shall we go.” – Francesca suggested looking very clear over at Benedict. He furrowed his brows in confusion. Slightly frightened of the newly found eagerness within his sister’s mischievous eyes. She pulled John with her, taking Benedict by his arm to drag along.

Anthony sighed deep, batting his eyes up to the heavens. One kind gesture of Kate made all his worries melt. Violet followed along. All stepping into the carriage. Francesca gave a teasing glance at Benedict. Benedict let her know with his eyes to knock it off.

Anthony noticed something strange happening between the two of them. Slightly bothered that he couldn’t follow and was left out. Certainly the two of them had been sharing something he was not aware of. Kate shushed him to not get so worked up over it.

His siblings were allowed to have secrets from him, although Anthony thought so not. Benedict stared out of the window gap to look at the scenery. To watch the heavens darken with bright stars. Little dots colouring the skies like a painting. Feeling his heart flutter just that bit more, the closer he got to the estate.

Perhaps some part of him was excited to meet you again. If only he knew who you were. The carriage coming to a stop made him swallow hard. The door opened as he got out first. His mother right behind him. John helped Francesca out. Anthony the same with Kate.

Benedict swallowed nervously looking upon the estate. He stumbled forwards when something had knocked against him. Taking his arm vigorously. Turning his head he saw a giddy Francesca by his arm. Not letting go of it. With a giggle in her smile, she pulled him forwards. John threw his hands up confused.

“They are up to something!” – Anthony let out to Kate with annoyance. Kate hushed him, giving her husband a gentle pat. John offered his arm to his mother-in-law. Going after his wife and brother-in-law that had hurried inside. – “Fran!” – Benedict called out getting pulled forwards by her. Having greeted the host in a haste before his sister dragged him along to the ballroom.

“Fran!” – he repeated pulling his arm hard back to put her to a stop. She blinked surprised, standing in front of him, still holding his arm. – “Why the haste?” – he questioned. – “We are here to find her.” – she let out. Suddenly it became clear to him. The eagerness of her coming along. Locking arms with him instead of her husband. She was making sure he wouldn’t hide away.

She pulled at his arm once more, making him stumble over his own feet to keep up with her. He swallowed nervously at the crowded ballroom. Seeing lots and lots of ladies all around. – “Remember the necklace.” – she whispered to him before dragging him forwards.

“Fran.” – John said having finally caught up with his wife before she hurried off once more. John sighed soft, giving Violet a shy smile. – “A drink Lord Kilmartin?” – she offered. – “Yes please.” – he responded leading her up to the drinks. Francesca came standing in front of a lady.

Letting her gaze go down to her neck. Pearls. She shook her head, tugging her brother along. – “Fran.” – Benedict said between closed lips. Too ashamed that his sister was acting so shameless. She ignored him, coming to look at a lady’s necklace from the side. Rubies.

A few girls stood with their backs to them. Francesca walked up to them, tapping one of them on the shoulder. They all turned, fluttering confused at the two of them. One of them fanned her fan flirtatiously at her brother. Francesca ignored it all, only having eyes for their necklaces. Pearls. Emeralds, Gold.

“Do you wish to dance Mister Bridgerton?” – one of them asked. – “Not interested.” – Francesca said before him, taking him with her. Francesca found her new victim, asking the girl to show her necklace that was hidden under the fabric of her dress. The girl blinked confused but offered to show her necklace with kindness.

“Oh lovely necklace, just not right for me.” – she answered. The girl tucked her necklace offended away. – “Fran!” – Benedict shout-whispered to her out of reach of the girl. – “You can’t just walk up to them and demand to see their necklaces without a proper thought.” – he called out to her.

“We are here to find her are we not?” – Francesca replied with the softest gaze. – “Yes…” – Benedict sighed out, holding both her hands. – “But not like this sister.” – he went on. Francesca bit her lip, looking down shyly. – “I only wanted to help you.” – she answered. – “I know.” – he responded, wrapping his arms around her. Pulling her close to his chest for an embrace. He looked over her shoulder to a couple of girls.

Unable to resist for himself to stare at their necklaces. Hoping one of them was the one he drew. The one he knew. The one that opened the music box. Sadly they were not. With a heavy sigh, he ended the embrace. – “John might be worrying about you.” – he told her, lifting her chin up. She nodded saddened. Having neglected her husband for far too long.

Francesca exhaled soft, wrapping her arm around his. Benedict started to lead her around in search of her husband. Both unable to resist the urge to look around for any familiar necklaces. After a while, Benedict found John and is mother. Wanting to walk over to them if only his sisters hadn’t kept her ground.

“Benedict…” – she gasped out, making him turn his head. His eyes widening seeing a certain necklace. The cord twirling between a pair of fingers, emblem dangling in the air. The girl twirling it, lost in her own thoughts. Staring blindly in front of her. An elderly woman at her side. – “It is her.” – Francesca let out with a smile.

Benedict subconsciously curled up a smile. He got on the tips of his toes when a sturdy man came blocking his view. Making his way across. Benedict trying to look past the man to the girl. Surprised he blinked when the view was clear once more. Yet… where was she?

------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[celestie0]

my whole life i thought i wanted to do women’s health but psychiatry is lookin real sexy to me rn

[oxbowreality]

my therapist is so bad with lgbt stuff but ughhh it's so hard to find a decent therapist

[doofnoof]

They weren't lying, those Re: Dracula wedding vows can Make Me Cry Until I Feel Sick

It's just. Mina's love for Jonathan, the way he pledges his life to her and she thinks he's still delirious when he is in fact saying he's gone through hell and he'd do it again, all for Mina. The way that when he flung himself from Castle Dracula, he wanted to think only of Mina, and said his goodbyes to her more than he did anybody else in his life, more than even his father figure.

And she doesn't yet know the extent of it, but she feels the very same way for him, and the fact that later in the story she goes through the same hell Jonathan went through to protect him, and for what Dracula does to Mina, Jonathan intends to kill the thing he was previously unable to kill for his own sake, and pledges to follow Mina into hell because he loves her. She's finally his wife, and he's her husband, and they want so badly to move forwards. Imagine how they must feel. Mina thought Jonathan had died and that she'd lost him forever, and Jonathan thought he would die in Castle Dracula and never see Mina again. But Jonathan survived, and now their fears are all swept away because the thing they most want in life is eachother, and now they have it.

Love is real in this Chili's tonight. Pure, flawless love, and I am shaking and crying. I wish that Lucy, who is so unbelievably sweet and kind-hearted, could have the same luck that Jonathan and Mina had, and that her life with Arthur would be filled with the kind of love, joy, peace and devotion the Harkers find in each other, and I am devastated to know that the rest of Lucy's life is going to be torturous at best.

[yume-fanfare]

today's procrastination strategy are scp

[marklikely]

okayyyy im ready for the online multiplayer only era of video games to be over now

[tyrantwombat]

Irin frantically trying to reassure Yoojin that Yoohyun caring about other people (BARELY caring, like .000008% caring, caring but it BARELY counts as caring, hyung!!!) doesn't mean Yoojin isn't still the 100% most important person to Yoohyun while Yoojin stands there utterly confused about why any of that is a bad thing is so fucking funny.

Yoojin: It's okay to care about other people

Irin: GASP. SHOCK. CLUTCHING PEARLS.

[hotgirlkorra]

When you try to come out to your parents but they think you're just being funny. ☠️🥲🙃

[veradune]

literally nabbed a decent seat to the vancouver show for under $200 CAD and went through 7 minutes of psychic agony trying to decide if I could justify the ticket cost multiplied by travel and accommodations.

called my bro for moral support and closed the window 😔

why the fuck are the nin tickets so expensive 😔

[no-144444]

3 minutes- l.norris

summary: lando overshoots an overtake, and you go off the track. what then ensues is the most stressful and awful 3 hours of his life.

pairing: lando norris x fem! rbdriver! reader

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He overshot it, and you were off the track. 

“Fuck!” he screamed, looking in his mirrors. “Is she ok?” 

“Red flag, red flag! No info yet Lando, keep going-”

“Is she getting out of the fucking car?!” he screamed. Everything was too much, too fast, too difficult. Every single person in the stands was silent, or maybe his brain was just filtering it out. He couldn’t hear anything, just his own voice, his own breath, and the beat of his own heart in his ears. He needed information, he needed to know that you were walking out of the car. He needed to know you weren’t dead. He needed to know if he still had a fiancé. It was bad. He knew it was bad. It was the third lap of the fucking Sprint. 

“No info-”

“Don’t give me that shit! Is she getting out of the car?!” 

“She is exiting the car, yes.”

And fuck, Lando could breathe again. 

“Assisted,” Will added and his heart dropped. “They’re stopping the session, bring it back to the pits.” 

Lando screamed. As he slowly drove towards the pits, he could feel the eyes on him. The drivers, the media, the fans. All of them wondered the same thing as him. Had he really fucked everything in his life up? 

He parked in his own garage and ran out to the RedBull garage, needing more information than anyone was willing to give him. 

“What is going on?” he demanded of your race engineer, Ryan. 

Ryan sighed. “Have you seen the footage yet?” 

“Don’t show it to him!” Christian demanded, crossing the garage to get to him. “You shouldn’t be here, get out of my garage.”

“She’s my fucking fiancé, if I want information, I’m getting it Christian.”

“You’re the one who fucking killed her!” he screamed. 

The garage went quiet. Lando’s heart rate sped up, his eyes glossed over. He couldn’t have lost you. He didn’t lose you. He refused. He became so much more aware of everything around him, the dead silence in the garage, the way everyone else’s eyes were wide, or subdued. The way Max stilled. The way Christian just stared at him. The way everyone stopped breathing. He could feel every inch of his race suit on his skin, he could feel every curl on top of his head, every bead of sweat that fell from his skin. He took a deep breath. 

“She’s gone?” he asked in a broken whisper, looking at Ryan. Ryan looked down. 

“They got her back!” Henry, your lead mechanic screamed, informing the entire garage that you in fact, were alive. “She’s breathing, she’s awake!” 

There was a collective sigh of relief. With the aid of Max, Christian backed off enough to allow Lando to see the footage and hear the whole story. 

He watched in horror as the front left of his McLaren hit the back right of your RB and sent you flying. Somehow, you’d become airborne and flipped 8 times. 8 times. He counted it. The car hit into the barriers, and it split. 

You didn’t move. The cameras turned away. The marshals ran. George ran on, his car had been hit with debris, the same for Franco, Liam, and Alex. They ran over, trying desperately to help you out. George and Liam carried you over to the ambulance. You were limp. Unresponsive.

“She died for 3 minutes,” Ryan explained, a sombre tone in his voice. “She’s on her way to the hospital now.” 

He looked down, the tears flowing freely. You had died. For 3 whole minutes, you were gone. 

“We think it was the impact of the spinning, and then hitting into the barriers. And… her Hans device was faulty. It wasn’t put on properly, and it came off during the first spin.”

“What about the halo?” he asked. 

“It was crushed in the flips. She took the full impact of the last two with no Hans deivce. It was a miracle she didn't break her neck.” 

He felt like he’d been slapped. 

“We’ll get a car ready for you now. She’ll want to see you,” he explained, wrapping an arm around Lando and bringing him out into the paddock. Ryan, Max, and Henry shielded him from the prying eyes of the media, and got him into a car to the hospital. 

What then ensued was the longest car ride of his life. Sao Paulo traffic was awful on a good day, but fuck. This was excruciating. What was worse was the inner turmoil he was dealing with. Would you ever want to see him? Would you leave him after this? Was this the end? Would you ever get back into an F1 car?

When he finally made it to the hospital, he was rushed to the ICU, walking behind a nurse. 

“She’s in a stable condition, and she’s awake. She’s been asking for you,” she explained and a weight was lifted off his shoulders. You wanted to see him. You asked to see him. 

He turned the corner into your room and he met your eyes. Bloodshot, with a burst blood vessel in one of them. You were bruised and broken, too many casts to count. 

“Lando,” you smiled.

You smiled. 

He rushed over to your side, sitting in the seat at the side of your bed. “I’m here.” 

Your eyes were welling up in tears. “I wanted to see you before I left the track but they said I had to go,” you explained. “This isn’t your fault Lan. It was a racing accident. It was a mistake.” 

He stared at you for a moment. How was it that you could sit there, in pain, traumatised, and comfort him? If he was a better man, he probably would’ve told you it was his fault, and not start crying at your kind words. 

He started tearing up, bowing his head as to stop you seeing. “I don't deserve you.” 

“You do,” you whispered, cupping his cheek. “You do, Lan. You’re here. I know you, and I know you’ve been beating yourself up for the last 3 hours. You didn’t kill me. I’m still alive.” 

“I killed you for 3 minutes,” he croaked out. 

“Racing killed me for 3 minutes. My defence killed me for 3 minutes. My ego killed me for 3 minutes. It wasn’t you, Lando. I turned into you, I’ve watched the footage,” you assured him. “Don’t blame yourself. I don’t.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, wrapping his arms around you carefully. 

“I’m ok,” you whispered. “You're ok. It’s ok.” 

You both knew it would take some time to get over this, but you knew you’d do it together. That was the important part.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[poobit]

i have many thoughts on how Mouthwashing handles the themes of abuse and the symbolism around it especially as a survivor ... im not gnna hold back so -

first of all i think since its clear the point Jimmy is dismissive of Anya´s personhood and his perception is warped towards what he does as a Captain rather than what he does as a man, it makes sense she doesnt get her own labyrinth or such , i cant argue around that because its realistic he´s so male focused he cant even bother to truly think about what he did to her, i would love it if Wrong Organ decides to do a side story vignette of her own perspective and view in the future if the game proves its successful enough for side content like that.

Assault is something usually not handled with subtlety in games, i think what struck me the most was how real the dialogue of her coping and suicidal ideations and how Curly responded to it felt , the dancing around the subject, the deflection, the "whats next" of the ever impending consequence of pregnancy, how Anya pleads for help from the person she trusts but nonetheless a man unequipped and too emotionally attached to the abuser to be able to confront him, its so real, Curly´s lack of initiative is something Jimmy fully takes advantage of the moment things dont go his way, he turns everyone against him even as a helpless body on a bed because he needed to be in control of the situation, thats what abusers do.

A more sensationalistic game would have easily played Anya´s helplessness and assault for shock for sure, because it would be easy, she is the archetypical victim trope, shes modeled in Wendy Torrance likeness from The Shining, shes meek and unsure of herself and Jimmy shoots her down from the very beginning to make her feel unqualified and cornered, but the furthest the games goes is making Jimmy terror towards the pregnancy and the baby as a boogeyman that crawls and tramples over him. No sights of bleeding legs or her crying or screaming and much less present objectification of her body (which is something that i always think the horror genre has such a struggle not grabbing onto, sexuality is mostly always played up in assault stories especially if the victim is an adult woman), she remains a fully clothed figure and maintains the agency to her own demise, away from Jimmy and beside Curly, which is tragic and obviously still a symptom of horror´s proclivity to back female characters into corners of self inflicted punishment, but the alternative would have been that sooner or later, Jimmy would have killed her.

Its clear to me that the game used Curly´s state as a way to put a barrier between Jimmy and Anya, we dont objectify Anya, but we objectify Curly, Anya doesnt just feel pained and unable to handle Curly´s medication because shes in a sensitive state, her comments about his noises and such draws a line between her trauma and her perception of things as Her fault, she cant handle hearing his struggles and cries trying to swallow a pill because it reminds her of her own helplessness, so she leaves the task to Jimmy, someone who has no qualms in forcing someone down, the emphasis of every treatment as a repetitive process and the sound design is all very poignant and for me, a great way to handle assault as a metaphor, Curly did not consent to being in this position, it is very much still Jimmy´s fault and the fact that Jimmy is basically keeping him alive against his will even to the last moment of the game says everything, Jimmy doesnt love Curly the same way he doesnt love Anya.

The horses are not lost on me, i think horses as animals are often seen as "viril" symbols, strong and often volatile, they can be often hard to mount but when one does the rider and animal are seen as this one all powerful entity, like centaurs, which also carry symbolism of assaulters mind you, so while maybe not intentional on the dev´s part i think it still points to the Horse as a symbol still important in the game, the only spoken audio lines of dialog come from the Pony Express mascot Polle itself, and they are the first to actually confront Jimmy´s self centered line of thought and over-focusing on Curly, if the Tulpar is akin to a beast of a burden then Jimmy beat the dead horse way long ago.

All in this to say that Mouthwashing was a really good experience and i really hope the dev team is interested on expanding a bit more on it because i trust their vision.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏

Sukuna

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Your deity calls you to his presence to worship him.

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, two-dick sukuna, bit of a size kink, spitting, oral sex (m. receiving), handjob, biting, gagging, vaginal sex, squirting, creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“My lord.” You get on your knees, bowing your head in the presence of the deity. You were called to his presence, and you feel as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest while you’re in his presence. It feels as if his eyes burn into your skin when his gaze falls on you.

There’s a smirk on his face as he looks down arrogantly at you. Arrogance has always been a trait that you’ve looked down upon men, but Sukuna does not fit in with men. He’s anything but a man. He’s a God, a being worthy of praise and worship.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” His deep voice makes your breath catch up in your chest. You hear the amusement in his voice, which brings out a worry from deep within you. You’ve caught glimpses of the deity, a swift motion from him could snap you in half. “Rise.”

You get off your knees, keeping your head lowered. You respect him– You fear him. You were always taught that you couldn’t respect someone without fearing them first, and Sukuna has your utmost respect. You’ve heard the horror stories about him, the fear that he’s caused. The fear that he still causes today; it’s the reason why you stand before him, out of fear and… oddly enough, admiration.

“Lift up your head.” He says, and while you’re confused, you don’t hesitate in doing so. Not following his orders in a manner of seconds could result in much worse. Your eyes slightly widen at the clear sight of him, he’s everything you’ve imagined and more. He’s smirking at you, and you wonder why he suddenly shows interest in you. “Tell me your story.”

“My lord, it’s nothing interesting.” You answer, and your face grows hot as you bite your tongue. You know immediately that’s the wrong answer, yet you can’t bring yourself to immediately apologize. The smirk fades away as a frown overtakes his face.

“I didn’t ask. I gave you an order and you must follow it. Do you not know the rules of this place?” He doesn’t raise his voice like you’ve heard before. 

Sukuna has seen you around, and it’s fair to say that he’s taken a liking to you. You look so soft and so sweet standing to the other servants he keeps around, but it’s not just that… It’s something else about you. He can’t quite put his finger on it.

“I apologize, my lord.” You bow down your head, and when you lift it up, a sigh leaves your lips. He grows impatient, but he knows you’re about to speak, therefore he gives you a couple of seconds to speak. “You wreaked havoc in my old village”

“Out of fear? Is that it?” He sounds disappointed with the answer. He expected more… Yet when he looks at you, there’s this certain spark in your eye, making him lay his head on his fist as a smirk overtakes his face again. That’s not all.

“Not just that, lord. But admiration.” You confess. Admiration… It’s odd to come from you. As pretty as a flower, yet you admire a monster– Though he prefers the word God. “I was married to this man and well… You took care of that problem.”

“Forced marriage?” He questions and you shake your head. It’ll sound like a sob story which makes you hesitant to speak up, but you know you can’t shake your head and not give more details.

“We were in love, until we got married and he decided that he didn’t like me all that much.” You share, and he grows even more interested. “He had several problems between women and drinking, bringing shame upon my name. But then you came along, my lord.”

“Come here.” He orders, and you walk over to him. Once in front of him, your heart races even faster. Your legs feel weak, and you feel like you might pass out right in front of him. He’s even bigger than you imagined. His top right hand grabs your neck, and you almost cry out of fear, but unexpectedly, the hand goes under your chin, and tilts your head up. “Did you bear children?”

“I was unable to fulfill that task, my lord.” You tell him, too ashamed to admit that it’s the reason why your late husband lost all interest in you. That’s all he needs to know, that was the root of your problem. One swift look at you, and he knows you’re not the reason of it, but rather your late husband’s fruitless seed.

“Aren’t you a wicked woman? Worshiping the monster that killed your husband.” He fights back on smiling. He likes that. He finds some sick and twisted pleasure from it. Truthfully, it’s not the worst thing that Sukuna has smiled about. Maybe it’s the worst thing that has made him aroused though.

“I don’t view you as a monster, my lord.” You respond, and he cocks his eyebrow. “You’re a God. No monster could ever compare to you.”

“Hmm… You’re right.” A guttural laugh comes from him. You begin to feel proud at the fact that you’ve made him laugh. He begins to like you more and more by the second.

He licks his lips, looking you up and down. There was a reason he saved you and took you in as a servant. He called you in for a reason, he was going to fuck you even if he found you boring, but luckily for him, you’re even better than what he imagined. He orders, “Worship me like a God then.”

“I’ll do anything you need me to do, my lord.” You respond, and you watch him undo his robes. You expected this the moment you were called by Uraume to show up before him. Either this, or your demise. You’ve heard rumors that Sukuna has taken many lovers– Partners is the most appropriate word, either way, you didn’t expect him to lay his eyes on you. 

“Do what you must.” He tells you, your eyes landing on the two dicks that stack up on each other. You shouldn’t be shocked, but your eyes can’t help but linger on it. You’re curious, yet excited. 

You’re not sure how to proceed at first so you do what you’ve usually done. You spit in your hand before your lips meet his, and Sukuna is taken back by it. Do you not know where your mouth is supposed to go or…? Your tongue moves past his lips and enters his mouth, pressing against his while your hand wraps around his top cock. 

Your hand begins to stroke his cock while your tongue wanders around his mouth. When you pull away, you get on your knees to put his bottom dick in your mouth. Your tongue circles around the tip, getting his precum on your tongue. You look up at the man, the expressions on his face telling you that he’s particularly sensitive. You kiss the tip of his cock before taking in as much as you can in your mouth. 

Sukuna grabs the hand that strokes his cock, and guides it, setting a pace that’s more pleasing for him. He notices just how small you are compared to him, and it fucking drives him wild. Your free hand cups his heavy balls before you begin to massage them. He grabs the back of your head, pulling your mouth away from his bottom dick.

“Top one needs attention too, bitch.” He tells you, and you switch. Your mouth wraps around his top dick while you begin to jerk off the bottom one. It’s a bit overwhelming since it’s so much for you, but you’re enjoying the experience. 

You’re looking up at him, reading his every expression. He looks at you as if you were inferior, someone that’s barely even worthy of his consideration. It’s because you are– Though you can’t read the fact that Sukuna is fighting back from making any noise. 

Sukuna groans as you attempt to take more in your mouth. It’s not all, but it’s enough to bring tears to your eyes from gagging. Sukuna chuckles when he sees the tears that stream down your face as you try your best to bring him the most pleasure you can. What you’re doing is doing wonders, but not for the reason you think. One of his hands goes to the back of your head, and he forces your head to stay. Your eyes look the prettiest when they cry because of him.

“Doing a better job than I expected.” Sukuna says, letting go of your head. You take your mouth off his cock, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft. You begin to jerk both of his cocks off while you lean up to try and kiss him, but his thumb presses down on your bottom lip before telling you, “Open up.”

You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out which allows him to bring his lips together and spit in your mouth. It’s a gift from him to you, one that you gladly accept. He orders you to swallow, and you do so without a problem. You’re a blind follower to his word. 

You’re about to focus on his cocks again, but he forces you up. He wants more. Something different. He rips the cloth that covers you to pieces, and before you can even properly process it, Sukuna has you sitting on his lap. You squeeze your thighs together, a sudden shyness taking over you. As quickly as you shut them is as fast as he spreads them apart, “Too late for you to be shy now, woman.”

Two of his long fingers run through your slick folds, gathering your wetness. He isn’t all that surprised that you’re already wet, you’re about to be fucked by your God, of course you’re excited. Your slick goes down to your asshole and he begins to tease it. He wants to bury both of his cocks within you, but he knows that it’ll take a little more adjusting. He isn’t completely ruthless, and sometimes has compassion for things he cares about– Not that he cares about you, but he doesn’t want to hurt you either.

Sukuna’s tongue glides from your shoulder to your neck, his bottom set of arms lifting you up. The tip of his cock runs through your folds, and he bites down on your neck when he pushes his cock inside of you. You loudly moan as he fills you up. 

“Is it too much for you? I think you can handle it for your God.” Sukuna says, not giving you a moment to adjust before he begins to bounce you on his cock. He isn’t the type to give out praises, but fuck, you feel so fucking good around him. Almost like a fucking virgin. 

Your nails dig into the supple flesh of his arms, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his cock hits every right spot. You’re meant to be pleasing him, yet he’s making you feel euphoric. He’s so generous with you, you don’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good.

“Oh, fuck– Sukuna!” You yell out, and he doesn’t recall ever giving you permission to use his name. But it’s pretty when it rolls off your tongue so he’ll allow it to happen just this once. Perhaps if it was someone else the situation would be different, but he’ll be generous with you this one time. 

Two fingers enter your mouth with the sole purpose of shutting you up. His mouth goes to your ear and he scolds you, “Don’t ever fucking use my name without my fucking permission, stupid bitch.”

He bites down your earlobe gently. He’s too much for you to handle. He moves you with his bottom set of arms, one arm has the hand that gags you, and his final arm goes down, two fingers beginning to play with your clit. You didn’t think that sex with a deity would be so… You’re practically out of the world. You feel as if you’ve ascended to heaven.

Sukuna takes his fingers out of your mouth, moving the hand down to stroke the cock that’s being left out. Being nice comes at a cost to his pleasure, and it’s fair to say that the selfish man doubts he’ll be doing it again. 

Your walls begin to tighten around him, your climax quickly approaching. You have never felt so fucking good before, especially not with a man. You know Sukuna can’t be considered a man though. 

“Fuck– I’m gonna–” You begin, and before you can even finish your sentence, you squirt all over him. Sukuna can’t help but chuckle, smacking your cunt as you release the liquid all over him. That’s certainly a first for him, although it’s not surprising since in sex he always cares about receiving and never about giving. 

You keep holding on to him, your sharp nails nearly digging blood from his skin. He’s grunting, his release near. You feel so fucking good around him, better than he expected. He can’t help but tell you, “Next time, I’m putting both of them in.”

The thought is driving you wild, yet you’re already excited even when he isn’t done with you yet. Sukuna loudly groans when he reaches his climax, cum shooting out both of his cocks. He fills your cunt up, while some of his cum goes to waste in the air. He’ll make sure that he’ll completely stuff you next time though.

Sukuna keeps his cock buried inside of you, catching his unregulated breath. He speaks into your ear, “Look at me, being nice to a little bitch and not completely stuffing her. Next time you’ll have to handle both.”

“I’m sorry, lord.” You respond, and he laughs.

“You did a good job.” He can’t help but compliment you since he hasn’t felt this good in a while, and you’re over the moon with his praise. 

“Thank you.” You reply, fighting back the big smile that threatens to come on your face. Sukuna takes his cock out, and he chuckles as he sees that your clothes are shredded to pieces. “I have to–”

“I’ll call a servant for a new robe for you. Nobody can see you naked but me.” He interrupts you. His hand goes under your chin and he tilts your head to look at every side of your face, “Don’t want anyone to look at my wife naked.”

“Huh?” Your eyes widen, caught off guard with his words.

“I’ve decided that you’re going to be my wife.”

[ravensmadreads]

LISTEN TO ME-

LISTEN -

I-

Ok i got nothing

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

🤍AO3 Link 🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour. 

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round. 

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known. 

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity. 

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it. 

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying. 

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth. 

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.” 

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?” 

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.” 

Trish smacked him over the back of the head. 

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks. 

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious. 

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely. 

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled. 

“To Ned!” 

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?” 

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick. 

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?” 

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat. 

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo. 

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap. 

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour. 

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening. 

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you. 

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement. 

At least, the only person you can see. 

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing. 

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked. 

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all. 

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze. 

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here! 

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap. 

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.” 

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint. 

Caravaggio, eat your heart out. 

“Max, what the fuck was that?” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall. 

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple. 

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth. 

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.” 

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise. 

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder. 

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you. 

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier. 

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth. 

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt. 

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose. 

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?” 

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.” 

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,” 

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits. 

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around. 

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down. 

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat. 

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt. 

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .” 

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you. 

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation. 

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.” 

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear. 

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this. 

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily. 

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,” 

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you. 

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning. 

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.” 

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs. 

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.” 

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours. 

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office. 

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be. 

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable. 

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin. 

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that. 

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks. 

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.” 

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.” 

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.” 

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours. 

It is dangerous, your feelings for him. 

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes. 

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door. 

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water. 

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches. 

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords. 

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term. 

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world. 

[poisonlove]

Wednesday Addams x F!Reader

• Reader is about to leave for work. Wednesday asks her if she's forgotten anything, and Reader gives her a kiss. Wednesday turns red and opens her hand to reveal Reader's keys/wallet/etc., saying

'I meant this, but it's appreciated.' Or smt like that!

forgetting something ?

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X fem!reader

Words: 4k

Warning: fluffy

Author notes: I've received a lot of requests, I'll try to do them all!

Happy reading

"Love, what's the password for your phone?" I ask curiously as my eyes glance at the smartphone in my hand.

I found myself in Ophelia Hall in Wednesday's room with Enid, wanting to spend some time with my girlfriend. Enid was doing Things' manicure while sharing some gossip about some outcasts at school. Meanwhile, Wednesday Addams was making the most of her writing time.

Ignoring me.

The tapping of the keyboard abruptly ceases and Wednesday slowly turns towards me. Her brown eyes turn cold and dark as they meet Enid's, who visibly trembles in the face of that icy, penetrating intensity.

"Things, I'll finish later..." Enid whispers, her nervous smile betraying the fear inspired by Wednesday's gaze.

Without saying another word, Enid jumps up from her bed and hastily exits the room. The door slams behind her, resonating in the silent air as Wednesday watches her pass with an impassive expression, lips pressed in a subtle smile of satisfaction.

"How many times have I told you not to scare her?" I say with a small smile on my lips, and Wednesday looks at me without batting an eyelid.

"I didn't scare her," her voice is calm and controlled, without any hint of remorse or concern.

"You did," I sigh at her comment while absentmindedly playing with her phone.

"As you wish," Wednesday replies calmly, showing no particular emotion.

I smile shyly at her response.

"I told you not to use vulgar nicknames in front of others and you keep doing it," Wednesday justifies herself, looking at me curiously.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"Vulgar?" I ask, feeling puzzled.

Wednesday nods timidly, without a hint of a smile on her lips.

I sigh loudly.

"Anyway... Could you tell me the password?" I ask again, wanting to change the subject to avoid ruining the atmosphere.

Wednesday tilts her head to the side and scrutinizes me with her gaze.

We've been together for a month, but I don't know if I'll ever get used to her quirks.

"My favorite plant" Wednesday replies in a monotone voice.

"Of course" I reply sarcastically as I type in 'Belladonna.' The phone unlocks, and I smile as I see the background: me and Wednesday embracing during the Poe Cup. The brunette had a stoic look while she look at me smile at the camera.

"Nice background," I say teasingly and Wednesday rolls her eyes at my comment.

"I know," she replies monotone.

I could see a small smile threatening to emerge at any moment.

"But don't you have any games?" I ask disappointedly, and Wednesday stares intensely at me.

"I barely use it to write to you," she justifies herself, and I nod understandably.

Wednesday and technology were two completely different things and couldn't fit in the same sentence.

"So you only have WhatsApp?" I ask curiously, looking at Wednesday.

"You're distracting me unnecessarily," Wednesday mutters annoyed by my questions. She turns her back on me and starts writing her story again.

"Thanks, Wed" I say sarcastically, and Wednesday continues to press the keys of the typewriter ignoring me.

"Why am I with her, I don't know," I mutter to myself, turning my gaze to her phone. I scroll through some pages and look at the apps.

I  choice YouTube.

"Because you love me," Wednesday replies loudly without looking at me "and anyway, I can hear you, be careful," she adds in a cold voice.

Was that a threat?

"Right" I reply aloud.

I start searching for what interests my girlfriend. Hundreds of horror stories and interviews of real murders, true photos, and thousands of hypotheses about monsters, unsolved murders, and much more.

Creepy but Wednesday's style.

"Y/n?" I raise my head from the phone and turn my attention to Wednesday who had once again interrupted her writing hour.

"Tell me, darling" I ask with a smile on my lips.

"Shouldn't you be going to work at the café?" Wednesday asks with curiosity.

My smile fades and I widen my eyes in realization: I had forgotten.

I quickly get up from the bed in a panic

"shit shit" I put on my shoes and look around the room in concern. "Where's the jacket?" I wonder, and I look around the room with worry. "You threw it on Enid's bed," Wednesday exclaims disapprovingly, and I smile hugely.

I internally thank Wednesday for her incredible memory.

I walk towards the door, but Wednesday's voice makes me stop.

"Forgetting something?" She asks seriously.

  I sigh at the unfortunate moment of being romantic. "You're right" I walk towards her and lean down towards her face to unite our lips in a sweet kiss.

As we separate, I notice that Wednesday's cheeks were completely flushed.

"You were forgetting the car keys, idiot," says Wednesday embarrassed, showing me the keys.

I had left them on her desk an hour ago when I arrived.

"Oh, thanks," I say embarrassed, and Wednesday smiles widely making my heart race a mile a minute.

"But I appreciated it" she confesses quickly and I smile back getting lost in her deep brown eyes.

Yes, definitely, now I remember why I'm with her.