#but honestly it should it’s much easier to read than i expected | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

undressrehearsal · 1 month ago

Text

a bite of luxury

summary: you decide to look for a sugar mommy and stumble across this strange girl that seems to have more to hide

tags: sugarmommy!ellie, rich!ellie, vampire!ellie (yep, we got it all) alcohol, reader is poor lmao, reader uses she/her and is referred to as a girl once or twice, no smut in this one sorry gotta establish the world first

word count: ~8k

a/n: it's been so long since i posted a fic lol working full time and trying to finish my book is killing my schedule BUT i hope y'all like this this was my fiancee's idea and i'm running with it i got a LOT of plans for this one - plans i think y'all are gonna love

also the drawing in the cover is made by @nramv seriously go check out their work they're so talented!!

if you wanna be added to my tag list just lmk!

You hadn’t been searching for a sugar mommy.

Truthfully, when your best friend had sent you the link, you had dismissed it immediately. She had been joking about it for months, talking about how much easier it would be if you just found a nice older woman to take care of you. You hadn’t even opened the link - you only rolled your eyes, replied with a middle finger emoji, and left it at that.

And yet things kept piling up. The stack of bills on your kitchen counter was growing to a concerning height, a mountain of unanswered responsibilities that was getting harder to ignore. Your landlord kept calling you - you no longer answered, just watched the phone ring until it finally stopped and ignored the increasingly angrier voicemails. Your apartment was an absolute disaster; you could never be bothered to clean it, because by the time you got home from working both of your jobs, you only had enough energy to eat a bowl of leftovers and promptly pass out in bed.

The link kept popping up in your mind, each bill in your mailbox a gentle reminder. You found yourself scrolling all the way up the text chain to find it again during sleepless nights. So many times you would only stare at it, your thumb hovering over the blue letters, before you closed the chat and threw your phone down.

It was stupid, of course. But as time went on, the idea of letting yourself get buried alive under a mountain of debt - of getting evicted from your apartment and having to crash on your friend’s couch - seemed all the more stupid.

So, late on a Thursday night, after you had had another anxiety attack staring down at your bank account, you went back up the text chain, and you clicked the link.

www.seeking.com

It didn't take long for the messages to start coming in. You should have been flattered, honestly - you had at least a handful of people in your messages practically begging you for the honor of paying your fucking rent - but you really just felt like you were playing a part that you hadn't even read the script for. You had curated your profile with all the things that made you appear more cultured than you actually were: going to museums and pondering over Baroque art and reading poetry over a pretentious cup of coffee. Sure, these were all things you had done - you had photo proof, after all - but somehow you didn't recognize yourself. It felt like you were looking at pictures of a stranger living a life you wanted but couldn't reach.

Most people were fine - charming, even. You got maybe one or two that felt like they would lure you into their sex dungeon to murder you, but that was expected with any dating site. You even went on a few dates, scrounging up the nicest dress you owned and getting pampered at a five-star restaurant or going for a ride on an older woman’s personal yacht. One person even took you for a helicopter ride, which was fun but she was a little too handsy on the first date to warrant a second.

One name kept popping up though, a name that was becoming far too familiar in your notifications.

ellie: meet me at 8 <3

When she first messaged you, you had thought she was like you: somebody searching for a partner to pay their bills. Her pictures didn't exactly scream sugar mommy material. Her first picture was just a normal selfie taken outside; she wore a worn out leather jacket, her short hair tangled from the wind and green eyes squinting in the sunlight. She had stupid pictures of mushrooms and candid shots of her browsing a science museum, looking far too excited in front of a t-rex skeleton. Hell, in most of her pictures she looked like she was wearing clothes she had found at a thrift store.

You had thought she was like you, until she sent you a picture inside her fucking Rolls-Royce.

“Fuck,” you audibly cursed into the quiet of your room. You had been talking for a few days, and she had begun to do that - sending you small selfies throughout the day. In the last one, she had taken a picture in front of the mirror at the gym, flicking off the camera, her lean muscles glistening with sweat. Before that, it had been a blurry picture of her dog, Riley - a huge German Shephard - splayed on her back at a park, leaves stuck in her fur.

So, yeah, when you found out Ellie was not only rich, but rich enough to casually have a Royce, you were more than a little surprised.

The selfie was cute, you couldn’t deny that. Her hair was wind-swept, catching in those long ass eyelashes. Ellie’s nose was scrunched up, freckles popping against her cheeks, holding up a peace sign.

She was fucking adorable and you already knew it. But seeing her worn out leather jacket and messy hair against black and white leather seats that looked like they, alone, cost more than your entire apartment complex combined - it was a little jarring.

And when she asked you out on a date soon after - after finding out she wasn’t Iike you but rather searching for someone like you - how could you say no?

Ellie offered to pick you up - like a gentleman, she had said - but frankly, you weren’t quite convinced yet that she wasn’t some blood-thirsty pervert trying to lure you into her dungeon, so you politely declined. Instead, in your nicest dress and heels you hardly wore because they pinched your toes, you called an Uber.

You had never been to this side of town. You had plugged in the address Ellie gave you - had double and triple checked it while your awkwardly chatty Uber driver tried asking you about what you do for a living - but the streets here were so unfamiliar you may as well have been in another city. You looked at the foreign buildings rising up around you, large windows giving you a glimpse of the life inside them. People were sitting outside in the chilly air, laughing over wine and dinner. Looking at them - with perfectly sculpted hair and clothes you would have to spend several entire paychecks on - you felt like a cheap impersonator dressed up in a costume.

The Uber pulled up in front of a hotel, and your heart stopped. Surely, this wasn’t where Ellie had sent you - leading you to some fucking hotel room when you hadn’t even met yet?

You turned to the driver, your home address at the edge of your tongue, when the car door opened.

You had practically been leaning against the door to peer out the window, and nearly lost your balance when it was suddenly gone without warning. You looked up, ready to yell at whatever pretentious prick in Prada was trying to fuck with you - but your voice died in your throat.

Ellie was shorter than you thought she'd be, honestly. In all her pictures, she had this commanding energy, like she would tower over you in person.

Which, to be fair, she was. She had her arm propped on the doorframe above your head, leaning over so she could meet your eyes. Her hair was pushed back from her face, a few stray strands falling over her forehead, and she was looking at you with an intensity that hadn't quite translated through her pictures.

Ellie smiled - that adorably crooked smile you had seen in all her selfies - and said, “Hi.”

And the only word you were able to get your mouth to form was, “Fuck.”

Ellie blinked at you for a moment - long enough that you could feel the flush creeping up your neck and were ready to walk home if you had to - before she finally laughed. That wasn’t like what you had expected either; she had this deep, rough laugh, almost like she was trying to hold it in.

She looked up at you through her lashes - you tried to ignore the way your heart inexplicably skipped - and said, “I’ll take that as a compliment?” Her voice tilted up at the end like it was a question. Ellie ducked her head down further, looking past you to meet the driver’s eyes, and pulled cash from her back pocket. With her most charming smile, she handed it to the driver and said, “Thanks for getting her here safe.”

You didn’t see how much money she gave him, but after she took your hand and guided you out of the car, you turned back just in time to see his grin before he sped off.

“Thanks for coming out.” You looked back at Ellie and found yourself speechless once again. (You, thankfully, were able to hold in the expletive this time.) The worn out jacket that had featured in just about all of her pictures was missing, replaced instead by a pristine, white satin shirt, the top few buttons undone to expose a sliver of collarbone and a gold chain beneath. Despite the chill in the air, she had a classy black jacket hanging from her arm as though it were an accessory. Ellie smiled and looked down, licking her lips before saying, “You’re quite the sight for sore eyes.”

You tried to smile at her but found that your eyes kept flitting behind her, looking at the looming monstrosity of the hotel. It was a nice hotel - the kind that had a huge fountain right in front of it and a chandelier in the lobby that sparkled through the window - but it was a hotel nonetheless. Despite the set in your jaw, traitorous tears stung the corners of your eyes; you wanted to kick yourself for actually thinking that Ellie might be different.

Ellie followed your gaze over her shoulder, her smile dropping, before she quickly turned back to you with panic in her eyes. She stumbled over her words as though her tongue weren’t cooperating: “Shit, I’m sorry, this looks really bad doesn't it?” She grimaced and squeezed your hand she was still holding, scratching awkwardly at the back of her head with the other. “Fuck, this isn’t the first impression I wanted. I could promise it's not what it looks like, but maybe it'd be better if I just showed you?”

You honestly did think about telling her to fuck off. She was a complete fucking stranger that you only really knew from a dating app, and she was trying to lure you into a hotel in a part of town you were unfamiliar with - really, only an idiot would follow her.

But she was looking at you with wide green eyes, the lights around you shining back like stars. While searching for the constellations, you found yourself saying, “Okay.” You blinked, pulled from a trance, and added, “But you should know, I do have a taser in my bag.”

That pulled a shocked laugh from Ellie’s lips. She gently tugged on your hand, pulling you towards the door, and said, “Smart girl.”

You knew that the hotel was outside of your price range because a perfectly groomed doorman opened the door for you, waving you inside with a gloved hand. You didn’t take much time to process the interior - the chandelier was just as grand as it had seemed from outside and elaborate columns rose to the ceiling - because Elllie was pulling you towards the elevators. It was like she wanted to ignore the fact that she had brought you to a hotel at all. You couldn’t decide if that was reassuring.

In the empty elevator, you gently drew your hand back and leaned against the wall opposite her. You tried to ignore looking at the way her pinstripe slacks hugged the curves of her thighs, the fabric straining when she propped one booted foot on the wall behind her.

“So,” you started in a desperate attempt to fill the awkward silence, “if you’re not leading me into a seedy hotel room on the first date, then what are we doing?”

“Okay, one,” Ellie said, chuckling, “this is anything but a seedy hotel. And two, what kind of a date would it be if I ruined the surprise?”

“And what if I don’t like surprises?” you countered.

Ellie grinned. “I think you’ll like this one.”

When the elevator doors opened, Ellie held her hand out to you as though it were a question. You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand back in hers and letting her lead you out into open air.

You nearly choked on a gasp.

The bar itself was beautiful - fairy lights stretched above your head, twinkling like stars and casting the rooftop in a warm glow. Wooden tables and plush couches were spread artfully around the space, far enough apart to provide the patrons scattered about with some privacy.

The bar was beautiful - but the view was fucking breathtaking.

The city stretched out beyond the railings, open in a way you had never seen before. The skyline rose around you, each building shining like its own little galaxy amidst a sea of stars. The city lights blocked out the actual stars - a fact that never failed to piss you off - but you could see the crescent of the moon rising over the city, casting a quiet glow like a veil.

You looked back at Ellie, and whatever your face held made her grin. She leaned in just enough so that her murmur was for your ears only: “So, was I right?”

You blinked, momentarily distracted by her proximity - she smelled intoxicating, spicy and warm with a hint of tobacco beneath - before you finally said, “What?”

Ellie snorted, breaking whatever spell she had put you under. “The surprise,” she said, leaning away enough for your head to clear. “Was I right?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pursing your lips as though you had to think about it. You couldn’t take your eyes away from the skyline stretched before you.

You finally said, “That depends on how good the drinks are.”

When Ellie laughed, her eyes crinkled in the corners, her nose scrunching. It was a full, rich sound, hanging in the air above your head like helium. It made something in your chest tighten, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

She squeezed your hand, a twinkle in her eye, and said, “The old-fashioned's to die for.”

You pursed your lips again to hide your smile.

Ellie didn’t bother checking in with the host, simply shot her a smile and a wave as you walked by - you tried to bite back a giggle when you saw the host’s face turn red, her eyes tracking Ellie as she led you to a table right along the edge of the railing. She pulled the chair out for you - “Such a gentleman,” you laughed - before taking the seat opposite you.

As she waved over a waiter, you took a moment to lean your head over the railing. It was made entirely of glass, giving you a clear view of the city below. You could hear the distant sound of traffic, cars racing below you like shiny beetles, but it was like it was coming from a different world altogether. Everything seemed impossibly, wonderfully small from up here.

You looked up at the sound of your name to find a groomed waiter wearing a fucking waistcoat standing before you. Ellie was looking at you with laughter in her eyes, her lips twitching.

“Shit, sorry,” you said, immediately flinching at your own curse. You suddenly couldn’t remember the proper etiquette in a fancy bar, feeling out of place and underdressed even in your nicest outfit. You looked between Ellie and the waiter, wracking your brain for any kind of drink that wasn’t a trashy cocktail you’d find at a dive bar.

Seeing you floundering, Ellie gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Do you like wine?”

Relief washed over you as you nodded. Turning back to the waiter, Ellie ordered something that you couldn’t even hope to pronounce, charm lifting the corner of her mouth. She spoke to the waiter with the steady ease of familiarity, laughing at some inside joke; you briefly wondered just how often Ellie came to this bar. Surely, a nice place like this - at the very precipice of the world, looking down at the stars - wouldn’t be a regular stop on anyone’s schedule, but Ellie and the staff spoke like old friends.

When the waiter left, tussling Ellie’s hair playfully, she turned back to you and the awkwardness of a first date finally set in. Sure, you had been texting Ellie every day for a week now, but you still hardly knew the girl. You knew she liked mushrooms and hiking. You knew that most of her clothes were from the thrift store even though she could afford any designer brand she wanted. You knew her favorite video game was Dishonored. But nothing you knew was enough for a relationship.

But you weren't exactly looking for love, were you?

After a moment of silence, Ellie cleared her throat, looking out over the city. “It's nice out here.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself, covering your mouth; it didn't cover the laughter in your eyes. You said, “You're really talking to me about the weather?”

Ellie opened her mouth, an indignant sparkle to her eye, before shutting it again. It was like she was malfunctioning, opening and closing her mouth yet no sound came out. She furrowed her brows, looking at you as though you were something new and interesting, before finally chuckling, looking away. “Yeah, I-I guess I am.” When she looked back up at you, her eyes were surprisingly sheepish. “Not making a great first impression, am I?”

You couldn't stop the smile that crept up to your eyes. You leaned closer, propping your chin in your hand, and said, “I think you're doing okay so far.”

Ellie laughed that wondrous laugh again, her nose scrunching up, and the cord in your shoulders loosened.

“Okay,” she sighed, her eyes still alight with residual laughter. “Okay, damn. Tell me about yourself.”

“Well now this just sounds like a job interview.”

Ellie threw her hands up in mock frustration, trying to stifle her own grin. “Okay, fuck, knock me down again! You're obviously an expert, so show me how it's done.”

She leaned back and crossed her arms, looking at you expectantly, and it was the perfect moment for your drinks to arrive. Ellie did, in fact, order an old-fashioned. The waiter set two wine glasses on the table, producing a bottle seemingly from thin air. He held it out, explaining to you in rehearsed prose the year, acidity, and complexity in words that passed straight through you. You nodded along even as you didn't process a single word he said.

When he left, you turned back to Ellie and said, “How did you find this place?”

Ellie took a sip of her drink. The lights of the city danced in the amber glass. “Just an old haunt of mine, I guess.”

You took a sip of the wine, taking the distraction. It was warm on your tongue, tasting of wood and fruit and something spicy just underneath. The wine you usually drank was the stuff you could find in your nearest grocery store, often tasting concerningly like bug spray and bought with whatever tips you had managed to scrape together from work. It was usually shared with a friend on your kitchen floor, the walls and thoughts spinning over your head.

You much preferred wine like this: The taste of warmth and fire on your tongue, the cool air brushing your shoulders at the edge of the sky, and a beautiful person sitting across from you.

When Ellie lowered her glass, you could see amber droplets of whiskey clinging to her lips before her tongue darted out to catch them. You tore your eyes away, but her smile said that she had caught you staring. A chill ran up your spine that you were sure was just from the cold.

Seeing you shiver, Ellie wordless reached behind her where she had tossed her jacket over the back of her chair. Standing, she rounded the table only for a moment, only long enough to place the coat over your shoulders. Her hands lingered there for a second too long before she retreated, sliding back into her seat as though she had never moved.

“So, why are you here?” she finally said.

You pulled the jacket around your shoulders, distracted by the smell of it. The same smell that must be her perfume clung to it, spiced and warm like an open fire, but something else clung to the fabric too. It was strangely metallic, sharp and intoxicating, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was shockingly warm against your skin.

“I’m here,” you said, raising a brow and ignoring her real question, “because you sent me this address and told me to meet you here at eight wearing my nicest dress.”

The corner of Ellie’s lips quirked, a grin she was trying to hide. She clasped her hands, leaning across the table so you could smell the whiskey on her breath. “And you agreed to meet a stranger at a seedy hotel,” she murmured, mocking your remark from earlier. Her grin revealed itself when your cheeks flushed. “But why are you here - what are you seeking?”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “That’s kind of a dumb question, don’t you think? It’s pretty obvious why I’m on the app.” You cocked your head, leaning across the table, feeling a strange thrill when her eyes flashed. Your heart fluttered at the proximity, and you couldn’t remember when you had become so easily starstruck. “The real question, Ellie, is why are you?“

Ellie’s eyes darkened, and you weren’t sure if you just imagined her eyes flicking down to your lips. She looked back up at you through her lashes, her voice rough when she said, “That’s a third date kind of question.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What makes you so sure you’ll get a third date?”

Ellie tilted her head, a slow smile pulling at her lips, and said, “Call it a hunch.”

The waiter came to check on you, appearing at your shoulder like a ghost. You hastily retreated, leaning back in your chair as though the electricity in the air had shocked you, and took a sip of wine that was more than a little overzealous. You tried to choke it down as Ellie waved the waiter away with that heartstopping crooked smile. What happened to you? Since when were you so easily charmed by freckles, green eyes, and smart-ass comments? You couldn't remember the last time you had been so infatuated during a normal date, let alone one with these kinds of strings attached.

“So you don't want to be in an interview,” Ellie said once the waiter was out of earshot. “I guess all my typical getting to know you conversations are out of the question.”

“I didn't say that,” you countered, your throat still burning from your accidental wine waterboarding. “But come on - what girl are you going to impress by asking her questions like ‘Tell me about yourself,’ or ‘Why are you here?’ or ‘Why are you more qualified for this position?’”

“Okay, okay, goddamn,” she said, laughing. Grabbing the wine bottle, she looked at you for permission before pouring you another glass.

You brought the glass up to your lips, taking a sip to hide your smile. The flush in your cheeks was surely from the wine and nothing else. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I hardly know you.” On one hand, that felt entirely untrue - but especially after this recent discovery, you really knew nothing about this girl. “Tell me about you.”

Ellie laughed that same rough laugh and your heart jumped. “Oh, so you're allowed to be the interviewer.”

You nodded, twirling the glass between your fingers and looking at her expectantly.

After a moment, Ellie rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, but you could see the humor in her eyes. She downed the last of her old-fashioned and, like a good sport, said, “What do you want to know?”

Turns out, there was a lot to know - more than a simple dating app would tell you. Ellie had an older sister, Sarah, who lived in Dallas. Her dog was named after her childhood best friend. Her jacket wasn't thrifted after all, but had been her dad's. Speaking of which, she used to go hunting with him every season (“I haven't been in years, though,” she said, her eyes distant). On the weekends, she'd go to antique stores to look for art and trinkets to fill her house - her favorite antiques were from the 17th century. She hated horror movies and was a sucker for a good romance.

In return, you caved and answered her pressing questions. You told her about your best friend - Ellie laughed when you told her that your friend had sent you the link to the app in the first place. You told her about your favorite show that you binge-watched whenever you felt like you were spiraling. You did not tell her about your apartment that was probably the size of her closet or the fact that you'd have to watch your budget after taking the Uber tonight, not to mention the extra $30 Uber to get home later. You did tell her about your family, and a strange, unexplained sadness crept into the creases around her mouth. You did tell her about your job, but didn't mention the second one you worked to afford groceries. You told her you were hoping for a real, human connection, yet didn't mention that you couldn’t imagine finding it in a fucking sugar mommy.

All too soon, the wine bottle was empty and your chest was comfortingly warm. The lights strung across the bar danced above your head like fuzzy stars, and Ellie's smile was the brightest amongst them. Her glass was still empty, her wine glass dry, and yet her eyes told you she was intoxicated by something far stronger.

“Sorry,” you said, giggling despite yourself. “I didn't mean to drink it all.”

“Don't worry about it, darling,” she said, her voice silky smooth, reminding you of melted chocolate sliding down your throat. She tilted her glass, letting the remnants of melting ice clink against the side. “I wanted to make sure I could drive home okay.”

The waiter arrived then, pulling the bill from his pocket and handing it to Ellie. You couldn't read the number upside down, not through the haze of the wine, but the number of digits made your stomach clench. Ellie dropped a black card into the folder and handed it back to the waiter.

“How much do you want me to Venmo you?” you asked when she turned back to you. You clenched your hands in the hem of your dress, already calculating the extra shift you'd have to pick up to afford it.

Ellie tilted her head, her brows furrowed. “Nothing,” she said, as though it were obvious.

“That wasn't exactly a cheap bottle, Ellie,” you laughed. “Let me give you something.”

Ellie hummed, propping her chin in her hand and looking at you with those same intense eyes; it sent a dangerous shiver down your spine. “I like when you say my name.”

You blinked at her. “Excuse me.”

“I want to hear it again. That's how you can repay me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ellie, I-”

“Okay, now we're even,” she interrupted, smiling that crooked grin that you had started to crave. The waiter returned with her card and Ellie produced cash from her pocket, handing it to the waiter directly. He thanked her profusely before making his exit, grinning. When Ellie looked at you again, you were still watching her expectantly, dumbfounded. She finally rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what kind of date would I be if I made you pay?”

“You're not making me, I'm offering.”

“And I'm saying no.” Ellie stood, straightening her shirt; when she tugged at it, the collar fell a bit, exposing sharp collarbones beneath.

Rounding the table, she offered a hand to you, pulling you gently to your feet. You pulled her jacket tighter around yourself, knowing you needed to give it back yet unwilling to part with it just yet.

Taking your arm, Ellie leaned in close enough that your breath caught in your throat and said, “I know why I found you on Seeking, okay? So, if it's alright with you, let me spoil you. Even if that just means one bottle of wine.”

You laughed, but it sounded breathy even to your own ringing ears. “One very expensive bottle of wine.”

Ellie shrugged, a sparkle in her eye. “It's a small price to pay for your company.”

You were silent in the elevator, but you held on to her arm as though afraid to let go. You couldn't figure out why, but something in you urgently wanted nothing more than to be close to her. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt such a pull from somebody.

Back on the street, the lights of the city seemed so much brighter than they had before. Ellie released your arm, turning to face you, and there was a strange pinch between her brows that you couldn't translate.

“Do you want me to call you an Uber, or do you want me to take you home?” she asked, and your brain short-circuited. When you could do nothing but stammer, tripping over your own tongue, Ellie laughed. There was no mockery behind it, only quiet, bright amusement. “I meant I can drive you to your apartment so you don't have to drunkenly sit in an awkward Uber that smells sickeningly sweet and the driver tries to make mind-numbing small talk.”

Your sigh of relief came out more like a laugh.

Ellie tilted her head and stepped closer to you, her hand reaching out to graze your fingers, and that sigh was sucked right back into your lungs. Being so close to her made your head spin. Her breath fanned against your cheeks, smelling of warm whiskey, when she said, “Unless you want to come to my place?”

It had the uncertain tilt of a question, and Ellie wouldn't quite meet your eyes.

“We don't have to do anything,” she continued in a rush. She scratched anxiously at the back of her head, a nervous laugh slipping between her lips. “We can just sit and talk more. Or watch a movie - my dad had this huge collection. I'm not gonna - You know, I'm not going to do anything you don't want.” She finally interrupted herself with a groan, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Fuck, sorry, I wanted it to sound more suave than this.”

And you would be a fucking idiot to go home with this impossible stranger. You had been taught better - never get into a stranger's car, and for the love of God, never let them take you to a second location. You could let her take you back to your apartment at least - you were admittedly incredibly tipsy and didn't particularly want to endure another ride with an annoyingly talkative Uber driver. You could go home, back to your claustrophobic, quiet apartment, and maybe - maybe - text Ellie about setting up a second date.

You were not stupid enough to go home with somebody on the first date.

Except clearly you were, because you took the hand that was still grazing your fingers and looked up at Ellie - the contours of her face were shockingly etched with insecurity. And your dumb mouth said, of its own volition, “Okay.”

You had expected something flashy, like what a wealthy person would own in a movie - like a penthouse overlooking the city with too-white walls and electric guitars hanging, unused, on the walls. Maybe she had walls completely made of windows so it felt like you were on a pedestal overlooking the world.

You hadn't expected a house that was older than your great-grandparents.

When Ellie pulled into the driveway, you were sure she was just pulling in someplace to turn around, that she had missed her turn somewhere. But she put her stupidly-expensive car into park and killed the engine, shooting you an awkward glance.

“Sorry,” she said, chuckling. “I know it’s not much.”

You could only look at her incredulously, speechless, before looking back up at the house before you. You couldn’t even call it a house really - estate would be more fitting. Maybe mansion. Fuck, her house was the size of your apartment complex. It towered over you, three stories of intricate woodwork, warm brown beams wrapping around the structure like an elaborate skeleton. With beautiful eaves winding around the roof and an entire turret reaching for the moon, it looked like something that had stepped right out of some 1800s southern gothic novel.

Ellie cleared her throat, startling you from a trance. You looked back at her and, for some reason, couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

”Shit, sorry,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand. “I just - I’ve just never seen anything like it.” When Ellie’s eyes clouded over with uncertainty, you added softly, “It’s beautiful. Besides, Ellie,” you added, laughing again, “‘not much’ doesn’t really suit you.”

Ellie opened and closed her mouth and yet no words came out. She was looking at you again as though you were something interesting - something new and exciting. Nobody had ever looked at you that way before, and the way your heart clenched at the sight was more than a little dangerous.

Ellie finally smiled, huffing out a laugh - your heart was pretty satisfied with how often you were able to make her laugh - and said, “Do you still want to come inside?”

And, surprisingly, you said, “Yeah, I do.”

As Ellie got out, rounding the car to open your door for you, you discreetly checked that the taser was still in your bag. Sure, you had agreed to go home with a practical stranger, but you couldn't be too careful.

The porch steps creaked as she led you to the door - double doors (of course), with stained glass and twisting vines carved into the wood. When Ellie opened them, it felt like you were transported to a different time on an entirely different world.

The grand staircase caught your eye first - how could it not? Warm wooden steps covered in a blood red runner, a white banister winding up, those same vines that seemed to be the house’s signature carved into it. You could see a large, stained-glass window at the landing before it curved to disappear to the second floor. Moonlight splintered through the window in broken relief.

As though in a trance, you wandered further into the house, walking to the fireplace situated right beneath the stairs. The wood stacked neatly inside was cold, untouched by a flame. There was a large mirror set atop the mantle, its gold frame a work of art alone. In the reflection, you could see the flush to your cheeks, and tried to convince yourself it was only from the cold. You still wore Ellie’s jacket, and you pulled it tight around your shoulders, as though it were a shield.

You watched Ellie’s reflection as she walked slowly towards you, a small smile gracing her lips. She came close enough to touch - close enough that you could feel her cool breath against the back of your neck - and yet she didn’t put a hand on you.

“There’s a lot more to see than the foyer,” she murmured, the words brushing your skin. “If you still want.”

And you couldn’t stop your own smile as you turned back to her, your heart skipping at her proximity. “Show me.”

She took your hand, her fingers shockingly cold, and led you into what must have been her living room - sitting room? Despite the fact that the house felt more like a museum - like you would get scolded for touching anything - the room was surprisingly cozy. A large, plush sectional was situated in front of another fireplace- this one also unblemished. Blankets and quilts were thrown over the couch and the accompanying chairs, leaving this time capsule looking strangely welcoming.

“Okay, I have to ask,” you said, turning back to Ellie. She was watching you carefully, gauging your reaction with soft eyes, and you lost your train of thought. You opened your mouth but no sound came out; you weren’t sure if that was more or less embarrassing than the several curses you had said earlier in the night.

Ellie hummed, raising her hand as though she wanted to touch you. She stopped only inches away from your cheek and dropped her hand, saying, “I’m an open book.”

You had to turn away to collect your thoughts, wandering across the room if just to catch your breath. The opposite wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. You ran your fingers along the spines of vintage classics, an array of science books, and comics, enjoying the irony of seeing Savage Starlight in the middle of all this history. You picked up a copy to keep your hands busy.

“How, um,” you started, stumbling over your words, “how did you end up here?”

Ellie hummed again, and you heard her footsteps following you. “Here as in this town, this country, this world? You gotta be a little more specific.”

You sighed, giving in and turning to look at her. She kept a careful distance, standing a few feet away from you with her hands in her pockets. “You know what I mean, smartass.”

Ellie chuckled, but her eyes had grown distant, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She took a few more steps closer to you, looking at the comic book in your hands. On the app, she hadn’t struck you as the type to get easily bashful, and yet she had proven you wrong a few times already.

“My family lived here,” she finally said, quiet as a secret. You watched her carefully, jumping at the opportunity to stare at her without those intense eyes looking back at you. Her brow furrowed and she pressed her lips together as though she was in pain, her green eyes shining. “It was just… passed down, I guess? It’s kind of always been here ever since I can remember. I’m not entirely sure when it became mine.”

You tucked the comic book back into its spot between The Iliad and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You said absently, “How old is this place anyway?”

”It was built in 1816,” she said automatically, as though it were memorized.

“It’s an awfully big house for just one person.” You looked up at her through your lashes as she stepped closer - close enough that you could smell that same metallic warmth that seemed to cling to her.

“It is,” Ellie murmured, smiling. She reached out again, and this time she allowed herself to touch you. Her cold fingers brushed against your cheek before she gently cupped your jaw, tilting your head so you’d look at her properly. Her green eyes were downright intimidating. “But I keep good company.”

You rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t convince yourself to look away. “Is that what you say to all the girls?”

Ellie hummed, bracing her other hand on the bookshelf behind your head, and murmured, “No, I don’t.” She pressed in closer, her gaze dropping to your mouth, and you felt like your heart was going to leap from your throat. Ellie huffed out a laugh as though she could hear it pounding against your chest. When her thumb brushed your bottom lip, your lips parted on instinct. She didn’t look away, transfixed on the point where her skin touched your mouth, and you almost didn’t hear her when she said, “Can I?”

And you had never been the kind of person to kiss on the first date, but she was looking at you with eyes hooded with want, her breath fanning against your cheeks. When she licked her lips, you couldn’t stop your eyes from following the motion. Her lips glistened, parted and plump, looking so impossibly soft. Somehow, past your haze, you heard yourself say, “Yes.”

Ellie took her time in kissing you. She pressed you back gently, your shoulders pressing into the bookshelf behind you, and touched her nose to yours. She took a deep breath, breathing you in. Her hand was soft against your cheek, tilting your jaw up, and you hardly had to move to finally kiss her.

Ellie tasted just like she smelled - spicy and metallic, the old-fashioned still hanging on her tongue. Despite the cold of her hand on your cheek, her mouth was impossibly warm, her breath slipping between your lips; it was intoxicating in a way that the wine couldn’t compare to. Her mouth moved against yours, soft and slow as a dance.

Your hands reached out as though of their own accord, circling her waist and gripping at the slippery silk of her shirt. She pressed in close, crowding you against the bookshelf; you could feel her chest pressing against you, her hips on yours, the line of her body against yours making your head spin. And when Ellie’s tongue pressed against your lips, a gentle request for access, you felt like you’d faint altogether.

Her tongue slipped between your teeth and you couldn’t stop the breathy sound it pulled from your throat. You could feel that infuriating smile against your lips and suddenly wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. You balled her ridiculously expensive shirt in your hands and pulled her impossibly closer, nipping at her bottom lip, and you wanted to swallow her gasp.

Ellie pulled away, chuckling, but she didn’t go far. She pressed a kiss to your cheek, her lips trailing down to your jaw, and she could probably feel your pulse jump beneath her tongue. You could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Do you do this often?”

Her teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear, and it took you a few moments before you could respond. “Do what?” Despite yourself - despite the way your fingers gripped her shirt, your head swimming and an unexplainable want burning in your veins - you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go on a date with somebody I met on an app for sugar babies and go back to their ridiculously old mansion on the first date and-“

You cut yourself off. You weren’t sure exactly what was happening, and you were afraid that voicing it would break whatever spell you were under - whatever spell made this impossible woman’s touch feel like lightning.

But Ellie only laughed, biting at the spot where your neck met your shoulder. “Yeah, that.”

You shivered against her touch. “No, I’ve never really done this.”

“Guess I’m just lucky.”

Ellie kissed you again, only briefly, before she finally pulled away. She was grinning, her eyes sparkling with those same constellations; her face wasn’t even flushed, making you feel embarrassed about your burning cheeks. You were panting, intoxicated from the night and wine and Ellie. Her absence felt like an ache, your body craving the feeling of her lips, her teeth, her hands. You were close to tugging her back in, your hands still gripping her shirt, but she gently untangled herself from you with a laugh.

“I want to keep going.” She paused, and then emphasized, “I really want to keep going. But you drank an entire bottle of wine, and I’d be kind of a shitty host if I didn’t offer you something to drink at least. Or are you hungry?”

You were hungry, but it was the kind of hunger that food wouldn’t satiate. Still, you let your hands drop back to your sides, feeling your senses return to you now that they weren’t so tuned into Ellie - how she smelled, tasted, felt. When you laughed, it sounded breathy even to your own ears. “Some water would be nice.”

“I can do that,” she said with a smile. “Stay here.” She kissed you again, lingering for a few moments longer than needed, before she turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone in this ridiculously old mansion.

With nothing else to keep yourself entertained, you did a slow lap around the room, eyeing the ironic blend of elegant antiques and silly trinkets that were so obviously Ellie. A cracked ivory trinket box sat on a shelf, intricate flowers engraved into the lid, set right next to a small figurine of an astronaut. Beautiful paintings lined the walls, signatures dating back to 1830 in elaborate script at the bottom, but there were also a few posters littered here and there - bands and video games.

You walked over to the mantle, your fingers grazing over the marble top. The logs inside were untouched, and you briefly wondered if she’d light a fire soon to chase out the chill of autumn. A small jar filled with guitar picks sat at the corner, and you wondered if she really did have an electric guitar collection hidden around here somewhere. Your foot kicked an empty dog bowl, and yet Riley was nowhere to be found. Maybe Ellie took her to daycare when she knew she’d bring a girl home. You nearly laughed at the idea.

Atop the mantle, hidden behind pictures of what must have been friends or family - hiking or traveling or laughing in somebody’s backyard - there was another picture frame. It must have fallen, face down so that the picture inside was covered. You reached out, careful to not disturb any of the other frames, and picked it up. You were just going to fix it, set it up next to the others, but something in the image caught your eye. You plucked it from its home, bringing it closer, holding it up to the light to get a better look. For a long time, you couldn’t figure out what you were looking at. Your heart hammered against your chest, your ears ringing, as though your body had figured it out before your brain did.

It was an old photograph, grainy and sepia, faded and frayed around the edges with age. It was the house, looking just like it did today - the huge windows shining in the sunlight, the intricate eaves and wrap-around porch perfectly polished and new. A family stood on the lawn in front of the house, looking awkward and stiff. Back then, cameras took several minutes to actually capture a photo, so people tended to look a little awkward from trying to hold the same expression for so long. But that’s not what had caught your eye.

It was a small family - a weary looking dad and his two daughters, looking just a few years younger than you.

She looked a little different. Her hair was longer, falling in waves around her shoulders. She was definitely a few years younger, and she wore a sweet, full-length gown instead of a worn leather jacket.

You checked the date in the bottom corner at least five times, but there was no mistaking it. The person in the photo was undeniably Ellie, standing in front of this house in 1816.

tag list: @macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @peejayurple @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight @hobbybound

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie willams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x you #tlou smut #tlou 2 x reader #i hope y'all like this one cause i got a lot of plans for it

212 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

Great Expectations 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes' class is your most difficult, but he's about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: It was a drabble then it weren't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You're not certain. Not at first. But when are you ever confident in anything?

Yet you're assured by the dark curls and vibrant eyes, the slanted brows never devoid of judgment. More than anything, it's his posture that confirms his identity. Professor Holmes is staunch and indomitable even as he browses shelves of antique style pens; crystal, wood, and brass. He considers each as he would every word of a term paper.

You're doubt turns to what to do next. Do you say hello? Or pretend you don't see him? Would he know either way? You're fairly convinced he can't pick you out of the lecture hall.

So you do what you do best and fade into the scenery. You trail along the shelves and dip around the other side, putting your attention to the spools of thread, organized in a perfect spectrum of hues. As you mindlessly touch the thread, your mind wanders back around the row.

You would never expect to see the professor there, though honestly, you've never thought of him outside the classroom. You avoid that as much as you can, you stress enough over his unattainable standards. His is the only class which has you below an A.

You contemplate the silver twine. You've been looking for the very thing and yet the price is much above your budget. All that for some shine?

You move on, turning around to the balls of wool and needles arranged from thinnest to thickest. Your ears are pricked by the familiar timbre. The professor's voice carries as easily as in the lecture hall. You try not to listen but you can't help the instinctive decipher of each syllable.

"Are these genuine silver?" He asks, presumably of a passing associate.

"Um, I'm not sure, sir," the squeaky adolescent reply is met with an impatient sigh. "I work in the back."

"Work in the back doing what? Sorting stock? Do you not know what you put on the shelves?" Professor Holmes' disapproval is unmistakable.

His tone make you want to run. It is the same detest wrought into the feedback scribbled in the margins of your assignments. If it isn't perfect, it's not acceptable.

You should go. You don't have the money to waste on hobbies you don't have time for. Nor do you relish an encounter with the very man responsible for your lack of free time.

You make sure to walk toward the far end of the aisle and avoid any possible sighting. The very thing you meant to distract yourself chases you from your procrastination. Two days before your paper is due, and you've not even touched the readings due for that week's class discussion.

📕

You’re barely awake as you claim a seat in the melancholic lecture hall. The coeds are silent, only yawning between slurping from paper cups, or slumping dangerously over the narrow armrests. There’s a dour commiseration in the air; a sort of resignation.

Papers are handed in and yet the outcome is almost assured; Professor Holmes will surely find at least a dozen reasons to dock marks. Sometimes it seems even the font can draw his ire. Yet, there is more to be done. He will expect a lively discussion before that three-hour block is done and if he doesn’t get it, you will all sweat for it.

You flutter through your notebook. Unlike your other courses, the paper is crinkled and the writing is erratic. Each week sees you with at least another twenty pages added to the reading list. You don’t understand how anyone can keep up with it all; the work alone is as much as all your other classes combined.

You jump in your seat as his even-keeled voice rolls through the air. He hardly has to project as his baritone fills the large room. You look up and fumble for your pen. Professor Holmes doesn’t permit devices. The last person caught merely looking at their phone was dropped from the course.

You chew the end of the pen as he begins his introduction, but not without a sharp remark about your midterm papers. It’s as if he’s already made up his mind that you’ve all failed. There’s no bell curve in this class, just an impossible mountain.

“To make it simple,” his accent lilts off his tongue, “I’ve decided we will do things a bit differently this week. I will have you sort yourself into groups and each will discuss an assigned article. At the end, we will reconvene and you will nominate a member to present your conclusions. You may use our usual guiding questions for these purposes.”

You nod and furrow your brow thoughtfully. The idea of splitting into groups is daunting on its own. It’s one thing to put your hand up amid the wide sea of your peers but it’s another to parse yourself down into a smaller group amid strangers. Despite weeks of sitting side-by-side, you don’t really know anyone. They all seemed to have made friends before that and made no effort to find any more.

“Well, off you go,” Holmes flicks his fingers, “you’ve two minutes to arrange yourselves. I’m no kindergarten teacher, certainly you can figure it out.”

There’s a low murmur then a lull before anyone moves. You hear the chatter that connects the smaller pairings to each other; aren’t you in my econ class? Oh, you were at the Delta party? You gather your notebook and stand, searching for an in.

“Um,” you approach the nearest cluster of bodies, “room for one more?”

It’s as if you’re invisible. You wince and clear your throat. Before you can try again, a deeper ahem comes from behind you. You crane to see over your shoulder. Professor Holmes stands at the end of the row, one brow arched as he crosses his arms. His old-fashioned vest strains as his chest bulges against the buttons.

“Eh, she’s in need of a group. Have some manners.”

You’re surprised by his intervention, but grateful. You try to smile but it’s probably more of a pathetic simper, “thank you, professor.” You nod and turn back to the other students.

“Uh, sorry, yeah, can I tag along?” You ask.

They shrug, none of them daring to ignore Professor Holmes. You sit at the edge of the group, heat speckling up your back in embarrassment. The others as good as ignore you as they go back to complaining about their papers.

“I didn’t sleep,” a blond you think is named Ethan mutters, “fucker had me tearing out my hair.”

“Yeah, I was supposed to go to a Barbie party but I need this class,” a pretty redhead rolls her eyes.

There’s at least ten other students circled between three rows. You glance around at the others as they bow and chatter in kind. You shuffle your notebook in your lap and lean in, trying to seem involved.

“Right then, you,” Holmes points to your group, “take Jones et al,” he moves his finger towards the next group, “Halloway,” he continues down the list of readings as silence pervades the space.

It isn’t until he bids you to start that anyone dares speak again. The professor paces at the front of the room, hands in his pockets, as his longs stride take him from one end to the other. As you watch him, he seems to sense it, and his blue eyes meet your own. He hardly reacts before he puts his attention back to his repetitive route.

“Alright, so Jones et al,” you redirect your attention as your peers continue their griping over lost sleep and shitty coffee. “So uh, we should go over main arguments first--”

“Didn’t read it,” Ethan scoffs and two girls giggle.

“I don’t know how that tight ass thinks we have all day for the stuffy bullshit,” another guy snorts. “Some of us get laid.”

You blanch and chew your lip. You look around and receive only agitation and indifference.

“Since you’re such a smarty pants, why don’t you do the presentation, huh?” The redhead chirps, “you always have so much to say.”

You frown. You only put in what you need to get a decent mark. You’re hoping the discussion grade can save you from your disastrous first assignment. Besides, aren’t you all facing the same foe? Shouldn’t you be allies?

“Well, we should talk about the article a bit. Did anyone else read it?” You insist.

You don’t get an answer, only scoffs and sneers. Shoot. You look down at your notebook and shrink into yourself. It’s just like high school. You’re the one building the diorama by yourself until midnight. You’re the one doing all the talking in the class debate.

You scribble notes in the margins as the other garble on about some party and the new cafe opening up at the Student Centre. You keep a hand on your neck as the heat builds under your skin. You should’ve just stayed on your own, not that you have much of a choice. None of them even want to acknowledge you.

Professor Holmes calls time and you pop your head up, catching your glasses before they can bounce off your nose. You fix them as the lecture hall hushes and you all twist and turn to see the professor. He walks up the centre aisle and points to the group in the very back.

“You, come on,” he demands.

There’s crinkling of paper and scratchy coughs. A guy in a polo sweater stands with a cluster of lined paper in hand. He reads out with fractured syllables as if he can’t make out the writing. Professor Holmes sighs and you glance over at his scowl. He’s not impressed.

“Right, and beyond the obvious, what were your final reflections? Did you have a single thought about the author’s narrative on the consequences of the railway on colonized communities?” He pauses and waits, tapping his clefted chin. Silence. “Mm, absolutely compelling,” he remarks dryly.

You gulp as your group fidgets. Holmes jabs a finger at another group, calling out a student by name, “thank you for volunteering.”

The woman with the buzzcut stands, looking nervous as she peers around her group members. She sways and wets her lips, playing with the ring around her lower lip. She laughs nervously before she begins, pausing and umming and ahhing.

“Enough rambling,” Holmes shakes his head and turns toward your group. Your eyes go wide as the rest peek over at you. You rise as the professor stands just at the end of the rows. “Ethan, you seemed to be doing most of the talking, let’s hear it.”

Ethan grimaces and sends you a look. He shakes his head. You shrug. You don’t know what to do. You offer your notebook and Holmes clucks.

“I’m sure he can do it himself, he’s a big boy,” Holmes insists, “let’s hear your take on Jones et al. They have some rather interesting arguments about the cultural significance of the Silk Road, did they not?”

Ethan exhales and stands, a tick in his jaw as he faces the professor. You chew your cheek as he stutters, “well, what we were talking about was that... er, the Silk Road... um...”

“Yes, yes, you made some rather intriguing arguments about the Gammas, didn’t you? And how you have so many important things to do, eh? Well, Ethan, if you can’t keep up, you don’t have to bluster,” Holmes reproaches, “your boasting does suggest incompetence over importance.”

Ethan chokes. There’s a low titter of laughter from further back as the rest of your group stares at their hands. You hug your note book and lower your head as well.

“Come on, then,” Holmes wags his fingers and calls your name, “stand up. Let’s hear something coherent.”

“Oh, uh,” you lift your chin as Ethan falls into his chair with a snarl. You get up and focus on your notebook. You swallow tightly before you get your vision to clear, “typically when we think of the, er, Silk Road, er, we fixate on, uh, on uh, on the movement of goods such as dyes and, and, and rice...” you can’t help your stuttering. You just know the professor will have your throat next, “but Jones et all argue that, ummmm, um, the movement of peoples and contact between various cultures is just as... as important--”

“Ah, yes, someone has done their work,” Holmes proclaims with a clap.

“All of you. One thousand words on your groups assigned article by the end of the week. You may drop them off at my office.”

“What?” Several students burst out in shock.

“It is an individual effort, yes? Not a group project. You have until Friday at 6pm.”

“Professor,” a woman whines from the back.

“Would you like a thousand more words?” He turns to face the lecture hall completely, “no, alright then. I can be generous. You may go early so that you can catch up on your readings.”

He smirks and tilts his head smugly. He spins on his heel and strides down the low steps to the front podium. You glance down at your notebook and slowly flip the cover.

“Fucking browner,” Ethan growls.

#sherlock holmes #dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #series #great expectations #au #professor au #modern au #enola holmes #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

240 notes · View notes

gffa · 1 year ago

Text

Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:

Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now! These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:

MAJOR FANDOMS: Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)

STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin

BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)

MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki - These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic. - Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".

TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)

CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.

BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi

VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami

BANDS: Arashi

All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!

#lumi.txt #fic recs #star wars fic recs #batman fic recs

344 notes · View notes

lulublack90 · 7 months ago

Text

Prompt 16 - Hunger

@wolfstarmicrofic June 16, word count 568

Previous part First part

The afternoon was theirs to do with as they wished. It appeared that McGonagall and Sprout hadn’t expected them to get all the seedlings planted as fast as they had. Remus was glad for the break and wanted nothing more than to go collapse on his bed and rest his aching body. He’d pondered over why his body was aching so much, aside from the manual labour. He realised he just wasn’t used to doing anything. His body was weak from years of being bed-bound. Really, his father should have thought of that before dumping him here, but then he would never have met Sirius or the others.

“So what are we doing this afternoon then? Water fight? Archery? Rock climbing?” James asked as they stood outside the main hall with nothing to do. Remus groaned inwardly, not wanting to do any of those things.

“Remus and I are going to hang out in the cabin,” Sirius announced. “And you two aren’t invited,” He added, when Peter opened his mouth.

“Well, that’s hardly fair,” Peter protested. Sirius looked at James, who nodded at him with a smile. He wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“Come on, Pete, lets me, and you go find something fun to do while this boring pair reads or something.” Peter seemed appeased by James’s words and wandered off with him without a second thought for Remus and Sirius. Sirius grabbed Remus by the hand and walked them towards their cabin.

It was cool inside. Remus flopped onto his bed groaning happily. Sirius sauntered towards him and somehow dropped himself onto the bed in the most elegant way Remus had ever seen.

“Hi,” Sirius whispered.

“HI,” Remus whispered back. He swallowed as a buzzing spread across his skin at Sirius’s closeness. Sirius reached a hand to Remus’s face and gently cupped it, stroking his thumb over Remus’s cheekbone. Remus leaned his head into the contact and the second his eyelids shut, Sirius captured his lips with his own. Remus’s eyes fluttered open at the sudden affection, but quickly shut them again, sinking into Sirius.

They hadn’t kissed much since the first time. James and Peter saw to that, but it was definitely getting easier between the pair. Remus felt braver each time they kissed, as did Sirius.

Sirius’s hand slid beneath his t-shirt and Remus froze. Sirius kept his hand still and peppered kisses across Remus’s lips until he calmed down and returned to what they’d been doing. He stilled again when Sirius’s thumb began rubbing soft circles into his skin. But soon again the panic subsided, and he returned to kissing him.

They played this game for a while until Remus stopped freezing every time Sirius’s hand moved to a new place, and they could just enjoy the moment.

They stopped when Remus’s stomach growled with hunger, making Sirius giggle as he poked gently at the sound.

“Honestly, Remus, can’t you go an hour without eating?” He rolled away from Remus, off the bed and grabbed two lion bars from his bedside table. “Here,” Sirius said as he tossed the snack to Remus. Remus grinned as he bit into the chocolate bar. He realised then that his body felt totally relaxed, and he didn’t ache as much. He watched Sirius pick his lion bar apart with his teeth layer by layer in a truly obscene way and thought this boy must be magic.

Next part

91 notes · View notes

hunterwritings · 1 year ago

Text

𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐔𝐑 | 𝐁𝐈-𝐇𝐀𝐍

summary: "Okay so what if reader and Bi Han are in am arranged marriage for Lin Kuei businesses only and they don't love each other at all. But as time passes they soon learn more about each other and eventually love one another as wife and husband. But since Bi Han lacks past romantic/sexual experience reader "teaches" him how. (Iykwim) I hope this makes I just want more bottom!Bi Han content (self indulgent grrrrr) anyways take ur time!!" | requested here warnings: 18+, smut, oral (m!recieving), riding, breeding kink, creampie, small pregnancy mention at end, arranged marriage trope, sub!bi-han, dom!reader, wife!reader, afab!reader, bi-han is mean in the beginning, reader knows her worth! maybe ooc bi-han, notes: ANON I LOVE THIS SO MUCH | also there was literally another fic scarily similar to this by @kisses4lao and I want to give them some credit! Go read their fic, it's so good!! | also this is soo much longer than I thought it was gonna be

Angry wasn't even the word to describe it; what you were feeling was livid. You understood the meaning of arranged marriages and what they provided, but you couldn't say you were happy with this outcome. You were the daughter of a neighboring clan, you were trained to fight as an assassin and were on of the best in your clan. Your father had made a deal with the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, Bi-han's father, that if you had married Bi-han as the oldest son, your clan would be at the Lin Kuei's side whenever battle occurred.

Obviously you protested and argued as much as you could, but it was already done. You knew of Bi-han and what the Lin Kuei was capable of. Even though you hadn't spoken to Bi-han directly, you've seen his abilities on the battlefield and seen how ruthless he can be. You didn't know what to expect from this man in a marriage and honestly, you were a bit worried to find out.

Your father and Bi-han's father agreed to let the two of you meet once before the wedding, it was the best thing your father could give you from your constant protesting.

You tried to make the best of it, hoping this was a chance to get to know your future husband and hopes of him being a decent man.

You kept your head low and your hands behind your back as you walked into the temple, following close behind your father. You lifted your head up to scan the area, noticing the intricacies of the temple and how clean it was. As your eyes glazed over the room, they stopped when they met the brown eyes of your fiancé. You thought you could practically feel the temperature of the room drop when you saw him; for some reason it made you nervous. Despite your anxiousness, you were stubborn and weren't going to submit so easily.

Your father had began speaking to Bi-han's father as they both walked into another room, leaving the two of you alone in the common room. Your eyes landed on Bi-han's again as his cold expression was unbreakable.

"It's an honor to meet you, Bi-han." You break the silence, bowing deeply towards him. You could hear a groan escape his lips as he gives you a small bow before standing up straight as you do.

"This is unnecessary." He groans as his eyebrows furrow.

You raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was regarding the two of you meeting or the marriage in general. Before you could respond, he's scoffing and turning to walk away. You shook your head in shock as you let out a scoff before walking after him.

"Have I done something wrong?" You ask, now walking beside him. All he does is scoff again and continue walking without looking at you. "It's not like I asked for this, okay? I'm just trying to make the best case scenario." He ignores you once again. You groan at his pettiness and continue to berate him.

"You should at least try and make things work, it would be so much easier-"

You are cut off by Bi-han grabbing a hold of your wrist tightly and pulling you around to pin your back against the wall. You gasp in surprise, which quickly turns to anger.

"You are a woman who talks too much." He scolds you, resting his fist aside your head, his knuckles pressed against the wall. His other hand was resting on your chest, his palm cold to the touch.

"Perhaps you have forgotten what a 'marriage' entails. I will soon be your wife and I refuse to be pushed aside as a mere foot soldier." You asserted, holding his wrist of the hand on your chest.

If looks could kill, you would be dead. But something was different, why did Bi-han's stature seem to change? Bi-han isn't used to this, he's used to taking what he wants and having no one question him, much less stand up to him. So why did he like this?

"Well that was quicker than I thought."

You hear your father's voice entering the room. The sound makes Bi-han immediately release you, causing you to almost stumble before gaining your balance. He quickly turns and gives both your father and his own a bow. You do the same, but your eyes never leave him.

"You two seem to have 'adjusted' quickly." Your father jokes, assuming you were getting along rather than fighting. "We can't stay much longer." He adds.

"It's alright, I know everything I need to now." You shot Bi-han a nasty look, your words laced with venom. His eyebrows furrowed at your words.

They said their goodbyes and bows, all while both you and Bi-han stared each other down. That was the first and last time you had seen Bi-han since your wedding day.

The day of the wedding was tense, to say the least. There was so much tension between the two of you, both refusing to admit you were wrong and being petty. You couldn't keep your eyes off each other. You wanted to believe it purely out of spite, but there was something that intrigued you about him. How could someone be so hard-headed? And as much as you didn't want to admit it, he was quite handsome. Your wedding was the first day you had seen him without his mask and you'd be lying to everyone if you said he wasn't a pretty boy.

It had been a couple weeks now and you and Bi-han have barely spoken to each other, only essential moments when you needed to speak to each other. You both wondered how long you could go giving each other the cold shoulder.

"Your father has called upon you." You announce as you walk into the shared bedroom.

You hear a groan come from Bi-han as he stands at the dresser.

"Bi-han."

"I heard you." He says as he turns back to face you.

"Oh I'm sorry, I just expect a response when spoken to." You snap back with irony and sarcasm laced in your words.

"Are you through being childish?" He snaps, his eyebrows furrowing together as he peers at you. "You cannot expect a response when you yourself are ignoring me." He adds.

All you could do is scoff before turning to walk out. Before you made it to the door, a familiar hand grabs on your wrist and spins you to face him.

"Let go." You demand as your eyes pry at his.

"I will not let our marriage continue like this." He says, is that a plead in his eyes?

"I will not ask again." You say. He releases your wrist as his gaze stays on you. "You are such a strange man. What is it that you want from me?" You ask as you rub your wrist softly. Your angered expression had softened slightly, not wanting to work up any more energy being upset. He seemed like he was taken aback by your anger dissipating and was expecting more of a fight.

"Peace." The one word was the only thing he could muster up, not that it wasn't true. He did want peace between the two of you, but it was almost an impossible task for him to admit he was wrong.

A laugh emitted from your mouth as you shook your head. You looked up at him before crossing your arms. "I didn't think you knew the meaning of that word." You smirked as he groaned and rolled his eyes at you. "Perhaps we have both been childish." You admit, looking at your feet.

"Perhaps." He reluctantly agrees.

There is a small bit of silence before you speak again.

"Bi-han ― I understand this isn't what you wanted, it's not what I wanted either; but it is now our life." You explain. You observe Bi-han slightly fidgeting with his hands, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. He lets out a sigh before walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed as he listened to you.

"Just because our marriage is a result of a power deal, doesn't mean we have to make anything more difficult for ourselves. I mean ― I know that I would truly wish to make it work, rather than us being at each other's throats for the rest of our lives." You stepped closer to him until you were standing between his legs on the edge of the bed. You could see him anxiously shift as you stood in front of him, this being the closest the two of you had ever really been to each other.

"That would be the best option." He says as he looks down.

"Bi-han." You reach a finger under his jaw to make him look up at you. His gaze was soft now and he was trying to pay attention to every word you say; this side of Bi-han was foreign to you.

"I am your wife, your equal, I don't wish to be treated as lower than you." You say, not sounding condescending or demeaning but trying to sound as genuine as possible. "And perhaps ― in time ― the connection between us will be genuine." Your hands now softly held his face, and you could see his body physically relax. His eyes shut as he practically leans into your hand as he lets out a loud sigh. You could tell he wasn't used to this kind of affection or any affection at all, you would assume. Your thumbs softly caressed his cheeks as his eyes finally opened again to look up at you. You knew he wanted to speak, wanted to pour his heart out to you in this vulnerable state and tear down his walls to you, but he never did. All he could do was admire you as he looked up. He guessed that he had never gotten a close look at every detail on your face and shames himself for doing so; you were one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.

After sitting in silence for a moment, just observing eachothers faces, you lean down to his level. You softly press your lips against his, moving your hand to press against the nape of his neck. You felt him sigh against your lips as one of his hands snakes up your leg and grips at your thigh.

You pull away for a moment as he groans quietly, scanning his face to make sure he's not protesting your actions. Your question was quickly answered when Bi-han leaned up and harshly pressed his lips against yours, using his free hand to grab behind your neck and pull you even closer to him. The amount of force he used caused you to fall on top of him onto the bed, your lips never breaking contact as you hit the bed. His arms snaked up to wrap around your waist and pull your body closer to his.

Very needy, you thought.

You hiked up your legs so that you were straddling him, feeling him hum against your lips as he felt your weight shift on top of him. Your lips moved roughly against his. He was messy and gripping at whatever part of your body he could. You pulled away from him for a second, hearing a frustrated groan from Bi-han. "Move." You quickly say as he abides, to your surprise, and you both shift so that Bi-han is resting his back against the headboard.

You crawl up to him and press your lips on his again as he eagerly grabs a hold of the back of your head to pull you deeper. You sit down on his lap with his legs in between yours as you begin grinding against his pelvis.

A strained moan falls from his lips before he grips your hips and halts their movements. As you pull away from his lips, he leans forward and presses his forehead against your shoulder, hiding his face from you as he huffed.

"I'm sorry, I can stop ―" You nervously began to push yourself off of you him but he held you still, not moving his head from your shoulder.

"No." He breathes out. "I'm ― " He begins, slowly lifting his head to look at you, his cheeks flustered. "―not well versed." His eyes are pleading with you.

"Oh, okay." You say with a smile creeping up on your face.

"Laugh and I will kill you."

"No, no, it's not funny." You shake your head with a smile as you look down. "It's just ― a surprise." You smirked with your hands snaking up his torso and gently lying on the sides of his neck.

"You've laid with other men?" He asks with an eyebrow raised.

"Only a few, none as dashing as you." You smirk. "Why? Are you jealous, my husband?" You inch closer to his face, seeing his eyes dart from yours and down to your lips.

"Maybe." He breathes out.

"Do you want me to stop?" You ask.

"No." He once again pulls your face to meet his as he moves his lips against yours. Your hips began their pace against his, feeling his bulge through his pants. His grip on your head moved downwards to hold your hips as they moved back and forth. You pulled way for moment to remove your top, along with your bra. Bi-han's face goes even more flush than it was before now seeing your bare chest in front of him. You grabbed a hold of his hands and brought them to your breasts, him instinctively squeezing down and eliciting a soft moan from you. Bi-han felt his cock twitch in his pants just by the sound that fell from your lips, knowing he could very well cum just from that.

You reach down and begin to undo the top of his Lin Kuei uniform until his chest was bare. His chest was mesmerizing, he was incredibly fit and had more muscles than you even knew existed. Your hands ran their way up his abs and gripped at his large biceps. Your lips attack his once more as he continues to play with your breasts. You slowly moved from his lips down to his jaw and then down to his neck. Loud sucking noises were heard as you sucked harshly on the skin of his neck, hoping to leave dark hickeys on his neck. He was holding back his voice, but with every press of your lips on his neck he let out a labored moan.

Moving down his chest you left red hickeys on his collarbone and pecs, pulling away to be proud of successfully marking your husband as your own.

"You're so pretty, Bi-han." You smile before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

You pull away and drop down to position your body between his legs. Your hands gripped at his pants to free his cock, it was already falling with precum. He was pretty big, it almost made you a bit nervous. Your hand stroked him up and down a few times as you looked up to watch his face contort as his hands gripped at the sheets next to him. He was using all of his willpower to not cum on the spot.

You pressed kisses up his shaft until you reached the tip, swirling your tongue around it.

"F-fuck... please." Bi-han pleaded, beads of sweat falling from his brow.

You chuckled before happily taking him in your mouth. A loud groan was heard from Bi-han as his hands reached up to grip the headboard behind him. Your head bobbed up and down on his shaft as Bi-han was trying to control his breathing. Lewd sounds filled the room as you could feel that Bi-han was close to cumming by how his hips jerked up into your mouth. You felt him hit the back of your throat as you took all of him, humming at his taste.

"Shit!" He was pushed over the edge as you heard a loud moan fall from his lips as his hips pushed up into your mouth before spilling his seed down your throat. You swallowed his cum as you pulled off of his cock with a 'pop' sound. He looked down at you with red cheeks and his mouth slightly agape, he knew this feeling was addicting and was better than anything he could've done himself.

Before crawling back over him, you removed your bottoms and underwear. You sit down on his torso, feeling his aching cock spring against your ass.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, my love." You reassure him as you pressed a soft kiss to his cold lips. "Trust me, you won't be thinking of any other woman when I'm done ― make you addicted to me. " You smirk seeing a small smile form on his face, it was the first time you had seen him smile.

"You are confident, I like it." He says, still heaving from his orgasm.

A small chuckle escapes your mouth before kissing him, pressing your tongue in his mouth this time, him being able to taste himself in your mouth.

Keeping your lips on his, you reach down and position his shaft at your entrance as you hover over him. You slightly press the tip at your slit, slowly entering you. Bi-han pulls away from your lips when you sink down about halfway down his cock, his head falling against the pillow as he moans. You grip at his shoulders as a whimper falls from your lips, your chest heaving up and down as you slowly sink down further until you bottom out on his cock. Your nails scratch against his chest as you take a moment to feel him stretch you out.

Finally, you slowly grind your hips against his as the two of you moan loudly. Your grabbed tightly at his shoulders as you lifted your hips up halfway around his cock and drop down on him.

"Fuck... wait! ― gonna cum too early." He sighed as his hands jumped up to grip as your waist, feeling the tips of his fingers being ice cold. You chuckled before lifting up and dropping down on him again, whimpering at the feeling of you. Getting the hang of it, you bounced up and down on his cock as the two of you drowned out each others moans.

"Fuck Bi-han..." You whimper out, feeling yourself faltering as you were nearing your orgasm.

You felt Bi-han raise his hips to meet yours as you bounced on his cock, causing you to throw your head back as a loud moan ripped from you.

"I'm gonna ― " Bi-han dug his nails into your thighs, sure enough to leave marks, showing that he was close. You could feel his cock twitch inside you as you clenched harshly around him. You reached down and pressed your forehead against his as you held his head in your hands as you continued your movements.

"Cum in me, Bi-han." You begged. His breath hitched hearing your request, but he held strong.

"But ― " He began.

"Please Bi-han, I need to feel you inside me, filling me with your children..." You pleaded as Bi-han lost all self control and spilled himself inside you with a load groan as he held his hips up in the air to get the deepest inside you. Feeling Bi-han cum inside you was enough to push you over the edge and you came hard around his cock, clenching tightly and milking him dry. Strained whimpers left your mouth as you slowly grinded against his pelvis to ride out your high. Bi-han looked down at your entrance seeing a circle of cum surrounding your entrance and his cock, almost enough to make him hard again.

You panted heavily as you hid your face in his neck, feeling beads of sweat fall from his skin onto yours. You pulled away and observed Bi-han in this state, seeing strands of his hair stuck to his sweaty skin and tired eyes as he looked up at you. You reached your hands up to hold his cheeks in your palms as you felt his hands rest softly on your waist.

"As good as I said?" You chuckled.

"Better." He closes his eyes as he lies his head against the headboard. "You want to carry my child?" He pants as he opens his eyes and looks up at you.

"Of course I do, but you will have to keep filling me up until you put a child in me." You smirk as you press your forehead against his.

"I can do that." He smirks before leaning up to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

#— hunterwritings #hunterwritings #mk1 #mk1 x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #bi han #bi han x reader #bi han smut #sub zero #sub zero x reader #sub zero smut

387 notes · View notes

devildom-moss · 1 year ago

Note

I recently finished reading the third season of OG!OM and I had a miniature idea... How would Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos react if amab!MC told them that when the problems with the three worlds were resolved, he would like to marry them? (I may write with mistakes because I am using a translator, I apologize in advance ☆ｏ(＞＜；))

Thanks for the ask. I wrote based on the assumption that Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos are already in an established relationship with MC where marriage is a possibility, (but honestly, it'd probably be fun to write a less serious version, too). I don't know if these are headcanons or just poorly constructed shorts in headcanon format (oops), but I hope you like it.

M!MC tells them he wants to marry them when the three realms are at peace (Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos)

(MC/reader referred to as "man" "husband/future husband" "boyfriend" "fiance") (Diavolo will only be in red for ease of reading in this post primary colors woo)

(Lucifer x m!MC) (Diavolo x m!MC) (Barbatos x m!MC)

(Suggestive in for some parts)

Word Count: +1,900

Lucifer

You told Lucifer you wanted to marry him during one of his softer, more vulnerable moments: when you woke him up after he fell asleep during a long night of paperwork, exhaustion widening his smile upon seeing your face; on one of those rare mornings when he allowed himself to laze around in bed, pulling you in close and savoring the feel and scent of your body; or one of those other long nights when Lucifer’s breath hitched and the sweetest noises left him – it was all for you.

“When things are peaceful –” “Things are never peaceful with my brothers around.” “– when the three realms are stable and at peace, then, we should get married.”

“Oh?” he asked you with a gentle chuckle.

He didn’t believe you at first – not because he had never thought about marriage before. Lucifer assumed it was more likely that you wanted to tease him than that you would beat him to a marriage proposal. His adorable, handsome, wonderful boyfriend would never surprise him by doing something so endearing and unexpected. It just wasn’t – shit! Is he really proposing to me?

Lucifer waited for a teasing “just kidding” or some kind of retreat on your part. When it doesn’t come, his eyes widen, and the heat rises visibly on his cheeks. You really want to be his husband? He already suspected as much, but to have you take the initiative and ask him to marry you was more than he expected.

When Lucifer falls, it’s hard and deep. He knows you so well. He’s so certain of his love that it doesn’t even cross his mind that it could be too early in the relationship to get married.

He glosses over the entire “when the three realms are at peace” thing, because he’s too pleased. Lucifer buries himself in the nearest part of your body he can get to – likely your chest or neck. In part, he’s trying to hide the grin on his face and the blush on his cheeks, but even with his face hidden, you can see the pink tint painting the tips of his ears.

“We already have a pact, and now you want my hand?” he murmured against your skin, sounding almost shy. “Yes. When things are –” “Why w–” “Would you stop fucking interrupting me when I’m in the middle of proposing?!” “Sorry. Do it again. I’ll behave.” His eyes softened seductively. “Asshole.” “Only when you top – and only if you’re being degrading. Usually, I’m your adoring partner.” “Do you want me to propose again or not?” “I do. Try again.”

“Lucifer, when the three realms are united, will you marry me?” Lucifer stared at you, patiently. “Well?” “Why wait?” “What do you mean?” “Why wait for peace and unity? It doesn’t matter what state the realms are in. I want to be with you. I want to be your husband, and I want you to be mine. Marry me now.”

Lucifer would be so earnest and make his argument sound so logical – but maybe it’s easier to justify something you want, too. “I’m serious. I have faith in us – in Diavolo’s plan – but if anything happens, if it takes a long time, I don’t want to wait. I want you to be my husband.”

He would kiss you tenderly and hold you close until you agree not to put off your wedding for some indefinite amount of time. He’ll be ready to go tomorrow morning if that means he can start calling you his husband sooner. How did your proposal to Lucifer turn into a proposal from him?

He’s so possessive and pompous, of course he would be excited to make you his in a more official setting.

Diavolo

You would tell him when he was already on cloud nine: after another successful event that had incorporated elements from all three worlds or after a business deal that would further entrench the Devildom in human-world culture. He had just furthered his goals. You were proud of him. You loved him, and you knew you were going to stand by his side as he achieved his dream for peace and unity, so you told him, “When you succeed – when the realms are united in peace, I want to marry you.”

“Hahaha. You’re full of surprises.”

Diavolo laughs, but it isn’t to mock you. He’s delighted by the proposal – well, admission. He’s gotten requests for marriage before, but he’s never been so happy to hear that someone wanted to marry him. It was unexpected, but he adores that you can surprise him.

It isn’t lost on him that you didn’t actually ask him to marry you or that you were willing to wait an indefinite amount of time. Who knew how long it would take him to realize his dream, but you believed in him enough to wait. The fact that you just told him what you wanted without asking him felt like you were giving him the space and time to think about it, come back, and meet you with his own feelings about marriage. Maybe he was reading into it too much, but he didn’t feel pressured, and that was a comfort. You made him feel so free, supported, and loved.

Of course, he would love to make you his – give you the whole grand royal ceremony, mark you as his partner for the whole world to see, and give you the title of “king” to match his own (because in this speculative future, the throne is his by then; he’ll have earned it.).

You both understand why it would be best to wait for his success. It can be difficult enough to get approval and ensure your safety when everyone just thinks the Demon Prince has taken a human man as his lover. Marriage might cause more instability.

Furthermore, although he doesn’t expect his workload to disappear once peace is achieved, Diavolo hopes that ensuring peace takes more effort than maintaining it. If he’s going to marry you, he wants plenty of down time to travel with his new husband after the wedding. He wants enough free time in his day to cherish you and remind you of the love he holds for you. He wants to make sure he can kiss you, and hold you, and make love to you to both of your hearts’ content. (In other words, if Diavolo commits to being your husband, he needs to meet his daily physical affection quota or he will pout for a week.)

After taking a minute to process your words, Diavolo would pull you against him and press his forehead to yours. It wouldn’t matter if you were in public, either (not to Diavolo, at least. Barbatos would scold him about it being “inappropriate” later.). With a soft, sweet smile, he would tell you, “I better work harder then. I don’t want to keep you waiting too long.” Even if everyone was staring in your direction, he would take that moment to lean in and kiss you tenderly.

Suddenly, Diavolo would feel his ambition renewed. He’d even feel motivated to get home and start on some important plans and initiatives – unless you wanted to go home with him; in which case, he would take you to bed and resume his work in the morning. Nothing could light a fire under him like his beloved partner.

After your proposal, he may occasionally flirt with you by calling you “my fiancé” or “my future husband,” but he’ll only do that in private.

Barbatos

There is no ideal time to drop the news on Barbatos that you want to marry him, which probably plays to your benefit when you tell him while he’s working. You were shadowing him – probably assisting in the kitchen or giving him a hand with some light chores (dusting, organizing, laundry, etc.). “When Lord Diavolo succeeds in uniting the three realms, do you think we could get married?”

Barbatos’s eyes would widen, and he would stop his work for a second. Even if he had used his powers, he never would have believed that this would be the path you would follow. Barbatos took in a deep breath and released it along with the tension in his body before he resumed his work. “No.”

It was your turn to pause. You hadn’t expected such a flat-out rejection, and it hurt. “Oh.” “I’m sorry, MC.” “No, it’s fine. . . but, do you mind if I ask you why not? Are we – do you not love me enough for marriage?”

Now, Barbatos felt hurt. It’s not that he didn’t love you deeply; in fact, Barbatos imagined his love for you was more eternal than most marriages claim to represent. He would vow his love to you under the moon and swear to that celestial body that his love would outlast it. The truth was much sadder.

Barbatos has a duty to serve Diavolo. It seems like the logical conclusion that he would never commit to marriage before Diavolo’s goals were achieved. You were willing to wait, but Barbatos knew that, and he was reluctant to let you.

Without using his powers, Barbatos has no idea how long it would take for that to happen. In the meantime, he wants you to enjoy life. He doesn’t want you waiting around for him for decades or centuries (because he has no intention of allowing you to limit your life to normal human lifespans). If you want to get married, and he doesn’t feel able to do that for you, Barbatos would rather see you marry someone else – certainly, you have no shortage of suitors. (We can all ignore that this is an idiotic reason, right?)

However, the main reason he turned you down is because he believes you deserve the world. Even after the realms are stable, Barbatos will still be bound to Diavolo. Maintaining that peace takes effort as well. Furthermore, Barbatos enjoys his work, and he would never give it up. His time for you would always be lacking. Surely, you would expect more from him after marriage. That wasn’t something Barbatos could give you.

He would tell you as much. “. . . That is why I must decline your proposal.” “Why? Because I’d have to wait, and you would still work for Diavolo?” “Those are not ideal conditions for a husband. You deserve more.” “First of all, we fuck under your boss’s roof. Second, we are different species from different realms. Nothing about our circumstance is ‘ideal.’ Third, I love you, and I love how our relationship works. I would never take you away from Lord Diavolo’s side. I just wanted to cement my love for you with a silly little ceremony – it’s not that important. I will stand by you, and I’ll love you then as I do now – regardless of marriage.”

Barbatos could feel his face flush with heat. He was overjoyed and overwhelmed. “We have yet to even form a pact.” “Yet? And we don’t have to have a pact if you don’t want one.” “Goodness, you are far too accommodating. May I make a proposal of my own?”

Barbatos would pull you into his arms (he had ceased working altogether after “your boss’s roof.”) and whisper into your ear. “I was wrong. I want all of you for myself. Wait for me. When success is in our grasp, I will mark you, and seal our pact. After that, I’ll make you my husband.”

He’ll sound so tender and seductive. So of course, it’s the perfect time to tease him by saying, “Then I can fuck my husband under his boss’s roof.” “Not if I take you out in the garden. After all, you look stunning in the moonlight.”

#requests #moonly-hides #lucifer #diavolo #barbatos #m!mc #ask #obey me headcanons #I think? I'm calling them headcanons okay #I hope that I wrote Lucifer as the most down-bad pathetic whimpering baby boy like he deserves #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos

221 notes · View notes

lycandrophile · 1 year ago

Text

i totally understand why some people have read my posts about my recovery experience and been a bit freaked out by it if they haven't gotten top surgery themselves yet, and i also totally understand other people who have had top surgery wanting to reassure those people so they don't get scared out of having top surgery.

what i don't love is when, in an attempt to be reassuring, other people who have had top surgery say "well, my experience was much easier than this and yours might be too. don't be scared of having this kind of recovery, because you might not!"

if you had a super smooth top surgery recovery, i'm so happy for you and i'll be the first to admit that i envy you. i'm genuinely glad you got lucky! but i also know that, when i was preparing for top surgery, i wanted to know how to prepare for if i did have a rougher time and need more support, because being pleasantly surprised by a better time than you expected is much easier than being unpleasantly surprised by difficulties no one prepared you for. trying to find out how to prepare and being met with varying degrees of "don't worry, that didn't happen to me" was infuriating. the chorus of "that didn't happen to me" didn't do anything for me when one day post-op it took three people to figure out how to lift me into a sitting position without hurting me, and i never want anyone to find themselves in a situation like that totally unprepared. i worked really hard to get ready because i'm disabled and knew my body never has a chill reaction to anything, and i want other people to be able to prepare themselves too, whether they have a specific reason to or not.

not to mention, nothing in my experiences so far has been some worst case scenario that you should pray never happens to you. none of the things i've described in my posts have been complications; it's all just natural parts of recovering. every single time my surgeon has seen me, she's assured my that i'm healing perfectly so far. so yeah, things have been rough, but this isn't a horror story that i'm telling. it's not a warning or a cautionary tale. it's all totally normal and expected, even if it is more intense than some people's experiences. it just doesn't feel great to have my experience treated as something awful when it's all just part of the process.

the confidence that comes with knowing what could happen and feeling ready to face it is such a powerful thing, and i want people to be able to have that going into their surgery. i want them to be able to trust in their knowledge of what could happen and feel equipped to handle whatever comes their way. i want them to know that it'll be worth it in the end, even if it's hard for a while. i want them to know that top surgery is a wonderful thing and is worth doing, even if it's a rough experience, and that they can have a hard time and still come out the other side thrilled with the outcome. i want them to be able to look that fear in the face and say "yeah, maybe it'll suck for a few weeks, but then i'll be so much happier for the entire rest of my life, so fuck it, let's do it."

if i've learned anything over the past week, it's that top surgery is scary but it's also so worth it. if it would make your life better, go for it. i promise, the fear will be worth it. and honestly? a lot of the scary shit isn't nearly as scary once you've experienced it and learned how to work with it.

#idk like. if your experience wasnt like mine go ahead and make your own post detailing how things went for you!#but maybe don't come onto my post and talk about your experiences as if they somehow contradict mine #don't act like i'm giving the Bad Scary Info and you have the Nice Reassuring Info that can make it all better #all of the information is important. all of it #and all of it - the really smooth recoveries and the really rough recoveries and everything in between - are just part of the process #it just. feels Bad #i'm gonna leave this mostly untagged for now i just wanted to put it out there #top surgery adventures

174 notes · View notes

thegingerwrites · 7 months ago

Text

Obikin sickfic musings

So I’ve been sick for almost the past week, pretty much unable to look at a screen or do much more than rot in my bedroom for most of it. But! I have been thinking sick fic thoughts. Especially after reading Lemon's Obi-Wan sickfic a few weeks back. What is Anakin like when he’s sick? (And how does Obi-Wan take care of him)

The Jedi don’t get sick very often and when they do, they can often be sent to the Halls of Healing or the medbay of their star destroyers to get any illness treated quickly. But sometimes that isn’t possible, common colds are too various and changeable to treat directly so it’s easier a lot of the time for them to pass on their own.

Anakin gets one while out in the field and doesn’t really notice at first. A bit of congestion, fatigue, dizziness, isn’t really enough to stop him from doing what needs to be done. Honestly, most of that is expected after pushing himself so hard for so long.

When Anakin is sick, he pushes himself too hard. He is out on a campaign, stationed on planet, and in the midst of leading the ground troops through an assault. Midway through, he stops giving orders, fully immersed in his own head and doing what needs to be done. He has a few close calls, his reflexes are slower than they should be, but they live to fight another day. Ahsoka and Rex give him a few sideways looks as they return to the ship.

Even when the battle is over, he doesn’t retire to his quarters. He stays up, heading to the hangar to catch up on some repairs he has been thinking about for weeks. He waves off attempts to get him to slow down and rest, needing to keep going until he collapses.

Ahsoka loses patience with him almost immediately and hands the situation over to Rex until he convinces her to call in reinforcements. General Kenobi is in the system, wrapping up an engagement on a neighboring planet. If anyone can tell Anakin to sit down and rest, it’s him. Thankfully, he is only an hour away.

“Anakin.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine. Did Ahsoka call you?”

“She did but I’m told the decision was seconded by Rex, your officers, and Chief Medic Kix.”

“…Traitors.”

“There are two ways this could go. You can admit that you are not feeling well and head back to your quarters to sleep of the rest of this cold with your dignity still intact.”

“Or?”

“Or I give it about ten minutes before you collapse and I have to carry you back to your quarters.”

“Fine.”

Anakin wasn’t exactly allowed to be sick when he was little. His mother took care of him as best she could, but Watto forced him to work regardless of how Anakin felt. His early years at the Temple were marked by a few bouts of illness, as his body adapted to its strange new home. He is better about recognizing illness and accepting help now but some habits are hard to break.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“My mission went exceedingly well, thanks for asking. Completed it with just enough time to wrestle unruly former padawans into bed.”

“I mean, if you want to—”

“You can barely stand, Anakin. Hold still.”

“I’m still capable of taking my own armor off.”

“Then why is it still on?”

“…I think it’s half the reason I’m still standing.”

“Come now. Clothes off.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Anakin.”

When Anakin is feeling truly miserable, every kindness shown to him is treated like a gift from the Force itself.

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m here now, in bed, resting. I promise I’m not dumb enough to run off the second you leave.”

“I know that too.”

Anakin breathes a heavy sigh that catches around the congestion in his chest. He clears his throat and nuzzles into Obi-Wan’s side.

“Thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

“For everything,” Anakin slurs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Anakin smiles at the sound of the endearment he only ever hears when he is very sick. Obi-Wan offers it up carelessly to other people but it only ever gets administered to Anakin when he is at his lowest, perhaps when Obi-Wan thinks that Anakin won’t notice or remember, or when he believes Anakin most needs to hear it. Anakin remembers every single “darling” and “dearest” and “love”. Something about them does make him feel just a little bit better.

“Are you going to make your tea?”

“You hate my tea.”

“Yes, but I like that you make it.”

“…Alright.”

Anakin doesn't like the taste of Obi-Wan's tea but he does like the way that the ceramic mug feels in his hands and the smell of the steam that wafts from it and the way it fights the chill from his low-grade fever. This time, when he holds it in his hands and shivers, it almost feels like a good thing.

Obi-Wan stays with Anakin as he falls asleep, sitting up behind him on the narrow bed in Anakin’s quarters, keeping him elevated to help with his congestion. He runs his fingers through Anakin’s hair as Anakin’s mouth falls slack and he begins to doze as well.

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick too?”

“A Jedi doesn’t get sick.”

“What do you call this then?”

“A minor setback. You’ll be on your feet again in no time. Now, rest.”

When Anakin can’t sleep and makes some truly pitiful noises, Obi-Wan agrees to read to him. Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s robes as he lets the words wash over him. It doesn’t matter what Obi-Wan is reading to him, the fact that he is here, that he cares, is more than enough. Obi-Wan presses a kiss to Anakin’s forehead just before he falls asleep again to check on his temperature.

Obi-Wan is only able to spend a few hours with him before being called back to the front. He manages to escape before Anakin’s cold takes a turn for the gross, all of the coughing and hacking that means that whatever is in his system is finally starting to break up a bit. The few hours together don’t feel like much, don’t feel like enough, but he is able to help Anakin to take care of himself and offer a bit of comfort in a time so often devoid of it.

“Master, is that Master Kenobi’s robe?”

“Yeah, he left it for me.”

“Isn’t it just a standard issue robe? You have like three of them.”

“It’s soft.”

#obikin #aniobi #obi wan/anakin #anakin/obi wan #obi wan x anakin #ficlet

54 notes · View notes

oldwritingm · 1 year ago

Note

Hi hi! Congrats on the 300 followers!! Uhm for the event can I request Miles Morales (E-1610) with the prompt 10 ("Can I just keep you?") with them just cuddling and all fluff and cute and wholesome? Okay ty

Thank you!! And here you go, some winter fluff for chilly times!!

Word count: 1.1k

ASTV - 10. "Can I just keep you?" (Miles) (300 follower event)

You were rubbing your hands together to warm them when the door opened. The second you saw Miles, you practically barged in, desperate to escape the cold. It was fortunate that you were close; otherwise he might’ve taken this as impoliteness. Instead he just laughed, closing the door behind you. “Come in, I guess.”

When he saw you breathing hot air on your fingers, he glanced out the window at the snow. “Pretty cold out there, huh?”

You nodded wordlessly, choosing not to waste your precious breath on speaking. Miles smiled fondly at you, shrugging off his jacket and putting it around your shoulders. You gripped the fabric tightly, bringing it around yourself snugly. It was quite warm; warm enough to chase away the lingering cold in a matter of seconds. “Thanks,” you said, grinning. “Now let’s get going on that homework.”

Miles’ eyes narrowed, but he gave a slow nod. Honestly, you weren’t much more enthusiastic, but one of you had to be responsible here. So you plopped your bag down on a chair at the table and pulled out your folder, gearing up to work together.

“My room has a heated fan,” Miles tempted, pointing a thumb in the direction of his room. “We should study in there.”

You had no objections to this; so, you found yourself seated on the floor, using your binder as a lap-desk while the heated fan huffed warm air at you, then Miles, then you, turning back and forth.

Miles was a smart kid, but a horrible study partner. He had no motivation to stay on topic, but when he did manage to focus for more than two seconds, he proved to be proficient in whatever he was doing. So, you really had two tasks: one, get your homework done, and two, get Miles to actually do some work.

The first would’ve been easier if Miles weren’t so determined to do literally anything else. You’d barely opened the homework packet when he started pointing out his new action figure.

“Miles,” you reprimanded, “focus.”

He blinked at you. “Sorry.”

You got a good thirty minutes in (which might’ve been a new record when it came to working with Miles) before your phones both blared at the same time.

“Amber alert?” Miles wondered aloud, reaching for his phone.

“Sounds like it,” you agreed, dismissively pressing the silent button on your own phone before stowing it away again.

Miles’ brows furrowed as he read the alert. “Nope. Severe weather warning.”

You both looked out the window at the same time. Sure enough, a blizzard thicker than the kind you could get at Dairy Queen was blustering outside, a maelstrom of huge white flakes shooting in every direction.

You shared a look. “I should call home.”

Miles nodded, dialing up his own parents while you stepped out to make your call.

When you returned, Miles was nowhere in sight. And he wasn’t the only thing that had disappeared—your homework was gone, too.

You put a hand on your hip. “Miles,” you called out, annoyance dripping from your tone.

You stepped further inside, intending to search the room for your work. As soon as you passed the threshold, the door slammed shut and Miles came launching out from behind the door to tackle you.

You let out a yelp as he dragged you down onto the bean bag in the corner. You landed on your back with Miles’ arms around your waist, his chin digging into your stomach.

“Oof,” you grunted, winded. “Miles!”

“No more homework,” Miles announced. “Weather’s too bad.”

You hummed, looking out the window. “Well, at this rate, I guess we might expect a snow day tomorrow.”

“Yep. No doubt.”

You both watched the storm for a while, listening to the soft whir of the heated fan. The warmth was starting to get to you; drowsiness slowly enveloped your body, then your brain. Your eyes didn’t seem to want to stay open anymore, and you could see that Miles had already lost a similar battle. He dozed on your stomach, looking so peaceful that you had to follow suit.

You weren’t sure how long you were out, but when you opened your eyes the window was black as pitch. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you shook Miles awake. He didn’t open his eyes, but you knew he was conscious when he gave an inquisitive hum.

“Miles, it’s late. I need to go home.”

“But the storm,” he slurred, bringing his arms tighter around you.

“I have my coat. And yours.”

“Don’t go,” he whined. “Can’t I just keep you?”

You sighed, fiddling with a lock of his hair. Looking out the window again, the cold seemed to teleport onto your skin. You shuddered, suddenly not too motivated to brave the outside world. “Maybe just a little longer.”

“Yaay,” Miles muttered, already drifting back off to sleep.

You chuckled, shaking him again. “No more napping, though. I don’t want to lose track of time.”

Miles’ lower lip stuck out in a pout, but his eyes opened at last. “Fine,” he assented. “But I’m not moving.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

You knew silence would put you both right back to sleep, so you reached for your phone. “Let’s watch something.”

Miles nodded, flipping so that his back was against your stomach and your legs were on either side of his torso. You held your phone so that it rested on his chest where you could both see it, and began browsing for something to watch.

“Can we watch Robocop?”

“I was going to put on Cat in the Hat.”

“That movie is unhinged,” you couldn’t see his face, but you knew Miles was smiling as he said it.

“Exactly.”

You said that once the movie was over, you were going home. Miles complained, but you knew that he understood that you couldn’t stay forever. So he just held one of your hands tightly, savoring your last moments together as if they were the last you’d ever have.

Roughly one hour and twenty-two minutes later, you turned off your phone as the movie’s credits began to roll. Miles leaned back, putting more of his weight on you in a clever scheme to trap you.

“Miles, you’re crushing me,” you grunted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could retaliate, your phone turned on again. It was a text from home, telling you that you should just stay at the Morales residence instead of trekking through the perilous storm, so long as it was okay with Mr. and Mrs. Morales.

Having read the text, too, Miles flipped around again so that he could look at you. He had a smug grin on his face, one that you couldn’t be entirely angry at.

“Looks like I can keep you.”

You just scoffed, pretending there wasn’t a huge smile on your face as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend, letting him do the same as you basked blissfully in each other’s warmth for the rest of the night.

Thank you so much for participating in this event!! And thank you for reading, take care duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

#astv #across the spider verse #astv x reader #miles morales #miles morales x reader #1610 miles x reader #earth 1610 miles morales #1610 miles morales

146 notes · View notes

pdpenpals · 6 months ago

Note

happy to have found your blog, love the concept!

could we maybe get a confession letter from pdh!travis? 👉👈

hi!! thank you so much, anon. hope you like the liberties i've taken with this request (you didn't specify what kind of confession it was going to be!! /silly), hehe. you'd wanna hear what this lil guy has to say, but he thinks it may be a little too much.

as expected, there’s another letter waiting for you at the usual spot. sure, it’s exciting, but you can’t help but wonder how fast it takes for your “secret admirer” (as your friends like to put it, even though you insist you're just friends) to send you a reply and leave it without you being able to catch a glimpse of him. maybe you should be scared instead. is it even possible to do that? who would have so much free time on their hands to go through the trouble of this anonymous (sorta) exchange? you two apparently.

the envelope as always is the plain white ones you can easily buy in bulk for cheap. there’s no seal, but you can easily tell it’s been shut tight by glue. you look around and find no one else within the vicinity, so you decide it should be fine to open it and start reading then and there. as usual, it's left unsigned.

My dearest cruel friend,

Re: your last letter, ouch. After how I’ve bared myself to you these past few weeks, that’s how you reply? As someone who’s been in Phoenix Drop longer than I have, I don’t think that’s very “bleeding heart” (I don't think that's the actual word they use but does anyone actually memorize the school's core values??) of you. Just kidding. Sorry.

I still wonder what life would be like if I never transferred to PD. So far acads and socializing have gotten better than expected but never easier. To be honest, what I have now isn’t exactly how I thought my high school experience here would be like. This year, I imagined going out with friends more, maybe even a nightly rendezvous with someone who’s caught my eye, but my words and I are falser than vows made in wine.

My bad, practice has been way too fun to not quote this year's play. Seriously though…

I say all that, yet here I am, spending more time at school than I should, sticking around for a while longer on campus, checking every other hour for your next letter. Before I knew it, I’d spent the majority of this semester getting to know you. Now I do, and I am sure that there’s no one else like you in this world. I guess you could say I’m absolutely smitten by you.

My friend says I should just go up to you and reveal myself already, and as much as I want to say I don’t think it’s the right time yet, or that I prefer the intimacy of being your faceless penpal (free to quarrel with you all I like in pen without being judged), I’m honestly very very afraid of what you’d think of me when we finally meet face to face. No matter how hard I try, I'll never be like said friend, forward and confident and cool.

It is as clear as day that my fate is sealed.

You’d hate to hear this, but I’ve been meaning to distract myself from our exchange by choosing to hang out more with other people, hence my slower replies. But hear me out when I say that there’ll be this little something about them that makes me think all about you, and then I’ll get upset since they will never be anything like you. So there’s no way for you to tell me that don’t think of you every day.

PS. You’ve probably figured out who I am by now, haven’t you?

#💌 — from the mailroom!#aphmau #aphblr #mystreet #mystreet x reader #phoenix drop high #phoenix drop high x reader #pdh x reader #mystreet travis #pdh travis #travis valkrum #travis x reader #travis valkrum x reader #i present thee laird anonymous with the bueno mano badge for being our first client /sillier

45 notes · View notes

ghostphys · 1 year ago

Text

Update after a week of doing this:

So it’s finally update time! Thank you all for the support on my post about this, it really meant a lot!!

I’m going to list the pros and cons of my little experiment, then add a summary/TLDR at the end of the post. This is probably going to be quite a long post as it was definitely an interesting 5 days. P.S, if you have any questions please ask! I’m 100% willing to answer.

Pros:

• My time spent studying over doubled this week. This was the most obvious pro (and the one I was kind of hoping for the most) and I’m so proud of myself for how much I managed to get done. I studied for an average of 4hours/day, whereas before I was only doing 2.

• Studying felt so much more relaxing and productive at night. This probably contributed to the increase in studying; I found I enjoyed studying more, was able to pay attention for longer periods of time, and it started to feel less like a chore, and more like a hobby.

• I started to feel more present in the moment, especially on the bus travelling to/from uni. This wasn’t something I was really expecting, but I think also was partially a result of me deleting social media (which i can totally make another post on if that’s of interest). But where I used to sleep on the bus, or even just daydream, I started to read books, look over notes, and just feel a lot more present in general, which was a fresh of breath air honestly.

• I actually felt a lot less tired while at uni. I think this is most likely due to having been awake for a while before even travelling, so I had plenty of time to wake up. As someone who suffers from both physical and mental health issues, this was really important to me and i was so so much more focused during lectures and just generally wow it was amazing.

Cons:

• Although I found it easier to study, I dedicated a lot less time to keeping my room/study area tidy. I’m not sure exactly why this was, I think maybe just moving around to tidy up at 2/3am felt a bit wrong as I was scared to make too much noise? I think the way around this would be to just tidy right before sleeping at around 6pm, but this was probably my least favourite of the cons:(

• No time for social life outside of uni. Unless your friends are all also borderline nocturnal, then yeah if you are a person who loves going out etc then this is not the schedule for you. Fortunately for me my friends already know i sleep a lot, so most of our socialising happens in between lectures during uni time. (And by that I mean going to cafés and doing even more studying).

• It was kind of hard to figure out mealtimes? Eventually I settled on only having two meals a day, but just increasing portions sizes, and having more snacks in between. This is just what worked best for me, and this wasn’t a huge con tbh, just kind of confusing at first.

• It was so much easier to just hit snooze on my alarms. Because I didn’t have to worry about a bus to catch or anything forcing me to wake up, I found myself saying ‘just five more minutes’ way more times than I should have. I definitely slept in one day sadly. I think this is definitely preventable, I’m sure there are special alarm apps to help with this sort of thing, and i’ll probably be checking that out.

Summary/TLDR: This was such a fun experience for me, I’m really super proud of myself for trying this out and for improving my studying! All in all I definitely found this to be a positive experience, obviously that’s a personal thing so please don’t take my word to be truth! But just in my experience I really found it to help my mental aspect of studying as well as just physically doing more. Although my room got a bit messier, and I kind of just got disoriented about the time of day sometimes, I definitely think these are things that could have been fixed.

Disclaimer: I only tried this for a week which is definitely not enough time to fully change your sleep schedule, and I am obviously not a professional in this field or in research. This was just a fun little experiment and a chance for me to talk about my personal experience. I’m not encouraging this behaviour or saying it is healthy. (I am not informed about the effects on health this would have long term). Do not take some random person on tumblr’s experience as a holy grail of truth or something like that.

#physics #stem #stemblr #study aesthetic #study blog #study motivation #studyblr #studying #studyspo #women in stem #studyinspo #study tips #student life #student #adhd study tips #adhd studyblr #actually adhd #adhd

142 notes · View notes

ariasakka · 3 months ago

Text

Enji and Anastasia pt 2 MDNI

Reader notes:

Female pov, Age difference, size difference, power imbalance, dominant man, submissive girl, fluff, smut, MDNI, 18+

2k words

Reader is 21, Virgin, never been in a relationship. Has olive skin, dark hair, knee length hair, amber eyes, petite figure, small chest.

Enji number 2 hero, is 35, single, no kids, never married, experienced. Lives in a penthouse.

If any of the themes in this story upset you please don’t continue to read.🩷

Not an experienced writer! I just write for fun so please don’t expect this to be the best written or a be a perfect story. If the grammar is ass I’m sorry, I didn’t ask to be poorly homeschooled my whole life. But hey at least I tried to use the correct grammar.💔

Sorry for the long awaited part 2 hope you enjoy!

All Enji/Endeavor stories written by me are under the the hashtag enjiaria

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,

You went home from the grocery store preparing your udon. You quickly eat it and go to sleep early preparing for your big day at the Endeavor Agency. You wake up anxious. The most nervous you’ve ever felt. You never cared for your previous jobs. You didn’t care much for hero’s but you knew this company was big and it would be good for your career plus the pay didn’t hurt. You questioned if you should look up what Endeavor looked like it wouldn’t hurt…no you couldn’t. You were too nervous. You would already knew what he looked like by his costume you were too scared looking at his face would worsen the anxiety he was known to be mean and cold after all. What if he looked even scarier than you imagined? Hmm what would help this anxiety you thought. You poundered and figured…the guy..Enji from the grocery store was cute..honestly thinking about his hands turn me on. I wonder..what would those thick fingers feel like inside me? Definitely could do much more than my pathetic thin small fingers could do. Thats it! Cumming helps relieve anxiety right? This can’t hurt. Off you went to touch yourself to the thought of the handsome man at the store. You had plenty of time to touch yourself before you had to get ready. You came quickly to the thought of Enji. So fast you didn’t even get the chance to put your fingers inside your cunt yet. You were dripping. Was he really so hot a few minutes of rubbing my clit could have that affect you thought? Yes. Yes he was. Hm maybe I’ll go to the store after work every now and then and see if I run into him you thought to yourself. That’ll make getting through this nerve wracking day easier I suppose. You get read for work. You shower, do you hair and makeup. Slip on a black fitted button on shirt, with a grey office skirt, black heels, and black glasses. You straightened your hair today, it was already almost straight as is but you wanted to look your best for your first day.

Off to work you go. Catching the earliest buss you can to arrive early to make a good first impression. You sigh heavily as you walk into the Endeavor agency your nerves are killing you. The building is so pretty though, there’s so much blue. Just like Endeavor’s costume. It’s a nice touch. You greet yourself to the lady at the front desk and she gives you directions to your desk. You gulp as you read the directions and notice that your desk is close to endeavors. You ask the lady why that is. She tells you that it’s because he wants you to play a bigger role, making him look good to the press with my writing, and using my art to give his merch and building an upgraded look. You stare widely into space not realizing he wanted you to play such a big role you figured he just wanted you as an entry level position. I guess that explains the pay. You had just assumed the pay was THAT good initially because it was Endeavor.

You slowly make your way up all the way to the top floor to your desk. It’s about two hallways away from Endeavors office. You nervously set all your things down and start to login to the computer. A man in a suit comes up to your desk and tells you endeavor needs to speak with you urgently. You gulp in fear and follow him. You wernt expecting to meet Endeavor for a while.

You walk into his office looking at the floor too scared to look at his face just yet. Not caring if he thinks you’re nervous you hope he’ll keep you for your art and writing skills and not your social skills..which you have close to none.

He doesn’t look at you or acknowledge you as you walk in he just looks over at your file in his hand. This isn’t anything new to him. He doesn’t see it as cold, just to the point. He also isn’t the best with social skills but to be fair that isn’t why he’s a hero.

His assistant leaves the room and closes the door behind us.

As he looks down as your folder he starts to speak and says

“I see you have good writing talent and a keen eye for art. Its the best I’ve seen yet. I was looking for someone like you for a while. I was hoping you would be able to put your writing skills to use and make me look good to the public. People think I’m mean which perhaps isn’t wrong but I want to be more liked. I also want new merch something more hip that teens would buy I figured you’d be good at that. Correct?”

You look up slowly as he’s half way finished speaking and notice that it’s Enji. No it can’t be? Your jaw drops slightly. You’re surprised that Endeavor is for one Enji?? But also that he’s so handsome you couldn’t believe people thought he was scary not after how kind he was at the store. So many thoughts were running through your head you were surprised you were not able to comprehend what he was saying to you. After he’s finished speaking he still is looking down at your file reading over your papers and what not. You chuckle softly surprised he still hasn’t looked up yet.

You

“…mmhmm yes that’s correct…Endeavor.”

Enji looks up to acknowledge you as he hears a familiar voice. Thinking to himself how it sounds like the pretty girl he met yesterday. As his eyes meet yours his mouth drops slowly and his face becomes flushed pink.

Enji

“I..you..you didn’t tell me you would be working with me?”

Feeling slightly guilty that he quite literally came to you last night. He wouldn’t have done that if he knew he’d be your boss..or would he? Maybe he liked the power imbalance. He wasn’t sure yet.

You

“I- sorry I didn’t exactly know what Endeavor looked like aside from the costume. I- I would’ve introduced myself if I knew it was you.”

Enji doesn’t reply and just stares at you admiring how good you look in that office attire. Usually not allowing women to wear skirts your length but not minding it because it’s you. He’s honestly hoping one day it’ll rise up just a little bit so he can see even more of your tan legs.

You notice him eyeing you not knowing in what context but before you know it you find yourself saying

“Or maybe I just wanted to work here after I met you last night to see you again”

Enji chuckles in a deep tone silently loving that you’re teasing with him already unlike all his other workers who are too intimidated and scared by him to dare even breathe the wrong way let alone make a joke. Even the women he’s slept with before he could tell were a bit intimidated by him. But not you. He liked it. He wondered if it was because you were 13 years younger than him and grew up in a slightly different era. Or if it was just you. Regardless he knew he was going to like you too much here.

Enji

“I..I liked your work and I was hoping to have you sign a contract to work with me until you retire. Too many people keep switching jobs and such. You’re very talented I’d like to have you stay.”

You say teasingly but serious not expecting him to ask that

“Oh! Um sure I can sign a contract Endeavor. At least I won’t have to worry about finding another job in the future.”

Enji lost in thought for a moment about how he had already wanted you to stay before and had planned on asking you but only just now did he have the bright idea of having you sign a legally binding contract to force you to stay with him forever. He started feeling slightly possessive. Knowing even if he couldn’t have you in the romantic way he wanted at the very least he could have you working for him everyday, seeing your cute face and little outfits while working under him daily.

He wanted a romantic partnership with you so badly it hurt but he figured you’d eventually get intimidated by him working with him. He was older than you, and you seemed innocent he didn’t know where to start. Being your boss and liking you is so much more difficult than meeting you at the store and asking for your number. He wanted it to lead somewhere but even if it didn’t he was perfectly fine with you being a pretty little thing to look at daily.

After he finished those thought he replied

“Please dear, call me Enji.”

You

“Are you sure? I didn’t realize you were Endeavor yesterday I don’t want to be disrespectful. Does anyone else call you Enji?”

Enji smiles softly at you while speaking to not intimidate you. Unusual for him but he finds it easy to do around you.

Enji

“I’m sure, Anastasia. If I wanted you to call me Endeavor I would’ve said so yesterday. No most of my workers don’t call me Enji but we will be seeing eachother quite often from now on so I do prefer Enji.”

You

“Alright Enji.”

You both blush at each other softly. Hoping the other doesn’t see the stupid expression on each of your faces but it’s so obvious to the both of you.

Enji pulls out some papers from his desk drawer

Enji

“Alright here’s the contract. I’m looking forward to having you at the company”

You sign the contract. Feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders as you do. You’re just happy you won’t have to worry about finding another job for the rest of your remaining work years. You were never that career oriented in your opnion. You just wanted to do what you loved and make ends meet doing so.

Enji takes the papers and thanks you. You leave his office and walk back to your desk. As you walk away Enji’s eyes are glued to your body. He loves the way your hair shines in the bright overhead lights. The way your skin looks next to the color of the skirt. When your hair moves out of the way he notices your plump behind. He can feel his hero uniform tightening on him. He’s annoyed at how badly he wants you, still.

Previous chapter

#enjiaria #bmha #endeavor #enji todoroki #mha #smut #fanfic #endeavor x reader #enji todoroki x reader #enji x reader #my hero academia #endeavor smut #enji todoroki smut #mha fanfiction #fan fic smut

27 notes · View notes