#i do want to figure out how to incorporate that into how I write him it’s just. hard

[turtle-trash]

Have I mentioned that I’ve recently started to hc ecolo as having echolalia, because I do

Honestly it started w me going "hey wouldn’t it be neat if Ecolo said their repeater (boyoyo~n) sometimes out of battle as a form of vocal stim" but yknow how it is w me, whenever I have a thought it spirals out of control

Honestly playing the final story in 20th anniv is what convinced me to solidify it, since in the beginning cutscene for it when Ecolo tells ringo that what their planing is a secret they start repeating "(it’s a) secret" which. Yea could be them saying that bc ringos trying to figure it out but it seems strange that they’d convey it that way yknow?

Also another thing that I realized while looking at the wiki page for echolalia is that what it essentially does it imitates things that have already been said and, well, that is a bit of a theme with Ecolo (their 5th spell is literally imitation)

N e ways my point is that I think it would be neat if Ecolo has echolalia

[pipermca]

New AO3 Tag Wrangling Policy and the Transformers Fandom

(This is a long one, folks, but I think it's important.)

A new tag-wrangling policy on AO3 has the potential to create some massive confusion and chaos in the Transformers fanfic community, with regards to fandom tags. There is a Reddit post about it here with a focus on anime fandoms, but I want to give some concrete examples for the Transformers fandom on why we DO NOT WANT this, and why I think it's a horrible idea.

The Problem

Basically, AO3 is looking to get rid of the "All Media Types" fandom tag across the board, either by dismantling them or just not maintaining them. The Transformers - All Media Types tag has been an all-purpose tag that you could select when your story doesn't fall into any one specific continuity. Additionally, all most (see below) TF continuities on AO3 are considered a subtag of the Transformers - All Media Types tag. For example, if you look at the link above for all works in the All Media Types tag, you will see fics that are also tagged ONLY with Transformers: Animated, because it falls under the All Media Types tag.

One exception: With the upcoming Transformers: One movie coming out imminently, there will likely be a big influx of stories tagged with Transformers: One. In fact, there are several already. However, it hasn't been linked to the larger Transformers - All Media Types tag yet. I wasn't worrying about it though, because I know these things can take time.

With information about this new tagging policy, however, I'm now wondering whether it'll EVER get linked to the All Media Types tag. If that happens, and when more continuities are developed in the coming years (since you know Hasbro loves creating new universes) this has the potential to cause massive confusion when looking for stories to read.

Searching for Stories with the New Tagging System

So let's say the All Media Types fandom tag isn't accurate anymore, because it no longer includes ALL of the continuities (such as TF:One). You will need to include ALL the Transformers continuities when browsing for TF fics.

How many tags is that? Well, here are all of the tags currently listed under the Transformers - All Media Types tag:

Note that this doesn't include Transformers: One since it hasn't been categorized yet.

You will potentially have to have 40 or more different fandom tags in your search, just in case the author tagged their story with something you weren't expecting.

This massively decreases the findability of a story.

Tagging with the New System

The email response from the Tag Wrangling group (see the linked Reddit post above) seems to be a bit flip in the response to the user's concern. "...encourages creators to tag with the media they intend."

While I appreciate what they are attempting to do, this policy change feels like a solution in search of a problem, especially in larger fandoms with multiple continuities, versions, and media types that are all cross-pollinated in both canon and fanon. While I'm focusing on Transformers fandom, imagine a creator in the DC comic universe writing a story that incorporates bits and pieces from a dozen different reboots.

For example, let's say that I am writing a fic about Ratchet. I am using the setting of the original G1 episodes, but I also am using the characterization of him as a bit of an old man grump. That characterization originated in the Animated continuity, but I want to incorporate bits of pieces of his other characterizations as well (old friend of Optimus from TFP, Ratchet ran a faction-free clinic like he did in the War for Cybertron series, he's got a Decepticon boyfriend like in IDW1 - or maybe even Cyberverse, etc.)

With this new tagging structure, I might potentially have to tag the story with ALL of those continuities. So instead of just slapping down the "All Media Types" tag (and maybe one other fandom tag that matches the characters as best I can), I'll have to analyze my story and try to figure out how best to tag for the characters I used.

And what if you're doing a completely AU version of the story? For example, a humanformers story, or merformers? Using the All Media Types tag along with a Alternate Universe - Human or Alternate Universe - Mermaid tag worked perfectly, since you weren't writing the story to fit into one specific continuity. But now, that might not be an option.

What To Do??

The first thing I would suggest is to contact AO3 (using the Feedback and Support page) and let them know (nicely) that you think this is a horrible idea. Give them some examples on how you use the All Media Types tag to find stories to read, or to help you tag a story. People outside of the Transformers fandom don't always appreciate how absolutely tangled the continuities can be with each other, and providing examples might help them see why this would be a really messy change.

Readers: Be aware that when you are looking in the All Media Types tag, it will no longer show newer continuities. And if AO3 starts dismantling that tag like they suggested they are doing, be aware that some stories won't show up in that tag like they used to. You can also create and then bookmark a custom search page that includes all 40+ continuities. REALLY annoying, but it's a workaround.

Writers: Until they start dismantling the All Media Types tag, ALWAYS ALWAYS tag your stories using Transformers - All Media Types... Especially for newer continuities. This will be especially important if you are writing a Transformers: One story. Right now, anyone who is only browsing the All Media Types tag will not see a story tagged only with Transformers: One. Make sure you're aware of how tags work and how they can affect the visibility and findability of your story.

Epilogue

Ugh. That's a lot of words for a long-weekend Saturday. And maybe I'm overreacting a tiny bit. But my work involves information architecture, and this change just absolutely baffles me. It's almost as though they want to make it harder to find stories. Considering that AO3 won a Hugo partially because of its fantastic tagging system, this change seems like AO3 is doing its best to shoot itself in the foot.

When you have a square hole, a round hole, and a rectangular hole… Yeah, you DO want each peg to go in the "right" hole. But if all of the pegs fit in the square hole, who cares? You got the job done.

I love you @ao3org, but please reconsider this change... Especially for IPs that are as old and are as varied as Transformers.

[lee-laurent]

T'es ben chix - Luke Hughes

Summary: Amélie decides Luke Hughes is the cutest boy she's ever seen, but she doesn't know how to tell him.

wc: 7k

content: fluff, a little bit of angst, kissing, panic attacks, anxiety, quick make out session, a couple dirty jokes, long distance relationship (let me know if missed anything!)

notes: don't let the title fool you, this fic is still in english!! i realized the other day while doing schoolwork that i don't have a fic that discusses being french-canadian. so... here we are! this fic was super fun for me to write and i incorporated experiences and challenges i have faced over the last few years. a lot of the mistakes that amélie makes are mistakes that i have made or that other french speakers make when speaking english bc sometimes we try to directly translate things and it just does not work lol i reallly hope you guys enjoy!!! and to any other francophones out there: let's be friends!!

just finished writing and it's about 5k words more than i was planning

Amélie honestly wasn't the biggest fan of going out back home, so going out in a place where she could barely speak the language was even worse. But a few of the girls she'd befriended had convinced her it was a good way to get to know more people and to let loose. She sat with the three other girls at a small table, her fingers drumming against the glass of her cocktail.

"Yeah, what did you think of that guy that presented today, Am?"

"Hm? He did... good."

"No, silly. Did you think he was cute?"

"Oh, um, he's... how do you say... not my type?"

"Not your type? Then what is your type, Am?"

"Probably that guy she's been making googly eyes at all night," one of the others teased.

"Who? The tall, curly haired guy in the corner?"

Amélie blushed, sipping at the alcohol for courage.

"Ooo, she's totally into him!"

"You should go talk to him, Am!"

"No... I tell you... no American boys," she waved them off.

"Well, that's too bad. Cause it looks like he's comin' over here. We'll be at the bar if you need us."

"Guys..."

But it was too late, the other girls were already up and headed towards the bar.

"Calisse," she mumbled, trying to ignore the tall figure approaching her table.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked. She looked up at him, her lips pursed. He had the same curly hair and boyish smile that her friends had been teasing her about. She really hadn't planned on talking to anyone tonight, let alone any boys. The girls knew her rule: no falling for any boys while she was in America.

"Uh... sure," she replied, gesturing to the empty chairs across from her.

He smiled, sitting down casually, rubbing his palms on his pants. "I'm Luke. I, uh, I thought I'd come introduce myslef since we, uh, made eye contact so many times."

Amélie bit her lip, nodding as he spoke. She barely knew enough English to follow what her friends were saying, and now she had to talk to some random guy at this bar she didn't even want to be at. "I, uh, I am Amélie."

"Amélie? That's a really pretty name. Did I, uh, did I say it right? Amélie?"

Her cheeks flushed, her eyes flickering down to her drink. "Yeah... that is right. Thank you." Her fingers tightened around the glass, trying to think of something to say next, but everything just came in French.

Luke could sense her hesitation, suddenly becoming way more nervous about coming over. Maybe it had been stupid. Maybe he was making her feel uncomfortable. "I just thought... I don't know. You seemed nice. Do you, uh, want to talk, or...?"

She met his gaze, taking a deep breath. He was trying and he seemed nice, like he really wanted to talk to her. "I... my English, it is not very good," her accent thickening as she spoke. "It is... hard for me."

Luke nodded, leaning forward slightly. He had teammates that didn't speak English as their first language, so he kind of knew what to expect. "That's fine. I'm sure it's better than my French. That is your first language, right? French? Sorry, I just assumed cause your name-"

"Yes, French," she cut him off, giggling at his rambling.

"I can barely say anything in French, so you've already got me beat."

His attempt to make her feel better worked... a little. "It is easier... to write. But speaking... more pressure, I forget the words lots."

"I get that. But we can just... talk slowly."

She sipped at her drink, waiting for him to continue.

"So, what brings you to Jersey? Not a lot of French people here."

"Exchange... at Rutgers. I am from Québec. Saguenay. But I come here... and I work on my English."

"That's super cool. It's awesome that you're pushing yourself to get better. I, uh, I went to Umich for a bit, but-"

"Umich?"

"Oh, right. University of Michigan. I lived in Michigan before I lived here."

"You move here because..."

"For hockey. I play hockey."

"Oh... that's cool. I like Les Canadiens. You play in the LNH?"

"The NHL? Yeah, I do. You like hockey?"

"Everyone in Québec likes hockey. Very popular."

"But you didn't know who I was," Luke teased.

"Only like Les Canadiens, sorry," she shrugged.

"Well, that's fair, I guess. The Habs are pretty big in Québec, huh?"

"Yes! My family... all big fan." She felt comfortable talking about her family, talking about home, the things she liked. Her dad watched every Habs game on TV and sometimes he'd even drive down to Montréal for a weekend to see them play.

"My family loves hockey too. Everyone plays. My mom, my dad, me, and both my brothers. It's like in our blood... or something."

"They play for... the same team?"

"One of them does. Jack, he plays with me. My other brother, Quinn, he plays in Vancouver," Luke tried to keep it casual, not wanting it to seem like he was bragging.

"Ah! The Canucks!"

"See, you know a bit about other teams," he teased.

"Shhh," she giggled. "Your family... they seem very... what's the word... talented."

"Guess you could say that."

She took another sip of her drink, her mind buzzing with questions to ask, but none of them coming to her in English. She wanted to ask more about his brothers, about how he started playing hockey, but her mouth just couldn't keep up with her brain. She also didn't want to come off as rude or obsessed with him because of his title, so she just nodded.

"You don't have to worry, you know. I'm not judging you," Luke comforted. "So, what do you do when you're learning English or watching the Habs? You got any other hobbies?"

"I like to... read. And bake... when I have time."

"Reading and baking," Luke mused. "What do you bake?"

"Everything," she giggled. "Tarte au sucre is my preferred. My mom... she always bakes with me."

"Tarte au sucre? What's that? Sugar pie?" Luke's eyes lit up. "You'll have to make me that one day. I've never had it."

"Maybe. You will have to see."

"Challenge accepted."

Amélie went to respond, but her phone buzzing stopped her. It was her friends calling, probably ready to head on to another bar. She didn't want her conversation with Luke to end, but she knew she couldn't stay there all night.

"I have to go. My friends... waiting," she sighed.

Luke's face fell a little but he nodded. "Yeah, I get it. But I, uh, this was fun."

"Me too."

There was silence for a little, neither of them wanting to be the first to say goodbye. "You should give me... your phone number. So you can try my tarte au sucre."

"Sounds like a plan," Luke said, handing his phone over for her. She typed in her name and phone number, adding a '<3' next to Amélie.

"Text me," she giggled, waving goodbye as she joined the other girls at the bar. Luke watched as the four of them started talking amongst themselves quickly, giggling as Amélie told them about her conversation with the hockey player.

He finally stood up, making his way back over to the table where his teammates were sat. Curtis raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk plastered on his face.

"Well, how'd it go, Romeo?" He leaned forward, failing to conceal his grin.

Luke rolled his eyes, "Good, actually. Really good."

Nico raised his pint, "Told you. You just had to go for it."

"So... what's next?" Curtis nudged him. "You ask for her number?"

Luke nodded, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, we'll probably meet up again."

"Probably?"

"Okay, fine. Yeah, we'll see each other again. I'm going to try her sugar pie she was talking about."

"Sugar pie? Is that what we're calling it nowadays?" Nico teased, causing the whole table to erupt in laughter.

Luke shook his head, letting the teasing slide. His mind was too focused on the girl with a French accent and promises of baking him pie. He had to see her again.

~~

Luke found texting Amélie way easier than he'd imagined. She wasn't lying when she said her writing was better than her speaking. Her texts barely ever had mistakes, in fact sometimes they were worded better than his.

They texted back and forth constantly, which earned Luke some teasing from his colleagues. In writing, Amélie was much more confident, returning his flirting with practiced ease. Her personality really shone through in a way it hadn't at the bar. She'd occasionally crack jokes, usually about how he didn't know any French and that she'd have to teach him. Their conversations flowed, talking about their days, sharing stories, discussing the schoolwork that Amélie had, and sometimes sharing pictures of their meals. Although Jack did most of Luke's cooking, he'd never admit that to the girl.

You have to come and try my tarte au sucre soon! Only if you're brave enough though ;)

Luke grinned at his phone, his fingers furiously typing back a reply.

Oh, I'm brave enough. Just let me know when, and I'll be there.

I will. Maybe next week? I need to make sure it's perfect first.

Deal.

~~

Amélie paced her apartment, making sure that everything was in order before Luke came over. She was even more nervous than she had been in the bar. She really wanted things to go well. They had decided to label the event as their first date, and although a bit informal, she was still shitting herself.

The pie was sitting on her kitchen island, untouched. She didn't want to eat any of it until Luke was there to eat it with her. She was worried he'd get in trouble because it wasn't part of his meal plan for work, but he had reassured it multiple times that it wasn't a big deal if he had a little pie.

Just as she was about to rearrange her throw pillows for the third time, there was a knock at her door. She froze mid-step, wiping her hands on her jeans as she made her way to the door.

It was just a pie. And it was just Luke. Nothing to be too worried about.

She hesitated for a moment before she pulled the door open, tilting her head back to look up at Luke. He was standing there in a Devils hoodie and some track pants, a baseball cap covering his curls. He looked relaxed, his hands tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. Amélie hated how nonchalant he looked in comparison to her.

"Hey," he greeted. "I brough my appetite, as promised."

"Good. I hope you are ready," she joked, stepping out of the way to let him in. He pulled off his shoes, taking in her cozy apartment. He laughed when his eyes landed on the big Québec flag hung behind her couch.

"I'm sure it'll be amazing. I'm looking forward to it, don't worry."

She nodded, though her nerves didn't disappear. She led him into the kitchen where the pie sat waiting. The smell of it filled the small space, warm and sweet.

"Wow, looks good, Am. Guess you weren't kidding about being a good baker."

"It's like you with hockey. My talent," she giggled, blushing as their eyes met.

"I don't know. Your baking skills may be miles ahead of my hockey skills."

"Don't lie. Let's see if it tastes as good as the smell," she grabbed a knife, finally cutting the pie into pieces. She placed a generous slice in front of Luke, taking in how comfortable he looked in the situation. She really admired how easygoing he was compared to her. It was their first date, but his demeanor made it seem like they'd been seeing each other for months. Meanwhile, her heart hadn't stopped racing since she opened the door minutes before.

Luke picked up his fork, flashing her a grin before taking his first bite. His eyes widened and he let out a pleased hum, "Holy shit, this is so good."

"You like it?"

"Are you kidding? This is like the best dessert I've ever had... don't tell my mom I said that. But really, Amélie, you've ruined all other pies for me. Can I take some home to show Jack?"

"Of course! I'm glad you like it. Is my mom's recipe."

"You should probably teach me how to make this, so I don't have to beg you every time I want some."

"I wouldn't mind," she giggled, taking a bite of her own slice. The taste reminded her of home and she suddenly felt a lot less nervous about messing up her English in front of Luke. They continued to eat their pie as they talked, shifting the conversation to more personal topics, wanting to know everything about each other.

Luke told stories about growing up with his brothers, sharing embarrassing moments from their childhoods and the occasional hockey-related mishap. Amélie found herself laughing more than she had since she'd arrived in America, her body filling with warmth.

"And that's how Jack ended up chipping his tooth. Our mom was furious, but Quinn and I thought it was hilarious," Luke explained, shaking his head at the memory.

She laughed, her shoulders shaking. "You and your brother... troublemakers," she teased, resting her chin on her hand as she listened to him talk. God, she could listen to Luke talk for hours. His accent was the cutest thing she'd ever heard and his smile curved up more on one side than the other, almost like a smirk. He was so perfect.

"Yeah, we were. Still are, I guess. But what about you? You got any fun stories about your family?"

"One time my dad, he take us to Montréal for a Habs game. And my older brother he had... he liked one girl he saw. But she was anglophone, no French. He goes up to her and he tries to talk English. But it was soooo bad. Even worse than me. He only knew maybe like three word. I think he said like 'Hey, you pretty, drink?' and she looked at him like he was... insane! He... he panicked and ran away. We bullied him for years after. Our dad, he will still talk about it at dinner sometime."

"That's brutal," Luke laughed. "Glad our first conversation didn't go like that."

"I am just better than him."

Luke shook his head, flashing his lopsided smile that made Amélie swoon. "Clearly. You've got the charm, no doubt about it."

"Maybe a little. But still I get nervous. When you arrive, I think maybe that I would die."

"You hid it well. I didn't even notice. I was the nervous one."

"You? Nervous?" she raised an eyebrow, placing her fork between her lips .

"Yeah, you were... well you are, like the prettiest girl I've ever met," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Didn't want to mess it up."

"Is that a joke? You did not... mess up. I like talking with you."

"I like talking with you too, Amélie"

~~

It was their fourth date and they were back at Amélie's apartment. Luke was sprawled out on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he playfully scrolled through one of Amélie's French-to-English learning apps.

"Come on, give me a word," Luke teased, turning to look at the girl sitting beside him with her legs tucked under her.

"Alright. Alright. Um... try... 'papillon.'"

Luke squinted, trying his hardest to translate it. "Papillon," he reapted slowly. "Uh... sounds like pasta, maybe? Wait, no, wait... um, balloon?"

She let a burst of laughter, learning back against the arm of the couch. "Non! It's butterfly!"

He groaned dramatically, throwing his head back in mock anguish. "Butterfly?! That doesn't even sound like butterfly! What?!"

"You are needing more practice," she giggled, comfortly placing a hand on his thigh.

Luke's eyes widened at her touch, but he couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, clearly I need a lot more practice. You might have to become my full-time tutor."

Amélie smiled, her fingers lingering on his thigh, sending a warmth through both of them. They'd been spending more and more time together, and things were less awkward, but still full of nervousness. The banter between them was easy, but there was an ever-growing tension gnawing at them both.

Luke reached for a throw pillow next to him, lightly tossing it at her. "Give me another one. I swear I'll get it this time."

She swatted the pillow away, but her focus had moved on from French. The space between them had slowly been shrinking and she had just noticed how close they were. She tilted her head, her eyes flickering up to meet Luke's. "I think... maybe you are better at other things than French."

Luke's grin faltered, his breath catching in his throat at her new tone. He glanced down at her hand still resting on his thigh, then back at her face, then back to her hand again. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Like... this."

Before he could question what she meant, she leaned in, her lips brushing his, testing the waters. The kiss was soft, hesitant, but the second their lips connected, everything they'd been holding back snapped into place.

Luke's hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened quickly, no longer hesitant, but instead filled with the feelings they'd been dancing around for weeks. Amélie sighed against his mouth, her hands sliding up to his chest, gripping his shirt in his fists. Luke groaned softly, the sound muffled by her lips.

Their kisses turned hungrier, more urgent, as the tension in the room built. Luke shifted, gently pushing Amélie back against the couch as he leaned over her, his body pressing against hers as their kisses grew sloppier. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Luke's hands slid up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing her cheek as the kiss deepened.

Neither of them wanted to pull away, not wanting to be the first to end the kiss. Luke realized he couldn't hold his breath any longer. He gasped for air before kissing her again, harder this time, his lips moving with more urgency than before. Amélie let out a soft, breathless moan in reponse.

They pulled away again, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to catch their breath. Luke brushed a strand of her hair, that had gotten stuck between them, out of her face. His eyes were still half-closed as he whispered, "I've wanted to kiss you for so long."

Amélie smiled, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to fill her lungs with air. She looked up at him, her lips still tingling. "Me too. I... I did not expect it to feel... like that."

"Good or bad?"

"Good," she whispered, her fingers tracing the back of his neck before pulling him in again, her lips finding his once more. There was no hesitation this time, just unfiltered desire as they gave in to the kiss.

~~

"Where you goin'?" Jack asked, pausing his video game as he heard Luke head for the door. He turned around, noticing his brother wearing his Michigan backpack. "And why do you have a backpack?"

"Amélie's place. I'm spending the night."

"Damn, Lukey boy's finally getting laid."

"Shut up, Jack... there's no confirmation that that's what happening. She just asked if I wanted to sleep over."

Jack smirked, leaning back on the couch with a knowing look. "Uh-huh, sure. You don't pack a bag just to sleep over, bro."

Luke rolled his eyes, adjusting the straps of his bag. "It's not like that. We're just hanging out, maybe watching a movie or something."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, lover boy. But just in case, be safe."

"It's not like that," Luke groaned, grabbing his keys off the counter, trying to escape Jack's teasing.

"I'm just saying! Good luck, bud!"

Luke mumbled to himself as he stepped into the hallway, heading for the elevator to the parking garage. His heart was racing more than usual, not just because of Jack's teasing but because tonight did feel different. Spending a night together was a big step in their relationship, especially since they weren't officially official yet.

They hadn't even discussed labels yet, and although they were very close, there was an unspoken worry of figuring out where things were heading. Luke really, really liked her, but he didn't want to rush anything. If Amélie wanted to take things slow, then he would take things slow.

He sat in his car, getting ready to leave when his phone buzzed.

Just picked out a movie. Hope you like rom-coms ;)

Only if we watch it in French so I can practice

Deal.

When he pulled up to her building, he practically leaped out of the car, taking his backpack with him. He knocked on her door, his heart in his throat.

Just go with the flow. No pressure

Amélie giggled when she opened the front door, dressed in one of Luke's Devils hoodies and a pair of shorts he couldn't see from under the large sweatshirt.

"Hey. You look cute," he leaned down to kiss her.

"Hey! Missed you."

"It's only been three days," he laughed, allowing her to wrap her arms around his waist, propping her chin on his chest. "You ready for my horrible French?"

"Ready for anything," she giggled as he ran a hand through her hair.

They stood in the doorway for a few moments more, before she grasped his hand and pulled him into the living room. They settled on the couch, a blanket thrown over their entwined legs.

"Am, I've been thinking..." his thumb brushing lightly against her thigh. "I don't want to overthink it anymore than I already have, but... we've been spending lots of time together. And I really like you."

"I like you too, Luke. A lot."

"Good. Because... I want this to be official. I mean, us. I want us to be official. I don't wanna be just 'hanging out' or 'seeing where things go' anymore. I want you to be my girlfriend." His voice softened at the end, his heart out on a silver platter just for her.

"You really want that?" she gushed.

Luke nodded, "Yeah. I want you. I want... us."

"I want that too," she smiled, shuffling impossibly closer to him, pecking his lips.

Luke pulled her back in for a deeper kiss, relief flooding his body. When they pulled apart, Amélie rested her forehead against his, her fingers gripping the front of his hoodie.

"So, it is official?" she whispered.

"Officially official. You're my girlfriend now."

She kissed him again, laughing into his mouth. "Well... now that we have... figured that out. You have French to practice... boyfriend."

"Let's get started then, girlfriend."

~~

"So... when do I get to meet her?" Jack grinned, knocking Luke's shoulder.

"Oh, um, I can ask her."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You can ask her?" he teased. "What, you haven't mentioned me?"

Luke sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I have, Jack. I just... didn't think you'd be so excited."

"Dude, of course I'm excited! My little brother has a girlfriend now! And you know I've gotta approve, see if she's good for you. Duh."

"She's not a test subject, Jack. I'm not bringing her so you can interrogate her."

Jack snickered, loving how flustered his brother was getting. "Relax, I'll be nice. In fact, bring her out with us and the guys this weekend. Some of the other girlfriends will be there."

"I can ask her. Just... don't be weird about it. She get's nervous."

"Me? Weird about it? Never. I'm charming."

"That's what I'm worried about."

"Come on, it'll be fun. She'll get to meet everyone, and you know the guys will love her. Plus, if she can survive a night out with us, she's a keeper."

"Look, I'll ask. But I know she's been busy with schoolwork. I'll ask her tonight. But seriously, Jack, don't freak her out. Please."

"Scout's honour, man. I'll be on my best behaviour."

"You're not a-- never mind. I'll let you know what she says."

~~

Luke laid next to Amélie in her bed, his arm draped over her waist. She was scrolling through TikTok, laughing at French words he didn't know yet. He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, peeking at the screen where some girl was speaking rapid French while doing her make up.

"Hey, Am."

"Hmm?"

"So... Jack and some of the guys are going out this weekend, and a few of the girlfriends will be there too," he paused, thinking over his next words. "Jack was, uh, wondering when he could meet you. He kind of suggested you come along."

She blinked, "Meet... all of your friends? This weekend?"

"No pressure! If you're too busy with school, I totally get it. I just thought it might be fun. Only if you want to, of course," Luke quickly added.

She bit her lip, thinking it over, and Luke could tell she was weighing her options. "I'm nervous. I would... like to meet Jack. To be... part of your world."

He pulled her body closer to his, pressing more kisses to her shoulder. "You're already part of my world, Am. And trust me, Jack's been bugging me about meeting you since our first date. He's... well, he's Jack. But he means well."

"Okay. I will come. But if Jack, he makes me feel awkward, you owe me a very good dinner."

Luke laughed, "Deal. And don't worry, I'll be there the whole time. Plus, survivng Jack means you can survive anything."

~~

"C'est très cute, non?" Amélie asked, showing her outfit off to Luke.

"You look like a millon bucks, baby," he replied, leaning down to kiss her.

"What?"

"It's... it's a saying."

She tilted her head slightly, repeating the words back to herself. "A million... bucks."

Luke thought her accent made it all the more adorable. "It means you look beautiful. Like super, super beautiful."

"English says, they are so strange. First you tell me it rains cats and dogs... now I look like I am money. You explain me all of these sometimes, yes?"

"Of course, baby. But I mean it, you looks amazing."

"Thanks, Lu. We should go?"

"If we have to," Luke pouted, leaning down to give her another kiss.

~~

Amélie gripped the straps of her purse so tightly that her knuckles were white. She had never felt so nervous in her life, not even on their first date. She had so many people to impress tonight and probably less than half the words they had in their vocabularies.

Luke was quick to notice her anxiety. She usually walked with so much confidence, but her posture was slumped and her lip was held between her teeth. "Hey, you okay?"

She nodded, but her choked voice betrayed her. "I... I don't know if I can do this."

"You'll be fine, Am," he whispered, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "Jack's going to love you, I can promise you that. And it's just a few of the guys--nothing big. And hey, some of them aren't even native English speakers themselves."

Her eyes were still full of uncertainty, her fingers busying themselves by picking at the skin around her nails. "But maybe I will say something wrong. Or they ask me things, and I do not understand them? Or they will all laugh at me."

"You've been doing so well with your English, love. And if you're ever feeling stuck, just squeeze my hand and I'll come to your rescue."

The bar was pretty empty for the most part, just a few tables of friends talking and sharing drinks. In the back corner, Jack was sitting with a few of the other guys and their better halves.

"There they are!" Jack cheered as soon as he saw them approaching, standing up to greet his brother as if he hadn't seen him in weeks. His tone was loud and confident, and Amélie could feel every set of eyes at the table move towards her and Luke.

Luke gave his brother a quick bro-hug before turning to his girlfriend. "Jack, this is Amélie. Am, this is my brother, Jack."

Amélie felt like all the moisture in her mouth had disappeared, her hand gripping Luke's with a vice-like strength. She opened her mouth to speak, but all her words got stuck. "I, uh, I... hi."

"Nice to meet you, Amélie," Jack said. "Luke's told me loads about you."

She gave him a tight lipped smile, her mind scrambling to find a response, but nothing came. She felt like the weight of everyone's expectations were holding her down. She wanted to wow everyone with perfect English, but all she could do was stand there, frozen.

"She, uh, she's a little nervous," Luke interjected. "Amélie's from Québec, she's here in Jersey to learn English. But her French is like the most impressive shit ever."

"No worries. We're just happy you're here," Nico spoke up.

Amélie forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She sat down beside Luke, her hand still gripping his with immense force. The conversation around the table picked back up, but she remained quiet.

The guys were easygoing, laughing and joking with each other, and the other girlfriends seemed just as relaxed. The more they spoke though, the harder it became for her to follow. She could pick up on bits and pieces of what was going on, but she couldn't seem to form a complete sentence in her head.

"So, how do you like Jersey so far?" one of the other girlfriends, Lexi, asked with a warm smile.

"It... it's very different. But I... I like it," she replied, her eyes not leaving Luke's hand in her lap.

"She thinks back home is wayyyy prettier. Right, babe?" Luke helped to direct her.

"Yes. Québec is very beautiful."

"So what brought you here?" Jack asked, desperately wanting to know more about the girl that had stolen his brother's heart. "School?"

She bit her lip, trying her best to think of how to reply in English. "Yes... I.... study at Rutgers. Exchange."

"That's awesome. What're you studying?"

Her mind went completely blank. She'd even rehearsed answering that exact question, but now, with everyone looking at her, the words were gone. Her hand tightened around Luke's again, taking a sip of water to clear her throat.

"She's studying communications and media. But the point of her exchange is to work on her English skills."

"That's sick," Jack nodded along.

The conversation around her continued, a few questions being tossed her way but her responses were usually just a few words, the gaps being filled in by Luke. The group eventually moved on to a story that Nico was telling, and Amélie used the shift of attention to shrink into herself further. She let Luke rest his hand on her bouncing knee in an attempt to calm her nerves, but his touch felt foreign in the situation.

After what felt like hours, but had most likely only been half an hour, she leaned close to Luke, whispering in his ear. "Je vais aux toilettes." She stood up before he could respond, scurrying off to the bathroom.

Jack shot Luke a curious glance, but he just shrugged, trying to mask his own worry.

Amélie slipped into the bathroom, pressing her hands against the sink as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She felt like she was suffocating, her eyes burning with unshed tears. She hated feeling like an outsider, not being able to connect with Luke's world outside of her.

She wiped under her eyes, praying that her mascara didn't run. She didn't want anyone to know she'd been crying in the bathroom. She just wanted to be like the other girls at the table--relaxed and confident, going with the flow of the conversation.

With one last deep breath, she made her way back to the table. Luke looked up at her as she approached. He could tell something was off.

"Everything okay?"

She just nodded, falling back into her silence at the table. She laughed when everyone else laughed, smiling politely when someone made a remark towards her. Luke had never seen her so quiet in his life, not even on the first day that they met. By the time everyone had left the bar, her anxiety was so bad she thought she might puke.

Luke opened the car door for her, and she slid in, staring blankly out the window. The silence between them was heavy. Luke could feel it too, his fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel.

"Am, what's wrong? You've been quiet all night. You barely said a thing."

The tears that she had been fighting so hard to keep at bay finally spilled out. "I... I feel so stupid. I-I couldn't even talk to them. I couldn't even... act normal."

He reached out, placing a hand on her thigh. His heart clenched at her words. "You're not stupid, Am. You're doing amazing. You're learning a whole new language, that's huge."

"But I had to have you help on everything. I could... not even answer Jack's questions. They normally think... I'm dumb. Not good for you." She wiped at her eyes, frustrated with herself for crying.

"Amélie, baby. No one thinks you're dumb. And you are more than good enough for me--don't you ever doubt that. Jack loved meeting you. Everyone did. I could tell. They don't care if you need some help speaking English. Hell, some of those guys could use the help speaking English."

"I wanted... to be better. To show I can do this. But I feel...lost."

"You don't have to show anyone that you can do anything. Not to me, not to Jack, not to anyone. I love you for--"

"You love me?"

"Of course I do, Am. I... I didn't want to admit it like this. But... I am so in love with you, Amélie."

"I love you too, Luke. Sorry if I... embarrass you tonight."

"You could never embarrass me, Am. Never ever."

"I-"

"Nope, that's enough out of you. Let's go back to yours and watch that stupid cop show you like."

"Mensonges?"

"If that's what it's called, then yes."

"I love you, Lu."

"I love you too, Am."

~~

"I don't know, Jack. She was so nervous last time..."

"But last time there were other people there too. Just tell her you've got the place to yourself for the night and then I'll walk in a couple hours later and be like 'Oh! Sorry, my plans got cancelled.' And then we can all hangout," Jack suggested.

"I'm not going to lie to her. I'll just ask if she wants to spend the night."

"Come on, Rusty! You know I'm just trying to help her relax around me. You're making it sound like a big deal. It's not! She's your girlfriend, and I want to get to know her. Plus, I'll make it fun! I'm good with people."

"I appreciate the thought, Jack. But I want her to feel comfortable, not tricked. So I'll just ask her if she wants to come over and spend the night. No tricks."

"Fine, fine. Let me know what she says."

"I will. Just... don't be an idiot."

~~

Amélie followed Luke into his apartment, her backpack thrown over his shoulder. She looked around, noticing how painfully obvious it was that two men lived there.

"I'm just gonna put your bag in my room. You wanna go make yourself comfortable on the couch?"

"Sure."

She sat down, curling her legs under herself, glancing around the living room. She picked up the remote off the coffee table, fiddling with while she waited for Luke.

"You good?"

"Yeah. Just... taking in. It is very... you."

"What, you mean messy?"

She giggled, then tension in her shoulders disappearing. "Maybe... un peu."

"Hey, it's organized chaos, baby. I know where everything is. Well... most of the time."

"I like it. Feels... comfortable. Like you."

"That's all I want, babe. For you to be comfortable."

"Where's Jack?"

"Probably in his room. Why? Wanna talk with him?"

Amélie quickly shook her head, her eyes widening. "No, no... just wonder. I don't want to... bother him."

"You're not bothering him. He's probably playing video games or doing some stupid shit. He'll come out here eventually."

The last time she'd been around Jack, she hadn't been able to shake her nerves. Tonight, she was determined to make a better impression, even if she still felt like puking.

Luke gently nudged her with his elbow. "Hey, you're good, Am. Jack's chill. You don't have to be nervous."

"I know... just... want him to like me."

"He already likes you," Luke reassured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "He wouldn't shut up about how cool you were after the last time."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I wouldn't lie to you, silly."

"Love you, Lu."

"Love you too," he leaned in to kiss her when footsteps pulled them apart.

"Aww, did I interrupt a moment?" Jack's teasing voice came from the doorway.

"Relax, Jack. We were just talking... about you."

"Oh yeah?" Jack pushed himself off the wall, making his way to the couch. "All good things, I hope."

"Duh," Luke squeezed Amélie's hand, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. "Amélie was just asking what you were up to."

"Probably nothing interesting compared to you lovebirds. Was talking to Trevor--can't let Luke get ahead of me in the whole having a life department."

She tried to think of a quick response to his joke, but came up with nothing she deemed funny enough.

"Luke tells me you like studying here cause it's different. How so?"

"Um, everything... is feeling bigger here. The city, the campus. And obviously... English. There is like... zero English in my town. We use some words... but not lots."

"Well, seems like you're doing great. Don't stress it. Plus you've got this guy," he gestured to Luke, "to help you out, right?"

She blushed, "Yes, Lu is... super."

Luke grinned, leaning in and whispering, "Told you he likes you."

~~

"I don't know how I'm gonna survive without you, Am," Luke admitted, wiping the tears from his face. His usually calm, relaxed demeanor was gone, replaced with a raw vulnerability.

Amélie had told herself she wasn't going to cry, but seeing Luke cry made that impossible. Her tears had started as soon as his had. "You will, Lu. You are so strong. And... I will not be gone forever."

He shook his head, intertwining their fingers. "I know, but... shit's gonna feel so different without you here. I'm used to having you here all the time. And now I won't see you until summer. I don't know how to do that."

"You'll have Jack, the guys, your family. I'm just... a plane away. We will FaceTime, and before you know... I am back. And I will meet Quinn... and your parents."

Luke rested his head in her lap, letting her run her fingers through his hair. She could feel his tears soaking the fabric of her jeans. "I'm gonna miss you so fucking much, Am."

"I'll miss you too, Lu. So, so much."

They stayed like that for a long time, just wrapped in each other's embraces. Neither of them wanted to let go. Neither of them wanted to admit how hard the next few months would be. They just wanted to stay together... forever.

~~

Amélie was sitting at her desk, her phone propped up against her water bottle as Luke's face filled the screen. His hair was a mess and his eyes drooping. She could tell he had just gotten home from practice.

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted.

"Hey, you," she replied, resting her chin on her hand. "How was practice?"

"Exhausting," he groaned. "But seeing your face makes it better."

Amélie blushed, biting her lip as she smiled. Before she could respond, she heard her brothers' voices coming from down the hall.

"Ah, c'est qui, Amélie?" (who is it, Amélie?)

"Son chum?" the other laughed. (her boyfriend?)

"Ahhh, mais Luke, t'es ben chix." (Ahhh, but Luke, you're so hot.)

"Ferme ta gueule!" Amélie shouted. (Shut your mouth!)

Luke burst out laughing at the look on his girlfriend's face. "What're they saying?"

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "They're being idiots. Teasing me about you."

"Teasing, huh?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "What did they say? Come on, tell me."

She sighed, getting closer to the camera with a small smirk. "They said you're... how would that translate.... that you're 'hot.'"

"Oh, did they know? You must have good pictures of me hanging up then, huh?"

"They're just being annoying. They think it's funny to tease me because I love an American."

"Well, tell them I appreciate the compliment. And tell them I say 'hi'," he teased.

Amélie shook her head but shouted, "Luke dit bonjour!"

From the hallway, her brothers responded with exaggerated greetings in their broken English, making the couple laugh.

"They're something else, huh? I can't wait to meet them one day."

"They'll probably want you to ask Cole for free Habs tickets. But... in a few weeks, I'll be back and I'll get to meet all of your family."

Luke's eye lit up at the thought. "I know! I've been counting down the days, baby. I can't wait for you to be here again!"

"Me neither. Excited to meet Quinn and your parents."

"Yeah, my mom's super excited to meet you!"

"I'm a little nervous though."

"Don't be! They are gonna love you so much, Am!"

"I love you, Lu."

"I love you more, Amélie. Only a few more weeks, then we'll be together again. I can't wait."

"You promise?"

"I promise. And I'm gonna spoil you so much. Just you, me, and the lake."

"Can't wait."

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 8 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: you and stanley go fishing 

warnings (TW): swearing, panic attack/panic-inducing scenarios, slight gore/violence 

tags: mutual-pining, fluff, angst, action, affection

notes: idk anything about ice fishing so pls don’t get my ass for this okay, this was v different to write than my usual long drawn out heart gutting character analyses that I love (not that that is NOT here) but all the movement was deffff hard so it took me a minute but hey this is what I wanted imma do it ya know 

Also i configured this chapter in like three separate ways in my head and it was so hard to chose? But i think the one i did end up writing is most true to their dynamic so far. To be of note for the v stubble reference im giving here but yall know The Kiss by painter Gustav Klimt? Ya… that…. Thats here (spot it if you can) as always thank you for the kind messages and notes and comments, love yall <3 also comment below if you'd like to be on a tag list I should maybe organize that hehe

word count: 6.5k

| masterlist | ix |

January, 1987

She had found them both nice fold-out chairs at the flea market just that last season, along with fishing poles the nice old man insisted went with the seats also. Talked her ear off about how he used to go ice fishing with his son, before said son went off to college. 

Now he wouldn’t be home during the ice fishing season, so he saw no use for his chairs or his poles. But she did. 

Stan would tell her flippantly about his youth from time to time, usually if not always said stories incorporated Stanford in one way or another. It seemed that the two barely, if ever, separated during their youth. Something that upset her more, that her friend had never spoken of his brother to her in the six years they had known each other. She didn’t think he would speak of it all as fondly, these memories, considering he never confided in her about Stanley, to begin with. 

Stan would speak of the shoreline in New Jersey, of the sharp sand beneath his feet and hidden caves along the coast they both would trek through. Talk of the setting sun, of racing his brother home in the dark down paved streets back to their shared room. 

He spoke most fondly of a boat though, one that had taken both twins years to configure. 

She figured the fishing poles could be some sort of link, at least in her mind. 

That and they spent some of their summers down by the dock at the local lake anyway. Splashing in windy tides off the dock and watching boats go by until sunset was a great way to cool off. That or revisiting the pool, where Stan would insist upon ice cream for the short drive home. 

She figured he would wait for the season opener to go fishing. Considering she gave him the poles and chairs in December, a quick wave to Christmas, a holiday he laughed off on the regular. He would routinely celebrate it with her, just for the holiday cookies and cheesy movies he wouldn’t admit he loved. But he was Jewish, after all. At least raised in a Jewish household, he told her flippantly, after opening his gift this last December. Laughing at her blushing face, and flabbergasted stuttering, asking him why he would bother with all this. She sat straight when he said it was for her. Because she wanted to, so he would. Not that he was a religious man, anyway. 

He found it amusing this holiday season then, to find her struggling to make some traditional dishes his mother would make each year come December for the holidays. Nothing he necessarily missed, but something he found endearing nonetheless. Her usual attention to detail, and odd need to ensure his comfort. 

The fishing poles were a welcomed gift though, and he lit up at them and the differing tackles the nice man at the flea market had also gifted her. Hugged her into his side, while he ranted and raved about being able to fish off the docks come summer. 

But he didn’t want to wait. 

Something she thought rather glumly in the very early morning that January weekday. The sun not even having made its appearance, she had stumbled out of her bed around 4 a.m., having promised to reluctantly go ice fishing with said enthusiastic man. They stood before the porch door now, while he knelt in front of her, lacing up tall winter boots and pulling over her snow pants. Tucking her in, layer upon layer. Putting to use some winter clothes they both had rangled out of donation bins that very first cold season. The snow pants and boots had only ever really been used when they would trek through the outskirts of the woods, searching for clues to Stanford’s other journals. 

She was still half asleep on her feet, falling forward into Stan’s bent shoulder in front of her to groan. For some reason, he was wide awake, and grinning like a fool despite it being 4 a.m. That dumb look on his face reminded her why she even crawled out of her cacoon of blankets. He was beyond happy to be able to go fishing. Something he couldn’t even wait for a warmer season to do. 

He seemed a smidge like his younger self when he was closest to water. Some of his favorite memories are those ones with Stanford by his side and sand intertwined in his hair. His skin dark in the sun and his toes were deep in the tide of the sand. 

It seemed more distant now, as distant as Ford was to him now. He wanted to ground himself here too, and some of his new favorite memories are of them hanging at the end of the dock. His feet in the cold water of the lake, and her nudging his shoulder. Teasing him, edging him off the docks’ wood and into the cold water with her. He preferred the summer to the snowy winters, but he figured they could make some new memories by the water now also. Even if they were colder ones. 

So he more or less begged her to join him. Promising that he would handle the fish after she made a disgusted face at the thought of stripping the fish of their skin and bones for the meal they would make of the catch. She agreed though, happy to tag along if it pleased him. 

He stood from his knelt position in front of her, standing to reach behind him to grab his red coat from the coat rack. Turning back to her to fold her arms into the coat also, her eyes still blurry as she smiled at him slightly giddy. 

He had a gift for her that last December also. A coat folded into shitty wrapping newspaper he had thought to repurpose. She smiled at the blue coat but quickly became confused when she pulled it out of the wrapping to find it was far too big for her own physique to be for her. He had quickly pulled out another present for her, presenting her with another newspaper-wrapped gift. Which she tore open with haste, and rocked up quickly to her feet to dance around their small living room, his old red coat in her arms. 

It was hers now, and she reveled in the shitty coat. His smell still lingered in the seam line, and when she leaned her head far back into the hood she could pick up on his shampoo. It kept her warm, despite also not fitting her physique. 

He had woken up earlier than her that morning, putting the appropriate supplies for ice picking into the trunk next to their foldable chairs, the tackles, and the fishing hooks. So they made their way out into the dark, ducking into the car next to each other to make for the lake in the early morning. 

She hummed along to the radio as per usual, random songs interspersed in between the local morning forecast. She stopped though now, picking her head up from the back of the seat to look over at Stan. 

“We missed the entrance to the dock.” 

“Nah there's another one we can go to. Farther down, less people.” 

She hummed, smiling over at him. What he actually meant was there would be no lake office to report to. So no need to register them for the lake that day, and no stupid state fee to pay for fishing on the lake. Amused at his shortcuts, she turns back to watch the pine trees pass out the car window. 

It was a sharp, nose-burning 10 degrees Fahrenheit that day, according to the radio forecast. Only made worse somehow with the creeping darkness from the horizon line. The sun slinked slowly in the coldness of January. 

He made his way out first, the car’s cabin light flashing on as he grinned over at her. Securing his blue coat closed quickly before getting out to stomp a path in the fresh snow around the car. Pulling around the sides to pull open her door, before chugging around to the trunk to unload the supplies he claimed they needed. 

She knew how to fish, but had never ventured into ice fishing. Mainly because the cold was beyond unappealing to her. But the thermos Stan had presented to her before making out the door that morning heated her hands enough to dismiss the onslaught of negativity thrumming through her. And partially woke her up on the drive over. Stepping out into the crunchy cold snow to help Stan gather supplies. 

He shuffled her chair into her hands, slugging everything else into his own broad arms. He could reasonably carry everything, stomping forward in the snow to make a path for her to follow in. 

They had made a spot on the ice, the snowy shoreline a good bit away. Stan claiming the best spots must be farther out. Because the farther out, the bigger the fish. She sat, glancing around the empty ice. When Stan meant fewer people he meant no people. A frozen dock far off near the shoreline also, its wooden structure covered in ice. She watched him now, the fishing poles cradled in her lap, and the thermos warm in her hands. He’s bent in front of her, his mittened hands working an ice auger to break a solid hole through the thick layer of ice. 

Grunting, he stands back up, hands on his hips admiring his work. 

“Is the ice too thin here?” She observes. 

He tilts his head left, turning to her now. “No, doll. Perfectly fine right here. We’ll only be here until a little after sunrise anyway.” 

He sits in his own foldable chair that she had set up for him while he was finagling with the ice. Their chairs positioned side by side, a little distance between them and the whole he had just made. He reaches between them, opening up the tackle box to shuffle around drawers, looking for something in its depth. 

“Close your eyes, hun.” 

She rolls her eyes, closing them, while shuffling the thermos between her thighs to hold out her hands in wait. He places something in her mittened hands, it’s slightly heavy in them now. 

“Open ‘em.” 

She opens them to see an odd black contraption in her hands. Two knobs, a dark screen, and a long antenna on what she presumes is a battery-powered electronic. Almost too dark to make out what it was, but it hit her and she gasped. 

“Ta-Da!” 

“A radio!” She sings, clutching it closer to her chest and swinging in her seat to knock her knees with his. Clawing at his shoulder to fold herself into his neck and coat’s furry trim. She wouldn’t question where he got it, just revel that he had thought to, for her. 

“I know you weren’t too eager to go fishing with me, doll. But I figured this could make up for some of it.” He chuckled, readjusting his hat on his head after they pulled away. Knee’s still knocking between them. 

“I’d do anything with you Stan.” She hums, unthinking, as she looks down at the device in her hands. Tweaking around the knobs and the antenna to turn it on. She misses his flush next to her. 

She gets it working quickly, the music faintly staticy in the background of Stan attempting to put lures at the end of their poles. 

He gets her’s ready first, leaning forward in his seat to situate the pole in her hands. Pointing out the slack line and the type of lure he put on the end of her pole. She’s too distracted, like she always is when he’s probably explaining something vaguely important. 

The music hums between them, perched on the tackle box he had closed. His cheeks flushed from the cold, his hat slumping down the back of his head, hair peeking out around the rim and sticking to his forehead. He leans in closer, his knee and thigh along her own. His own covered hand reaching for hers, folding it around the pole for her to hold. 

They enjoy each other's company until the sun peaks up along the horizon, a good hour in. As they pass the coffee-filled thermos back and forth, she hums to the radio. Enjoying stories Stan told about tourists from the end of the last season. Telling her about their ridiculous questions he had to work around last minute. 

“Then he asked me if they were extinct!” 

“What you tell him?” 

“Well he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and he got all teary-eyed when he asked me.” Stan waves his hand around, drumming up the memory of when a child had asked him if the fake displayed plady-beaver was the last of its kind. 

“Annnnddd?” She hums, sipping on the last of their shared beverage. 

“And I may or may not have said they were not.” He shrugs. “Was easy to convince the kid’s dad to buy him a plushy.” 

She laughs, thinking about the stupid merchandise she’s still not used to, that she sometimes restocked in the front of the house. But of course, Stan didn’t have the heart to really crush the kid’s spirit. Sad kids equaled less money probably, in his mind. That and he had a weird affinity of being about to communicate with them like no other. 

There’s a tug on her line suddenly, not the first in the hour they’d been at their spot, but the first real strong one she’s ever felt. Jerking her pole, bending it forward. Both her hands met the pole, yanked straight in her seat suddenly. 

“Woah!” He says, sitting forward and reaching for her pole also. His hands encased hers around the pole. “Hold it tight, hun.” Grunting in her ear. 

But the pulling got worse, had them both standing from their chairs. His arms around hers, helping her reel back the pole, pulling it back towards his left shoulder. His arms encasing her, pulling her flush with his front. 

“I gotcha.” He grunts again, close to her ear. 

“Do you?” Gasping at the strength of the pull along the pole. 

It seems to drag them closer and closer to the ice hole he had put in the ground not even an hour ago. His feet planted firm, yet scrapping against the ice. Hers fumbling, dipping under the strength of being pulled forward. Her hands tight, beginning to sweat and ache in the casing of her mittens. A heat around the ring of her hat. He’s hot behind her, warmth seeping out from his coat and onto her back. He feels firm, and yet they both continue a slow crawl forward. 

Until it tugs. It tugs so hard that she instinctually releases her grip. Her hands were still steady against the pole though, still beneath Stan’s own hands. 

The jerk has them both flung forward, his feet no longer steady, flipping against the ice. She’s still between his arms when they fall forward, inching towards the hole. He turns them somehow, taking the brunt of it on his right shoulder. 

Her head swims, having met the ground rather suddenly. But she’s between his arms, her hands having let go of the fishing pole. He’d let them slip from the pole, his arms tight around her, trying to take the force of the impact. 

“Stan.” She mutters, mushy between them. Her head pounded for a minute, as they continued to slide against the ice. His chin propped on her head, warm around her still. 

He doesn’t respond, because he’s given no time to. Another harsh tug on the pole sent him forward quickly towards the hole. He thinks fast though, bending his arms, hooking his feet along her legs, and pulling her out of his grasp. 

She slides along the ice and snow, his push along her legs and waist burned. She turned, pushing herself up on her hands. Grasping at the snow to get some balance. She had run into the chairs and tackle box. All their supplies scattered along the ice. The radio was static behind her. 

It had all happened so fast, her voice cracking in the cold air. Calling his name but not finding him. One moment he was there, the next gone. The water still. 

They had been pulled forward so suddenly, a quick five-second span between the tug and her head meeting the ice. And he was gone as soon as she had lifted herself again, the ice cracking along the sides of the former small hole. 

“Stanley!” Scrapping, crawling towards the hole. The surface wet and slick from the cold lake water that had seeped through the cracks along the hole now. Stan’s visage far from view, the top of the water dark. 

She stares in what feels like forever but is only quantifiable in the movements of the sun. It’s rising now, around her. Sparkling on the ice and water around her. Something she’d marvel at, have her grasping at Stan’s shoulder. Nudging him to see as she does. 

She thinks only briefly before shucking off her hat and gloves, beginning to unlace her boots. She’d follow him, into the dark depths. 

A deep continuous thump. Running along the ice. First near her feet, then farther and farther from her. It has her racing towards it, the vibrations along the ice guiding her along. It must be him, must be that something that pulled him into the dark murky water. The rhythmic thudding has her racing back to the supplies. Fumbling for the axe Stan had packed to help pick out the ice in the hole. 

Running full force back, the ice cracking beneath her legs. Shoelaces dancing around her feet, her fingers nippy and uncovered around the wooden handle of the axe.

It cracks, sickenly loud and sudden. Water bursts beneath her shoes, seeping up and around her. The ground opens up in front of her, splitting along the horizon line. A flash of blue precariously balanced in the large maw of a blurred creature. 

It shakes the ice, splintering and fracturing it below her feet. The weight of the creature resting the front of its body along the ice. Shaking the striking blue figure in its jaw, trying to subdue it. 

She stands still in the ankle-deep water, trying to make out the blurry figure in the maw of the anomaly. It strikes her then that it could be nothing else but Stanley, confirmed by the sputtering grunts the figure heaves, coughing up cold water from his lungs. 

She stands frozen only until then, stepping forward into the slowly sinking ice bath. Ax swung behind her shoulder, ready to slice along the neck of the beast in hopes it would release her husband. 

He clamors in the cage of teeth above. Raised his large hand into a well-practiced fist, blindly throwing said fist to meet the eye of the beast. 

The hit startles the beast, cracking open its jaw to release Stan, a sudden sharp screech creeping up its large neck through its throat. Rattling her bones as she leaps forward in the ice and water, bringing the ax into the meat of the beast's neck. 

It crawls back further, slinking back into the dark cold waters. She stumbles back through the ice and the water until she feels snow beneath her unlaced boots again, the ax gone from her grasp and embedded in the skin of the anomaly. The beast is there and gone in a flash, scrambling back beneath the water. 

Stan has the air knocked out of him, having landed on his back. His head cracked against the ice and water below, the cold creeping in through his clothes. He opens his mouth to groan but finds only his shallow breath and the puff of heated air leaves his mouth. The sun creeping above the horizon now, something he can only gauge by the heat on his face. The rest of him rock solid and shivering under the weight of his wet clothes. 

A sudden eclipse above his head, the sun, and shadows shaded by a beautiful face. Her face shadowed by the sun, her hat gone and her hair spilling all around her head like a halo. Her cheeks flush from the cold, from the adrenaline. It could be the cold or the way the light looks around her head, but he swore she must have been an angel. 

He’s muttering when she finally reaches him, stumbling through the cracked ice and wet water. Her only thought was getting to him. He was beyond sense when she did make it to him, clutching at his tattered and soaked blue coat. He was soaked, drenched to the bone. His hat gone and his hair icy along his head, his gloves gone also, a boot missing from his left foot. And he’s drenched. It all stuck to his body, freezing quickly in the icy temperature. She had to get him home, get him out of these clothes, and heat him up. 

She runs her hands along his coat first, checking for punctures, for blood. He had been dragged several yards under the water in the toothy jaw of said beast. But no punctures and no blood made themselves apparent through his coat. Something she’ll have to access later. 

A thump along the ice has her whipping her head around. The vibration rippling along the ice and the shards of the broken lake surface. The beast lingered in the area, waiting for them to be off guard again. 

She wastes no time, lifting Stan’s large arm up and above her shoulder. Leveraging his body up to be leaned against her side and her back. All those stories about mothers and daughters and adrenaline ring in her head, a truth to the stories of women and abnormal strength in times of strife. She would ache tomorrow, and be glad of it anyways. 

He unconsciously shuffles his feet, and she makes note that he’s somewhat conscious. The ice helps her slip them both along the good hundred yards she has until they reach the shoreline. Their supplies the least of her worries, and the anxious thought of the beast meeting her back out there in the wreckage of it all. She does not turn back to look when abandoning it all. 

It’s harder folding his stiff body into the passenger seat. His legs flopped into the car last. She curses, reaching over him to buckle him in and then making for the driver's side. She rarely drove them, it was more of a special occasion between the two of them. She had only ever driven once in the winter and had been deeply scared of the slipping ice and heavy snowfall. But the sky was clear and she’d put the thought of ice away for a long while. 

She curses again, reaching over to Stan to feel up the inside of his coat pockets for the keys. He stirs at the movement, shrugging off her touch, shivering in his seat. 

“Not Doc’.” He mutters, his head spinning. 

“What?” 

“You’re not Doc’.” He grunts again, his lips loose. His head hurts like a motherfucker. 

“I am!” She hisses, hands pushing his away, reaching for his pockets again, looking for the keys. 

“Oh.” He looks back, eyes blurry under the odd pressure along the back of his head. This person sounded like his wife, he’d admit. Shifting his head to lean against the back of the long bench, making out the flush on her face and the halo of hair around her head. He thought this was his angel? He guessed it was the same thing in his mind, anyway. 

She’s still ruffling through his soaked half-frozen jacket. “Hi, angel.” He says, smiling down at her frusstrated face. Why was she so frazzled? 

He’s grinning like an idiot, and he just acted like he didn’t know who she was. Like she wasn’t her. Calling her angel? He’d only ever done that in her dream. That achingly sick dream she had of them, of them in this very car. Of his weight above her, of his breath along the crook of her neck. Of his kiss. 

She shakes it off. Finally finding the keys folded into a very frozen and flat pocket along his chest. Turning back to the wheel, starting the car up, and peeling out of the parkway backward. Leaving the same way they had come in. 

She races home, glancing over at Stan stiff in the passenger seat. His eyes hadn’t left her figure but seemed distant. His thoughts far beyond him, and his coat and pants were frozen against him. His hair melts off his head in the car, still wet but no longer frozen to his scalp. Messy wet hair tucked around his big ears. 

She parks and throws open doors as quickly as she physically can. Slipping in the snow, tripping over her loose boots. Fingers frigid when she reaches for him to move him out of the passenger side. 

She knows the signs of hypothermia. Knows the dangers of prolonged exposure to cold, and dropping body temperature. Doing math in her head, hoping he had been exposed short enough for her to physically raise his temperature before his heart began to slow. Before blood began to sludge its way through his veins. 

He looks as blue as his coat, his arm slugged back over her shoulder as she attempts to get him up the stairs. The slurred speech, the confusion, the dulled skin. It made her heart race, taking steps two at a time to drag him to the upstairs restroom. To the bath. 

She sets him against the open door, running and slipping along the tile, turning on the bath to its warmest temperature. The water would be scalding against his cold skin, would sting and tingle in contrast to his wet clothes, but it was the only way she thought to raise his temperature. 

She rushes back to him, kneeling in front of him, grabbing at his coat and pants to pull the wet clothes from him. He’s smiling again, giggling at her attempt to uncloth him. 

“Could have asked hun.” He jokes, but she cries. He’s so out of it, so gone from this reality and it shakes her bones. He’s here and not all at once. 

He thinks he sees her clearer here in the yellow bathroom light, hot fog swelling around them from the facet. She has her hands all over him, eager to get him out of wet clothes that stick hard against his body. Didn’t she know? That all she had to do was ask and he would shed any layer to get closer to her? He giggles again, leaning into her hot hands against his cold blue body. 

She manages to get everything but his boxers and socks off him, a flush to her face. Not for lacking of trying though, but Stan would laugh and shake her hand away. Muttering under his breath between them when she would reach for the waistband of his usual blue loose boxers. So she luggs his wingspan along her back again, leveraging him up to move him to the scalding water. Heat bubbling up in clouds around the water. Bruises along his chest have begun to form from the pressure and weight of the beast's teeth and jaw. They’d turn purple and swell soon, a good sign she sighed. A swell meant blood was flowing fast still.

He hisses, his head rocking back along the edge of the clawed tub when he finally is able to sit in the water. It’s hot, too hot. It hurts to breathe in the heat, and he attempts to lift his lungs above the water to gain air again. The muggy water hurts his skin and burns him. But her hand meets his chest, pushing him back into the scalding water. 

“Stay.” She commands, eyes wavering when she looks at him now. Melted into the porcelain of the tub. He’s still shivering. He doesn’t even register it but his body has been shaking, vibrating, this entire time. Moving his muscles in an attempt to warm him up. 

She reaches to turn the hot water back on, cursing, beating her hand along the rim of the tub when the water comes out cold. It’s all gone. She looks down at him again, her hand moving along his chest, trying to generate heat where her hand was. “Stay, Stan. Stay in the fucking water.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He mutters, still smiling at her like an idiot. God, she was pretty, god her hand felt nice along his cold bitter skin. She was out the door so quickly. Was it possible to miss someone who was just in the other room? 

She’s barreling down the stairs, flipping on every gas burner in her wake on the kitchen stove. Stumbling to the cupboard, pulling out saucepans and the like to put water in. She’d boil it, damnit. Like her grandmother used to do for her when she was preparing her bath. 

She doesn’t breathe until every corner of the stove is full. Leaned over the countertop next to the burners. Her hand rubbed along her chest, along her heart. Self-soothing, the purpose of the continuous motion above the erratic beating. She had tunnel vision up until now, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t even flicked on the kitchen light. Hadn’t even closed the front door. 

She had been scared. Still was. Shaken beyond something she knew. It pained her to be in the next room, afraid of looking over her shoulder and not finding him there. She’d never lead them through crowds again, never let him stray far from her peripheral. Because then he would be gone, could be gone. 

Ice seeps in through her snow pants, and she tugs off her boots too. Socks wet against the kitchen tile. Her hands shake as she pulls her boots loose. 

She had almost lost him. Lost him for good. It was a shell shock beyond her, beyond her imagination. For the last five years, it was hard to conjure up adventures and trips without him. The thought of flippantly leaving him behind never crossed her mind. Hadn’t ever left her mind. Not after storming in through the shack's door, not after his confession to her across the dim kitchen table, across their kitchen table. 

She sits there now, feeling like it was a lifetime ago, but knowing she could blink and mistake the past for the present. He had reached across to her that night, across the table. Held his palms face up when he asked for help. When he confided in a four-second mistake he had made. She had hesitated then, to reach for him. To reach across and find assurance between them, to fold her hands into his own. She had judged initially. But they had both made mistakes. Both made mirror image mistakes, it felt. She didn't want to hesitate to reach for him ever again. She just feared he would be gone before she could. Feared he would disappear along her shoulder line. 

She had thought it was obvious, the unspoken agreement between them. That they both meant something to the other. That her dreams threaded into a deeper reality, and that the jokes they shared weren’t some passing balm to deal with it all. That the late nights in front of the T.V. analyzing movies were for the thrill of each other's company, and that their yearly poker game was a silent promise of convergence. That the shitty driving lessons weren’t so she could drive away from him someday, that chalkboard lessons were so he wouldn’t scoff when she said he was smart with her whole chest. That the yearly diner dates were just that, just dates. Not something flippant, not something as unkind as the upkeep of an image. That he opened doors for her for a reason and tucked her below his chin because he cared enough to. That he reached across tables, palms up, because he never feared her hesitation. 

Something unwritten between them she believed, everything shared in everything but words and letters. She was a calculating woman throughout her years and didn’t know how to trace the beginning of the feelings she had amassed all the way to the end of it. She didn’t know how to explain that her heart clenched when he leaned over the seat to buckle her in or explain how her hands shake when he reaches for the chalk from her now in the middle of a lesson. It was inconsequential, improbable, and entirely unexplainable to well… explain the sum of him to her. It felt little in comparison to his constant devotion. 

The two front pots begin to boil over, she lifts her head, turning off burners and carrying a stem to a pot in both hands. Taking the stairs two at a time again, uncaring about the burning water running down her arms in her haste to make it back to him. 

He’s still the same shade, but he lifts his head to look at her when she enters now. His smile less doppy, more genuine. His hair beginning to dry along his head, no ice to be found in its dark strands. He’s still leaning heavily along the back of the tub, not yet able to hold himself up. Color coming back to his cheeks, to his face. She kneels beside the tub, the floor wet as it seeps in through her pants. She pours in one pot at a time, swiping the water around to acclimate it to the bathwater. His hands move unconsciously, grabbing a strand of her hair to fold behind her ear. To be able to look at her more clearly through the fog of hot water. 

She begins to pour the next pot into the tub, but he tugs her forward, folds her body against the rim of the tub. Something in her makes her stand, lifting her feet into the tub. The way he looks at her, so disorientated and shivering still. It moves her forward, has her crawling into the tub completely clothed just to lay her cheek against his chest. To make sure it continues to rise under her. Like when she sleeps, and he lulls her back to sleep by simply being there. She wants that, for him to lull her racing heart now. Make her forget about his disappearing visage and still water. He does that, hums like he always does, folding her head under his scruffy chin. Comforting her despite his weakened figure. Hoping she wouldn’t notice how cold he still was against her. 

Something unwritten she believed, something she had never had to say out loud because she had never felt this weird depth before. But he was slipping from her grasp now, heavy against the rim of the tub. And so very quiet it made her sick, made her heart chase up her throat. Made her anxious beyond words, because the thing she meant to say to him would stay unwritten. If he was gone she’d only voice such fantasies in her dreams. The dreams she had of him as hers, those other realities her mind conjured where he wore a golden band and called her his. Where she was his. 

“You're mine.” Her voice was unwavering, something unwritten between the syllables of her words. It blooms and bursts from her throat, a growth that had sprouted long ago, stumbles out of her mouth searching for light. Still folded under his chin, along his chest. Her shirt wet from the water, bunched up along her waist where he had put his hands. 

He gets that look in his eyes despite her intensity, a joke on the tip of his tongue. Something to soothe her racing heart, to stamp down the distant look in her eyes. How she had looked in the car scared him, the rush of her chest but the focus of her eyes. Like they had been driving in the dark, through a neverending tunnel. But she chases it away before he can open his mouth, her hand meeting and cupping his scruffy jaw, pulling back from her comfort to look at him. Turning his eyes to her intense ones, ones that held something unspoken. 

“No.” A shake to her voice, eyes blurry. “You’re mine.” 

He nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Running his hands up her back, his warmer hands. 

“Y-you aren’t allowed to leave me like that, Stanley. You can’t l-leave me all alone like that.” Flashes of a towering beast are nothing compared to turning over her shoulder. Of searching the horizonline. Like she does for Stanford, eyes drifting to tree lines. She wouldn’t, couldn’t compartmentalize doing such a thing for Stanley. She’d take back hesitancies and reach across tables palm up if it meant he wouldn’t leave her again. 

“I promise, angel.” He takes her again, tucking her back to his chest. Her racing heart fluttered against his warming chest. “I won’t leave.” 

Her hand fall into that crook in his chest, the other clutching along his back, trying to bring him closer, trying to make the space between them disappear. She sniffling, from the cold and stress, against his chest and he doesn’t think twice about his words. Thinking of reaching for her, of meeting her across bridges and tables and in tunnels to meet her open palms, her warm hands. Unfurling her from his chest to lean down and place his lips near her ear, something unspoken between syllables. 

“You’re mine, too.” 

His lips traveling to her cheek, hovering against the flush skin before tracing her warmth. Kissing the apple of her cheek as she leans into the front of him. His lips warm against her cheek, like she had dreamed of. He had never been this close in the waking world, something she craved more with each passing day. She never pulled away, sniffling as he brings her forward again. No hesitation to be found in the nod of her head along his scruff, a nudge, and nestle of agreement. Something unspoken, unwritten. 

She forgot about the pots and burners. 

[three-realms-archive]

(This me rambling, feel free to ignore and lesson 16 spoilers! ^^; hi hello btw!)

I wanna see MC sometimes staying at Purgatory Hall and the Demon Lord's Castle more often as an escape to truly relax and maybe see the brothers try to overcome some of their struggles in their own, even if it's just a bit, if not for them, then for MC who has done so much, maybe even too much, for them, y'know?

Lesson 16 was quite the turning point, but not a lot of things changed. I wanna see before and afters with everyone. I wanna see angst where everyone is trying to be normal (maybe because MC is trying to be normal), but when the slightest thing goes wrong, they all flinch to shield MC or something. The smallest smell of vlood after chopping up food for dinner? Flashback to lesson 16. MC being too cold? Mammon flashes back. Belphie standing over MC (holding blankets or just so happen to be there for some reason)? Levi is holding his breath.

But at the same time, i want to see MC flinch from Lucifer. Before Belphie, Lucifer was going to hurt MC or worse, and he did it the most and has succeeded in hurting MC the most out of the brothers. I want to see MC hold their breath anytime he gets angry but is completely calm with Satan. I wanna see MC's shoulders tense while helping with paperwork alone with him but be completely fine with doing the same with Diavolo. I wanna see Mammon acting as like a bridge between the two.

Everyone is so creative on how they write lesson 16 but i don't see a lot of "after the lesson" ones. I always wondered, if their MC went through that (assuming if they made ir canon in their MC's story), what changed, if at all?

Phantom Pain

First oneshot of Scars, Wounds and Minor Inconveniences: a oneshot series featuring slice-of-life snapshots of the aftermath of Lesson 16. Naturally, features spoilers for OG Obey Me! up until that point. Each oneshot will have an associated headcannons post, which will be linked when it goes up!

(thank you to @kittylilyheart for inspiring what will now be a oneshot series dedicated to everyday life in the aftermath of lesson 16, because there's just so many characters in this series with so many things you can write for each. they gave so many interesting examples in their submitted idea; so I'll be including some and incorporating my own. If you have an idea for something related to Obey Me! or Obey Me! Nightbringer that you'd like me to put to writing, please read the rules pinned to this blog before submitting to the blog's inbox!)

_

It’s like pins and needles, starting at your neck and running down your back. Mammon sees you arch your back oddly as you go to knock on the door to the Demon Lord’s castle; and immediately knows.

“Hey, hey.” He says as he bumps his shoulder into yours, fingers touching your sleeve. Even though he’s seen this a bunch of times, he never really knows what to do. “Ya, uh. Ya got the needles-thing again?”

“Yeah. Ugh, why now?” You groan through gritted teeth, waiting for the feeling to subside. Both you and Mammon were used to this, episodes happening every now and then. Temporary bouts of phantom pain down your back and sides, where arms had hugged you and…

Dwelling wouldn’t help. And besides; they barely inconvenienced you. You sat down and pressed your back against a nearby wall.

“Don’t do that. What are ya doin’?”

“It feels better when I put my back against something hard and flat.” You state matter-of-factly, never breaking eye contact as you slowly slide down. He looks more confused. You grin. "As long as Beel hasn't got his fifth dinner on it, the kitchen table is nice, too."

“Weird humans…” Mammon mutters disapprovingly, but he sits beside you to wait it out. His head flops to one side, cheek resting on your head, as he makes the ever-so-cliché show of pretending to stretch his arm above his head, over yours… and, eventually, around your shoulders. You snort as his fingers fidget, figuring he just doesn’t know where to place them. They first settle on your chest, lingering over where your heart beats. Then, they scurry up to your collarbone and settle on your pulse point. He presses around a little, as if searching. Then, with a satisfied hum, he leans back against the wall, too.

“I think it’s going away, now. Mams. Hey, Mams.” You shake his arm a few minutes later. He blushes at your willing contact (as if he hadn’t been holding you close this whole time) and the cutesy nickname, but shuffles back to give you space to stand. Though not before checking your back first, touching the back of his hand to the skin between your shoulder blades, which your outfit exposes. Because you’d been leaning on a metal wall, your skin is cold.

He freezes. Your skin, cold. Your lips, not breathing. The slight red from where his hand had pressed against you has a slightly red flush. Red - red, just like it had been when -

He makes a show of dusting off your shoulders, one hand curling its fingers just enough to press a little more around your neck pulse point.

He hums again, satisfied. Then, the sheer amount of touching you that he’s done today hits him - and he turns his head to the side with a not-so-subtle cough.

“Y-Yeah, okay. Good. Let’s knock, then.” Mammon straightens and flashes you one of his signature grins. You notice it wobbles a little, but you attribute that to the adorably-dramatic cough he was forcing out of his throat just moments earlier. “If we get back late, Lucifer’ll think we’re slackin.”

“We can’t stay longer? Lord Diavolo said in his letter that I can work at the castle for as long as I like.” You pout. Secretly, your heartbeat gets a little faster; you swore you read the letter correctly. You look at Mammon hopefully, avoiding looking at the path behind you; which was starting to look awfully short. “I thought we were getting back after Lucifer goes out tonight.”

Mammon raises an eyebrow. “Ya wanna stay that long? It’s dangerous out. It’s safer with Lucifer around. ” He protests worriedly - but catches himself quickly. “W-Well. Not that I can’t protect ya… But everyone’s at home, too! The more people around, the better the protectin'!”

“Mammon -”

“Mammon is probably right, MC." Suddenly, you hear a voice behind you. "Though, I admit - I hadn't thought about that when I wrote the letter requesting your visit.”

The two of you jump. You and Mammon immediately find each others’ hands, and whip around to face the source of the voice. Mammon is already stepping forward, stretching his arm in front of you protectively... when he sees who it is.

“Lord… Geez, Lord Diavolo. Barbatos.” He nervously chuckles, stepping back. “We were literally just about to knock. Warn a guy next time, why don’t’cha?”

“No worries, Mammon. Sorry for startling you.” Diavolo offers apologetically. He nods in acknowledgement to you. “Hello there, MC. Lucifer may worry too much if he doesn’t see you before leaving the House, so it may be best for him to see you’re safe and sound, first.”

You look up slowly at the Crown Prince of the Devildom. The prince’s demon butler stands just behind his liege, almost blending into the shadows. They look so… tall. So towering. You don’t register the words that come out of your mouth.

“Oh, u-uh. Okay, then. I’ll help with some RAD event planning, then leave. early”

Mammon gives you a look, shuffling closer and bumping his shoulder into yours, again. “Oi, human, are you sure? I thought earlier you said -”

“I’ll do what Lord Diavolo, said. It’s probably for a reason.” You reply nonchalantly as Barbatos steps forward and unlocks the front door. You can see the hallway as it creaks open and it’s dark. It reminds you of a room you had woken up in when you were pulled from your home with no warning. It reminds you of winding stairs that had lead up to an attic, with a shadowy figure waiting behind a locked door. It was the home of two people who, try as you might, you could never, ever say no to.

Was it fear? You didn’t think so, you could talk to them pretty easily. Agree with them, easily.

Was it hatred? Not that either. You knew Mammon appreciates them for their part in saving you, so you guess you do, too.

You think of the phantom pain from earlier, then think that the darkness of the castle hallway looks a lot more inviting than dwelling on painful memories and difficult questions. So you let your feet follow Diavolo and Barbatos into the castle, laughing when Diavolo fondly tussles Mammon’s hair and enthusiastically piping up with ideas when Barbatos lists off the upcoming events to be held by the student council at RAD.

Mammon does hang back a little at first, though; wondering why you disapproved of his idea when he said it - but then agreed so readily when Diavolo did. But Diavolo did help you with the whole Belphie situation. And he was grateful Diavolo had you brought to the Devildom at all. So he follows you and thinks nothing of it.

And you follow Barbatos and Diavolo. Listening to their every word, like it was instinct. Like you didn’t really have a choice. Just like you didn't have when they had saved you.

Just like you had no choice when they had first brought you here.

(first chapter of the blog's very first series! this was pretty interesting and challenging to write as i really didn't want anything sad or angsty; just the same tone as my other slice-of-life stuff but with little pangs of hurt from the habits that the characters pick up after the belphie incident. i'd like to think that mc and the obm cast actually do recover pretty quickly from lesson 16, but not for the reason of forgiving each other easily, which i'll get to in later chapters. in this case, mc gets along well with dia and barb out of trust for them saving them, but also because they've always taken the reigns on their fate anyway.)

[earthtooz]

BABE I HAD AN IDEA- Reo Mikage ANGST where he calls reader a gold digging whore in the middle of an argument, ultimately affirming all of her insecurities so he has to figure out a way to show that he didn't mean it and that he's sorry without using his disgustingly abundant wealth 💔 anyways ilysm hope you take care of yourself

NO YOU ARE LITERALLY DISGUSTING FOR THIS (affectionate) YOUR MIND >>> YOU ARE SOOOOO RIGHT. SHUT UP THIS WILL LITERALLY BE THE MOST SCRUMPTIOUS FIC EVER BECAUSE I AM LITERALLY ABOUT TO PUT MY WHOLE EARTHUSSY INTO INCORPORATING THIS IDEA SOMEWHERE !!! BUT FOR NOW, TAKE THIS SNIPPET I WHIPPED UP IN ONE SITTING.

girl feel free to come back into my inbox WHENEVER and giving me your juicy ideas bc holy shit i loved this.

CW: HURT/COMFORT - A LOT OF BOTH, SWEARING, UNEDITED - I WAS GOING THRU IT WHILST WRITING THIS DON'T LOOK AT ME!

IMAGINE THIS: it's been a rough night for both you and reo, he's been through a lot in the past weeks because his dad just had to during the middle of soccer season to lecture reo about how to run a big business. the transition process is beginning to happen since father mikage is about to retire and although your purple-haired boyfriend has been preparing for this his whole life, having gone to business school part-time and graduating with honours, there's still a little part of him that feels weary from all the responsibilities.

all this accumulated stress needs to have an outlet eventually, right? welp, you just happened to be there at the right (wrong) time. you were simply delivering a platter of apples to your boyfriend who had his head in his hands, hunched over an endless pile of paperwork that was beginning to irk him with each passing second. countless images of him shredding up the paper flowed into his mind, a fury that manifested into his reality, except the paper was you D,:

one thing evolved into another, reo's endless stream of venomous words didn't stop flowing out of him as he spat poison after poison, burning you with the intensity of it all.

"you're so overbearing, can't you see that i'm fine? unlike you i can handle myself when things get hard," he spits, eyeing you with fury in his eyes, one that makes you gulp thickly.

"reo-"

-but you wouldn't know the first thing about fighting for what you want right, you fucking gold-digger."

that stops you in your tracks, silences you effortlessly, causing you to let your hands drop limply back to your sides as you stare at your boyfriend blankly. you're sinking into an abyss of hurt and insecurity, it's getting harder to breathe because of the way your chest swells with anger.

reo only continues, not noticing the way you physically and emotionally drop. "even if you don't give me attention for one second of the day, i won't forget you exist, so stop being so clingy and unnecessary! my money isn't going anywhere either, you don't need to occupy majority of my day so leave me alone. go shop online or something."

that was it. was that all reo perceived you to be? a dent in his money, the expenses of his bank account?

"fine. goodbye," you simply mutter before slipping through his office door, out in the hallway.

"don't bother me whilst i'm in here," he says with finality, one last declaration before you shut the door behind you.

the luxurious walls of reo's penthouse look down at you mockingly, the spacious area caging you in, chanting 'gold-digger' over and over again until it's all you hear.

staying here feels wrong.

so, you grab your purse and leave, as quietly as possible. slipping down to the garage where your (second hand) car was parked, you start the engine up and begin reversing out of the parking lot.

you begin to reflect on your relationship with reo. you love him, you really do, you love him because he's reo, the man who was always capable of making you smile, laugh, and make you feel like you were on top of the world. his money and fame was an added bonus that you truly didn't care much about.

but ever since dating him, you've had your own insecurities that have been forced on you by other people. there were crowds calling you a 'gold digger' who was only with reo 'for the money', and although you were sure of yourself and your intentions, your armour breaks down sometimes.

what reo said tonight was the final jab that allowed it to fully disintegrate.

you had a stable job of your own and finances to your own name, money wasn't something you avidly chased, sure having a few zeroes in your bank account was nice but that was all you really needed. as long as you could buy necessities and spoil yourself, it was satisfactory, and you could provide that for yourself!

reo loved to spoil you, showering you in luxurious gifts that you never knew how to accept. it would take a great deal of convincing for you to take what he bought you, and when you promised him to stop buying them for you, he agreed before buying you more material stuff.

as you pull up to the parking lot of the apartment complex that you resided in, you get into the elevator with a heavy heart, pressing the button to your floor with a lot of emotions.

the ride is silent. everything is so silent.

your apartment is even more silent. it's unused, slightly barren. your furniture was still there, except some dust had gathered on the tables and cabinets from how long you've neglected it.

the only reason you were able to keep your apartment was because you had no expenses outflowing since reo took care of almost everything. anything you needed, he bought it, groceries, bills, whatever, were charged on his card. for a period of time, your bank account merely grew and never decreased.

and since you hadn't been here for a while, electricity and water bills never bothered you too much.

you flop onto your made bed with a sigh. it wasn't as soft as reo's but you didn't find it in you to care, you just needed some well-deserved shut eye.

well, 'shut eye' occurred for merely an hour before your phone started vibrating violently.

with a groan, you shove your face back into your pillows before blindly reaching for your phone.

you already knew who it would be without looking at the caller id. of course reo would be looking for you, noting your obvious absence in his penthouse.

"hello?" you mutter.

"y/n? where the hell are you?" comes reo's frantic voice from the other line. he sounds genuinely concerned.

"doesn't matter."

"i'm sorry for everything i said. please, come back."

"reo, i'm tired, i can't do this with you right now."

"i'm sorry, i'm really really sorry."

"i don't want to hear this right now."

"i love you."

you sigh and you're sure reo can hear it on his end. unsure of how to respond, you just hang up on him before throwing your phone away. normally, you would feel bad about the way you left him, but that wasn't the case this time. you just needed to sleep on this.

but, it was reo you were talking about, and the last thing he was going to let you do was sleep without him.

at 1:24am, there's a series of ferocious knocks on your door, followed by screams of your name.

oh my god it was so embarrassing, you literally shoot out of bed as soon as you register what was happening and dash for your door. you don't want to disturb your neighbours' sleep and let them hear that the pathetic grovelling of your boyfriend. the entire hallway could hear reo and his shouting.

you open the door, pull him in, and slam it shut behind you again, leaving the purple-haired to stare at you with a bewildered expression.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss.

he looks at you the same way a puppy does when its owner kicked it out of the house.

you should've known that merely telling reo 'i don't want to hear this right now' would not be enough to pacify his determination and the fact that you hung up on him only intensified his pettiness. the purple-haired always sought you out, pulling himself into your orbit like a magnet. where you went, reo followed, even if it was to the ends of the world.

he had the money to do whatever he wanted, you suppose.

"i wanted to make sure you were safe," he pouts. "i didn't know whether you'd be here or not."

"well, i'm safe, and i'm here. so."

"i can see that," he leans against the back of your couch. reo looks so out of place in your small apartment, awkwardly playing with his hands. "so... should we go to bed?"

the audacity. "what do you mean 'we'? go back home, reo, i'll see you some other time."

as you turn around to go back to your bedroom, reo's quick enough to round around you, blocking you from the hallway with his larger figure.

"but you are my home. please, i'm really sorry about what i said, i didn't mean it," he pleads, grabbing your face so you could look him square in the eye.

you step out of his grasp easily, shaking him off. if you were in your right mind, you would've seen the look of heartbreak on reo's face.

"sure, if you didn't mean it then you wouldn't have said it in the first place, mikage."

you swerve around him to reach your bedroom and he follows you the entire time, trailing behind you, desperate for an ounce of your attention.

"i know i fucked up, but i didn't mean to hurt you and project my frustrations like that onto you when you were just trying to care for me." you sit down on your bed with a sigh and reo takes a seat beside you. "you know i love you right? like, a lot."

that's right. if there's one thing about reo it's that he loves you to an endless degree.

"thank you for always caring for me. i know you don't do it because you're after my money or fame, but because you want to ensure that i'm healthy and not rotting in all that i have to do," his voice cracks. is he beginning to cry. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

you let a beat of silence pass by before dropping your walls. he was always going to smash through them no matter what.

"i've always felt insecure in our relationship," you confess, no louder than an exhale and if reo wasn't holding on to every action of yours, he wouldn't have heard you. "being called a gold digger became normal when i started dating you and i didn't really care. well- i tried not to care."

you continue. "i don't want to let these comments get to me, but then you said it and... i don't know, it just felt horrible."

you feel an arm sneak under your leg, and another hand come to your elbow, both of which simultaneously pull you to straddle reo's lap. you don't look him in the eye- something he frowns at.

"i love you for you. you're the best i'll ever have, reo, but sometimes i-"

"-please don't finish that sentence," he murmurs, breath fanning against your face.

you meet his gaze. he's crying freely. tears are running down his cheeks like streams and you instinctively bring use your thumbs to catch the drops. you hate it when he cries.

"i don't want it to be anyone else but you," confesses the purple-haired. "i hate it when we're separated, i can't stay away from you too long or i think i will go insane."

his statement causes you to giggle a little.

"you laugh but i'm telling the truth."

"i laugh because you make me happy."

his arms wound around your waist, keeping you pressed against him, leaving you with no room to escape or part from him. just what reo likes.

"i'm sorry for what i said," he says against your collarbone. "when i didn't see you in our home, i didn't know what to think. i got so scared for a second because i had no idea where you could've gone so i started spamming your number-"

"-yeah wait, was calling me 24 times necessary?"

"i was going to keep calling you until you picked up so it could've taken 24 or 1000 times or more. now let me speak." you nod wordlessly, smiling a little at how silly reo can be. "and when i realised that you went back to your apartment, i felt horrible that i drove you out."

he looks up at you with glossy eyes.

"you came here because you wanted to prove me wrong, right? because you bought all this by yourself and don't need me, right?"

"well, kind of, but i also didn't want to be around you so i came back here."

reo frowns before leaning in to press delicate kisses to your neck. "please don't leave me. i need you by my side," he inhales before whispering his next statement. "even if you don't need me."

a hand of yours go up to thread through his hair. "don't say that," you use your other hand to direct his face away from your neck, pressing a kiss against his puckered lips. "i absolutely adore you, my love. you're my favourite person ever."

he smiles before leaning in again, kissing you with more fervour and passion. you can feel another tear slide down his cheek.

"lets go to bed, reo," you say when you part and he simply nods, laying you on the side of the bed before laying beside you, arms naturally finding themselves around your waist as reo tugs you as humanely close as possible. "sorry if this mattress isn't as comfortable as your twelve grand one back home."

"i couldn't care less," he whispers whilst tracing patterns on your bare skin.

so long as it's you he's next to, reo doesn't have a lot to complain about.

[lou-struck]

The Pickle Theory

Diavolo x reader

~While on a trip with you in the human world, Diavolo finds himself at the mercy of his worst enemy.

W.C- 2.6k

a/n: This was one of those prompts that I think of in the middle of the night and write it down in the notes app thinking that It would make sense in the morning... But I don't think I did Late Night Liza justice.

"Thank you for accompanying me on this little trip to the human world Mc, I would never have been able to figure out the intricacies of Human World Public transportation without your expertise." The Prince says warmly, his eyes alight with curiously as he takes in every inch of the sparsely populated city bus the two of you elected to ride.

Sure, there is enough room on this bus for each of you to have your personal space, but the demon is sitting shoulder to shoulder with you in the tiny two-seat row, and you certainly would not have it any other way.

"It was no problem at all," you beam, finding humor in how strange it is to see such a large and gorgeous man trying to politely cram himself into his seat. "I hope that you were able to find something here that you want to incorporate into the devildom. Besides, you know me. I love a reason to get out into the sun with you."

His smile is just as blinding as the sun as he takes in every inch of your elated features, and he lets out a chuckle. "This trip of ours definitely has been useful, but more than that, I am delighted to have had an excuse to whisk you away to the human world without any of our usual distractions."

"It's nice to be able to spend some time alone with you," you say in agreement as the bus comes to a stop. Despite years of etiquette training, you see the pout on his face as he realizes that the errand that brought the two of you together is coming to an end, and the two of you will have to go back to the Devildom so he can get back to fulfilling his royal duties. 

"It seems we have reached the final stop on our route," he murmurs as the remaining passengers trickle out the doors. Through his shades, you can tell the driver is staring you down in the mirror. He clearly wants the two of you to get off his bus, but he's not gonna try and get snarky to someone of Diavolo's size.

Which is more than fair

You stand, and he follows suit, walking off the bus and onto the cobbled streets of an unfamiliar city. Your mind is fixated on what you can do to prolong this errand date. You want to spend more time with him, but as the Prince of the Devildom, his time is priceless. Much to your surprise, your thoughts are interrupted by the ferocious growling of your stomach growls ferociously. Your eyes widen as you look over to Diavolo in embarrassed shock. 

Amazedly, the Prince only tosses his head back in laughter. "What a wonderful idea, Mc. We simply could not return to the Devildom when we are in such a state of hunger. 

"Right. That was my plan," you chuckle, deciding to roll with his easy compliment. The sun is high in the sky, warming every inch of your exposed skin. Closing your eyes, you stop in your tracks to enjoy the sensation. You can feel his golden gaze even before you open your eyes. 

His expression is radiant as he takes in your look of contentment. But there is something else behind it that you can't quite place. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"Nothing at all," he replies, a faint smile on his lips. "I simply wish to see that pleasant look on your face as much as possible."

There is a deep feeling in your gut that there is more he is not saying, but you choose to not push him further. "Aren't you charming? But don't forget that you are the one who makes me smile so much," you say coyly as the two of you resume walking the narrow path, drawing your bodies closer and closer to each other until you are walking side by side. The light accidental brushing of your hands sends flustered shivers up your spine. 

As the butterflies in your stomach threaten to carry you away, you take a peek at Diavolo's face to see if he is anywhere near as flustered as you, but the Prince's face is a mask of nonchalant charm. Looking at him was definitely the wrong thing to do in this situation because he looks even more stunning in the light of the day. Sunlight radiates off his hair, giving it a rich, coppery glow, and his dark skin seems to shine with an otherworldly beauty. 

Men and women alike misstep as they catch a glimpse of his inhuman good looks, but his eyes remain focused on the path ahead. You can't tell if he is oblivious to the way his regal features draw attention or if he is so used to it it doesn't bother him in the slightest.

You become painfully aware of just how clammy your hands have become in this sweltering heat and try to not bump him again. 

Clearly, he isn't trying as hard (at all) as his hand brushes yours once again. Out of the corner of your eye, you just see a flash of a smirk grace his lips. "Perhaps we should hold hands, Mc."

"You wouldn't mind?" you ask, subtly wiping your hand on the fabric of your shorts.

"Certainly, it's only natural for human couples to want to hold hands when they are on a date."

You smile as his logic wins over your insecurities; when he takes your hand, you aren't sure if it's your time in the Devildom rubbing off on you or if it's your inner pettiness, but the dejected looks that appear on strangers' faces when they see that he is taken brings you joy. 

With his hand in your, it's easy to lose track of time. You aren't sure how long you have been walking until he stops abruptly. "Oh my, what is that smell?" 

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath in. Even with your inferior sense of smell, you are able to pick up the warm, comforting smell of freshly baked bread. "That smells amazing," you say, covering your mouth with your hand to hide how much you're drooling.

"It does smell wonderful; how about we stop here for a quick meal?" He offers you don't have to be a mind reader to know that he would be over the moon if you said yes. 

"I would love to," you smile, walking under the painted archway and into an adorable-looking cafe. Large, thriving potted plants outnumber the number of patrons in this thriving business as you scan the dining area for a place to sit. In the very corner, you see a perfect little booth for the two of you to grab. 

"let's head over to that table real quick; once we're seated, we can order our lunch at the counter and enjoy ourselves." You walk confidently, knowing that Diavolo will follow. 

"Everything here looks wonderful," Diavolo says as he scans the menu, "Do you know what you would like to get?"

You furrow your brow and read it yourself but find yourself unable to narrow your options down. "Not yet, I can't decide." You whine, "COuld you choose for me?"

"Of course I can," he laughs, standing to his feet. "I'll go up to the counter and make it a surprise."

There is a spring in his step as he steps up to the counter. He learned how to order food at restaurants on your last visit, and he is extremely eager to show off what he has learned. When he comes back and slides into the booth, he looks very proud of himself.

"Did you do it?" you ask.

He nods and places a white-numbered flag on the tabletop. "I did; this little date of ours has made me want to host a human world café event at RAD so everyone gets to experience this. "That would be such a great idea," you agree, already wondering what kind of trouble awaits the lot of you when the event goes underway. 

The Prince's excitement is contagious, and the two of you chatter excitedly about the semantics until nature calls for you to go to the restroom. You excuse yourself politely as you try to figure out where in this swanky place the bathroom is.

~ 

As Diavolo stares across the booth at your empty seat, all he can think of is how much he cares about you. 

Getting to spend time with you away from everyone else is more valuable than any of the crown jewels in his palace. You are fascinating to him, even more so than the world in which you hail from.

But seeing how comfortable you are out in the sun sends pangs of guilt into his heart. He can't help but feel guilty for pulling you to the Devildom, away from everything, but he knows deep down that neither of you would change it for the world. 

He is so lost in thought he barely notices a shy server sliding two plates of mouth-wateringly delicious-looking sandwiches onto the table before scurrying away from the gorgeous yet intimidating demon.

He eyes his sandwich hungrily. The bread smells even better now that it's fresh and inches away from him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, breathing in the aroma. All of his manners scream at him to wait just a moment longer for you to come back, but he can't help himself. 

He reaches for the first half of the sandwich but stops just shy of the crust when he spots something that makes his blood run cold. 

It's Slimy…

It's Disgusting…

It's the very bane of his existence…

"Pickles," he breathes, staring down at the lumpy green vegetable sitting inconspicuously on the edge of his plate. Now that he has seen it, its slimy, pungent aroma that so many others adore invades his senses. 

He can't look away from it, even as he feels his stomach twist with hausa. It's almost as if he had just eaten one of Solomon's Mystery soups the sorcerer sometimes brings to the castle to share.

What should he do?

Years of etiquette classes have taught him that, as a prince, it is rude to refuse to eat something on his plate. 

Even if he hates it. 

Even if looking at that particular something makes him feel as if his skin is turning green.

He gulps nervously as he is faced with the severity of the predicament he finds himself in. He is representative of the Devildom; it would be rude to show up to the human world and refuse the food that he has been given.

"Wow, it's here already?" your sweet voice pulls the future king of Hell from his brine-filled thoughts. His golden gaze shoots up at you quickly, watching intently as you slide into the red leather booth. You look down at your plate with a smile before glancing up at him. "It's not much, but for some humans, going to the bathroom at a restaurant and coming back to see that their food has been delivered is the closest thing they will ever get to magic."

"What a wonderful outlook," he exclaims. "Human creativity has no bounds. I find the more I learn of them, the more I am inclined to admire them."

"You give us far too much credit," you laugh, but he can tell that your attention has been taken by the beautiful sandwich in front of you. You look up quickly, and he sees the cute way your features twist in embarrassment. "Sorry, I got a little distracted. This sandwich you got for me looks so delicious it would be a shame to not eat it."

"Then please, dig in." he chuckles, gesturing to the plate. But to his surprise, you don't eat yet. Instead, you look at him with wide eyes as if you are waiting for him to eat his own meal.

But he can't…

Not when that thing is on his plate.

"Diavolo, is everything alright?" you ask, surely noticing how tightly he is clenching his fist. 

He feels his cheeks heating up in embarrassment, and he tears his gaze away from the dreaded pickle. "It's nothing."

Suddenly, your body shifts in your seat, and he feels a slight tap on his shin. It take him a moment to realize what exactly just happened. "Mc, did you just…Kick me?"

"I did," you admit bashfully as if you just remembered that you have assaulted the ruler of the Devildom with your Skechers.  "But only because you weren't telling me what's bothering you."

This unfamiliar sensation of being playfully battered fills his only-child heart with warmth, and he bursts out laughing. "you truly are gifted when it comes to getting someone to open up, Mc." he caves and spins his plate towards you so you can see the accursed pickle. 

"oh, your sandwich came with a pickle. I understand now." And just like that, you reach across the table, grab the pickle, and eat it like it was the easiest thing to do in the world.

"what did I do to deserve you? "He asks when you finish disposing of the problem. 

"It's just the pickle theory." You say with a laugh; he feels very confused and looks at you to continue. "Some people say that a relationship is perfect when one person hates pickles and the other loves them. That way, you'll always have someone who will eat your pickles, so you don't have to. It's not just pickles, though; it's olives, onions, and anything else that you can think of. But it's fate that we are here today, and you happen to hate pickles."

Although your explanation is ridiculous, Diavolo lets out an unrefined snort of laughter. Quickly, he covers his mouth with his hand, a practiced gesture he's done frequently under the watchful eye of his trusted Butler. Instead of wanting to scold him, you let out a hearty laugh of your own. The sound is not beautiful in any way, but it makes his heart thump wildly in his chest as he stares at you.

"So this is Fate?"

"I think so," you murmur, looking at him with an expression he cannot quite place.

"What's with that look?" He asks, raising a brow.

" It's nothing; I just like getting to see the side of you. I hope to see it more," you say earnestly.

He reaches across the table to grab your hand, and he stares deeply into your eyes with the look of a man in love as he makes a promise to you. "Whatever world we are in, I will do my absolute best to give you whatever it is you desire, Mc. 

Your eyes are full of tender emotion as he looks at you. "Would you really do anything for me?" you ask in a sweet voice and he finds himself nodding naïvely, he is completely under the spell of your charm. It's almost as if you are the demon who is corrupting the mortal.

But he knows you and rightfully trusts you with all his heart. One of the reasons he finds himself so drawn to you is that you would never in a million years take advantage of his love.

"Even though I just had a pickle, would you kiss me?" you ask, an endearing little smirk on your lips that has the Prince subconsciously leaning over the table towards you.

"If that is what you want, then nothing would deter me from granting such a request." he smiles, capturing your lips with his, not caring about anything other than the taste of you.

Tagging; @sleepyyshroom, @i-need-to-go-like-mangogo , @starbbyy, @sarah22447, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf ,  @ourfinalisation, @anjodedesgostoeerros, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan

[chaeyoei]

Could I request jing yuan x fem_zhongli!reader? I think it would be fun to incorporate how much older she is and maybe spar with jing yuan and yanqing teaching them new moves? You could also add a bit of angst if you want with the fact that zhongli has admitted that with time, his memories do start to erode.

This is actually fuelling my brainrot. I'll incorporate the dragon part too. And other requests are coming out soon.

I kept her as a friend because the age gap bothered me alot. Warning: bad writing.

The situation was dire, the Denizens were wreaking havoc upon the ship. The Cloud Knights who remained strong, felt fear for the first time. What kind of tragedy would this bring?

All they could do was hold faith in their General and keep fighting with hopes high. Jing Yuan could the hope entrusted upon him by his subordinates but all seemed to be in vain. He was gravelly injured and his life was draining out of his body.

But with unknown fortune, appeared a figure that launched ginormous spears accompanied by meteors all raining on the enemy finishing it quickly.

Relief and suspicion overshadowed all his former emotions. Who was this figure? Most importantly, the motive behind their help. However he saw this same silhouette fall. He rushed forward to catch this unknown saviour, as he inched closer, he saw it was a woman who seemed to be half conscious. He held out his hands in time to catch this mysterious lady.

————

"She's fine." The Dragon Lady assured, her doe eyes darting from the unconscious woman on the bed to the General infront. "But, she's also a dragon and similar but different from us. I believe she's a sicon of Qilopoth(Preservation) as we are Long's(Premembrance) Sicons."

"A sicon of Preservation?" He titled his head. From what he witnessed in the battlefield, it looked more like you followed the path of the Hunt or Destruction rather than Preservation. But protecting also serves a form of Preservation.

A grumble came from the lady's mouth drawing both of their attention. "Looks like she's waking up, I'll leave you both to talk, General." Bailu took her leave.

"Where?" The lady mummered getting up. "You're in the Alchemy commision." Jing Yuan answered.

"I'm here to question you." He added.

"First question, what is your name?"

"Zhongli."

"Where do you hail from?"

"From Liyue."

That response made him speechless. Liyue as in the place where the Xianzhou Empire's origin were.

"Explain."

"Huh? I hail from Liyue.. that's it."

"How old are you?"

The lady fell silent. "600.."

"Don't lie. Liyue is a place where the Xianzhou Empire arrived and that was 5000 years ago. The planet of Teyvat was abandoned." He narrowed his and his tone only got stern.

"..6000."

"hmm.." He wasn't questioning the age but it felt like you were hiding something.

But all would come to light because you'd still have to attend the trail between the alliance and take responsibility. Your deeds may be good but they still need to know your intentions. A person who can showcase such power can also stab them in the back.

"That concludes as what the suspect had told." Jing Yuan finished his report.

"Very well. Lady Zhongli.. You admit that your home place is the Loufu. If you're as old as you admit, would mind telling the ruler of that period?" Marshal Hua started her questioning.

"Jade lady, Ningguang." You answered calmly.

"I believe you know what happened in that timeline as well?"

"Yes, the lord of Geo, Morax died in that period." You hoped she wouldn't catch you.

"Are you perhaps a descendant or successor of Morax?

"..Yes." You knew well that your lie would be caught soon enough.

"Let me revise history, the lord Morax, had no descendants or successors. It was later found that his death was just a masquerade as he stepped down from his position. What statment can you give to prove that you're him?" The Marshal's statement may sound rash but she wasn't wrong in the slightest. History states that Morax can change forms.

"..I have nothing to say in regard to that."

"Tell me your age again."

"11,000.."

And with some other questions, you were revealed to be the Ancient lord of money, Morax. But Mora really didn't have a value in this economy of credits.

"That concludes are trial. You are free to go."

————

"Phew." You could handle intense questioning very well but your age caught up to loads of time.

However, instead of a foreign traveler's recognition, you were given citizenship. You know the Alliance was making use of you but you always had the option to leave. Coming to basic needs, you'd be living in the Cloud Knights Quaters.

————

"hmmh.." The kid grumbled not being able to get his stance right.

"Your footing is wrong, you need to have a firm balance on the ground to get your strike correct." You fixed the young man's position.

"Do you also work the Cloud Knights?" The kid was interested in knowing your identity.

"So not only are you excelled in ancient literature but also weapon handling, though that doesn't come as a surprise, you did invent the methods of swordsmanship and pole arm handling that are used till this day." Jing Yuan appeared randomly.

"General!, You mean this lady?" The kid turned to you. "Greetings lord.. Lady of Geo." The kid bowed formally.

"You don't have to bow kid, I've long stepped down from that position."

"And humble as well."

This small interaction really sparked Yanqing's curiosity. He could ask as much questions as why even the trivial things mattered. As for Jing Yuan, his moves only got more perfect with your guidance. If Jingliu would've been here, she would've taken a liking to you even Dan Feng..

He sighed, these thoughts would never be possible. He looked at you who was looking at his weapon, commenting on it's quality and full of details quality.

"General! a mara wave is coming through." A knight informed.

"Advise the civilians to stay in their homes and form a stance around the creatures, don't let them escape." Jing Yuan ordered quickly.

A blade came through the formation, it's aim to lodge into the General's chest but it disseminated into the area when it met with impenetrable shield.

"General are you okay?" You asked.

Now he understood why you were form the path of preservation. "Yes."

You were old.. Ancient would be a better them. But your stories where better that those pesky writers in the Alying Sanctum.

You could be considered a role model and a person to go to. You had advice, were calm and just had that social butterfly effect.

But being old has it's downsides often. As your age increases, erosion casts it's effect. You forget trivial things and even names unless they were in your daily interactions.

"..." You groaned walking through the corridors.

"Do you need help, lady of Geo?" A passing Cloud Knight asked.

"..Do you remember where my room is?"

".. It's on the east wing close to the General's chamber. You're in the west wing."

"..oh. where is the east wing again?"

"Let me guide you."

Although the situation of you forgetting your wallet was funny, as it was also saddening that you would succumbed to life where you would forget everyone and everything.

In the Xianzhou terms, Mara wouldn't have an effect on you but at the cost that you would be forgetting bits of yourself and there's nothing you can do about it.

I tried my best to crossover elements from both games and something has happened to my english. Thos fancy words don't come out anymore. And it's so short...

[shalomniscient]

ONCE UPON A TIME...

⤷ a series re-imagining famous fairy tales with assorted genshin women !

⤷ featuring:

beauty and the beast [eula lawrence] ➳ on the edges of mondstadt, nestled in the frigid mountains of dragonspine, is a lonely, forgotten castle. word around town is that within the cold stone walls is a monstrous beast, a scion of the cursed lawrence family. you are content to live your days far ignorant of such a rumor, but when your father gets into a terrible accident in the mountains, you have no choice but to take your chances with whatever lurks in the castle to save him.

the little mermaid [raiden ei] ➳ the world above the water has always fascinated you. the tales of rolling hills and towering mountains, vast plains and mystical forests; and of course, the people. the people who sing and dance and run along the shore, carefree and lively. you wish, and you wonder, what it's like to be part of that world. your wish is granted somewhat on a stormy night, when a ship crashes against the rocks and scatters its human occupants to the waves. against what you've been told, you rush to save the one person you can find--a beautiful, purple-haired woman, dressed in fine, ornate clothing. it's a meeting that will change your life, forever.

snow white [arlecchino] ➳ your step-mother wants you dead. you know as much, when she cast you from your own home and into the cold woods, setting a hunstman on your tail. you barely escape with your life. the little cottage you stumble upon as you run, and the seven little fools you find inside become your saving graces. you spend your days there in peace, and even meet a handsome, dual-tone haired prince who passes by the cottage ever so often on her hunts. but peace, as you've learned, is fragile, and your world is upended again when your step-mother discovers that you're alive. and you can't help but wonder--is a happily ever after simply not in your cards?

rapunzel [beidou] ➳ when you were born, your parents gave you to a sea monster. you don't know why, and you were never told why. all you know is that you are this beast's prisoner, forever to be locked away in a tower by the sea. there is no escape for you; the only exit is the window, and the only thing waiting beneath it are jagged rocks and harsh waves. the beast comes and goes, ascending your tower using your hair as a rope. he calls your name in a singing rhyme, and you let down your hair. only one night, it is not the beast whom climbs through your window--but a charming, pretty pirate, who brings the first light of companionship to your life.

cinderella [jean gunnhildr] ➳ life is not easy after your mother's death. your father does his best, yet the woman he brings home to replace her is cruel. but she makes your father happy (or at least, you tell yourself as much) so you keep your head down and do as she and her daughters order you to. it isn't too bad. the attic is your refuge, and the barn mice keep you company. in the dark you gaze through the window at the glittering palace in the distance, and you let yourself dream of a sweeter life. but magic--magic has a way of turning dreams to reality, and there is more magic in your life than you know.

⤷ notes/disclaimers : ➹ this will not be a 1:1 retelling! i will of course do my best to be as close as possible to the source material, but since i will be incorporating genshin lore into this as well, i will be taking several creative liberties. also, some of the source material is... dark, and i'll be changing that because i personally don't enjoy writing dark content of that level. ➹ this is currently not the finalised list! i plan to add maybe two more characters, but i have yet to figure out how to work their corresponding fairy tales. ➹ unfortunately, there won't be a upload schedule! as much as i wish i could write only this for the next few weeks, i have other life things to handle, so i'll only be working on this in my free time. nonetheless, i'll do my best to get them up as soon as i can.

[slvttyplum]

hii baby!! im in love with your work, really. you do an amazing job!

the other day i saw a hc about kento on tiktok that says that he would tell his partner to touch herself for him to watch it and i think for some reason that this is so him ... so if you agree and if you can, could you write a little something based on this?? xoxo

nanami had his routine for foreplay, but something that he discovered he really liked was when you touched yourself.

he would sometimes come home to you playing with yourself, and he'd crack the door open and just watch you.

when you found out, your heart dropped to your ass. not only was it embarrassing, but that was your alone time, and for him to watch you so unaware, it was arousing.

your mind going and making eighty-five different scenarios on how he looked, what he was doing, how long he watched, and everything, nanami caught on to you fantasizing about it, so he incorporated that into foreplay.

“go on. you want me to watch, so go ahead.” and he didn’t have to tell you twice. your legs were open, and your fingers slid in your mouth as your eyes were directly on him.

“mhm. just like that.” his voice dripped through your ear canals like honey, and certain words and how he pronounced them slowly went down.

not only that, but he looked so fucking good looking down on you. his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned on the frame of the door, wearing nothing but navy blue pajama pants.

your mouth getting wetter from looking at his figure, his muscles occasionally tensing up as he watched you drag your fingers out of your mouth and down your chest, then your stomach, then to your dripping core.

“uhn uhn, tease yourself first.” your fingers running on your core without entering or rubbing your clit, just touching yourself.

“touch your breasts; don’t be shy.” your hand going up to your breasts and fondling with your nipple, and him nodding to your hand, giving you the right to touch yourself.

the anticipation made you even wetter, your fingers sliding in easily and your fingers curving immediately, hitting your sweet spot.

moans, slipping out, and nanami’s member grows in his pants, his hand sliding down to grip it but nothing more.

you touching yourself in front of him happened every time before sex; he wanted to see how your body jolted and reacted in front of him.

his own nasty fantasy getting played out in front of him.

[shitsndgiggs]

A/N: This was so challenging to write since I had to try and incorporate all the different requests for this idea

UNEXPECTED NEWS - ARDA GÜLER

When Arda returns home from the Euros, his girlfriend surprises him with unexpected news

Arda Güler x pregnant! reader

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The room was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of sheets as I shifted uncomfortably.

I had felt off for days, chalking it up to a bad case of nerves or maybe something I ate.

But as the days turned into weeks and the feeling persisted, I knew I had to confront the possibility I had been avoiding.

Arda had been away for the Euro 2024, and while I was incredibly proud of him, his absence only magnified my anxiety.

We had planned for me to join him, but just before his departure, I had been hit with waves of nausea and exhaustion that left me bedridden. Now, the possibility of why was staring me in the face.

I held the pregnancy test in my trembling hands, the bathroom light too bright for the early morning hour.

My heart raced as I watched the seconds tick by, each one feeling like an eternity. And then, there it was. A faint, but unmistakable, second line.

I sank to the floor, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. How would Arda react? We had talked about kids, but in a distant, "someday" kind of way.

This was now, unexpected and daunting. I needed him here, but I knew he had to focus on his game.

A few days later, I sat on the couch, scrolling through photos of Arda on the field, his concentration fierce and his determination clear. I was so proud of him, but the weight of my secret was heavy.

My phone buzzed with a video call from Arda, and I took a deep breath before answering, trying to compose myself.

"Hey, sevgilim," he said, his face lighting up the screen. "How are you feeling today?"

"Hi, Arda," I replied, forcing a smile. "I’m alright. Just taking it easy."

He frowned slightly. "You still don't look well. I wish I could be there with you."

I bit my lip, the words on the tip of my tongue, but I held back. "I know, but you need to focus. I'll be fine."

We chatted for a while about his matches, his teammates, and the excitement of the tournament. He was doing so well, and I didn’t want to burden him with my news just yet.

When the tournament ended for Turkey and Arda returned home, I was a bundle of nerves. He had arranged for us to go on a small vacation, just the two of us, to relax and unwind.

But before we could leave, I knew I had to tell him.

He walked through the door, dropping his bags and rushing to me, wrapping me in a tight embrace. "I missed you so much," he whispered against my hair.

"I missed you too," I said, my voice trembling.

He pulled back, studying my face. "What's wrong? You look... worried."

I took his hands and led him to the couch, sitting down beside him. "Arda, there's something I need to tell you."

His expression grew serious, concern etching lines on his forehead. "What is it, sevgilim?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. "The reason I've been feeling sick... I took a test. I'm pregnant."

The room seemed to freeze in that moment. Arda's eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing as he processed the news. "Pregnant?" he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes. "Yes. I know it's unexpected, and I was scared to tell you while you were away. But, Arda, I..."

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here now. We'll figure this out together."

We sat there for what felt like hours, holding each other, whispering reassurances. His hand rested on my stomach, and I could see the awe in his eyes as he imagined our future.

Over the next few weeks, Arda was incredibly supportive, attending every appointment and making sure I was comfortable and happy.

We were excited about our future, but there was a nagging worry at the back of my mind about how we would manage everything with his busy career.

One evening, as we sat on the balcony watching the sunset, I turned to Arda. "I've been thinking a lot about our future and how we'll manage everything with your career and our baby."

Arda looked at me thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about that too. I've spoken with my manager and the team. They are very supportive and understand the importance of family. I can arrange my schedule to be here for you and our baby as much as possible."

"But what about your career? I don't want you to give up on your dreams because of me," I said, feeling a wave of guilt.

Arda took my hands in his, his eyes sincere. "You and our baby are my dreams now. Of course, I want to continue playing, but I will find a balance. We will find a balance together."

His words melted my fears away, and I leaned into his embrace, feeling a sense of peace wash over me. "Thank you, Arda. I don't know what I'd do without you."

A few days later, we decided to share the news with our families. We planned a small dinner with both sets of parents, and I was a bundle of nerves.

As we sat around the table, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Arda stood up, holding my hand, and cleared his throat. "We have some news to share with you all. We're expecting a baby."

The room erupted in joy and congratulations, our families overjoyed by the news. My mother hugged me tightly,. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart."

Later that night, as we lay in bed, Arda turned to me with a playful smile. "So, have you thought of any baby names yet?"

I laughed, feeling a lightness in my heart. "Not really. Have you?"

He grinned. "Well, I was thinking maybe something that represents both our cultures. What do you think of Demir for a boy or Zeynep for a girl?"

I smiled, loving the idea. "I think those are perfect."

As we drifted off to sleep, I felt a sense of contentment and excitement for the future.

We had a long journey ahead of us, but with Arda by my side, I knew we could face anything together.

[akutasoda]

Hi! For the 1k event could I request hcs of Wanderer or Alhaitham (either works!) with a shy but extroverted s/o? Like they love talking and socializing, but their shyness prevents them from doing so. Hurt/comfort, fluff, or angst would be fine :>

Love your writing btw!!

extroverted introverts

synopsis - when their s/o who loves socialising has a shyer personality

includes - alhaitham, wanderer

warnings - gn!reader, reader is shy but loves talking, fluff, slight angst, wc - 713

a/n: <3 thank you! why not both?

alhaitham ★↷

↪alhaitham isn't exactly a people person, he has those headphones on him for a reason now. he can happily go about his day not socialising with anyone outsiders of who he needs to speak to and even then he likes to keep it brief and gotten over with.

↪so when he first saw how shy you could be he kind of just assumed you weren't that fond of talking to people and that was all. it wouldn't take him long until he could see how you always looked like you had something to say when you were with people but never did.

↪he wanted to chalk it up to your shyness but when he saw you with familiar faces, himself included, you seemed to talk forever and it was like you would never be shy. it took him a short while to figure out you did like talking to people but you had a shyer side which made it very difficult for you.

↪now, if you were anyone else he'd see it as a tough luck situation but fortunately he cared for you. he wouldn't really waste any time in asking you about it and would quickly add that he'd be willing to try and help you. a small part of you wanted to tease him for becoming so willing to talk to people for your sake.

↪whenever you'd accompany alhaitham anywhere and he happened to be ambushed by someone he'd starrt helping you get incorporated into the conversation by always prompting you subtly - he actually liked doing this because he didn't have to talk to the other person but at the same time you could happily talk to them.

↪he would never pry into why you would become so shy sometimes as he knew it wasn't really his business but he'd still help you. sometimes he'd catch you becoming a bit more extroverted and see you talking to new people and a part of him would feel happy for you.

↪he did actively enjoy bringing you into conversations subtly as you always enjoyed talking with others and he didn't, so it'd normally take the attention off of him which meant he didn't have to talk to anyone unnecessarily.

wanderer ★↷

↪wanderer is quite a mixed bag when it comes to socialising with others. a part of him can be very outgoing and he likes to talk without a filter, uncaring to those around him especially when he's annoyed - much to nahida's dismay. another part of him can be quite quiet when it comes to socialising, preferring to silently judge while others talked.

↪didn't mind that you seemed to be shy and rather hesitant about talking with others. you'd probably have to tell him directly about how you loved to talk with others but you simply couldn't get over your shyness because he wouldn't really pick up on it precisely.

↪like maybe he'd notice how you always looked like you wanted to say something but didn't but he wouldn't really put two and two together. he'd also be slightly unsure of how to help because it's not like you can force somebody to just get better at talking to people.

↪he'd probably start noticing how much you actually did like socialising when he saw how quickly you could change from being shy to outgoing - specifically when talking to people you're quite familiar with. then he'd start noticing how much more outgoing and sociable you are, even with him.

↪he might be a little useless to begin with but maybe he'd start developing a more subtle approach where when he's talking to somebody he'd ask for your input and ease you into the conversation - it makes him very proud when he sees how comfortable you get when you get used to talking to someone and start enjoying the conversation.

↪or maybe if you didn't mind he'd start pushing you into taking the lead when you're both out and about. small things that would help you overcome your shyness and be able to have that confidence to be able to happily talk to anyone.

↪maybe he'd even let you talk his ear off late at night because he enjoys listening to how passionate you can be when talking-

akutasoda's 1k event

[autumnshighlady]

Yes, sir

Eris x female!reader

part of The Professor Series

summary: you've been trying to impress Dr. Vanserra for weeks, and an opportunity presents itself when he offers you private study sessions ;)

warnings: smut, power dynamic, name calling, oral sex (f receiving), thigh riding, face sitting, fingering, inappropriate use of mirror, tw: Ianthe

word count: 6.7k

request/prompt: Eris would undoubtedly be a history teacher, sarcastic at times and rigid

a/n: i got my degree in medieval history so there's a bit of rambling in this fic about my area of study since Eris is a history professor, figured i spent 4 years researching it so may as well incorporate it into this fic lmao feel free to breeze past the reader's monologue about the study material (or read it if you're interested hehe)

series playlist on Spotify here

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

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“Does anyone know why this manuscript was significant to political theory at the time of its creation?”

A few hands raised around you in the lecture hall, yours included. Political history professor Dr. Eris Vanserra paced slowly across the floor, his amber eyes scanning the rows of students for someone to pick on. His red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, a look that had more than a few of you swooning. His red button up shirt complimented the brown tweed jacket on his shoulders, an outfit that no doubt cost you more than you made in a month. Dr. Vanserra always had the nicest outfits out of all your professors, never coming to class with a thread out of place.

Over the last few weeks, you had come to terms with the fact that you were harbouring an intense crush on him. You couldn’t help it – he spoke with such elegance, explaining the most boring concepts in a way that had you utterly entranced. Frequently, you found yourself staring at his slender hands, which he often gestured with as he spoke. He was a strict professor, who had no patience for any fooling around during class. But his dry jokes were laced with sarcasm, adding to his charming wit. Everyone tried to impress him – Dr. Vanserra was a distant male, often brushing off students in his office hours as if he wanted as little interaction as possible. He never complimented their work either, a simple head nod being the closest anyone has gotten to positive feedback. He was quick to point out what you did wrong, never beating around the bush.

And so you moved your seat from the back of the class to the front, always making sure to be the first student in the door and the last one to leave. It was tough, with other students just as eager to gain a minute of his attention. But you welcomed the challenge, craving to be the one who broke his rigid exterior and get him to show that he at least had a heart. That included always being ready to answer any questions.

Eris’s glowing gaze landed on you, and your heart fluttered. For a moment, you were sure he would call on you to answer the question. But his gaze came as quickly as it left, landing on the blonde female two seats down from you, Ianthe.

“They’re important because they were written by a woman,” Ianthe said proudly, her annoying voice raising three pitches higher than what you knew was her normal voice. “The only one of its time, too. Proof that women in the elite class were learning to read and write just like the men.”

Ianthe proudly lifted her chin up, satisfied with her answer. Dr. Vanserra took a single step towards her, and she crossed her arms together and leaned her elbows on the table, her big eyes wide as she batted her lashes at the professor. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her lack of subtly, noting how ridiculous she looked trying to push her breasts together to show off her cleavage.

“A weak and shallow take, Ianthe, as per usual.” Eris said, sarcastic disappointment lacing his voice. 

You had to cough to conceal your laugh. Ianthe was always trying to suck up to Dr. Vanserra, always humiliating herself along the way yet failing to recognize how foolish she looked.

“Is there anyone who can answer my question with a point that’s actually worth my precious time to listen to?” He continued, surveying the hesitant class.

Your hand shot up once again, and this time the professor’s gaze landed on you. He nodded, his stoic face revealing nothing as he waited for you to make your point.

“It’s the only manuscript we currently possess that’s written by a woman in its time,” You began. “That doesn’t mean it’s the only one to have existed. And the author being our only example of a body of literature written by a woman in its era doesn’t mean all elite women were doing the same. Her husband was a close friend of the emperor’s, acting as one of his closest counsellors. It’s highly likely that her husband’s unusually high status is the reason she was able to read and write.”

Dr. Vanserra nodded. “Carry on.”

You tried to ignore the intensity of his gaze as you scrambled to remember your information. “Well, the manuscript itself gives us insight into the political strife of the realm. Many of our other sources from that era never address the problem because they don’t want the history books to remember the bad times. Not only does she directly address the political issues at hand, but she also inserts herself into the narrative, something no other source from its time does. So while it’s written as a book of advice to her son who’s a political prisoner in an enemy court, it gives us insight into 3 aspects of family in that era: feelings, authority, and consciousness. Which also links back to what we talked about last week regarding the connection between the theme of consciousness within this era’s literature.”

You let out a breath, trying not to shake. The professor continued to stare at you, expressionless, leaving you unsure if your points were completely bogus or not. Finally, Dr. Vanserra dipped his head. “Good.” He said plainly, and Ianthe audibly huffed. “Now speaking of last week’s material…”

Dr. Vanserra continued his lecture, and you felt Ianthe shooting daggers at you with her eyes. But you didn’t care, you were too busy riding the high of your first ever praise from the instructor – anyone’s first ever praise from him, now that you thought of it. You happily scrawled down your notes for the remainder of the period, until the clock struck 9am, indicating class was over.

“I will expect the first draft of your midterm essays in three weeks, do not forget.” Dr. Vanserra said as students began packing up. “It’s going to take me a hundred hours to go through them all, so make them worth the headache it will cause me.”

Students began scurrying out the door, and you were grateful that you had no classes for the rest of the day. You packed up your things more slowly, your books and notepads stacked in an organised pile, just how you liked it. You stepped around the front of your desk and scooped them up in your arms, but quickly collided with a blonde female carrying a very full mug of coffee.

“Oh my goodness!” Ianthe squealed, her voice sweet as honey. “Your notes! I am so sorry hun, let me help you clean that up.”

Anger boiled in your blood, and it took everything in you not to yank her by her blonde hair and drag her face through the spilled mess. “It’s ok,” You forced yourself to say through gritted teeth. “It was an accident.”

“Oopsies!” She chuckled, her blue eyes glittering. “See ya!” She skipped away, miniskirt bouncing with every step. Gods, you hated her.

You looked down at your fallen pile of notes, now drenched in caffeine and completely illegible. Kneeling down, you tried to see if anything was salvageable, but nothing remained. Tears welled in your eyes – weeks of hard work, just gone. You felt your white t-shirt sticking to your chest, now strained with brown.

You hadn’t even noticed Dr. Vanserra approach. His pale, slender hand appeared next to yours, picking up a drenched piece of paper. You looked up, seeing him crouched down in front of you.

“Can any of it be saved?” He asked, her voice still stoic but slightly softer.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak without crying yet.

Dr. Vanserra clucked his tongue. “Unfortunate. You’ve worked very hard on those.”

“Those are all my notes from the last few weeks,” You said quietly, lip wobbling. “Sir… I have nothing to work with for my essay draft now.”

He merely hummed as if deep in thought before grabbing the soaked papers from your hands and standing up. You heard him stride over to the trash bin and lift the lid, tossing the remains of the material inside. His expensive shoes clicked on the floor as he walked back over to you. His hand reached out, coming into your lowered field of view.

You looked up at him through teary eyes, confused. 

“Come on, get up.” Dr. Vanserra said, sighing. “She wins if you sit like that, just sulking. So get up and come with me.”

Trying not to tremble, you grabbed his hand. He pulled you up with surprising strength, his hand warm despite the freezing temperature of the room. Wordlessly, he grabbed your bags along with his own, walking out of the lecture hall with long strides. Puzzled, you scrambled to follow, too nervous to say a word. This was the most Dr. Vanserra had ever spoken to you, you didn’t want to risk screwing it up by saying something stupid. 

You followed him all the way to his office, shutting the door behind you as you entered the space. Rich tones of red, amber, and green adorned the room, expensive looking furniture and decor scattered everywhere in an organised manner. The office was filled with more candles than you could count, their orange flames flickering gently. Dr. Vanserra set your bags down on one of the chairs before finally speaking.

“Twelve lectures worth of your notes are gone, and you cannot do anything about that.” He said sternly. “So do not cry over it. However, I do not want to see you fall behind and try to redo the notes off of memory alone. You will fail the course if you do so. Therefore, for the next two weeks, we will meet in my office every day at 5pm. Each session we will go over one lecture, and you will redo your notes. We can go slow to ensure you do not miss anything, and you may ask me any questions you need. That will give you only a week to complete your draft, but at least you will not be lacking half the material needed for it. Does this work for you?”

Your jaw went slack. One on one review with the professor? It was the golden ticket you needed to succeed in this course, and you were going to make it count. “Yes, sir, absolutely.” You replied quickly, letting out a breath. “Thank you, Dr. Vanserra, thank you.”

“We are going to be spending a lot of time together over the next two weeks, my dear. You can call me Eris.”

Your heart flipped. “Eris.” You corrected yourself, testing his name on your tongue.

He smirked. “Excellent. Now that we are on a first name basis, I can comfortably tell you that the coffee has rendered your shirt see through.”

The blood drained from your face, and your arms shot from your sides to cover your chest. As luck would have it, you weren’t wearing a bra that day, meaning your nipples were likely visible through the wet white shirt. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” You stammered, cheeks flushing red.

“It’s quite alright.” Eris strolled towards a small dresser in the corner of the room, opening up the middle drawer and pulling out a cream coloured polo sweater with a v-neck. “Put this on, I won’t have my student walking around campus with her tits in plain sight.”

You blushed deeply, taking the fabric from him. It was the softest thing you’d felt, and smelled strongly of the cologne you frequently caught a whiff of whenever the professor walked by you. The plainness of his words made your brain go haywire, and you stood there dumbly.

“Unless you want to give me a show, I suggest you turn around and change so I can put your shirt in a bag for you to take home.” Eris said, a hint of mischief behind his amber gaze.

You turned around, reaching down and pulling the ruined t-shirt over your head. You shivered, feeling those eyes burning into your bare back as you carefully held your arm out behind you with the shirt balled inside your fist.

Eris took it, and you heard him turn around and walk away, presumably to grab a bag. You quickly pulled the sweater over your head, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach that danced happily at the thought of wearing your professor’s sweater.

“All done.” You said, turning around. “I’ll get this dry cleaned before I give it back.”

The male only shrugged as he tossed your shirt into a spare grocery bag. “Clean it, keep it, shred it, it matters not to me. I have three more identical to that one.”

“Uh, ok.” You muttered. The idea of keeping his sweater felt wrong, but you were secretly thrilled that he suggested it.

Eris took a seat behind his desk, pulling out books from his briefcase. “Now be gone with you, I have research to do. And remember, 5pm tomorrow. Do not be late.”

“I won’t.” You promised, grabbing your bags and making your exit.

Maybe it was a good thing Ianthe spilled her coffee on you.

************************

ONE WEEK LATER

You tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep hours after your study session with Eris. At first, they had been gruelling. Eris would grill you for every answer you gave him, making sure you could confidently back up your claims. Your brain was exhausted by the end of it, but you were happy. Eris had also given you helpful anecdotes that he hadn’t mentioned to the class. You had twice as many notes as before, and they were twice as helpful.

He was different than when he taught in class. More patient, less demanding. He spoke slower, allowing you to catch up if you fell behind. His strict persona was as rigid as ever in class, but you found he was calling on you more and more to answer questions. It delighted you.

At first, you had sat in the chair in front of his desk. But today, the chair was moved beside his. More than once, your leg knocked against his muscular thigh, and you’d murmur an embarrassed apology. Eris never acknowledged it, only smirked before returning to the material at hand. You still felt the tingling sensation on your own thigh from earlier when he gently squeezed it. You had gotten a tough question right, and Eris had reached down and put his hand on your thigh, quickly squeezing it before retreating.

Your face had gone bright red, and there was no way he hadn’t noticed. Just that one simple action had made your core throb with need. It didn’t help that he had begun calling you pet names, such as ‘my dear’ and ‘love’. You drank them up, his silver tongue making the nicknames sound just right. Every time he said them, it went straight to your core. 

Studying with your professor had suddenly become incredibly hard.

You rolled over in your bed once more, hoping that perhaps this side of the sheets would finally bring you sleep. But every time you closed your eyes, all you could think about was Eris’s touch on your thigh, and how it would feel if his hand was higher up, right where you had dreamed about it being. You imagined his slender fingers pumping inside you, filthy words falling from his lips like the first snow of winter, red hair falling in your face was his body moulded over top of yours–

“Get it together.” You scolded yourself. “He’s your fucking professor. It was nothing. Stop overthinking.”

But that didn’t stop you from sneaking your hand between your legs in a last ditch effort to ease yourself into sleep.

************************

A few days later, you checked your outfit in the bathroom mirror at 4:55pm before heading to Eris’s office. You hadn’t slept well last night, so you opted for a casual pair of soft, flowing green pants paired with a simple cream coloured button up. You’d be lying to yourself if you claimed you hadn’t deliberately chosen the pants that seemed to be Eris’s favourite shade of green. It was hard to sleep when all you could think about was how close you were going to be sitting to him the next day.

At 5pm on the dot, you opened the door to his office. “Good evening, sir.” You greeted him, locking the door behind you. It was something he insisted on, claiming he didn’t want his other students barging in thinking you were getting special treatment.

“Hello, my dear.” Eris said. “We’re covering lecture 10 today, I assume you brought the material.”

You nodded, setting your bag next to the desk before making your way around to Eris’s side. You paused, noticing something was missing. “Where’s my chair?” You asked.

“Oh, that thing,” Eris tutted, lips drawn into a faint smirk. “I gave it to my brother for the week. His office chair broke, and he has fifty students lined up outside his office every day who need it more than I do.”

Your mouth was dry, unsure of what game he was playing. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“I think there’s enough room over here for you.” Eris’s voice was velvety and laced with smugness. His brown eyes glowed, like a viper approaching a small creature to make its first strike.

“Oh, do you want me to stand?” You tried hesitantly. No way this was going where you think it was going, right? 

“For two hours? I wouldn’t do that to you. Come here.” He beckoned you forward with a come here motion and spread his legs ever so slightly, making your stomach do a somersault. Your body obeyed him without question, stepping forward until Eris grabbed your hand and pulled you down, causing you to fall onto his lap with a yelp. Strong hands gripped your hips, adjusting you so you were perched on his right thing, one leg on each side.

You bit your lip so the whimper that had built in your throat didn’t slip through. Your throbbing core was pressed right into the hard muscle of Eris’s thigh, emitting a heat you were sure he would feel.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” He purred, his lips dangerously close to your ear. His breath was warm, sending shivers down your spine.

You stuttered something incoherent in response, but Eris cut you off casually, reaching forward and opening your book. His knee hiked up a bit, pushing his thigh further into your core. This time, you couldn’t stop the noise you let out.

“Are you alright, love?” Eris asked innocently. You gritted your teeth – he knew what he was doing, and was trying to get a reaction from you. As much as you wanted him, you were stubborn.

Two could play this game.

“Just fine.” You quipped, attempting to keep your composure.

“Wonderful. Let us begin.”

************************

An hour later, your lip had indents on it from your teeth. It was the most torturous study session you’d ever had in your life. It was less than 10 minutes in before Eris took it up a notch. He had rested one hand on your hip, a simple gesture as if to steady you. But his thumb found its way underneath the fabric of your shirt and began to rub small circles above the bone. 

The more questions Eris asked you, the closer he leaned into you. His lips began grazing your ear as he spoke, driving you wild. He didn’t sit still either, casually moving his leg from time to time, causing you to slide forward, clit grazing the sinewy muscle.

It was a slow torture.

“You seem distracted.” Eris murmured in your ear, readjusting himself again and sending another wave of pleasure through your core. You couldn’t help it, a quiet moan leaving your mouth as you felt yourself giving up.

He chuckled darkly, sliding the rest of the hand under your shirt fabric and resting it on the skin above your hip bone. “You’ve been working so hard my dear, I can’t have you unfocused.”

The rest of his fingers began tracing lazy, teasing circles against your flesh. You arched into his touch, tears from the lack of stimulation to your cunt threatening to form in your eyes if he didn’t touch you soon.

“Please.” You murmured quietly.

“Please what?” Eris asked, feigning cluelessness but letting his teeth scrape the shell of your ear. “If you need something from me, you need only ask. And I will be happy to oblige.”

The bastard was really going to make you admit it. He knew what he had been doing for the past hour, teasing you subtly to the point where you’d beg for more. Your earlier determination was gone, replaced by a pathetic neediness for his touch.

“Touch me, please.” You whined, not caring how weak you sounded.

Eris paused for a second. “No.”

Your eyes shot open in surprise. If this was some sick game to humiliate you, you were going to kill him. “What do you mean–”

“You know what you want to do right now,” He cut you off, his voice low. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at my thighs for the past few days. This is your chance to take what you want, sweetheart. Only once you grind yourself into my thigh to show me how desperate you are for me, will I finally touch you.”

Humiliation burned through you. No matter how stubborn you were, it was no match for Eris’s. There was no way you’d be able to convince him to put his hands on you without first doing what he asked.

You leaned forward, placing your hands on his knee for support as your clit finally made contact with his thigh. You began rocking your hips, moaning at the relief it brought you. 

“Come on, I know you can give me more than that.” Eris remarked from behind you.

You groaned and ground your hips harder into his thigh, pleasure intensifying. You swivelled your hips back and forth and in circular motions, trying to find a path to the release you had been craving.

“Fuck.” You moaned, glancing sideways at the mirror that was propped against the wall adjacent to his desk. The sight nearly made you gasp. Your face was flushed, blissed out as you grinded into Eris’s thigh, a small wet patch having formed on his light brown trousers. Eris was leaning back in his chair, his eyes hungrily drinking in the view from behind of you riding his thigh. His face was dark with want, and his knuckles were white as they gripped the side of the chair.

You continued your motions, grinding into your professor’s thigh in his locked office, coming so close to building that familiar coil in your stomach but never quite getting there.

“Eris…” You moaned.

“Yes, my dear?” Came his reply.

“I need you. Please, sir, I need you to touch me.”

One glance in the mirror and you knew you were victorious. Calling him ‘sir’ seemed to have softened his determination to make you grind into him until you couldn’t take it anymore. “Aw, can you not get yourself off on my thigh without help?” He mocked, stroking your hip again. “You need me that badly, don’t you? You know how unsatisfying it would be to cum without my touch.”

He spun the chair around, lifting your hips with one hand and peeling your pants and underwear off at the same time. The two of you were now facing the mirror, able to take in the sinfulness of the situation in full view. Eris adjusted you on his lap so that you were sitting atop his bulge, legs spread over each of his legs. Your needy cunt was on display, and you leaned back into his solid chest.

“Such a greedy little thing.” Eris said. One of his hands reached down and stroked your clit, while the other wrapped around your other hip and began to tease your entrance. For a second, you thought he was going to cruelly pull away, leaving you high and dry. But moments later he plunged a finger inside you, increasing the speed and pressure on your clit as well.

Your entire body twitched with the sudden wave of pleasure, ten times more intense than anything you had given yourself. Your moan this time was loud, echoing throughout the vast space of the office. His hands worked you in all the right places, confidently finding the perfect pleasure spots as if he had been given a map to your body and spent years studying it.

“Is that better?” Eris cooed, running his lips up and down your neck. “Is this what you’ve been fantasising about, being completely at my mercy as I make you feel good?”

“Gods, yes.” You cried out, arching into him.

“There are no gods here to help you, my dear,” He chuckled darkly. “Only me.”

Eris bit down on the juncture between your shoulder and neck, causing you to gasp. But you welcomed the sting of it, sighing as his silver tongue caressed the indents in your skin. Your legs began to tense up, feeling the orgasm you had been so desperately craving building up. The wet squelching sounds of Eris’s fingers on your cunt sang in harmony with your moans, as you watched the scene in the mirror through half-closed eyes.

“That’s it, love.” Eris murmured, sucking your neck just below the curve of your jaw. “Cum all over my hands.”

Your body obeyed, erupting into a burst of flaming pleasure as your orgasm hit you hard. Eris’s fingers continued to work you through your high, intensifying it tenfold. You were a whimpering, twitching mess in your professor’s lap. Finally, he removed his hands from between your legs, giving you a merciful break. You slouched into him, panting.

Your professor had just given you the most intense orgasm of your life.

After a few minutes letting your body recover, Eris picked you up with ease, bridal style in his arms. He settled you both down on the couch, placing his hand on your inner thigh and slowly sliding it back towards your core. You whimpered as his fingers grazed your sensitive slit, causing him to chuckle.

“Oh you poor, sweet thing,” Eris mocked. “You didn’t think that would be it, did you? I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Your mind reeled as he adjusted himself, laying back flat on the couch and pulling you on top of him. Luckily, you caught yourself with one arm on his chest so you didn’t land flat on his body. Eris’s hand reached behind your neck, grabbing you firmly and pulling your lips into his. You groaned, shifting on top of him so you were straddling his waist to get more comfortable. Eris’s grip was tight, putting you at the mercy of his kiss as his lips consumed your own. You melted into his mouth like butter, sighing as his tongue danced with your own.

His other hand reached down and squeezed your backside, pushing your hips into his crotch and causing you both to moan into each other’s mouths. The noise that emitted from Eris’s lips was the most delightful thing you had ever heard, you decided. It filled you with determination to see what other sounds your professor could make. So you ground your hips into his bulge again, causing him to groan.

“Careful,” He growled, nipping at your lip in warning. “You’re playing with fire here, my dear. Did I say you could grind on my cock like a desperate whore?”

You paused, heat rushing to your core at his filthy words. You’d always loved the sound of Eris’s voice, and hearing him say such sinful things to you brought a fresh wave of arousal.

A hard smack landed on your ass, making you yelp in surprise.

“I asked you a question.” Eris said sternly. “Did I give you permission to grind on my cock, yes or no?”

“No.” You answered sheepishly.

“No is right. Sit up. You’re going to make it up to me.”

You frowned in confusion, but did as you were told, propping yourself up and sitting back down on Eris’s hips, trying to ignore the way his cock dug into your backside. You took a second to admire Eris’s form laying on the luxurious couch beneath you. His red hair was fanned around his face like the morning rays of sunshine, a beautiful contrast with the dark green of the sofa. His expression was relaxed, but calculating as always – angular cheekbones made more prominent in the light of the candles, his amber eyes glowing with desire. It was a sight you wanted to commit to memory forever.

“Remove your shirt, and come ride my face.” Eris said plainly. You baulked, having expected him to tell you to get on your knees and take his cock down your throat. You were supposed to make up for disobeying him by… letting him eat you out? Most males you had been with had been selfish, only going down on you if you sucked them off first. But Eris was different.

“I would suggest you listen and do as I say, unless you want to be bent over my knee and spanked until you cannot walk, and are ordered not to cum for a week.” Eris’s voice was less patient this time, noting your hesitation.

Something dark in his eyes told you he meant it, so you obeyed, unbuttoning your shirt and pulling it off your shoulders, followed by your bra. You were now completely naked on top of Eris, who remained fully clothed. Under any other circumstances, you’d have insisted he at least partially undress first. But you knew his patience was wearing thin, and as much as you secretly wouldn’t mind being spanked, the thought of not coming for a week was something you couldn’t do.

You crawled your way up his body, seating a knee on either side of his head. You lifted your hips, core inches from his face. The male was practically salivating beneath you as you gingerly lowered your cunt to skim his lips.

“I thought I told you to sit.” Eris said.

You gawked. “But I don’t want to suffocate–”

Your sentence was interrupted by a frustrated growl from your professor. He gripped your hips firmly and pulled you down hard, seating you fully on his mouth. You cried out as his tongue expertly stroked your folds, flicking your clit as he ate you out with precision that made you weak. Instinctively, one hand came down to grip Eris’s red locks, causing him to moan into your cunt. His hair was soft in your fingers, and you relished in the feeling of it.

You felt Eris’s hands guide your hips back and forth, encouraging you to rock them against his face. Moans left your lips as you obliged, grinding into his face like you had on his thigh. Evidently, this pleased Eris and he groaned, which sent delicious vibrations through your core.

You let your head fall back, shamelessly riding Eris’s mouth as you pulled on his hair. If your grip caused him any pain, he gave no indication of it. Whenever you tried to lift your hips to let him breathe, his grip only tightened and firmly held you in place. It wasn’t long before you climaxed again, letting out a choked cry as your juices covered his face. After catching your breath, letting Eris wipe his face with his fingers before sicking the digits clean, you climbed off of him, collapsing into a sitting position on the couch as Eris sat up next to you. His skilled fingers began undoing the buttons on his shirt, and you hungrily drank in the sight of his bare chest as he pulled the expensive material off.

“You did so well, my dear.” Eris purred. “I think you can cum one more time for me. Ride my cock this time, love, make a pretty mess all over it just like you did with my face. And my fingers… and thigh.”

Your mouth went slack. After two orgasms, you weren’t sure if you could handle a third. But the desire to please him outweighed any reservations you had about your sensitive body, so you reached down and unlaced his breeches, making eye contact as you did so. Eris smirked, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion as you pulled out his long cock and stroked it once. The tip was red and needy, leaking with precum and making your mouth water. You swung your leg over his hips, straddling them. One of your hands reached towards Eris’s cock, grabbing it and lining it up with your entrance. You took a breath, and began to sink down.

You stopped after getting just the tip in, trying to catch your breath. The stretch stung, and you weren’t sure how you were going to fit the rest of it in, especially being so oversensitive still. Eris simply watched with his hands behind his head casually, a smug look on his face. He did not help you, seemingly content to watch you struggle to take his length.

You forced your body to relax, sliding to about halfway down before stopping, moaning dizzily. All of your senses were completely overwhelmed, and you felt so full with only half his cock inside you. 

“Aw, are you finding it difficult to take me, love?” Eris mocked. “Maybe you can’t handle it–”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence, for his teasing tone filled you with sheer determination and you slammed yourself down onto him. Eris was cut off in a strangled moan, eyes widening as you impaled your cunt on his cock. The force of it knocked the wind out of you, but you didn’t let it stop you. You swirled your hips, pulling yourself up his length before falling down on him again, bracing your hands on his shoulders for support. Gods, he was so deep inside of you, touching places that made your head spin.

“Fucking hell.” Eris groaned, his voice rough as you slid up and down on his cock at a relentless pace. You twisted and swivelled your hips as you did so, your cunt squeezing his cock at new angles that made your professor gasp. You threw your head back, and Eris took the opportunity to lean forward and wrap his arms around your back, pulling your chest closer to him and taking your breast in his mouth. 

The new sensation made you cry out, but you refused to let your pace falter. Eris’s teeth scraped your nipple, sucking harshly before moving to your other breast. His hips began slamming up into you to meet your own, making the coil in your belly tighten.

“Eris…” You whined, tangling your hands in his hair again.

“That’s it, love, say my name,” Eris reached one hand down to roll your clit with his thumb, while the other gripped your throat and squeezed. “Let everyone know who’s fucking you dumb right now. Let them hear you scream for me as your tight little cunt takes my cock.”

You rode him with a vigour you didn’t know you possessed, shamelessly moaning his name over and over again. “Eris… Eris…. Eris!” It was overwhelming, your professor’s cock slamming in and out of you, his hand rolling your clit while the other held you by the throat. You kept your grip on his hair, yanking as you climaxed one last time, the action of your fingers pulling his red locks making Eris cry out too. His hips stuttered as his cum shot through you, your cunt clenching around him as you rode out your own orgasm. It was the most intense out of all the ones you had so far, the warmth of Eris spilling inside you making you dizzy with pleasure. 

You leaned forward, dragging your lips up Eris’s throat as he moaned with you clenching around him. He cursed, the slip in his control filling you with pride. His skin tasted like rich autumn spices. You pulled his cock out from inside you and collapsed into his chest, panting. You didn’t realise how exhausted your body was until now. Every cell in you was completely spent, leaving you unable to move. You fought the sleepiness, but the warmth from Eris’s chest was too comforting and darkness overcame you.

************************

A few hours later, you opened your eyes. For a moment, you expected to be in your own bed, the whole thing having been a dream. But you took in your surroundings, realising you were still in Eris’s office. The professor was sitting at his desk, quietly grading. You scrambled upright, the blanket that had been draped across you falling onto your lap.

“I’m so sorry.” You stammered. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Eris looked up at you, smirking. “You have nothing to apologise for. I take pride in your passing out, actually. Means I did my job well, not that there was any doubt based on the noises you made.”

You blushed furiously, but then looked down at your body. You expected to be sweaty and gross from the sex, utterly naked and exposed. But you felt clean, as if you had been wiped down with a wet cloth and then dried. Your old clothes were neatly folded on the ground next to you, and you were dressed in a pair of soft, forest green sweatpants and a white crew neck sweater. They definitely were not Eris’s size. “You keep women’s clothes in your office?” You asked, confused.

“I keep a spare set of attire for all the female students I fuck in here.” Eris’s voice was dry, and you whipped around to stare at him with wide eyes. “That was a joke, my dear. I had them picked out last week. You know, in case Ianthe decided she wanted to spill more coffee on you in the future.”

You snorted, heart fluttering at the surprising thoughtfulness of his actions. While you had hoped he wouldn’t just toss your clothes at you and send you on your way without a word, given the professor’s rigidness it hadn’t been entirely out of the question. “You’re not funny.”

“On the contrary, I am terribly funny.”

“You got these clothes last week, was it really because of Ianthe or was your plan to fuck me all along? Is that why you offered to help me in the first place?”

Eris rolled his amber eyes, giving you a stern look. “No. My offer to help you was, and is, genuine, and with your best academic interests in mind. I may be a prick, but I am not cruel. Fucking you was a delightful bonus, not an expectation.”

His words reassured you. Despite his strict reputation, it seemed Dr. Vanserra had a heart after all. You checked the clock, realising it was almost 9:30pm. “Shit, I have to get home now. My roommate is going to think I fell off the face of the earth.”

You hastily grabbed your things, giving Eris a quick kiss on the mouth before hurrying to the doorway. You had no idea what this meant for the two of you, if it was a one time thing to satisfy both your needs, or something more. Regardless, you didn’t want to think too much about it, content to bask in the aftermath of the best sex you’ve ever had.

“Same time tomorrow.” Eris piped up right before you opened your door. “Don’t be late.”

“Yes sir.” You smirked at the twitch of his face at your words.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

A sadistic grin crossed Eris’s face. “When you get home, I’m positive you will be reminiscing about the mind blowing orgasms you just had. But you are not to touch yourself until I see you tomorrow night, am I clear? There will be… repercussions, if you disobey me.”

You baulked, embarrassed that he had seen right through you, but nodded anyway. As the door closed behind you, you wondered if you were going to last the next 20 hours without breaking his rule.

[theoceansluvr]

Percy Jackson x Cheerleader! Reader

warnings; injuries author's note; YIPPEE ANOTHER REQUEST ! i literally can't write unless i have one or like.. i get really obsessed with a character T^T

right off the bat, im a MAJOR sports player Percy enjoyer

like outside of the swim team !

so, keeping that in min, you guys are like the superior jock/cheerleader couple 🗣️🗣️

whenever you compete he's literally decked out in the team colors and yelling

amazed anytime you do any flips, like jaw dropped to the GROUND at how amazing you look doing it

the most awestruck person in the room no matter how many times he's watched you

your personally hype man as per usual !

stretches with you a lot, mainly because he's trying to figure out how you can lift your leg so high up with it hurting..

(i've had the same question for YEARS)

likes fluffing out your pom poms whenever you get new ones :33

he just likes the sound they make when you shake them

if im incorporating my die hard sports player Percy headcanon, you have a little keychain with his number and he has one with a lil pompom

had the upmost respect for tumbling it's not even funny

like he knows he'd probably break his arm if he tried to jump back on his arm like that

constantly at the gym together because God knows how often sports players have to work out

i think he'd wear one of your hair ties all the time, even a scrunchie

he's an incredibly big show off when it comes to you 😦

you definitely got him super into watching college cheer performances(FAMU ON TOP !!)

since sprains are super common in cheer, he's definitely making sure you don't overdo it so you can avoid things like that

if you do manage to sprain an ankle or anything, he's FORCING you to stay in the couch and rest it

bro is notttt playing when it comes to this either

when you're healed up, he makes sure you ease yourself back into it instead of just jumping back in y'know ?

idk if I put this last time but🥁🥁🥁 CHEER THEMED PROMPOSAL !!!

if y'all couldn't tell i adore cute hoco/promposals 😞

matching bead bracelets in the team colors ??? matching bead bracelets in the team colors.

he never takes it off matter what and actively BRAGS about it to his teammates

"That's great but.. do you have matching bracelets together ? No ? That's what I thought."

they are tired of this man

jumping and screaming and kicking his feet whenever you win a comp !

picks you up and spins you around !!

many, MANY kisses of joy are a given

even if you lose, he's beyond proud of you and would rather you have lost having fun then have won and end up hurt or whatnot

not sure if this is exactly what you wanted anon, but i definitely tried !! ALSO THIS MADE ME CONSIDER CHEER TRYOUTS SO THANK YOU🗣️🗣️

[cheeseceli]

Skz reaction to their s/o listening to angry music

Pairing: ot8 skz × gn!Reader (individually)

Genre: I'm pretty sure this is fluff

Request: "i was wondering if u could write like a reaction of skz when they find out that yn is listening to angry music (metal, rage rap,..)"

A/N: I AM SO LATE with this request, I'm so so sorry😭 it took me a while to figure out how i wanted to write this but I hope you like it nevertheless! Also first time I use dividers and I think it's so cute (credits in the end of the post)

Bang Chan

I think he would be so surprised?? Mainly if your music taste doesn't match your appearance

Like imagine you wear such soft clothes and then you're listening to rage in your headphones

He would be tempted to make more songs like this to stray kids though

And would ask for your opinion ofc, might even put your name in the credits

Will also send tiktoks he finds about angry music all the time

And if he ever gets to know one of your favourite artists (this man knows the whole entertainment industry atp) he will let you know and might even bring you an autograph

Lee Know

He would find out your music taste when you guys made one of those matchings in spotify

He swore you guys would be more than 90% compatible

you were only 34%

he is in shock

But he listens to every single song that shows up on the matching

Might even add some to his favourites

Will let you know his opinions too

And if another member likes angry music as well, he will mention you in the conversation

He might even use this as a way to bring you closer to the members

His s/o and his best friends, he would love that

Changbin

If you like angry rap he is now taking notes lmao

Will try to incorporate it in his own rap

Takes you to concerts!!

Buy you merch!!

Tries to meet with your favourite artists!!

Makes angry music for skz!!

Will do everything and anything when it comes to your likings, including musical taste

And he would add angry music in your karaoke nights

He is screaming from the top of his lungs into the mic but he is so happy lol

Please scream with him, thank you

Hyunjin

I feel like he always knew that

It was probably one of the first things he knew about you

And even though he might not like this musical genre personally, he will probably listen to it sometimes and will have some of your songs in his playlist

But he likes it the most when he is driving and you play one of your playlists on the radio

When you sing along>>

And!!

If you know the story behind one of the artists/songs PLEASE tell him

He would love to listen to you explain it to him

Han

You can't convince me that this man doesn't have some songs like that in his playlist as well

He goes to the gym listening to the most agressive songs ever

So he actually is pretty happy you guys have something else in common

And if you guys like the same artist or the same song, he is in heaven

Specially if it's metal

Nothing will change my mind, he listens to metal a lot

And agressive rap

Will also incorporate to his rap sometimes and maybe will even put some references to your favourite artists on the lyrics

Will add a lot of your recommendations to his playlist

Felix

Tried to do a matching on spotify as well and was in shock with how many metal and rap was there

Asks you to make a playlist for him recommending some songs

Will show your recs to the members as well

Suddenly all the dorm is listening to metal

And if you ever think that his voice could match one of your favourites songs, he would be so honoured fr

Like, you're making an association between a thing that you love and him, he is so genuinely happy

Will try to sing it ofc

Seungmin

He is other one who I think will probably not like the genre that much

But will listen to it whenever you listen to it

He really likes to share an earphone with you

If you're up to it, so is he

And also likes to pick which song you're listening to

Will make a whole queue for you to listen

And if he ever comes across to another angry music, he is sending it to you immediately

I.N

Now that they have personal instagram accounts (I'm so happy lmao) he will post a picture on his stories and will let you choose the song

So he is wearing the cutest outfit but rage is playing on the background

He finds it pretty cool ngl

And since we're talking about fashion

He would love to see how your musical taste reflects on your clothes, if it does

It's so interesting he swears

He would also spoil you with merch and concerts

I believe he would try to listen to some angry music to try to impress you lmao

Like you'd be listening to some music and somehow he knows the artist, the album and even the release date

Pretend you didn't see him search everything on google

Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Dividers by @cafekitsune (thank you btw!)

[cuddlytogas]

there was some Twitter madness recently where someone left a comment on someone's art to the effect of, "Ed shouldn't wear a dress, he's a man!" which I do disagree with on principle, but unfortunately, it brought out one of my least favourite trends in the fandom

so, naturally, I had to write a twitter essay about it. and I already largely argued this in a post here, but the thread is clearer and better structured, so I thought I'd cross-post for those not on the Hellsite (derogatory). edited for formatting/structure's sake, since I no longer have to keep to tweet lengths, and incorporating a couple of points other people brought up in the replies

so

I want to point out that the wedding cake toppers in OFMD s2 aren't evidence that Ed wants to wear dresses. Gender is fake, men can wear skirts, play with these dolls how you like, but it's not canon, and that scene especially Doesn't Mean That.

People cite it often: 'He put himself in a dress by painting the bride as himself! It's what he wants!' But that fundamentally misunderstands the scene, and the series' framing of weddings as a whole. I'd argue that Ed paints the figure not from desire, but from self-hatred; it's not what he wants, but what he thinks he should, and has failed to, be.

(Yes, I am slightly biased by my rampant anti-marriage opinions, but bear with me here, because it is relevant to the interpretation of the scene, and season two as a whole.)

The show is not subtle. It keeps telling us that the institution of marriage is a prison that suffocates everyone involved. Ed's parents' cycle of abuse is passed to their son in both the violence he witnesses then enacts on his father, and the self-repression his mother teaches, despite her good intentions ("It's not up to us, is it? It's up to God. ... We're just not those kind of people. We never will be."). Stede and Mary are both oppressed by their arranged marriage, with 1x04 blunty titled Discomfort in a Married State. The Barbados widows revel in their freedom ("We're alive. They're dead. Now is your time").

But even without this context, the particular wedding crashed in 2x01 is COMICALLY evil. The scene is introduced with this speech from the priest:

"The natural condition of humanity is base and vile. It is the obligation of people of standing ... to elevate the common human rabble through the sacred transaction of matrimony."

It's upper class, all-white, and religiously sanctioned. "Vile natural conditions" include queerness, sexual freedom, and family structures outside the cisheteropatriarchal capitalist unit. "The obligation of people of standing" invokes ideas like the white man's burden, innate class hierarchy, religious missions, and conversion therapy. Matrimony is presented as both "sacred" (endorsed by the ruling religious body), and a "transaction" (business performed to transfer property and people-as-property, regardless of their desires), a tool of the oppressive society that pirates escape and destroy. That is where the figurines come from.

When Ed, in a drunk, depressive spiral, paints himself onto the bride, he's not yearning for a pretty dress. He's sort of yearning for a wedding, but that's not framed as positive. What he's doing is projecting himself into an 'ideal' image of marriage because he believes that: a) that's what Stede (and everyone) wants; b) he can never live up to that ideal because he's unlovable and broken (brown, queer, lower-class, violent, abused, etc); c) that's why Stede left. He tries to make himself fit into the social ideal by painting himself onto the closest match - long-haired, partner to Stede/groom, but a demure, white woman, a frozen, porcelain miniature - because, if he could just shrink himself down and squeeze into that box, maybe Stede would love him and he'd live happily ever after. But he can't. So he won't.

The fantasy fails: Ed is morose, turns away from the figurines, then tips them into the sea, a lost cause. He knows he won't ever fulfil that bride's role, but he sees that as a failure in himself, not the role. It's not just that "Stede left, so Ed will never have a dream wedding and might as well die." Stede left when Ed was honest and vulnerable, "proving" what his trauma and depression tell him: there's one image of love (of personhood), and he'll never live up to it because he's fundamentally deficient. So he might as well die.

This hit me from my very first viewing. The scene is devastating, because Ed is wrong, and we know it! He doesn't need to change or reduce himself to fit an image and be accepted (as, eg, Izzy demanded). Stede knows and loves him exactly as he is; it's the main thread and theme of season two!

(@/everyonegetcake suggested that Ed's yearning in these scenes includes his broader desire for the vulnerability and safety Stede offered, literalised through unattainable "fine" things like the status of gentleman in s1, or the figurine's blue dress. I'd argue, though, that these scenes don't incorporate this beyond a general knowledge of Ed's character. Ed is always pining for both literal and emotional softness, but the significance of the figurines specifically, to both Ed and the audience, is poisoned by their origin and context: there is no positive fantasy in the bride figure, only Ed's perceived deficiency.

Further, assuming that a desire for vulnerability necessarily corresponds with an explicit desire for femininity, dresses, etc, kind of contradicts the major themes of the show. OFMD asserts that there is nothing wrong with men assuming femininity (through drag, self-care, nurturing, emotional vulnerability, etc), but also that many of these traits are, in fact, genderless, and should be available to men without affecting their perceived or actual masculinity. It thematically invokes the potential for cross-gender expression in Ed's desires, especially through the transgender echoes in his relieved disposal, then comfortable reincorporation, of the Blackbeard leathers/identity. It's a rich, valuable area of analysis and exploration. But it remains a suggestion, not a canon or on-screen trait.)

Importantly, the groom figure doesn't fit Stede, either. Not just in dress: it's stiff and formal, and marriage nearly killed him. He's shabbier now, yes, but also shedding his privilege and property, embracing his queerness, and trying to take responsibility for his community. In a s1 flashback, Stede hesitantly says, "I thought that, when I did marry, it could be for love," but he would never find love in marriage. Not just because he's gay, but because marriage in OFMD is an oppressive, transactional institution that precludes love altogether. All formal marriages in OFMD are loveless.

So, he becomes a pirate, where they reject society altogether and have matelotages instead. Lucius and Pete's "mateys" ceremony is shot and framed not like a wedding, but as an honest, personal bond, willingly conducted in community (in a circle; no presiding authority, procession, or transaction).

That is how Stede and Ed can find love, companionship, and happiness: by rejecting those figurines and their oppressive exchange of property, overseen by a church that enables colonialism and abuse. Ed is loved, and deserves happiness, as he is, no paint or projection required.

ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY: draw Ed in dresses! Write him getting gender euphoria in skirts! Write trans/nb Ed, draw men being feminine! Gender is fake, the show invites exploration, that's what 'transformative works' means! But please, stop citing the cake toppers as evidence it's canon. Stop citing a scene where a depressed Māori man gets drunk and projects himself onto a rich, white, silent bride because he thinks he's innately unlovable and only people like her can find happiness, shortly before deciding to kill himself, as canon evidence it's what he wants.

(Also, please don't come in here with "lmao we're just having fun," I know, I get it. Unfortunately, I'm an academiapilled researchmaxxer, and some of youse need to remember that the word "canon" has meaning. NOW GO HAVE FUN PUTTING THAT MAN IN A PRETTY DRESS!! 💖💖)