#pages upon pages and none of it made sense

[onegaishimash]

Just remembered something from high school that sounds like an elaborate fake Tumblr story.

My friend can't process the separation of languages, so if she actually attempts to learn one, her brain won't be able to tell if she's speaking English or not. She's monolingual, so it's typically not a problem, but she did once try learning Japanese.

While there's still a few hold overs even today, it's mostly greetings. No biggie. When it was fresh in her mind however? Totally different story. The amount of people she made freeze in their tracks as she spoke like she was written by a writer who doesn't know how bilinguals speak is not a number I could hope to count.

The ultimate version of this is her notes for her classes right after she started learning how to write hiragana. She didn't know any kanji or katakana, only hiragana. Also, only vowels. She didn't notice until another student tried to copy them when they fell behind and found her writing unreadable.

Instead of reading like "Lorem ipsum" they read "Lおrえm いpうm"

[alg3a]

muffins

viktor x f! reader

3.8k, MDNI, no use of (y/n)

description: Viktor had been so kind as to agree to help you out with your midterm prep, so you thought baking him muffins would be a great way to repay him. However, an accidental secret ingredient gets in the way of studying.

warnings: Age gap, roomie smut, more story than smut, p in v, sex pollen/serum (with pretty explicit consent), overall jolly good fun, no harm no foul, yippee!

a/n: inspired by @the-hidden-pages story, Human Testing because it’s one of the first viktor x reader fics i ever read and i STRONGLY recommend!

Any student should feel lucky to have the smartest men at the academy as their roommates. Being an undergraduate biochem student who had to work to pay her own tuition, going to lecture wasn’t always an option. That’s when you’d bake a tray of brownies or do some extra dishes and call in a favor from one of your roomies.

It happened all the time, which made you incredibly thankful to have one people-pleaser in the apartment. Jayce was always willing to put aside whatever he was doing and help you out on your Arcane Studies homework or your Bioengineering project. Last semester, finals week consisted of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on the rug of the living room, paper scattered all over the floor as you tried to decipher the grading scale of your Organic Chemistry class to see what the lowest grade on the test you could get was and still wind up with a passing grade (something Jayce had done plenty of times in his undergrad years).

Viktor, on the other hand, had gotten somewhat tired of your constant requests for him to backtrack and dive into knowledge he hadn’t tapped for years now. He was never particularly rude about it, but you were very perceptive. When you asked him to repeat an explanation once or twice, you noticed the growing exhaustion on his face that bordered frustration and you stopped asking for his help going forward. It wasn’t to his own fault, you could be pretty needy sometimes, so more often than not, you just asked Jayce.

Only, Jayce was out of town for a Hextech press conference this weekend, the weekend before you had your Arcane Studies midterm. In a heartbreaking display, he had apologized profusely for not being able to help, inches away from getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness. You assured him none of that was necessary, and that you’d just stay up studying in the library or even reach out to your TA (who you’d never even spoken to before in class or outside of it, and who you were certain would be less helpful than Jayce).

To remedy your situation–even though you pinkie promised him you didn’t need him to–he took it upon himself to ask Viktor to help you cram study on Sunday night, the night before your midterm. While Jayce asked, you did your best to listen from your bedroom, the next room over. You heard some grumbling from Viktor and a muffled, yet compelling “She’s our roommate and she bakes us nice things” from Jayce.

Apparently that last bit must have been very rousing, because shortly after, Jayce was at your door telling you that Viktor agreed to a maximum of three hours of cramming that would begin no earlier than eight at night.

You worked for all of Saturday’s daylight hours, and then finalized your experimental serum for your Advanced Biochemistry project. For the biochem class, you’d been studying methods of enhancing senses for the first half of the quarter and your midterm project involved making a serum that could temporarily improve the performance of one human sense. Around three weeks ago, you and your classmates drew topics from a hat and your fingers emerged with “arousal” on a piece of paper. Needless to say, you were concerned. You thought the serum project would be fairly straightforward, and had already brainstormed ideas for vision enhancing serums or hearing aid serums, but arousal? You had to think out of the box for that one.

When you finished up your last touches to the serum, you were left with enough time at night to get ingredients to bake Viktor some muffins as a sign of your gratitude. You got enough stuff for twice as much as you would’ve made for Jayce and actually stuck to the recipe this time. Keeping Viktor happy was a very delicate ecosystem and there could be no tampering.

It wasn’t that he was a grump or even that he hated you, he was just too busy to want to help and too intelligent to want to backtrack. Once he had even looked at what you were studying and said, “I’d have to go too far back to help you.” That was inspiring.

You poured the contents of your tote bag on the counter.

On your better days, you and Viktor actually got along quite well. Those were the rare days when Viktor got more than three hours of sleep and ate a full meal before two pm. In his best conditions, the two of you were good friends.

The best days were when he and Jayce both come home early enough for you to make them a home cooked meal. Then you’d all curl up on the couch and watch a movie. The last time that happened, Jayce picked some superhero movie you’d never heard of and you and Viktor both fell asleep. You woke up the next morning asleep on Viktor’s chest with four blankets piled on top of you both. Jayce said he knew both of you ran cold, so he took the blankets from your beds. You and Viktor never talked about that night.

The exhaustion of your stressful Saturday had leaked into your studying Sunday, and in a tired stupor, you whisked together all the ingredients for the muffins and poured them haphazardly into the mold. They might not look pretty, but at least they’d taste good.

You pulled the freshly baked muffins from the oven and rested them on the stovetop. The sweet aroma of warm blueberry filled the apartment. It must have roused Viktor from whatever he was working on in his room, because he emerged a full quarter of an hour earlier than your agreed upon study time.

“Hey,” you said. “I made you some muffins as a thank you. They’re still hot, though, I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes.”

“That’s fine,” he said, setting himself at the kitchen table and sipping from a cup of coffee that had been there since Jayce was still in town. “Would you like to begin now?”

You grab all your study guides and homework assignments and your assortment of chicken scratch notes and slide them over to him on the table.

“Are your midterms cumulative?” He asked, finishing the remnants of his cold coffee.

“No,” you answered. Thank God. If you had to remember everything that was in the last midterm you’d be losing your mind right about now. “Everything past Arcane History will be on the test.”

“Mm. I see.”

He scans your notes for another five minutes.

“I’ll quiz you,” he decided, standing up to check on the temperature of the cooling muffins on the stovetop.

“Uh, okay.” You didn’t typically study by being quizzed, especially when you hardly went to lecture and didn’t even know most of the material. But you didn’t want to risk arguing with Viktor and have him decide to take his muffin to-go.

“Tell me why the Arcane can manifest in such unpredictable manners?”

“Because…” you started to think that maybe going to your TA wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Your TA was just a random graduate student. The roommate that was helping you study now was one of the inventors of Hextech, the researcher responsible for some of the greatest advancements in Piltover’s modern understanding of the Arcane. “...it reflects the intentions of the user.”

“Correct,” he says, affording you a rare Viktor smile. “Would you like a muffin?”

You had intended for the muffins to be entirely Viktor’s, but you hadn’t eaten all day and gods, they smelled good. Plus, it was like a reward for getting an answer right.

“Sure, thanks.”

You watch as Viktor plucks two muffins from the tin and comes back to seat himself at the table. He hands one to you and sorts through the papers you’ve scattered on the desk as he brings a small chunk to his mouth. You do the same.

Something tastes slightly off, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s possible the ratio is off, and in your tired state you added too little vanilla extract or too much vegetable oil. Regardless, they’re not bad at all.

“Your notes are a little bit difficult to–” Viktor stops before finishing his sentence. He pulls out a sheet of paper from the pile and reads it, his eyes widening a bit as he does.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“These notes are from your biochem class,” he says, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for just a few seconds over the piece of paper. “This is an interesting assignment…”

“Oh,” you feel your cheeks growing hot. “Sorry, that’s not supposed to be in there.”

You reach out to take the paper from him, but he pulls it back as you do. He’s still reading it. You’d really like him to stop reading about your own aphrodisiac serum, but your embarrassment is a bit unwarranted. After all, you didn’t make the serum because you wanted it, you made it because it was a graded assignment. Nothing more. So what if you did eventually garner interest in the topic. So much interest, in fact, that you did extensive research into the properties your serum could afford and spent long hours in your lab experimenting with it. Shamefully, yes, you had tried some of it. Mainly to test its efficiency but also out of plain curiosity. You had determined that it was safe, most importantly, but you’d also learned that it tasted horrible. To counter that, you’d added some–

“Oh fuck!” You shout as you scoot your chair so far back so quickly that it topples over. You stumble over your bag on the floor as you sprint to the kitchen.

“Is something wrong?” Viktor asks from his seated position.

“Don’t eat the muffin!” You exclaim as you run to the counter space next to the stove, your heart pounding.

You confirm your worst fear. The bottle of vanilla extract you picked up from the supermarket sits on the counter, the protective seal still intact. Your arousal serum, however, is halfway empty a few inches beside the extract.

You turn around slowly to face Viktor.

“It’s a bit late for that,” Viktor says, holding up the half of his muffin that remains. “Did something happen?”

You eye your own muffin on the table, half eaten as well.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you scrambled back toward the table where Viktor sat, the serum held tight by your hand. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“No,” Viktor says, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

Come on, just get it out already. You have to tell him, it would be morally bankrupt not to.

“I accidentally drugged you.”

Okay, maybe not like that.

Viktor just stared at you, his expression unchanged. You sort of just wished he would yell at you so that you could get the encounter over with, but no such luck. He just sat, unphased, until he picked up the notes he was looking at earlier.

“With this?” He asks. Even his voice is still even. You knew that if the roles had been reversed you would be fracking out, absolutely bouncing off the walls.

“Yes, but don’t worry I’ve done lots of research on this serum,” you say, taking the notes from Viktor and looking them over. You read the list two or three times, scanning for any sort of antidote for ingestion. You saw none. “How could I have not included an antidote?” You mutter, mentally beating yourself up.

“It’s okay,” Viktor said and you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up at him from your notes. “It is safe, yes? It won’t kill us?”

“No, it won’t, but it’s a powerful aphrodisiac and I added half the serum to those muffins. If my math is right, you’re taking three times the recommended dosage.”

“But I only ate half the muffin,” Viktor counters. Again, you’re shocked by how unphased he is.

“Okay, then one and a half times the dosage,” you shrug off his comment as you look for anything in your notes that might reveal a way to undo this mess.

“I assume this means you no longer wish to study?” Viktor says.

“How are you so calm about this?” You finally burst out, slamming the paper down on the table to look at him.

Big mistake.

Once you see him, you become lightheaded and your knees buckle beneath you. You have to sit down to stop yourself from falling over.

“Are you alright?” Viktor asks.

“I-I’m fine,” you shake your head in an attempt to get some blood flowing to your brain. No luck.

“Since you’re obviously worked up about this, why don’t you tell me how it works and then we can go from there.”

“It’s a fast acting stimulant,” you say, burying your face in your hands. “The chemistry is irrelevant since I have no goddamn cure for it, but it works the same as any other aphrodisiac. It makes you susceptible to arousal and heightens it by three times at a normal dosage, and in our case… nearly five times.”

“Intriguing,” he says, eyeing the muffin that lays neglected on the table. “Such a strange class project. Aren’t there moral quandaries to be had for such a substance?”

“Yes of course there are, which is why I made it so that it only takes effect if there’s already a degree of attraction in place–”

You shouldn’t have said anything. Especially not when you’re so clearly affected by it in the presence of Viktor. Way to sell yourself out.

“So you’re saying…”

You groan out in frustration, but once you look at Viktor you’re reminded of why you had your face buried in your hands. Somehow every feature of his seems five times more beautiful than you normally regarded them. His perfectly angular nose, his narrowed amber eyes, his messy hair which fell in ways you could never recreate on paper…

“I have a feeling you know exactly what I’m saying.” You squeezed your eyes shut. If you couldn’t see him, he couldn’t torture you.

Or so you thought.

A tantalizing graze of his hand on yours shot shivers down your spine. You pulled away so fast that a few of the papers on the desk shifted from the shear force of the wind.

“Don’t do that,” you seethed, sucked your teeth as you pressed your eyes shut so hard that you saw stars.

“Because…it affects you?” His voice was raspy and slow, or maybe that’s just what the serum was making you hear. Every bit of what he was doing seemed five times as attractive as it would normally be.

You’d done such a good job at hiding your feelings for Viktor for almost a year now. Being roommates with someone you found incredibly attractive was no easy task. And now all of your efforts were thrown out the window because of a stupid baking mishap.

“You’re being cruel,” you furrow your eyebrows as you speak, your voice coming out whinier than you would’ve liked.

“I’m sorry,” he stifles a laugh. “Would you open your eyes?”

“I can’t,” you groan, shoving your hands against your face again. “It’s best if I just go to my room and wait it out. Thank you for trying to study with me but I’m just gonna have to accept a shitty grade tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and pulling them down from your face so that you had to look at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken biochemistry, and I certainly haven’t studied aphrodisiacs, but the effects should go away after the serum is put to use, correct?”

You thought back to your experimentation phase. All the nights you spent alone in your lab trying out the efficacy of the serum resulted in the effects dissipating once climax was reached. It had certainly been the least orthodox experimentation phase you’d ever undergone.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you say reluctantly. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to let your eyes explore Viktor’s face, then his long, narrow neck protruding his sweater, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a deep breath, then the sharp clavicle poking from–

Get yourself together.

“If you’re willing to retake the class–a class you should easily pass, given your access to the two most prevalent scientists in the field–then by all means, go to your room.” Viktor pulls his hands away from you, then picks up the muffin, peeling off the paper from the bottom. He picks off a piece and drops it onto his tongue.

“What are you doing? You’re just going to make it worse!”

He smirks at you, then sets the muffin back down. “It’s a very good muffin. You’re an excellent baker.”

Fuck.

“You’re playing with me,” you shake your head in disbelief.

“No, dearest, I am not playing with you,” he says, standing up from his chair, then moving toward you tantalizingly slow. He takes a seat on the table in front of you, then crosses his hands on his lap. “You’re smart enough to recognize the alternative I am offering to you.”

Your heart stops. You look at his half eaten muffin, although more than half is gone now with the addition of that last bite.

“You…” The idea is almost impossible for you to grasp, let alone put into words. “You want to expedite the process?”

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Viktor laughs. He reaches for a strand of your distressed hair and pushes it behind your ear.

“But you’re not even attracted to me!”

“What makes you think that?” Viktor says, retracting his hand, only to place it over yours on the desk.

“Because if you were, you’d be much more affected right now. I mean, look at me!” You gesture to yourself with your free hand. “I’m a mess! I’m on the brink of breaking out in a sweat and my hands are clammy and you’re just sitting there!”

Viktor laughs to himself as if he’s in on some kind of inside joke that you know nothing about.

“I’ve had lots of practice in concealing my excitement around you,” he finally says, slowly, seductively, the words dripping from his chin as his cold eyes bore into you.

“What?”

You know what he said. In fact, you understand it perfectly, but you can’t be sure it actually came from his mouth because it seems so perfectly unreal. So dream-like, so idealistic, so fantastical.

“You’ve done a good enough job at hiding your attraction, too,” Viktor says. “I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for tonight’s incident. Which is exactly why I’ve felt the need to hide my own.”

“You’ve liked me?”

You still can’t wrap your head around the idea.

“I’ve admired you,” he smiles, rubbing circles on the back of your hand, reminding you just how potent your little sex serum really is.

In fact, it’s so powerful that you hardly have to put any thought into leaping up from your chair and pushing your lips against his. Before you can third guess his affection, his hands are interlaced with your hair, pushing you deeper into his lips as his tongue begs to be let into your needy mouth.

Now it was clear to see how much the serum had actually affected him. In mere seconds, his hands grabbed at your thighs and pulled you up onto the table to straddle him with strength you didn’t even know he possessed. His breathy little moans sent you further into madness and you yanked his sweater off of his head, forcing your mouth off of his for just a few seconds, but once that sweater was off, your lips clung together like magnets.

Deft fingers unbuttoned your long sleeve shirt and he pulled it off your arms so quickly that you worried for a second that he might have ripped it. But you didn't care. You couldn’t possibly be concerned with a silly shirt when Viktor was beneath you on the kitchen table like a meal.

The serum didn’t exactly allow either of your minds to comprehend much foreplay. You fiddled with Viktor’s belt and he pushed your skirt up to your waist. Once both of you were exposed, he didn’t waste any time positioning you above his cock.

“So wet for me,” Viktor whined against your bare chest. “Is that the serum’s doing or is it mine?”

“Yours,” you whimper as Viktor slides his tip beneath your folds. “If it were anyone else in the room with me when I took the serum, I’d be unaffected.”

“I’m flattered,” he smiles cruelly as he thrusts up into you.

“Oh fuck,” you whine as your rest your heavy head on Viktor’s shoulder.

He brings his hands to your waist and guides you up and down as his hips meet your core in long, languid thrusts. The serum sets every single nerve on fire, making it seem as if each of his thrusts has the impact of twenty.

You moan muffled strangulations of his name into his neck, which only urges him to persist with his cruel thrusts. The sound of your cunt being abused fills the kitchen and you’re wildly thankful that Jayce is out of town.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Viktor pants. “You have no idea.”

You really did have no idea. He hid it so well. You silently thanked whatever force had caused you to accidentally throw the serum into the muffin mix.

“So have I,” you whined against his skin. “Fuck…don’t stop…”

Each thrust is punctuated by the creaks of the sturdy kitchen table below you. His motions become quicker, shakier, and more intense and you can tell he’s reaching the end along with you. Your legs begin to shake and you feel that familiar tickling sensation in your core that the serum does a beautiful job at emulating.

“Viktor, I’m close, I’m so fucking close,” you moan as you lift your head from the crook of his neck. You bring your lips to his and he delivers his final thrusts. As he fills you, your moans echo on each other’s lips, a feeling you never thought you’d experience with your own brilliant roommate.

Your breathing steadies and Viktor wraps his arms around you, bringing you close to him as he tries to collect himself as well.

“You…” Viktor pants, “are forbidden from using that kitchen ever again.”

You laugh as you bring yourself off of him, pressing a kiss to his lips as you collect yourself. “That sounds fair to me.”

[soon-palestine]

In a statement that was shared with The Nation, a group of 25 HLR editors expressed their concerns about the decision. “At a time when the Law Review was facing a public intimidation and harassment campaign, the journal’s leadership intervened to stop publication,” they wrote. “The body of editors—none of whom are Palestinian—voted to sustain that decision. We are unaware of any other solicited piece that has been revoked by the Law Review in this way. “ When asked for comment, the leadership of the Harvard Law Review referred The Nation to a message posted on the journal’s website. “Like every academic journal, the Harvard Law Review has rigorous editorial processes governing how it solicits, evaluates, and determines when and whether to publish a piece…” the note began. ”Last week, the full body met and deliberated over whether to publish a particular Blog piece that had been solicited by two editors. A substantial majority voted not to proceed with publication.” Today, The Nation is sharing the piece that the Harvard Law Review refused to run. Some may claim that the invocation of genocide, especially in Gaza, is fraught. But does one have to wait for a genocide to be successfully completed to name it? This logic contributes to the politics of denial. When it comes to Gaza, there is a sense of moral hypocrisy that undergirds Western epistemological approaches, one which mutes the ability to name the violence inflicted upon Palestinians. But naming injustice is crucial to claiming justice. If the international community takes its crimes seriously, then the discussion about the unfolding genocide in Gaza is not a matter of mere semantics. The UN Genocide Convention defines the crime of genocide as certain acts “committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such.” These acts include “killing members of a protected group” or “causing serious bodily or mental harm” or “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.” Numerous statements made by top Israeli politicians affirm their intentions. There is a forming consensus among leading scholars in the field of genocide studies that “these statements could easily be construed as indicating a genocidal intent,” as Omer Bartov, an authority in the field, writes. More importantly, genocide is the material reality of Palestinians in Gaza: an entrapped, displaced, starved, water-deprived population of 2.3 million facing massive bombardments and a carnage in one of the most densely populated areas in the world. Over 11,000 people have already been killed. That is one person out of every 200 people in Gaza. Tens of thousands are injured, and over 45% of homes in Gaza have been destroyed. The United Nations Secretary General said that Gaza is becoming a “graveyard for children,” but a cessation of the carnage—a ceasefire—remains elusive. Israel continues to blatantly violate international law: dropping white phosphorus from the sky, dispersing death in all directions, shedding blood, shelling neighborhoods, striking schools, hospitals, and universities, bombing churches and mosques, wiping out families, and ethnically cleansing an entire region in both callous and systemic manner. What do you call this? The Center for Constitutional Rights issued a thorough, 44-page, factual and legal analysis, asserting that “there is a plausible and credible case that Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinian population in Gaza.” Raz Segal, a historian of the Holocaust and genocide studies, calls the situation in Gaza “a textbook case of Genocide unfolding in front of our eyes.”

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 A Picture of a Cat.

Spencer Reid x Forensic!reader

main masterlist

Summary: After months of emailing back and forth, you finally meet the person you've been chatting with every day. Then you realize that Spencer is not just a girl's name.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. with spencer of the early seasons very much in love in mind. the reader has a cat and has little faith in men (literally me, sorry). SO MUCH chaos and maybe lack of communication but happy ending. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This is pretty chaotic and not particularly serious😭 It might be best not to try to make sense of it. They're just two idiots in love, really.

To say that Spencer was dying of nervousness was not enough to describe his true feelings.

From the moment he woke up this morning without any mail from you in his inbox, he began to feel that his day was going wrong and that it was becoming an endless nightmare. He had lost count of all the times he had checked his mail at work, hoping to see even a one-line message from you to calm his anxiety.

As someone who had received your good morning every day without fail for the last four months that you had been talking to each other daily, he was completely taken aback and couldn't quite put his finger on why. Perhaps he had said something to offend you, or maybe you were just not feeling the spark anymore. But astonishingly, none of your numerous emails that he had taken the time to reread on the jet indicated any cause for concern.

Everything had been so positive with you recently, and he was grateful to have someone to talk to, even if it was through a computer, every time he finished a challenging case and his mind just wanted to focus on something else. He found great comfort in reading about your day and your thoughts every morning, as if it were his newspaper. Even the pictures you always sent him of your cat sleeping in cute poses, eating, or doing anything else made him smile and gave him the idea of adopting a pet, even when he had never thought about the possibility of it before. You always helped him realize some desires he hadn't previously considered.

But suddenly he didn't have any of it. Nothing at all.

Reid's gaze fell once upon the computer on his desk, and his face was illuminated by its light as he reopened his email page for what might have been the thousandth time that day. His fingers tapped over and over on his knee in an attempt to calm his nerves as the page loaded at a slow pace. He took the opportunity to look at the time on the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. It was ten o'clock at night, and yet, once again, there was no trace of you among his messages.

His heart stopped for a second when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and he had to close the page he had opened on his computer at full speed before he could even realize who it was.

“Hey, take it easy, kid.” Derek said gently, removing his hand from his shoulder and stepping back a step. His eyes fell on the computer screen, and he was intrigued. “What were you watching?” He asked, with a playful smile.

“N-nothing.” Spencer's voice trembled beyond his control, and he quickly rose from his chair, trying to shield the computer with his body.

You had been his best-kept secret for quite some time, and he was content with that. He enjoyed the idea of maintaining a certain level of privacy in that aspect of his life, as something just between you two. It was more special and romantic that way.

“Nothing? Is that what they call those things now?” Derek inquired, his tone teasing but not unkind. The boy blushed a little, unsure why. “I must admit I'm surprised.”

Reid had to think for a few seconds to figure out what his colleague was talking about, but even before he could understand, Morgan had started speaking again.

“Anyway, turn that off.” He said, pointing to the computer and settling his bag over his shoulder, ready to go. “Someone's waiting for you in the boardroom.”

Almost automatically, Spencer frowned and watched him, waiting for him to provide more information or at least laugh if he was making a joke. However, that didn't occur. Derek didn't laugh at him or anything of that nature.

“Go, Reid. It might be best not to keep the girl waiting.” He gave his friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile before heading off on the way to the elevator.

A girl? Waiting for him? How?

Spencer took a moment to collect his thoughts, attempting to grasp the meaning behind Derek's words and the circumstances surrounding the supposed visitor. With a measured pace, he stepped away from his desk and proceeded down the hallway, heading for the boardroom with a contemplative demeanor.

As he opened the door and cautiously stepped inside, he was met with the most glorious sight of his life, the one he had waited so long for, the one that now quickened his pulse and seemed to bring him back to life after feeling dead all day.

You.

Standing at the table, looking intently at the various maps and data scattered around the round table in the center of the room. So deep in thought that you were not even aware of his presence. As pretty as in the pictures of you that he had seen.

He couldn't help but let out a little "oh my" at the sight of you. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he could hear it from across the room, or maybe his ears were just ringing from the blood rushing to his head. Reid stood still, looking at you, amazed. He could see how the light touched your hair and how you bit your lip as you concentrated on organizing the papers and a folder in your hand. It was real. It had to be real.

“Hi.” His voice suddenly startled you, making you realize that you were no longer alone and that the door was now open.

You look up from the documents you are examining and see him by chance. It takes you a moment to realize that he works there, and only by the FBI badge in his pants pocket.

“Hi.” You responded after giving him a very obvious visual scan.

Your voice.

It was the first time he'd heard you speak, and it was just as he'd imagined it would be.

“I’m-” You extended your hand in a cordial manner to introduce yourself, but he interrupted.

“I know who you are.” He spoke quickly, smiling at you. “I...I...you are...” Reid cursed himself for stuttering the sentence as his tongue suddenly felt too heavy in his mouth.

“Okay…I'm waiting for someone.” You said it politely, but your tone showed your anxiety.

Oh, you didn't know it was him.

Spencer let out a laugh to relieve the growing tension, but it came out sounding like a cough. He wanted to hit himself. Why was he acting like a child? He was an agent, for God's sake. His job was to talk to complete strangers every day and do entire profiles without getting nervous. He found it hard to understand how that was changing so much now. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak more clearly.

“Yes, I know.” He replied, sounding a bit nervous. His voice was a little shaky, as if he was straining to get the words out.

“Do you know if this person is coming?” You were standing there with your arms crossed, trying to see if anyone else was coming after him.

At that moment, a look of confusion came over his face. It had not even crossed your mind that it might be him. And although it was to be expected and totally understandable since you had never seen a picture of him, Spencer still felt a twinge of pain and insecurity inside. Perhaps you expected him to look different, or at least not look like a kid playing federal agent.

Maybe it would have been helpful if he had sent you a picture of himself when you sent yours. That way, you might have had a better idea of what to expect. But you were very understanding of his insecurities and lack of comfort with the photos at the time. So he thought everything would be fine anyway…he was so wrong.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath before speaking up. “Actually, it's me.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to hide how nervous he was, with little success.

As soon as he said it, you looked surprised, your mouth slightly open, and then you laughed.

“That's pretty funny.” You said it with a slightly uncomfortable smile. When you realized he wasn't laughing, you added, “Good joke.”

Seeing your reaction, Spencer felt the urge to shrink back and disappear, as if that action could erase the last few seconds of your memory and also erase the feeling he suddenly had of having screwed up in an unfamiliar way. He felt his chest tighten as you asked him again if the person you were waiting for was coming. Was it so hard to believe that he was the person you were talking to? The one who earned your trust and affection?

“I spent several hours on a plane, so please let me know if your colleague is coming.” You spoke again, your tone conveying a hint of disappointment and fatigue. “If I'm a nuisance and Spencer doesn't want to see me, I'd appreciate knowing that.”

Hearing you say his first name gave him an unexpected shiver. It sounded so pleasant and intimate. He took another deep breath and forced herself to speak clearly.

“Wait, he does want to see you.” He paused for a moment, realizing he sounded a bit ridiculous. “I mean, I do. I'm Spencer.”

You're momentarily taken aback, unsure if the guy in front of you is joking. His nervous expression suggests otherwise, and you even entertain the possibility that he might be crazy.

Oh my goodness, you were all alone on a practically empty floor of the FBI offices with an insane agent.

“Just let me know if she's coming or not, please.” You said, taking a few steps back to be at a safe distance from him.

His mouth was so dry he could only manage a soft, hoarse whisper. “She? Did you think I was a girl?”

“You?” You furrowed your brow, feeling more confused and uneasy.

At last, he had a suggestion and reached into his pocket to retrieve his badge, holding it out to you in a gesture that seemed to convey innocence.

“I’m Spencer Reid.” He said, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he was caught off guard by the peculiar turn of events.

You looked at the badge, confused, and slowly looked up, looking into his eyes closely for the first time. You studied his face intently, not really believing it.

“Are you Spencer? My Spencer?” You asked.

When you said “my,” he felt a flutter in his chest. His brain was trying to tell him not to get too invested in the moment, but the vulnerable part of him was moved by the way you said it, like he was all yours. There was a special air of affection there that he liked.

“Yes.” He replied, almost in a whisper. “I am.”

You had to take a moment to process the information, eyes glued to his as you tried to make sense of it. Little by little, you come to understand. This was the person you had been talking to every day for months—the person with whom you had shared your fears, stories, and dreams. Yet you hadn't even asked him for a picture or a call—anything that would have made you realize that he wasn't a woman. It seems almost unreal to you to have fallen into such a confusion.

“I sent pictures of my cat to a man?!” Was the first thing you thought, and it managed to come out of your mouth clearly, in an indignant tone. “I said you were my soulmate!”

Now you were the one who sounded insane.

He stood there for a few moments, looking at you and seeing the different emotions on your face. When he finally spoke, his voice had a hint of insecurity in it.

“Yes…but your cat is cute, and you take good pictures.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit nervous. “Did you know that the evocative power of images is widely studied? They can help us verbalize and even rescue forgotten memories and stories from our collective memory and-” He silences himself. “Sorry.”

When he fell silent, your brain couldn't do the same, and thousands of hard-to-filter words began to appear. You had a strange feeling in your chest, a mixture of familiarity with the way his ramblings sounded to you, just like the emails you loved so much, and confusion about the whole situation.

“This is so strange.” You said to yourself, pacing around the room a couple of times. “I was so stupid-”

He observed you with great interest, trying to discern the thoughts and feelings that were likely swirling in your mind. He could empathize with your confusion, as he was also uncertain about the circumstances. He couldn't blame you for feeling bewildered. You had embarked on your journey with the expectation of meeting a girl named Spencer, but instead, you encountered him. You had envisioned a lovely girl, and you found him—a simple individual, a nerd who had been told on numerous occasions that nerds lacked charm.

“No. You're not.” He said, attempting to manage his desire to bridge the gap and offer solace. “It was a misunderstanding. I should have provided you with more information.”

“How would you even start a conversation by saying you were a man?” You let out a laugh to yourself. “I would have stopped talking to you instantly.”

The sentence hit him right in the heart.

The two of you had the opportunity to communicate by mail when your boss asked you to send reports on several of the autopsies with similarities you had done to the BAU. It was then that a picture of your cat was sent in the middle of the files. Spencer was the one who received it and made an attempt at a joke after your long apology. And then another, and another, until you ended up talking for four months until now.

But if you had known from the beginning that he wasn't a woman, you wouldn't have bothered to get to know him at all.

“I...I don't know what to tell you..” He admitted, sounding a little more vulnerable. “But why did you think I was a woman?”

After a moment's thought, you said. “Your name made me think of a girl I knew in college. And you...you were so nice and sweet in your emails that I found it hard to believe that a man could be like that through a screen.”

When you shared how you perceived him through his emails, it seemed that a certain vulnerability came to light. The situation had turned the tables, and now he was the one standing there trying to process the information.

“I thought I finally had a friend. You know what my job is like...and yours is just as all-consuming.” You spoke again, having to sit for a moment in one of the chairs in the place, trying to calm down. “It would've been great to have someone who understood me as a friend.”

He felt a pang in his heart at your words and was instantly reminded of the times you'd confided in him about how isolated you felt in your lab, surrounded by dead people and computers.

“You can still do that.” He replied without thinking. “I’m still the same person as before, just different packaging.”

For you, it was much more than that. First of all, you trusted him in the beginning because you thought he was a girl; that's why he understood you so much and you had that special connection.

Hell, you'd even told him how bad your period was, and he'd understood so well. He'd given you tips and facts that you didn't know that were beyond your expectations of what the average man knew.

“I mean, I'm still someone you can talk to.” He continued, his hands moving nervously in his pockets. “Unless you...unless you don't feel that way anymore.”

When you finally spoke, your voice sounded almost whispery and gentle. He couldn’t help but lift his gaze from the floor to you, feeling how his body relaxed just a bit with the soft sound of your voice.

“No, no. I still want to talk to you…if you’re my Spencer.”

“I am, all yours.” He replied with a smile.

[evergone]

Lonely

Theodore Nott x Legilimens! reader

Warnings: Swearing.

Description: The reader has no friends until destiny (in the form of a boy named Theodore Nott) does everything to make her feel like she belongs.

In your first year, you were put in a dorm by yourself. You heard so many times that this was a gift — a sign of your good fortune, Professor Trelawney said — as everyone else in your year group had to share with someone else, but you, the introvert you were, were left to your own devices. Despite these assumptions, you quickly discovered that sharing a dorm was central to establishing friendships, and you spent the vast majority of your high school life friendless and alone.

At times, your boredom and your loneliness were so all-encompassing that you would read the minds of the first years who you knew wouldn’t be capable of sensing the imposition upon their thoughts. None of them thought of much. The boys were preoccupied with daydreams of girls and music (most of them were very into hip-hop as was the popular culture of the nineties), and the girls were nearly all stressing about parties and school work.

You were as much at ease with your situation as one could possibly be. You were of the mindset that if there was nothing you could do about it, why bother? Everyone had their cliques, their friends, and you were just the one to be left out. Your only goal was to get through the remaining year, then you would leave school, rent a house somewhere obscure, become a writer or an archaeologist or something else fun, and start your life over again. But it appeared that destiny had other plans.

Destiny, that supreme, omniscient, omnipotent concept that dwindled above and twisted within the interactions of all peoples, came to you in a free period you were spending in the library. The period before had been Charms, but that was of no consequence, neither was the fact that you had no more classes until later that night when you would make the journey to the Astronomy tower. You were sitting at a desk in the far left corner of the library, tucked between the pages of a number of books written by Z-named authors of some incredibly niche portion of history when Madam Pince’s high-pitched and troubled voice disturbed your rather unproductive attempts to finish your homework.

Ever bored, and hardly ever entertained, you leant to the side to see around the long bookcase. To your surprise, your eyes immediately met with a pair of blue ones. The irises were mere spots lost in the oceans of colour and they darted between you and Madam Pince, desperate for assistance. Behind those eyes, you could hear his mind asking for your help. If you was slightly smarter, you would’ve avoided this person’s gaze altogether and returned to your work.

“Madam Pince,” you said before allowing yourself a moment to think, and the frustrated librarian’s head turned to you in owl-like frustration, “Is everything okay?”

“Not at all,” she said, her voice an angry whisper, “Mr Nott should be in class, instead, he’s here violating my books!”

You glanced at the owner of the eyes. The green lining of his robe told you he was from your house, so you knew him even if only from afar. He hung out with the big group of your housemates most of the time, but you’d observed that he often sat by himself in the common room and the others intruded on his personal time. He was tall — probably six feet or so — and thin, with hair that was darker than blond, but most definitely not as dark as some of his friends’ hair. In the traditional sense, he was handsome, but you’d heard him speak in class before, and his voice bore an awkward intonation as if to speak was to curse which made him seem almost as nerdy as yourself. Despite this, every movement he made seemed elegant no matter his emotion, this was so inherent of a feature that even in that moment — when he was so clearly itching to turn and run — he was like a swan. His name was Theodore Nott, and you’d never spoken to him before.

“He’s supposed to be helping me with my homework,” you blurted out and Madam Pince quirked a pencilled-on eyebrow, “You know I’m terrible with, uh, Ancient Runes.” You both had that class together.

“Yeah,” nodded Theo as he stepped around her and stood by your side, “The professor said it was okay, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“As am I,” she frowned, “Tell her not to let this happen again.”

“Yes, Madam.”

With an irritated hum, she left the two of you alone. Theo turned to face you once she was out of earshot, and let out a sigh of relief before sitting down on the edge of the desk you were at.

“You’re in Slytherin,” he said obviously, “What year?”

You sucked in a breath of air, “Sixth. Yours.”

“Oh.”

His brain exploded with a million thoughts at once, his conscious and subconscious fighting for dominance. You could hear the embarrassment as he reprimanded himself for not knowing, and the confusion as he searched his memories for some sign that he had, in fact, seen you before.

“We have Potions together, and Astronomy, and Divination, and Ancient Runes, and… most of our classes, actually.” You shrugged without a care.

Theo cringed, “Sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you before.”

“I don’t really make my presence known,” you said, “So don’t worry about it.”

“I’m Theodore Nott,” he introduced himself, hand outstretched towards you, “What’s your name? I don’t want to make the same mistake next time.”

“Y/n L/n,” you said and shook his hand. It was soft and had no callouses at all.

“I best be off, I’m missing Arithmancy.”

“Boring.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled and left the library.

Over the course of that afternoon, you were unable to tear your mind away from Theo, and none of your homework was completed as a result. You didn’t go to dinner in the Great Hall. Your mind was much too preoccupied to eat.

At eleven-thirty, your alarm sounded, and you washed your face in preparation for Astronomy. Professor Sinistra demanded that all her students wore their uniforms for her classes, even if said classes were at midnight, but there wasn’t a single person who ever did that other than Hermione Granger. Everyone else tended to pull their robes overtop their pyjamas and call it a day, yourself included.

The lesson wasn’t all that interesting as Sinistra had the class chart some stars for the whole hour. However, you barely managed to get anything done because you were so distracted by Theo who was sitting peacefully at the opposite side of the tower amongst his friends. Including Theo, there were five of them (you didn’t include Crabbe and Goyle, who you always thought were less friends than goons, or Millicent Bulstrode or Tracey Davis, both of whom you knew were periodically hated by the others). Two girls, three boys.

Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, and finally, Theo. At seventeen, his hair was a mostly consistent length of woody brown curls that sat fluffily on his head — if anything it was maybe a bit shorter on the sides. His eyebrows were thick as they always were, and in that particular Astronomy lesson, they were hard pressed against the tips of his long eyelashes that seemed almost too feminine to belong to him. By far the most intriguing and attractive aspect of Theo was, of course, the prominent mole on his left cheek that stole your attention away from a tight-lipped smile he had thrown your way.

Your immediate reaction was to blush and avert your eyes, but upon glancing back and noticing he was still staring, you offered him a short wave. He nodded in response before turning to Draco and saying something too far away for you to hear.

The next morning, or, perhaps, later that morning is the right expression, you went to breakfast in the Great Hall. Not having eaten dinner the night prior had left you so completely starving. You could’ve eaten a pegasus. You sat down on the edge of the Slytherin table by yourself, and loaded a plate with two eggs, about five slices of bacon (it very well could have been more, your memory isn’t perfect), a piece of toast, and a spoonful of baked beans.

“Where are all your friends?”

You looked up to see Theo standing over you chewing on the end of a breadstick.

“Why do you ask?” you questioned.

“Because you’re sitting here by yourself and it looks a bit pathetic, L/n,” laughed Theo teasingly.

“I don’t really have any friends.”

“Oh,” said Theo, “Sorry I asked.”

You shrugged, and as he glanced to the middle of the table you shoved as much of the baked beans into your mouth as possible, and quickly swallowed them. Merlin’s beard, you were so embarrassed.

“Give me a sec,” he said absentmindedly and you almost thought to use your Legilimency on him, “I’ll be right back.”

He placed his breadstick in front of you as if it were a deposit meant to reassure you that he’d be back, but you weren’t fazed either way. You watched as he jogged over to his group of friends and started chatting with them, but never sat down. With his right hand, he motioned back at you, and you glanced away as the rest of them turned to get a good look at you. Suddenly, you were concerned about how well your makeup was applied, and if your uniform looked good, and if there was still too much food on your plate. And then, all of them stood up with their plates, and followed Theo over to sit around you.

Most of them sat on the other side of the table, but Theo sat next to you, and Blaise by his other side. He introduced you to everyone: Goyle, Crabbe, Draco, Pansy, Daphne, Blaise, himself (“but you know me already,” he’d joked).

“It’s crazy to think we don’t know you despite being in the same house as you for the past six years,” said Daphne and Pansy elbowed her in the waist, sending her a death glare.

“Excuse her,” Pansy smiled awkwardly, “She’s a bitch.”

Your ears tickled at the word. You weren’t used to people calling those they were friends with such vulgar names… You weren’t used to the idea of friends at all.

Draco started rattling off about half-bloods and “that darn Potter,” spurring his friends into a rather heated conversation. They laughed and cackled loudly at each other, entirely easy around you as if it didn’t matter at all that they didn’t know you.

“Is this okay?” Theo asked you in a whisper once the group had moved on to another topic of conversation.

“Yes, this is nice,” you responded with a blush over your cheeks as you tried not to smile, “I don’t remember the last time I spoke to so many people.”

Theo’s eyes softened, glazed with a thin layer of water that informed you of his empathy. He felt your loneliness as if it was his own. The image of a young version of himself locked in his bedroom, wailing for his long deceased mother, flashed in his memories and seeped into your brain. An involuntary consequence of your extraordinary Legilimency talent.

When Saturday finally arrived, you slept in the whole morning. You only awoke at the sound of a knock on your door followed by a series of laughter at ten o’clock. You rolled out of bed, and for a moment stopped in horror of your hair in front of the mirror to quickly tie it up, and then opened the door.

You were surprised to see Pansy and Daphne there, but even more so when Daphne asked, “It’s Hogsmeade day, why aren’t you ready?”

“Huh?” You said, squinting at the light of the hallway.

“Theo sent us up to grab you, get some clothes on and let’s go,” said Pansy as she pushed past you and slipped into your room, Daphne hot on her heel, “Merlin’s beard, there’s absolutely nothing in here.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got it all to myself,” you muttered.

“Oh, that’s got to be terribly boring,” said Pansy.

Both of the girls made themselves at home as they rummaged through your drawers looking for something nice to wear. They were both dressed very well themselves, and it made you a little self-conscious to think they were going to see all your cheap clothes.

Pansy threw a sheer white shirt you didn’t know you had and a pair of bootleg jeans onto your bed while Daphne kicked over some matching joggers and a big white handbag you’d stolen from your mother.

“It is terribly boring,” you said.

As the three of you descended the stairs (after you got dressed, of course), you could already hear the sounds of masculine voices teetering on yelling at one another. One of them you knew to be Theo’s, and while you weren’t particularly familiar with them, you were inclined to assume the other two voices were Draco and Blaise. At the bottom step out of the girls’ dormitory hallway, you were proven correct when you saw them bickering like old men at a weekend golf tournament.

Draco was the first to notice the three of you, and his grey eyes lit up at the sight, “L/n, come settle an argument for us.”

You walked to join the small group and stood beside Theo, your handbag held meekly between your fingers, the nails of which had magenta paint flaking off them.

“Your mate Theo here—” Draco gestured to him with an uninterested hand, and you nearly laughed at the idea that Theo was your mate more than he was any of the others’— “Thinks that we ought to have a Legilimens registry like we have for Animagi. Frankly, I think it’s absolutely blasphemous that we even have one for Animagi; let them run wild, I say! What are your thoughts? Don’t mind the coincidental pun.”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit biased in this conversation,” you spoke quietly.

“How do you mean?”

The faces of the group stared at you with raised brows, and eyes that glistened with interest, and you were red from the attention.

“Well, I’m a Legilimens,” you admitted, “So, I’d have to disagree with you, Theo, for my own sake.”

“Are you really?” Theo asked to break the silence, and you nodded shyly.

“That’s so cool!” Daphne all but squealed, “What number am I thinking of?”

“Seven.”

She brightened with delight, and slapped Pansy’s arm, encouraging her to try your magic out like a little game. Pansy did just that, and you ended up going around the whole group, describing what they were thinking of. Eight. Twelve. Bakery. Seven. And Theo was questioning why you weren’t already on the way to Hogsmeade.

With that final thought, they grew disillusioned by the game, and you began the walk to Hogsmeade.

You’d never been into town with other people before, not that you went much at all. You usually stayed in your room, or wandered the halls, towering over the first and second years who weren’t allowed to go on weekend Hogsmeade trips yet. But there you were, forming one kink in a string of knots engaging in stimulating conversation about the current condition of the world, and even boring conversation about the homework for Defense Against the Dark Arts which, to you, seemed so thrilling even if only for the fact that it was verbal discourse in some form. You’d forgotten what it was to converse with others.

“Is there anywhere you need to go once we get there?” said Theo once you were nearing the end of the path and closing in on the town.

“I would have been awake before Daphne and Pansy got to my room if I planned to go anywhere today,” you joked and he smiled, “If you don’t mind, I might just go wherever you go.”

All he offered in response was a hum, and it left you thinking that you’d somehow made the air around you awkward. You’d later come to learn that he was just like that, never much of a talker if he thought the situation didn’t call for it.

Almost instantly after you passed sign that read ‘Welcome to Hogsmeade,’ the group dispersed, and Theo and yourself were left to do as you pleased.

Your companion, it seemed, didn’t have much he wanted to do either, so he led you to the Three Broomsticks. Kindly, he offered to pay for a butterbeer or two, but you didn’t think you were close enough for that, so you humbly told him it was alright. You sat in relative silence until our drinks arrived when Theo struck up some conversation.

“What have you been doing all these years by yourself, L/n?” He asked.

“I don’t know… Stuff…”

Theo laughed, and you laughed along with him. Your mind was frazzled by the alcohol, which kept refilling itself as you chatted on, and every so often you found thoughts that didn’t belong to you creeping into your mind, but you couldn’t place who they belonged to. It was just the odd word — sad, or pretty, or damned, or Y/n.

“Nott, are you and Malfoy good friends?” You asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

“You seem to argue quite a bit.”

“He’s just like that,” said Theo, “Likes to start shit for no reason, that one.”

You giggled, and he grinned happily. Another person’s thoughts seeped into yours once again, that time a full sentence: ‘I love her laugh.’

The bell that hung over the entrance to the Three Broomsticks jingled, and though you couldn’t see it behind you, you watched as Theo’s expression morphed into one of guilt. You turned over your shoulder, and made out the figures of the four people who had come with you. Each of them were wearing a disappointed look on their faces.

“What in the name of Merlin are you two doing?” asked Pansy, her tone equal parts concerned and amused.

“Nothing,” said Theo.

“Yeah, if ‘nothing’ is code for drinking all day,” said Blaise, “Snape’s gonna have your asses for this.”

The others guided yourself and Theo back to the castle. Your hand was attached to Pansy’s forearm, Theo’s arm was slung over Draco’s shoulder. By the time you reached the Slytherin common room, You were sober enough to move on your own, and thus, started your way up to your dorm.

“Where are you going?” Theo asked curiously. He was far away enough that you couldn’t smell his breath which stunk like the vomit he’d expelled from his body halfway through the walk back.

“My room,” you said.

“No, no, no.” He shook his head and then closed his eyes from the dizziness. “It’s sleepover night. You have to come to our dorm, I made room for you on my bed.”

“I used to sleep there because he’s got the best mattress out of the three of them, but we figured you might prefer to sleep beside him than Blaise,” Daphne explained.

“Oh,” you breathed, “Do I need to contribute anything?”

You hadn’t had a sleepover before. You didn’t know the proper protocol. You assumed one would need to bring at least their pyjamas and a pillow, maybe some sweets of some kind to share. But Theo shook his head, and you were in the boys’ room before you knew what was happening.

The boys’ dorm room was the opposite of yours. So exquisitely full, and intricately messy. The three beds were all the same size as yours with dark green bed hangings, and each about a metre apart.

Closest to the door and to their small shared bathroom was Theo’s bed. On the right, beside the door to the bathroom, he had a tower of books that acted as a wall. His sheets were black, but his pillows and blanket cover were a dark oceanic blue-green. There wasn’t much room, but you spied a large mess under his bed which you assumed was what he’d removed from the bed to make space. On his bedside table sat a small lamp that provided the only light in the room before Daphne declared it was far too ‘dark and gloomy’ and turned on the central light.

On the floor, directly under the light, there was a large medieval-style rug that bore our house crest, and the others sat on it lazily, ushering you over.

“I need a smoke,” said Draco, and he walked over to the window where the ashtray was.

“Me too,” said Theo as he also moved to the window, “You want one, L/n?”

“I’ve never smoked before.”

“Then I shouldn’t get you in the habit,” he smiled, “It is such a terrible habit to have. Costs more than it’s worth.”

He pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Draco, and they both lit them with their wands.

“Does it taste nice?” You asked.

“Not particularly,” said Theo.

“Why do you do it then?”

“You’re so curious, L/n,” Draco teased.

Theo playfully slapped him on the chest, “Leave her alone,” he said, and then turned to you, “I’m an addict.”

“That’s got to be bad for your lungs, Nott,” you frowned, suddenly concerned.

“Don’t you worry about him,” said Pansy, a knowing smirk on her lips that told you she was well aware you’d continue worrying.

The night went on much shorter than you wished for it to. You’d hoped, perhaps too eagerly, that none of you would ever sleep. Far too much did you enjoy being awake with those people who you’d met too late in yout life. You were truly happy to have met them because for all the simple joys you’d managed to discover in your time alone, none were half as happy as those grand joys you found with them

You all took turns getting changed in the small bathroom (Theo lent you a shirt to wear), then you all slid into our respective beds. You were nervous about sleeping beside Theo because, in truth, you didn’t really know him. But he placed a pillow between you, and only faced you for a moment — a moment in which there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher, a moment in which you attempted to read his mind all too late — and then he kissed his fingers, and he touched them to your head, and he turned the other way.

“Did you sleep well?” Theo said once he noticed you were awake the next morning.

“I’ve never slept beside someone before,” you explained nervously, “I think it was a decent experience. I hope I didn’t move around too much.”

“Not at all, L/n,” he said.

A hum escaped your mouth, and you were acutely aware that Theo was watching you as you stared up at the roof of his room. Painted on it, Sistine Chapel-style, was a beautiful lush green forest.

“L/n. It’s so formal to call you by your surname.” Theo let out a disapproving tut.

“I call you by yours?” You said as you looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“You’re the only one who does.”

“It’s your name!” You raised your voice slightly before lowering it again so as to not wake any of the others up. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Theo,” he said, “That’s what everyone calls me.”

“And what false-name shall I bear, then?”

He chuckled quietly as he finally sat up. He raised his long arms in a stretch that exposed the bottom of his stomach and his V-line, and you glanced away until he returned his arms down to a cross in front of his chest. You took notice of his hair, which was awfully messy in the morning, and you thought he should get his hands on a bonnet to take care of it, but then you thought he probably shouldn’t. A silk pillow would’ve done him wonders, though.

“A nickname for Y/n,” said Theo, “How about Y/n/n?”

“I suppose that will do,” you said as nonchalantly as possible, but inside you were screaming with excitement. A nickname! You’d never had a nickname before.

“Oh, you suppose, do you?” he teased.

Your amused smile betrayed your insincere attempt at a pout, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Don’t let anyone else call you Y/n/n, alright?” said Theo, and you crossed your brows in question, “I want it to be just an us-thing. They can call you your full name at most.”

He was extraordinarily bossy. But it was sweet. Heartwarming, even.

“Wait, but if everyone calls you Theo, I want something just for us, too!” You blushed at how overly familiar that sounded, but Theo’s rosy cheeks filled you with conviction. “How about Teddy?”

Giddily, he smiled at you, “Say it to me in a sentence.”

You frowned, but obeyed, “I like being your friend, Teddy. — How was that?” He nodded happily, “You say one for mine, now.”

He thought for a moment, trying to decide on a sentence to say.

“Read my mind, Y/n/n.”

Always, he had to boss you around. But, again, you really didn’t care. It was just nice to have someone to boss you around. To think that only at the beginning of that week, you had no friends at all… Now you had so many, and all thanks to destiny. All thanks to your Teddy.

A breath, and then you forced your way into his mind. There was a picture there waiting for you, a memory from Monday. A memory of you, except, you seemed to glow. You’d seen yourself in a million mirrors and memories over the course of your life, but never had you looked so beautiful. And then, there were words.

“I’d like to go on a date with you, Y/n/n.”

Your eyes snapped open as you left his thoughts to belong to him alone.

��What?” You asked, your ears red.

“I think you’re absolutely brilliant, Y/n/n. Please, go on a date with me?” Theo smiled.

He inched closer until your noses touched and you could barely tell each others’ features apart. Each of you were just blurs of colour.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Teddy.”

[deadly-diminuendo]

Sweet Dreams, Darling

a spawn astarion x fem!tav reader oneshot / nsfw / ~4.1k words

Summary: An evening spent reading a racy romance novel awakens a fantasy you never knew you had. The thought of your sleeping body becoming a thing to be used for someone else's pleasure brings you an unexpected thrill. Of course Astarion catches you in the act and of course he cannot resist teasing you. But he is willing to indulge you.

Tags/CW: somnophilia, consensual non-consent, tadpole mind sharing, vampire bites/blood drinking, kink discovery, piv sex, late act 3, mostly smut with some fluff

Read on AO3

Or read below...

Never has a collection of words upon a page enraptured you quite like this.

You could have spent hours perusing the diverse collection of books in your private suite, but the second you spotted this particular title, you simply could not resist plucking it from the shelf: Dusk’s Dark Desires. A steamy vampire romance novel taking Faerûn by storm, or so you have heard.

Whether it proved to be a well-written escapist fantasy capable of stimulating your senses, or a disaster full of laughable euphemisms and wild inaccuracies—something you and Astarion might enjoy ridiculing together perhaps—you thought you made the perfect choice for the night. Little did you know just how entirely it would captivate you.

After all it is certainly not the first time you have read something of this nature—erotic literature has long been a guilty pleasure of yours—but the book in your hands describes in riveting detail a fantasy you were not fully aware you had until this very moment.

A hazy notion of it would flicker through your mind whenever you would wake to find Astarion lying atop you, your blood such an aphrodisiac to him that he could not help but to succumb to carnal instinct, hands wandering, hips rolling, his arousal anything but subtle. His need for you never failed to ignite your need for him. All it would take was a word, a nod, a look, and then it would begin—your lips colliding, your clothes shedding, his cock sliding into your mouth, or plunging into your cunt, whatever suited the two of you best. You never felt more wanted, at least in those early days.

Even the times you did not wake thrilled you. You both treated your arrangement as your little secret, only acknowledging your intimate exchanges in knowing smiles and seductive whispers. All the nights you offered him your neck and sealed your promise with a kiss, all the mornings you awoke smiling as you felt fresh puncture marks in your skin, wondering if the act filled him with as much desire as it always seems to.

Wondering if he wanted to take more from you than your blood while you slept.

You flip a few pages back, eager to reread the passage that inspired your lecherous thoughts. Again you absorb the tantalizing prose and again the delicious encounter described plays out in your mind’s eye. A chamber cloaked in darkness, the only light a sliver of moonglow peeking in through the window. The protagonist, a mortal woman, alone and asleep upon a luxurious bed, unaware of what is soon to unfold. The vampire, graceful and silent as he enters the room, here to claim her blood—and her body.

Astarion here to claim you.

Your longing pools between your legs as you picture yourself and your own lover recreating this scandalous scenario. You imagine Astarion losing himself in your neck, lifting the hem of your nightdress, easing his way inside you, your body wholly ready to accept him even while unconscious.

What began as a tiny spark of curiosity has developed into overwhelming want. You want to wake to him indulging in your sleeping form more than he has ever dared before. Or not to wake at all, to discover in the morning that he’d had his wicked way with you while you were none the wiser.

You continue to read, immersing yourself in both the enticing words upon the page and the intoxicating idea of Astarion using your body for his pleasure. So lost in thought are you that, when the door creaks open, you jump.

Really, you should not be at all surprised. You knew Astarion would eventually be joining you tonight. Since your party began its stay at the Elfsong, the two of you have often spent your nights in this room, away from the prying eyes of the others. A cozy place for you to converse and cuddle in comfort—or, since that unforgettable experience you shared over his grave, to make love.

Your journey has held many surprises for you, but none more unexpected—and more welcome—than falling in love. Together you’ve formed a deep emotional connection founded on mutual trust, respect, and adoration—and your physical connection is all the better for it. You truly enjoy each other in every way.

And you would very much like to enjoy him tonight.

Astarion regards your flushed face with a touch of suspicion and a great deal of amusement, the curl of his lips hinting at the barrage of teases likely coming your way. You shut your book closed too quickly, too guiltily, you think. He knows he has caught you red-handed, and now you are red-faced to match it.

He takes a step closer to the bed and closer to you, a little thrill rushing through you as his gaze drops to the low cut of your chemise—but then you realize he means to glimpse at your novel, discern its title, uncover a clue to the mysteries held within. You hug the book tighter to you, not willing to give up its secrets this soon.

“Good book, I take it?”

You shrug, though you know your grin is likely giving you away. “It has been a pleasant enough diversion thus far.”

“Oh, I think it’s much more than that, darling,” he insists, sauntering closer before halting at the foot of the bed. “It must be quite an… intriguing read to bring such a pretty blush to those cheeks. Here I thought only I was capable of that.”

“Maybe I was thinking about you,” you admit with a flutter of your lashes.

“Like always, then?” He chuckles as heat again darkens your cheeks. “You do fluster so easily in my presence. Still a little shy even after all this time. How sweet you are, my dear.”

You can’t help but notice how his fingertips run up the bedpost, and you find yourself wishing those hands were all over you instead.

“Or maybe you are not as sweet as you seem, hmm?” His voice is low, sultry, the way it always is when he means to seduce you.

As if you needed seducing.

Your breath catches in your lungs as the mattress sinks beneath his weight, your body deathly still but for the pumping of your heart and the throbbing of your cunt. Eagerly you await his next move.

You watch his slow, measured crawl towards you, his hungered stare suggesting his need to devour and ravage you—but he stops, resting his chin in his hand as he lies there looking at you.

“What devilish thoughts have been going through your mind, I wonder? Dreaming up all the sinful things we might do together, perhaps? Wishing I was here with you? Touching you? Inside you?”

“Maybe,” you tell him with a coy smile. He does not yet know the depths of your depravity, but perhaps you might yet let him find out.

“And now that you have me…” He smirks, running a thumb across your parted lips, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

You cannot resist. You never can.

So you steal a kiss—and he snatches away your book.

You expected it to happen, really. It was inevitable. And though part of you is mortified that you have allowed him this much ammunition to tease you with—the other part of you wonders if he, too, just might like what he reads.

“Well, what have we here?” Astarion settles against the pillow to your left, looking all too pleased with himself as he begins to inspect his prize. “Dusk’s Dark Desires?” He sounds skeptical as he reads out the title, and though he flashes you an unimpressed look, you can detect a glimmer in his eyes. “Let’s see what dark desires have that sweet heart of yours beating so fast.”

If he had not guessed it already, he discovers it immediately upon opening the book: “Vampires, darling?” He tuts at you with mock disapproval. “Oh, my love. I should have known.”

You do feel rather embarrassed, knowing so much about the true horrors of vampirism, horrors he has had to endure—and yet the first night he bit you was a carnal awakening. A world-shattering, life-changing experience for you both.

But you fell in love with Astarion for the man he is, not the vampire he happens to be.

“It is, admittedly, a new fascination of mine. All because you are a fascination of mine. And so much more than that.”

You smile at each other, and your worries fade.

Though it soon becomes clear he intends to keep you blushing.

“My, my,” he remarks, clicking his tongue as his eyes scan the text in front of him. “Is this now a fascination of yours, too?” He begins to read aloud: “So serene did she lie beneath him, so scrumptious did she taste, so submissive was she in slumber, that he knew he must take all of her, inch by precious inch.”

This is all rather foolish, you think.

Yet to hear such words spoken in his irresistibly seductive timbre renders you speechless.

So he makes the obvious choice to keep going.

He rolls to his side, half hovering over you as he skims the rest of the page, skipping ahead a few lines: “Fear rattled her when she awoke to find him within her, fangs in throat, cock in flesh. Yet a rapturous need blossomed in her core, obliterating all rational thought. When she cried out at last, his mouth met hers with a ferocity beguiling and obscene, consuming her whole. She enfolded him into her arms and surrendered.”

A pause. The air feels electric between you as Astarion studies your face. Whatever conclusion he comes to makes him grin. “You filthy little degenerate. This really turns you on, doesn’t it?”

You are still quiet, so he persists.

“You like the thought of it, don’t you? You, lying here lost in your sweet dreams, while I take whatever I want?”

Somewhere within you still resides a shame that prevents you from confessing outright. You try to downplay it. “It’s just a silly little fantasy.”

“Is that all it is?” He lets the book fall to the bed as he moves to straddle you. “Oh, no, my love. I know you too well to believe that. Your body betrays you.”

“Does it?” you ask innocently, but you know full well it does. Lust already blazed within you before he’d even entered the room, and now his every touch fuels the flames.

“Hmm, let me see…”

His palm cups your chin.

“Pupils dilated.”

Lips inches from yours.

“Cheeks reddened.”

Fingers trace your heart.

“Heartrate accelerated.”

Then graze your breasts.

“Nipples hardened.”

Lower, lower, lower.

“Cunt soaked.”

Mouths crash together.

No more words pass between you as you lose yourselves in your fervent worship of each other, though your fantasy is far from forgotten.

Not by you.

Not by him.

+++

“I would not mind indulging you. In fact I would rather like to try it myself.”

Those were his first words to you in the morning when you awoke entangled in his arms.

You were elated. You admitted how badly you wanted it—wanted him to take and take and take from you while you sleep. Wanted to be nothing more than his personal plaything for a night.

And tonight you will put your plan into place.

You are alone. You are restless. You are wide awake.

And so you are grateful for the little gift Astarion left out for you on the desk.

Together you decided upon two key conditions to be met for your end of the bargain before he could proceed with his. One, you would remove your smallclothes. Two, you would drink a sleeping draught—and the perfect concoction is now conveniently laid out before you.

He wanted you to know you could still change your mind—but no. You are sure of what you want, and you trust him completely.

You slip out of your smallclothes, kicking them aside as you make your way forward. You take the tiny bottle in your hands, twist off the lid, and swallow the works of it down. You settle into the plush comfort of your bed, and moments later, you drift into the world of your dreams.

+++

Sweet are your dreams of Astarion.

Foggy and fleeting though they begin, little details stick with you—the melodious rippling of his laughter, the heady scent of bergamot and rosemary, the feeling of cool skin against your heat in a spellbinding dance of ice and fire. Every one of your senses recalls all the happiest moments you have shared, envisions all the precious memories you have yet to create.

Whether it is a matter of minutes or hours, you are not sure—but, in time, the nebulous becomes lucid, the vague becomes vivid.

The picture so clear before you now is you. Your chest rises and falls with the gentle cadence of your breathing, your nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Your hemline hiked up high, your head atilt upon your pillow, your lovely neck ready for the taking. A vision delectable and divine.

Delectable… An imagining of yourself through Astarion’s eyes, then. How curious.

Your thoughts are no longer your own, but his, or at least what you fancy his to be. How pleased he would be to learn your dreams filled with love and longing inspired the warmth of your smile, how thrilled he would feel to feed upon your sleeping form, knowing how much the notion arouses you, how much of you you’re willing to let him take.

Astarion stalks towards the bed, eyes ever watching you, drinking in every detail of your alluring figure. He cannot deny how adorable you look in your frilly and feminine little dress, but, as he often reminds you, it’s your skin that suits you best. How he would love to strip you bare, have you nude beneath him, so sweet and soft and utterly helpless. The bed creaks when he joins you upon it, the mattress dipping as his knees settle on either side of you—he freezes, but then remembers having spotted the empty vial—he need not be too careful tonight.

You will sleep very, very well.

As for his other little suggestion… Gods, he must know. His hands venture under your skirt, and when he feels the skin there—silky, smooth, shamelessly bare—he grins.

Both your blood and your body will be his tonight.

Such a generous little thing you are, always eager to be seduced, to be used, to be conquered. What luck to have found such willing prey, a perfect vessel to fulfill the needs of his empty stomach and his already hardening cock. The steady rhythm of your pulse and the heat emanating from your skin only heighten his ravenous desire.

You can almost feel him at your neck.

A delicate touch. A gentle kiss. A sharp bite.

Astarion sinks his fangs deep into you, and your blood, so rich and so decadent, fills his hungry mouth, a heavenly reprieve from his eternal curse. The taste of you is pure perfection, an ambrosia more divine than the finest wines, more filling than the grandest feasts. It’s invigorating. Exhilarating. Arousing.

He gulps you down greedily, the temptation to drain you dry ever present, but his ardent need for you ever more consuming. Unaware as you are, your body still reacts, still shivers and shakes against him—not unlike how you shudder in ecstasy when he fucks you, your self-control hopelessly lost as you come undone in his arms. His lust for blood shifts into lust for you, every drop of you he drinks seemingly travelling right to his cock.

A feeling he wanted to fight, once. To physically crave anyone, even if instigated by the act of blood-drinking, was truly shocking. Beyond what he could handle, at first. He tried to ignore it. And then he couldn’t ignore it, stealing away to the woods, or to the privacy of his tent to play out his fantasies, chase the euphoria of release. Giving in to it when you would wake, sometimes even wanting you to wake so he could have you, take pleasure in you, empty himself inside you.

Now it is a feeling he has been learning to embrace.

And tonight with you—in you—he will embrace it fully.

Instinct guides his hands to grab at your gown, bunching its cloth into fistfuls and gathering its hem to your waist, exposing your gorgeous curves and your pretty little cunt. He dares run a finger along your entrance, so warm and, oh, so deliciously wet for him. A wonderful surprise to find you this receptive, this ready for his use. His cock aches to spring free, to indulge in your slick heat.

To fuck you like this, plunge into you hard and fast, eat up every last bit of you—the pleasure of it all would be immense—but your gifts to him are precious, something to be cherished, to be handled with care. As much as it is a challenge to maintain his control, to pull himself from your luscious neck, he does.

It helps to know the night will not end here. He readies himself for the delights yet to come, strips off his trousers and smallclothes, coaxes your legs apart with one hand as he strokes himself with the other.

To savour you will be so sweet.

Astarion rubs along your folds—a tease that so often has you begging for more—but now he is the impatient one. Your charming smile, your radiating warmth, your ready body, so slick with unconscious need, invites him in. The tip of his cock slips inside you and you welcome him with astonishing ease.

Pleasure—whether his or yours, you can’t quite tell—floods your mind, intensifying the otherworldly sensations of your dreamscape. The way he fills you, the way you surround him entrances you in equal measure, immersing you into a haze of languid euphoria as he gradually, gently works you open.

How cute that you cannot quite comprehend this. But, oh, you feel it, don’t you?

His thoughts again dominate yours as he buries his full length inside, relishing in how easily your body accommodates his size, how good it feels to pull away and push back into you. Gods, you look so beautiful and blissful in your oblivion. Still your body answers to his rhythm in ways subtle and sweet—a touch of colour on your cheeks, a slight quickening of your heart—but nothing gratifies him more than discovering the stirrings of pleasure swirling about your sleeping mind.

A conflict begins between his crumbling resolve to take his time and his growing urge to thrust into you mercilessly. He manages to compromise with a moderate pace and a thorough exploration of you, pressing in as deep as he is able while his hands roam across your skin. Your every curve and contour have long been mapped out in his mind, but still he touches you with a reverence befitting a first time.

How surreal it is to know this stunning, trusting, loving woman in his arms is all his. It still feels like a sweet dream from which he will one day wake.

But you are real—and you give yourself to him so freely.

Astarion continues to rock his hips against yours, moving faster now, taking full advantage of your kindly offering. You feel delicious wrapped around his cock like this, your body perfectly conforming to his shape. He does miss your adorable little moans—you have always been enthusiastically vocal for him in bed—but he must admit the endless creaking below and the wet slapping of his flesh meeting yours make for pleasing sounds in their absence.

Barely a second passes before a pretty noise escapes your open mouth—only a faint whimper, but it makes him throb with the feral need to fill you. You little minx. Even in your sleep you know just how to rile him. Well, if you are to tempt him with such provocative encouragement, then he has no choice but to fuck you harder.

He abandons all restraint in his haste towards the end, the pleasure tingling your slumbering mind enhancing his own. But, gods, what he would not give to feel all your delightful spasms and shudders as you shatter for him.

Maybe, just maybe…

You feel it. You have this whole time, really, but the waves of pleasure are far stronger than before. Each and every sensation amplified, pushed hard into your mind as he plunges hard into you. How much pleasure he takes in enjoying your body. How blissfully lost he is in his sweet addiction to you. How near he is to tumbling over the edge of ecstasy.

And he wants desperately to take you with him.

Euphoria wracks through him and through you. With a few final thrusts, Astarion pumps you full of his seed, your rhythmic pulses drawing every last drop deeper inside you.

He collapses, basking in afterglow, heart brimming with affection as he admires you. You are still sound asleep, oblivious to the waking world, that same cute little smile upon your pretty face.

Gods, could you be any more perfect?

Before he separates from your body and mind, before all fades to black, he plants a single kiss upon your soft lips, whispering one last message into your ear.

“Sweet dreams, darling.”

+++

Your eyes flicker open. You squint a little as you adjust to the shock of morning light streaming in through the crack of the open window, but you soon welcome your favourite sight: Astarion lying by your side. You are usually the type to grumble as you pull the covers over your head, chasing the often vain hope for another hour of sleep—but today you simply smile. Perhaps waking up every day next to a partner you adore just might yet make a morning person out of you.

He looks beautiful like this. Relaxed, content, transfixed on a book. He fails to notice your stare—or at least he pretends not to. Eventually you scooch closer, and at last he acknowledges you. “Good morning, my dear. I trust you… slept well?”

Something signals to you that this is not quite a normal greeting. Something you can’t quite pinpoint. He looks… exceptionally smug, even for him. He sounds… expectant, maybe?

You struggle to recall whatever it is you are supposed to know. But then you recognize the book in his hands as he slams it shut. And then you remember.

Oh, gods. Your racy novel. Your little fantasy. Your erotic dreams.

Your hand snaps to your neck, your fingers finding two distinctive punctures in your skin while he watches you with his fanged grin. He drank from you, that much is certain, but did he…? You reach your other hand to examine a far more intimate place.

Oh.

Oh.

“That,” you begin breathlessly, hazy recollections of your dreams returning to you piece by piece. “That was all real last night, wasn’t it?”

“If you are referring to the little show I gave you, then yes,” he confirms, his grin spreading wide. “Was it everything you ever wanted?”

His flirtatious drawl is full of bravado, as it always is, yet you think you can detect the tiniest hint of uncertainty behind it.

Oh, you will make sure you leave him with no doubt.

You practically pounce on him, smothering him with a flurry of little kisses. The way his laughter bubbles out of him makes your heart sing. “Shall I take that as a yes?”

“Of course,” you assure him. “And it’s like I’ve told you before. I trust you with my body.”

You plant a kiss on his forehead.

“My mind.”

And the tip of his nose.

“My heart.”

Both his cheeks.

“My everything.”

You press your lips to his, and the two of you melt into each other. Astarion holds you tight even as your lips break apart, a whispered “I love you,” filling the shell of your ear. You repeat the words back to him—and before you lavish him with the full extent of your affection you tell him only one more thing.

“You have given me the sweetest dreams I will ever have.”

+++ Thank you for reading!

If you enjoy my work, you can find more on my AO3. Additional cross posts for Tumblr and masterlist coming soon + more oneshots in the works! UPDATE: Here is the masterlist!

[juyeoz]

GOOD GRACES — YANG JUNGWON

32 ┆ the boy who swore (0.9k words)

In a blink of an eye, the time Jungwon dreaded had come—lunch. He silently sat in the classroom you two were supposed to meet in for your tutor session. His crutches rested against the table beside him as he awaited your appearance.

It was quiet and three minutes past your original meeting time.

If he knew you were going to be late like this, he wouldn’t have agreed at all. Part of him was glad. Jungwon wouldn’t have to face the person he had a romantic dream about a few days ago. 

That was great news for him.

Yet, to his dismay, you showed up. 

“Hey, I’m sorry.” You said while approaching the seat in front of him.

“What took you so long?” Jungwon asked, his gaze not leaving your figure, but his tone was annoyed. While taking your seat, you placed the frozen dessert on top of his desk. 

“Oh,” he muttered while staring at the orange wrapper. 

“The line was long today.” You said, replying coldly to his tone from earlier.

Jungwon’s gaze shifted around the classroom as he awkwardly bit down on his bottom lip. The silence between you two broke once you began rummaging through your backpack for your notebook and pencil case. 

“Here, my physics work from this morning.” You placed the notes on the desk and sighed.

Jungwon pushed the Melona popsicle aside and brought your notebook closer to him. 

“What are you struggling with?” He asked while going over your notes. Everything seemed pretty understandable to him.

“Quite literally everything.” You replied and handed him a pen to go over the material. Jungwon’s brows briefly raised at your response. Well, he would have to teach you more than he expected.

“Okay, let me see where you’re at.” Jungwon began. He flipped to another blank page in your notebook and proceeded to write away. You watched him confused. 

What was he planning to do?

In silence, he turned the notebook around and pulled out his phone in the process. 

“Take this and answer the ten equations there.” He said while handing you the pen. 

“What?”

“You have five minutes. Do as much as you can.” Jungwon looked up from his phone and gave you a fake smile while pressing the start button on his phone.

You narrowed your eyes at him and took your pen from his hold. He watched as you became focused upon seeing the questions that were plastered on the page. They all had to do with physics, obviously. Some of them were from previous units you had already learned which made things quite easier for you.

“There’s three minutes left.” Jungwon’s irritating voice said, piercing through the silent atmosphere around you two.

The timer meant nothing to you. The questions were easy, until they weren’t. 

Equations from the current unit you were learning began to appear at question seven and onwards. They were the sole reason why you unfortunately chose to ask Jungwon for help on physics.

None of it made sense to you.

Jungwon bit back his smile at the way your expression switched. You seemed confused and stressed out.

“A minute and thirty seconds left.” He said while glancing over at the timer on his phone. Now the timer began to mean something to you. Even if Jungwon said to ‘do as much as you can’ you still wanted to prove him wrong by doing everything.

However, it was impossible. Especially if you didn’t understand the concept that was taught in class for the past week or so. 

“Forty seconds.” 

“Shut up.” You replied while plugging numbers into your calculator, causing Jungwon to let out a chuckle.

Of course, he found this amusing. You were struggling and that was one of his favourite thoughts. Well, that was what you at least thought.

Jungwon, on the other hand, found this somewhat cute. It was weird and not like him at all.

“Five seconds.” Jungwon said, leaving you even more stressed.

“Stop it.”

“Four.” 

“Stop.”

“Three… Two…” He dragged out the numbers while waiting for the timer to ring.

“Time’s up!” He exclaimed while grabbing the pen out of your hold and bringing your notebook closer to him once more. You looked up in shock and immediately reached for the pen. In response, Jungwon leaned back with your pen while you leaned in closer. 

“Give it back, I didn’t get to finish.” You said, expecting a snobby remark from the boy, but instead, he was quiet.

Jungwon swallowed thickly. Your faces were quite close to each other, leaving him a flustered mess. His gaze travelled around your face. Your brows were furrowed and you looked annoyed. However, despite you being annoyed, your gaze was too intense for him to bear. 

His heart race quickened after being reminded of the dream he had. It was so loud to the point where he could hear it in his ears. 

What if you could hear it too? Would you have pointed it out? 

He refused to believe he liked you. Many times. Yet, with how he felt right now, there was no doubt about it.

Yang Jungwon, the boy who swore in ninth grade that he would hate you for the rest of his life, the boy who swore he would never ever give you a compliment, and the boy who had to help you with the yearbook club because you both couldn’t keep your mouths shut, had fallen in love with his ‘sworn enemy’.

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

NOTE — thank me later!!!!!!!!!!

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @ch4c0nnenh4 @ancnymcnzjy

GOOD GRACES TAGLIST — @anuisamazing @garrdenwon @dreamiestay @starfallia @mrchweeee @mymelodyfanatic @getoxo @jiamini @imnotyizhuo @heartheejake @wonlluvie @theothernads @yvjw @riribelle @winuvs @shotaddicted @hollxe1 @pinknjm @en-dream @elegancefr @wensurr @enhaz1 @r1kification @sunghxxnie @unhakki @hoonieluv @veilico @ddolleri @ahnneyong @stvrriki @domfikeluva @mensisim @tasnemluvs @httpenhoon @sch1z0prenic @kazemiya @rairaiblog @enhypenlovre @starry-eyed-bimbo @cupidhoons @miyawwn @siekksjs @wonfused @renjuneoo @wildtigerlili @nishiriks @letwiiparkjay

© JUYEOZ

[littlest-w01f]

Tensed

Cassian x Reader

For @sjmxreaderweek

Sjmxreader 2025 Masterlist

Day 7 - Free Day

Summary: Cassian returned home from Illyria, his wings and shoulders wound up tight. You weren't one, but you understood how it hurt him, knowing he needed you more every time he flew back.

Cw: Fluff/comfort turns into smut, wingplay, best tension remover frfr

As the afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the House of Winds, casting a light across your sketchbook page, you found yourself lost in thought. The familiar lines and curves of Cassian's wings danced beneath your pencil, a soothing ritual that had become a staple of your days while he was away to Illyria.

Your mind wandered as your hand moved deftly over the paper, capturing the intricate and powerful muscles that made up Cassian's magnificent wingspan. The way his wingtips curled slightly at the ends, the sharpness of his leathery wings, the subtle sheen they held when glistening wet after a rainstorm, every detail felt etched into your memory like it was a well-loved book.

As you worked, the faint scent of his favorite leather armour wafted through the air, carried on the gentle breeze. You looked up, smiling, "Cassian!" You got up to the balcony, seeing Cassian flying back towards you.

Your heart dropped with dread as you watched Cassian soar closer, the wind whipping his hair into a frenzy around his chiselled face. His hazel eyes were full of sorrow upon spotting you, and he angled his flight path to glide smoothly onto the balcony.

He hopped down and wrapped strong arms around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. "Missed you," he murmured, nuzzling his nose into your hair as his warm breath sent shivers down your spine. The firm planes of his body pressed against yours, making it difficult to focus on anything but the intoxicating nearness of him.

As he held you, Cassian's gaze drifted down to the open sketchbook still clutched in your hands. A slow smile spread across his face as he took in the meticulous drawings of his own wings.

He was tensed still, his hands gripping your hips almost too tightly, betraying the turmoil brewing inside him. As much as he tried to hide it, you could sense the weight of his stress of his duties bearing down on him.

"Cassian?" You tilted your head back to look up at him, concern etched on your features. "What is it? You're not... What's wrong?"

"Don't pull away..." He pulled out closer, burying his face in your neck, "Please. Just stay." His words hung heavy in the air between you, thick with unspoken emotions. Cassian's breathing was ragged against your skin as he clung to you, his grip on your hips becoming more desperate. The tension radiating off him was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to vibrate through your very being. "I'm so tired."

As he leaned heavily into you, seeking solace in your warmth and comfort, you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him, holding him close. Your fingers traced gentle patterns along his back, trying to soothe the knots of tension that had settled there. Cassian let out a shaky sigh, his breath hot against your skin as he relaxed incrementally into your embrace.

Slowly, you walked him to your room, making him sit, minding his wings. "Can you tell me what happened, Cass?" You sighed softly, getting settled in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I want to help you." You felt your bond, giving him comforting touches through it, wanting to help him relax.

"I... I was too late." His voice was barely a growl, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, letting the bond you shared comfort him, "She was only 10... They tried to take her wings. I stopped them but she is still ruined, I was too late."

"Oh, Cass." You squeezed him tighter, feeling his heart race against your body, the change in his breath, at how much saving Illyrian girls meant to him, to make sure none of them lived his mother's life. You didn't know what to say in comfort, all you could do was kiss his head softly, "You do your best Cass, You always do. If you got to her before they could fully clip her then you did save her. I know you want to save everyone... I do. That's what I love you for. I know you can."

Cassian groaned, face pressing in your breasts, leaching comfort you had to offer, feeling your hands on his hair and shoulders, his body was fully knotted. "I just... I can't save everyone..."

"Yes you can. You can." You replied instantly, kisses prepping over his face, holding him close, "Come now, let me help the tension away." You gave him a soft smile, sitting up from him, gently motioning him to lay on his stomach down and wings up. The sight of him steered something inside you that made your heart clench in pain, you moved to work, stripping him off his leathers so he was naked, he shuddered as the air hit his body.

"Y/n..." Cassian whispered, looking up from his face in a pillow to see you rummage through the draws of the nightstand to pull out some oils, lavender and almond, and put them on the stand. He sighed as he felt you sit on his ass after you'd covered him with a blanket.

"I'm here... I'm here." You whispered, your voice gentle, you dropped a few drops of the oils, mixing them in your hands to warm them up. You pressed your hands on his back, between his Illyrian wings. With tender care, you began to massage his muscular back, working out the kinks and knots that had accumulated from the stress and strain of his duties.

Your touch was soothing, easing his tense muscles and calming his racing thoughts. As your skilled fingers roamed over his skin, tracing the contours of his powerful physique, Cassian let out a low, rumbling moan, his body melting under your ministrations.

His wings, usually a symbol of strength now lay vulnerable above him, their delicate membranes exposed to the cool air. The sight stirred something primal within you, a deep longing to protect and cherish this male who held such power yet was so deeply affected by the suffering of others, you smiled as his wings started to flutter, a sign of him relaxing as you massaged his neck and shoulders, "Damn, the knot here is really strong..."

Cassian groaned under you, gasping and sighing as his body felt looser, comforted under your weight, "Please..." He could feel the muscles in his neck soften under your touch, eyes softly closing as he grew tired. "y/n..."

"Shh, just relax," You cooed, your fingers danced over his skin, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. As his eyelids drifted shut, you leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss his round ears.

"You deserve this peace," You whispered, trailing your lips along his cheek. Cassian's breathing slowed, deepening as he surrendered to your soothing touch and the gentle caress of your mouth.

As you worked, your hands occasionally brushed against his sensitive wings, sending tingles through both of you. The intimate contact sparked a hunger in your core, a desire to explore every inch of his powerful form. But for now, you focused solely on providing comfort, pouring all your love and devotion into the massage.

You stroked his wings, massaging the thick membranes, providing him waves of arousal up his spine mixed with the comfort. Cassian's wings responded eagerly to your touch, flexing and twitching under your skilled hands. Each stroke sent jolts of pleasure coursing through his body, mingling with the relaxation washing over him. His breathing grew heavier, more labored, as his arousal mounted.

"Mmm, y/n..." Cassian moaned, his voice husky with need. He arched his back, pushing his wings further into your grasp, craving more of your tantalizing touch. "Feels so good..."

As you continued to work his wings, the musky scent of Cassian's arousal filled the air. It took all your willpower to maintain the slow, sensual pace, focusing on easing his tension.

"That's it, just let go," You purred, your fingers kneading deeper into the muscles of his wings, coaxing out the remaining knots until they were smooth and pliant under your touch. Cassian's hips rolled subtly, grinding against the mattress as he chased the pleasure building within him.

His wings flapped lazily, responding solely to your touch. The sight was intoxicating, stoking the flames of desire burning in your belly. You trailed your fingers lower, exploring the ridges and valleys of his toned back, marveling at the play of muscle beneath your palms.

Cassian groaned under you, reaching backwards to grab your thighs with his hand, "Please... My wings again..."

"Of course, baby," You cooed, you grasped the base of one of his wings, applying gentle pressure to guide it back towards you. As the membrane unfolded, you ran your fingers along its surface, tracing the veins and creases with reverent touch. Cassian's talons brushed against your lips, teasing you with its proximity. With a soft hum, you wrapped your mouth around the delicate tip, suckling playfully, tracing you with his tongue.

Cassian's breath hitched, a guttural moan escaping his throat as your warm mouth enveloped his sensitive talon. His wings quivered, the pleasurable sensation shooting straight to his groin. "Fuck, y/n," he gasped.

Cassian's hips bucked, seeking friction against the mattress. His other wing fluttered restlessly, eager for your touch. You released his talon with a pop, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes.

"Wait wait, I'm getting there." You said, tugging gently on the wings to encourage him to spread them wider. Once they were fully extended, you dipped your head, swirling your tongue over the intricate network of veins and tendons.

"Mother's tits, y/n!" Cassian moaned, his voice raw with ecstasy as a sudden wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him. His wings spasmed wildly, thrashing about in the air as if trying to escape the intense sensations you were evoking.

His wings continued to tremble and convulse, reacting intensely to your ministrations. You could feel the heat emanating from his body, the sweat-slicked skin sliding beneath your touch. The air was thick with the musk of his arousal, fueling your own desires.

With a final, long lick along the length of his wing, you sat back, admiring the sight of Cassian's spent form sprawled across the bed. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his hazel eyes glazed over with sated bliss.

"Are you relaxed?" You asked softly, rolling off him to settle beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Cassian turned to face you, a contented smile spreading across his features. "More than relaxed," he murmured, his voice still husky from his earlier moans. He reached out to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your lips. "Thank you, y/n."

He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a tender kiss. The intimacy of the moment, combined with the lingering effects of his climax, left him feeling vulnerable yet safe in your embrace. As the kiss deepened, Cassian's arms encircled you, drawing you closer until your bodies were flush against each other.

{General taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86 @thelov3lybookworm @romanticatheartt @inkedinshadows}

{Cassian taglist- @yeonalie @nestastits}

{Week Taglist - @readinf @thorins-queen-of-erebor}

[go-spotlight-author]

Spotlight Author for July 13, 2025

✨klikandtuna✨

klikandtuna (she/her) is a widely known AO3 author and illustrator, who has quickly produced fanfics of many varieties since the airing of GO S2. Keep reading to learn more about all these works, as well as the story behind her unique online handle (which she now answers to as readily as her own given name😆)

Here's some background into klikandtuna's world when she’s not thinking about Good Omens (though GO has a very special place in her life):

“Hi, I’m Steph and I live in Oregon (USA) with my husband, three kids, and two cats. Writing and illustrating GO fanfic is my favorite hobby, but I also cross-stitch (including designing custom pieces for myself and others) and play an occasional DnD campaign, and if I have any time left over I’m reading weird fantasy novels.”

klikandtuna’s journey into writing started at an early age - and the rest (as they say) is history:

“When I was in the fourth grade, we had just moved from Wisconsin to North Carolina and no one really liked me (to be fair, I was and remain an acutely introverted weirdo), but one day the class held a creative-writing contest where we all took the same prompt and wrote a little story with it. My story won. And that’s my origin tale:  I’d found something I both really enjoyed and was good at, and writing has been part of my life ever since. My ninth-grade English teacher once held up an essay I’d written and swore he’d see my name on the spine of a novel someday. Writing is what I’ve wanted to Do — a Writer is what I’ve wanted to be — for most of my life.”

Good Omens was not unfamiliar to klikandtuna before her discovery of the series.  But the series (and two magical actors) took her love of the story to the next level: 

“I read the book once ages ago, but didn’t remember much of it by the time the series rolled around. But the trailer was intriguing and I vaguely remembered liking the book, so I gave it a shot. Loved it. Love love love loved it — especially, obviously, our two leads. There’s something so healing about Good Omens, in regards to my religious trauma. I’ve since reread the book, of course, and Season 1 truly is a masterclass in book-to-screen adaptation: it drops what isn’t necessary and preserves everything that makes the story magical, while building upon the existing lore in believable and delightful ways.”

klikandtuna’s inspiration to write stories about Good Omens is probably the same for many writers in the fandom (hint: it might have had something to do with that “moment” we all obsess with over and over and over again😭):

“Season two broke my damn brain, that’s what happened. Season one was LOVELY, I adored the expanding of Crowley and Aziraphale’s roles and characterizations, and for whatever reason I was content with it. But that second season…that final fifteen… I watched it alone. ALL ALONE, Y’ALL, I didn’t even know anyone else who was into the show! I went to my online friend group like “has anyone maybe heard of this…?” and thank Bentley two of them pounced, and we were able to weep together. It was really that sense of community that sparked the obsession, I think.

It was those same two friends who read my first tiny tentative drabbles — classics like “The Broom Cupboard” and “Unforgettable” which will never be made public, and yes I’m only saying this to tease and tantalize — and they were so delighted and encouraging that it made me want to do more. I had never written fanfiction before and at first it felt odd to play with someone else’s characters, but I was having such fun and my friends enjoyed it so much that I just kept going.

Everything on my AO3 page before “In Vino Veritas” was written entirely in a vacuum — before I had any contact whatsoever with the fandom, when no one but those same two friends read my work. I hadn’t read anyone else’s work (I still don’t, or almost none), had never heard of human AUs until my friend introduced the concept and suggested I give it a try (the result was “Every Damn Day”), and was so self-conscious about it all that it took my friends six months to convince me to post my existing stories on AO3. With some trepidation, I did…and the reception has been so overwhelmingly positive that I’m full-on hooked 😄 I’ve since acquired a fabulous beta-reader by sheer luck, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything!”

Out of all her wonderful written works, is klikandtuna willing to tell us which one is her favorite? (we’ll do the apology dance for asking🥲)

“This is so mean. What a mean question. 🤣 Choose a favorite piece of my soul?? I could NEVER. 

But I will give special shoutouts to a) “Naked and Afraid: Jingle Hell” (human AU, rated T, 24k complete)  because the stupidest idea and a format I’d never attempted turned into something absolutely glorious (and it’s getting its own podfic, with me voicing the narrator!), and b) “When You Go” (rated E, 102k) a Reverse Omens fic that I feel I absolutely nailed the characterizations in, but is also very angsty and ends (temporarily!!!) on one heck of a cliffhanger so is largely overlooked. I could talk about WYG for hours but never get the chance!”

And does she have any interest in OTHER fandoms besides Good Omens??

“Nnnnnnope 😄 I used to be in a LiveJournal community centered on the “A Song of Ice and Fire” book series, but that’s it. I tend to enjoy things privately and not interact with the larger fandom; GO is the only exception, and therefore is receiving all of my creative energy.”

Speaking of klikandtuna’s “creative energy” - let’s dive into some of the questions submitted by our wonderful readers and followers:

✨Where does your creative energy, talents and inspiration come from? “I don’t think this has an easy answer. My creative ENERGY has yet to reach its limit; I write voraciously and there are never enough free hours in the day for it. Talent is what a person is born with, and I guess I got some of that; skill is how that person works to develop their natural talent, and no matter what level they start with they can always increase their skill. But inspiration?

Stephen King once wrote of “the pool where we all go down to drink, to swim, to catch a little fish from the edge of the shore; it's also the pool where some hardy souls go out in their flimsy wooden boats after the big ones” (this was in “Lisey’s Story”). In “Find the Light” I described it as silver threads in the dark aether — a glitter catches my eye, I pluck the thread and start to follow its path, and weave it into something that feels true. Sometimes a friend (usually my wonderful beta-reader) tosses an idea at me and I just can’t resist; sometimes I start with a topic I’m personally passionate about, like marching band. However I begin, I wait for that glitter and follow where it leads. Discovering a story like that is one of my favorite feelings in life 💛”

✨What was the inspiration behind the thematic of the pondwater in "Find the Light"? Is there a story behind that motif? (P.S: I loved every second of that motif, it is so beautiful. And the fanfic itself too, enjoyed it a lot): “I started writing “Find the Light” with no idea where I’d end up; I simply stood with Fell in his office and let things begin to unfold. When Fell turned his face to the sun and dipped briefly into memory…I saw the pond scene from his past, in its entirety. And when I wanted to write a song that was AJ’s ode to his lost love, I just…started typing. It took me maybe fifteen minutes to write the entire song. It was just THERE.

‘Pondwater’ is AJ’s own memory of those painful moments at the pond: beauty and grief and regret and passion rolled into one. I love it too, and I’m thrilled to announce that a ‘canon’ version of the song, as something you’ll actually be able to listen to and sing along with, is currently in the works!

(PS. If you love FTL but haven’t yet earned the right to read my AU crossover fic “Find Every Sky” (rated T, 48k complete), you might want to do so. AJ talks about his school-days friendship with Fell in a way that’s never fully explored in FTL!)”

✨You've written so many human AUs, so what got you into writing those in the first place? And, have you ever considered writing one where the one is human and the other isn't? “Back when I was writing in a vacuum, one of the two friends who read my work said “hey sometimes people write them as regular humans. Maybe you could give that a try?” And my little brain exploded. “Every Damn Day” is a completely pure work in that not only had I never read another human AU when I wrote it, I wasn’t even aware of the concept of human AUs until that moment. And I love my Avery and Anthony with every last bit of my heart.

When I became aware of the existence of other human AUs, it still didn’t occur to me that I could just…write another. Not until Suzy — an acquaintance of pure happenstance who had convinced me to join Tumblr and later became the best beta-reader in the business — sent me a Tumblr post that had a set of gifs and a vague prompt, and she said, “You could write this.” I laughed at first. I could NEVER write another human AU, I had already done my allotment. …Right? 🤣🤣 Thankfully I overcame that weirdness, and “Find the Light” was born, and I was off to the races.

The idea of one of them being human and the other supernatural doesn’t really sit right with me. So, no thank you ☺️”

✨A number of your stories create a more in-depth characterization for your lead pairs than the typical fan fic. Do you see yourself moving onto writing original characters? You're getting close already.  “If you’re following along with my current WIP “In His Hand a Burning Coal” (human AU, rated E, updates weekly and will wrap in October), you’ll know that I can and do write OCs! The ONLY canon characters in that one are the lead pair themselves and God; the rest of the fic is populated entirely with original characters, and I adore them.

If you mean completely original fiction, well — that’s the dream! But I’m having too much fun with fanfics at the moment ☺️”

✨I absolutely love your reinterpretation of Romeo and Juliet. Is there any other media you would consider reinterpreting through a Good Omens Lens? “To be fair, I’m really not trying to reimagine the play itself with “In His Hand a Burning Coal”; I take the basic concept of lovers belonging to rival tribes and apply it to college marching band, annnnnd that’s about it. Any other parallels between the two are delightful to theorize, but not intentional on my part. I’m just writing a story 😄

But I LOVE the idea of reimagining an existing story through the lens of Good Omens and would absolutely be interested in doing so in the future. Open to suggestions!”

✨What is something one of your characters has said or done that surprised you as you were writing it? “Oh lord, they do this ALL the time! This is why I never try to fully plot out my stories in advance; it feels too restrictive, and I’d rather give my characters room to tell me their own story organically. I only write in order, never skipping ahead, and my characters surprise me often.

One instance that immediately comes to mind is the infamous Crystal Ceremony in “Sky Clear Blue” (human AU, rated E, 289k complete). Azekiel said he had a plan, annnnd I had no idea what the plan would be until I was in the middle of writing the scene. It just unfolded around me, and ended up being one of the most powerful scenes in the fic!”

✨Any news on the book printing of your absolutely fabulous epic fics FTL and SCB? “Thanks to the unending generosity and diligence of SparklyShinyMagpie, who has done all of the pretty social-media coding you’ll see in my fics, the print books are inching closer to becoming a reality! The current holdup…is me 😆 So poke me now and then to make sure I’m holding up my end of things. At the moment we’re working on “Find the Light”; SCB will take a little longer.

The books will (eventually) be sold at cost, with no profit to me.”

✨You always put in your author’s notes and the tags that you won’t spoil the end of your stories. Would you ever consider NOT giving Aziraphale and Crowley a happy ending? ““Happy” is such an UNuseful word here. Is the ending SUITABLE? Does it make sense in the context of the story and the character arcs? Does it seem inevitable in retrospect? —These are the important questions, and the things that matter more to me (as both a reader and a writer) than whether the ending falls under the WILDLY subjective definition of “happy.”

That being said…I think that Crowley and Aziraphale, no matter what reality we find them in, OUGHT to have an ending in which they’re together and at peace. Heartbreak and tragedy have their place, but these two dopes are simply meant to be and nothing else feels right. 

But “#Author REFUSES to spoil the ending in the tags” is my favorite tag and isn’t going away anytime soon 😁”

These two ABSOLUTELY deserve the happiest of endings!!  And klikandtuna’s last answer OBVIOUSLY answers our next question - who is your favorite GO pairing to write about?

“I mean, is anyone’s FAVORITE pairing in this fandom anything other than our Ineffables? 😄 They’re the core of everything that’s brought us all together. I’ve featured or alluded to other relationships in my stories — Gabe/Beez, Uriel/Sandalphon, Maggie/Nina, Muriel/OC demon — but Crowley and Aziraphale are why we’re all here, and they’ve touched my heart and my creativity in a way that really no other fictional pairing I’ve ever encountered can compare to. 💛”

Any writing themes that you prefer for the Ineffable Duo?

“Redemption for all (potential/offered, even if not fulfilled). The transformative power of love. How belief can shape reality. Time is a pond. Aziraphale hates puns and Crowley hates autocorrect. At Least One Of Them Is A Virtuoso Musician. Sleepovers usually sneak in somewhere. This Love Is Destiny. Etc 😁”

klikandtuna has THREE works in progress right now - here’s a preview (and also your sign to subscribe so you don’t miss a thing!!):

““In His Hand a Burning Coal” (rated E, 28/43, 311k) — this massive beast of a human AU features Ant and Azlan, college students at an American university, who are in marching band together. Humor! Drama! Pining! Daring heists! Tons of fun OCs, including an aggressively hateable antagonist! 1-2 illustrations per chapter! Basically my personal love letter to band, delivered via a beautiful story of destiny and perseverance.

“Because We Can!” (not posted yet, will be rated T or possssibly M) — a campy human AU about time cops, equal parts drama and humor. This one has been shunted to the back burner until my FTH fic is complete, but I’ve written five chapters and really love it.

“What I Never Said” (human AU, not posted yet, will be rated M) — my winning bidder in the Fandom Trumps Hate auction presented me with a MASSIVE CHALLENGE that has required extensive research, but the result is going to be beautiful. Stay tuned.”

Okay - it’s time to end all the suspense.  WE NEED TO KNOW THE STORY BEHIND THE HANDLE!!! (And for the record, klikandtuna sort of begged for this question in her intro 😁🤣): 

“Hoist with my own petard. I brought up how stupid the handle is, so now I’ve gotta tell the stupid story 😆 SO. In 2018 I finally wanted to join Twitter, but every handle I could think of was taken, so I had to reach back into the vault of Dumb Family Legends to find something…

June 2005. On a five-day fishing trip on a remote Canadian lake with my dad and brothers. On the final day, in preparation for leaving, we disposed of most of our leftover food. 

Well, the float plane that was supposed to pick us up was late. Like, REALLY late. The window of time during which it could pick us up and make it back to civilization before dark was rapidly narrowing, and the four of us suddenly had to face the possibility of spending an extra night at this tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere with no food except the two items that couldn’t be thrown away or burned: one 8-ounce can of Starkist tuna, and one can of Klik, which is kind of a Canadian Spam and which we’d only purchased because we thought the name was funny.

The float plane DID come, thankfully, but we kept that can of Klik in the pantry for like ten years until Mom threw it away because she didn’t fully appreciate the sentimental value of it. I always keep a couple cans of Klik on my own shelves now, though, just for good luck.

“Klikandtuna,” typed 2018 Steph into the field to create a Twitter handle, just for a giggle…and lo and behold, it went through. So then I just had to live with it. Annnnd since it’s always available on any new social media platform and it’s nice to have just one handle across the board, I’ve stuck with it. Annnnd now it’s basically my name. This is my life now. I am two canned meats. Told you it was stupid.

(Sorry I don’t clicker-train cats, that would’ve been rad)”

And this wonderfully unique name is how you will always be able to find her online:

“Tumblr, BlueSky, and Instagram are where you can see my art; I’m also on Discord, and even have my own little server for “In His Hand a Burning Coal.” No matter where, I’m always klikandtuna 💛”

klikandtuna shares more with the fandom than just her beautiful artworks and fabulous tales: 

“I’ve designed and completed a GO cross-stitch that I’m proud of (and which David Tennant has signed! one day I’ll complete the set, I hope), and I’ve made a set of custom “Little People” GO figures. Most of my creative energy these days goes into the fics and illustrations!”

Here are some truthful and beautiful words of encouragement from klikandtuna for others who love writing or are considering dipping into the writing pool:

“Writing is scary.

Fan art is great because even a very rough sketch can carry at least the approximation of ideas and forms and intent, and your audience can take it in at a glance and offer kind words. But with writing you have to be at least kind of objectively good at it to properly pull off the telepathy of transmitting the intent in your own head into the heads of other people. Writing can’t be taken in at a glance — you have to be good enough for readers to stick around, focus, pay attention, dedicate their time. You have to EARN it. And that’s scary because it might not work.

AO3 is such a fun platform because it encourages reader interaction in a way that traditional publishing cannot. But the kudos and comments, and even the genuine friends I’ve made via these channels, are not the reason I write. And anyone for whom that IS the primary goal might end up having a bad time.

Do you fall through the page when you’re writing, losing track of the minutes? Do you make yourself laugh? Does your heart beat faster when you find that perfect phrasing? Do your fingers itch when it’s been too long since you got to sit down and get to it? Do you stage potential scenarios for your characters while folding laundry and scribble notes to yourself before you forget? Does your heart flood with genuine affection when you think of the people you’ve created, who feel more real to you than a lot of actual people you know?

Write because you love it. Because it’s fulfilling a huge and wonderful need in your soul. Let go of the end result and embrace the joy of the process — of working at it, of TRYING, of wrestling with words and ideas until it feels just right. The only real point of creating art of any kind is the feeling it inspires in the artist themself. Write for YOU. Make yourself your own target audience. That’s the best advice I’ve got.”

Final thoughts?

“I’m deeply grateful to everyone reading this. For not letting this fandom die, for continuing to find beauty and hope here…both in this story that means so much to us all, and in the community we’ve found with each other.”

klikandtuna - we are so very grateful for YOU and all the fantastic gifts you give to this fandom.  Thank you so much for sharing your story with us!!! 💝

Here's some links where you can continue to follow klikandtuna:

Archive of our Own [AO3]

Tumblr

Bluesky

Instagram

@klikandtuna

[takes1]

heyyy, I just found your page and I’m in love omg<333 would just like to request an ushijima imagine with a tall reader (5’10-11) it’s so rare to see a tall reader tbh hahah, anyways reader is captain of the girls volleyball of their school and is a middle blocker, ushijima just kinda stumbled upon their gym with tendou and cannot take his eyes off here or something 😭

Thank youuuuu

thanks pookie! sorry about the wait. this was a great request! i rlly appreciate asks like these. sorry i wrote this man a little different than what i normally see, but it made sense to me

warnings. none, sfw.

details. ushijima not getting social queues / pining!ushijima / kinda dumb!ushijima / stoic!ushijima / staring / secretly sweet!ushijima / tall!reader / team captain!reader / unrequited? crush / tendou being a great wingman / 1.8k words

links. masterlist. more haikyuu here. my ao3. request box.

Leading a team full of peers never came naturally. At least, the girls didn't make it an easy task when every order, every call was either questioned or giggled at.

Today's practice in particular was getting to you. Nobody was focused up and there were some plays that only existed because it was a Friday afternoon going into a long weekend off.

You shut down a laughable attempt at a spike. If anything, your jump was too high- the ball caught your chest and slammed into the opposite side of the court. What was that? Six shut-downs in the past ten minutes?

"Let's try hitting the ball, not bumping it!" You shouted, swiping the sweat down and off your face. It was mean, but honest.

"We're trying!" Somebody whined.

You flung your arm dismissively at the other side of the net and rested your hands on your hips. Maybe it was just destined to be a rough day, after all.

A melodic whistle from the entrance turned your attention to a cheery redhead, skipping towards the court. Behind him trailed a slower, silent, but somehow greater presence.

You called for a water break at once- celebration ignored- to greet your eccentric friend.

"Strooong block," Tendou grinned and scanned you for signs of effort- he found it in the wetness across your light-colored shirt, "Good game?"

"Hardly," You fanned yourself by pumping your collar with air.

Ushijima stopped glancing around the gym and finally acknowledged your presence- you pretended to not care about his awful staring problem. He didn't look you in the eye, but in a way, it made you more on-edge. Was there something wrong?

You stopped fanning yourself and faked a smile to hide how concerned you were that they might stay to watch, "We're just- off, today--,"

"Mmmm!" Tendou's attentive hum and consequent staring was far more objective, but creepy nonetheless.

What a couple of weirdos.

"We were just about to call it, actually," You placed your hands on your hips, squinting at the other captain to guess his intentions, "So if you were trying to use the court, you can have it."

Narrowed eyes caught your gaze in an intense, humbling second- you wrapped your arms around yourself and glanced away.

Ushijima had an otherworldly harshness to him. You rarely felt the need to shy away from people, but he knew how to make you squirm.

He said absolutely nothing to you. Tendou accepted your offer and paid it forward by inviting you to stay and run drills, but there was something about Ushijima you couldn't decipher, no matter how much you wanted to practice. It was like he had a problem with you, or the way you ran your team, or he was just pissed off- none of those were possibilities you had the energy to deal with after this evening.

They took the court gladly to do some pair work and clean up; your team left in a cheerful mood, ready to get started on their long weekend right away. The arrangement left only you dissatisfied.

Tendou stalked your exit carefully from afar, tip-tapping anxiously on the ball in his hands. Your long shadow slipped away and they were alone at last.

He kept his voice low, just in case, and cozied up to Ushijima's side, "Soooo..."

Ushijima spared a passing glance over to his curious friend, no more.

"How long?" Tendou's attentive, inquisitive grinning was enough context. No need for direct name-dropping, nor denial.

His stone face began to fill with color.

This was a new feeling for him- it felt like he was dying, but in a good way, and he didn't want it to ever stop. He couldn't seem to catch his breath until you left. That didn't bother him per say- he didn't need air if it meant he could watch you shut down spikes, or roll into a skilled receive, or lead your team.

When he was forced to speak was the only real problem. He could sit and be a spectator forever, but when it came to getting any words out with you, they all fell apart on his tongue. He was always pretty quiet, but he knew this was pushing what he could get away with.

"Don't know. I've always liked her."

Tendou tossed the ball to him. He caught it, deep in thought.

It was clear that you didn't return the feelings. From the beginning, you were always different with him than you were with your team, or even Tendou. He knew he wasn't charming, or charismatic, or friendly. That wasn't an issue until recently.

The way you walked, with a slight swagger, always standing straight-- using your height as a weapon, captured his attention first. He caught himself stealing glances at you from across the gym when your teams switched for precious practice time. He started to notice more. The strong lines in your legs, the sweat-stuck hair on your brow, the little pant on your breath when you said hey just out of civility, the confidence in your voice when you called plays.

Now he battled the feeling of wanting to put himself closer to you. Once that craving started to hit him at night, moments before he drifted off to sleep, he knew something was wrong with him.

Every time he had the opportunity to say something, he lost his voice.

"It's-," He slapped the ball a few times onto the gym floor, then stopped to think before sending it over, "Different now."

Tendou shot him an easy pass, "Y'know, I was starting to think you couldn't get crushes."

He bumped it back, "Me too."

-

Despite how off putting the experience was, by the next practice you were able to brush it all off. You were operating on two completely separate teams, after all. What the guys did, how they practiced, and when was simply not your business.

You slung your bag over your shoulder on the way out of your classroom. Your teacher called after the exiting students about due dates.

"I've been getting questions about the quiz! Remember, you also have a discussion due. They're two different assignments--!"

You only halfway paid attention, too excited about the warmth blowing in through cracked windows from the hall. It would feel so good at practice today - and you had something special planned to raise morale.

You were only a step out the door when you crashed into something firm. The sound of your head smacking into Ushijima's was loud, and unsurprisingly, painful.

"Oh-!"

"Mm-,"

You ran hot with embarrassment and failed to cover it with a laugh. How did you not see him?

"Sorry," You both muttered at the same time.

You rubbed your temple, he rubbed his forehead.

As he did so, he spared you no dignity with what looked like a judgmental up-and-down gaze. It was so piercing that made you grip your shoulder strap tighter. You weren't sure if he meant something by it.

That was just another example of his behavior that felt contradictory.

"We need..." He trailed, briefly checking his hand for any blood. When he looked up, his eye contact so intense that his brows began to furrow. There was some sort of affliction behind his eyes. A narrowed, preoccupied focus that made you uneasy.

You instinctively wiped the back of your hand over your hot face, in case you had anything on it. The side of your head throbbed like terrible.

He opened his mouth a little to say continue, but sighed instead, uneven.

Things were starting to connect in your brain. Little by little, you picked up on more cues from his body language. He was out of breath, a little sweaty, and flushed. He was clearly rushing here. That was the reason you plowed into one another. You realized you were lucky you were around the same size, or else that could've knocked you on your ass.

"The guys need to get into the gym earlier today."

The statement ripped you from your spiralling, almost complete, thoughts. You laughed, "Yeah, right."

Despite you both being Captains of the same sport, there was very little need to talk to each other beyond your shared affinity for Tendou. Your team schedules never clashed- your coaches and advisors made sure of it.

You squinted when he clearly wasn't kidding.

"Do you really 'need' it? Or do you just want the gym earlier?"

He took a breath to answer, but you were quick to ask another agitated question, "Did Coach Washijou approve of this? I haven't seen an updated schedule."

Talking to you was impossible enough, but you were pissed off, and asking so many questions, and the light was hitting your face just right, and you smelled so good. He couldn't shake how pretty you still looked, angry and impatient with him. You stood straight and proud. Your eyeline was close to his own so he could savor every color he could find in your darting eyes.

His slow reaction and lack of social graces was so off-putting that you could only assume it came from a place of narcissism. He must not have cared, or he thought that his own team was more deserving of practice time that he demanded taking yours.

You were seconds away from calling him an entitled prick when you spotted a familiar redhead approaching, just over Ushijima's shoulder.

"(Y/n)!!" He sang and squeezed past his friend to take your hand in his. He tossed it back and forth between his own. It made you smile for a moment; as always, he helped diffuse the tension.

"Hey, Satori-," You wanted to be nicer, but only had about 15 minutes left to figure this issue out, "What is this about needing the gym sooner?"

He looked up at the ceiling, acutely aware that Ushijima was not a fan of this physical contact between the two of you, "Hmm! Ohh, that. I meant to tell you-,"

A calculated gaze to Ushijima, "He said nevermind."

That little liar.

In a flash, just through that familiar, cunning face of his, Ushijima understood that Coach Washijou never actually wanted the gym. Tendou only told him the 'news' because he wanted him to have a reason to speak to you. He really wanted to punch him, just for a moment.

There was something between them you couldn't make out. A conversation there you didn't get. You couldn't, and didn't want to, bother yourself with it.

"Perfect! So, there's no issue then?" You patted Tendou, then Ushijima's broad shoulder and squeezed between them to go change for practice.

"Mm-mmm, No issues here!" Tendou grinned and wiggled his fingers goodbye at you. He looked at his friend.

Ushijima placed an oversized hand on that shoulder and watched you walked away.

taglist. love ya'll <33

@yuchacco

@integers

[oneecheri]

Sammy comforting his lover during her period

tw: literally none?? pure fluff and what i need :c

Sam Winchester is the understanding type of lover. He can sense what's going on in his lover's head. Progress how she feels and, deep down, share her thoughts. He is the type of partner who just knows. He doesn't need her explanation. He doesn't need to be told everything - he is just aware. His loving gaze always fixated on her beautiful face, on her various expressions. So yeah, he does know how his lover feels - and when she has her period, he's - well - he tries.

"So, according to this book, having a hot water thingy, a uh, a bag, on your belly helps with your cramps. It also suggests keeping it hot throughout the day, so i might refresh the water in a couple of hours -"

"Sam?"

"But there's also the danger of burning yourself if there's any hot water escaping the plastic. We can't have that baby, then we'll stick -" His large hand reached a magazine on the table and rushed to skip to a certain page, speaking fast. "- we will just stick to hot towels, hm, how about that baby?"

"Sammy?" Her sweet voice danced across the room, however unable to get his attention.

"Or would you like to take a warm bath first? It will help loosen your muscles and your cramps will be less painful." Sam's squinted green eyes skimmed through the pages. He wanted to help his lover so bad.

She - on the other hand - tried her best not to laugh cause he looked so stressed about it. While this was her reality since puberty.

"You know that we have this each month, right?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes momentarily leaving the magazines, books, and the website open on the computer. "Yeah, right. "

She put on a large smile and approached him with her aching body. "I just want to lay down." Sam nodded and opened his mouth. "Okay, you rest here and I will buy you some -"

"With you, Sammy." She touched his shoulder gently and gathered all his attention on herself. Sam smiled softly and reached his lover. He hugged her not too soft, not too tight, solely making her feel his warm presence. She let out a deep, shaky breath, clinging to her boyfriends warmth. Sam navigated them through the room, finding their bed in no time. He laid her to the bed slowly, pulled the covers over her body, and pecked her forehead. "Give me a second babygirl, then I'm yours."

She whined and tried to hold onto Sam's large arm quickly but stopped her protests with another gentle peck that landed on her pouty lips. "One second." He whispered and left the room in a rush. From what she could hear, he was gone to the kitchen. She smiled to herself before a new wave of pain hit her body. That sudden pain made her clench her teeth in pure agony.

But before she lost herself in her body's pain, Sam was back. He had a bar of super delicious chocolate in his hands.

"So love, I bought this yesterday for you! Your just-in-case and late-night-snack chocolate." He looked so happy to be there for her, with her, and gently lay beside her, peeling the shiny golden foil from the chocolate. His tone was soft, so warm, absolutely wrapping her body in delight.

"Open that pretty mouth, come on." He broke off a small piece and made her eat the chocolate. She giggled while sucking on the chocolate and turned her gaze to his face. "You should eat too." He shook his head and refused. "No, this is for you. It is advised to eat some chocolate during the menstrual period -"

"Sam, eat!" She ordered while giving him the doe eyes. He gulped and knew - his heart was so close to giving in. "I have my chocolate, right here." He said, stretching his hand behind her head. She, on the other hand, wasn't convinced, and she wasn't going to give up. "Eat up, Samuel!"

Sam's eyes widened, and he had to eat the next piece of chocolate. Not because he wanted it, but because she wanted it for him. He smiled upon feeling the sweetness on his tongue and lay down fully near his girlfriend.

She smiled and put her head on his chest slowly. He sighed as her floral shampoo hit his senses. His big hands stroked her beautiful hair and massaged her scalp for a while. When he saw that she was getting sleepy due to all the special treatment and care she was getting, he put his hand inside her t-shirt - right on her bare belly. Her breath hitched due to the sudden warmth invading her body and easing her pain.

Sam was whispering sweet nothings and a random lore about a case, as her eyelids felt heavier and she was about to fall into the dreamland. She smiled at this weird mixture of topics, hoping not to see the creature in her dream so desperately.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Man Up, Barnes

Bucky x Y/N

Post TFATWS, Bucky is settling into a ‘normal’ life. Will one coffee change everything?

Warnings: None, just fluff!

The bell above the door had chimed softly when Bucky Barnes stepped into the small café, the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon brought a sense of comfort. He didn’t have a particular reason for coming here - just another quiet spot he’d stumbled upon while attempting to navigate his life post-Flag Smashers and post-therapy, post-everything. Sam had been hounding him about getting out more and talking to people.

He figured this was a pretty good start.

His eyes swept across the café, taking in the happy glow of hanging Edison bulbs, honey-colored shelves lined with mugs and the occasional patron tucked away into the corner, lost in their own world. It was cozy.

Safe.

And then he saw her.

Sitting near the window, curled up with a book, was a woman who looked like she belonged here. The crisp autumn outside accentuating her warmth - engulfed in a thick knit sweater, legs tucked under the chair. Her fingers were delicately holding open a well-loved copy of The Hobbit. Her hair fell softly around her face, her nose scrunched slightly in concentration, completely taken by Tolkien’s pages.

Bucky didn’t realize that he was staring until the waiter approached her table and placed a steaming mug of hot chocolate down in front of her.

“And this,” the waiter added, sliding a small folded napkin next to the drink, “is from me.”

The woman blinked up at him, clearly startled out of her reading, before looking down at the napkin. Even from where Bucky sat, he could see her cheeks go a brilliant shade of red. She stammered something, probably a thanks, and the waiter gave her a smirk before walking off.

Bucky found himself chuckling under his breath. The shy reaction, the sheer awkwardness of it, was endearing. There was something about how flustered she got that made him want to go over and tell her it was okay, that guys like that were a dime a dozen.

Except…he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who just walked up to strangers and struck up a conversation.

But then again he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore.

He was Bucky Barnes and Bucky Barnes was trying to be a better human being.

‘Man up, Barnes.’

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face before he stood up and walked over. His boots were silent against the hardwood floor as he crossed the café and before he could change his mind, he plonked down into the seat across from her.

“Hey,” he said, resting his metal arm on the table as casually as could muster.

She jumped a little and her eyes went wide as she took him in - first his face, then his unmistakable vibranium arm. He waited for the flicker of recognition, the usual shift in demeanor that people had when they realized who he was. But it never came. Instead, she blinked and tilted her head slightly, her lips parting as if she were going to say something and then thinking better of it.

Finally, she settled on “Uh…hi?”

Bucky smirked. “I saw what happened. The waiter. You looked like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.”

A small, embarrassed laugh escaped her. “Oh god, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

She groaned and buried her face in her hands for a second before peeking at him through her fingers. “He caught me off guard, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting-” She gestured flustered, toward the napkin. “That.”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Not used to guys hitting on you?”

She scoffed. “Not in such a direct, ‘here’s my number, call me maybe’ kind of way.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, well…at least he’s got confidence.”

“Mm.” She nudged the napkin away with one finger, shaking her head. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but I just wanted to enjoy my book in peace, y’know?”

His eyes flicked to the worn pages of The Hobbit and something in his chest softened. “Good choice.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You’ve read it?”

He grinned. “Doll, I read it when it first came out.”

For a second, she just stared at him before realization dawned on her. “Oh…Oh.”

There it was. The recognition.

But instead of recoiling or looking at him with wary eyes as he was expecting, she just laughed and shook her head in disbelief. “You mean to tell me you were around when Tolkien was still writing?”

Bucky chuckled. “Not personally, but yeah. 1937. I remember picking up a copy from a little bookstore in Brooklyn.”

“Okay, that’s actually really cool.” She leaned forward slightly, the initial shyness from the waiter long forgotten. “So, what’s it like? Being a man out of time and all?”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “You want the short version or the long one?”

“Whichever one involves less existential crisis.”

He barked out an airy laugh, the sound surprising even himself a bit. “Alright, well… it’s weird. A lot of things don’t make sense. People talk too fast, coffee’s too expensive, and apparently pumpkin spice is a personality trait now.”

She giggled “Guilty as charged.”

He smirked. “Figured.”

She let her fingertip circle over the smooth rim of her mug before asking, “So what made you come over here? I mean, its not that I mind or anything, but I have a feeling you don’t make a habit of sitting down with strangers.”

“You looked… safe.”

She blinked, it was a rather odd statement. She assumed it was a compliment.. “Safe?”

Bucky nodded, exhaling through his nose. “Like home, kind of. You weren’t trying to impress anyone, you weren’t staring at your phone like the rest of the world. Just you, your book, and a hot chocolate.”

Her lips parted, and for a second she looked down at her book as if contemplating things. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Bucky glanced away, a little sheepish. “Just telling the truth.”

Smiling, she took a sip of her drink. “Well, since we’re being honest… I think you’re a lot more charming than you give yourself credit for.”

That caught him off guard. He tilted his head at her, searching her face for a hint of dry sarcasm. There was none, just a welcome warmth.

Something in his chest relaxed. “I… don’t hear that much.”

“Well, you should because it’s true.”

They talked for what felt like a minute and a day at the same time. About books, movies, the absurdity of modern slang (her having to explain what “it’s giving” meant), and the strange comfort of his new life routine. He found himself lessening up and his shoulders lost their usual tension. She simply sipped her hot chocolate and listened to him like he was just a normal guy.

Eventually, the café began to empty out, and she glanced at the time on her phone, sighing. “I should probably head home before I get too comfortable and decide to stay here forever.”

Bucky hesitated before finally saying, “I could walk you home.”

She blinked at him, surprised, but then smiled. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I want to.”

For a moment, she just studied him, as if trying to decide something. Then, with a warm, shy smile, she nodded. “Okay. That sounds nice.”

And as they stepped out into the crisp autumn air, Bucky realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just existing.

He was living.

——————————————————————————————————

Just a little peek into my imagination here! 🫶✨

[jayden-writes]

just this once

pairing: Lucifer x gn!Reader

wordcount: ~1.4k

genre: fluff

cw: none!

summary: Maybe Lucifer could allow himself to indulge every now and then.

other notes: no name, Y/N or MC used // AO3 // thanks again to @gravedwe11er for helping me so much with this fic!

Lucifer wondered what had happened to him; why did his chest feel so warm and fuzzy when he looked at you, peacefully asleep on the couch in his study? He was the Avatar of Pride, the third most powerful demon in all of the Devildom, and yet you had wormed your way into his heart, made yourself home with frightening ease as if this was what you had been made for.

Crouching in front of the couch, he took in your sleeping form, the serene look on your face. How you were able to let your guard down in his presence, to be so trusting despite everything that had happened, everything he had done, was a mystery to him. Was he even deserving of the trust, the kindness you bestowed upon him?

With a gentle touch that contrasted his strength, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead. You stirred a little and he froze, holding his breath.

“Mh… Lucifer…?” you muttered sleepily, and your eyelids fluttered open.

Seeing your bleary gaze, he couldn't help but smile fondly, stroking your cheek with his index finger.

“Apologies, my dear, I didn't mean to wake you,” he responded in a hushed tone. “Go back to sleep.”

Humming in agreement, you closed your eyes again and Lucifer chuckled softly before standing up to return to work. However, he didn't get very far. Your hand had reached for his pants, tugging on them, and he crouched down, regarding you with an attentive, yet curious expression.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

“Are you done?” you whispered, seemingly a little more awake now.

“Soon, I promise,” he soothed.

“You said the same thing earlier,” you grumbled, pouting.

He sighed. “I know I did and I apologize for taking longer. I assure you, I will be done soon. Be patient for me, will you?”

When that didn’t make your pout disappear, he cupped your face with one hand, and pressed his lips against yours briefly, before placing multiple small kisses on your cheekbone. You giggled at that and Lucifer observed the blush on your face, the way the corners of your mouth were curving upwards.

“There it is. As much as I adore seeing that pretty little pout on your lips, I would much rather see you smile.”

The flush coloring your features grew more pronounced and you grasped his hand that was resting on your cheek to hide yourself from him. A pleasant tingling sensation spread through him as you nuzzled his palm and placed a kiss on the pad of his thumb.

Lucifer's gaze softened and he allowed his touch to linger for a moment longer, savoring the feeling of your breaths on his skin, before he withdrew, straightening up. “Sleep now. I will be done by the time you wake up again.”

“I'll hold you to that,” you mumbled as he watched you shift on the couch to get comfortable. Once your eyes were shut, he quietly returned to his desk and resumed working, occasionally glancing at your slumbering form.

He didn't quite know whether you were a distraction that kept him from finishing his work or more of a motivation to get it done as soon as possible. Perhaps you were both at the same time. With a silent sigh, he focused his attention back on the documents spread out in front of him, and the sound of a pen scratching on paper filled the room, sometimes interrupted by a soft rustling when he had finished a page.

Even as Lucifer worked diligently, he listened closely to your steady breaths, his heightened senses easily picking up on the faint noise. Whenever he heard the pattern of your breathing change just a little, he paused what he was doing to check on you, making sure you were alright and not waking up.

Eventually, he finally wrote the last words on a document, and to his relief, you were still fast asleep. He started putting everything aside, cleaning the desk as he always did once he completed his work. Despite his efforts to do so quietly, you stirred awake again, sitting up and rubbing your face tiredly.

“Are you done now?” you asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“I am,” he responded softly, smiling to himself at the sight of your weary form. “Shall we go to bed?” he suggested as he stood up, walking towards you, and offering you his hand to help you up. Lucifer observed your gaze briefly dart down to it, then back to his eyes, your lips pursed.

“What's the matter?” he inquired.

“Carry me,” you simply replied, looking at him expectantly.

Huffing in amusement, he shook his head with an indulgent smile. “Well, aren't you a demanding one?” Bending down, he moved one arm underneath your legs and the other around your waist, allowing you to loop your arms over his shoulders. With ease, he lifted you up, cradling you securely against his chest, and started carrying you.

“Maybe I am. But I know you wouldn't want it any other way,” you retorted lightly, pecking his cheek before nestling your face into the crook of his neck.

Glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, his lips quirked upwards. “I suppose you are right. And perhaps this is how I can make amends for letting you sleep on that uncomfortable couch. I do apologize for taking so long. Mammon’s… shenanigans have caused more paperwork than I had anticipated.”

Sighing heavily, he wondered what punishment would be appropriate this time, in spite of him knowing full well that even the harshest consequences could never discourage Mammon - or any of his younger brothers for that matter - from causing trouble. He could already feel a headache coming on.

His train of thought was disrupted by the sensation of you yawning against his skin, and he immediately felt the tension that had been building up inside of him melt away again.

“Tired, are we, my dear?” Lucifer asked, his voice low and amused as he gently squeezed you closer to him.

“It’s pretty late, so, yeah,” was your mumbled reply.

He hummed in agreement as he reached his bedroom and placed you on the mattress of his large bed, where you promptly crawled under the blanket and curled up.

“It is rather late, yes. Fortunately, there is no RAD tomorrow, so feel free to sleep in,” he said while unbuttoning his waistcoat to get more comfortable.

As he worked on the buttons, he could sense your eyes on him, your brow furrowed as if contemplating something. Before he could ask what was on your mind, you spoke up. “And you? Will you sleep in as well?” You glanced at him, the expression you wore telling him that you knew he would most likely give you a negative answer.

Not immediately replying and averting his gaze, he slowly opened the last button, taking the waistcoat off and folding it, before setting it aside. It was silent as he thought about the paperwork still waiting for him in his study and the additional work that would inevitably come during the day.

When he settled on the edge of the bed, he looked back at you, seeing the disappointment forming in your eyes.

“I will,” Lucifer finally answered, lying down next to you and joining you beneath the blanket.

At first, it was almost as if the words didn’t register in your mind, but then happiness bloomed on your face, and just the sight of you smiling like this already made up for the extra stress that he would have to deal with. You squeaked cheerfully and shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him. Chuckling in amusement, he returned the embrace and held you tightly against him. He nuzzled your hair, kissing the top of your head and tracing his hands along your spine.

Just this once, he thought to himself as he turned the light off with a flick of his hand, plunging the room into darkness, just this once will I allow myself this indulgence.

“I love you,” you whispered, your breaths tickling his neck as you made yourself comfortable next to him.

“And I love you,” he responded quietly, his voice laced with affection. He buried his face in your hair, and tightened his hold on you, drifting off to sleep with a smile on his lips.

Just this once, he told himself.

[sycamorelibrary754]

Hearts on the Run

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Summary: You and Natasha are on the run in Norway, unaware that Valentine’s Day is upon you. Natasha goes out of her way to make it special.

Word Count: 942

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A/N: A day late, but I wanted to write a little something for Natasha. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Holiday Series: Home is Anywhere You Are Masterlist

You sat on the worn couch in the small, nondescript safe house, flipping through a battered copy of a magazine. The words blurred together on the page as your mind wandered back to the events that had led you here.

It had been months since the airport battle in Leipzig. Months since Steve had gone rogue, you'd found yourself at odds with the organization you'd sworn to protect.

You had both made difficult decisions and were now paying the price. You chose to stand by Steve, convinced that the Sokovia Accords posed a grave danger to the Avengers' freedom. Natasha, on the other hand, aligned with Tony. Having witnessed the chaos of unchecked power firsthand—the horrors of the Red Room and the sinister machinations of HYDRA—she couldn't bear the thought of history repeating itself.

Yet, when the moment arrived, her loyalty to Steve prevailed, and she aided him and Bucky in their escape. After being captured by Ross and making a break for freedom, Natasha arrived in the serene yet rugged wilderness of Norway, where fate had a surprise in store for her—she found you, a beacon of hope amid the chaos she had fled. Both of you on the run and united by a shared sense of purpose.

Nat walked into the room, her eyes scanning the space before coming to rest on you. "Hey," she said, her voice low and smooth. "Find anything interesting?"

You shook your head, setting the magazine aside. "Just the usual. Politics, scandals...nothing that will help us get out of this mess.”

Natasha nodded sympathetically. "I know. It feels like we're stuck in limbo, doesn't it?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just wish we could go back to how things were before. You know, when our biggest worry was some alien invasion or Hydra scientist."

Natasha smiled wryly. "I miss those days too. But we can't change the past. We have to focus on the present."

You looked up at her, feeling a surge of gratitude. Natasha had been a rock for you throughout this ordeal, using her vast resources and network of contacts to keep you one step ahead of the authorities.

You felt a flutter in your chest as you gazed into her eyes. It was a feeling you'd grown accustomed to over the past few months, but one that still caught you off guard.

Natasha seemed to sense your gaze, and her expression softened. "Hey," she said, walking over to sit beside you on the couch. "It's Valentine's Day."

You raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't noticed."

Natasha smiled. "I figured as much. But I thought we could...celebrate, anyway."

You felt a spark of curiosity. "Celebrate?"

Natasha nodded. "Yeah. I mean, we're stuck in this safe house, but that doesn't mean we can't make the most of it. I was thinking we could...have a nice dinner, watch a movie...something like that."

You smiled, feeling a sense of excitement. "That sounds amazing."

Natasha grinned, standing up. "Great. I'll go start dinner."

As she walked into the kitchen, you couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder. Despite everything that had happened, despite being on the run and in hiding, Natasha had still managed to make this Valentine's Day special.

You got up and walked over to the window, looking out at the drab, suburban landscape. It wasn't the most romantic setting, but with Natasha by your side, you felt like you could face anything.

As you stood there, lost in thought, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned to see Natasha standing behind you with a small smile.

"Hey," she said, her voice low and husky. "Dinner's ready."

You smiled, feeling a sense of anticipation. "Great. I'm starving."

Natasha chuckled, leading you to the small table in the corner of the room. The spread before you was impressive - steak, roasted vegetables, and even a small chocolate cake for dessert.

You sat down, feeling grateful. "Natasha, this is amazing. You didn't have to go to so much trouble."

Natasha smiled, sitting down across from you. "I wanted to. Not every day we get to celebrate Valentine's Day in style."

You laughed, picking up your fork. "I guess not."

As you ate, you couldn't help but feel a sense of joy. Despite everything that had happened, despite being on the run and in hiding, you felt like you'd found a sense of peace with Natasha.

After dinner, you sat down on the couch, watching as Natasha put in a DVD. The movie was an old romantic comedy you'd seen before but never grew tired of.

As you watched, you felt Natasha's hand brush against yours. It was a fleeting touch, but it sent a spark of electricity through your body.

You looked over at her, seeing the faintest glimmer of a smile on her face. You smiled back, feeling a sense of connection.

As the movie ended, Natasha got up and walked to the window. You followed her, standing beside her as you looked at the night sky.

"It's beautiful," Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, feeling a sense of agreement. "It is."

You looked up, meeting Natasha's eyes. For moment, you just stared at each other, the tension between you palpable.

Then Natasha smiled a slow, sultry smile. "Happy Valentine's Day," she said, her voice low and husky.

You smiled back, feeling your heart skip a beat. "Happy Valentine's Day," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

As you stood there, the air thick with tension, you knew that this Valentine's Day, on the run and in hiding, would be one you'd never forget.

[maopll]

Merry (early) Christmas! May I request Kaeya, Childe, Ayato, Neuvillette, and Wriothesley finding their s/o, who gets cold easily, wearing their jacket/coat?

Warm me up

# genshin impact !

⌗:, a/n: sorry for being away for a MONTH i was so stressed out from school... T-T and I AGAIN did add a lil bit spice for wrio. I can't stop myself.

⌗:, pairings: kaeya, childe, ayato, neuvillette & wriothesley w/ gn!reader

⌗:, extra: happy late Christmas I couldn't finish it because I was worn out </3

˗ˏˋ ꒰ KAEYA ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Its a little secret that none knows about. The coat he wears and what you wear on cold wintry days are his as well. It's quite noticeable but according to him, "Nobody's gonna know!". He goes crazy whenever he sees you wear his big coat. It makes you look so cozy...and soft...like a warm fireplace in winter morning which always have a welcoming feel to them.

The trip to Dragonspine was, as usual, extremely cold. The fire that Kaeya made from the dry firewood wasn't enough to keep you warm. "You want me to make the fire more big? I can find some more dry wood for you" He asked voice laced with concern. You knew that no matter how big the fire or enormous layers of cloth, you won't be able to keep yourself warm...unless Kaeya offers you his comfortably warm chest...and hands too.

As if able to understand your gaze since your shivering form really gave it away, he walked up and sat behind you. He wrapped his arm around your body gently and said, "Lay on me. It'll help you keep warm" you relaxed your body and brought your knees closer to yourself and making yourself feel at home. You heaved a sigh of relief as if you've finally been able to stop the piercing cold wind from affecting you any further. "Thank you Kaeya" he smiled at you, "As long as you're comfortable". He sealed the conversation with a kiss upon your forehead.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ CHILDE ꒱ ˎˊ˗

He has been born and brought up in Snezhnaya. A nation with only snowy landscape all around. Naturally he was quite well adjusted himself to the cold atmosphere of any place that you visit. While he should be having big long coats in such a dry and chilly climate, he refuses to wear it because, "You can't get this cold anywhere else! it's a test of courage!".

You had a cup of hot chocolate on your hand as you flipped through the pages of the book. The big bear blanket and the brightly lit fireplace did make you warm but not enough. You shivered "Brr...its really cold if only he was at home..." during the coldest of days you ache for his comforting presence and his big warm arms enveloping your body as you two cuddle in the plush couch often times drifting off to sleep unknowingly. You missed him so much that you quickly sprinted towards his closet and grabbed the biggest jacket of his. You scurried inside the multiple blankets and drew his big fluffy jacket around you. His familiar scent filled your senses. He smelled like the ocean, no matter how faint the scent was, it was refreshing.

....the door of the room opened, and the wooden floor dreaked beneath his boot-like-shoes. "Babe?" he quietly asked, hoping to receive an answer, but as soon as he was about to go find you, he saw you laying comfortably on your stomach with his big jacket enveloping you as you softly snored. He felt himself falling for you adorable antics all over again. He slowly picked you up in his arms and carried you to bed. He murmered, "Sweet dreams, sweetheart..." with a kiss.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ AYATO ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The ocean breeze can get quite chilly right? With the layers of clothes you had on you, the coat was barely enough to even keep the piercing cold win from making you whole body numb. Sure, you acted impulsively and decided to sit down near the railing. You started off into the vast ocean. Ayato wasn't here most of the time and your time of respite to soothe your heart from missing him. "He's taking care of matters....he will come back soon..." you mumbled and hugged your knees close.

You felt an already warm blanket being draped around your figure from the back. Looking at the delicate fabric and the seam's design you turned your head back a little too quickly. There he was...the one who you waited so long for...He chuckled softly seeing your bewildered face. "You'll catch a cold if you sit here in the cold like this with barely enough layers dearest" He kept his hand on your shoulder blades gently. "Ayato...I thought you'll come..." "Let's say I did a few little things here and there which allowed me to spend some more time."

You smiled at him sweetly and got down from thr railing. You intertwined your hands with his and with a peck on his cheek, " I missed you so much..."

˗ˏˋ ꒰ NEUVILLETTE ꒱ ˎˊ˗

"Not done yeeetttt?...." you slumped on the couch as you waited even longer for him.

With a chuckle, he said, "It's almost done... just a little bit longer, dear." Then soon he went to work and correct the piles of paperwork. He has been avoiding them for quite a while now, and it had to be done one day. He may be the cold and formal Iudex of Fontaine, but even he loses the grip on his stoic personality whenever he's with you.

The evenings are quite cold in Fontaine, and he saw how you tried to warm up your arms. You didn't want to disturb him since his pending work's deadline was tomorrow in the afternoon.

While you were busy staring into space, he wrapped his coat around you. "Hm? Suddenly?"

"I saw how you were trying to warm yourself up and I apologise. I can't be the one to warm you up but I hope my coat suffices?" He said chuckling, a hint of blush on his fair cheeks. You grinned from ear to ear, "It's quite enough Neuvi, thanks for caring about me so much" you cupped his cheeks gently with your hands.

"I love you" you said as you touched his forehead with yours. A sign of the utmost affection for one who is the Hydro Dragon Sovereign.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱ ˎˊ˗

"Sigh... I know it's cold, but that's no reason for you to stay under the covers... it's 9 pm, now how long do you plan to do it?"

Concern lacing his voice as he saw how you tried your best to warm up your feet with whatever you could find. "It's too cold and I can't keep bothering you for so long, you've got work to do" you tried to sound as if you were alright but in reality, fighting the cold was really taking out all your strength from you.

"Wait—" you felt the covers being lifted from your head. He swiftly carried you on his arms and ploped you on the plush couch. Upon inspecting your surroundings, you saw how he had prepared everything from A to Z... there was a warm tea, leg warmers and special fur on the couch, which was especially sold during winter and the fireplace. "Wriothesley? You prepared all this for me?" You spoke bewildered.

"Yes. All the things that will keep my beloved warm and happy while I'm unfortunately working, " he spoke gently, holding your hands. "Wow...looks like I won the lottery when I received a boyfriend," you said while ruffling his soft hair.

"It's good thank you... but" you smirked maybe something other than this can keep me more warm?" "What are you imply?— Oh...I see" he chuckled on realising your intention.

He slithered his hands on your thighs and seductively said, "I don't mind that warm treat on such a cold day"

[steviewashere]

After the Storm

Rating: General CW: None Pairing: Steve Harrington & Nancy Wheeler, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Background Nancy Wheeler/Jonathan Byers Tags: Post-Canon, Comfort no Hurt, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Exes to Friends, Moving On and Letting Go, Everybody Lives, Dialogue Heavy

💛—————💛 Afterwards, when she's reunited with her family, Nancy pulls Steve aside.

One on one.

Under a looming tree. Shadowing them from the very sunlight that threatens to melt her to the concrete. Steve's a tree, too, in that way. Tall and proud and shielding. He's staring down at her with his large, drooping eyes—shiny as the day she broke his heart, shiny as her dreams before 1983 bowled her over. There's a streak of white in his head of hair that she's sure he's earned in all this fighting—just as she's earned the scar on her palm, the infinite ringing in her ears, the scowl that sours her features on a normal Tuesday. A smudge between his eyebrows that creases like paint peeling from its brush.

He's exhausted, she can tell. The darkness under his eyes. The bags; their weight.

Earth doesn't lay upon Steve's shoulders, but the love he spills—unreciprocated as it may be some days—carries over him like a thunderous tidal wave; if he were as arrogant as the day they met, he'd probably try to toss her off as if she's the surfer to his skin.

Steve's hands meld to her biceps. The way ink pools from her pens—all those lined pages in her journals, always threatening to blend together with the way her letters curl. He'd always wrote so brashly, so incessantly candid and caught in time, but he wrote as if the words were chasing him away; she wrangled the letters and made them bend to her will. They're not the same people as they were. Naive and young and their dreams mere whimsy instead of promises that could blow in the wind.

On Sundays, those years ago, they'd see each other in church. Spool out to each other with plans on how they were going to turn their back on blind faith, make for the hills, show their parents what they were all worth. More than the passages, that's for sure. And the picket fence—at least on Nancy's end.

Now, those Sundays are preoccupied with the surviving curled like a breathing, sleepy cat at the tail end of nightmares. They didn't turn their back, they faced it all head on with crazy under their breath. Somehow, though, the results were the same. It was all so blind—the foundations of this town, the beliefs of what truly built a family. Sometimes, she wishes she could return to those days before 1983; other times, she's never been more proud to survive it all. She understands, though, why Steve falls so gracefully to those dreams, those hand fed ideas of big families and searching for the Indiana sun in the other recesses of the world. There had been warmth there, a sense of security, the promise of a regular tomorrow.

And now she stands here, under two trees, wishing that neither of them wore weariness like a simple coat. The emotion rounds Steve's shoulders, turning his angles down to stumps, the chisel lodged between his shoulder blades. She knows the warmth of his blood on her fingers. His anguish bitten behind his lips when he's trying to be quiet, when he doesn't want to make a scene, when he knows that the night—as ugly and monstrous as it's been—has to carry on; with him or not.

She's sure that he knows the coldness of her body through the panic. That it'll never rid from his brain. How it felt to nearly lose her. That he'll wonder, forever, if the drag under the surface mirrored a fate they'd known of previously. He'll stay away from his pool, probably. And she'll wish that he didn't care so much about her—enough to drag himself to her; enough to apologize for the other people around them, and himself.

It was neither of their faults. How they came to be.

He was arrogant. She was naive. And they were proud.

Nancy finally wills herself to talk. "Are you okay?" she murmurs.

Steve rubs his hands up and down her arms. They feel right. Comfortable. Almost like before. He nods his head. "Yeah...yeah, Nance, I'm okay. Are you?"

"Eventually," she says. And that's the truth. One day, she'll open a scrapbook with Barb's picture still front and center, and need not to carry herself through the mystery; she'll just think, There she is. We know what happened. And that'll be that.

That'll be that.

She blows out a strong breath. It doesn't shake. Doesn't hurt. It just is. "I thought about what you told me in the...in the...down there."

"Don't," Steve mutters, "it's okay. I know what it was." His fingers tense over her biceps. Squeezing as if to hold on. Squeezing as if ready, finally, to let go. "Thought I was gonna die. Needed to know that you were still there with me."

"You know I'm always going to love you, right?"

"Not in that way." It's not a question.

"Yeah," she answers anyway, "not in that way. Not again."

The tips of his fingers brush her bare skin, where it's exposed from the sleeves of her shirt, and then they drop away. He blinks. Nods. Blows his own breath. "I will, too," he says quietly. "You know that you were the first person I ever actually fell in love with?"

"Yeah?"

"You felt right. Like you fit right into what my life was then." He darts his eyes away for a moment, staring off towards where Robin is, standing in the driveway, talking to Jonathan. Some heated argument they're into. Steve smiles at it. "I think my priorities shifted."

"That's nice," Nancy comments—because it is. "Is she your girlfriend now? Finally figure all that out?"

Steve sputters and laughs. Bright and loud. "Absolutely not," he squeaks out. "She's just my best friend. Nothing else to that. What about you and Jon? Figure that out yet?"

She sighs. Bumps her shoulder against his. Doesn't move away when they stay stuck side by side, staring off at their people. "I think he's about to disappoint me, maybe. Not sure if he ever submitted his applications for school. But...I don't know, I might take a year to stay with my family, as much as I loathe them sometimes."

"Nance, don't throw away your dream."

"I'm not," she says. "Just...I think my priorities shifted, too." And they smile at each other for that. "So...what about you, Steve? Going to school? Returning to the video store?"

Steve shrugs. "I'm staying back in Hawkins for a little while longer. All those butthead kids are gonna need me, I think, for a bit. Max has to recover. Lucas is right there with her, so he's going to need some moral support. Uh...Dustin is holed up with Eddie in the hospital...they both need me, too."

She hums. Likes that answer. "I think you've got your family all right here."

"Yeah, I think I do, too."

They go quiet again for a few long moments. Staring at everybody crowded on her family's driveway. Hugging and sobbing and swatting at each other. Mike even lets their mom ruffle his hair—shocking. Steve's standing proud. Like a dad at a barbecue. He shifts a little, though, and something falls right out of his pocket. A jumble of giant rings. Hah.

He scoops them up from off the ground. Counting them in his palm before re-pocketing them. She jabs an elbow into his side, makes him yelp and spin.

"So...you and Eddie?"

"Oh, god, not you, too! Rob's already on this kick with me."

"Hey, I saw how he looked at you. And, well, I saw how you looked at him, too. There's something there, I think."

He rolls his eyes and playfully smiles. Stuffs his hands into his pockets and snorts. "We were talking about you down there. Eddie was trying to get me to go back to you. They all were."

"Right. And that constituted you looking at his lips for..."

"It was hard to hear down there."

"Mm...it was silent, actually. Maybe I was to focused on Robin's rambling, though. But...uh...I think you and Eddie, you guys could be something special. A guy friend might be nice—unless, of course, you guys combine to do only the worst to people."

Steve clicks his tongue. "Eddie's not like that. He's sweet."

"He did give me a hand into that boat. I'll give you that. What else is he like?"

"Uh...he's brave...he's...talented. Nerdy. Knows how to wrangle Dustin. Deals with certain tones well...so that's a plus, I guess. Um"—

"He kinda also has my hair, don't you think? And the big eyes? And the pale skin? And the"—

"Okay..."—Steve laughs, Nancy giggles alongside him—"...okay, I get it! I've got a type or something. But...I think I just want to be his friend for a while. Maybe, uh, maybe see where it goes?"

Nancy bumps their shoulders again. "Not denying it, then? That you could?"

"What...that I could like boys? I've seen literal Satan and also know an actual, like, superhero child. It's not impossible that I could be queer or something. Maybe I know a thing or two that you don't."

"What the hell do you know?"

"See, the thing is, Nance, I've been sworn to secrecy. Like I told you, I'm a ninja. Gotta be stealthy." He throws his hands up with a—cha-cha—mimicking the likes of Jackie Chan. "And uh...I also just have eyes. You should pay attention a little more to Mike, yeah? See some things, too."

She shoots out a quick look to Mike. Who, in the present moment, has his arm slung over Will's shoulders. Holding him so tight that he's leaving fingernail indents in Will's flannel. Interesting. "Huh...and you know this...how exactly?"

"Eyes, I've got them! Plus, Mike returned Star Wars the other day with it paused on Luke Skywalker's face. Just his face! I know these kinds of things, Nance. And I, for one, know that Mark Hamil and by extension, Harrison Ford, are attractive." He blows out another strong breath. "But, hey, Leia's still up there, too. Have you seen Carrie Fisher in Empire Strikes Back? Total babe. Absolute babe."

"So...both?"

"Bisexual," Steve says in a way that sounds like correcting her. "That's the term"—there it is—"which—get this— I learned from a zine. Find the right bookstore, might change your life."

"And...if I said that I like the way Robin's freckles bunch up when she smiles?"

"I'd say that you and I need to have a shovel talk. Later, though. I'm basking in winning."

Nancy leans more into him. Reaches down, squeezes his hand, holds it for a moment. "Yeah," she says, still admiring," yeah, later."

They both let go.

💛—————💛