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thesewordsareallihavetogive · 3 days ago

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Life imitates art - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: 2.6k words. Jack is sent into a tailspin when the woman he’s been eyeing for months at his amputee support group arrives at the Pitt in a gurney. Based on this request by @seasiren212!

Warnings: canon-typical depiction of wounds and medical situations, cancer in remission, some medical jargon, reader’s history of BKA, Jack’s history of AKA & accident, age gap, angst, etc. The most unrealistic part of this fic is a doctor spending this much time with one patient (live laugh love the U.S. healthcare system).

a/n: ugh I cried a little bit while writing this. I’m so passionate about oncology care mwah. Abbot is working day shift in this fic. Surrender yourself to the plot and pretend he’s covering for Robby if you must. Divider credit!

At 23 years old, your leg was amputated just below the knee. You’d been fighting bone marrow cancer for a while now, and you were running out of treatment options. To mitigate the risk of significant metastasis, your oncologist recommended an amputation.

So it was off with your leg.

Before the amputation, you’d spent months in and out of the hospital. Somehow, despite the fatigue, aches, and genuine existential crisis over whether this reality was a fate better than death, you graduated with your Master's degree in art history after completing most of the program virtually from your hospital bed. You got special permission from the dean of your university’s college of the arts to defend your thesis from the hospital. Your nurses arranged for you to use a conference room on the floor and made sure everything was thoroughly cleaned to prevent the risk of secondary infection.

Your IV was hooked up to some medications you couldn’t pronounce, but by now, you’d learned how to wave your arms around wildly without letting the tubing hinder you. The thesis committee didn’t go easy on you during your defense just because you were sick. Good. You didn’t want them to. You’d researched and studied your ass off, and earned the right to defend your thesis. The one you’d spent countless sleepless nights and nauseating days working on. So what if you were presenting at UPMC’s Cancer Center?

The oncology unit staff were the first to celebrate you as soon as you made it out of the conference room with happy tears in your eyes. In the time you’d been presenting, the halls had been decorated with streamers. Balloons surrounded your hospital room, and you were given an elaborate bouquet of artificial flowers. You did it.

The RN who’d been caring for you the longest was the one to push your wheelchair across the stage during your hooding ceremony. The oncology unit staff lined the front row of the audience and cheered louder than you’d ever heard.

“MA” looked pretty damn good after your name in your email signature. The Master of Arts degree hung proudly on the wall of your apartment, a forever reminder of your resilience through it all.

It took grueling months to find the right prosthetic and get it fitted properly, and even more years of physical therapy to allow you to be here today, giving narrated walking tours through the Carnegie Museum of Art.

Jack met you at his amputee support group.

At first, he assumed you were there as a student. You were quiet. Observant. Some of the local clinical psychology degree programs assigned students to attend open support group meetings. The large, structured tote bag that followed you to every meeting supported his theory. He imagined you had a laptop, a textbook or two, and a can of Red Bull in the bag, if he had to guess.

You didn’t take notes like other students Jack saw in the past, but you didn’t seem like the type that needed to take notes in the moment, anyway. You were a breathtaking wallflower at the meetings, it was hard not to notice you. The floor-length dresses that complemented your body and draped across you in all the right places were delicate and dainty. Jack was dying to know if your personality matched your exterior.

If Abbot had to guess, he’d say the mystery girl at the amputee support group was in her mid-to-late twenties, though she didn’t necessarily dress like it. Your wardrobe was all maxi skirts and long flowy dresses, cardigans and cable knit sweaters, statement earrings and small chain necklaces. Jack overheard one of the younger group members complimenting your clothing style one day, describing it as “serving cottage core meets coastal grandma chic.” Whatever the hell that meant.

At one of the meetings, you barely showed up on time. You were flustered and a bit disheveled, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face, but still beautiful as ever. An intricately decorated lanyard and your employee badge hung out of the purse’s wide mouth.

Your name, MA. Art Historian, Curator, and Guest Guide. Carnegie Museum of Art.

Hmm. Jack wasn’t really one for the arts. He was most creative when figuring out how to perform complex medical procedures in unconventional situations. He was methodical and analytical in his life. He approached situations and his work with scientific precision, but he could be tempted to give the museum a visit if it meant he might run into you.

The Pitt’s ambulance bay was never empty for long. Gurneys rolled in and out of the ER all day and night. After all his years in emergency medicine, few things surprised Doctor Abbot anymore.

Until you rolled in.

Dana was the first to reach the EMTs, taking report as she guided them to an available room. Doctor Abbot watched from the provider desk, his mouth slightly parted as his eyes tracked you the whole way across the Pitt.

The charge nurse barely made it out of the room and assigned the patient to Abbot before he jumped out of his seat and bee-lined to room five. “On it,” he said, to no one in particular. Dana stood back and observed his uncharacteristic movements for half a second with her hands on her hips before returning to her millions of other tasks.

Doctor Abbot pulled back the exam room curtain to reveal you sitting on the gurney, fidgeting with your museum badge and shaking your exposed shoe back and forth.

“Hi, kid,” he greeted, donning gloves. He took note of the prosthetic leg covered in floral designs resting next to your hip. Not a student. An amputee. Abbot hummed inwardly.

“Oh. Hi, Jack,” you responded, surprise gracing your face. You knew he was a doctor; he mentioned working at the hospital a couple of times during support group meetings, you just didn’t know he was a doctor here. You took him in. Frustratingly, he was handsome as ever in his black scrubs with toned, muscled arms that threatened to burst out of his short sleeves, with a badge that read Dr. Abbot. Attending Emergency Medicine Physician. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but notice that his gray curls were a little more mussed than usual, like he’d run his hands through them at least half a dozen times. You yearned to follow suit.

Mateo followed Doctor Abbot into the exam room not long after and glanced between you and the physician a couple of times, trying to decipher the dynamic. It was obvious the two of you knew each other, but he kept quiet and set up the WOW for orders in case Doctor Abbot needed it.

Jack sat down smoothly on a rolling stool and scooted close to your bedside. Maybe closer than was necessary, but no one in the room objected to it.

“What brings you in?” He swept his eyes over you analytically. You looked fine on the surface, sans the removed prosthetic accompanying you against the bed rails.

“Bum leg,” you sighed. This was embarrassing. Even when you leaned back against the gurney, unsuccessfully attempting to relax, you never broke eye contact with Jack.

“Figures. Mind if I take a look?” Abbot replied without missing a beat. He rubbed his chin, eyes darting between your face and the raised slope of your leg underneath your dress.

You hesitantly pulled up your skirt to reveal the angry red skin surrounding what was left of your knee joint. For some reason, exposing your thigh felt intimate, even in the hospital. It didn’t look good, and it admittedly had Jack concerned, but he wouldn’t let you know that. At least not yet. It didn’t look like cellulitis, at least not on the surface. There was no wound weeping or skin dimpling. He’d still run cultures just to be safe.

“Are you resting your leg often? Do you remove the prosthetic?” He ran through a slew of questions. Sure, he knew more about amputations and prosthetics than the average physician, but he wanted to know more about your story.

“Well, I’ve given roughly 8 hours of walking tours through the museum every day for the past week, plus 2 hours today,” you rattled off your schedule. It was strenuous, but this was the life you worked and studied and fought to build for yourself. You had no regrets.

Jack gave you a stern look, and you shrank under his gaze. You almost reminded him that he was being hypocritical, with his 12-hour shifts at the Pitt, but decided against it.

“What else?” He pressed. You sighed.

“I can put my socks and sleeves on, but they’re tighter than normal. The prosthetic will fit on, but it hurts.” The a lot was silent, but you both knew it was there. “I was limping this morning, and I eventually fell while giving a tour,” you continued. Doctor Abbot immediately scanned you for signs of any other fall-related injury. No bruises or bumps as far as he could see. “But a guest caught me. And the museum director insisted that I get checked out. Even though I’m fine,” you finished, exasperated.

“You and I must have different definitions of ‘fine,’ my friend,” Jack exhaled and leaned back, just far enough to not topple off the stool.

A comfortable silence fell between you two while Jack weighed treatment options. This was more of an outpatient specialist matter, but he was glad you came in. He’d learned more about you in the past 15 minutes than he had in the past 3 months of staring longingly at you during the amputee support group meetings.

Mateo felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He cleared his throat and started preemptively entering orders in your chart.

“Cultures? For cellulitis rule-out, Dr. Abbot?” The physician nodded thankfully to the nurse. Jack didn’t miss the flash of fear that crossed your face. Doctor Abbot ordered an ultrasound as well, just to make sure there wasn’t an underlying abscess forming, potentially evidenced by the edema at the end of your limb.

You cleared your throat. “Could you also run a CBC?” you asked, wringing your hands together. Abbot nodded again and stood, dusting his hands on his pants to keep them busy.

“Why?” It wasn’t accusatory. He’d do it anyway if you asked for it; he just wanted to know why.

“I’m in remission. Bone marrow cancer. Doesn’t hurt to check for signs of recurrence when funky things happen,” you shrugged, though you were obviously tense as you gestured to what was left of your left while pulling your dress skirt back down.

The room went silent.

That definitely would’ve been added to your chart’s medical history if you hadn’t come in by ambulance and instead had the pleasure of meeting Lupe at registration.

Up until now, why you attended the support group meetings wasn’t Jack’s business. Now, you were his patient. Your health and history were absolutely his business now.

Doctor Abbot offered a small smile and agreed to the additional test. You didn’t want his sympathy, he knew that better than anyone. He knocked on the door frame on his way out with a promise to be back shortly.

For a minute, Jack pondered what it would’ve been like to know he’d be losing his leg before it happened. When he had his accident, the decision was made for him. The blood loss had been near fatal. He’d long since passed out when the military medics realized they were forced to decide between his life or his limb, the lesser of two evils. He wondered if he had the time to plan a new reality beforehand, if things would be any different. Any better. He didn’t think they would.

He thought you must’ve been young when you were diagnosed with cancer. You were young now, notably younger than him. He wondered when you had the amputation, how old you were—how young you were. The ‘stump’, as you called it, was healed. The multiple incisions left silvery scars on your marred skin. You had lived without the leg for quite a while now.

Mateo drew your blood panel and cultures. He carefully added the bottles and tubes into a stat biohazard lab bag with the promise that an ultrasound tech would be by soon.

“Good news and bad news,” Doctor Abbot strolled back into your exam room with results as soon as he could, true to his word.

“Good news: Blood cultures were negative and the CBC was all within normal limits. And the bad news,” he continued, scrolling through your chart on an iPad before looking up at you. You nodded with a sharp inhale and gripped the gurney’s side rail, prepping for whatever diagnosis he might deliver. His eyes softened.

“Bad news,” he said quieter, “is you’ll need to stay off that leg for a while. At least until some of the inflammation goes down. I’ll leave the specific guidance up to your prosthetist. But for now, doctor’s orders are to cut back on the 8-hour walking tours. You got a wheelchair?” He asked with his arms crossed over his distractingly broad chest. He was solution-oriented, but not convinced you would heed the medical advice. You were strong-willed, that much was evident.

You groaned and threw an arm over your face to cover your eyes. You thought of the wheelchair you’d shoved to the back of your closet years ago. After a few beats of silence, you nod. You’re not happy about the plan of care, but you agree to it nonetheless.

“Do you have someone to take you home?” Jack asked, shuffling your discharge paperwork to keep his hands busy. Otherwise, he might give in to the urge to reach out to you.

Everyone you knew was either working or busy. Internally, you felt like a burden. The people in your life didn’t feel that way, but it didn’t make the guilt go away. You chuckled inwardly. What doesn’t kill you gives you a dark sense of humor.

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied nonchalantly, already opening the rideshare app on your phone. Jack frowned. If he weren’t in the thick of his shift, he’d offer to let you hang around in the lounge and take you home himself, but that wouldn’t be for another 5 hours. At least.

“I’ll come check on you after my shift,” he resigned. It wasn’t a question or an offer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, shocked that he would even suggest such a thing.

“I insist. It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re okay,” Jack replied without missing a beat. So he cares about you. Hmm. His hands found his hips, only adding to his inherent sass factor.

“You don’t know where I live,” you retorted. The banter was fun. God forbid a girl take advantage of her amputation to flirt with a silver fox trauma doc.

“I’m literally two taps away from finding your address in your chart,” Abbot smirked. He wasn’t lying. A couple of gestures on the iPad later, he was parroting your address back at you.

“Fine. But you better bring food with you.” It was your turn to leave no room for argument. You eyed him up and down, watching the way he squared his shoulders with confidence.

“It’s a date,” Jack replied easily, without thinking. You couldn’t tell whose cheeks were more flushed, yours or his. He didn’t dare take it back, though. Either way, you agreed.

“It’s a date.”

a/n: At the risk of sounding desperate, I'm begging y'all to leave comments and interact with my work. The likes are so super duper appreciated but I kind of feel like I'm posting into a void when 99% of the engagement is likes with no comments. anyway!! COMMENTS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED!! They keep me motivated to write more <3

Find more of my writing on my master list.

Turn on post notifications @thesewordsxupdates to get notified when I release new fics.

#The Pitt #Jack Abbot x Reader #dr. abbot x reader #Jack Abbot #Dr. Abbot

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signedkoko · 1 year ago

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HEHEHHEE OPEN REQUESTS???

Hello koko! I was summoned by your open requests, and I just had an idea, how about headcanons/one shot for Alastor and Vox (separately) with a reader who has powers a bit like Toge Inumaki in JJK?( I saw that you were watching JJK so I assume you know how his powers works) like what do they think about it? how do they react when reader uses her powers? How they communicate with her?

THANKS FOR READING MY REQUEST DEAR KOKO! HAVE A GOOD DAY/NIGHT

-🐚

Alastor | Vox X Reader [Romantic]

In which your speech causes action, so you can't speak unless you wish to control others. Reader is female.

When you first came to the hotel, Alastor was not impressed

You were certainly a gorgeous sight, but it was ruined by the device in your hands that you had your nose buried in, screen lighting ruining your face

It took him quite a while when he heard strings of words emanating from the device to realize you were speaking through it, your fingers pressing on keys faster than he could follow

You introduced yourself to everyone that day, as a new hire for the hotel, and how you couldn't speak but hoped it wouldn't get in the way

He was certainly irked by the device in your hands, but it was funny to see someone so weak that they had to rely on a flimsy device made by an even flimsier overlord

Truly a shame

You learn the hard way not to get too close to him while using your device, or else it starts to act up and get damaged

Alastor still spoke to you; of course he did! Because he was amused knowing you couldn't retort

But eventually, without noticing, he would talk more and more, filling every aspect of the silence between you

You were the best listener, both since you had no choice and because you didn't give any shitty advice

The only thing that weirded him out was the weird clicking he started to hear around you

Something about it was so familiar

J-E-R-K-J-E-R-K-J-E-R

When he looked down at your hand and saw a clicker in your hand, he realized what you were doing

Of course he knew morse code by heart! He studied all sorts of things, but he wasn't sure why you'd do things that way when you had a much easier device

Unless you did it just for him?

R-K-J-E-R-K-J

" And who are we calling names, my voiceless companion? "

Y-O-U

Still, it's very touching to see you go from using your phone to putting it away when you come to him to talk

And not much changes since you can't get out too many words with your morse method

One evening, while on a walk together, Alastor was reciting to you how he'd come to work for Charlie and how she sang on the news for so many to see! When a group of assassins surrounded the two of you, angel steel weapons were on full display

Before Alastor handled them—which, let's be fair, would be no issue to him—you pulled quicker on the draw

" COMATOSE. "

You yelled it with your hands clamped over Alastors ears, and the instant the word came out, they all dropped, beyond unconcious

Alastor laughs, because wow, that was quite the display!

But he's already dragging you over them to continue talking, now teasing you for treating him like a helpless damsel

He was certainly glad that he hadn't made an enemy of you when he first saw you, because you may stand a chance against him with an ability like that

Most sinners had some kind of ability that grew with their power, often souls under contract or training enhancing them

Vox himself had plenty of tricks under his sleeves, and he'd seen the most pathetic of abilities to those worth cowering before

But he'd never heard of something like yours

Overlords loved showing off their resources, which could include people who became very useful in battle

You were a 'friend' of Zestial, though, while most jumped at the opportunity to introduce themselves to other overlords, you only waved

Of course you piqued his interest, because when he ran his servers over you, he found little to nothing beyond pictures

After several days of stalking video feeds, he caught you and Zestial together when—oh fuck! You sign!

While he could have just waited for the next opportunity, Vox was far too invested in your story and opted to pay Zestial a visit, if it meant he could see you

From what he could tell, you were using ASL, so once he bumped into you he began signing his typical introduction

Something about his heart sparked when he saw you smile, the way those curious eyes sparkled

He was immediately embarrassed when you revealed he didn't have to sign because you could hear

But he was all healed when you signed that you were very glad to have met someone else you could talk with

Vox is used to the overstimulation of noises from news, music, footage, all of it always beaming into his head so much that the silence around you is eerie and takes him awhile to get used to

Zestial certainly has an ace; one Vox is jealous of

Since you got along so well, you and Vox schedule meet-ups so you can interact, seeing as he and Zestial are almost exact opposites

The first time he witnesses your powers is when Alastor shows up at one of your meetings, and he was certainly trying to embarrass Vox in front of you

But Vox was your friend, and you had no tolerance for Alastors threats

" Silence. "

From your lips poured a thick fog, which whisped its way over Alastor's mouth, forming a seal that prevented him from speaking

The radio demon wasn't pleased, but he wasn't about to act up a scene right now, so he turned and left

Vox immediately fanboys because, oh my FUCKING GOD, you showed him!!!

Wait, you can talk? You sound like that?

YOUR POWERS DID THAT???

He is about to waste your evening asking all kinds of things, you probably can't sign as fast as he can ask, too

Author's Note - Conch anon gets only the BEST of the BEST!!! I did like writing these anyways though, because i adore Inumaki...thank you for requesting!

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #vox #vox x reader

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solxamber · 7 months ago

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Project Love - Rollo Flamme x reader

When your eccentric professor pairs you and Rollo up for a study on attachment types, you didn't realise how much it would change your lives.

Rollo Week Day 1! (also Rollo anon I hope you're seeing this).

It was just supposed to be an easy, laid-back semester. But no, the universe decided to throw you into the one psychology class known for ruining lives—and not even in the fun, dramatic, reality-show way. No, this was the kind of class where you could leave the semester with a full-blown existential crisis.

You didn’t even like psychology, but here you were, forced to take this professor’s class because all the others were full. To make matters worse, this wasn’t just any class; it was the dreaded experimental psychology class. The one where the professor was famous—not for his teaching, but for ruining lives in the name of academic study.

The rumor mill had been vicious: forget about traditional exams or group projects; no, this professor made people participate in wildly invasive experiments to "explore the human mind." And by "explore," it meant pushing boundaries until they snapped. You'd heard stories of students breaking up with their partners, dropping out, or crying in public. So, naturally, this was the class you got stuck in.

You thought they were joking, but the moment you walked into the room, saw the professor standing there with his glasses reflecting the overhead lights like some kind of horror movie villain, you knew. This wasn’t going to be good.

You look around the room, praying that maybe you could sit somewhere inconspicuous, keep your head down, and survive. But of course, the only seat open was next to that guy. The one who looked like he’d rather burn the entire campus down than breathe the same air as everyone else.

Oh no.

Rollo Flamme.

Your brief interaction with him was limited to vague campus rumors, but the gist was that he hated everything and everyone. He probably had a master plan to rid the world of all things fun—carnivals, birthday parties, and smiles. Which was ironic because the moment you locked eyes with him, all your social anxiety kicked in, and you smiled automatically. Like a reflex.

For a moment, Rollo froze. And then, something strange happened: instead of the scowl you expected, his expression softened, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t smile back, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, like your smile had thrown off his whole mood. In fact, as you sat down next to him, you noticed that he kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, like he didn’t know what to do with the fact that you smiled at him.

That smile, as far as he was concerned, was the cutest thing he’d seen all year. He wasn’t about to say that out loud, of course, but the thought definitely lingered.

You blinked at him, expecting some kind of verbal response, but before the moment could get any weirder, the professor clapped his hands, demanding everyone’s attention. You flinched, and so did Rollo. Not a great start.

“Welcome, students!” the professor announced with far too much enthusiasm for someone about to ruin lives. “This semester, we’re going to be conducting real-world psychological experiments again!”

You and Rollo exchanged a look—his full of concern, yours full of dread.

“And our first project,” the professor continued, “is an experiment to see how different attachment styles interact in relationships! You will be paired based on your attachment style, and for the next few months, you’ll be living together, learning to navigate these dynamics firsthand!”

What.

Living. Together?!

You wanted to raise your hand and ask if this was some kind of joke, but the professor’s manic grin told you he was dead serious.

He handed out some papers, one of which was an attachment style quiz. You skimmed through the questions, trying to focus, but your brain was already spiraling. Living with a stranger? No way. Not happening. Maybe you could drop out before the end of the class?

You finished the quiz, hoping against hope that this was just an exercise and not a real commitment. But then the professor came back, holding a clipboard with everyone’s results.

“Ah! You’re a secure type. Congratulations, that’s the healthiest attachment style.” He beamed at you like you’d won a medal. “And Rollo…” The professor glanced down, “You’re anxious-preoccupied. Interesting!”

You glanced at Rollo, who was currently gripping the sides of his desk like it was the only thing keeping him from a full-on nervous breakdown. Great.

The professor’s grin widened. “Well, this is perfect. You two will be paired together for this experiment. I’m sure this will be a very educational experience!”

You wanted to protest, but the professor moved on, pairing up the other students. You felt like the ground had just opened up beneath you. Live together? With Rollo Flamme? For a whole semester? How were you going to survive this?

By the end of class, it was official. You had to relocate to a new dorm today. It was like some twisted version of “new roommate bonding,” except instead of awkwardly sharing a bathroom schedule, you were forced to bond over psychological trauma.

The move itself was a nightmare. You were dragging your bags down the hall, trying not to collapse from the weight (both literal and emotional). By the time you finally managed to get all your stuff into the new dorm, you felt like throwing yourself off the nearest cliff. Or at least dropping out of school. Either would be fine.

You flopped onto your bed, groaning. “I swear, if I survive this, I’m never taking another psych class again,” you muttered to yourself. You were two seconds away from reconsidering all your life choices when Rollo appeared at the doorway, looking perfectly fine, not a hair out of place, and holding… pasta?

"I... thought it would be good to have something ready," he said, looking anywhere but directly at you. "Since we’re... apparently in a relationship. For the semester."

You blinked, completely stunned. After everything that happened today, you had not expected this. But you weren’t about to complain. In fact, you could feel a huge wave of relief wash over you. If you had to be stuck in this bizarre experiment, at least it was with someone who had a functioning kitchen and the decency to make dinner.

"I have never been more grateful for a pasta dish in my entire life," you said, dropping into the nearest chair. "I’m so happy you’re the one I got paired with, Rollo."

Rollo looked pleased, though he kept his expression neutral. He quickly sat down beside you, mumbling something about “it’s just dinner.” But you could tell he was trying.

As you sat there, eating the surprisingly delicious food Rollo made, you realized that maybe this semester wouldn’t be as bad as you thought. Or maybe you were just delirious from exhaustion.

Either way, at least you weren’t going to starve to death while this crazy project unfolded.

The first week of living together, and you're hit with a revelation: How the hell is this guy the one with his life together? Rollo Flamme, the same dude who almost gave you a whole monologue about chaos and anarchy the first time you smiled at him, is actually the most functional human being you've ever encountered.

His laundry’s always done, his side of the room is spotless, and somehow, he manages to work on his research without looking like he’s two seconds away from a nervous breakdown (unlike you, whose fourth cup of coffee is practically a security blanket at this point).

And here you are, the so-called "secure" attachment type, flailing around like you're barely hanging on to life. How was he not the secure one? This was messed up.

To make matters worse, Rollo is also incredibly polite. Always holding doors open, saying "thank you" after even the tiniest favor, and offering you a perfectly folded blanket when you passed out on the couch mid-cram session. He'd be the perfect roommate—if you were running a bed-and-breakfast. But for a relationship? Oh, no. This man had walls built so high around him, you’d need a rescue helicopter to even get near his emotions.

You weren’t about to let this continue, though. You had time. You were persistent. You’d break through that fortress if it killed you.

One day, you sat next to him in the living room, where he was working on his latest research paper. Curiosity got the better of you, and you peeked over at his screen. Magic, naturally. Specifically, how magic is dangerous and needs to be controlled more. You made an offhand comment about how he might actually be onto something—“Yeah, some people really don’t know how to use magic responsibly, it’s like handing a toddler a blowtorch”—and that’s all it took.

Rollo’s eyes lit up like you’d just complimented his entire worldview.

He turned to you, eyes wide, rapid-firing questions about your beliefs on magic regulation, ethics, and societal impact. For the first time since you met him, Rollo was genuinely invested, his polite, aloof demeanor melting away as he engaged with you on something that clearly mattered to him. You could practically hear the mental ding ding ding of his brain going, "Finally! Someone gets it!"

By the end of that conversation, the fortress had cracked. The walls weren’t all the way down, but you were inside the outer gates now.

The next day, the roles were reversed. You were on your fourth hour of staring at your own research paper, and the words on the screen were blurring into nonsensical strings of letters. Panic was creeping in, and you were halfway through reaching for your trusty fourth cup of coffee when—slap! Your hand was swatted away.

You looked up, highly offended, only to find Rollo standing over you with a disapproving frown. The audacity.

Without a word, he set down a glass in front of you. Some kind of healthy drink. You stared at it, not trusting it, and he raised an eyebrow, wordlessly daring you to refuse. He'd probably whipped it up himself—fresh, nutritious, and annoyingly sensible.

Grumbling under your breath, you drank it, because at this point, you might as well lean into the chaos of this semester. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. It tasted like nature and rejuvenation, or whatever health blogs promise, and you actually felt... better? You powered through your project, and the next morning, you woke up feeling—get this—good. No post-caffeine crash, no impending migraine, just clear-headed and ready to tackle the day.

Your joy was so overwhelming that you practically skipped into the kitchen, like a Disney princess who’d just had her life together for the first time. And there was Rollo, cooking breakfast like the absolute enigma that he was. Naturally, you wandered over and, without even thinking, gave him a back hug while peeking over his shoulder into the pan.

“Smells good,” you said, completely oblivious to the way Rollo froze, spatula in hand, his whole body going rigid.

In Rollo’s mind, you were some sort of divine being who had descended from the heavens to test his resolve. The second you wrapped your arms around him, his brain short-circuited. You were so close. Too close. And soft. And you smelled like whatever magical soap you used, which was currently wreaking havoc on his ability to think coherently.

Why were you like this?

Was this another experiment to see how fast you could make his heart explode?

He tried to maintain his composure, flipping the food in the pan with shaky hands while silently praying you’d release him before he combusted on the spot.

But no. You just kept on, completely oblivious to his suffering, chatting about your day while casually hugging him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You ate breakfast like nothing was wrong, even thanked him with another hug before running off to class. Meanwhile, Rollo was left standing in the kitchen, staring after you like a Victorian gentleman who had just witnessed an ankle. The moment you were out the door, he crouched on the floor, hands covering his blushing face, mentally calculating how much more of this he could endure before he cracked entirely.

This experiment was going to be the death of him.

It was supposed to be a quick night out. A few drinks with some classmates after a grueling day, nothing crazy. You'd told Rollo you'd be back by 11 pm, tops. Maybe you should’ve accounted for the "one more drink" and the "just five more minutes" that inevitably pushed things to 12:30 am. And as fate would have it, your phone decided to die right around the time Rollo was pacing the floors of your shared dorm like a nervous cat, eyes flicking to the clock every five seconds.

By 12:01 am, the texts started. First, a gentle, "Hey, where are you? Still out?"

By 12:15 am, it escalated to "Are you okay? You said you'd be back by now."

At 12:20, "Should I come get you?"

By 12:25 am, he was borderline feral. "Why aren't you answering??" followed swiftly by "I'm about to call the authorities."

When he finally called and got the "unreachable" message, he nearly tipped into full-blown panic mode. His heart was doing triple time, his thoughts spiraling. What if something happened?

He was seconds away from convincing himself that you’d been kidnapped by a gang of magically-enhanced thugs when, to his immense relief, the door creaked open.

You strolled in like it was just another night, smiling at him, completely unaware of the mini-apocalypse happening in his brain.

"Hey! Sorry, my phone died—"

"You’re late," he interrupted, voice tighter than the grip he had on his phone.

You blinked. "Yeah, but—"

"No, do you realize what time it is? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?" His voice cracked, frustration evident, and you could see the tension practically radiating off him. His shoulders were rigid, and his hands shook ever so slightly as he ran them through his hair. He’d always seemed so calm, so composed, but this was the first time you were seeing the cracks.

Before you could stop yourself, your own irritation bubbled up. "I was just out for a couple hours, Rollo, it's not like I—"

But then, you saw it. His breathing was uneven, his whole posture screamed tension, and there was a slight tremor in his hands. Your words trailed off, dissolving in your throat.

He looked ready to combust, and not because he wanted to win an argument. He’d been worried. That realization clicked into place, and your frustration evaporated. He wasn’t angry—he was scared.

You stepped closer, quickly closing the gap between the two of you, and before he could say another word, you reached out and pulled him to you. His head rested on your shoulder, and for a second, he went completely still, as if surprised by the contact. But then, his rigid frame began to loosen, his shallow breaths slowing as he allowed himself to relax in your hold.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your hand running gently through his hair. “I should’ve found a way to let you know. My phone died and I didn’t think—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you like that.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there in the middle of the room, his face pressed against your shoulder as he took deep breaths, gradually calming down. His grip on your sleeve tightened for a moment before he slowly pulled back, clearly feeling a little sheepish.

“No, I... I overreacted,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not my place to—"

“Stop that,” you interrupted. “Experiment or not, we're in this together. You’re allowed to worry. I should’ve told you somehow. I get it now.”

He looked at you, relieved but still unsure, before nodding. You’d come to a resolution—a better understanding of each other.

That night, you both settled on the couch, and you insisted on watching a horror movie to distract from the emotional rollercoaster of the evening. It was one of those ridiculously low-budget flicks with bad special effects and even worse acting, but it did the job.

You sat next to him, his hand gripping yours a little tighter than usual, but you didn’t mind. You leaned back, content, while the garbage horror played in the background, his fingers still interlocked with yours like an unspoken promise that things would be okay.

The next thing that happens makes you realize that the previous night’s breakthrough was only just the tip of the iceberg. Because, apparently, when it comes to Rollo, "issues" aren't fixed with a single comforting hug and some popcorn-level bonding.

It’s a chill afternoon, and you’re gaming in the shared area, completely immersed in your screen. You’ve been stuck on the same boss battle for nearly an hour, so you’re laser-focused, fingers flying over the controls like your life depends on it. You barely register it when Rollo asks something—something mundane, judging by his soft tone—but you’re too preoccupied to catch what it was. You only give a noncommittal grunt in response, eyes glued to the screen as your character slashes through another wave of enemies.

When you finally finish the round (victoriously, might I add), you glance up, stretching your arms, and catch sight of Rollo sitting across the room, looking... incredibly uncomfortable? He’s fidgeting with his sleeves, brow furrowed, biting his lip like someone just asked him to solve world hunger. You blink.

“Rollo?”

He jolts a little, startled by your voice, and looks over at you with wide eyes. You tilt your head. “Did you ask me something earlier?”

His response is instant: “Oh, no, it’s fine! You don’t have to—uh—I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Now that gets your attention. You pause your game, your controller forgotten, as you sit up a little straighter. "Wait, what? Bother me? Rollo, what are you talking about?”

You watch as he shifts awkwardly, his shoulders tight and his gaze flicking between you and the floor. It's the same nervous energy from the night before, except now it's wrapped in a weird layer of... guilt? What the hell?

You toss your controller aside, standing up and walking over to him, and without a second thought, you plop down on the couch right beside him. “C’mon, what’s up?” you coax, nudging him gently. “What did you want to ask me?”

For a second, he doesn’t answer, staring at his hands like they're the most interesting thing in the world. But you don’t move, waiting him out. After a few long moments, he lets out a sigh, almost resigned.

“I thought… I thought you were mad at me because I asked you a question, and you didn’t answer.” His voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

You blink. Once. Twice. And then, the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Oh, no. He really thought you were mad at him because you didn’t respond right away? Because you were busy gaming? You bite back a groan of exasperation, but not at him—no, at the fact that this poor guy is carrying around enough emotional baggage to fill a whole fleet of U-hauls.

“Rollo,” you say softly, scooting closer. He doesn’t look up. You reach out and place a hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. “I wasn’t mad. I didn’t even hear you, I was just really into my game.”

He finally lifts his head, and you can see the hint of skepticism in his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” You give him a smile, trying to make it as reassuring as possible. “I wasn’t ignoring you or anything. I just... you know, lost track of everything. It happens.”

It’s like watching the air slowly deflate out of a balloon. Rollo’s shoulders visibly sag with relief, and he takes a deep breath, exhaling like he’d been holding it in for way too long. “Oh. Okay. That’s… good.”

You grin, giving him a playful nudge. “What, you thought I’d throw a fit over something like that? C’mon, give me some credit.”

His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting back a smile. “I don’t know. You can get pretty intense when you’re gaming.”

“Fair, but I’m only intense about winning.” You flash him a cheeky smile. “Which, by the way, I did.”

His mouth quirks up at the corner, and just like that, the tension in the room finally dissolves. He’s not exactly laughing, but he’s definitely less tense, and that’s a win in your book.

You mentally add “reassure Rollo he’s not annoying” to the growing list of things you need to keep an eye on while living together. Clearly, you’d be doing a lot of emotional heavy lifting in this experiment. But hey, at least you’d have an extra hand when it came to back hugs in the kitchen.

It starts out innocently enough. You cancel a study session with Rollo—no big deal, right? It’s just one meeting, and you’ve got other commitments. You shoot him a quick text, fully expecting him to be fine with it.

But when you see him later that day? Oh boy.

Rollo looks like he’s just received news that the sky is falling. He’s pacing slightly, his expression carefully controlled, but you can feel the dark cloud of tension radiating off of him. It’s not like he’s outright mad at you, but something’s off. You tilt your head, watching as he fidgets with his sleeve, not quite making eye contact.

“Rollo? You good?”

He freezes for a second, then gives you a tight-lipped smile that’s about as comforting as a broken umbrella in a hurricane. “Fine,” he says, in the most not fine way possible.

And then it clicks. This guy’s not just upset about canceled plans—he’s taking it personally. His anxiety is in full swing, and you realize this is way deeper than you thought. Suddenly, his every movement seems loaded with tension, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. And you're hit with the revelation that maybe—just maybe—Rollo’s not as emotionally stable as you first assumed.

So, after a beat, you decide to do the responsible thing and sit him down for a proper chat. You want to know why he’s so upset over something so trivial, but of course, the moment you bring it up, he’s immediately defensive.

“I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me,” Rollo snaps, his voice sharp as he crosses his arms. “I’m fine.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Rollo, you look like I’ve personally betrayed you by canceling a study session.”

And just like that, he launches into a tirade about how he’s not mad, he just doesn’t appreciate people dismissing his feelings, and maybe you shouldn’t be taking this whole experiment so lightly. Normally, you’d be ready to bite back with a snarky comment—because, hello, it’s one study session—but something stops you.

Instead of fighting fire with fire, you let him rant. You sit there, quietly absorbing his words, your expression calm, even though internally, your temper is flickering. After he’s done, his words hanging heavy in the air, you take a deep breath.

“I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you,” you say softly. “I just… I want to understand.”

And that’s when you see it—his defenses waver, just for a second. He stares at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re genuinely concerned or just playing mind games. Slowly, that rigid posture of his deflates, and he lets out a long, weary sigh.

He starts talking. About his brother, the trauma, the way he’s carried that weight for years. His words are raw, and as he speaks, you feel your heart twist in your chest. You’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, you find yourself holding him, your arms around him as he finally lets himself be vulnerable.

It’s then that you realize, in the middle of all this emotional chaos, that you’ve fallen for him. Hard.

After a while, when the room has grown quiet and he’s calmed down, you pull away gently, but not too far. “I’ll make us some tea,” you say, your voice soft.

Rollo doesn’t protest. He just nods, sitting there, still processing everything he’s just shared with you. You head to the kitchen, your mind whirling, but your hands working on autopilot as you boil water and prepare two mugs.

When you return, you set the tea down in front of him and take a seat across from him. The air between you feels different now—softer, more open. For a moment, you both just sip your tea in silence, letting the warmth of the moment settle in.

But then, without really thinking, you reach across the table and take his hand. Rollo looks up, slightly startled, his eyes meeting yours.

“I just want you to know,” you say, your voice quiet but firm, “that I’m not doing this just for the experiment anymore. I like you, Rollo. I know this was supposed to be temporary, but… I don’t want it to be.”

He blinks, taken aback, and for a moment, he’s too stunned to speak. His grip tightens around your hand, though, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. There’s a soft blush creeping up his cheeks, but more than that, there’s an overwhelming sense of relief in his expression, like he’s been waiting to hear those words all along.

“I… uh, I like you too,” he mutters, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “If that… wasn’t obvious.”

You laugh, because of course you do, and before either of you can second-guess yourselves, you kiss him. It’s soft at first, tentative, but it deepens, the tension from earlier dissolving in the warmth of the moment.

Fast forward to the next day, and you two have a midterm check-in with the professor. You’re supposed to give him an update on how the experiment is going, but the moment you and Rollo walk into his office, looking all soft and lovesick, the professor just knows.

He peers at the two of you over the top of his glasses, takes in the way Rollo hovers near you like a protective shadow, and how you’re practically glowing. He doesn’t even bother asking any questions. He just nods, like he’s solved the world’s greatest mystery.

“Full marks,” he says, scribbling on his grading sheet. “I don’t need to hear a report. Just… submit a written one later. Excellent work.”

He’s smiling like a man who’s just unlocked the secrets of the universe, and you and Rollo exchange a look—half amused, half relieved. You walk out of there, knowing that somehow, this ridiculous relationship experiment has turned into something real.

By the end of the semester, you’ve somehow transformed from a procrastinating, caffeine-fueled mess into a finely tuned academic machine. Rollo’s influence on you has been nothing short of miraculous. You’re actually doing your readings ahead of time, submitting papers early, and your stress levels have dropped to the point where you don’t even twitch when the word “deadline” is mentioned.

Conversely, Rollo looks a lot less like he’s one passive-aggressive email away from an aneurysm. Your laid-back attitude has rubbed off on him just enough that he’s no longer muttering about society’s collapse over breakfast. A win-win, honestly.

And now, here you are. The final stretch. Tomorrow is your big joint presentation in front of the psychology class. After that, you’ll be free to go back to your regular dorms, and all this could be just a memory.

But you’re not worried. Why would you be? You confessed your feelings to Rollo weeks ago. He confessed back. Clearly, you’re in a relationship now. Right?

Oh, you sweet, naive fool.

The morning of the presentation, you and Rollo arrive at class, fully prepared to crush it. Everything goes smoothly, and by the time the professor finishes grading you, he’s practically buzzing with excitement. He’s so impressed with your development as a couple that he actually suggests the two of you join his extended study on attachment styles.

“Uh, no thanks,” you say, waving your hand like you’ve just been offered a ride on the Titanic. “I’ve seen enough of my own emotional baggage this semester to last a lifetime. I don’t need a sequel.”

The professor blinks, clearly not expecting you to decline with such flair, but he chuckles and lets it go. “Very well. Full marks, both of you.”

You and Rollo exchange satisfied glances. You’ve done it. It’s over. But as you walk back to your shared dorm for what might be the last time, you notice Rollo’s usual calm demeanor has slipped into something… different. He looks serious.

You figure it’s just post-presentation exhaustion, so when you get home, you flop onto the couch and playfully tug him down to join you. “C’mon, what’s up? We aced the project. You should be celebrating with me!”

Rollo doesn’t flop. He sits—very stiffly, very deliberately—beside you, eyes focused like he’s gearing up for a serious talk. “I need to ask you something.”

You grin, all relaxed and oblivious. “Shoot.”

He takes a deep breath. “What… what exactly are we?”

Oh no. Your brain blue screens. You can hear the windows error noise in your head as everything you thought you knew crashes and burns.

"EXCUSE ME?" you shout, staring at him like he’s just asked if the Earth is flat.

He looks a little startled, but he holds firm. “I mean… I know we’ve been spending a lot of time together. And we’ve shared things. But I don’t think we’ve ever really—”

You grab him by the shoulders, full-on shaking him like a soda can. “I LIKE you, Rollo! I confessed! You confessed! We’ve been cuddling and everything! I thought we were DATING!”

Rollo is frozen, staring at you with the wide-eyed expression of a man who’s just been struck by a bolt of lightning. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. You, still gripping his shoulders, feel your energy drain all at once. You stop shaking him and just sit there, both of you dumbfounded, staring at each other in complete silence.

Then, without warning, you burst out laughing—so hard that you actually tip off the couch and crash onto the floor, gasping for breath.

Rollo blinks down at you. “Are you… okay?”

Through your hysterics, you wave off his concern, already rummaging through your pocket. “Wait, wait, wait—hold on.”

Still lying on the floor, you pull out a ring pop from your pocket. With dramatic flair, you drop down onto one knee in front of the couch. Rollo’s eyes widen even more as you present the candy ring to him, grinning like an absolute maniac.

“Rollo Flamme,” you begin, in the most theatrical voice you can muster, “will you do me the honor of being my partner? Romantically. And in crime.”

Rollo looks at you, at the ring pop, back at you… and then lets out the longest sigh you’ve ever heard. “You’re impossible.”

You just smile up at him, unbothered. “You love me anyway.”

He pauses, still clearly baffled by your entire existence, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… I guess I do.”

He takes the ring pop, slides it onto his finger with an amused shake of his head, then leans down to give you a quick, sweet kiss. You bask in the victory of it all, still half on the floor, but your heart is soaring.

“Now, can we please cuddle on the couch like normal people?” you ask, hopping back onto the cushions, dragging him down with you.

Rollo, ever the good sport (and clearly exasperated), finally gives in, pulling you into his arms as the two of you settle into the couch. You both stay like that for the rest of the afternoon, the weight of the semester’s insanity finally lifting as you enjoy the most peaceful—and weirdly victorious—cuddle of your life.

Masterlist

this was actually inspired by this absolutely insane (and probably unethical) study i was a part of during a psych elective. we had to take a compatibility test and the worst compatible pairs had to pair up for the rest of the semester. it was hell on earth.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #rollo flamme x reader #rollo x reader #twst rollo #rollo flamme #rollo #twst rollo x reader #rollo x you #rollo flamme x you #twst rollo x you #Rollo week!

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megalony · 4 months ago

Text

Learn The Signs

A double posting today!!

This is my first time writing for Eddie Munson from Stranger Things, I hope you will all like it. Please send in any requests/ ideas to keep me going.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05

Main Masterlist

Summary: Eddie finds himself growing attached to the new girl who joins their table at lunch. And he learns a few things especially for her to make her feel included and to show his feelings for her.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took Eddie longer than it should have to realise that there was a new face sat at the table.

He had been stabbing his fork into what he presumed could only be mashed potato, although the colour was closer to grey than it was to fluffy cream and the taste didn't really resemble anything but some kind of bland powder. The meals were never inticing or tasty, but it was simply easier than having to go through the faff of making himself something at home and bringing it along or buying something and keeping it in his bag all morning. By lunch time whatever he brought would be warm, squished or simply inedible.

The slop on his plate was the only option, quite the same as what everyone else seemed to think. And Eddie spent a generous amount of time playing with the mash and pushing the peas around his plate before he glanced his eyes up from where he was sat at the far end of the table.

They all had their assigned seats, it was a silent but nevertheless binding agreement where they would all sit, and Eddie always sat right at the end. The head of the table. The leader of the freaks, as they had come to call themselves. Better say it themselves and say it with pride than let everyone else say it with a sneer.

So when he lifted his head and looked around the table in an effort to reengage with the conversation, he found an unfamiliar party member sat at the table with them.

A brow quirked up in surprise and his head inclined to the side as he stared across at the only girl sitting at their table. The only one who wasn't part of their so called group.

She stood out because she was the only girl sitting with five boys but with that fact aside, she seemed to blend in with them.

She had her cheek resting on her hand and her fingers seemed to be drumming a steady rhythm against her skin like she needed the stimulation to keep herself awake. Her other hand was toying with her sandwich like she wasn't really sure she could stomach it but she knew she would be hungry otherwise.

Her head was cast down looking at her plate and her shoulders were hunched forwards. It was as if she was sat with them, but she was secluded in her own little world at the same time.

Eddie studied her for a lot longer than he should have until the pieces finally clicked in his mind and he realised where he knew her from.

English. The one class that Eddie wasn't failing miserably- which was only thanks to playing DnD because he found it easy to conject those fantasy stories into some sense of coherence when he was in class. Plotting out different worlds and creating those stories were what got him a good enough grade in English to pass the class.

He didn't have the attention span for science. His energy wasn't put to good use in physical ed and he wasn't the smartest in maths, combined with how boring it was which led him to his bad grades.

But English was the one class Eddie was good at and didn't flunk and that was the class where he knew her face from. She sat in front of him in the next row, so Eddie always got to see her side profile when he aimlessly scanned the classroom once he'd finished his assignments.

"Brought a friend to dinner, Henderson?"

All eyes fell to Eddie and that slanted grin on his face as he pointed his fork in (Y/n)'s direction since she hadn't looked up from her plate when he spoke.

Eddie wasn't sure whether his knuckle-head bandmates had blankly hadn't noticed that there was a new person sitting at their table. Or whether they had noticed (Y/n) take a seat but not really figured out that it was someone new, not one of their usual group members.

Either way, the three of them looked over to where (Y/n) was sitting beside Dustin on the end of the table. Their eyes wide as confusion plastered across their faces.

"Oh, um, yeah, this is (Y/n). Is it okay if she sits with us?" Dustin knew he should have asked before telling (Y/n) it would be fine for her to sit with them, but he didn't think it would be a problem. Everyone seemed easy going when it came to accepting new people, after all they had taken Dustin and Mike under their wings immediately when Eddie sourced them out and gave them a place to feel welcomed.

Intrigue pooled in Eddie's eyes as he watched (Y/n). She still looked like she was ignoring them, like she was drifting off in her own world and hadn't even noticed a conversation had begun.

"I suppose, if she's one of us."

When he realised (Y/n) wasn't paying attention, Dustin swiftly prodded his elbow into her side and darted his head to the left in Eddie's direction.

(Y/n) lifted her head and scowled at Dustin when his pointy elbow prodded her chest. But when she realised where he was looking with those wide eyes and that certain look, she realised the rest of the table was looking at them. At her.

The sandwich in her hand flopped back down on the plate and she sat up a bit straighter. She looked around the table, but her eyes kept stopping when she looked at Eddie.

He was smiling, or rather smirking. Her eyes trained on his lips in case he started speaking but he didn't say anything. Instead, his tongue darted across his lower lip and stayed at the corner of his mouth for a few extra seconds. He knew she was watching his lips. He was toying with her.

Finally, he spoke. "Are you one of us?"

The way his smile widened made (Y/n)'s stomach flip and she couldn't quite tear her eyes away from his pale pink lips. She wanted to meet his gaze, she wanted to study every inch of him and get closer to him and take him in fully. She never got to look at him or really see him when they were in English class, and she rarely saw him outside of class either.

But from a distance, she could see a few details about him. (Y/n) could see he had a ring on almost every finger on both hands. She could see the beginning of a chain that disappeared beneath his Hellfire shirt. She noticed a tattoo on his right forearm where his sleeve was rolled up but she couldn't see what it was. She wanted to. She wanted to examine the ink and see what other ones he had hidden beneath those clothes.

(Y/n) wanted to know everything about him.

When her eyes finally managed to tear away from that smirk, she looked up to find her gaze captured with those intense brown eyes that seemed to be growing darker with each passing second.

"What are you?" Her voice was so quiet that Eddie could barely hear her, but still, he smiled.

He leaned forward, fork still in hand, elbows planted down on the table while he rose from his seat to lean over his tray and be closer. To be intimidating, to be daunting and see whether (Y/n) would back away in fear or stay with a smile.

"Broken configurations."

The way Eddie smiled obscured the way his lips moved. He spoke too quietly for (Y/n) to hear and his smile was too wide for her to work out what words he had spoken.

Her eyes narrowed before she turned her head to look at Dustin. She knew she didn't have to say a word for him to know she hadn't quite caught Eddie's words.

"Misfit, freak." (Y/n) knew that wasn't quite what Eddie had said, but she guessed Dustin was simply paraphrasing and whatever Eddie said must be close to what Dustin was implying.

So he wanted to know whether she was one of them or not. Whether she was a broken piece of society that had been pushed to one side.

Couldn't be judge that for himself? Did he really need (Y/n) to answer that?

A coy smile formed on (Y/n)'s lips as she reached down for her sandwich but her eyes never strayed far from Eddie who was still waiting, patiently, for her to give him an answer. "What do you think?"

Her answer clearly hit the right note with Eddie because he grinned, nodded his head towards her once, and then took his seat again.

"Oh, you can stay."

(Y/n) took a bite of her sandwich, satisfied that she wouldn't have to disappear and try to find a new table or a new set of friends to be around.

She wasn't in any of Dustin's classes but she knew him through Nancy and he had quickly become a close friend. Now he was out of middle school (Y/n) would see him more often. She passed him in the halls, saw him when they were each studying in the library and now he had asked if she wanted to join their table at lunch.

Eddie was partly the reason (Y/n) said yes. She didn't think he was the freak that everyone called him. From the little that she had seen and what she knew about him, Eddie seemed rather sweet. He was different, yes, but there was a sensitive side to him that pulled (Y/n) in.

She liked his charisma and how he wasn't afraid to be himself or be silly or make a statement either by what he said, what he wore or how he acted. If they would let her sit with them at lunch, (Y/n) would join them every day.

She took a bite of her sandwich, content that she wasn't an outsider or an invisible party at their table anymore. But her eyes quickly cast to her right and she jumped when she felt Dustin's hand patting her hip.

Her lips morphed into a frown and her eyes narrowed on him as she swatted his hand away, unsure what he was doing.

"Turn it on." He spoke quietly as he pointed to the pack that was hooked onto the waistband of her jeans.

With a grimace, (Y/n) pulled on the wire connected to the pack that looked very similar to a cassette player to show Dustin that the hearing aid wasn't even in her ear. It was tucked away safely in her pocket.

"Too loud." She muttered back while her eyes cast down to her plate when Dustin held his hands up in surrender.

She wasn't going to put her hearing aid in at lunch. (Y/n) didn't want to listen to the sound of people chewing and slurping and coughing as they hogged down their food. She didn't want to have fifty different conversations flooding her mind with hundreds of different tones and volumes and too many words for her to keep track of.

She wore her hearing aids in most of her classes, but sometimes she would turn it down so she could have some peace and quiet to herself.

Without the hearing aid, (Y/n)'s hearing was muffled, like a cassette on the lowest setting with a sock muffling the speaker. That was why when she turned it off, she relied on lip reading to understand what people were saying and what was going on around her.

One of the reasons she got along with Dustin so well was because he was the only one in the gang who knew sign language. He taught some to Mike and Max and Nancy knew the basics, but (Y/n) didn't need sign language very often. Although it was sometimes a relief not to have to focus so hard on reading lips when Dustin or anyone else used sign language with her.

Something struck Eddie's chest as he watched Dustin make some sort of gesture towards (Y/n), which she then reciprocated.

He hadn't known she used a hearing aid; he didn't know she was partially deaf. Really, he couldn't be blamed for that. They only shared one class together and the teacher never called on (Y/n) to answer questions- something Eddie thought was odd at the time.

He had seen the pack on her jeans but he assumed it was a cassette player, and he was sure he had seen her walking round school with headphones on. Maybe she wore them to disguise her hearing aid, or maybe she could hear music if it was on a certain volume.

The moment (Y/n) lifted her head, Eddie realised that he might just have been staring for a bit too long and he quickly ducked his head back down to face his tray instead. He didn't want to seem like a jerk or a creep caught staring at her and he certainly didn't want her to think bad of him when this was her first time sitting with them for lunch.

With her head angled back down to finish her sandwich, (Y/n) let her mind begin to wander while Dustin and Mike started talking about the latest DnD game they would be playing. (Y/n) understood the game and the rules and so on, but it wasn't her kind of thing. She was much like Nancy, she would tolerate the game and try to observe, but she wasn't one for joining in.

With her eyes on the last of her food and her hearing aid turned off, (Y/n) became lost in her own little world and subsequently missed the first part of the tangent that Eddie went off into.

It was only when she finished her food and raised her head to glance around the table that she noticed Eddie had moved.

He was no longer at at the head of the table like the father figure in a family meal. He was instead stood behind his bandmates, an arm looped around each of their shoulders and his head inclined to the side as he stared over at Mike and Dustin.

"…I am army crawling my way to a D in Miss Sloan's class."

The way his hands began to vibrate as he straightened up made him seem like he was suddenly fueled on adrenaline. Like he was a bag of popcorn that was about to pop and explode all over the hall.

(Y/n) liked the excitement that lit up Eddie's face as he spoke. She liked how he became animated so suddenly even though she wasn't sure what had been said to set him off on this tangent. And she liked the grin on his face that mixed with the seriousness in his eyes.

The way he sauntered past the table and moved into the centre of the hall made Eddie look like he owned every ounce of confidence in the school. He looked like he was putting on a show and he was the main star. There was something comforting yet extraordinary about him and his movements.

But when Eddie turned around, (Y/n) was suddenly blank. She couldn't follow the conversation when his back was to her. She couldn't make out what he said, her hearing aid was turned off and without it on, every voice was no louder than that of a mouse in a muffled corner of the room.

She wasn't sure what he said, or who exactly he was trying to swear at when he raised his hand. But she guessed it would be towards the rest of the students in their school or the teachers he didn't like or get along with.

It didn't matter what Eddie said- or the fact that he said he would be flipping off the principal- because to (Y/n), she could still read his enthusiasm and get the gist of what he was talking about. He was on the subject of leaving school.

It was no secret to anyone that Eddie had aged out of school despite the fact that he was still here. He had flunked twice already, this was his third time repeating this last year to try and graduate. (Y/n) hadn't been at this school for long and even she had figured that out. But it didn't bother Eddie. He didn't seem to care that he was trying again and again to graduate, all he cared about was managing to do it and to leave.

When she felt a tap on her shoulder, (Y/n) begrudgingly tore her eyes away from Eddie, who was now parading down the centre of the hall like he was performing in the school play. She looked to Dustin who was trying his best not to burst out into fits of laughter.

'He's going to get his diploma and run out of here.'

Dustin's sign language was a little rusty, he wasn't great at stringing sentences together, he was much better at single words and phrases. But he did his best because Eddie's commentary was too funny for (Y/n) to sit and not understand.

"Didn't you say that last year?"

"And the year before that?"

Eddie spun on his heels as his hands clenched into fists at his sides and he took a deep breath. He didn't need them interrupting his monologue or telling him what he already knew. So maybe he had been a bit too full of himself for the last two years. Maybe he thought he would scrape a diploma when he hadn't done enough work.

But this year was different. He would do it this time. He was so close, all he had to do was a bit of actual revising and he could pass these exams like a it was a fluke and he would be done with this place.

"Yeah, yeah and I was full of shit." He sneered with narrowed eyes and the tiniest smile on his face.

But as he sauntered back towards the table, his eyes narrowed and his chest tightened when he looked over at Dustin.

He watched Dustin point in his direction before the younger boy curled one hand into a fist and waved his other hand from left to right over the top of his fist like he was orchestrating music. But it didn't take Eddie long to work out what Dustin was doing. He was signing something.

There was something about the glee written across Dustin's face that put Eddie off guard as he watched him sign another word. His hand stayed clenched into a fist but his other hand then slapped down on top of his fist, pressing his thumb into the centre of his fist as his hand made a bang as it came down on his fist.

A grin lit up (Y/n)'s face as she looked from Dustin back to Eddie the moment Dustin signed 'full of shit' to her so she knew the whole monologue Eddie had gone off on.

"Henderson, what did you tell her?" Eddie rested his left hand down on the end of the table as he stooped over and pointed his other hand at Dustin before he planted his hand down on his hip.

The way he leaned over her caused (Y/n) to hold her breath deep within her lungs. She felt like she couldn't take one proper breath, let alone get her thoughts in order. She couldn't do anything except tilt her head back so she was looking up into those dark brown eyes that were burning through her and making her melt on the spot.

"I just relayed what you said."

"Full of shit, huh?" (Y/n) barely trusted her voice on a good day when she was at home, but somehow she gained the courage to try and speak now. After all, she had spent years figuring out how to judge her own tone and her pitch when she couldn't exactly hear what she said.

She figured she had whispered her words because no one looked at her or winced or tried to tell her to be quiet. But Eddie heard. She knew he heard by the way his grin spread wider and his eyes dilated as he stared down at her like he was ready to pounce.

"Not this year, I can feel it." He sounded a lot more sincere than he felt, usually it was pride and desperation pushing him when he talked about finishing school. Not today. He could just sense that this year was going to be different, that this was finally going to be his time. His year.

(Y/n) smiled softly when Eddie leaned closer and she folded her arms over the table as her elbow nudged against his palm. "This is your year."

"Our year, you're graduating too aren't you?"

So he did somewhat pay attention in class and to the people around him. He knew (Y/n) was going to be graduating too, and Eddie was in no doubt that she would pass with flying colours and wouldn't face the same struggles he did.

Her eyes followed him as he spun around and perched down on the table so his shoes were tapping and scraping the floor and his hands were now tapping on his thighs. He had a good sense of balance, keeping his back straight as he sat there like a perfect statue with his head angled in (Y/n)'s direction like she was the only person in the room. The only one worth looking at.

If she was going to be sitting at their table from now on, Eddie had a feeling this year was going to be even better.

Eddie didn't know sign language. Maybe he should learn some if (Y/n) was going to be a regular at their table.

***

A nervous grin lit up (Y/n)'s face when she approached the table in the dining hall. It had become second nature for (Y/n) to come and sit at Eddie's table during lunch. The group had taken to her as if she had been one of them since the dawn of time.

They made her feel included and welcome and they didn't make her feel like an outcast when she turned her hearing aid off. They all knew she preferred not to listen to the sounds in the dining hall that they themselves could automatically tune out and make sense of. It was habit now that when she sat down, (Y/n) pointed to her hearing aid before she turned it off and put it in her pocket.

The group would nod and proceed to talk slow and clear and make a point not to speak with their mouths full. Sometimes Dustin would sign a few things, just to make it easier, especially if someone was going off on a rant about something. But it was a normality for them all, they didn't make (Y/n) feel like she was being a burden on them like everyone else did, and that was what she loved about them.

Her fingers tapped nervously against her tray as she moved towards the table, her eyes solely focused on Eddie and Eddie alone. Dustin and Mike weren't at the table yet, they were still in line for their food. (Y/n) wondered how Eddie always managed to be the first one at the table, the first one with his food which seemed to be a priority for him more than getting to class on time.

But when she went towards her usual seat down the other end of the table, she paused when Eddie shook his head.

He wordlessly tilted his head down and drifted his eyes towards the seat next to him before he looked back over at (Y/n).

It took an extra amount of control to stop her hands from shaking and prevent the tray from falling to the floor when she realised what he was implying. Eddie wanted her to sit next to him.

He didn't want to keep sitting away from her. He didn't want to have to lean over the table to get her attention. He didn't want to be far away so that he couldn't even rest a hand on her arm. Eddie wanted (Y/n) as close as he could get her. He wanted her right next to him so he could smell that intoxicating perfume she wore. So he could see those pretty eyes that concentrated so much on his lips when he spoke. So he could see those blushing lips and simply be in her presence.

When he looked at the seat for a second time, (Y/n) found the will to move her legs. She didn't want to think or ask about what the others would say or do when they realised the seating arrangement had changed.

All she thought about was sitting down before Eddie changed his mind.

She set her tray down and took the seat on Eddie's left which would put her next to Mike when he and Dustin eventually turned up- if no one else decided to switch seats too.

Her fingers continued to drum against her tray but when she looked up at Eddie, she found a very sweet grin lighting up his face.

He set down the fork in his hand and leaned closer to her with those intriguing eyes that were sending shivers running up and down (Y/n)'s spine. She couldn't bring herself to look down to his lips when his eyes were locking her in place. She hoped whatever he said would be easy to figure out and wouldn't take much concentration.

Instead of saying anything, Eddie moved his hand instead. (Y/n) wasn't sure what he was doing or if he was doing his signature wave to her which he usually did whenever he saw her around. Which was happening more and more now. She bumped into him in the halls, he offered her rides home and seemed to linger everywhere (Y/n) looked. And she loved it.

Her eyes darted to look at his hand but what he did astounded her.

He pressed his hand near his head and pulled away like he was saluting her. But then he hovered his hand in front of his face with his thumb pointing near his chin, and curled his hand over into a fist like he was grabbing an invisible microphone.

'Hello beautiful.'

She couldn't believe it. He had learned some sign language. (Y/n) had no idea if Eddie had learned the basics, if he had become a sudden wizard or if he only learned certain phrases. Maybe that was the only phrase he had learnt, she had no idea, but it didn't matter.

All that mattered was that Eddie had made the effort. He didn't need to, (Y/n) could speak, she could use her hearing aid most of the time and she could read lips. Eddie didn't technically have to learn any sign language, but he had. He had done that. For her.

(Y/n) realised after a minute that she hadn't responded or made any move at all. She simply sat there with an open mouth and wide eyes, staring at Eddie like he had turned into an alien right in front of her.

If it hadn't been for the light that sparkled in (Y/n)'s eyes, Eddie would have started to panic that he had done that wrong and said something else. Something wrong. But the sparkle in her eyes and the slight quirk of her otherwise gaping mouth told Eddie that he had gotten that correct.

It was only a small sign, a simple gesture that had taken two minutes to learn and perfect, just like the other basic signs he had roughly practised and tried to memorise. Eddie thought it would be a good start to trying to become something more with (Y/n) if he learned some signs. This would show her that he was serious and that he wanted to make her comfortable.

Plus, he didn't like that Henderson was the only one who properly signed with her. Eddie wanted to be that person. He wanted to be the one she sat next to, the one she leaned against and signed with and smiled at. Eddie wanted to be everything to (Y/n), and he would do anything he could to make that happen.

"Didn't think I could do that, did you?" He whispered softly which caused (Y/n)'s gaping expression to change into a grin.

With a deep breath, (Y/n ) straightened up so she wasn't leaning so far forwards over the table anymore.

She raised her right hand to her temple and pulled her hand away in the salute sign Eddie had done moments earlier.

She then curled her fingers until only her index and middle fingers were extended and moved her fingers in a circular motion from her temple around to her chin. She prayed Eddie knew enough of the basics to know what she had just signed to him, or else it would be a little embarrassing to have to explain it to him.

A deep red blush tainted Eddie's cheeks and the end of his nose crinkled as his lips pursed into the cutest smile (Y/n) thought she had ever seen. It didn't matter how Eddie lowered his head or tried to dance his eyes around the table before he looked back to her. His hair didn't move and cover his blushing features and (Y/n) saw the bashfulness wash over him.

'Hi handsome.'

It didn't take Eddie long to figure out what that second sign was. No one had ever called him handsome before. When he was little a few girls called him cute. When he got older and found his punk look, some girls thought he was the spitting image of a bad boy and they seemed to like that.

Girls commented on his hair. They liked the rings on his fingers and he found a lot of people digged the tattoos on his skin. But there weren't many girls at school who could get past the 'freak' title he had been named.

The careless attitude he displayed, the willingness to speak out and act out and show his crazy side always pushed girls away.

And no one had called him handsome.

"Flatterer." Eddie somehow managed to find his voice, despite how breathless and flustered (Y/n) seemed to make him.

He leaned in close enough that he could smell that perfume she always wore which felt like a drug whenever Eddie inhaled that scent. He was so close that their noses were almost brushing and the only place he could look was into those eyes that acted as black holes, drawing him in.

If he just leaned in a little closer, that would be it, their lips would be touching and there would be no going back.

Eddie was desperate to lean in that little bit more, until a clatter of trays hit his ears and the sound vibrated through the table and caused (Y/n) to jolt. The pair of them leaned back, sitting up straight once again as their heads snapped to look at the rest of the table.

A sigh passed through Eddie's lips and his smile wavered as he slouched back in his seat, lettnig his knees part to the sides beneath the table as the rest of the group took their seats. Seemingly oblivious to the moment they had just ruined.

Although he did look to the left when he felt a small movement and he felt his heart jolt up into his throat when he noticed (Y/n) had inched closer to him. The movement was so subtle he almost thought he'd imagined it. But sure enough, her chair was that tiniest bit closer to his and it allowed her to slouch to her right and lean into Eddie's arm.

It was a small, subtle movement, testing the waters to make sure Eddie was alright with it. When he didn't pull away, (Y/n) allowed her cheek to rest on his arm and she tried not to smile too brightly. Being this close to Eddie felt like heaven.

When the conversation started flowing around the table, (Y/n) darted her eyes from left to right, making sure she was keeping track of what was being said and who was talking. She would admit that it was hard when she was this close to Eddie, and the only downside of sitting here was that she couldn't look at Eddie at the same time as she looked at everyone else. But she could read the social cues to guess when Eddie would chip into the conversation so she knew when to look up at him.

It was a small price to pay for being able to sit so close to the person she longed to be with. The person who clearly liked her presence, for (Y/n) felt his free hand drift beneath the table until his ring clad fingers were tracing along her thigh. It was a small movement, a light touch and his hand stayed near her knee, more for comfort than to actually distract her or push the boundaries too far.

The food wasn't up to much today and (Y/n) could barely touch it with how nervous and excited and fundamentally shaken Eddie was making her feel. She felt better leaning against him and simply smiling in a daze than trying to eat when her stomach was leaping and bounding towards her throat.

"So I thought for the next game maybe we could inv-" Mike cut himself off rather abruptly when a presence loomed near the end of the table.

All of them slowly turned to look and (Y/n) looked up to follow the line of attention to see Jason Carver stood at the end of the table. He had his food tray in his hands, it was clear he wasn't attempting to approach them or cause an argument, but something had made him stop.

"Oh look, the circus has a new freak."

Eddie felt the way (Y/n) bristled beside him and he hated the fact that Jason was staring at her directly. Trying to get a rise out of her, trying to make her feel strange and worthless and like an outcast when that was the opposite of what she was. She had found her place here, with them.

(Y/n) bound her arms around her waist beneath the table and subconsciously scooted closer to Eddie until their hips were practically glued together and she was almost sitting on his chair.

She was used to people making remarks, people glaring and leering. It was normal at her old school for people to talk jargon and pretend she was too stupid to understand what they said. Or for them to whisper and mouth words when her hearing aid was on so she thought it wasn't working.

Someone like Jason, some strange person who thought he was the best at everything, coming over and making a silly comment was nothing new. But that didn't make it any easier.

"Buzz off, Carver." Mike's words seemed to fall upon deaf ears, for Jason wasn't even looking at him.

He was looking at Eddie. He wanted to get a rise out of Eddie, the person he was always trying to rile up and pick on and call a freak. He wanted to see what Eddie would do and how defensive he would get over the only girl at their table being called out and picked on. Jason wanted to know if a little comment was enough to get Eddie's blood pumping.

And it was. That comment was enough to made his blood feel like it was turning to sludge in his veins and make him feel like the fires of Hell were beginning to consume him and make him sweat.

But the smile that splintered across Eddie's face made everyone at the table uneasy. They thought he would snarl, that he would climb up and walk across the tabletop- something he was accustomed to doing- they thought he would start a fight or sneer something back in anger.

No one thought he would sit there and smile.

All of them watched, (Y/n) included, as Eddie leaned forward in his seat until he was barely touching the edge of the chair. His head slowly drooped to the left and he let go of (Y/n)'s thigh so his elbows dug uncomfortably into the table top and his hands were visible.

With that sadistic smile still on his lips, Eddie held his left hand out with his fingers curled and only his index finger and his thumb sticking out in an L shape. He curled his right index finger and thumb into a circle like he was making an okay sign, and began slowly sliding his curled fingers over his left index finger like he was doing a strange magic trick.

(Y/n) couldn't help the broad smile that took over her features when she saw what Eddie was doing. Her chest expanded to the point her lungs and sides started to ache and her cheek flopped onto Eddie's arm as she watched the confusion plaster across Jason's face. Especially when Dustin started to snigger and the moment Dustin realised (Y/n) had started to copy the action, he did too.

It didn't take long before the whole table was copying the sign, even though only three of them actually knew what it meant. And the confusion was enough to cause the blood to flush to Jason's face. He knew he was being vexed, he could see they were taking the piss out of him and he gathered rather quickly that whatever they were doing was a message in sign language.

It wasn't until Jason stormed back to his own table and smashed his tray down on the table that everyone finally stopped signing and a deep cackle left Eddie's lips.

And Mike leaned across to Dustin with a grin that morphed pleasure and confusion. "What does it mean?"

"Fuck off." As soon as Dustin spoke, everyone around the table began to laugh. No one seemed to question how Eddie knew that sign or the fact that before today, they weren't sure he even understood what sign language was.

While the rest of the table were laughing, (Y/n) tilted her cheek back against Eddie's arm so she could look up at him. And she loved how he turned his head in her direction, causing his hair to brush along his face and become stuck between his cheek and shoulder. And the way he sank his teeth down into his bottom lip made (Y/n) shudder to her core.

"You've been practicing." The feeling of Eddie's arm looping over the back of her shoulders almost had (Y/n) melting in her seat and it caused her cheek to nudge and rest on his shoulder instead.

How didn't she guess that the swear words would be the first thing that Eddie learned to sign? It was in his nature, it suited him so well, it was what (Y/n) would of expected if she knew he had been thinking about learning signs.

"I've learned the basics."

Eddie loved the sound of (Y/n)'s laugh and the way she nuzzled her face into his shoulder made him tingle and spasm against her.

He hadn't learned much, but he couldn't begin to learn signs and not look up a few swear words. It would make him look more sophisticated at graduation if he flipped off the principal in sign language. He could get away with it better that way and have the added satisfaction of only having a few fellow friends understand what he was actually doing and implying.

As he tightened his arm around her shoulders, Eddie took the plunge and leaned forward to press a wet kiss against (Y/n)'s temple. And when she didn't pull away and instead pressed her hand against his chest, Eddie kept his lips there and closed his eyes.

Oh yes, this was going to be his year alright.

#imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things 4 #dustin henderson #stranger things season 4

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asnowperson · 6 months ago

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A short Takemiya Keiko interview from 1998

My "All Things Takemiya" detective friend, Platypus, provided me with a two-page Takemiya Keiko interview scanned by @97tears from the now discontinued Hato yo! (鳩よ! - Oh, Pigeons!) magazine. It was a literary magazine published between 1983 and 2002—a publication you probably wouldn't look at if you were searching up on Takemiya, ig.

You can see the Japanese original taken from the 1998 April issue of the magazine, and my (poor) translation of it under the cut.

Takemiya Keiko Interview from issue #4 of Hato yo (1998)

An interview with a master mangaka herself!

I’ve always wanted to meet them! 1 – Takemiya Keiko

“I wanted to draw real love”

Takemiya Keiko. Born in Tokushima in 1950. Debuted with “Ringo no Tsumi” in 1968. Won the 25th Shogakukan Manga Award with “Kaze to Ki no Uta” and “Terra e.” Representative works include “Pharaoh no Haka” among others. “Tenma no Ketsuzoku” is currently being serialized in Asuka Magazine.

I read “Kaze to Ki no Uta” during elementary school. It has left a very deep impression on me. I remember that when Ms. Takemiya is mentioned. It was like I was looking at something I was not supposed to look, and I still remember the thrill I felt. Takemiya: Oh, is that so? (laughs)

Thank you so much for being with me today. Takemiya: And thank you for having me.

Shall we start with what prompted you to become a shoujo manga artist? Takemiya: Fundamentally, I was not suited for shoujo manga. I debuted in COM, and my dream was to draw manga that was neither shounen nor shoujo. But alas, the magazine in which I could draw my ideal manga was no more. My style didn’t have much “power” in it, so I inevitably had to choose a shoujo manga magazine. I think my art style was really uncommon at the time. But it was what it was, and I thought to myself, maybe capitalizing on that was the path I should take.

Your works have an extraordinary depth as far shoujo manga goes... They have a unique art style... Takemiya: It hasn’t always been like that. My shoujo manga technique was the fruit of what I have studied. It was not a result of my personal taste, nor my innate skills. Girls like that feathery, light touch. They like fine lines. But I didn’t have any of those. So, I figured drawing things girls would like a lot was my only choice. For instance, when I thought how they must like Europe at the end of the 19th century, I went on a trip as a result. I saw the real thing at its source, and did research on it.

Then was Kaze to Ki no Uta born because you thought girls would like it? Takemiya: That might have played into my choice of the time period the story’s set in. However, romance stories between a boy and a girl was the norm in shoujo manga at the time. You could only draw “And they lived happily ever after...” stories. And that happiness was only on the emotional level. It was normal to exclude all physical contact. But that is simply “affection.” I wanted to draw “real love.” I admit it was a little too sensational, but I thought doing it through same-sex love was the best way to go about it. That’s how I drew Kaze to Ki no Uta.

The sex scenes between men were quite a shock for me as a little child. That’s how I learned homosexuality existed. Takemiya: At the time, there was an official notice published by the Ministry of Education that stipulated that “You shall not draw a boy and a girl getting intimate!” However, if it was two boys, things were somehow fine... I thought I’d found a loophole! (laughs)

These days, there are more extreme books labeled as “yaoi.” What do you think about them? Takemiya: At the end of the day, doujinshi are doujinshi. They focus on personal enjoyment of a group. I consider myself a “craftsman,” and if I look at it from a craftsman's standpoint, I am not wholly satisfied with how they leave many things unexplained, or how they have no conclusion. At their level, I’d liked if those artists too felt more dissatisfied... If they aimed to be more conclusive. They have the talent to draw, so I’d love them to polish those skills. I’m sometimes told that it all started with “Kazeki,” and that I must take responsibility. And every time, I think to myself, “Oh... Re-really? Dit it?” (laughs) I wish someone drew something so awesome that it would blow Kazeki out of the water...

I’d love that too! You called yourself a “craftsman,” but what exactly makes you think so? Takemiya: I really love the word “craftsman.” I’m not interested in trying to reach an ideal of art that would not resonate with the public. I believe manga is something aimed at the general public. Otherwise, I would not consider it to have artistic value.

Spoken like a real pro... Which brings me to Terra e... I think that’s the most widely-accepted manga of yours by the general public, and it was published in a shounen magazine. Why is it the outlier to be published in a shounen magazine? Takemiya: I received an offer for it, but the truth is, I had always wanted to draw for a shounen magazine. That’s why accepted. But I needed to draw in the shoujo manga audience too, so I wanted the story to offer the best for both demographics. So I tried to have the concept to be that of shoujo manga, and the style to be that of shounen manga as much as possible.

Is it different to draw for a shounen manga magazine, and a shoujo manga magazine? Takemiya: You don’t have to hold back in shounen magazines. It fine to draw more hardcore stuff. But in shoujo magazines, that’s out of the question. There’s a trend that dictate that you should explain things in long-winded ways and spoil the reader, because girls like it when you reveal things to them through subterfuge, so don’t hit them directly with hard stuff.

But after that, you’ve never drawn for shounen magazines which allowed you to draw as you wished. Takemiya: Shounen magazines are mostly weekly. I cannot keep up with that. My art has fine details, so it takes me a lot of time to draw.

Then will you be solely drawing for shoujo magazines in the future? Takemiya: I can’t really say that I will. I’m currently working for a shoujo magazine with “Tenma no Ketsuzoku”, and with volume releases. I recently released an illustration book titled “Hermès no Michi.” I needed to base myself on documents and explain them in drawings. And they couldn’t be any kind of drawing, they needed to be interesting. Trying to come up with ways to do that was a very fun experience. So for starters, I’d like to undertake a work like that again. That kind of work I’m working on right now is a story about the fugitives of the Heike Clan in Tokushima.*

*T/N: She is referring to “Heian Joururi Monogatari.”

To finish our interview off, I’d like ask a question about the Year 24 Group (shoujo manga artists born around the 24th year of the Shouwa Era like Takemiya Keiko, Hagio Moto, and Ooshima Yumiko, who have influenced the shoujo manga world in the following years) which is still very prominent: Are you still conscious of it? Takemiya: Year 24 is a thing of the past in the modern manga scene. I think it’s irrelevant now. Manga is evolving, becoming something else after being painted over continuously. I had fun when I was part of that group, but I don’t feel like dragging it out. I don’t want to cling to nice memories of the past as I work, and want to focus on how I currently think and feel. I want to do what I think is most fun at the moment.

#takemiya keiko #keiko takemiya #竹宮惠子 #24年組 #year 24 group #interview #hato yo!#鳩よ!#shoujo manga history #manga history #kaze to ki no uta #風と木の詩 #takemiya keiko interview #yaoi

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kittenintheden · 1 year ago

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Where were you, when I was new?

AO3 Version Here bonus gift art by tavplum!!

Even the masters have to start somewhere.

Rating: E Word Count: 5.6k Content: 18+, Virgin Astarion, Pre-Canon Astarion, Law Student Astarion, Young Astarion, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Intercourse, Gender-Neutral Partner (3rd Person), Unnamed Partner (3rd Person)

Astarion Ancunín is twenty years old, a law student, and a virgin. At least, he is for the time being.

It’s not as if he doesn’t know he’s an exceptionally good-looking young man, not as if no one’s ever asked before. Not as if he’s completely inexperienced. He adores kissing. Flushes with pleasure when someone plays with his long, elegant ears. Participates in a little hand stuff here and there. He even received head and gave it back, once, at some party.

Really, it’s simply that he’s had other things to do – other lessons to learn, other books to study, other concerns about his future position – and no one ever seemed worth sharing himself with fully. At least, not the first time. What can he say? He has standards.

It’s neither here nor there, to be honest, because he’s deep in his notes from a recent lecture when a friend puts a hand on his shoulder and draws his attention away. He grumbles, annoyed at being yanked out of his zone.

“What, arthehole?” he says from between his teeth because he doesn’t want to drop the pair of gold-rimmed glasses that dangle from his mouth by one temple. He never did quite outgrow his oral fixation.

His friend tilts their chin toward the large double doors that offer entry to their university’s library, which is where they’re currently holed up. “Look sharp,” the friend says. “The mock trial team from Neverwinter just walked in.”

Astarion sits up and shifts his gaze to the group of unfamiliar students following behind an enthusiastic prefect who seems to be giving them the full tour of the Grand College of Baldur's Gate. They certainly look like standard Neverwinter fare – wizard-chic robes, scrutinizing stares, Northern city attitude. He leans his cheek on his hand, lazily sizing up the competition.

There’s one that stands out and he quirks his mouth up as he observes. This student is smiling brightly, slowly spinning in place to take in the shelves around them with wonder. Their clothing is simpler than the others, more street-friendly than cosmopolitan.

“Huh,” he says to himself.

“I think we can take them no problem,” his friend says. “But what do you say about running a bit of an insurance policy? Some friendly distraction, if you will.”

Astarion glances their way. “I’m listening.”

The friend points to someone toward the front of the line. “I’ll take that one. You know I’m a sucker for tieflings with blue… everything.”

He laughs. “Have at. I think…” He folds his glasses and slips them into his pocket, training his eyes on the student who stuck out to him before. “... I’ll deal with that one.”

“Good man,” says the friend, holding up a hand for him to clasp.

***

Some time later, Astarion leans casually against a support beam in the university’s canteen with his supper in hand, waiting. It isn’t long until the Neverwinter students begin to filter in and he quickly spies his target.

They’re taking in the room and the people around them, eyes soft and gentle as a cow’s. Elven, like him, he thinks. They look over their shoulder and happen to catch his eye for a scant moment. He tilts his head and they give a polite smile before stepping forward in the queue.

Astarion examines his nails closely during the several minutes it takes the group to retrieve their food and find seats. As the elf walks along the line of chairs, he makes his move.

Before they even notice his approach, he steps just in front of them and then startles as they knock into him.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” they say, mercifully righting their tray before anything spills. “I didn’t see you.”

“No, no,” Astarion says, smiling bashfully. “My fault entirely. I didn’t look to see where I was going. I’m terrible that way. Please, join me?”

He pulls out the nearest chair and gestures for them to sit. They blink at him, wide-eyed, then lean around to look for their friends, then back at him in slight confusion.

“Ah, sorry, that’s presumptuous, I shouldn’t-”

“No, it’s fine,” they say, their face brightening with another grin. “We’re supposed to be here to meet other students, anyway, so. Yeah. Yes, I’d be happy to join you.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion says, pushing the chair in under them as they take his offered seat. Behind their back, he casts a look over at his friend across the way. They waggle their eyebrows at him and go back to chatting up their blue tiefling. Astarion smirks.

He schools his features back to neutral as he takes his own seat, giving the Neverwinter student a tight smile, playing the part of the nervy introvert superbly. Right on cue, his glasses slip down his nose a bit and he adjusts them back into place.

“Do you actually need those?” his guest says, their cheek already full of food.

Astarion’s smile drops for a second before he snatches it back and gives a laugh. “What?”

They chew and swallow their bite before pointing at his face. “The spectacles. I was just wondering if they were for show or…” They pause and their eyes go even wider than usual. “I apologize, that’s really rude of me, forget I said anything.”

His surprised laugh is genuine this time. “You know what? I don’t actually need them.” To illustrate his point, he removes them, folds them, and puts them in his jacket pocket. He leans in like he’s about to tell them a secret and quietly says, “Honestly, I just think they make me look smart.”

Immediately, they burst out laughing and he joins them. The conversation flows smoothly, after that.

“What are you doing all the way down at the Gate?” Astarion asks, placing a forkful of his own food in his mouth to chew as they answer. He now knows their name, their year, that they adore snow foxes, and that they are indeed visiting from Neverwinter.

They pick off a piece of their roll, then another. “I’m here with the mock trial group. You know that one? We playact cases like you’d find in the courts. We’re here for a competition with the Gate’s team.”

“Really?” Astarion says, the picture of innocence as he leans in closer, fascinated. “Like theater? I didn’t even know we had one of those.”

“Oh, yes, it’s a lot of fun.” They’re animatedly waving their forgotten roll around as they speak. It’s cute. “We each take the side of either the prosecution or the defense and we sort of, you know, duke it out.”

Astarion giggles. “Maybe I should come watch this thing. Which side are you on?”

“Defense,” they say with a wink. “And we’ve got a killer case.”

“Is that so?” Astarion’s grin spreads wide over his face. “I’d love to hear more.”

***

It had been quite the productive evening. His companion spilled the details of nearly everything that mattered, from their witness list to the evidence they hoped to sneak in last-minute with a legal loophole. Astarion flirted up a storm, keeping them talking. And talk they did, punctuated with laughter and light touches and a general aura of friendship .

Astarion grimaces as he organizes his notes for the trial. It should begin in an hour and he’s been hiding out in the nearby lecture hall that serves as the makeshift judge’s chambers. If he’s really, truly honest with himself… he feels awful. His opponent had been sweet, friendly, and genuinely enjoyable to be around, if a little… south of brilliant. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize he actually kind of liked them. Would maybe consider flirting with them for real, even.

If only they hadn’t been so naively trusting . That was their own fault, wasn’t it?

He swallows the sour taste in his mouth.

Around then, his friend swaggers into the room with a blooming bruise on their neck and a sleepy smile. They flop down in the seat beside him.

“Good night?” Astarion asks, cocking an eyebrow at them.

“Blue everywhere,” they say as if they’re doped up. “Everywhere, Ancunín.”

Astarion chuckles and shakes his head. “But did you learn anything useful?”

His friend doesn’t answer and Astarion clears his throat to prompt them. They focus back in on him and say, “Erm, we were supposed to be learning something? I proposed running distraction.”

“Oh for the gods’ sake.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “No matter. I got all the details from my date, anyway.” He taps his notes against the desk to straighten them and slips them into his satchel.

“You mean their team captain?” his friend says.

Astarion freezes with his hand on the latch of his satchel. Turns his head slowly to gawk at his teammate. “Their. What?”

The friend shrugs. “Guess I did learn one thing, after all. My companion said you were sitting with their team captain. Thought it was a pretty bold choice.” They wink at him. “Good for you.”

“Shit,” Astarion whispers.

His friend frowns, but before they can ask, he’s up and pulling open the door that leads to their mock chambers. The Neverwinter team is already well underway on their setup. He storms down the center aisle and sure enough, there’s his dining companion, looking polished to a fine shine with their hair properly styled and robes of deep blue setting off their elven complexion.

They turn just in time to catch him glaring at them with his jaw clenched.

“Glad you could make it,” they say with a much slyer smile than they wore last night.

Astarion has never been so simultaneously angry and infuriatingly attracted to someone in his life.

***

The first trial of their three-day competition is, naturally, a complete bust for Team Baldur’s Gate. Astarion is completely off his game and operating off of a strategy that proves totally useless. The Neverwinter team absolutely trounces them.

He got played. He got played and he’s furious about it.

Worse, he’s impressed by it. Gross.

Afterward, they come up to him to offer a genuine, friendly handshake. Astarion reluctantly accepts it.

“I’d apologize,” they say. “But honestly, I let you take the lead completely. You didn’t have to listen to a single word out of my mouth.”

Astarion sniffs. “Yes, well. Congratulations. You won.” He leans into their space ever so slightly. “This time.”

They laugh and it sounds almost the same as it did the night before. “Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

“You don’t have to rub it- wait, what?” Astarion says.

They shrug. “Secret’s out now, I guess, so I don’t see any reason for us to pretend that we didn’t enjoy one another’s company.” When Astarion doesn’t immediately respond, they put a hand on their hip and smirk at him. “At least, I enjoyed yours.”

“Well, I…” Astarion huffs and looks askance, then back at them. “I don’t even know which parts of you are real , so. I can’t say.”

The elf reaches out a finger and taps him right on the center of his chest. “You’re the one who saw someone from one of the top universities in the realm and assumed I must be some foolish bumpkin who’ll spill their guts to the first pretty face that comes along because I smile too much. I’m the one who should be concerned, I think.”

“Ugh, okay, fair,” he says, tossing his head. Then he smirks back. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Come on,” they say with a laugh and a tilt of their head toward the exit. “Let’s get that drink.”

***

Hours later, Astarion stands in front of the tiny vanity in his dorm, turning his face to examine his reflection. His cheeks are flushed from a second and then a third drink, his curls looking a bit flat at the end of the day. He pulls back his lips to examine his teeth, making sure the wine didn’t stain them. Fine. He looks fine.

He huffs at his reflection. Normally, his confidence in his appearance is, one might say, inflated . Tonight, he’s feeling unusually self-conscious about it. He pokes at the moles under his eye and grimaces.

It had been a marvelous time. True to their word, his fellow captain had bought him the first cup of cheap wine. He’d pitched in for their second round, and they’d each decided on a third. After agreeing that tonight would involve absolutely no discussion of the next day’s case, they simply let the conversation take them where it would, and took them it did.

It was… easy. Instinctive. He told them all about leaving his terribly boring hometown behind for the call of Baldur’s Gate, determined to polish himself to a high shine and enjoy everything the city life had to offer. They told him that Neverwinter was a beautiful, sparkling metropolis, but woefully lacking in people who weren’t head-and-shoulders up their own arse.

Astarion fidgets with the wooden comb and brush laid out on his vanity, smiling. Wine loosened their tongues a bit more and they’d given into the compulsion to openly flirt with one another, and it had been… good. Very good. It’s been some time since he’s felt genuinely interested in spending an evening with someone this way. If anything, he thanks his dates for the delightful makeout session and goes on his merry way.

He runs his fingers along his bottom lip, remembering being partway into that third cup and snatched up with the overwhelming desire to kiss them. The air around them felt heated and heady, their laughs going lower in pitch as the night wore on, their eyes half-lidded when they looked at him.

He’d wanted to. He’d wanted to so badly. More than he could ever remember wanting to kiss anyone. And he’d let his nerves get the better of him.

They’d bid their goodnights, he’d come back here, and now he was flopping down onto his too-hard single bed with a huff, covering his face with his hands. He sighs and drags them over his skin, looking at his wall covered in parchment, his reminders and notes to himself everywhere, a few tickets to events he wanted to remember pinned here and there.

He reaches out and taps the flyer advertising the mock trial competition, feeling a slow grin spread over his face. They’d bested him today, but tomorrow… tomorrow’s another story.

***

The look on their face when Astarion delivers his final arguments to the judges is delicious. He’s back in the game, fully and completely, using every bit of performative flair to make sure all eyes stay on him. When he wraps it up, he pays them a smug glance and they’re looking at him with lips slightly parted.

Better yet, they’re blushing .

He positively beams.

Baldur’s Gate comes out victorious, leaving the teams one-and-one. Tomorrow will decide the competition.

Tonight, they all go out together to play.

The Neverwinter team is desperately competitive and worth every bit of the name they’ve made for themselves on the university circuit, but they also love to party. The two groups find a rager of a soiree happening at the winter house of one of the Upper City students. There’s dancing, and drinking, and no small number of heated exchanges.

Astarion doesn’t waste the opportunity to rub elbows with anyone notable – he has long-term goals, after all – but most of his attention is devoted to spending as much time as possible with his new Neverwinter friend.

They share a dance or two on the trellised patio, purple and white wisteria hanging down all around them and perfuming the air. Nothing salacious… at least, not at first. That second dance ends up a bit close, with their hand on his chest and his just the tiniest bit too low on their hip for propriety.

In the twilight, they look into his face, their own expression open and affectionate, and it hits Astarion again – that overwhelming desire to kiss them. His heartbeat quickens, fluttering his pulse up along the side of his neck, and his breath catches. Heat swirls through him from the place their hand sits on his chest.

This is ridiculous. He’s never had a problem kissing anyone else before.

He’s never wanted to kiss anyone like this before, though. This thing between them… it’s chemical. Magical.

The music drifts away and they drift apart.

He does not kiss them.

***

Day three of the competition dawns and it’s the fiercest one yet. Every member of each team is out to win and they bring their very best to the table. The professors and other staff acting as the competition's judges watch the back and forth with raised eyebrows, thoroughly impressed by their students’ passion.

And no passion is so intense as the passion between the two team captains, who pace around one another like a pair of territorial wolves, seeking any weakness at all. They stand on either side of a long table, making their cases back and forth. Occasionally they address the judge, but clearly this is a battle between the two of them.

“The evidence is crystal clear,” the Neverwinter captain states, eyes narrowed. “This man is corrupt, feeding information to the highest bidder with complete disregard for any life ruined in the process. It is unconscionable, and the court must see justice through.”

Astarion slams his hands down on the table for effect and leans closer, eyes on them. “The evidence reveals he feared for his life, for the lives of his family. He performed these misdeeds under duress. The true culprit is not in this courtroom. And that…” He pauses for effect, letting the tension stretch. “... is why I move for a mistrial.”

There’s a bark of laughter behind him from his teammate and the room goes nearly to shambles under the sudden upswing in feverish whispering. Astarion grins.

Astarion stands his ground.

Astarion wins his requested mistrial .

In the end, the final judging declares Baldur’s Gate the winner of the day, but Neverwinter the overall mock trial champions – decided by a single point.

The entire mock chambers breathes a collective sigh of relief for the end of a battle well fought and new friends made. Astarion’s teammates are swarming him, slapping his back and praising his performance. He’s grinning ear to ear and looks up just in time to see the Neverwinter captain come barrelling through the crowd to catch him in a hug. He gasps and instinctively wraps his arms around them in return.

After a solid squeeze, they stand back and put their hands on his shoulders. They’re flushed with the fight, with the win. Their eyes shine a bit in the light.

“Well done,” they say, beaming. “You were incredible.”

Astarion gulps and manages to pull on a smile. “Congratulations on your win.”

“You’ll be at the party tonight?” they ask, looking between his eyes.

“Of course,” Astarion says. “I'll see you later.”

***

And he doesn’t miss it.

Astarion stands in the mock chambers again some time later, the air far less tense and much more celebratory. The teams and their judges and staff mingle amid the catered trays of sandwiches and pitchers of cheap wine. He looks around with two cups in hand, seeking out his new friend. Friend. Friend?

When he spots them, he simply can’t stop the smile pulling at his mouth. He wants so badly to be cool tonight and they make it so hard.

He takes a breath and approaches them. They turn from the person they’re currently chatting with and light up when they spot him. Their companion looks at Astarion and takes their leave with raised eyebrows, clearly aware that their conversation is now over.

Astarion clears his throat and offers a cup. They accept it.

“It’s really very bad,” Astarion says with a scoff. “But it’s something.” He takes a sip.

They continue to smile coyly at him as they bring their own cup to their mouth.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Astarion says, looking into his cup so he doesn’t have to see their face.

There’s a pause, and then softly, they say, “Yes. Late morning. We’re hoping to make it back to Neverwinter before the snows start on the road.”

Astarion takes another drink of his wine and sets it down before he looks back at them. “That’s unfortunate,” he says with a soft, sad laugh. “Because I’ve rather liked the time we’ve spent together.” He pauses and swallows. “I’ve rather liked you .”

They tilt their head, wine held aloft in one hand, and let their smile widen.

When they don’t respond, Astarion says, “That is, you’re very clever to be around. Fun. Fun to be around? I like to be around you because you’re just…” He looks around desperately like he’s going to find help for this. “... incredible.”

They turn and set their cup down on a nearby bench.

Astarion rambles on, “I only thought maybe you might be, I don’t know, interested in letting me show you what else I’m capable of.” High-pitched laugh. “Outside the courtroom.” Clears his throat and blinks rapidly. “If you want.”

With a giggle, they grab him by the lapels and pull him in, pressing their mouth fully to his in a kiss that makes him immediately swoon, his legs going a touch weak as he leans against them for support. The chatter around them goes muffled in his mind as they both adjust for a better fit and he feels his ears flush pink to the very tips.

When the kiss breaks, Astarion can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his fingertips, in his lips, in his… oh, that’s going to be an issue very soon.

They catch his eye and say, “You want to get out of here?”

He’s never nodded his head “yes” so quickly in his life.

***

They don’t make it anywhere close to the dorms.

Now that the seal’s been broken, Astarion simply can’t keep his hands off of them. They escape into the hall together and run a few steps down the way when he crashes into them, wrapping his arms around them from behind until he gets them to turn so he can kiss them again, both hands on either side of their head as they stumble.

They run a ways, kiss a ways, run a ways, and so on until Astarion yanks them down a side hallway behind the library, looking from door to door. When he finds one he likes, he gives their hand a tug and they use the momentum to slam against him until his back hits the door. The pair of them laugh deliriously as they kiss again, tongues testing and discovering, but then they break from his mouth to kiss toward his ear.

The moment they suck on the lobe, his cock goes fully and painfully hard, hips bucking out as he whines into the air beside them.

“No, no, not there,” he says in a breathy whisper. “Not unless you want to call it a very early evening.”

They bury their face in the side of his neck, giggling, and he scrambles his hand around behind him until he finds the doorknob and they both go tumbling inside.

Astarion collapses onto the floor with his companion on top and doesn’t even think before he kicks the door shut with one foot and reaches up to bring their face back to his for another kiss. This time, he uses a thumb to stroke along the length of their own elven ear and then groan into his mouth, grinding down hard against him.

Oh gods, this is happening.

He wants this to happen.

On impulse, he reaches down their bodies until his hand's between his companion’s legs, gently cupping them there, and they sit upright, head thrown back in the very low magical lantern light of this filing room, and rock themselves against it. He does his best to give them the friction they’re seeking.

A minute or so later, they tilt their head forward and meet his eyes, their eyes stormy and lustful. They take his hands and pull them both back to standing, backing him up until he slams up against the side of the nearest filing shelf. Fingers fumble with the buttons of his doublet and he tries to help, getting them undone enough that they can reach their hands inside and scrape their nails over his ribs through his undershirt. Astarion’s chest arches forward, goosebumps prickling over his skin as he makes contented noises through their kiss.

Then they kiss down his neck, giving him a little nip near the collarbone that makes him squeak, which he attempts to cover with a purr. They keep going until they kneel on the floor and work at the lacings of his trousers. His tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, and he’s about to say that they don’t have to do-

But then their mouth is on his freed cock and he throws his head back, swooning into the overwhelming sensation of wet heat surrounding him. He’s done this before, and it was fine, but it wasn’t like this . Maybe it’s because he’s so attracted to them? Maybe it’s because they’re doing… that thing… with their tongue…

He whines and pulls in a deep breath, trying to keep his wits about him, because he highly suspects that one-sided head is not how they want the night to end. Before he reaches a dangerous place, he puts his hand on their head and gently slows them. They pull off of him and look up with a smile, their eyes the exact mix of mischief and sexiness that caught him in the first place.

No one’s ever made him feel like this. Not once.

This one, though. They’ve wound their way around the very core of him.

Astarion gulps and says, quiet and shy, “I haven’t done this before.”

Their eyes go a little wider. “Really?” they say, sincere. “You?”

He laughs. “I mean, I’ve done what we just did, but I haven’t… done what I think we’re about to do.”

They give his cock one more long lick that makes him sway a bit before they stand back up and kiss him. He melts into it. He likes them so very, very much. It hurts that they’re leaving, but this is right. He knows it is. These past few days and nights feeling them take root in him… they’ve all been leading to this.

“Well, then, I’m honored,” they say, and they sound like they mean it. “If we’re about to do what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, yes, please,” he says, kissing them again.

They each separate and disrobe, their clothing building a haphazard pile between them. Soon enough, they swipe the old files off the nearest table and his playmate faces it, bidding him closer with a smile over their shoulder, almost exactly the same as the first one they ever paid him in the canteen only a few nights ago.

Astarion takes his cock in his hand, still spit-slick, and puts his other hand on their hip. They lean over the tabletop, palms flat on the surface, and spread their legs for him. His breath stutters, his legs go weak beneath him. He can’t quite believe he’s here.

Beneath him, they shift their weight so they can put their hand over his. He’s shaking, just a little.

“We can stop if you want to,” they say, their words reedy with need but sincere beneath it.

“No,” Astarion says. Licks his lower lip. “I want to do this with you.”

They give a light laugh. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He nods, then realizes they can’t see him. “Okay. Okay.”

His fingers move from their hip to the middle of their back and he draws the pads of his fingers down over their spine. They shiver under the touch and Astarion swallows hard. His fingers trace all the way to where their arse begins to curve. He shudders in a breath and brings two fingers to his mouth to suck, then reaches between their legs to touch them there, apply pressure, rub small circles.

They arch and hum beneath his ministrations.

Astarion holds his breath and pushes his fingers inside them, losing his footing just a bit as he feels their heat, the pulse of them around his fingers. When he has his wits back, he moves his fingers in and out, pumping slow, listening to their breath beneath him for cues on what he might be doing right or wrong. He turns his fingers a bit, mapping their body, and they give a shuddering sigh.

Their insides grow warmer to the touch. Are they supposed to do that?

“More,” they huff. “You can do more now.”

“Right,” Astarion says, withdrawing his fingers and moving in closer, his arousal pulsing with anticipation. It feels like crossing into a new world, going somewhere that will well and truly mark him an adult. And he’s ready.

His cock rests at their entrance and with one more breath he guides himself inside with his hand. There’s a brief resistance, a pleasant pressure against the head of him, and then he’s half inside. His hips instinctively give a second thrust and then he’s fully sheathed.

He gasps and curls forward into their body just as they arch into his. Astarion’s arm wraps around their waist and he holds them tight.

“Okay?” they gasp again, their legs quivering.

“You feel…” he pants, pressing his forehead to the space between their shoulder blades. “Gods, you feel so good.”

They laugh and reach a hand behind them to tangle in the hair at the side of his head. “You too. You feel good, too.”

Astarion huffs out his breath and tries to place a sloppy kiss to their back, but it’s so hard when this feeling is coursing through him and his thoughts are going haywire because everything is different, now. He’s different, now.

He draws his hips back and rolls them forward again.

They sigh with it, signaling their approval.

So he does it again. And again. And again.

Together they build a rhythm. Every once in a while, they help Astarion angle himself this way or that, teaching him how to make a partner feel, make them shudder, make them moan. He finds a spot near the front of them that makes them squirm and he files that knowledge away. They take his hand and guide him round to their front and show him what to do, how they like to be touched.

He’s a fast learner. Always has been.

Astarion pants as he attempts to commit every second of this experience to memory: being buried deep inside, feeling the shudder and movement of his partner, the way they flush and bloom, the unbearably sexy sounds that float from their throat to his ears. Most of all, he wants to remember how this feels , how much he enjoys the person he’s sharing this with. His heart thuds in his chest, his ears flush with arousal and affection, and he is so happy to be exactly here, in this moment.

The pair of them grow slick with sweat against one another in the unventilated room, their cries stifled and sultry. The minds are willing, but the bodies are young and eager. The passion building between them swells, shivering, laser-focused on the place where they meet.

Their rhythm goes chaotic and Astarion only barely holds on long enough for his partner to fall over the edge before he goes tumbling after.

For a scant moment, the world goes paler than he’s ever seen it.

Then they’re both whimpering through the other side of their peak, movements gradually slowing to stillness.

After they’ve had an awkward disentanglement and a more awkward cleanup, they look into one another’s faces, and then they’re kissing again, touching again, losing themselves again. What youth lacks in experience, it makes up in vigor.

They do it once more, face to face this time. Slower, longer. Astarion learns what it’s like to soul kiss someone while making love to them. He likes it. Very much.

Some time later, Astarion leans against the table and stares down at his doublet while he does up the buttons. Beneath his lashes, he peeks up and sees them looking at him, their mouth titled up in a sweet smile. They’re already fully dressed.

“What?” Astarion says airily. His cheeks are warm and he’s positive he’s rosy pink with a blush.

“You are so pretty,” they say. “And funny, and clever. You’ve been lovely company.”

Astarion raises his eyebrows and looks askance, unable to stop grinning. “Yes, well. You’re delightful, as well, and you certainly gave me a night to remember. Thanks, for that.”

It goes unspoken between them, the knowledge that this is the last and only night. They’re young, they’re dedicated to their studies. There won’t be time for lovesick letters and pining, nice as it might be. No. Best that they keep this memory contained in crystal, sparkling.

His opponent, his friend, his lover walks closer and puts a finger under his chin and Astarion allows them to tilt his face so he’s looking at them. Then they lean in and give him a tender kiss.

When they break away, they stay close and look him in the eye. “What you gave me was a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

Astarion smiles. “Nor I.”

With one last kiss, they say their goodbyes. “Goodnight, Astarion,” they say. “I do hope we meet again, one of these days.”

“Me too,” he says, watching their retreat. “Goodnight, Tav.”

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gender neutral reader

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aglionbyacademia · 3 months ago

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Okay fuck it all, here are some reasons to love the shit out of Gansey:

• the way he cares about his friends, like he just loves them so incredibly much and always feels like he doesn’t deserve them and he sees all that potential in them and just wants them all to be save and happy and healthy

• every time he calls one of his friends “marvelous creature”

• the yearning. The yearning for Glendower. The yearning for knowledge. The yearning for every single one of his friends. The yearning for blue

• the way he doesn’t do favorites. He loves all his friends so obviously equally and even when blue joins the group and he falls in love with her he’s still not choosing her over the guys or the guys over her

• the way he makes mistakes all the time and does his fucking best to learn from them and improve

• the way he does things just for the aesthetic. His journal? The Camaro? Monmouth manufacturing? The books laying around at Monmouth? His bed in the middle of the fucking room? None of it is really practical and there are way more modern and sensible alternatives he could use but NO bitch boy has got to be extra and live his 80 year old grandpa life for the a e s t h e t i c of it all

• his intelligence. I know we talk about how smart Adam is a lot (which duh! He is.) but guys!!! Gansey is so fucking smart. He’s close behind Adam in most classes and that all the while searching for Glendower and as opposed to Adam he doesn’t need to be good. (Also he never seems to study much in the books. It’s mentioned that Adam studies a lot. It’s mentioned that Ronan studies once. It’s never mentioned that Gansey studies. I mean sure, we can assume he does study a bit but by all means not even close as much as Adam and he’s still right behind Adam in most classes!!). But also, let alone all the research and shit he did for Glendower? All the random unnecessary facts he has floating around his brain?

• so he comes from a rich white family of Republicans. Red flag, right? But no, not with Gansey. You might thing a character with that background would probably be controversial and idk man racist and homophobic and what not. But not Gansey

• he literally couldn’t give any fucks about Ronan being gay. When he finds out about Ronan and Adam all he says is that Adam better not play with Ronan’s feelings because he’s vulnerable. Also, it’s to assume Gansey already knew about Ronan’s sexuality and he never made a big deal out of it (because it is no big deal).

• Also, when Ronan made slightly racist remarks about Henry, Gansey called him out on it (and that happened like twice at least)

• number one Adam Parrish stan

• number one Ronan Lynch stan

• number one Henry Cheng stan

• number one Blue Sargent stan

• number two Noah Czerny stan (sorry but I think blue and Ronan are fighting for first place so Gansey got pushed to second because he wouldn’t want to get into that war)

• the peacemaker!!! Literally such a pure boy who hates fights so much and all he ever tries is to solve them and get going

• all he ever tries is to help and support his friends and give them all the love and best life they deserve even if he’s pretty shit at it at times (i. e. whenever he tried to help Adam with money. We know you mean well Gansey but that’s not the way to go with Adam you should know that by now)

(• the way rarely sees fault in his friends. Ronan literally once thought about how Gansey always acts like Adam is such a saint while he’s really not (Ronan’s words, not mine) and literally Gansey would excuse any bullshit Ronan does in a heartbeat without even thinking about it twice)

• how he’s always worried about his friends. When he still thought Ronan tried to kill himself how he always worried about it happening again and he keeps blaming himself for not being able to help or Adam getting hit by his father and Gansey not being able to help him out of there

• all. he. wants. is. for. his. friends. to. be. happy

• his need to always please everyone no matter what

• “Gansey was just a guy with a lot of stuff and a hole inside him that chewed away more of his heart every year. They were always walking away from him. But he never seemed able to walk away from them.”

• the amount of times he thinks of Ronan and Adam as his brothers. The unconditional love he has for them

• it might not be evident at all times because Gansey is a clumsy mess around women (Blue) BUT he did drink his respect women juice. Sometimes he just says dumb shit he doesn’t mean and learns from it

(• all the emotions and thoughts he keeps on hiding and shoving down because he doesn’t want to burden his friends with his problems?? Like, baby this is not the way to go you gotta let it out but also super sweet you don’t want to put it on your friends (which you should tho because that’s kinda what they’re there for and you’re also always so eager to hear about their problems and help them with it). He already knows he’ll die soon but he tells no one because he knows they will try to help prevent it and that they’ll get hurt because of it so he never tells them.)

(• His panic attacks. His ptsd. His insomnia. He’s trying so hard to be the positive and supportive and helpful dad of the group while he himself has major problems but he always feels like his friends are more important than that.)

• “With force, Gansey kicked off his shoes. One flew over his miniature Henrietta and the other made it all the way to the side of his desk. It slammed off the old wood and slid to the ground. Under his breath, Gansey said, "Yee haw.”

• the poetry of his thoughts and speech. Like,,,, dream me the world,,,, safe as life,,,,, excelsior,,, that’s all there is

• his almost kisses with blue and just the way he always describes and thinks of her and he’s just so. in. love

• “And everywhere, everywhere there were books. Not the tidy stacks of an intellectual trying to impress, but the slumping piles of a scholar obsessed.”

• the way him and Declan just,,, raised Ronan??? And Gansey was the parent that made Ronan feel very loved and accepted while Declan was the strict parent who just wanted to protect without giving much freedom

• wanting to use the favor to bring Noah back to life??? Like??? He could use it for anything in the world but no if he gets it he wants to use it to bring Noah back because he just loves his friends so. much.

• he died to save his friends even though he was so so terrified about dying. I mean he did it once and never wanted back. He thought about not wanting to die so so so many times. So many conversations with his friends about just how scared he is to die and how easy it would be for him to die with his allergy and all and then he just puts his life on the line for them in the flicker of a heartbeat

#freeing my drafts #I wrote this five years ago #and I still agree with it all #trc #the raven cycle #Gansey

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queereads-bracket · 4 months ago

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Queer Fiction Free-for-All Book Bracket Tournament: Preliminary Round

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

Dionysus in Wisconsin by E.H. Lupton (Wisconsin Gothic #1)

Endorsement from submitter: "Gay urban fantasy in Madison, WI"

A graduate student and an archivist work together to fight a god.

Fall, 1969. Ulysses Lenkov should be working on his dissertation. Instead, he's developing an unlucrative sideline in helping ghosts and hapless magic users. But when his clients start leaving town suddenly—or turning up dead—he starts to worry there's something afoot that’s worse than an unavenged death or incipient insanity. His investigation begins with the last word on everyone's lips before they vanish: the mysterious Dionysus.

Sam Sterling is an archivist who recently moved back to Madison to be closer to the family he's not too sure he likes. But his peaceful days of teaching library students, creating finding aids, and community theater come to an end when the magnetic, mistrustful Ulysses turns up with a warning. There's a god coming, and it looks like it's coming for Sam.

Soon the two are helping each other through demon attacks, discovering the unsavory history of Sam's family, and falling in love as they race to find a solution. But as the year draws to a close, they'll face a deadly showdown as they try to save Sam—and the city itself.

Fantasy, urban fantasy, mythology, romance, academia, historical fiction, alternate history, 1960s, adult

Leagues and Legends series (Beanstalk: The Adventures of a Jack of All Tales, Echoes of a Giantkiller, Remember the Dust) by E. Jade Lomax

Jack Farris doesn’t want to save the world, just every person he knows, encounters, or hears of.

It’s a bit of an issue.

S. Grey doesn’t want to save anyone but himself. He wants to know everything and majoring in sagework at the Academy is the best way to do that.

Laney Jones left her home to avoid the constraints there, only to find different barriers holding her back at the Academy. Eager to learn, to excel, to escape, she has far from given up.

Rupert Willington Jons Hammerfeld the Seventh would just like everything to be orderly, thank you very much, but it seems the only way to make monsters and myths (and malicious but mundane men) to stop rampaging through his world is to go out and do some hero-ing himself.

They are put together as an unwilling study group, but they become something more.

Fantasy, epic fantasy, adventure, secondary world, series, young adult

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obsidian-pages777 · 9 months ago

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Academia [829] in your Astrology Chart

The house and sign placements indicate where academic pursuits and intellectual endeavors are expressed in life.It shows how you will show up in your educational journey and where you would reap the fruits of intellectual pursuits.

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Academia in the Houses

1st House: Self-expression through intellectual pursuits. Strong academic identity.

2nd House: Value placed on education and knowledge. Potential for financial gain through academia.

3rd House: Strong communication and writing skills applied to academics. Interest in local education or short-term studies.

4th House: Home environment supports intellectual growth. Interest in educational foundations and history.

5th House: Creativity and self-expression through academic pursuits. Enjoyment of teaching or mentoring.

6th House: Practical application of knowledge. Interest in health, nutrition, or scientific research.

7th House: Partnerships in academia. Collaborative research or teaching.

8th House: Deep intellectual exploration. Interest in psychology, philosophy, or occult studies.

9th House: Higher education, philosophy, and religion. Love of travel and foreign cultures.

10th House: Career in academia or a related field. Public recognition for intellectual achievements.

11th House: Group learning, networking, and social impact through academia. Interest in social sciences.

12th House: Research in hidden or esoteric subjects. Potential for academic isolation or challenges.

Academia in the Signs

The sign reveals the quality of the mind and how it approaches learning. It further shows what your archetype is in the arena of academia and learning.

Aries: Enthusiastic and competitive learner. Quick-witted and independent.

Taurus: Practical and grounded approach to learning. Patience and determination.

Gemini: Versatile and curious mind. Excellent communication and writing skills.

Cancer: Emotional connection to learning. Strong memory and nurturing approach to teaching.

Leo: Creative and confident learner. Enjoys the spotlight in academic settings.

Virgo: Analytical and detail-oriented. Strong research and organizational skills.

Libra: Diplomatic and social learner. Interest in law, philosophy, or ethics.

Scorpio: Intense and investigative mind. Interest in psychology, research, or occult studies.

Sagittarius: Adventurous and philosophical learner. Love of travel and foreign cultures.

Capricorn: Ambitious and disciplined learner. Strong focus on career goals.

Aquarius: Innovative and independent thinker. Interest in technology and social change.

Pisces: Intuitive and imaginative learner. Interest in arts, humanities, or spirituality.

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#astrology #asteroid astrology #astrology readings #greek gods #asteroid in love #astrology observations #asteroid #academia asteroid #academia 829 #astro notes #asteroid notes

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thewritetofreespeech · 1 year ago

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Gale x Tav

words: 1992

rating: E

pairing: Gale x Tav (post game pairing)

summary: since you all are so thirsty for an extended verison of the NSFW headcanons post, I guess I had to make one. I am nothing if not a servant to my people.

tags: magic sex (literally. but also metaphorically), exhibitionism, voyeurism, masturbation (kind of), Gale using magic for naughty reasons, projection!Gale

part ii part iii

“Alright class! Please turn your alchemy text to Chapter 8, page 394.”

There was a loud, unanimous sound of rustling paper as all the students in the lecture hall flipped through their books to the requested text. You don’t know what Gale was always complaining about. This teaching thing wasn’t that hard.

Gale had to leave for a community conference of the Blackwater staff and some of the other schools of magical arts in Faerûn. Given that they were all wizards, you had asked why they all couldn’t just project their consciousness into one place and avoid the travel, but Gale didn’t have an answer for that and left earlier that week. In his absence, he had asked you to take over his Introductory to Magics class while he was gone. Given that it was an introductory course, which mostly meant learning the basics and text anyway, and you’d had ‘private tutoring’ from Mystra’s former Chosen himself, he insisted you were more than qualified to act in his stead.

It had actually been pretty fun. The young weave masters were all eager to learn. Honestly the hardest thing was keeping them on task with the subjects instead of running off with a lot of questions about your victory over the Elder Brain and recuse of the realm. It was flattering, but not apart of the testing materials.

The students all wait patiently with their books open for you to begin, and you turn around to the blackboard. All of a sudden you felt a twinge between your legs. Not a painful one but more….

“Professor [Y/N], are you alright?”

You turn to look over your shoulder at the class, clearly spaced out for a moment, before you smile and tell them, “oh yes. Sorry. Let’s talk about alchemy then.”

You begin to write and talk to the class when you feel the sensation again. It was faint, but distinct. At first you thought it was just the seam of your trousers rubbing against your apex. But it was too consistent for that. The sensation would come. Then the sensation would go. You tried to keep your mind on the lesson but the more it came & went you had to wonder what was going on.

It couldn’t be Haarlep. Despite your adventure being over, your contract with the sex demon wasn’t. He still used your form from time to time, though your popularity in Avernous seemed to be waning as he hadn’t called on it in some time. If it were him the sensation would be constant, before fading away like a breathless sigh off your lips. So it was something else.

By the time you get through explaining the 4 key groups of alchemy, and made it to page 396, the sensation had crawled up from your core and just to the pit of your belly. You were having a harder time focusing on the lesson. Your attention now spilt between 50% focused on what was happening to your body, a mere 10% on the lecture, and the rest on the stimulating sensation between your legs that was just too pleasurable to resist.

To save face, and avoid any embarrassment like moaning out loud in front of a class full of minors, you quickly pivot the class schedule into independent study. Telling the students to go out around campus and find 5, no 15 herbs, floral, whatever to craft with for tomorrow morning’s follow up lecture on application.

Some of the students seem confused. While other just look excited to have the afternoon off for ‘foraging’. Still, the all leave rate orderly while you wave them off, and just as the door closed behind the last one you let out a deep breath you didn’t really you were holding and brace your hands against the desk.

Your body felt like it was on fire. Teased, tormented, toyed with. Your hands still splayed on the desk, you spread your legs and let out a moan. Conventionally thinking would lead on to believe that rubbing your thighs together would make the sensation stronger, yet somehow spreading them apart made more room for…whatever this was to work. Your clit throbbed at the feeling of something rubbing against it. If they weren’t in front of you, you would have sworn it was your own hand touching you. The sensation was so similar. Your fingertips twitch at the thought. Prepared to slide down the front of your pants to finish you off.

“Hello there!”

You jump with a start. Eyes wide in alarm at the sound of a voice. The immediate thought coming to mind that another professor has come to ask why the entire Introductory to Magics class is out picking herbs & flowers instead of being in a classroom and caught you on the cusp of a very public private moment. Thankfully, it wasn’t. Only Gale’s Mirror Image projection standing there looking cheerfully at you. “Gale? What are you doing here?”

“I assume you mean what is Gale doing sending me here.” The clever non-corporeal remarked. “Gale has sent me here to see how his new technique is working out. And, judging by your flushed cheeks and wanton appearance, I would say it’s going splendidly!”

Your brain struggled to gather all the bits of information the projection was dealing out through your fog. But you gather enough to finally understand what’s going on. “Gale did this to me!”

“Doing. He is doing this to you ma’m.” As if to prove a point of the explanation, there was another, firmer press of rubbing against your clit. One that made you moan again and knees nearly buckle. “Gale has informed me, to tell you, that he enchanted one of the stones on his ring to be linked with your…well…your own stone. He also wants me to tell you it’s the ruby one. On the silver band.”

The one you bought him. “Can I ask…mmm…why he did this?”

“You can ask! He says it was to give you pleasure while he was away. Long distance relationship can be tricky.” It had been less than a week. “He thought this would be a good resolution in the intermedium. And, perhaps other times in the future.”

You’re not sure if you should feel violated by Gale’s magical molestations or marvel at his creativity. It didn’t really matter in the end because all you could think about was the nagging need to cum. And one other nagging thing – “and you couldn’t possibly wait until I was home to try out this new technique? I’m in the middle of teaching your class. I’m still at the academy! What if someone comes in here right now??”

“Oh. Not to worry. Gale has informed me that the door is magically locked until 2:30 this afternoon. Something about office hours? No one can enter until after that time. Does that help answer your question?”

You let out another long, heavy sigh. One of abject relief and feeling your legs give way as you fall back into Gale’s chair. All the energy sapped from your body as you gave way to the pleasure that had been bubbly up. No longer holding it back, but instead letting it wash over you.

“Gale says he’s happy you like your present.”

You open your eyes. Seeing the projection staring at you with a blank, but soothing expression. Those unending eyes seeming to look right through you. Or perhaps, more to the point, stare past itself and straight to Gale. It was kind of hot. The coolness of its gaze. “My present, eh?”

The projection nodded. “Yes. He says he did this for you.”

“Just for me?” You unbutton your blouse. It had been feeling terrible constricting for quite some time now anyway. The projection doesn’t say anything. Nor does its expression change more than the slight tilt of it’s head, as the fabric gave way to relieve more skin and the outline of your breast in their bra.

“He says yes. But the pockets of his mind I can access independently lead me to believe it’s not purely altruistic.”

You giggle at the projection’s honesty, before your laughter turned into moans. The feeling on your clit more intense. As if Gale was trying to change the conversation.

“Fuck…Gale….” Your back arched off the back of the chair for a moment before it came back down again. “I can’t take it anymore. Are you as anatomically correct as before?”

“Hmm…I believe so.” The projection looked down at itself. Seeming to ponder the concept, as well as all its parts. “But Gale has instructed me that he’s not interested in me using that ability with you. The time in Shar’s Caress was due to the other guests in attendance. With you, Gale wants you all to himself.”

There was an odd feeling of arousal at Gale’s possessiveness, even against himself in a way, but also disappointment. You were close. But the sensation from Gale’s ring to your core wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Just as you were again about to shove your own hand down your pants, you feel a new sensation of hands on you. Not just one hand, or two, but multiple hands. Mage hands. They play with your breasts, your nipples, your ears, your hair. You lean back in Gale’s chair with your eyes closed. Moaning and panting with a white-knuckle grip on the arm rests as the invisible hands play with your body. One finally gives you what you want. Phantom appendage digits thrusting into your inner core, wet and hot.

Your hips jerk up as you let out a wordless scream before the fall back down and you let it fuck you. Legs wide. Blouse open. Mouth agape as Gale abuses his power to abuse your body in the most pleasurable way possible. You’re about to cum probably harder than you’ve ever cum in your life and your pants were still on. How insane was that?

You open your eyes, half lidded and only for a moment, to see the projection still staring at you as you fall apart. Then, you finally do. You cum hard. Bowing back off the chair so hard you hear it creak, before you fall back limp against the soft leather.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

You look up at the projection again. Trying to catch your breath and right your world again. “Yes.”

“Good. Gale is glad you did. He also says that it’s made up for a rather dull afternoon of meetings.” A shiver ran up your spine at the thought that Gale had done all of this during a meeting. “The time is now 2:00. If you would like to freshen up, I suggest you make haste before 2:30 when the doors reopen. Gale says that enjoys how you look right now, but it is probably not appropriate for academia.”

“Then maybe don’t do this at ‘academia’ locations.” You quip back as you smooth out your hair.

“Fair.” The projection agrees. “Gale would like to know if you would like to do this again then when you are not in academia. Perhaps tonight? At home?”

You bite your lip at the thought of it. Doing this all over again, only this time naked in your bed. Perhaps even able to participate more now that you knew what was going on. “Absolutely.”

“Splendid!” The projection offers you a smile before it fades. Disappearing with a last, “see you tonight” as it reabsorbed back into the weave.

Alone again, you stand on shaky legs and try to right yourself for the next class. You still had two more classes to teach before you could go home that evening and become Gale’s play thing again.

The thought made it completely impossible to be totally focused on your lesson plan. You may have told some impressionable young wizards that Fly and Feather Fall were absolutely the same spell. Oh well. Mistakes happen.

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