#and its not even romantic trust me its not hes just so bewildered

[nyarumitsu]

my favorite butz-wright-edgeworth trio hc ever is that larry and phoenix kissed way way way before miles and phoenix ever got to kiss. phoenix initiated it

[novaursa]

hi!! may i request a rhaenyra x celtigar!male!reader where his father is apart of her black council and he is his family’s heir. after ser steffon’s death of trying to claim seasmoke, she recruits the reader, knowing the celtigars are also of Valyrian descent despite never claiming dragons. lord celtigar is completely against the idea (rightfully so) but is pressured by rhaenyra and ultimately complies. the reader surprising enough does claim seasmoke which bewilders and terrifies rhaenyra of rhe possibility of betrayal. however she’s reminded that reader and her were once good friends when they were young and often joked that they would one day be married. it doesn’t happen but they both reminisce about it bitterly how different they feel about adulthood. honestly this can seen as platonic or romantic either way!! its up to you :D

The Claim of Fire

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Rhaenyra asks of you the impossible. You prove everybody wrong.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The hall is low lit as your father, Lord Celtigar, stands beside you, his hands clasped in a futile attempt to keep his voice steady. Across the table, Rhaenyra Targaryen, your queen, sits with her chin resting lightly on her hand. Her eyes are sharp, assessing—knowing the weight of her request, yet unflinching.

"This is madness, my queen," your father begins, his voice taut with a mixture of outrage and pleading. "The Celtigars have never claimed a dragon, and with good reason. To send my son—our only heir—into such a perilous task after what befell Ser Steffon..."

Rhaenyra’s expression softens, though only slightly. “I do not make this request lightly, Lord Celtigar. But I need men of Valyrian blood to claim the dragons that remain. The war is upon us, and without more riders, we are at a disadvantage.”

You glance at your father, who shakes his head almost imperceptibly, but Rhaenyra’s eyes are fixed on you now. She knows what’s at stake. She knows that while your family has never claimed a dragon, you carry the same ancient blood of Old Valyria as she does. Her gaze holds yours, as if willing you to accept the burden she places upon you.

You take a breath. “Why me?” The question hangs in the air between you. “Why not another of Valyrian blood?”

Rhaenyra hesitates for only a moment, and when she speaks, her voice is quieter, almost… familiar. “Because I trust you, Y/N.” There’s a pause, and her eyes soften, recalling something distant, something shared between you long ago. “We grew up together. Do you remember? We used to jest that one day you would marry me and sit the Iron Throne at my side.”

A faint smile flickers at the corner of her lips, but it’s bitter. You remember it too—the games of childhood, when politics and war were nothing more than stories whispered by older men, and you and Rhaenyra were free to imagine a different world. But now, everything is different. The woman who sits before you is not the girl you once knew. She is a queen, weighed down by betrayal, grief, and ambition.

“Yes,” you murmur, “but that was before.”

Rhaenyra nods, her smile fading. “Much has changed.”

Your father clears his throat, pulling you both back into the present. “My queen, this task… it will kill him.”

But Rhaenyra shakes her head. “It may save us all.”

The room falls silent. Your heart pounds in your chest as you consider the weight of her words. Claiming Seasmoke would be no small feat. Ser Steffon had tried, and his charred remains had been enough to dissuade others. But Rhaenyra’s desperation is palpable. She doesn’t ask for things she doesn’t believe are possible.

And some part of you—the part that longs for something greater, that ancient Valyrian fire stirring within your veins—wants to believe her.

“I will do it,” you say, your voice firm, surprising even yourself. Your father turns to you, his face twisted in anger and fear.

“Y/N—”

But Rhaenyra cuts him off. “Thank you,” she says softly, rising from her seat. “You will not regret this.”

The next morning, you stand before Seasmoke, the great dragon perched on the edge of the cliffs. His pale silver scales glimmer in the early morning light, and his eyes—those burning, intelligent eyes—lock with yours. The air feels thick with heaviness of the moment as the beast watches you approach, his nostrils flaring with each breath.

You can hear the whispers of those gathered behind you, soldiers and lords alike. Most are placing bets, some on whether you will die like Ser Steffon, others on whether a Celtigar has any hope of bonding with a dragon at all.

But Rhaenyra watches in silence, her face unreadable. Does she fear that you will succeed? That claiming Seasmoke will give you a power that could rival her own? Or is she simply afraid of losing an old friend, someone who once meant more to her than most would ever know?

The dragon’s breath rumbles in its throat, and for a moment, fear grips you. But then something shifts within you—an ancient stirring of your bloodline, something primal and fierce. You step forward, your voice steady as you utter the ancient Valyrian words that have bound dragons to men for centuries.

“Dohaeras.”

Seasmoke’s eyes narrow, and for a long moment, nothing happens. You can feel your pulse pounding in your ears, the weight of hundreds of eyes on your back.

Then, with a sound that is half growl, half sigh, Seasmoke lowers his head.

Rhaenyra stands before you now, her expression a mixture of shock and… something else. Her lips part as if to say something, but the words don’t come.

“I did not think you would succeed,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “You… you were always different, Y/N. Even as children.”

You watch her, noting the way her eyes avoid yours, lingering instead on the dragon in the distance. “I didn’t think I would either,” you say with a small, bitter laugh. “But I suppose things have a way of changing, don’t they?”

Her gaze finally meets yours, and for the first time in what feels like an age, you see the girl you once knew. The one who laughed with you in the gardens of Dragonstone, who dreamed of a life without the burdens of duty and war.

But that girl is gone, and in her place stands a queen who has seen too much, lost too much. And you… you are no longer the boy who joked about marrying her.

[etheries1015]

Lyney x reader who was never a fan of magic.

"Its...fun. I can see why other people find it so entertaining. I just...do not enjoy being lied to, or deceived. So I try to pick it apart. I'm sorry for taking the fun out of it."

No lies, no tricks, full trust. He tries his best to convince you that magic is just fun , he's always doing the tricks that will ease you into trust. A flower from behind your ear, romantic gestures that make your heart flutter.

He loves when you show up to his shows despite your disposition. Seeing you front row even though knowing you're not as entertained, always makes him smile. You're there for him, supporting him, and so he always makes sure tl send a wink your way or manage to drop a rainbow rose in your lap when nobody else noticed.

Lyney tries, for the most part, to avoid doing tricks that may make you uncomfortable. Such as popping out of nowhere, or something of yours going missing and he was the culprit, or dissapearing before your eyes (he had done that once, you had panicked.) However magic is apart of his life! Its what brought him joy! You knew this, so you gave an equal amount of work trying to rethink and rewire your brain to come to terms that...magic isn't always just deception.

For him, you're willing to try <3

"And what's this behind your ear, my darling?" He said dramatically, you folding your arms and raising your eyebrows. You let out a slight sigh with a roll of your eyes yet and amused smile upon your lips.

"I wonder what it could possibly be...." You entertained his silly little game. For the nth time he pulled from behind your ear, a...bouquet of flowers?

You stared mildly bewildered. "How did you- huh? How'd you manage to get an entire boquet past me? Where'd you hide it?" Lyney chuckled. He knew you couldn't help picking apart the magic to deduct what had happened, but he ignored your question and simply pushed the boquet into your arms and pulled you into a hasty kiss.

"Come now my dear, the mystery is apart of the beauty! Now, Im going to do another magic trick- close your eyes and by the time I count to ten-"

"Lyney..."

He grabbed hold of both of your hands, pressing his forehead against your own

"And by the time I count to ten, we shall be at a wonderful restaurant for a beautiful date! Do you trust me?" He asked, with a twinge of insecurity causing his voice to tremble at the question. You didnt miss a beat before closing your eyes and nodding.

"Of course I trust you. Blow my socks off, mr. Magician."

<3

[cookinguptales]

wwdits tarot: the lovers

I’m a hopeless romantic and you all already know that. I will not apologize for anything that is about to transpire.

Let's do VI. The Lovers.

Okay, real talk tho, The Lovers is not always about literal lovers. It’s about pairs and duality. This can mean relationships -- sometimes a romantic one, sometimes just a relationship with someone else who’s important to you. Family, friends, a business partner, etc. 

When it comes to the relationships reading of this card, the important part is a sense of harmony. These are two people who trust each other implicitly and communicate well. This card is usually either telling a person to depend on this relationship or work towards achieving it.

There is a secondary meaning to this card, too, though. The pair can also be a pair of choices. The card won’t tell you which to choose, but instead calls on a person to look inside for a better understanding of which path to take. 

In other words, at its heart The Lovers is a card about knowing yourself. It tells you to look inside and figure out who you are and what you want. It calls for perfect openness and honesty, even when it's difficult. This will help strengthen your relationships but also help you make difficult choices.

All that out of the way… I really went back and forth on this one.  I always knew that I wanted Laszlo and Nadja to be on this one; not only are they literal lovers (the lovers of all time, honestly) but they really do trust each other and communicate on a level that bewilders and charms us all.

But… after a lot of thought, I’ve decided to deviate from tradition a bit and put more than one pair on here. Some of this is my own sentimentality, I’ll admit, but I think I also want to go a little bit deeper with this card.

The Lovers, when reversed, is about disharmony, both in your relationships and within yourself. It means you don’t know who you are and it means that you’re not communicating with full honesty and understanding in your closest relationships. And when upright, the card is a tacit warning against this. It’s a card that tells us to value our relationships, but also to carefully evaluate them and whether we’re being fully open with our loved ones and cognizant of what we want.

So… I think what I want here is an example of the harmony that this card represents, but also an example of the potential that this card seeks to realize.

So I’ve decided to make this a card of harmony, but also disharmony. Emotional closeness, but also distance. Being true to yourself, but also lying to yourself to protect yourself from uncertainty.

Yeah, I want to put Nandor and Guillermo on here, too.

I’m sure I don’t have to go into a lot of detail about Laszlo and Nadja and why they belong on this card. They’ve been together for centuries, they've grown together, and they communicate very well. They are keenly aware of the other’s emotional state and every time they have to keep anything from each other, it seems to physically wound them.

What really gets me, though, is the way they’ve helped each other flourish. That detail in s4 about how, due to abuse and neglect, Laszlo had a very difficult time expressing his emotions until Nadja worked with him for hundreds of years. She saw that potential in him and she supported him until she was finally able to draw it out. And he supports (most of) her murders and harebrained schemes without question. He believes in that beautiful, fierce peasant girl that he met all those centuries ago, and he will fight anyone who tries to disparage her.

Through knowing each other, they've come to know themselves, which is really the key to The Lovers. Seeing themselves through their partner's eyes has allowed them to see truths about themselves they might not have otherwise seen, and has allowed for a kind of open confidence that both accomplish through the support of the other.

Love that for them. Love those two weirdos. ;o;

And when I look at Nandor and Guillermo now, I see the beginnings of something like that. Both of them are able to be themselves with each other in a way they can’t with anyone else, and they have a trust and dependence on one another that doesn’t always seem earned. But… they’re not all the way there yet. They aren’t fully open with each other. They don’t live in harmony together. Their communication is frankly abysmal. They aren’t quite in full card reversal but at times it feels close.

So to me, I feel like we have The Lovers card in both of these relationships, to some degree. We have the platonic ideal of the card, an almost perfect partnership where the two of them are deeply in harmony with one another… and we’ve got the kind of relationship that The Lovers feels like it’s there to treat. The kind that needs to listen to this card's advice to become its final form. The reversal that is slowly being turned upright.

There’s an inherent potential in The Lovers, and I feel like I wanted to capture that as well as the ideal definition of the card. Because just like a great relationship has helped Nadja and Laszlo understand themselves, I think Nandor and Guillermo also need to be honest with themselves so they can be honest with each other. I think that, like Nadja and Laszlo, the health of their relationship is inextricably tied to self-knowledge and the choices they make.

So… The Lovers is a card about relationships but also about knowing yourself and making choices. It’s about the end result (having a great relationship) but also the time spent getting there (learning to open up and be honest with yourself and your partner). It is a card that doesn't necessarily describe the now, but what can be.

And it's a card that sternly warns against letting lies and misunderstandings ruin your relationships.

Anyway... yeah. I want both of these relationships on the card to show the different stages of the same idea, so to speak, and for this more than any other card I have a very specific idea about imagery.

I’ll show you the RSW card first, but I’ll warn you that I’m about to make a departure.

The RSW version of this card depicts a vision of Eden. Adam and Eve and the archangel Raphael. (He is an angel of the air, and the symbol associated with this card is… well, obviously it’s Gemini. lmao) So you’ve got these two lovers, but also the tree of good/evil there to represent choice. It represents both meanings of the card.

For the vampires, though, there’s an image that immediately came to mind when I thought of The Lovers, and it’s this:

(censored for your comfort)

In WWDITS, Laszlo and Nadja are often paired together for interviews, as are Nandor and Guillermo. But while Nadja and Laszlo are often presented as a unified front (sitting close together on the couch, holding hands between chairs, standing huddled together as they plot), Nandor and Guillermo are often either posed on unfair standing or several feet apart. Maybe Nandor is sitting and Guillermo is standing to his side. Maybe Nandor is on one side of the room, in the foreground, and Guillermo is on the other, by the door. The two are sitting in separate chairs, not touching. A game of strategy lies between them. The two of them maintain a certain distance.

This framing is very consistent with both pairs.

What’s interesting to me, though, is what happens when both pairs are together in the same frame. What we sometimes get is a frame like this, where Laszlo and Nadja are together in the center of the couch, and Nandor and Guillermo are together behind the couch — but on opposite ends of it.

I’ve always thought that dichotomy was fascinating. Together and apart, but both still paired. Moreover, what gets me is that Nadja and Laszlo often have an absent-minded intimacy; they will hold hands without even looking at each other. On the other hand, Nandor and Guillermo will steal looks at each other across the room, but they do not touch. It’s an appeal for intimacy, but one that is rarely fully met.

So if I were to make a card featuring both pairs, both together and apart, I would have a scene where the four are being interviewed. Laszlo and Nadja together in the center of the couch, holding hands and turned slightly toward each other as they look at the camera. And behind them, Nandor and Guillermo behind the couch, standing several feet apart but also just barely turned toward each other. And unlike Laszlo and Nadja, who stare straight ahead, secure in their intimacy, Nandor and Guillermo are pretending that they aren’t both stealing glances at the other.

(No angels allowed! This is an antichrist-ian show, thank you.)

And who knows! Maybe one day the two of them will actually listen to the advice of The Lovers, talk to each other frankly, and end up framed more like this!

no one is allowed to make fun of me for my decisions for this card okay bye

wwdits tarot masterpost

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

MacGyver - Jake Jensen x Reader

A/N: This is part of @the-slumberparty​ Writer warm up: Genres, Old and New. I got the genre Action and the character archetype Innovator! 

Summary: You and Jake find yourself in a predicament that needs outside of the box thinking to get out of

Word Count: 858

Warnings: Lanuage! Fluff!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Masterlist

“You know there’s something quite romantic about all this” Max says as he paces back and forth in front of you and Jake “tied up with your lover… about to meet your end together”

“The team are on their way now, you won’t get away with this” you warn him, straining against the rope that bound you to your chair.

“Oh I know, I’ve sent my goons to slow them down” Max hums as he stops turning to face you, picking at his nails “but they still won’t get here in time,” he says clapping his hands.

A few guards walk into the room carrying a large heavy box “where’d you want it boss?” They ask.

“Right in front of them, I don’t want any mistakes as to what it is” Max orders nodding to you and Jake, the guards nod walking over to you and Jake placing the box down with a heavy thud “careful idiots” Max chastises before waving for them to leave.

You and Jake exchanged a glance before looking back over at Max, watching as he walked over to the box and opened it to reveal a bomb “shit” you mutter under your breath.

Max smirks looking over at you “shit indeed, this is one of my newest toys and you guys are going to be my lab rats” he explains before chuckling as he shakes his head “there won’t even be anything left of you to scrape up”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from screaming profanities at him, doing so would only make this worse.

“I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes” Max grins before walking out of the room.

“Shit, shit, shit” you mutter screwing your eyes shut.

“It's okay we’ll get out of here, we’ll be fine, just try and shuffle closer to me,” Jake says as he begins to try and scoot his chair closer to yours.

You take a shaky breath as you try and shuffle closer to Jake, the backs of your chairs finally meeting. Jake grabs your shaking hands to calm you down.

“Hey, hey, hey it’s gonna be okay, we’ll get out of here, I promise” he reassures you “I’m gonna untie you and then I need you to untie me”

You take another shaky breath nodding your head, breathing out a sigh of relief when you felt the rope around your wrist fall to the floor. You quickly untie the rope around your ankles before standing up and untying Jake.

“See? Now let's get out of here” Jake reassures you as he stands up.

Just as he says that you hear a loud beep, turning in its direction you see the bomb had been activated and you only had five minutes before it detonated.

“Fuck” Jake cursed under his breath.

“Can you disarm it?” You ask him.

“Not without my gear, we’re just gonna have to run for it,” Jake says shaking his head.

“Jake we’re in a tower a hundred meters tall, with thousands of steps, we aren’t gonna get far enough away in time,” you tell him.

Jake curses looking around the room before a smirk grows on his face “you’re right we’re gonna have to jump”

“What!” You screech staring at him bewildered as he picked up all the rope and a large piece of tarpaulin that was in the corner of the room “are you insane?”

“Maybe, but it’s all we got, I saw this in a spy movie so it should work,” he says as he starts tying the rope to the four corners of the tarpaulin.

“There isn’t a MythBusters episode on this is there?” You ask sceptically.

“Not that I’m aware of now c’mon we need to hurry,” Jake says gesturing for you to follow him “right I’m gonna tie this through our belt loops but hold on tight to me as well” he says threading a spare piece of rope around your waist.

“There’s no way I’m gonna let you go” you mutter as you wrap your arms around his shoulders “god I hope this works” you plead as Jake moves to two of you towards the window ready to jump.

“Trust me” Jake grins.

“Alright MacGyver, let's go” you sigh kissing him quickly just in case.

Jake smiles back at you before counting down from 3, the two of you jumping from the window. You free fall for a couple of seconds, long enough that you accept that you were about to die before finally the makeshift parachute begins to work and the two of you safely glide to freedom.

You landed with a heavy thud a hundred or so meters away from the towers just as the bomb goes off. Jake covering you just in case.

“Well shit… I didn’t expect that to work” you admit once it was all over.

“Me neither” he admits, chuckling when he saw the glare you gave him “but if there was a chance to save the woman I love, I was damn well gonna take it”

Your face softens as you smile warmly up at him “I love you too Jake, thank you for saving us”

Sharing is caring so please reblog if you enjoyed this and maybe even leave a comment to make my day!

Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist so follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary​ and turn on post notifications to be kept up to date!

[peachysamu]

“I’ve never had my first kiss.”

Draken chokes on his drink, almost swallows it down the wrong pipe but he at least has the decency to not spray it out like they do on tv. You instantly recoil into yourself and tug the sleeves of your sweater over your hands. It could have been worse, you tell yourself in consolation. He could have started laughing so you guess silence is better than that.

But is it really better when he stares at you so intensely with such a stiff face that you know is only placid through sheer determination so that he may not humiliate you any further?

“Hmm?” The blonde pounds at his chest. Two beats resound until he gives a throaty cough, “S-say that again?”

You frown, an impish look with a puff of your cheeks. “Don’t make me do that. It’s embarrassing.”

“What’s so embarrassing about it? It’s just a kiss.” Draken tries to feign nonchalance by taking another sip of his cold soda and ease his throat and nerves. It’s a futile attempt from the one he basically inhaled prior.

You flick the can in his hand. He yells in surprise but it fizzes out when you start reprimanding him. “Oh, don’t do that either! You just choked on your drink! Of course it’s a big deal.”

“You just said it out of nowhere is all.” Draken says. In reality, of course he’s surprised. He’s sworn you’ve had your first kiss by now. How could you not? You’re so lovable and nice. He can’t be the only that sees it. But what you need right now is an anchor so he settles himself down and leans his weight back onto his hands. He lifts his face to the sun and stares at the horizon. The sun is setting in sherbet hues. “You told Mikey?”

“Pfft. Of course not. I’d never hear the end of it.”

He chuckles in agreement. “What about Mitsuya?”

“No. He’d give me such a pitiful look I don’t think I could handle it.” And when you say that, you turn yourself to the sun too, absorbing its warmth like a field of sunflowers while your legs swing underneath you.

“So why me?”

“I don’t know.” But you do. Draken makes you feel safe. He’s home and with him, you feel whole. It doesn’t matter if you’re hugging his waist on his bike going 80 in the pitch black of night or if you’re here in the grass, near a riverbank at sundown. And call you a hopeless romantic but you’ve always imagined it to be with someone like him, someone you trust. “Maybe because I— I want—“

You tug at your sleeves once more. They twist in your fingers as you try and find any outlet to rid yourself of the fish bone that you can’t hack out of your chest.

“You want it to be me?”

You graciously nod, more than thankful that he finishes the sentence for you.

“You sure?” He’s bewildered. “Me? There are nicer guys out there.”

“You’re nice too, Draken.”

“Nicer than me. I’m a good for nothing—“

“Shut up and kiss me.” Draken almost smirks at how eager you sound, but fuck, when did you get so close? Last he saw, you were over there, but now you’re near enough that, if he wanted, he could count every single lash that graces your lids. And how you simply sparkle in the sunset. And Draken doesn’t consider himself much of a romantic, but damn, these sherbet skies feel like a fairytale.

So he presses his lips against yours, a soft tentative touch on both your ends, like treading water for the first time. It’s cozy and warm he can’t help but drown himself in the feeling by moving his lips even further.

But you pull away. Disappointed for only a moment, he revels at the dreamy look in your eye that is buffered by the shy way you bite your lip to hide your grin.

“Th-thanks,” And the smile breaks. “That was a cool first kiss.”

“What about a second?” He takes his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in. “And a third?” Another kiss.

“Fourth?”

Again.

“Fifth?”

[twistsandturnsroundwonderland]

Taking Five

NRC needs its magestone back. Leona needs a break. You get your own Fairy Gala vignette.

(Gender neutral reader, second person POV, no physical description of reader, can be platonic or romantic depending on your reading)

~

With a final step, you find yourself in front of the door to Pomefiore’s ballroom. You and Grim had been working with Epel in the lab three floors down, but when the freezing cold had your components crystallizing before they could mix, you’d decided to check in on your current school-saving and student-wrangling project.

The faint music that had been audible outside the room grows louder as you open the door. You’re greeted by the sight of Vil, still as a statue and just as flawless as his gaze unerringly tracks the sweat-soaked dancing pair of Jamil and Kalim. Grim makes a break for the latter two, no doubt eager to show off his own moves, considering how much he’d been bragging just minutes ago. Which leaves…

Leona is about ten meters away and moving slowly, three vases still wobbling with his steps; you easily catch up to his almost glacial pace.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Leona’s voice comes out in a growl, no doubt hearing your approach even if he doesn’t see it, eyes locked forward as he takes another step. Savanaclaw’s housewarden looks well past his usual grumpy mood, and his typical superior air is more that of a disgruntled house cat caught outside in the rain. You quickly school your features into neutrality though; any sign of pity in this moment will get your head bitten off.

“I came to see how things are going.”

“Great, fine. Now go bother someone else, herbivore.”

You purse your lips, considering. “Hey, Vil, Leona and I are taking five.” Your voice carries over the music, easily filling the acoustically perfect room. Leona freezes before turning almost painfully slowly to stare you down, expression somewhere between annoyed, bewildered, and curious.

“No. Leona still hasn’t made it even halfway around the room without spilling water.” Vil’s voice is sharper than his cheekbones, critical stare not leaving Kalim and Jamil’s forms, seemingly determined to ignore… whatever it is that Grim is doing.

You look at Vil, eyebrows arched and mouth set in a firm line. Grim, spotting your expression even halfway across the room, stops and begins inching backward, familiar enough with that expression to want to be out of the blast radius. After a long few moments, the lack of reply has Vil finally turning his head, returning your gaze. The music pauses and Kalim and Jamil freeze. It’s quiet save for the gentle sloshing of water as Leona turns his head, looking between the two of you.

“That wasn’t a question.” Your words are as even as your stare, and a wrinkle of annoyance appears on Vil’s otherwise flawless face.

“Spudling…” There’s a clear note of warning in Vil’s voice that you opt to blatantly ignore. Behind him, Kalim, precariously perched on one hand and the ball of one foot, slides to the floor with a thump.

“Five minutes. Just trust me.”

The staring contest is finally broken when Vil turns away, restarting the music. “Five minutes. Kalim, what did you do? Back on your feet at once.”

“Right. Let’s go,” you say as you turn back to Leona, only to find that he’s already shedding his vases of water.

“C’mon, herbivore. Balcony’s this way.”

In all honesty, you’d at least half-expected Leona to ditch you at once, so it’s with some surprise that you acquiesce and follow Leona out of the ballroom and out to one of several balconies found at Pomefiore.

“So do you need a towel or- never mind then.” Leona has pocketed his magic pen again before you can even finish the sentence, a flash of yellow and a rush of wind leaving him dry and even more windswept than usual.

“If I never see a vase again, it’ll be too soon.” Leona says, stretching, as you lean on the cool stone wall extending out over the garden. You make a noise of agreement, looking out over the manicured lawn and greenery of Pomefiore, contemplating what would happen if you brought a peacock back to Ramshackle. “So, what do you want?”

“Hm?”

“Five minutes ain’t worth much, but it’s still five minutes I don’t have to listen to Vil.”

Oh. Right. The ever present suspicion of ulterior motives at Night Raven College. How could you have forgotten?

“Mostly, control over the Ramshackle thermostat again.”

“Yeah?” Leona’s tail twitches, its path seemingly impeded by his gala outfit courtesy of Professor Crewel. “Tch. This whole thing is annoying. How’d I end up here anyway?”

“Oh no. Being made responsible for cleaning up someone else’s problems. What an unimaginable nightmare that I have no absolutely experience with.” You say, entirely deadpan.

Leona’s ears flick in surprise before he laughs. “Someone’s not feelin’ very sympathetic after all.”

“You’d threaten to eat me if I felt sorry for you.”

“You’re not wrong.” He looks at you sidelong, mouth pulling into that familiar smirk. “Ya know. I could just leave. Not like you could stop me anyway.”

He’s right, or, he would be, if you hadn’t already considered that. “True. But I’m not the one you need to worry about.” You lean further over the balcony railing to call out. “Hey, Rook!”

There’s scarcely a rustle before a purple hat pops out of a bush, and Rook is waving frantically. “Trickster! Roi de Lions! Bonjour!”

You wave back while Leona groans, head dropping in apparent defeat. At least for the moment- it’s check, not mate.

“So what was the other motivation on gettin’ me out of there anyway? If you wanted to butter someone up, Kalim’s family is richer than most of the royal families combined.”

You roll your eyes. “Frankly, Leona, I do not give a flying-”

“FNYAH!!” There’s a loud shout from Grim somewhere in the depths of Pomefiore, and you pause.

“He’ll be fine.” You brush it off. “The point is, I don’t care about money or you being a prince right now. It’s- hm.” You ponder how to explain, half watching Leona as you consider. “Ruggie can make the switch with the tiara,” you start.

“I know. That’s why I brought him.”

“Right. He’s the best at sleight of hand in the school. Then Kalim is… definitely good at being bright and loud and, well, he can be a good distraction. And Jamil can keep Kalim out of trouble. Mostly.” Leona nods at your assessment, looking down at the garden below. Or keeping an eye out for Rook; it’s hard to tell. “Everyone has their role, and they’re all very good at what they’re doing. But it’s not enough. Like it or not, there’s something here that only you can do, and we need you to pull this off.”

Leona chuckles, the sound ringing dark and hollow. “Do you now? And what do you think you need me to do?”

“Besides go back into the ballroom in a minute? Falling asleep on the runway probably wouldn’t be ideal, but… I did mean what I said.”

Leona’s tail flicks, barely missing you. “Then what do you do, herbivore?”

“I thought that one was obvious.” Leona looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “The same thing I always do: keep this place from falling apart around everyone’s ears.” Leona’s resounding laugh is genuine this time, and it brings a smile to your face. “I mean. At this point it has to be less work overall just to put the effort in on Vil’s training, right?”

“Five minutes is up,” is all the answer you get from Leona, just as all the thanks you get is his flicking tail smacking your arm. “C’mon, herbivore. We’ve got a show and a magestone to steal.”

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes. 

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​ server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog​ <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

 --->--->--->--->--->

 “Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”  

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->---> 

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

--->--->--->--->--->

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,” The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

[smutsonian]

Hi there! Can I please place request? How about nomad Steve angst with loads of tears with happy ending? Make it dark please? Probably he impregnates you and leaves you for someone else but when he sees Bruce taking care of you it pisses him off and he makes you his? Probably takes Bucky to help 👀

keep you safe

steve rogers x reader ft. bruce banner

warnings: dark fic, dark!steve, angst, manipulation, drugging, panic attack, toxic steve(he’s back guys), fucked up shit, not proofread

word count: 3.7k

a/n: ouch... also, this is all over the place. I’m sorry this one doesn’t have smut just pure manipulation and darkness and angst also im going to consider this as a oneshot

masterlist

- So, I’m thinking like maybe you and Steve were together before the civil war even happened?

- Like he’s still this soft puppy and he really took his time with you.

- He was this very shy but very romantic guy. A real gentleman who took you on a lot of dates before even making a move to kiss you. AND you were the first to initiate the kiss.

- It’s easy to say that falling in love with this man was inevitable. 

- It was perfect. He was perfect. You were perfect.

- Then suddenly it wasn’t.

- Steve started acting strange and distant and it’s not normal for you to doubt his love for you because he’s Steve. He always, and I mean ALWAYS make you feel how much he loves you.

- But is it possible that he’s not in love with you anymore?

- Then you find out that you’re pregnant and you would’ve been ecstatic if it weren’t for the downfall you’re facing called your relationship with Steve.

- You’ve been imagining this moment your whole relationship with Steve. How the both of you would be crying with joy and how the both of you will be planning for your future but that’s not happening right now is it? 

- The only thing that happened is the crying part and it was just you crying. Not with joy but with fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of abandonment. And the fear of having to raise a child alone if Steve didn’t want one with you.

- Then flashes of memories you had with Steve appear in your eyes and a smile works its way back to your lips.

- What the hell were you even thinking? Steve would be delighted to find out.

- Steve loves you and he’s just busy with his never ending missions. Steve loves you... Right?

- Wrong.

- The moment you got Steve alone, he seemed very irritated that he’s even in a room with you and that didn’t really help you. You were finding it hard to announce the news and how he’s acting is not helping.

- “Is there a reason for this? I’m very busy, Y/N,” he grumbles but you weren’t offended by his dismissiveness. All that’s going on inside your mind is how he called you by your name. Long gone were the nicknames he always had for you. There was no love when he said your name, only annoyance.

- “I-I have to tell you something,” you stuttered, no longer very fond of the idea about telling him but he deserves to know. Is it horrible to think that maybe he’ll change once he finds out? Will it seem like you’re tying him down with your pregnancy?

- “Well get on with it.,” he says dismissively. Something flashed in his eyes before a grin falls on his lips. For a moment, you thought he was back to his usual self and that made you breathe a little better. “I have to tell you something as well,” he adds before motioning for you to continue.

- “I... Steve, I’m pregnant.” You just went for it, afraid that you may back out when you stalled more.

- Steve’s reaction was nothing you expected. He was too relaxed and you didn’t know if you’re going to be relieved or scared.

- “And I want to break up with you.” His face showed arrogance and the smile that you used to love so much made your skin crawl. It’s like he lived on making you feel this way.

- What exactly were you feeling? Betrayal? Sadness? Anger? No. You can never bring yourself to be mad at him. 

- “Is that all?” He asks, his tone getting really impatient that easily makes you feel very belittled and insignificant.

- You can’t find yourself to do anything as Steve rolls his eyes before turning around to walk away. 

- You managed to whisper a small “W-wait.” Thankful for his super soldier serum for hearing you.

- He stares at you, still impatient. 

- “I-Is that it?” Your eyes started to water, everything falling into you and you start to realize what’s happening.

- “A-are we over? That’s it? You’re breaking up with me because y-you don’t want t-the baby? We can work things out, Steve. It’s... I- It’s normal for couples to not get along sometimes. We can work things out. We always do!” You didn’t even realize that you were crying, whining, or sobbing. You just remember trying your best to make him stay.

- “This is really pathetic, Y/N. I thought you were better than this.” He shakes his head in disappointment which only added a new scar to your heart. You don’t want him being disappointed by you. 

- “You want a reason? I’ll give you one. I’ll give you more than one. We are no longer working out. It’s not the same anymore. We’ve obviously fallen apart and I met Sharon...” His face shows guilt and you being so in love with the man, that guilt gave you hope. If he feels guilty then maybe he still cares about you...

- “I never did anything with her, though. Not when I’m still with you. I’m not that kind of man. I’m doing you a favor by breaking up with you. I’m not going to cheat on you, Y/N. I cared about you. I loved you. But this is the end for us. As for the pregnancy... Time changed a lot in this place. I’m pretty sure there are lots of choices for you...” He gives your shoulder a pat before turning around and leaving. Never once looking back at your disheveled form.

- Your heart hurt. The pain was all over you and your ears were ringing and all that’s going on inside your mind is how Steve left you. He told you that he cared and loved you and that’s all in the past now.

- If you didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared earlier, now you do. 

- And just like that, you forced yourself to leave. You didn’t know what to do, who to call, where to go. You just know that you had to leave the tower. You were no longer with Steve. You didn’t have the right to be in that place anymore. 

- You just had to go.

- You were never really trying to move on. You tried but then you gave up because you can never get over a guy like Steve. You loved him. You still love him. Him loving someone else doesn’t really stop you from loving him. You should but you can’t. And you really didn’t want to. 

- You stayed at a friend’s house for a while. They were nice enough to lend you a place to stay, though it’s for a limited amount of time, you were still very thankful. Beggars can’t be choosers.

- You never heard from Steve. Last time you got an update about him was when the news reporter was announcing that the hero was a wanted criminal now. Something about the winter soldier. 

- You immediately realized that the winter soldier is his long time friend from all the stories that he used to tell you when you were still together. 

- You didn’t know what to feel but you forced yourself to not care. You can’t do anything about it. You only hoped he was in a safe place. You shouldn’t care that much but you did. You still can’t forget about him. Not when you’re carrying his child.

- You were walking around the city, desperately finding a job when you bumped into him. 

- Bruce Banner.

- You never really got to get to know him much because when you met him, he was timid and you only ever really talked to him when you bump into him in the tower. And then he disappeared and that’s that.

- But he’s there right in front of you and you didn’t think he’d actually notice you or remember who you are but he did. And he greeted you with a smile. A smile that he never really wore back then.

- “Y/N? Is that you?” He laughed before bringing you into a hug. Well, that’s new. 

- “Bruce? Where have you been?” You laughed before returning the hug.

- “It’s a long story... How are you?” He offered to treat you lunch and you followed. You’re basically homeless in a few days so might as well accept blessings when you can, right?

- You told him everything that happened. You told him that you had no idea where Steve is because you broke up before he became a war criminal.

- He noticed your growing stomach and it was quite hilarious and adorable how he was so shy about asking so you told him about it.

- “Yeah, I’m pregnant.” You chuckled at his embarrassed face then apologizing to you for staring. You waved it off, telling him that it’s fine.

- “Sorry to ask but Captain left you even after you told him?” Bruce looks bewildered and disgusted and you could only nod in response, face falling at the memories.

- “Where are you staying right now?” Bruce asked with worry written all over his face.

- “At a friend’s...” You so desperately wanted to ask for help but now is the time that your pride decided to show up.

- “I don’t think that’s safe for you and the baby... You were... The captain’s girlfriend and people can use you for bait. Especially now that he’s wanted... Listen, the tower is really empty right now. Only Tony, Rhodes, and I. I can talk to Tony about it. You can stay there and nobody would even know that you’re there. I’m staying there and nobody knows but Tony...” Bruce’s words gave you hope and you could only nod in tears of joy. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad for you.

- You understand why Bruce wanted to be hidden and that’s something that the both of you would bond over.

- After a few more months, you got bigger. (yep, you kept the baby and fuck steve and his fucking fuckity fuck)

- Bruce is a doctor and you grew to trust him as time went by so it’s normal for him to be the one checking up on you.

- You became very close with Bruce and you found solace in him. He just seems like he knew everything that he’s doing and you felt safe with him. You and your baby are safe with him.

- Steve never really left your mind, not when his child is growing inside of you, but you learned how to live without him.

- You avoided the news because you didn’t want to hear about him, an exercise you taught yourself to become somewhat better.

- So imagine your surprise when he shows up at the tower.

- He looked different. Longer and darker hair. Beard. He looked well and you hated how relieved you were at the thought of him being safe and healthy.

- You locked eyes with him and everything came back to you.

- The hurt you felt when he tossed you aside and the hurt you felt when he dismissed you and your baby.

- You felt sick when you saw his eyes traveling down your body and staring at your very swollen stomach.

- You began breathing unevenly and your chest was becoming tighter. Steve made you nervous. You hate how you feel insecure under his gaze. You hate how you feel like you’re disappointing him and you hate your heart still yearns for him.

- You felt hands snaking around your frame comfortingly and Bruce’s familiar voice brings you out of your mind. 

- “Breathe, Y/N… Breathe....” He guided you out of the room, needing the privacy and you thanked him for that after you’re finally breathing properly.

- What you didn’t see was Steve’s fuming face when he saw how Bruce held you and how you reacted to the doctor’s touch. The way you calmed down after hearing his voice. 

- Steve remembered how you started panicking after seeing him and he hated how you reacted that way towards him but he hates how you reacted towards Bruce the most.

- Steve’s hatred was drowned by the swelling of his heart when he saw you and your stomach. You’re still carrying his baby and he’s so thankful that you kept his child. He couldn’t love you more at that moment.

- Yes. He loves you. He came back for you and to see you in somebody else’s arms? To see you being comforted by someone else than him? He knows that he’s at fault and he probably deserve it but he’s going to do better. He’s going to be the best he can be. He’s going to be the best for you.

- He’s going to be the man that you would need. You and his baby.

- He’s got a lot to pay for and he’s going to do just that. If only you can cooperate with him…

- Steve watches as Bruce does your ultrasound. He should be there with you but he’s giving you time. He’s giving you space. He doesn’t want you getting overwhelmed again. It’s not healthy for you or the baby so he stands in the shadows, watching you and the baby on the screen.

- “Is that him?” Your voice wavers in excitement and Steve wanted nothing else but to hold your hand but he can’t. Instead, he just watches Bruce’s hand gripping yours in comfort and that just won’t work for Steve… He needs to talk to you.

- “He’s so small but so big at the same time!” Your laugh makes Steve’s heart swell with joy. He will get you back. He’ll do anything and if you don’t want to… He’ll make you want to.

- Steve finally gets you alone. He didn’t force himself on you. He waited. He waited and waited and now you’re ready to finally talk to him.

- “Doll…” He goes over to you to hug you but you step back, avoiding him. If that didn’t hurt his heart, the words you spoke did.

- “Captain.” Your words were short and curt. It’s like you didn’t even want to be there with him at all. And what’s with you calling him captain?

- “I wanted to talk to you, doll.” His voice was soft like honey and you feel your heart pounding with joy but you remained stoic.

- “Well, get on with it.” You should be feeling some sort of relief for repeating his word back then to him but you only felt guilt and the need to comfort him when his face fell and a dejected expression takes place on his face.

- “I-I want to apologize, first of all. You didn’t deserve anything I said back then. I was horrible an- and… I just wanted you to know that I never wanted to hurt you, doll. I love yo-”

- “Well you hurt me. You hurt me a lot.” You cut him off, the stoic expression you were holding is now gone. Steve’s face turns into guilt and he makes a move towards you again but you stop him with a shake of your head.

- “I don’t want to do anything with you right now. I… I don’t even know why you’re bothering to talk to me right now when you were so eager to get rid of me back then. What changed?” You looked at him with those eyes that Steve always felt weak for. He hated himself for hurting you but that’s the only way for you to be safe. He was going to look for Bucky and that will bring a lot of problems and he didn’t want you to be caught in between his fights. He loves you too much and at that time, he believed that hurting you was the best option.

- “I wanted you to be safe, Y/N…” Steve explained, his hand weakly reaching for you but every time you would reject him just adds another stab into his bleeding heart.

- “Well, fuck.” You spat. Steve looked at you in confusion, almost flinching at the way you’re glaring at him.

- “You wanted me safe?” You let out a humorless laugh and this time, Steve flinches.

- “Well thank you, I guess.” You say, voice not holding any emotion anymore. Steve liked you being mad at him rather than this. He didn’t like how you seem like you’ve given up feeling anything for him. He’d rather you mad at him than nothing at all. He deserves your anger towards him. Not this.

- “Well, you can continue making sure I’m safe by fucking off and leaving me to myself then.” That’s the last thing you said before leaving, never once looking back at his disheveled form.

- Steve hated how he feels but he knows that he deserves every single stab in his heart. He knows he deserves more hurting. He wants you to hurt him but you’d never do that. Not his Y/N.

- You’re right though. He will keep you safe. He’ll show you just how much he can take care of you and make you safe. 

- He’ll make sure to have you back in his arms. You’re going to be a family and he’ll protect his family at all cost. He’s never loved a woman as he loves you. Not Sharon and not Peggy. 

- You never talked to Steve after that confrontation but you still see him. You see him watching over you and you couldn’t help but feel the swelling of your heart whenever you see him.

- You’d see him putting your favorite cereal box down on the counter before you can enter the kitchen so you wouldn’t have to reach for it.

- You’d see him doing simple things to keep you safe and each time, you find yourself longing for the old days you had with him. You find yourself longing for Steve.

- Then it happened.

- Bucky somehow got triggered into becoming the winter soldier and your first reaction would be to find Steve but this time, you didn’t. You went to Bruce. 

- Steve’s jaw clenches when he sees you running towards the lab to find Bruce, your hand protecting your stomach. Steve ran towards the lab as well, knowing too well what’s about to happen and he’ll be there to save the day.

- Looking for Bruce didn’t end well because he found you. Not Bruce but the green angry man. The hulk.

- He was shouting while the winter soldier was watching the green man with interest. He somehow managed to trigger the hulk. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of someone controlling your best friend.

- “Bruce! It’s me!” You shout but the green man only growled before pouncing at you. 

- You turned around, crouching and hugging your stomach to protect your baby but the impact never happened.

- The sound of clashing and fighting made you turn around and you see Steve dodging the hulk’s punches with his shield and your heart leaped in relief. You relaxed for a second before feeling worried for Steve. 

- It’s like a normal reaction for your body to feel safe with Steve and your brain is starting to believe that too. You remembered his words from before… He just wanted you to be safe. 

- He hurt you to keep you safe and you’re starting to understand that now.

- “Y/N!” You see him running towards you with worry written all over his face.

- “Are you okay?!” He asked, hands shaking as he scanned you for any scars.

- “I-I’m fine, Steve… Are you okay?” You tried to look him over for scars but he pulled you into a hug, crying and shaking against your body as he rubbed his hand behind your back.

- “I thought you got hurt. I thought I failed… I just wanted to protect you…” He choked on his words and you hugged him tighter.

- You understand everything now.

- He just wanted to keep you safe.

- You pulled back from the hug before wiping his tears away with your thumbs. 

- “What about Bucky and Bruce?” You turned to look behind him but Steve stopped you.

- “Bucky’s alright. He’s back and he’s bringing Bruce to the medbay…” Steve breathes heavily, reminding you of the battle he just had.

- “A-Are you okay, Steve?” You repeat your question and he nods in response before pulling you into a hug again.

- “I don’t care about me. As long as you’re safe. As long as you’re both safe…” He pulls back before pressing a hand on your stomach.

- “I’ll feel safe when you’re both safe. I’ll only feel safe when I know you’re safe. Y/N… Doll… I am fucking sorry for hurting you. There’s no excuse for that. I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore... What I did was horri-”

- “Steve.” You cut him off and he looks at you with sadness and regret.

- You cup his face with both hands before smiling.

- “Thank you, Steve. Thank you for keeping me safe. For keeping us safe.” You grabbed Steve’s right hand before placing it back on your stomach.

- “You keep us safe… Thank you, Steve.” You see Steve’s eyes starting to water once more and you giggle before moving in, stopping just a few inches from his face. 

- Your eyes flutter before you leaned closer, finally closing the distance and kissing him.

- You feel his hand moving from your stomach to your back to pull you closer and tighter to his body.

- “I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much.” He whispers through the kiss.

- “I’ll always keep you safe, Y/N. I will never hurt you anymore. I’ll be the best husband and father…” He whispers before lifting you up.

- “I’ll keep you safe.” He whispers one last time before carrying you back to your room. The room that you’ll be sharing with him soon. Actually, you wouldn’t even need that room because Steve will make sure to get a place where the two of you can be alone. The tower isn’t safe for you anymore. Only Steve can keep you safe.

- Steve celebrates in his mind as the mission went successfully. With Bucky helping him. With how they were able to drug Bruce’s coffee. Everything went perfectly. You fell right back into his arms.

- And Steve will keep his promise.

- He’ll keep you safe.

- He’ll keep his family safe. 

------

undeserved happy ending for steve but what about it💀

taglist

General: @readermia @unlikelygalaxygiver @xoxabs88xox @anncutamarica @chaoticfiretaconerd @i-love-superhero @caffiend-queen @coconutqueen21 @jtargaryen18 @jennmurawski13 @mushyjellybeans @ninjabucky @evnscvll @buckstaybucky @donutloverxo @rebloggingeverything @adriannajackson @la-cey @awaywithtime @gotnofucks @littlegasps

Anything Chris: @patzammit @princess-evans-addict @shadowcatsworld @notyourtypicalrose @onetwo3000 @bluemusickid @heyiamthatbitch @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @empath-bunny @slytherinandoutasgard

Chris and seb: @harrysthiccthighss

Marvel: @jemzeraion

[writingindulgence]

Painting Nails with Gojo Satoru (x reader)

Pairings: Gojo Satoru x (unspecified-gender) reader

Genre: Good friends with some mutual pining, a bit of fluff and a bit of uncertainty, reader has their mind in the gutter for a split second 

Lmao, how long can someone write about painting nails T.T 2800+ words

When you recently mentioned that you had no free time to refresh your nails due to the influx of odd jobs here and there, you didn’t think that it would lead to your long time friend, Gojo Satoru, sneaking into your room at the Tech with a bag full of nail polish.

He was in the middle of laying them out haphazardly onto the coffee table. Colours ranging from neon bright to the darkest of shades stood before your very own eyes on full display. Their shapes were as varied as the palette. Standard round, rectangle shapes, funky stars and fragile butterflies just to name a few. 

The shock of what was transpiring had yet to register in your mind, a dumbfounded look creeping onto your face.

It wasn’t even the first time that this has occurred. Once in a while you would come back from a mission in another city, ready to fall down onto your bed in the one place that you could call home, only to have this excuse for a friend barge in on your time of relaxation. Sometimes, you didn’t inform anyone when you would be back in the hopes of being left alone but he always seemed to find out the best time to annoy you. When you were tired. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing in my room Gojo-san?”, you drop your tattered bag onto the ground before closing the door. 

The feeling of his incoming whines and guaranteed pout had become something of a sixth sense to you now. You thought that maybe he would grow out of it after his teenage years but the gods weren’t as merciful as you once believed them to be. 

“(Y/n)-channnn, why are you so mean to me? I haven’t done anything for you to call me that”, he dramatically groaned out before flopping onto your bed. 

Glancing at the table, you notice that his sudden movement knocked over some of the bottles.  

You also know what he meant by that. You only ever call him ‘Gojo-san’ when he screws up or when you are both in the presence of his students. 

As much as he likes to tease you in front of important people, you aren’t that unprofessional as to disrespect him as an educator in front of the students that he teaches. The kids already make fun of him and if you were to join in at the same time then you would begin pitying the man. 

You walk over to the sprawled lamp post of a human and indicate with your hand to scoot over before proceeding to throw yourself down beside him. 

“What is this about, Toru-kun?”, your eyes lazily scan over the nail polish. Of course you know what is going on but Gojo Satoru is a man that enjoys being humoured. 

Poor Ijichi-kun ends up as the victim of a lot of his whims when you’re away. Scratch that, even when you are around the unfortunate fellow gets bullied like a kindergartner at a playground.

“So~ I’ve noticed that your nails-,”

“I mentioned it.”

“.. have been looking rather-,”

“I mentioned it.”

“..duller than usual so-”,

“I-”, 

His body flew up from the lying position and a hand suddenly came into your view. Before you could do anything, Gojo clamped it over your mouth, an unseen eye-roll definitely going off under his blindfold. 

He wasn’t really irritated but you took it as a win for all the times he irked you in the past month.

“I NOTICED YOUR NAILS LOOKING DULLER THAN USUAL SO I WENT OUT OF MY HUMBLE WAY TO BUY THESE,” he finally lets you go after finishing what he wanted to say.

The sheets under you have become disheveled, your thrashing around to get away and shut his loud mouth in case Principal Yaga hears brought about no results. There was no rule against being in the same room, you weren’t some silly teenagers and even if you were, the Tech wasn’t that strict anyway, but the thought of his disappointing gaze burning into your soul…

Your thoughts are disrupted when Gojo throws two pillows onto the floor. Knowing that there is no escaping this, you dust down your clothes and gracefully sit down. 

Who knows? This may actually turn out to be relaxing. Even if you’re wrong then spending time with friends is precious, no matter the activity. Especially in this line of work. There is no telling when one might hear the news of their comrades’ death. 

Gojo sits on the other free pillow and smiles. “Any colour pulling you in? If not then I would love to recommend, you know, I’m sort of an expert at this.”

You laugh slightly at his confidence before agreeing to his proposal. As long as it’s not too ugly then you really don’t mind what he ends up picking. 

In fact, you trust his judgement when it comes to fashion. His casual outfits always end up taking your breath away. You’re forever glad when he forces you to go along with him to the shopping district. You know your style and what you’re comfortable with but Gojo presents you with something unique every time.

“Hmmmm...then, what about this one?”, the hand that was under his chin as he was contemplating leaves its position and he quickly picks up a (f/c) nail polish. 

The container is cute too, a glass cat face. Though how did he figure out what colour this was with that blindfold? Only Gojo knows. 

You reach out for the item but he leans back and pulls it to his chest. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. 

“(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n)...,” he creates an X with his arms before continuing, “Bzzzt! Did you really think I would be so rude as to leave you alone with that tedious job? Who do you take me for?”. 

He grasps the fabric where his heart is located and fakely sniffles. Oh, so he wants to paint them for you. Figuring out that you may as well indulge in a little care, you extend your hand for him to hold. 

Gojo twists the nail brush open and dips it into the bottle a few times. His tongue is poking out as he tests how much of the liquid is on the brush. You don’t even question how he will paint your nails without seeing properly. Understanding his infinite capabilities has become second nature to you. 

Instead, you focus on the feeling of his hand when it grasps yours. 

It’s bigger and somewhat rougher, though not uncomfortable. Really, it feels secure to have around your own.

Jerking back at your line of thinking, you can feel the heat growing on your face by the second. Calm down there, no need to get ahead of yourself. You’ve held hands many times in the city before so that you don’t get ‘lost’, how is this any different?

“Hey now!,” Gojo grips your hand more firmly than before. 

“Sorry, sorry. I had an itch,” you come up with an excuse and double down when you scratch your shoulder with a free hand. 

He doesn’t say anything in return, there are none of his usual comebacks. That’s suspicious, he always needs to have the last word in no matter what. 

Instead he applies the first stroke of nail polish on one of your nails. 

His movements are steady, no shaking, and he doesn’t miss any spots. The process is...pleasant, being attended to by another. 

He moves on to your second finger, repeating the action from the previous one, applying just as much attention. 

Now that you are sitting still, barely breathing as you look on, his hold has become almost airy. Unless you focused purely on the skin to skin contact, it was as if your hand was levitating. 

Ah, technically he could be using ‘Infinity’ and keeping your hand away but...it made you feel weirdly unhappy. Your mouth tugged down in dissatisfaction unconsciously.

At the same moment, Gojo grasped the next finger on the list, the sudden feeling coming as a surprise. You barely held in the shocked gasp, tingles travelling up your arm. 

He didn’t say anything and continued the procedure. 

You peeked at his face to see if you could read him but there was nothing at all to go off on. No smile, smirk, pout or frown. 

Sheer concentration. 

It wasn’t unwelcome, in fact it was peaceful without the usual banter. And it wasn’t unbearably serious either. If you had to put a word on it then it felt...intimate.‘Wow, what the hell? Chill, he’s only a friend and this is simple nail painting’.

The clock in your room ticked continuously until eventually your fingernails were all finished. It took extra long because Gojo insisted that the proper way to do it was to paint two layers. So in the end you had to sit through another few minutes that honestly felt like an eternity. 

You hoped that you hadn't sweated with how warm it had gotten on your end.

“Alright! It’s your turn (Y/n)-chan,” he made finger guns and pointed them at your bewildered expression. 

“It isn’t fair if only you get this spa worthy treatment, no?”.

“Satoru, I think you overestimate my ability to paint nails. Of course, I do a fantastic job on myself but I am hopeless when it comes to others,” you explain. 

You may have over exaggerated a bit but if this goes on then your thoughts will enter dangerous territory, not that they haven’t already.

Distractions aren’t helpful when you are a jujutsu sorcerer, particularly in the romantic scene. 

Have you daydreamed about such scenarios? Yes. 

Would you like to experience them? Definitely. 

However, what you want and what you can have are at odds with each other.

“Don’t be a bore, come on, come on,” he sticks out his own hand before thinking up something and reaching towards his blindfold. “Let’s make it a challenge. I had such a difficult time so you have to suffer too”. 

He frees his eyesight and stands up. You’re about to follow but he shakes his head and kneels behind you. 

The smooth fabric covers your eyes and the pressure as he tightens the blindfold rubs against the back of your head. This feels like the beginning of a dirty situation-

A resounding smack travels in the enclosed room as you slap your cheeks simultaneously. This isn’t the time nor place.

“I’m accepting my resolve,” you throw out before Gojo can ask you why you hit yourself in the face. 

You hear him shuffle back to the pillow as well as glass tapping against glass. A nail polish bottle is shoved into your unprepared self. “I’m in your hands now,” he laughs stupidly to himself at his own pun. You can’t help cracking a small smile too.

Blindly, you fiddle around in front of you, wanting to start this. Clicking your tongue, you’re about to give out but Gojo finally decides to stop being a prick and gives you his hand. His shakes from laughter make themselves known but you ignore him. 

Unscrewing the bottle cap, you get to work. 

Only, you have to feel around for his fingernail. It’s impossible to hit the target without searching around first. 

You become overwhelmingly aware of the close proximity yet again and your heart skips a beat. The fact that you can’t see anything makes it far worse as your sense of touch becomes more sensitive. Your shaking hand dabs the point where you think the nail polish goes and you begin painting. 

Gojo’s amusement must have stopped too since you don’t hear him chuckling anymore. Is he looking at you? Or is he looking at his poor skin whenever you miss the fingernail? He doesn’t have his blindfold on so his eyes have to be focused on something. 

But what?

The silence becomes unmanageable and the constant skin against skin friction twists your insides. Is it just you? Or does he also think the same way?

“You know, you have pretty eyes. If you start an Instagram page with photos of them then you’ll get a following in no time,” you offhandedly mention to start a conversation. Knowing Gojo he’ll take the compliment, tease you a bit and move on. You shift around in the pillow before progressing onto the other hand, having speedrun the first, before he starts talking.

“That’s not a bad idea. You can do the eyeshadow and we can make some money,” he hums in agreement. The sound of extra cash nearly makes you drool but then a realisation hits you, like a truck an isekai protagonist. If you were to do the eyeshadow then you will no doubt have to be very close to his face. No way.

“On second thought, I don’t think we have the time,” you laugh it off. 

His disagreement comes soon after. 

“Haaaaaaah?! Then why did you mention it?”. His muscles tense, about to pull back to cross his arms but he remembers that you’re in the middle of painting his nails. 

After that, you both fall silent again. 

In the end, you get through the last finger and close the nail polish bottle. You tried your best, having taken your time despite it making you feel a certain way whenever you had to touch him longer than is necessary. 

You get up and reach out to unhook the blindfold but larger hands stop you in your tracks from behind. They pull yours away and drop them at your sides. 

“Allow the amazing gentleman, Gojo Satoru,” he gently takes it off as you stand unmoving. 

When light from the window hits your face, you scrunch your eyelids shut, waiting to adjust to the bright atmosphere. A hand patting down your hair makes them shoot open and you turn around to complain. 

Whatever you were going to say gets caught in your throat as you look up into his light blue eyes. His expression is serene, free of any worries but his eyes seem to be trying to speak a thousand words. 

They too look composed but you get the feeling that he’s trying to communicate something to you.

Swallowing, you clench your hand (conscious of the recently dry nail polish), and place it over your chest. “Satoru..um,” you pause, not fully comprehending what you want to say, or rather, how you want to say it.

Your eyes widen when you notice his hand traveling towards yours. 

Clumsily spinning around, you head for the pillows and shake off the dust that accumulated on them. 

“Thanks for today. I’ll have a nap, since I’m still tired from the flight.” 

You show your gratitude but hide the words your heart wanted to really express. 

You don’t turn around to see his expression. The sound of his blindfold going over his eyes is what you hear first. Then, 

“Don’t worry your sleepy head over it! Sweet dreams, (Y/n)”.

The door opens and closes gently behind you. 

Once you’re sure that he is far down the hallway, you throw yourself onto your bed, put the pillow over your face and scream. Feeling a little foolish, you stop and look over your nails. 

He really did a great job.

-Next Day-

The sun is shining brightly therefore there is no better time to take a walk. Which is why you aren’t surprised when you stumble upon Sukuna’s vessel, Itadori Yuuji. 

The teenager has a tub of ice cream with him. Maybe you should get some too? Gojo is bound to have some in his mini freezer.

“Ah! Hello, (L/n)-san,” the boy waves his hand in greeting and jogs over. 

“Itadori-kun, is it alright for you to be outside like this?,” you ask with concern. 

There are only a few people that know about his current state of being alive. When you heard that he died, you came as fast as possible to comfort Gojo. 

“It’s fine! Everyone is gone and Ijichi-san is on the lookout at the front gate. He’s meant to give me a ring you see”. He looks down.

“Oh! You’ve got some nice nails there,” he points out as he takes a bite out of the dessert. “You match with Gojo-sensei,” he adds after a second.

You pause your appreciative smile at his compliment. Excuse me? 

“Excuse me? Match?,” you prod him to elaborate.

The teenager scratches his cheek. 

“Ehh, but he said the plan was to match all along. Though they don't exactly look the same”.

Your eyes tear up in embarrassment at the turn of events. You’re matching nails? You thought for definite that he would wash them off when he gets back to his room. Not only that but putting the blindfold over your eyes must have been his sly way of making sure that you don't notice they're the same colour. 

Itadori shakes his hands in front of him before bowing. “I-I’m sorry (L/n)-san! I did not mean to insult the way you painted Gojo-sensei’s nails. They are a bit tactless compared to yours but that’s okay,” he apologises profusely, mistaking the root of your shame.

‘That dumbass Gojo Satoru’

[tomhardygf]

an equine mistake 2.7k tommy/alfie

“Peaky Blinders AU where giving someone a horse counts as a courtship tradition amongst the Romanies and not knowing about it, Alfie presents Tommy with a rather beautiful stallion. The next day he has both Arthur AND Polly at his throat. Tommy enjoys the chaos.”

this is silly and dumb and i didn’t wanna bother posting on ao3! has a lot less tommy enjoying chaos and more him being absolutely bewildered. set in a world where homophobia doesn’t exist, maybe. ft: john shelby being a little asshole, alfie being a belligerent asshole, and me dunking on ollie even when there is absolutely no need for it 💖

original prompt: (x) (ty @ohmykaspbrak ✨ ur brain is powerful and huge) ohmykaspbrak’s fill: (x) read it she’s beautiful

Tommy stood on the Garrison doorstop, blinking down at the man before him. “What’s this?” He asks, fingers itching for a cigarette, but too surprised to actually reach for one. 

“What’s it fucking look like, mate?” Answers Alfie, rope twined around his hand at least 5 times, as if afraid his charge were to bolt at any moment. “Recently acquired the bloody beast in a deal, and thought to myself, ‘right, who do I know who’ll take this thing off my hands’?”

“And you thought of me?”

Alfie waves his free hand in the air. “Yeah. It was either that, or put a bullet between its eyes.”

Tommy is still skeptical, but he takes a step forward. The horse that Alfie’s brought him is beautiful— fur black as night, with strong, powerful muscles shifting underneath. He moves closer, carefully considering the state of it’s health, but the eyes are bright and clear, the nose and mouth free of any signs of sick, its hooves well maintained, when he picks one up for inspection. It’s young, and it’s clearly been very well taken care of. Whoever Alfie had taken this horse off of had likely poured a great deal of money into its acquisition and it’s upkeep. 

“A thoroughbred,” Alfie adds, when Tommy doesn’t respond any further. “Least, think that’s what he said. He wasn’t exactly speaking straight, had something blocking his mouth.”

Tommy makes a considering noise in reply. Alfie turning up in Birmingham tugging a horse along, no car or any of his men in sight was certainly the strangest thing to happen to him that week. He’s half expecting an ambush, for the sounds of gunfire to start hailing down on them, but nothing happens. It’s just Alfie, standing in front of him, looking as out of place on the street in front of the Garrison as Tommy ever could have imagined. The man looks more and more uncomfortable the longer Tommy doesn’t respond, so he eventually takes pity on him. “Do you want to give him a name?”

“Nah,” Alfie snorts, “I trust you can come up with something suitable for the creature.” At that, he begins to unwind the rope from his wrist, holding it out vaguely in Tommy’s direction. Tommy resists the urge to crack a smile at the discomfort still evident in the man’s posture. He’s still a bit bewildered by Alfie thinking to give him what was undeniably a gift— a stallion, of all things— but he’s sure that the man hadn’t meant anything by it. 

Tommy lifts his hand to take the rope. Just as it is passing between them, the door to the Garrison swings open, John bustling his way through. He’d been in the back of the bar when Tommy’d been informed about Solomons marching down the road, and Tommy had quietly slipped out before he would be any the wiser. He stumbles to an abrupt stop at the view before him. “What’s this?” He slurs, not drunk, just confused. His eyes dart between the two men and the horse standing behind them, the look on John’s face becoming rapidly accusatory as he takes in the scene before him.

Tommy opens his mouth to speak, to give an explanation that wouldn’t make things worse for himself, but Alfie beats him to it. “Was passing through your pisshole of a city, and thought I’d stop by and drop your brother off a gift I’ve been meaning to give him.” 

John’s mouth falls open, face twisting up in a mixture of confusion and outrage. He tears his eyes away from Solomons, staring directly now at Tommy. “He brought you a fucking horse?”

Tommy moves forward, the horse following along after him, docile. Tommy switches to Romani, aware of Alfie’s presence behind him. “Relax, brother. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“He’d better fucking not,” John spits, partially soothed, but shoots a glare over Tommy’s shoulder at Alfie.

“How would he know?” Tommy asks, resting a hand on John’s shoulder, face purposefully clear, despite how much he’s holding in the strange urge to laugh at the situation. “He’s Jewish. Different traditions.”

“Oi,” Alfie interrupts, stepping forward now as well. When Tommy looks over to him, he’s got his chest puffed out, looking harsh and burly. “Don’t know whatever the fuck you two are saying, but I know who you’re talkjng about, alright? Enough whispering.”

John scowls at him, unimpressed with the man. But after a moment, a new expression crosses his face, something significantly more mischievous— his anger having faded, he’s fallen back into just being his little brother. “I’m going to tell Polly about this.”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

John grins, slaps Tommy on the back. He slips back into English. “Yeah, I’m going to tell her.

“John!” Tommy hisses, but John’s already ducked out and away from him, practically skipping down the street in his excitement to cause problems. Tommy sighs as he stares after him. That’ll be something to deal with.

Alfie follows his gaze, deflating a bit now that John’s gone. “What was all that about, then?”

Tommy snorts, and he lifts a hand to pat against the horse’s flank. “It’s… one of the traditions of my people,” he murmurs, his cheeks suddenly feeling a bit warm. “The gift of a stallion represents certain… expectations.”

“Expectations?”

Tommy looks up at Alfie, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, especially at the look of bewilderment on the man. “You’ve asked me to marry you.”

*

Alfie follows him home. Or, more accurately, Alfie follows him back to Charlie’s Yard, to board the horse, and then he follows him home. He tells Alfie, as they walk, that there’s no need for him to follow— that it wasn’t as if he needed to explain to his family his intentions (or his lack of them), that him showing up will likely only make things worse. But Alfie is apparently determined to make a vaguely uncomfortable conversation into something much more excruciating. So Alfie’s there, at his back as he opens the front door, a dull feeling of dread filling Tommy as he hears John’s gleeful snickering from somewhere deeper in the house.

It was too much to hope that John wouldn’t find Polly before him. Far too much to hope that when John found her, that she wouldn’t already be accompanied by every single member of his immediate family. He turns the corner to the kitchen, five sets of eyes locking in on the two men as they enter. 

“See?” John laughs, absolutely delighted, gesturing wildly towards Tommy and Alfie standing in the doorway.

“No,” Arthur grunts, going a bit pale.

Ada and Finn snicker behind their hands, eyes wide. 

Polly just purses her lips, eyeing the two of them, considering. 

“Alright, look.” Tommy steps forward into the room, shooting his younger brother a quick glare. John, unrepentant, grins back at him. “I’m sure John’s told you—.”

“That congratulations are in order?” Polly interrupts, arching a brow.

“It’s been good weather,” Ada jumps in, still giggling a bit. “Good for an outdoor ceremony.”

“Alright,” Tommy holds both his hands up, trying to quiet them down, to stifle the laughter. “No one’s proposing to anyone, you hear me?”

Arthur lets out a sigh of relief. The rest of them keep looking amused. Polly turns her gaze on Alfie, still standing behind Tommy. “So I suppose I don’t need to ask you for your intentions with my nephew, then?”

Alfie makes one of those noises he does, that deep rumbling in the back of his throat. “Well, you could ask me, right, and maybe I’d tell you, out of respect for our dear Thomas standing over there, but I’d not be sure you’d like my answer.”

Tommy looks up, frowning. He’s always overly cautious around the man, always looking for double meaning behind his words. Is what he’s said… a threat? “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Alfie moves in closer, tilting his head to the side. He lifts a hand, gesturing towards Tommy standing there. “I mean, if given the opportunity, mate, I’d love to take a run at it, but if that would mean volunteering to join in on this family of yours, I’ll have to decline, right.”

The room is silent for a moment. Just for a minute, though.

“What?” Arthur growls. Ada releases a nervous bark of laughter, eyes still wide and shining with her glee. John and Finn, sitting on either side of her, have matching expressions. Tommy just… stands there.

“Jesus Christ,” Polly murmurs, and with that, she rises to her feet. There’s a sly look to her. “Tommy, perhaps you should have a chat in private with your suitor. Best of luck to you, Mr. Solomons. Heaven knows, you’ll need it.”

The Shelby’s slowly leave the room, Arthur and John seeming particularly reluctant to leave them, for very different reasons. Arthur, on his way out, gets directly into Alfie’s face, glaring, but Alfie is as unphased by threat of direct violence as he always is. 

Soon (much too soon), it’s just Tommy and Alfie stood in the room.

“What?” Tommy asks, weakly, because he still thinks there’s been some sort of misunderstanding, that he’d not interpreted what the man had said correctly, because there’s no way that Alfie actually meant it, right? Not in that way.

All Shelby’s gone, save Tommy, Alfie has the sense to look a bit more bashful than his previous bravado in the face of Arthur and Polly. “Well, wasn’t gonna just fucking… say it, alright?” He runs a large hand down his face, stroking through his beard. “Was going to be proper nice, was going to be romantic.” 

Tommy coughs out a laugh, something far more nervous than he’s normally capable of. “Romantic?”

Alfie nods, twitchy and unpredictable. “Yeah. First was the horse, right? Had to give you a gift, a signal of my esteemed interest. You’re very pretty, is the thing. Makes me want to give you gifts, daft as it is. Couldn’t decide what you’d want, was between that and a razor to sew into those silly little caps of yours. Thought that might come across the wrong way, that you’d think I was threatening to cut ya.” He sighs, eyes darting up towards the ceiling. “Should’ve just gotten you the razor. How was I to know that the horse would be as good as dropping to bended knee?”

Tommy almost blushes at the turn of phrase. Alfie, with his eagle eyes, still notices. His lips quirk up into a smirk.

“That a nice thought, Tom? I’m not as young as I used to be, sweetie, knees don’t cooperate as much as I’d like them to. For someone with a mouth like yours, though, I might be persuaded to try.”

“Alright,” Tommy holds up a hand, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can go any further. He weighs his own words over in his mind, still trying to puzzle through this unprecedented situation. “So… what exactly are you saying? You…” he clears his throat, hating it before he even says it. “You want me?”

Alfie just nods, as if he sees absolutely nothing strange about the concept, as if Tommy’s just asked him if he’d like to stay for a cup of tea. “Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Oh.” Tommy nods back at him. He bites at the inside of his lip. “Okay. You. Alright.”

Alfie studies him, something shifting in his expression that Tommy instantly picks up on. Disappointment, maybe. “You don’t need to reciprocate, lad. Just say, ‘thanks, but no thanks’, and I’ll be right on my way back to Camdentown, won’t I? Daresay I won’t even do something dastardly, like charge you an extra percentage on your goods. No charge for rejection, alright?”

Tommy snorts. “No cost for hurt feelings?”

Alfie, curiously, laughs. “Different sort of cost, perhaps. Nothing I’d hold you to, though.”

It gives him pause. He’d been well on his way to formulating his rejection, on how to say it without causing any damage to their professional relationship. It’s not that he dislikes Alfie, per say. On the contrary, Tommy finds himself thinking frequently of the man, drawn to him like he’s never been drawn to anyone else, be they friend of foe. He’s strong, and broad, and interesting, and exactly the sort of man that Tommy thinks that people would be attracted to. In fact, if Tommy thinks about it for too long, he’d say that he likes Alfie very much. It’s just his first instinct is to draw away in the face of violence and uncertainty, two things of which Alfie had to offer him in spades. Especially if Alfie weren’t all that serious about this, if he’d just like to “take a run” at him, like he’d said, that was too much mystery for too little payoff. Though it’d probably be spectacular.

But… Despite his words, Alfie doesn’t seem all that interested in something quick, a one-off. The way he’s looking at him now, as if Tommy held the fate of the world in his hands certainly seems invested. 

“Can I… Can I think about it?” Tommy finally decides on. There’s a tension between them, tension that is not unpleasant. 

Alfie nods, expression brightening significantly. He steps forward. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you do that.” He looks so large up close, despite not being all that much bigger than Tommy, in reality. “Suppose I’ll go now, then. Give you your time to think on it. On us.”

“Alright.” Tommy manages, the words threatening to get caught in his throat as Alfie continues to approach him. It doesn’t feel menacing. It feels playful, somehow. “Best get back to Camden.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea, treacle. Left the bakery in Ollie’s incompetent hands, you see. I’d be surprised if half of London hasn’t erupted in flames left under his supervision.”

“Ollie’s not that bad,” Tommy offers, lips twisted up a small smile. Alfie takes yet another step closer. He can feel the heat radiating off of his body, the scent of rum and smoke billowing off of him.

“He has his moments.” Alfie nods, face serious, but Tommy can see the amusement in his expression. “Think he just likes to show off, whenever you’re around. Pretty eyes like that will make a man do stranger things.”

Tommy’s smile grows. “The door is behind you, Mr. Solomons.”

“Yeah, yeah it is, isn’t it?” Alfie’s eyes flicker over Tommy’s face, as if trying to memorize what he sees. “I said I’d leave you to think about it, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Tommy nods, “was very courteous of you.”

Alfie’s beard twitches with his concealed grin. “It was very courteous of me, wasn’t it? And I’ve got to check on Ollie now. So I’m leaving.”

“You’re doing a poor job of it.”

“Alright! Alright, I’m going.” Alfie rubs a hand through his whiskers. “Just want to leave you with one more thing to think about, if that’s alright with you.”

“If what’s alright with me—”

Tommy is quickly cut off by Alfie leaning in the final few inches between them, capturing his mouth in a kiss. Alfie’s lips are warm against his, firm and insistent. There’s a hand holding onto his chin, tilting Tommy’s face in exactly the right position to be kissed properly. Tommy’s surprised by it, and surprised by how he melts, how he allows himself to be held onto, his eyes fluttering closed against his volition. 

All too quickly, Alfie darts away, ending the kiss far too soon for Tommy’s liking. He opens his eyes again just in time to see Alfie licking his own lips, as if tasting for anything Tommy might have left behind. The man’s fingers, still holding onto his chin, run soothingly up the length of his jaw before he drops the hand once again to his side.

“Alright.” Alfie grins. “I’ll be off then. You give that a bit of thought, Tom.” 

“Oh,” Tommy chokes out, body flustered and reeling from the kiss, and from Alfie’s quick withdrawal. By the time he’s managed to pull himself together a bit, Alfie’s already at the door.

The man glances back over his shoulder. He’s still smiling, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “See you soon, sweetie.” With that, he’s out the door.

Tommy stands there, listening to the door swing shut behind Alfie. He lifts a hand up to his own face, traces over the place where Alfie’s hand had touched him, then over where his lips are still tingling with the memory of the kiss. His blood pumps hot through his veins, heart racing.

He stumbles over his own feet in his haste to get to the door.

[blackkatmagic]

Underwater kisses, Codywan. Could be a lifesaving thing, could be a 'let's try out this neat thing' thing.

“Is this the part,” Obi-Wan drawls, balanced on the very edge of the plank, “where I say I would rather die?”

Admiral Grievous coughs, but he takes a warning step forward, saber out and leveled at Obi-Wan’s chest. “Captain Kenobi, this is the end for you. Do you really think now is the time to mock me?”

“If not now, when?” Obi-Wan asks mildly, and eyes the saber. If he can get his hands on it—

Well. The twenty men behind Grievous will still be a problem, even if he does, but at the very least Obi-Wan will feel a little bit better with a blade in his grip.

Now would be the best time for Anakin to show up, honestly.

Grievous makes a hacking sound that probably passes as a laugh, for him. “Captain, I have treated you with far more courtesy than a pirate deserves. Surrender the location of your base, and you will not die here.”

Obi-Wan is almost tempted to do it; Mace has been particularly tetchy the last few months, and in a pitched battle between a navy admiral and a sea god bound in human form, Obi-Wan is rather certain who he should put his money on. Mace won't be pleased with him, though, and that’s reason enough for Obi-Wan to say politely, “I'm afraid I can't, Admiral. Your hat is so far out of fashion, you’d be laughed right out of the camp. Have you considered changing tailors, by chance?”

Grievous growls, disgusted, and waves a hand. The sailors behind him raise their muskets, and Obi-Wan swallows a groan, shifting back as much as he’s able. The sea is choppy, a storm brewing on the horizon, and it’s hard to keep his balance with his hands bound behind him. This coat is new, though, and he’d really rather it not end up with bullet holes in it quite yet. It was a gift.

“Any last words, Captain?” Grievous rasps, and Obi-Wan hums, tilting his head.

“There was something,” he muses, and doesn’t turns his head, even when scales far below catch the half-light and burn orange-gold. “Ah, yes, I remember now. Death before surrender, and may liberty prevail!”

One step back, and he leaps off the plank, dives straight into the ocean, and goes under.

Musketballs pepper the water a second too late. Obi-Wan arrows through the water, struggling with the ropes around his wrists, and tries not to curse Grievous for his skill with knots. Not yet, at least; he’s short on air as it is, and the ship is still too close for comfort. Already his lungs are aching, and he fights the desire to surface—

Gold in the water, like the sun hammered into scales.

Strong hands catch him, pull him down even deeper until the water is dark shadows and distant sun, and it feels like climbing too far up a tall mountain. It takes effort to control himself enough not to struggle, but—

Obi-Wan trusts those hands more than any other, and he raises his head, looking right into dark eyes. His chest aches, not just from lack of air, and he smiles.

Cody gives him an exasperated look, but smiles back. He’s a vivid thing in the gloom, long, looping tail shining with its own light, dark skin scattered with bright scales like misplaced stars. Clawed fingers catch Obi-Wan’s arms, hauling him closer, and there's a sharp tug at his bonds before they fall loose.

Instantly, Obi-Wan brings his hands up, cupping Cody's face, and Cody turns his head, kisses his palm. Obi-Wan wants to tell him his timing is perfect, but—well. An ocean between them and all that, if less of one right now than sometimes happens. He glances towards the surface, but Grievous’s ship is still there, a looming shadow—

Cody tugs him back around with demanding hands, hauls him in closer, and Obi-Wan catches hold of his shoulders in surprise, raises a brow at him, and sees Cody's fond eye-roll half a second before a warm mouth collides with his.

For an instant, Obi-Wan is absolutely bewildered. Cody's usually the one complaining about romantic gestures at the wrong place and time, and this—

Air fills his lungs, a breath shared, a breath granted. Obi-Wan digs his fingers into scaled skin, kisses back, and feels Cody smile against his lips. Claws trace teasing up his spine, curl around his back, and Obi-Wan retaliates by wrapping his arms around Cody's neck, fingers scraping the sensitive scales that curl behind his ears and down his jaw. He can feel Cody's reaction, the jerk and gasp, the way Cody's tail curls around him, hot against the chill of the water.

It gives him altogether too many immensely pleasant memories of laying Cody out in the sand, making him writhe. Dragging him up onto Obi-Wan’s ship when it rested at port and taking their time in an actual bed. Good things, warm things, and Obi-Wan pulls back just enough to look at Cody, to cup his face. He frames the words he can't say, and Cody grins at him, bright and brilliantly pleased.

I know, he returns, and kisses Obi-Wan again.

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (4/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: You moved in with Ada Thorne when an unexpected visitor arrives as well as unwelcomed nightmares

Paring: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (not romantic...yet)

A/n: This took really long to write. But worth it. I hope whoever reads enjoys and has a fantastic day :)

Ada Thorne was the sweetest soul you had ever met. It didn’t take too long for the two of you to become friends. The house she lived in was big enough for a small family yet it was only her and her son who resided within it. When the two of you met for the first time, she appreciated that you didn’t pry into why that was. Of course she would tell you about her husband Freddie Thorne, the love of her life as she’d call him. You trusted her enough to tell her certain aspects of your life whenever you two would talk. You noticed the same from her. You knew it wasn’t a matter of not trusting each other but rather wanting to leave things in the past. You were ready to start moving forward. And you were glad Ada was helping you to do so.

Today, you and Ada sat on separate chairs in the living room. Bare walks and boxes surrounding you as you read the newspaper looking for job openings and Ada looks over paint swatches. You both look up alarmed when you hear the front door open. Only the two of you had keys to this places. Ada gets up and opens her purse immediate, grabbing a little handgun. She looks embarrassed as she holds it up to the closed door waiting for the intruder. You don’t make any comment on it.

“Go upstairs and check on Karl.” She says

 “Ada…” You hesitate hearing the footsteps get closer.

 “Please, just make sure hes alright.”

 You nod and leave out the back door, running silent up the stairs. You  open the room of the child and find him sleeping peacefully. You close the open window beside his bed and check his closet. You can never be to safe. You can hear voices coming from downstairs. You close the quietly and run back down the stairs.

‘That’s a good sign’ you think as you get closer hearing the voices speak calmly and civilized to each other

 “…there are always men watching the house.” You hear Ada say.

 It was true first night of you staying here you noticed it. Ada brushed you off saying it was creeps, you feared it was Sabini wanting to know your whereabouts. You’re realizing that it might have something to deal with her. An idea you never really considered or maybe didn’t want to.

 “yea. Gangsters of the worst kind.” A mans voice says as you slowly turn the nob of the door.

 “Ada?” You call out, entering the room and locking eyes with icy blue eyes.

 Thomas Frekin Shelby. Alarms ring off in your head. Why was he here? How does he know Ada?

 Ada clears her throat. “(Y/N), this is my brother-“

 “We already know each other.” Thomas interrupts.

 “Barely.” You add.

 Ada looks between the two of you. A mix of emotions appearing on her face.

 “Tommy, I think you should head out now,” She gives you a look, “we can talk later.”

 She leaves the room leaving you and Thomas alone. He doesn’t waste a minute.

 “You still work for Sabini?”

 “I don’t see how that’s your business.”

 “It is if you’re living with my sister,” He says danger flicking off his tongue, “I’m sure you haven’t told her about your work experience amongst other things.”

 “I didn’t know you were siblings.” You mumbled under your breath crossing your hands across your chest.

 “Sabini tried to hurt Ada. And if I find out your part of a plan to hurt her-“

 You cut him off, “He fired me, personally. Okay? And I wouldn’t put Ada in danger, she’s my friend.”

 An awkward silence ensues. You avoid his eyes and fiddle with the end if your fingers.

 “I didn’t know he tried to hurt Ada.” You quietly say feeling guilty for something out of your control.

 “Men like that have no limits.” He states.

 He stops staring at you to grab a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. You take a moment to observe him. You notice the fading bruise around his eye and busted lip that was healing. You wonder if that was courtesy of Sabini of himself.

 He catches you staring as he lights up. “you want one?”

 “No thank you Mr. Shelby.”

 “Call me Tommy.”

“I’m afraid that’s a bit too familiar for me.” You say.

 He shrugs. “Do you like horses, (y/n)?”

 Your eyebrows furrow at the sudden change in topic. “I- I do…”

 “I’m thinking of buying myself a racehorse,” He says nonchalantly, “Entering em in Epsom.”

 You pause as the pieces come together for you. “Why are you telling me this?”

 “Because I think you know what I’m trying to say.”

 Sabini was big in the racecourse. He was king around there and all his men had the licenses to gamble on the fixed races. You knew it one of his largest sources of income. Thomas entering a horse in the race would just make Sabini angry and territorial. If that’s Thomas plan than he would succeed but you don’t think that that’s all.

 “I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

 “Walk me to my car.” He answers.

 And you do walking slightly behind him, as he leads the way to where he parked his vehicle. In the sunlight you notice that his eyes aren’t as icy as you first thought. They reminded you of the sky on a cloudless day. You smile to yourself liking the new comparison.

 “I’m going to find a horse tomorrow. I would like it if you would accompany me.”

 “I don’t know much about picking horses.”

 “I already know which horse I’m picking.”

 “then why-“ He cuts you off

 “Its cause your smart and observant. Its good to have people like that around. And you will be compensated for your time.”

 You thought about it. There were no jobs in hiring, that newspaper you were reading showed you shit. And you didn’t want to rely on Ada your whole time staying here. You thought how Sabini might think those men were correct in their gossip if he saw you with Mr.Shelby. He would deem you a traitor and put a price on your head. But you were already in the hole. Might as well dig further.

  *******************************************************************************************

 You wake up covered in sweat. Nightmares starring your father were becoming more and more frequent. You used to get them a lot at Blue Hills. Dreams of him coming for you, killing you like he did your mother. The threats he made ring in your head as you take a deep breath. Trying to place yourself back in reality. Last night you and Ada had a long talk. She wanted to know exactly how you knew her brother and why. You were honest with what you told her not leaving out a single detail. It was probably what triggered the nightmare in the first place.

 “Its not my fault, I didn’t tell you. I didn’t even know you knew him let alone were related to him.” You say at the end reminding her that she changed her last name to Thorne.

 She didn’t stay to upset for long both of you ended up having a good laugh even having a drink. You don’t tell her about you going to check out Horses with Thomas. You can tell how she feels about her family. She loves them but rather keep em at a distance.

 You stare outside the window waiting for Thomas’s car to appear, not wanting him to ring the doorbell and disturb Ada or Karl. He told you to dress nice but not too nice (Whatever that meant). You went with a simple yellow dress and lovely coat on top seeing as it is cold out. The nightmare still plagues your thoughts. It dawns on you that you’ve never got a confirmation if he ever killed your father. You wonder if there’s ever an appropriate time to ask.

 You see a large car rumble down the street with two men in the front seat. One of them being Thomas.

 You run down the stairs and open the door talking long confident strides to the car. He and the other man get out of their seats. You recognize the man from the Eden Club.

“John, go sit in the back with the others.” He says

 The man who you now knew was named John smirks at you before walking to the back, you can hear other men hollering as he get in.

 “you brought a small army with you?” You question

“Can never have too much backup.” He says opening the passenger door for you.

 You nod a thanks and step in. He wordlessly get back to his side and starts the car. At first not a word was said between the two of you as the ride began. And there were times when you loved and valued silence but here in this small space in the car; it was deafening.

 “What does your horse look like?” you ask breaking the silence with an out of the blue question. You felt like a bundle of nerves as you tried to gain the courage of asking the question you really wanted to know. You weren't scared of asking him just what his answer would be. 

 “What?” He says not expecting you to ask that

 “um the horse your buying…whats it look like?”  

 He clears his throat, “Curly says she’s gray... I’m sure he can tell you more when we get there.”

 You lean back a bit in the seat, “I used to ride when I was a kid,” You stare at window watching as London fades around you into trees and greenery, “I haven’t ridden in so long.” You say.

  He doesn’t say anything. You think back to the nightmare. You were riding horses with your father. It started off like a memory. He was the one who taught you of course. And then right in the middle of you riding the horse at top speed. He shot it. And you flew from your horse tasting dirt in your mouth. You can hear him yelling at you and pistol being put at your temple. You felt like a child, helpless. You saw your mother in the dirt beside the horse. That was the worst part. 

 You can hear the muffed loud conversations the men in the back are having. You can’t comprehend any of it. Thomas’s voice bring you back to reality. 

“Are you okay, (y/n)?” He asks.

 You knew if you said nothing it woud just keep gnawing at you. You would have a hard time trying to tell yourself that the dream was nothing when it honeslty felt like a warning.

 “Mr.Shelby,” You say your words slowly not wanting a single syllable to tremble, your eyes trained on the scenary passing you by, “ is my father dead?”

 He glances at you bewildered, definitely not expecting you to ask that.

Read pt.5

Tags

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

[count-woe-laf]

Who’s your friend?

Prompt 53 from @someonehelp sorry that it took so long and if it’s not what you wanted, I may have accidently written it for @coconut-cluster ‘s battle of the bands au and this post and its tags because my brain could not stop thinking about it. The au is hers and y’all should go check it out, I love it

Thank you @knight-of-cauldrons for helping me with the names and lovely people from the Roman Arson Squad for helping me with other stuff too and @me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink for helping me edit stuff and talking about this until 4am with me so I knew what to write, I appreciate it, (also the drumstick things is entirely her fault (maybe a little bit of mine))

Pre-romantic prinxiety, there’s a few swears, very brief mention of murder/death, the ending and middle is a little weak, 1348 words

The blood pumping through Roman's veins, the air in his lungs, the microphone in his hand, the noise of the music and the crowd, the feeling of happiness- of greatness surrounding him. It was in these moments that Roman felt truly alive.

It was the show high and boy was it fun; the world would slow it's spinning, Roman- his bandmates and friends playing behind him- would sing, the crowd would cheer. It was one of the best feelings Roman had ever felt. (He says one of the best because he got a free pink lemonade in the middle of summer once and it was closely tied for one of the best feelings ever.) This great feeling stayed until Roman would get home that night. Even once the audience left he would still feel the burst of happiness in his chest.

The Disasters were spread around the stage, packing up their instruments. Well, Remus and Janus were packing up. Roman didn't have anything to do so he was scrolling through his phone. Virgil was sitting on the edge of the stage, playing around with his sticks, talking to someone from the crowd. Normally Roman wouldn’t pay much attention to them, but he didn't have anything interesting on his phone and his gaze kept drifting towards Virgil.

The guy Virgil was talking to looked around their age; he seemed nice enough, maybe he was being a little too nice for Roman's liking, but that didn't matter, he was just some guy. Some guy that was talking to Virgil, a completely normal conversation. Virgil had conversations all the time. …Did Virgil usually smirk at a stranger's remarks, though? Did he normally let someone try (and fail) to spin his drumsticks, would they laugh afterwards? Roman's after show happiness suddenly disappeared; he instantly realized his night wouldn't be as good as he thought. The amazing feeling was replaced with another that Roman wasn't entirely familiar with. All Roman knew was that it wasn't jealousy.

There was no way it was jealousy, It couldn't be jealousy, jealousy didn't feel like this, did it? No, the feeling in the pit of Roman's stomach wasn't jealousy, he wasn't jealous. There was absolutely no reason for him to be jealous over some hot looking dude talking to Virgil. Roman and Virgil were just friends anyway, he didn't have a reason to be jealous. it didn't matter that Roman's heart stopped when Virgil smiled at him. It didn't matter that Virgil would say one flirty joke and Roman would be distracted for the rest of practice. And it didn't matter that Virgil was one of the few people Roman trusted. None of that mattered, Roman was not jealous. Finding himself walking towards Virgil's spot on the edge of the stage wasn't because he was jealous, it was because he was bored and cared for Virgil's safety talking to random people. Yeah, that sounded about right.

"Well you seem really funny, Virgil, right?"

Virgil stopped spinning his sticks. "Yeah, and your name is…"

"Andy, short for Anderson, it's a dumb name right?" They both let out a short laugh, Andy's laugh was really nice and smooth, way better than Roman's dorky one. What? That didn't matter, there was no need to compare himself to whoever this Andy dude was.

Roman ignored his mess of thoughts and placed himself near Virgil. "Hey, Virgil! Who's your friend?" Ignoring how stiffly Roman spoke it almost seemed like he was saying it nicely. Of course Roman was saying it nicely, why wouldn't he be saying it nicely?

"Oh uh, we're not friends yet," and the guy dragged his hand through his hair and winked at Virgil. He actually winked. He looked towards Roman. "Anyways I'm Andy, me and my friend Spike are going to get some food, wondering if Virgil here would like to join us?"

And boy, did Roman have a lot he wanted to say, it might've warranted him a disappointed lecture from Janus. So he turned off his internal monologue of this bitch really thinks he can take Virgil, my best friend out to an 8pm dinner, that's our thing sometimes we even share pancakes- and looked over to Virgil. He must know that the late dinners are tradition and that one cannot break from traditions especially ones with your best friends.

"Come on, it'll be fun." Andy lowered his voice, "Maybe after we can drive somewhere, there's a place I know that's really pretty around this time."

Roman scowled and opened his mouth, hoping to say something that wouldn't sound overly protective and jealous. "He-"

"Sorry we have some band stuff to talk about tonight. But uh," Virgil threw up some awkward finger guns and stood up, quickly trying to get away. "I'll see you around though. Have a good night, Andy." They started to walk away.

"Ok, if you're sure, I wish I got your number, but I'll stick with this," Virgil turned around to see Andy badly twirling one of his sticks. "See ya around Virgey," and with another stupid wink, he was gone.

They both stood frozen on the stage, the feeling in Roman's stomach grew as the silence stretched out. "Did he just make a pun? And call me Virgey?" He looked over to Roman with a bewildered face. "He used a pun to take my stick, called me Virgey, and left. Now I need new sticks," Virgil looked down at his lone drumstick. "This is why I don't like new people talking to me. And being stuck somewhere alone with a stranger? Not my thing." Virgil turned to face Roman, hands loosely playing with his stick. "Sorry for cutting you off there but you were already being overly jealous and extra and I didn't want that to get worse."

"Hey, I'm not overly extra, I don't know what you're talking about," Roman looked down and pouted.

"Oh so you're admitting you're jealous?" Virgil raised an eyebrow with an innocent look.

"I'm not that either, Virgey," Roman ignored his growing blush, took Virgil's last drumstick and lightly hit him on the arm, making Virgil frown in response.

"Oh really?" Virgil took back his stick and hesitated before gently placing it under Roman's chin, tilting his head up so their eyes met. "You're a horrible liar, you don't keep eye contact and can't think of excuses, it's very suspicious. Anyways, you interrupted my lovely conversation with Andy, sure seems like you're jealous, Roman."

Wow… Roman was going to faint. Virgil was looking at him with a teasing glint in his eyes as a stupidly cute laugh fell from his lips. Roman couldn't even respond let alone breathe, who gave Virgil a right to be this- this-

Roman's chin fell. "We should go, I think Jan and Remus are already in the van."

"Uh, yeah," Roman said, slightly dazed. "This is your last call to go with your stranger over there and get into his sketchy looking truck. You sure you don't want that?"

Virgil snorted, "I'll stick with your jealous self. At least I know you won't kill me in a back alley." He started to walk away. "Come on, you know Janus will leave for ihop without us."

Roman followed him out. "I blame you if he leaves us, you piss him off too much."

"Says the one who got into an hour long argument with him about cornflakes." Roman scoffed in response.

The after show high had returned, along with memories of thousands of similar interactions with Virgil. (God, why was Virgil such a flirt? Roman would combust one of these days.) Unlike his earlier predictions, it was a very nice night after all. Roman was so thankful to have the feeling of giddiness back in his veins and his band of friends surrounding him.

(He was also thankful for the ihop waiter that brought him extra whipped cream that Virgil proceeded to eat and get all over him. There was now a very cute picture of Virgil in Roman's syrup covered phone that Roman would not stop looking at all night.)

I tried to do it justice, thanks for letting me write this and for sending in a prompt. Send me a prompt (and characters and a ship, sorry if I change it) and I’ll write something (probably short and definitely sanders sides) out of it eventually. Know that it will probably take me forever but I’m trying to write more

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 40

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3.

If you like reading books, please join my Discord server. We talk about books, and in September will be beginning book exchanges and read alongs.

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Chapter 40

Telling his own parents about being engaged to Hermione had welcomed a completely different — yet more predictable response — than it had with Hermione’s.

Where Robert and Jane had been pleased and joyous that their only child was happy and getting married, Molly had all but squealed with delight about how another of her children was engaged, while Arthur had beamed and congratulated them.

They’d been hugged, clapped on the back and told how happy everyone was multiple times in the space of ten minutes.

Molly had then said it was only right to have a small celebration and insisted they come over for dinner the next Saturday with the rest of the family.

Ron had left the Burrow feeling rather pleased with himself.

“Well, they took that well,” Hermione had said when they reached their house again, and Ron noticed a hint of relief in her voice.

He’d looked at her. “Were you worried?” he asked.

She’d flushed. “I mean, I wasn’t… I’ve just always gotten the feeling that maybe your mum thinks you could do better than… me…”

“What? Why?” Ron was genuinely surprised by that statement. His mother loved Hermione, and he’d assumed she’d known that.

“Well… I don’t know… it’s just… I’ve gotten the feeling… that’s all.”

Ron knew it wasn’t all, but he decided not to press the matter in that moment, instead choosing to assure her that his mum did like her and was genuinely very happy for both of them.

“Wait until she’s at the wedding,” he’d said. “She’ll be sobbing. Trust me.”

They hadn’t spoken of the matter since, and a week later they were once again at the Burrow with the rest of Ron’s family, celebrating his engagement to Hermione.

Ron beamed. For once everyone was there for him.

He’d come into the kitchen from the garden in search of some Butterbeers George had brought over in celebration of — as he had put it — Ron finally getting his act together. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his mother and oldest brother were having a rather loud conversation in the living room, their voices trailing into the kitchen.

“It’s just so lovely,” Molly was saying to Bill. “This will be our fourth wedding in a matter of years. It’s just George and Charlie left and… well… I’m not sure we’ll ever be attending a wedding of Charlie’s.” She sounded disappointed at that, but like she’d come to accept that her son had chosen a life that didn’t involve another person.

“I’m just happy for Ron and Hermione,” Bill said. “Ron’s chosen well, hasn’t he?”

“Oh, Hermione is such a lovely, young woman.” Molly sighed. “And she makes Ron so happy; it’s so good to see. He’s just so in love with her and it makes me happy to just see them together. I love it when they come over. Ginny said they used to argue a lot in their school days, but it seems they’ve gotten over that now and enjoy spending time together. Their house is beautiful, too. Hermione’s parents were very generous in helping them.”

Ron smiled to himself, picking up two bottles of Butterbeer and making a note to tell Hermione what he’d heard. He joined everyone else in the garden and passed Harry one of the drinks.

“Congratulations again,” Harry said, grinning.

“Thanks,” Ron replied, returning the smile. “And thanks for not being upset that we kind of stepped on your toes about it all. It’s just —”

“Why would I be upset?” Harry asked. “I stepped on your toes initially, didn’t I? Jumping in when I knew you were struggling. Maybe I should be thanking you.”

Ron laughed at that. He’d first been disappointed and slightly irritated when Harry had told him of his intentions to marry Ginny, but he’d also known it wasn’t Harry’s fault. Ron had never actually spoken to Harry about it, which he now realised had been a terrible mistake. Maybe if he had, Harry could have pulled him into line sooner and he’d not have waited almost a whole year before asking Hermione — and maybe he’d have gotten to do it in the way he’d originally intended.

But as the week drew on since he’d asked her, and the more times he’d told the story of how exactly he and Hermione had come to be engaged, the more he liked the way it had happened. It was sudden, unplanned, and in its own way, romantic. He’d been left with only one choice before Hermione considered him some liar or gambler or something, and he’d just done it.

People laughed, but not at him. They laughed with him, because the story was funny and much more enjoyable than the classic ways Bill, Percy and Harry had all proposed.

For once, Ron was the one who’d done something different.

“Nah,” he eventually said. “You were smart; I was not. Not your fault.”

Harry smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “I know it may not seem like it at times, but I’m genuinely happy for both of you. You are my best friends in the whole world, and I’m so glad that in spite of everything we went through, you managed to find each other and fall in love and do all those crazy things that we probably never thought was possible.”

Ron didn’t have time to respond, for Charlie wandered over, clapping Ron on the back.

“Congratulations, little brother,” he said cheerfully. “I was quite astounded when Mum told me that you were engaged that I just had to come and see it for myself.”

“I didn’t know you were coming!” Ron said, hugging Charlie.

Charlie shrugged when they broke apart. “Like I said, I had to come this time round. Quite the celebration, huh, especially because you could be here mourning the end of your relationship just as easy, so I hear.”

“I doubt that would have ended it,” Harry said. “Maybe they just wouldn’t have spoken for a week or two.” He smiled and Charlie laughed.

Ron scowled. “Yeah, alright,” he growled. “Have a laugh at my expense.”

“It is kind of funny,” Charlie reasoned. “And maybe a little romantic.”

“What do you know about romance?” Ron asked. “Last time I checked, I’ve had more girlfriends than you’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m rather the disappointment for Mum, aren’t I?” Charlie said, not sounding at all phased by that. “Working a dangerous job with no offspring to survive me if one of the dragons were to end me.” He leaned forward despite no one else being around, grinning mischievously. “Don’t ever say anything to Mum, but a few months back there was a genuine close call. Landed myself in hospital for three months.”

“So that’s why you never visited,” Ron said.

“Yeah.” Charlie shrugged. “They wanted to let Mum and Dad know, but I begged them not to. Mum would have dragged me home in an instant. But what do you expect when working with dragons?” He shrugged again.

“And on the girlfriend front?” Ron asked.

“Much too busy, very little interest,” Charlie said. “Happy for you, my brother, but definitely not for me this whole marriage, children… women thing.”

“What about men, then?” Ron asked. “I’m sure there’s a few fancible ones in Romania.”

Charlie laughed. “Can’t say there is. I’ve got the dragons and that keeps me fairly happy… and busy.”

Ron smiled, knowing well enough that that would be Charlie’s response, but he had thought he’d try anyway.

Charlie bid them farewell, only to be replaced by Hermione and Ginny. Now that they were both engaged, the girls had spent the whole evening talking about wedding things. Apparently, Ron had learnt, no matter how independent and strong-willed they were, the talk of their own weddings had them both gossipping like two school girls over what they wanted.

Ron had to admit that he quite liked this side of Hermione too, despite not seeing it very often.

“You two planned your weddings yet?” he asked.

“Oh, very funny,” Hermione said, frowning. “We were just discussing ideas, that’s all.”

“Already?” Harry asked, sounding rather bewildered.

“There’s a lot of planning involved with a wedding,” Hermione explained.

Ginny smiled, stepping forward and placing her arm around Harry’s waist. “Don’t worry, Harry, our wedding will be rather relaxed in comparison, I think.”

Ron’s eyes widened and he turned back to Hermione questioningly.

Ginny laughed, but Hermione didn’t seem to see the humour in it. She looked up at Ron and said plainly, “There’s no harm in being organised.” Her tone was a bit indignant, which caused Ginny to laugh even louder.

Ron grinned at Hermione, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and kissing her head. “I agree,” he assured her. “I want our wedding to be the best one ever, and if that means lots of planning… I can’t wait to talk about all the wedding things with you.”

Ginny gave him a very sceptical look, but Ron meant what he’d said. Marrying Hermione would be his greatest accomplishment to date — and also the thing that made him the happiest. He wanted to plan a wedding with her and he knew that Hermione wouldn’t take something of this magnitude lightly.

“Merlin, the two of you sicken me sometimes,” Ginny said, her face disgusted. “I hope you’re very happy together.”

Everyone laughed at that, and once again the small group disbanded, Ron and Hermione joining in on a conversation with Percy and Audrey and Bill.

They joined right at the end, and Ron knew that it wasn’t supposed to be for their ears, but it was out there now.

“Fleur’s pregnant again?” Hermione asked, sounding a little alarmed.

Bill turned to her, his face riddled with guilt. “Yes,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “Listen… I wasn’t going to tell you tonight — anyone, really — because this is your night, but —”

“Don’t apologise!” Hermione said. “That’s such wonderful news. Even more to celebrate. Oh, how wonderful. A little brother or sister for Victoire.”

“Yeah, congratulations,” Ron said, clapping his brother on the back. “I’m happy for you — and Victoire. I bet she’s excited.” He looked over to where Victoire was giggling loudly at something Arthur had just shown her.

“She doesn’t know yet,” Bill said. “A bit too young to understand, but I’m not convinced, truthfully. She gets upset if Fleur even looks at our cat. And it’s the end of the world if Fleur picks Séraphina up. I don’t know how she will go with a whole other human who takes the attention away from her.”

“The wonders of having children, huh?” Ron said.

“They’re delightful for the most part,” Bill assured them.

Ron grinned. “Can’t wait.”

The conversation moved on to other things after that, and everyone moved around, engaging in conversations with one person or another.

It was the most active Ron had ever seen his family since the war — even more so than when they’d been here just a few weeks back, celebrating Harry and Ginny.

It was wearing late into the evening, the only source of light being the lanterns Molly had lit around the table, when his mother approached him. She had a warm smile on her face and without saying a word, drew both him and Hermione into a tight hug.

She held them for some time before letting them go and Ron noticed a look of slight bewilderment on Hermione’s face. He remembered then that he hadn’t yet told her of the earlier conversation he’d overheard — about how thrilled his mother was about them getting married.

He supposed Molly could tell Hermione herself now.

“This really is such wonderful news,” she said cheerfully. “Every day gets just that little bit easier when I know that all of my other children are happy and creating successful and wonderful lives for themselves.”

Despite himself, Ron felt pride swell in his chest. He was creating a successful life for himself. He was an Auror — or would be soon — and he was now engaged to marry an even more successful and incredibly motivated woman whom he was super proud of and very much in love with.

“I just want you to know that this news has brought me so much happiness — but I’m sure not as happy as the two of you are feeling right now. I just know you will have a long and happy life together.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Ron said.

“And, Hermione?” Molly turned to Hermione, who seemed to bristle ever so slightly. “You’ve been part of this family for a very long time, but now it’s official.” She gave Hermione another hug, kissing her cheek. “Welcome, dear. I’m so happy you’re marrying my son.”

“Thank you, Molly,” Hermione said, rather exasperated, as they broke apart. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Molly gave them both another affectionate smile and left them standing by the dinner table. When she was out of earshot, Ron turned to Hermione, smirking. “Still think Mum doesn’t like you?”

Hermione flushed. “I never said…” She seemed resistant to smiling

“Yeah, you did,” Ron said. “You said you thought Mum didn’t like you. But she does. She loves you. Maybe not as much as I do, but she still loves you.”

His words seemed to crack her, her mouth finally curling up at the corners. “I suppose I was just still thinking of that time she came into your room and completely lost it because we were together.”

“What?” Ron said, staring at her. “That was why you thought… Hermione, you know why Mum was upset by that, and it had nothing to do with you. She told me afterwards that she thought you were lovely.”

“I know.” Hermione turned to face him. “I know. I suppose I just… I don’t know.”

Ron gathered her into his arms. “You’re part of this family whether you like it or not. And whether they like it or not.” He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “You’re my family and the best damn thing to ever happen to me. Even if Mum didn’t like you, she would just have to deal with it because you’re here to stay… unless, of course, you ever want out.”

Hermione chuckled against him and then murmured, “I don’t want that.”

“Good.” Ron held her tighter against him, resting his chin on top of her head. He looked ahead of him into the fading light, where the edge of the Burrow disappeared into the trees and beyond. “I’m so glad we’re finally here at this moment. Even if it took us a while… I’m glad we got here. I love you and I just want to spend every single day of my life from here on in with you.”

There was silence for a long time.

Then, “I can’t wait for the rest of our lives. I have never been happier.”

Ron smiled. And they both stood there, together.

[zoufantastical]

oh come on the lyrics of the song don't matter, most of the fandom don't even know what it says

What matters here is that they decided to show us Loki's face closely, the look he gives Sylvie is important, otherwise they would not have shown us his face so closely

And there will be more soft and probably romantic moments of Loki and Sylvie in the next episode, for example the one where they are sitting next to each other.

Um. Trust and believe a lot if not the majority knows what it means now after the episode was aired I can assure you that. I don’t know why did you say that as point. Every YouTuber, twitter thread and tumblr post have translated and talked about it.

Oh. Okay so now y’all want to talk about camera angles. My interpretation has to do more with Loki and the fact he’s singing a somber song; reminiscing something he can no longer have. He’s obviously singing it more to Sylvie as that is the closest person he has until that very moment that could understand. Themselves. Sylvie on the other hand, looks more annoyed, confused yet in a way understands what he means but looks at them bewildered because they are literally exposing themselves and they are not noticing. There’s nothing romantic about that if you’re asking me. These people know each other for less than a day. Sylvie is on high alert especially on a strange planet in the middle of its doomsday because her life’s worth of trying to take down the TVA is hanging by a thread.

Why in the world you’ll see that as romantic is beyond me. I’m going to need you all to understand that two people of the opposite gender (and this should be applied to any show you watch) does not mean that the scene they share HAS to be romantic. Will there be soft moments of those two together? Definitely and I hope so because I love them together- just not in the sense that they need to fuck each other for the family gaze.