#and like even if you do describe the weather for no reason if it brings you joy fine

[kazusys]

— hugging scenarios.

genshin men in different scenarios revolving around hugging. (❕) a/n: will maybe do a pt. 2. suggest (male) characters! :]

characters included: kazuha, xiao, scaramouche/wanderer, tighnari, cyno, kaeya, and diluc.

kazuha nuzzles his head in your neck as you run your fingers through his un-ponytailed hair, your back facing him as you focus mainly on what you’re reading.

he’s gripping you tightly, thinking up reasons of how he’d be able to explain throwing your book with your notes inside across the room solely to steal your attention away from working so much. he means the best— really!

as much as it is tempting, kazuha wouldn’t dare make you upset at him for ruining your papers. instead, he’ll patiently wait and continue softly humming and kissing your neck until you finish. he’d wait for as long as you wish, if it only meant you’d eventually hold him in your arms at the end.

he hears you sigh a few minutes later. “ah… i think that should be it.”

he watches in anticipation as you put your research on the nightstand and turn to face him, a soft smile on your face as you apologize. “sorry, love.”

kazuha simply shakes his head as he brings you in closer, kissing your lips in earnest.

“xiao?” you call out, a little bit of a stutter coming out at the end. it was absolutely freezing out here. it was a good thing you brought a jacket, but even then.

you felt a breeze behind you as you turned to face the beloved adepti materializing out of nowhere.

the smile you wore quickly changed as you panicked seeing what he was wearing. reaching for your coat buttons, you cut off whatever he was about to say with, “are you crazy?! you’ll die of hypothermia wearing that in this weather! oh my gosh, xiao—”

“it’s really—” he tries to make a sentence again, only to be shut off by you wrapping your piece of clothing around his shoulders, directing his arms to go through the sleeves.

although he was used to this sort of cold weather, he appreciated the thought. but the odd warm fuzzy feelings that usually overtook his chest whenever you did something kind for him didn’t fully spread this time around, seeing that your sleeveless top and thin enough pants barely sheltered you at all from the snow starting to come down.

it was his turn to reprimand you as he sighed, “you’re calling me crazy, and yet you’re the one wearing a sleeveless shirt in the middle of one of our coldest periods. what were you thinking?”

despite him looking annoyed, he came towards you and swiftly picked you up bridal style, earning a small yelp as you were swept off your feet (literally) and teleported over to wangshu inn.

you quickly got over the initial shock, a smile returning to your lips. “y’know, that’s technically qualified as kidnapping.”

“shut up.” he responded, although with no malicious hint in his voice. he made sure to kiss you afterwards though, just for some extra warming up.

scaramouche hates you, he swears. he hates you (affectionately), he hates you (lovingly), he hates you (with absolutely no hate behind his words).

but, let’s be honest, he really doesn’t.

he loves you so badly it hurts. it hurts to think that one day, you might leave him like everyone else has. even after everything, even after he got rid of his name scaramouche, sometimes those seeds of doubt still manage to plague him, even though you’ve been with him through it all. damn his stupid past.

but, oh. the way those seeds get crushed under the weight of his non-existent heart expanding as you hug him tightly, your arms squeezing him unlike a thing but a human.

he holds back his tears as he lets himself be held by you, his own arms holding you just as tight as he leaves a kiss, albeit shaky, on your jaw.

when you rub his back comfortingly, he lets the smallest tear run down his porcelain face before burying his head into your collarbone, letting the rest fall as he recites his feelings; true and sincere.

vulnerable is a word you’d describe him as in this moment. though he’ll never admit that this scene happened afterwards, you know that he knows that whenever he’s in need of some love and affection, you’ll be there for him.

he loves you so, so much; mean words be damned.

tighnari, always so caring and hardworking. but it wouldn’t kill him to take a break once in a while, no?

“i swear, i will go into the forest and get one of those mushrooms that you’ve been so cautious around and shove it down your throat if you don’t stop working right now,” you threaten, even if from your ears it sounds empty.

he sighs in return, knowing that you wouldn’t go to sleep until he joined you. especially since he’s been skipping out these past few days. he got up a bit too quickly, wincing at the way his head spun when doing so. “fine, fine. archons, my head hurts…”

“that’s what happens,” you shrug, taking his hands and walking to the bed. he sits with you, blinking the heaviness of his eyes away as you suddenly hug him.

tighnari exhales at the feeling, he should really thank you for saving him from his continuous workloads…

you scratch behind his ears, watching his tail twitch before swishing lowly back and forth. he embraces you back, his eyes coming to a pleasant close. he really needs the sleep.

before he does get the rest; though, he mutters to you a quiet, “thank you, love you s‘much.”

and finally, he drifts off, you in his arms. what more could he ask for?

what a stoic guy that cyno is. and with the absolute worst jokes leaving his mouth, it’s a wonder that the two personalities living in his body are residing in the same person.

he’s telling you jokes as you’re cuddling with him, you mindlessly running your hands through his hair and commenting on his words as he tells them and explains if you don’t get it.

oh, and you’re doing a try not to laugh challenge. did i mention that cyno’s jokes are like, collectively the worst?

he has one goal in mind: tell a good enough joke to hear you laugh and claim victory.

he likes hearing you genuinely laugh. he likes the sound. he likes the swell of pride whenever you laugh because of him.

so as he dishes out one of his newer bests and awaits your judgement, he’s happily surprised hearing a small noise from you before turning into a full chuckle.

he doesn’t think he’s ever had the urge to hug you as tightly as he has now (okay okay, this is a lie. it’s on par with when he confessed and you agreed and the other times you’ve laughed at his jokes).

“cyno— you’re gonna break my ribs!…”

“this is my reward.”

“kaeya… go get some rest. you’re too drunk to be up right now.”

“i don’t wanna. i want to stay with you,” he says, emphasizing it by hugging you tighter. he’s behind you, his form practically towering over yours as you try to keep your composure.

he must’ve really drunk a lot tonight.

you sigh. “i'll be there soon, okay? i just have to finish—”

“you can do whatever—” he hiccups, “—it is tomorrow.”

you sigh again. first you had to pick him up from the tavern, already interrupting what you had planned tonight. now this.

however, you know it’s not really a complaint.

you’re glad he’s honest when drunk. you just can’t stop that warm feeling in your chest knowing that he genuinely wants you to himself.

well, might as well give him what he wants.

diluc can feel your hands around him as he’s busy scrubbing glasses, already having refused you four times in wanting to help him. not because he thinks you’re incapable of not breaking anything— just the opposite, actually— but he doesn’t want you to work because of him.

especially with all the work you’ve already had today. on second thought, you may break a glass from dozing off for a moment from the lack of sleep you’ve been getting. he thinks it’s better for you to rest as he’s doing his job.

he’s not moving much, thankfully. the tavern’s already closed, and it’s just you and him in there. he’s thinking about all the different ways he could carry you home in your half asleep state.

last cup done. finally, he can close up and go home with you and sleep soundly with you in his arms… yeah, that sounds good.

he turns slowly to face you, making your head raise to meet his eyes. you smile, albeit tiredly— but not failing to bring one of his own to diluc’s face nonetheless.

he kisses your lips softly. “let’s go home now.”

©️kazusys — 1/9/24; do not plagiarize/steal, repost, translate, and/or claim any of my works as your own.

[jazzyoranges]

Late nights - drabble

Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: sorry anon, i accidentally deleted the request 😓 but they asked for me to write a fic with tara in fem!reader’s hoodie (aka cuddly tara strikes again)

Words: 0.9k

A/n: hopefully a lil something to get me out of my writing slump. let’s hope this isn’t too bad considering i haven’t written in a few months 😅

You really didn’t mean to be out for so long

First your boss asks you to do one favor, then another, and next thing you know you’re at work for 4 hours more than you’re supposed to be. The asshole didn’t even pay you for all the extra shit you did! You made a mental note to go job hunting this week.

Maybe the gay club was looking for a stripper? Nah. Your girlfriend would get jealous

So you were angry. Angry about your paycheck

Next a few storm clouds roll up that night. Of course you forget to bring your rain jacket that day. Not to mention, rain feels like hail stones when you’re on your motorcycle. Apparently it’d be a cold day in hell before you dressed right for the weather

So along with being angry, you were cold and wet. Shitty might’ve been the lightest way you could’ve described your day

At least you could come home to your wonderful girlfriend in an apartment of your own. It took lots of convincing and hundreds of game nights to convince Sam to even accept the idea of you and Tara being alone together. Fortunately you were blessed with patience and homosexuality — two things that could withstand Sam’s will to protect her sister

Was the older Carpenter’s place on the floor right above you and Tara’s?

…

Yes. Yes it was.

But if it made your girlfriend and her sister happy, you had no reason to not be as well. Other than the elevator that never fucking worked but that was out of their hands

Your shirt and hair were absolutely soaked in rainwater by the time you reached your apartment door. The was a small trail of water behind you from where you walked but that might’ve been the least of your concerns. Fishing around in your damp pants for your keys, you fortunately find them without much effort

Opening the door with as little energy you can, you lock the door behind you and triple check you locked it just like Sam told you

Not wasting any time you slide off your wet shirt in the middle of your living room, throwing it on a chair and missing the younger Carpenter waiting on the couch for you half asleep

“Baby?” Tara rubs her eyes. You stand in the middle of your hallway like a deer in headlights. You were awfully vulnerable while wet and almost naked. Who knew.

Before you can respond, there’s shuffling behind you then something weighted and warm on your back. Tara’s leaning into you with her arms around your torso while you’re wet and almost naked in the middle of your hallway. What a sight.

“Why were you so late? You’re working tonight…” Your girlfriend’s hand dips a bit below your waistband and you have to resist the urge to shiver. From the cold? From Tara? Only god knew

“My boss had me do extra shit. I’ll find a different job that doesn’t have me out so late” You turn around to face Tara while her arms were still around you “I promise”

The younger Carpenter only hums into your chest without any sign of moving. So you don’t. It gives you the chance to really soak in the moment along with the rainwater on your skin. You only pull away when your girlfriend also starts to shiver

Of course she’s wearing nothing but a hoodie

Specifically, Tara’s wearing nothing but your hoodie

“How long have you been fighting sleep? Go to bed, love” You pick up your girlfriend with her legs wrapped around your waist and her arms loosely thrown around your neck

“Since you decided you hated me” Tara mumbles into your shoulder

“When was that?”

“When you didn’t come home on time”

“And I gave you a reason why I was late”

“Which doesn’t excuse you, because you could’ve hurried up” Tara plays with your bra strap as you stop walking toward your shared bedroom

“What I’m hearing is, you don’t want to take a late night shower with me? Even after a long day of work, where you could help me de-stress?” You say with a certain smugness in your voice

Your girlfriend whips her head up at your offer but you’ve already made it to your shared bed, not wasting a second to plop her down

“Waitbabypleaseididn’tmeanit-“ You’re already in the bathroom as Tara’s trying to scramble to you

“What? Sorry, love! Can’t hear you over the shower”

You had a childhood cat that always followed you around when you were younger. Tara reminded you of when your cat would scratch at the door whenever you went to the bathroom. Your girlfriend even had the scratching down just like your cat

When you were about to hop in the bath for a quick shower, something stops you from getting in. The imagery alone that Tara is probably leaning against the door waiting for you to get out is enough to pull at your heartstrings

You weren’t mean. You missed Tara as much as she missed you. It’s why she always wore your hoodies and you always took her shirts that fit you

So against your better judgment and the water bill you’re going to have to take Advil for, you unlock the bathroom door but you don’t open it

You’re both in the shower and you’re in Tara less than a second later

[perfectlyoongi]

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who has your city in the weather app on his phone. as soon as Namjoon started talking to you and felt a little flower blooming inside his heart, he was quick to add your city to his app. seeing it every day, Namjoon made sure to always remind you to wear a scarf or take your umbrella with you. whatever the weather in your city, Namjoon was always ready with little pieces of advice and reminders to make your day better. “it’s going to be quite hot there today.do you have your water bottle with you? carry a fan in your backpack and stop for some ice cream before you get home. you deserve this treat.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who swears the only music that warms his soul is the sound of your voice. Namjoon was in love with you. in a way, your presence in his life had made the world a worthy place to live. you were like a ray of light in the grayest of days. with your laughs and stories, you could warm Namjoon’s heart even if you were miles away. and it was in your voice that Namjoon knew the true comfort of existence. being an eternity away from you, it was in your voice that Namjoon found true love. and there was no music or symphony that could compare with the melody of your voice. “talk to me. tell me about your day. describe the sky to me. say whatever you want, but speak. i need the calm that your voice brings me.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who offers you a set of cards titled ‘open when…’. the world was cruel and challenging, that was a truth known to everyone; as such, Namjoon tried to make your distance less painful by writing a set of letters for you to open at specific times. from a drawing of two arms for when you need a hug, or a recipe for soup when you want comfort, an extensive array of letters were delivered to you on a blustery winter morning — and you swore the sun came out the moment you saw that set of cards. “i think i planned every possible scenario. but if you need a card and don’t find one in this set, send a text. i leave everything to write you a digital letter, just ask.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who says he already missed you before he met you. when he met you, Namjoon felt at peace. for some reason, since the day he met you, Namjoon stopped being so heavy. it was as if you had brought with you the garden of eden that Namjoon delighted in from the moment he met you. in a way, Namjoon’s heart stopped bleeding when the two of you formed a friendship. and oh, when his flower expanded into bushes and trees, Namjoon could feel, for the first time in years, what true happiness was. “meeting you was like coming home after a long day of work. meeting you was a comfort i already knew but had never experienced. meeting you was meeting me for the first time. and i missed you and your soul so much.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who writes a song about you and the distance that separates you. it was more than obvious that Namjoon would express his feelings in a song — it was the only way he knew to alleviate some of the pain he felt. but unlike all the other songs, that one was just made for you. from lyrics to melody, the song was made from scratch, always with you in mind, wanting to show you how much he loved you and how unfair fate was for having put you so far away. “i wrote this song to ease the weight of my heart. it’s a simple poem about my feelings, but i want you to know that my entire soul is forever engraved here. and only for you.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who reads to you every night. fairy tales never sounded so innocent when uttered by Namjoon’s tender lips. telling you various adventures and love stories, Namjoon read to you every night before you went to sleep, hoping that his voice would be enough to bring you some comfort even though he was on the other side of the phone. with delicate words and graceful pronunciations, Namjoon lulled you into a deep sleep at the end of an extremely exhausting day — a reminder that he would always be just a call away from you. “today i want to do something different. when i went to the cafe, i heard a conversation between two strangers and i would like to repeat it to you. it’s about a flower’s love for water.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who left everything behind just to be able to hug you. Namjoon was at a stage in his life where only you mattered. yes, he loved his friends. yes, he loved his family. yes, he loved his job. but, oh, how he loved you. the world only made sense because Namjoon knew you existed; all light came from you, all happiness came from you, all life came from you. you were the world to Namjoon and he didn’t mind leaving all his other loves behind if it meant having you in his arms for the first time. “my heart was begging to come home. i really needed to see you. we spent a lot of time apart. now i’m here. now i’m home. me and my heart are at home.”

[jennelikejennay]

Nobody asked for this but it's time for an essay on Spock's body temperature.

Some people say Spock would have a hot body temperature because he is from a hot planet.

Others say he would have a cold body temperature because he is from a hot planet.

It seemed to me that we could test this thesis! Do animals from hot climates have a hotter or colder body temperature than animals from cold climates?

Humans have a roughly average temperature for mammals, 98.6 F (37 C).

Penguins have a core temperature of 100-102 F. Polar bears have a temperature of 98-99 just like we do. They can maintain this temp even in 40 below zero temps!

What about hot weather animals? The camel can vary from 93-104 F—a huge range, but on average around the same as ours. The elephant also has a large range, 95-99 F.

The coldest-blooded mammal is the echidna, at 89 F. The hottest is the hummingbird, at 107. Neither of these is from an extreme environment. It's more about the metabolism: the echidna's is slow and the hummingbird's is fast.

And yet, you see the range is not very great among mammals. This is because many enzymes work efficiently at these temperatures. Above about 104 F, some start breaking down. By 131 F, there's not much enzyme activity that can happen.

Okay, so: Vulcans. We know that they will not have an especially warm or cool body temperature because of the climate. Since they're warm blooded (an assumption, I admit! But I will defend it later) they will have an ideal core temperature their body will function best at and have features to maintain that despite the heat.

Note: Vulcans can also survive more extreme cold than humans; that's why Spock has to help Bones in a blizzard in All Our Yesterdays. This makes sense to me, because desert climates like Vulcan are prone to extremes. It might get very cold there at night with little moisture to trap the heat. This is one reason I think Vulcans are warm-blooded—a cold-blooded creature would have been useless in a blizzard. The other reason is that cold blooded creatures have a slower metabolism in general, and Spock could not possibly be described as slow moving or slow thinking.

Okay, so what is the Vulcan metabolism? Is it faster or slower than humans? My guess is faster, because of their fast heart rate, strength, and quick thinking. That said, we don't have solid proof either way. It might make sense for them to have a slower metabolism so that their body produces less heat and is less likely to get into the enzyme denaturing zone on a hot Vulcan day.

Which brings us to another question: how do they beat the heat? They seem perfectly comfortable in their climate, they're not using behavioral practices to stay cool as humans from hot climates do. They must have ways to efficiently radiate heat from their core. Those ears, for instance. Remember elephants? Their huge, flappy ears are a major cooling mechanism for them. They are able to push more blood through the small capillaries of their ears in hot weather and restrict it when the temperature drops at night. This is called vasodilation—controlling blood flow to either shed or retain heat. We do it too, though not as much. When you're hot, your ears will be hotter. Out in the cold, your fingers and toes will get much colder than your core.

Like camels, elephants can maintain a larger range of body temperatures than humans can. That's another coping technique they have. Other ways to shed heat include sweat and panting.

I never really imagined Vulcans as very sweaty. In a desert climate, methods of cooling that involve water loss wouldn't be ideal.

Here's my guess: they are extremely efficient at regulating core temperature by controlling blood flow. In hot temperatures, their skin and especially their ears would be hot, but their insides would be maybe 100 degrees. When it cools down, their skin would be very cool to the touch, but they would keep a core temperature in the 90s. They might also be able to speed up and slow down their metabolism somewhat to control their temperature.

So. On the Enterprise, which is kept at a comfortable temperature for humans...I think Spock would be a little chilly to cuddle. If you want a warm cuddle with Spock, go to his quarters, where he keeps it nice and toasty.

This has been my xenobiology deep dive for today.

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number neighbors Pt.28

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

You wouldn’t describe yourself as someone who was regularly paranoid, but recently you've been more than a little on edge. You’d given the man at the market the benefit of the doubt, chalking his appearance up to going to the marketplace when the weather was the most reasonable- like you’d been doing, but that doesn’t explain the Suvs.

You don’t know how long they’ve been following you for, you’d been so stuck in your own world that you’d barely been paying attention to your surroundings but after Saturday you’ve been more cautious of your surroundings and that’s when you noticed the black Suv.

You don’t know if it’s the same one every time, they’ve always kept a far enough distance and you haven't been able to catch a license plate but they appear every so often when you go out. The windows are tinted far too dark to be legal so you can’t see inside but you occasionally find them parked outside of buildings you frequent and it’s starting to worry you.

You don’t want to worry your friends or your mom who would buy a ticket out there first thing though, so you keep to yourself and try to keep a distance from the cars and the marketplace (it’s a devastating loss to not have Gladys’ pastries on hand)

On top of that, everyone has been on edge because of the disappearance of most of the Avengers. As far as you know, Stark, Clint, Banner, and that Spider kid are the only ones still in New York which has civilians asking questions about where the others are and why they left. 

The anxiety from the lack of heroes has everyone grilling the government for answers, especially considering the fact that the crime rate has gone up just from petty criminals getting too cocky. Due to the constant heat The government has been under, they stated that they’ll issue a public service announcement in a week to explain the situation and you can practically feel the country buzzing with anticipation.

The situation makes you think of Nat and you wonder if her “not FBI job” has something to do with this and is the reason why she’s disappeared. You hope she knows wherever she is that you would’ve understood if she’d just explained the situation to you- but maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she was under some kind of NDA that could put her in danger.

Despite avoiding the marketplace you still get the feeling that you’re being watched and it makes you uneasy. You feel like you’re hallucinating with how often you see shadows moving somewhere nearby. You’re never able to catch a glimpse of anyone who might resemble the market man but the fear is enough to have you staying a few nights at your friend's house.

The Suv’s don’t appear for a while after the move and it allows you a small moment of reprieve. You push the lingering feeling of constant observance to the back of your mind despite your brain telling you to be on guard.

The stress of the situation is so tremendous you don’t even realize you’ve been forgetting to leave voicemails for Nat until your mom calls asking why you haven’t called her in a while. You don’t bring up the stalkers to avoid giving her a heart attack but you do tell her about the amount of stress you’ve been under and the toll it’s been taking on you. 

It feels so good to talk about it that you don’t even realize you’re crying until your mother's concerned voice is comforting you through the speaker. God, it was like the universe couldn’t give you a break lately. You hope whatever they’re putting you through all of this for is worth it. 

“Come home for a while, Y/n. it sounds like you need a break, I’ll take care of you.” The dismissal of her offer is on the tip of your tongue but the more you mull it over the more you think it might be a good idea. With the city on edge, the growing crime rate, and your new potential stalkers, getting away from the city is probably the best thing you could do right now.

Much to your mother's surprise, you agree and her excitement at having you come home has you smiling on your end of the receiver. The two of you spend the next hour looking for an affordable last minute and you find a plane that leaves in two days that the two of you agree on. It’s probably not nearly enough appropriate notice for time off but your boss agrees anyway and within the hour you’ve got plans to spend a week at your mother's out of town.

It’s the first vacation you’ve taken in a while and even if it was just going home you find yourself more excited than you’d been in at least a month. You hadn’t been this excited since-

Nat. You hadn’t been this excited since you were supposed to meet Nat. 

It probably didn’t matter to her that you were going out of town, it wasn’t like she was getting your voicemails anyway but- what if she showed up while you were gone? You shake your head, the possibility of that was slim to none and if she did come back while you were gone she’d just have to wait like she’d made you wait.

Still, she deserved to know about the kid on the skateboard you watched run into a pole earlier today, at least. You listen for the tale-tell sound of the beep after the long too-familiar ringing and you find yourself subconsciously smiling as you tell her random snippets from your week.

The breakfast your friend treated you to, the new show you started, the fair that got canceled due to raccoons breaking in to eat all the cotton candy. You avoid talking about the stalkers like you’d done with everyone else but you frown when the news channel starts covering another attempted bank robbery. 

Despite your own safety being in jeopardy you can’t help but worry for her wherever she may be, causing you to voice the thought, the humor in your tone replaced with a solemn resolve

“wherever you are… I hope you’re safe.” You shake your head, attempting to clear your mind from the restless thoughts in your mind “Anyway, sorry I know that was a lot- all that to say I miss you and I love you. Bye!”

You don’t even realize what you’ve said until 10 seconds later and you frantically press whichever number was supposed to delete the message. 

Shit.

It was such a force of habit to end your phone calls with an I love you. You can’t believe you almost confessed to Nat over the phone. Moreover, you’re freaked out by how much the words didn’t feel like a lie. If you were honest you’d been avoiding putting a label on your emotions because you were scared of how serious they were getting but apparently your brain had already decided for you. 

Love.

You loved Nat.

You Love Nat.

Fuck.

Your mind reels with the newfound discovery and you’re grateful you deleted the message before it would be stuck in her voicemail for her to one day hear. Your head's a mess as you set your phone down on the counter and go to pack up your stuff, you had a trip to get ready for and a relationship to overanalyze to try and pinpoint when you and Nat had gone from total strangers to you being in love with her.

 It all made sense now, the heartache, the worrying, the underlying tension between the two of you

It was just your luck that you’d discover you love her when you can’t even tell her. You’re so in your head with your emotions and figuring out what to pack that you don’t even register the sound of your phone’s female electronic voice as it declares

“Voicemail sent”

Pt.29

A/n: Classic mistake, Y/n, I’m sure everyone’s done that! Don’t worry it’s not like she can hear your voicemails or anything…or uhhh ~ Starry

---Taglist--

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[brooooswriting]

Hello I love your work! Can I request a Sam carpenter x reader fic with a younger reader who is part of the friend group and is kind of shy but also kind like too kind for her own good and Sam just being whipped whenever she looks at reader doing something

Just a little whipped

Sam Carpenter x reader

You first started being friends with Mindy, she was a nice girl. Friendly, snarky, funny and loyal, she would describe you the same, which was the reason why she introduced you to the rest of the friend group, Chad, Anika and Tara. Everybody loved you, you were a bit shy but extremely nice, you would do everything for nearly everybody. That was probably what made it easy for them to trust you, you always respected their boundaries and were there for them when the aftermath of the attacks took their toll on them.

As much as you liked all of them, Sam was your absolute favorite. She was really nice most of the time, overprotective, strong, soft and just really cute. Not everyone would describe her like that but to you she was nothing else than that. But you were to shy to realize that she might just think about you that way too.

It was crazy how whipped Sam was for you, Tara and the rest of the group often let her know as they constantly made fun of her for it. They were also surprised how you couldn’t notice, you just thought that she was nice because you, yourself, were often way too nice. Even after a lot of arguments nobody could make Sam believe that you actually like her.

“We just gotta pick up y/n and then we can go get lunch” Mindy said as the friend group walked down the street, her hand holding Anika’s. As soon as your name was said Sams face showed a smile making Tara smirk. “God, you’re whipped” she laughed out until her sister glared at her which made her shut up, she could be scary. They waited in front of the building for about a minute before you came sprinting towards them, and while Chad for some reason thought that he was gonna be the one to get the first hug, you ran past him and hugged Sam, “hey” you mumbled out as she hugged you back, she was about 6 inches taller than you so your head landed on her chest as her arm wrapped around your shoulder. “Hello?” Chad said with his arms still wide open and shock on his face causing you to giggle and part from Sam, her face showing disappointment. You hugged Chad and then the rest before settling back with Sam.

You guys went to a small pizza place not far away where you sat in a bench not far away, the place was warm not like the weather outside as it was freezing. You sat at the edge of one of the benches next to Mindy and in front of the older carpenter who sent you a soft smile. Not even 10 minutes after you ordered Mindy started to complain, “ugh, I should have gotten something to drink” her sigh was loud which made you giggle as you stood up, “I’ll get you something, does somebody else want something?” You asked and everybody nodded. “I’ll come with you” the older woman immediately offered making everybody grin.

“Thank you” you said as you waited for the drinks at the counter, “for what?” Confusion was spread over her face which made you giggle, “for helping me with the drinks”. “You don’t always gotta say thank you you know?” She asked with a hand on your arm, the skin immediately tingling. “Sorry, it’s a habit” just as you finished her phone rang, ‘Danny’. “I’m sorry I gotta answer that, I’ll be right back” she said before walking outside.

You carried as many drinks as you could, the man behind the counter helping you due to the fact that you were so unbelievably nice to him. It’s been about 10 minutes that Sam has been outside without a jacket so you stood up again and grabbed it, “where you going?” Anika asked as she looked up, “bringing Sam her jacket, I don’t want her to get sick” you answered before walking outside to find her in front of the store on FaceTime with a boy. “Your jacket, you must be freezing” you said as you gave her the jacket, a smile grazing over her features. While she mumbled a thank you the guy on the phone spoke up, “ohhh is that Tara’s friends you’ve been…” she sent him a quick look which immediately shut him up. “Don’t be too long before your pizza gets cold, or I can bring it outside if you want” Sam shook her head and told you that she’d come back inside soon which made you go back, her eyes following you until she couldn’t see you anymore. “Bro, you are whipped”

You sat back down on the bench and were about to start eating when everybody started asking questions, “so who is she talking to?” Tara asked as you played with the straw in your soda, “cute boy from next door” you answered before taking a bite of your pizza. “Oh, I’m sorry” Mindy and Chad said at the same time which made you look down at your plate, Sam coming back a moment later. “Sorry” she only said before she started eating.

“There is literature evening kinda thing from my literature lecture, I’m presenting some of my poems and I just wanted to let you guys know in case you wanna come. You don’t have to, there might be a crowd and I know that’s not your thing, so just think about it” it amazed them every time how considerate you were, it was crazy really, the main reason you invited them was because you wanted familiar faces in the crowd but you still gave them an option. Sams gaze softened when she realized why you wanted them there and how considerate you were about their feelings.

When you payed it was already dark outside and while the rest decided to go to the carpenter apartment you decided to go home, you didn’t wanna see cute boy. “Thanks for the invite but I will just go to my dorm. I’ll see you alright?” You told them ready to part to walk the shortcut to the campus, “wait, we will walk you home” Mindy offered but you shook your head, “it’s fine. It’s really cold, so go get inside” they smiled at you and waved goodbye. “I’ll walk you home” Sams tone left no room for discussion so you two and the rest parted.

“Why are you going home already?” She asked as you walked side by side in the cold wind of New York. “I still gotta look over some of the poems for Friday and I promised my roomie that I’d help her with English” it wasn’t a complete lie but you actually just didn’t wanna see cute boy. “You know that she uses your kindness right?” Sam asked as she referred to your roommate, she looked down at you to find you shivering while shrugging your shoulders. Her heart melted seeing you like this and without a second thought she wrapped her arm around your shoulder and pulled you into her, her warmth immediately reducing your shivering. “God, you’re freezing” she mumbled as she pulled you even closer.

A couple of minutes later you were at your dorm, “I’d invite you in but I think there are people waiting for you” you said as you unlocked your room, standing in the door way in front of Sam. She kept silent, just looking at you, “well, thanks for keeping me warm. I’ll see you” you leaned forward and kissed her cheek softly before walking inside and closing the door.

The next time you saw Sam was 3 days later, the group hasn’t seen you either as you were busy stressing over the event and you didn’t wanna stress in front of them as you were scared that they’d feel forced to come. So you kept to yourself and used studying as an excuse.

Your professor started the event, he greeted everybody and then went backstage. You were the second one outside, you were extremely scared but went out nonetheless. You suddenly stopped when you saw who sat in the first row, in the middle of a crowd, Sam. While you were extremely happy to see her, it made your nervousness worse. “My name is y/n and I’ll read a poem I wrote myself for a very special person in my life

Most people like blue eyes

But I’ve found that they only hide lies

Others prefer the color green

As it reminds them of a land scene

And I used to think that too,

Until I met you

Suddenly my favorite color was brown

And your laugh my favorite sound

I love how your voice sends shivers down my spine

And how your eyes shine.

How you wrap your arm around my shoulder to keep me warm

And always make time to walk me to my dorm

I can’t tell you when I fell for you

I only hope that you fell for me too”

Not my best one but hey it works

By now you saw the rest of the group in the back, Sam was looking up at you with a sparkle in her eyes. There was no denying that she was swooning, the first time you realized the way she looks at you.

You went back backstage where you found Tara, “dude, this is so cute. Sams so in Love with you, it’s crazy” you shook your head. “She’s not in love with me, she has cute boy” you denied but before Tara could say something a voice behind you spoke up. “That was great y/n” Mindy said and as you were about to answer your phone rang.

“Come outside xx” -Sam

You smiled and told the others that you’d be outside real quick. With each step you went closer, your heartbeat quickened and you got more and more nervous. “Hey” you mumbled while playing with your fingers as you stood in front of her, “you did so great in there, it was such a nice poem” she told you and hugged you close to her chest, your arms wrapping around her waist. “Thanks” you took all your braveness together before you spoke out again, “it was about you” you looked up at her, noticing a slight blush on her face. She didn’t say anything as she lowered her head to place a soft kiss on your lips, her hand softly cradling your jaw with her thumb stroking over your cheek. Her lips were soft and the kiss was filled with passion which quickly turned to need.

In a matter of Moments she had you pressed against the outside of the building, kissing you. You only pulled away when someone coughed behind you, your face immediately hiding itself in her jacket which made everyone laugh. “You’re so cute” she mumbled as she pressed a kiss to your head and wrapped her arms tighter around you.

A/n: thinking about a part two

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

Gwen's Styles (Part 1)

I remembered I have a video editor that is lets me look to individual frame, at least better than my original method of pause on some media player.

I am going to do individual Images because adding image descriptions to four images cosplaying as one is a headache, so...yeah, multiple parts.

Okay I was planning to not say anything and just show the pretty pictures, but this part distracted me- can she have those hair buns?

Look my head is short, and even when I had it longer I never attempted to do buns, so I don't know. However looking at her hair length, she shouldn't be able to do this, right?

So this may be before she curt her hair, or she has extensions- maybe a wig? Any suggestions pals?

Ok sorry for the interruption, let's get back to your original programming.

Okay so this truly jumps all over the place timewise, because no way in hell I just saw her use such light outfit just for her to pop up the biggest jacket in this entire collection yet.

Aaand that's the limit of the images! We just hit the 30, and want to hear something funny?

This is just like, 2 seconds of footage, I didn't even get to 3 seconds.

G-d what I got myself into.

Anyway! I obviously need to check the rest, but looking at this and trying to describe them, made me realize of a few things in regards to Gwen's style.

Layers, uses layers even when the weather seems to be good enough not to, so even if is not all of them, she likes to be covered. Considering she doesn't use her suit underneath like Miles, I wonder if this is her style, or her trying to hide bruises/scars from battles.

Most of the clothes seem to be loose, this is probably just a style choice. I bring that up because I use loose clothing for sensory reasons, but I don't think she is the same in that regard.

This is probably the animators trying to make the images more distinct, but she hold her hair, a lot; I am surprised she got her hair so short in the previous movie considering how often she does something to hold it in other hairstyle. And I imagine this is about style, because with how often she has hair in front of her face, is not about holding the hair.

Colorwise, she has a varied wardrobe, but I was surprised with how much dark green she uses; the other color that came up a lot was blue; but the dark green surprises me since is not my first thought when thinking of her. Though funnily enough, the original Gwen Stacy is associated with dark green a lot, since it was on her raincloak the time she died...huh.

Ok I may start with the next one soon, but I may take a second to deliver said post because holy shit this was a lot.

Again even if I am not the best, I try to add image description, and bringing up every single frame and trying to name what's important about it is a lot.

Hope you guys like it!

[midnight-pluto]

ROUND 2 : PG.07 — my nostalgia

ROUND 2: dazai osamu x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: When you decided to attend Chuya's volleyball game, you didn't expect to see a familiar face. A face of someone you thought you would've never seen again; what's more annoying however, is seeing said face repeatedly.

round 2 master list || prev. || next

NOVEMBER 2 ; 18:12

IN ALL HONESTY, Dazai didn't think he'd make it to senior year. Never planned on it, never made plans for his future, never thought it'd be worth it to live so long in this world.

Maybe that's the actual reason he pushed everyone he once knew away, so it'd hurt less once he was gone. So they wouldn't mourn longer once his dead body made it onto the news, what would the news even say about him?

A bright young man with a future ahead of him, struggled with depression and resorted to self-harm as a way of coping, but ultimately succumbed to it and killed himself.

Yeah, sounds about right.

Anyone who actually knew him would say differently though. He wouldn't be described as a "gentle and kind peer" like most victims of suicide, it would sound more like.

"Always having a shit-eating grin on his face, would never accept any kind of help for his mental health. He was pretty smart though, I'll give him that."

"He was a weirdo, always carried around a 'Guide to Suicide 101' book or something. Guess he finally succeeded, he got what he wanted though at least."

The only people Dazai could think of who wouldn't say something like that was Chūya and you.

Come to think of it however, you both would most likely would most likely find a way to bring him back to kill him with your bare hands.

It was a funny thought because it would probably never happen, but you coming back into his life was something he thought would never happen again either.

And you managed to do it so effortlessly. With random tweets he sent out, you were there leaving a silly comment under it along with you being the first person to come to mind whenever something occurs.

Just like how it was years ago.

Thoughts were a continuous stream in Dazai's mind as he looked out upon the open waters of the dock as his back was leaning against the bench he was sitting on, whilst the wooden planks creaked under your footsteps.

'He looks like a freshly divorced depressed dad sitting like that.'

You had just stopped nearby to get a cup of hot chocolate as the weather began to get chillier when you saw the sight of a familiar head of brown sitting on the bench. Dazai's brown strands swaying with the wind as he gazed out at the sparkling water in the sun's light.

Stepping closer to him, he tilts his head up, as he's met with the sight of you.

"Dazai?" you ask, trying to confirm his conscience being present as he looked spaced out prior to your interruption.

He parts his lips to say something, but shuts them with a smile to say something else, "Call me Osamu."

"Huh?" you quirk up a brow, not expecting his words. You both were far from mending and recreating the bond you once shared, however you never expected for him to want you to drop the formalities so quickly.

Your lips quickly formed a smirk as your mind found a perfect way to tease him, "That was so cringe of you to say, Osamu."

He simply scoffed at your words, "You never like formalities, you're the cringe one."

"Nuh uh.”

"We're not doing this right now."

"Bruh." Tilting your head slightly caused a resounding 'pop' to illicit from your neck, "Anyways do you want some hot chocolate? I just got mine and I don't mind heading back in again.

Closing his eyes in pseudo-thought, the brunet smiled with a resounding, "Sure," escaping his lips.

STICKY NOTES

meant to post this yesterday but to caught up with other things 🫡

TAGLIST : @heeslovr @atlasnessie @cvidy @rattyrattyratty @chaos-inperson @almond-t0fu @rwura @fyodorisbbg @lalalaloveallmydays @milksh-ke @phoenix-eclipses @saeandscaralover @stuffeddeer @staymoarmyzen @hotwomanlythings @ashthemadwriter-uwu @strawberryuri [ if you want to be added, send me an ask or feel free to comment! ]

[amphitriteswife]

Hiii there~ can I ask for a favor to write with healing plot for Indra from Snv plsss? I find him quite sarcasm, carefree but solitude. Reader will be the one to enter to his life and accompany with him and lift up his spirit. thank youuuuu

Ofcourse! I hope i did this right! Sorry if it’s not how you want it to be! Sorry if it’s short, feel free to ask more things/ scenarios if you like!

Into the light

⚡️Indra x fem! Reader ⚡️

I based this a lil off the mythology since i’m hindu myself! Sorry if it’s bad. It’s my first request😭

.

.

.

Indra sometimes thinks about why he fell for you. It’s something he can’t quite bring into question. He is a sarcastic, arrogant, carefree but lonely god. Often left alone and only caring about fighting. His life had a normal routine. He always smoked, fought, sought trouble, then sleeps. It was something he did daily for centuries. Something he considered the norm. He didn’t hate it, nor disliked it. Feelings and emotions weren’t his thing, this caused him to be uninterested in most things in his life even more. Indra isn’t one to love, nor to have a crush on someone. One can say that his title as the god of the storms and thunder fits him well for his personality. A gloomy yet nonchalant god. It became a running joke between Rudra and Shiva to refer to him as a clouded man. Not that Indra minded anyway.

Yet, one faithfull day he watched over the earth from the heavens, the rain pouring over the land, the shadows of the clouds casting a rather gloomy and grey like atmosphere on the lands. It made him smirk to see how right most gods and deities were about him, the rain and thunder, the grey clouds and gloomy atmosphere really fit him as they say. It was almost laughable. One of his hand was brought to his mouth, between his middle and index finger was a cigarette, his mind was amused by himself and his thought, yet his eyes held the same uninterested look. The slight damp, yet still lit cigarette hanging on for it’s life while a small puff of smoke escaped his lips. The smell of tobacco filling his nostrils. Smoking was something that he did often, yet it was something that brought him a slight bit of joy.

Indra’s eyes were still dull, lazily watching over the humans who disliked the rain, complaining about the weather and their mood worsening what made him chuckle. Yet he his eyes soon caught the attention of one of the mortals who seemed happy in the rain. This confused him, a mortal? Happy? Because of rain and thunder he causes intentionally? It made him raise an eyebrow. It almost baffled the god. No logical reason came to his mind as to why one would like this gloomy, annoying and depressing atmosphere and weather. Yet, because it was so illogical it also intrigued him more. Are you doing this to catch his attention? Well, you certainly succeeded. He finds you interesting, but don’t let that fool you. Indra is only interested, not placing trust in you.

That faithful day where he suddenly showed interest in you changed everything in his life. Many other gods had things to say and found it suspicious that Indra often spent his time on earth, a place he almost never went to and caused bad weather on for his own fun. No one knew much about the god himself anyway, only his routine and basic knowledge. What was only that he smoked a lot. Indra himself on the other hand hadn’t noticed how much you changed his life. He felt more..alive. He couldn’t even described what he felt for you. Every time he saw you the thunder and rain stop, the shadows of the clouds moved away, the thick gloomy atmosphere casted upon himself and the land suddenly disappeared, and a ray of sunshine shined brightly. A sunshine that symbolized the new light in his life. You. His dear mortal lover who made him realize that the thunder and rain needed the sun. You meant so much to him, to a deep level even the sea bottom was more accessible to reach. Your bright and warm smile, the beaming radiation of happiness that you brought along with you no matter where you went, your humble yet patient personality that helped everyone and everything. You truly were the opposite of him.

Often he finds himself guilty, thinking about the times he didn’t trust you or accused you of using him. Yet you always put up with it. You could handle someone like him. That’s what he found so admirable about you, even trough his flaws, his nonchalant attitude, his sarcasm, his arrogance… you loved him for who he was. And that alone made him fall for you even harder. One can say anything that they like about him, but you, you were a different situation. Ue wouldn’t let anyone talk about you that way, even if it meant he had to fight his fellow gods.

it is said among the gods itself, love usually comes when it’s unexpected. The polar opposites of each other is what attracted one another.

Thank you for your request! @monohopeworld 🥹🩵

[puppysirie0-0]

"Will You Take My Hand, Dear?"

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Lantsov!Reader

Warnings: Mostly fluff that alludes to smut that'll be in the next chapter with a dollop of angst

Chapter 2 of "The Bunny and Its Shadow"

You take Aleksander's hand as he leads you into the hall, belongings in hand. You watch in disbelief as you pass by all the bodies on the floor, unsure if they're dead or just knocked out. Either way, you can't bring yourself to wrap your head around the idea of Aleksander doing something like this. Risking everything that he's fought, scraped, and crawled for, to make sure he could be safe, to make sure his Grisha were safe.

You feel guilty. Why would he take that chance? The chance of everything falling apart, for someone he knew for such a short time. He had lived countless lives, worn various names, but what you hadn't known is that he hadn't loved anyone in those lives. At least not since her. Not since Luda.

Of course Aleksander had told you about Luda. The same night he talked of his past, he gave you his explanation, told you his reasoning for each individual cautious step he took to get here. Told you every ounce of pain that shot through his heart, as the king's guard shot through her's.

What you don't understand is why he would jeopardize all of his progress, possibly even risk war, for someone he's known for a mere 3 years compared to his comparably much, much longer life. You had talked about your insecurity of the time you had spent together and what it meant to him. How you felt that when you inevitably began to grow older, you would longer have any appeal. That he would cast you aside for a younger, prettier girl.

Or maybe he would think you were too much work. Your constant need for affection and clingy nature, he might some day find annoying. That you're broken to an extent that he didn't want to put the effort into. That you would be left heartbroken and alone, like you had been a majority of your childhood.

He promised every single time that he would never do such a thing, that he would find a way for you to live a longer life. But your insecurities and fears always found a way to shine through.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º°  ▩ ∾

Before you could pull yourself from your haze of self-doubt and fear, Aleksander cut through it. He always found a way to get to you when you were upset. Whether it be drowning in your minefield of thoughts or simply upset about what happened in the real world. Your current events being evidence of the ladder.

He squeezed your hand in reassurance, somehow knowing that you're sinking into the quicksand of your mind. As you walk out, into the frigid weather Aleksander leans over to whisper to you, "Ivan, Fedyor, and some other Grisha are in the woods. I didn't want to risk anyone's lives but my own. I much prefer them helping from a distance granted our location."

As soon as you're in sight Fedyor smiles and waves at you. Ivan standing beside his husband, with his usual cold demeanor. Once you're in arm's reach though, Ivan is quick to wrap a kefta around your shoulders, asking you, "Are you okay?"

You're quick to ease his worry and wrap your arms around Fedyor. Always comforted by the pair ever since they figured out that you and Aleksander were more than just ‘kind acquaintances' . Fedyor reciprocates your hug, meeting your need for affection from him with a similar need of his own.

Aleksander patiently waits behind you as you greet the small group of Grisha that had accompanied him. Once you turn back to him he's already staring at you with eyes that you can only describe as absolutely lovestruck. As he admires you with a small smile, he tells you, "Let's get on the road, Milaya." Your cheeks slightly flushing as he used the pet name in front of anyone other than Genya, Ivan, or Fedyor.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º°  ▩ ∾

You ride on Aleksander's horse on your way to your wedding venue. After multiple hours, you were out of Fjerda, everyone was exhausted, and the horses needed a much deserved break.

You set up camp for the night slinking into Aleksander and Your's shared tent. Although you're far from Fjerda, the weather was still quite chilly. As a result you were quick to snuggle under the blankets of your shared cot. It was a good few minutes before Aleksander arrived, coming to bed and pulling you close to him.

With your time away from each other, Aleksander couldn't stand another minute away from you. Every minute, every second, that ticked by where you weren't by his side made him antsy. He held you like you were the only thing precious to him in the world, because you were. You meant more to him than any title, he would risk anything and everything for you. He would scour any place, any country you could be in. He would burn the world down till it was ash if that's what he needed to do in order to find you.

When you tell him about your insecurities and how you feel like you aren't worth certain things, it hurts him. It hurts him emotionally and physically pains him. He has never loved anyone since Luda, that was until you. You had shone bright like a star in the night sky, a beam of light in the depths of his shadows.

He loved you with the entirety of his heart and soul. He would give you the world, make it kneel at your feet if that's what you wanted. You were everything to him, and he wished that his love for you was enough to prove that. That it scared him when he thought of you passing away. That he would lose his little star and be shrouded in darkness again, cold and alone.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º°  ▩ ∾

When you awoke in the morning, Aleksander was gone, but you heard his muffled voice outside the tent. You sat there as you listened to the best of your ability, until Aleksander opened the tent to presumably lay back down with you. Obviously shocked by your consciousness, he asks you, "How'd you sleep?"

"Oh I don't know, I guess I kind of missed you," you teased back at him. He seemed to understand that you were joking and that you actually did miss him dearly. He leans over you and pecks your lips before he turns away from you as he talks, "We need to get back on the road soon, I only paid the officiant for today."

You shoot up before you start getting dressed, remembering today is your wedding.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º°  ▩ ∾

You quickly get ready and are on the path to the venue, the venue Aleksander still won't tell you about. Around noon you arrived there, and by 4 you were getting married. You wore a lavender dress with embroidered sage green vines, one of the first gifts Aleksander had given you.

You felt pretty and Aleksander confirmed the fact. At the altar he stood in a kefta that you can only assume Genya made for him. It was his signature black kefta, with lavender embroidery instead of its usual black.

As you exchanged vows in front of your best friends and to the love of your life, you felt tears welling in your eyes. A few days before, you thought that you'd be meeting a different man at the altar, a stranger. But here you were in a small town in the middle of Ravka, marrying the man you never fathomed you'd be able to, during one of the most gorgeous sunsets you'd ever seen.

Aleks looked at you in question as he asked, "Will you take my hand, Dear? Will you let me drag you down into the shadows and depths to love with my entire being?" You could only answer him with a kiss, unable how to answer with words. As you kissed your husband it was filled with love and unsanctioned want. You opened your eyes to see Aleksander's eyes widen with amazement as he looked above your heads. You swiftly looked up to see stars intertwining with Aleksander's shadowy tendrils.

He looked down at you and said, "You-You're a Star Summoner. You're Grisha."

You looked around at your small group of Grisha, including Fedyor and Ivan who were staring at you with both shock and complete awe. They all fell to their knees as they looked at you, them all saying the same phrase, "Sankta Y/N"

∾ ▩ °º❤️º°  ▩ ∾

Aleksander grabbed your wrist amplifying your new found powers, and pulled you over to where they had set up camp. He got tired of dragging you along, as he was much faster than you could keep up with, so he picked you up bridal style carrying you the rest of the way.

Once you were inside your shared tent, Aleksander set you down on your cot. Though he practically threw himself at you in a much less graceful and much more hungry, lust-filled manner. He leaned over you before he smashed his lips to yours, you meeting the kiss with equal vigor. He nipped and bit on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You didn't pull away until absolutely necessary. As you both pant, trying to catch your breath, you heard him whisper, "We can live together forever now."

Your heart swells with the admission, the fact that you were Grisha and you would never lose Aleks. That he would be by your side for as long as you both lived. You reply to him, "You're right my love, I'll never have to leave you now." You were too happy to recognize the anger you had towards your parents for hiding this, and also honestly you’re a little preoccupied.

Aleksander slowly starts kissing down your body with a tenderness you had not expected. He kisses every inch of your skin, and all your insecurities and worries melt away. You knew you loved him and he loved you, you knew this was going to be forever, even if nothing else was.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º°  ▩ ∾

A/N

Hey guys! This is the second chapter of Aleksander Morozova series, I'm writing this while collaborating with @lost-tothe-centuries! I had some pretty good response and engagement in the first chapter, so here you go! I hope you guys enjoy! Also, always remember that my DMs and requests are always open if you wanna talk. Love y'all! Mwah!

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

My entry fo #Ghostchallenge, for @glitterypirateduck

Prompt 9. Alternate Universe

I want to dedicate this to my sweet anon that sends me fantastic asks all the time, actually this was born from one of them, when they asked me if my OC and Simon would have fallen in love in a civvilian setting.

Disclaimer: I use 3rd person but I tried to not describe her appearance further than being curvy. The render at the end is my own self service because after all, it's my OC

Tuesdays and Fridays were Simon’s favourite days at his butcher’s.

And the very reason why those were his favourite days just opened the door, with her usual radiant smile on her face that made his day, no matter how shitty it had been, all the better.

‘‘Good evening’’ Like a clock, every Tuesday and Friday after 6pm, when the hustle of the day had died down. Most likely when she got off work too.

‘‘Good evening, luv. I was about to close’’ Simon turned around to face the door, wiping his hands after taking his gloves off.

‘‘You say that every single time I come’’ She rolled her eyes with a small huff, still smiling. That time she only wanted a couple steaks and chicken breast, which was quite quick and easy to prepare as they chatted about the weather and the news.

One of the reasons his shop was still open and popular in the neighbourhood was that he closed a couple hours later than others. Why wouldn’t he? He had no one waiting at home. But thanks to that, people that worked late hours could still shop before going home.

‘‘Is that the nice girl from the museum? Remember you have a bag for her!’’ From the back room, Mrs Riley’s voice could be heard, and Simon wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole.

But the way she blushed made it all better.

‘‘A bag for me? But I didn’t order anything’’

‘‘No, I… kept bones from this week. For your dogs’’ Christ, he sounded lame. Was he sweating? He hoped not. ‘‘Are you still volunteering at the animal shelter?’’

‘‘Oh!’’ The way her whole face lit up with her smile had him weak in the knees. Pretty little thing, all soft curves and sweet eyes that made him feel like wanting to drown in them. ‘‘You’re so kind, you shouldn’t have…’’

‘‘It’s nothing, beautiful’’ Simon saw with satisfaction how she blushed again. The first time he had called her a pet name without thinking, couple months ago, she had gone red like a damn strawberry, and it had been so cute that he couldn’t help but test new ones every time she came into the shop, until he settled for the ones that seemed to have more reaction.

‘‘Is it very heavy?’’ She looked concerned for a second, but he just laughed, shaking his head.

‘‘It is, but I didn’t pretend you to carry it all the way to your house, luv. I’ll bring it over as a delivery, if that’s ok’’

‘‘Ah… yes, it is ok, but…’’ Fucking hell, the way she chewed her lower lip. Thank God the counter was high enough to hide his lower half.

‘‘What is it, beautiful?’’

‘‘I… moved last month’’ She looked down, brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘‘So I guess I should give you my new address?’’

‘‘That’d be useful’’ Simon nodded, opening the book where he wrote down his client’s addresses for delivery. After finding her surname, he wrote down the new address as she dictated it, still flustered. ‘‘All set then. When do you wish to schedule the delivery?’’

‘‘Oh, I… have no preference’’ She shrugged, with a small smile that tore at his heart. ‘‘If I’m not at work or at the shelter I’m always home’’

‘‘I’d prefer to be able to schedule it if you don’t mind, just in case…’’ Simon looked down at her over the counter, his mobile phone in hand. ‘‘Would it be best to call beforehand?’’

She nodded, like in a daze, and took her own phone out so they could exchange numbers.

‘‘Let’s hope the boyfriend won’t get angry when I call’’ Simon chuckled, saving her phone number as Her. She looked up from her own screen, her eyes wide.

‘‘There’s… no boyfriend’’

‘‘No?’’ He couldn’t believe it. Leaning over the counter, he cocked his head to one side. ‘‘Husband?’’

‘‘No’’ She was blushing again, but didn’t seem offended. He tried his luck once again.

‘‘Girlfriend or wife?’’

‘‘No’’ Now she laughed. With a quiet, shy giggle that she covered with one hand, and made his own smile widen.

‘‘Pretty sweet thing like you single, something is very wrong in this world’’

Oh, the way she blushed. He wondered if she’d look like that, every single morning while waking up in tangled sheets, bright eyes and messy hair, covered in sweat and kisses.

Trying to shake his unspeakable fantasies off, he placed her order on the counter, neatly wrapped and in a paper bag.

‘‘I’ll schedule the delivery for tomorrow evening after I close, is that ok?’’

‘‘Yes, of course, but…’’ She seemed to hesitate, chewing her lip again. And brushing her hair back again. He had noticed in the latest weeks that it was something she did often when flustered or nervous. ‘‘Tomorrow is Saturday… don’t you have… plans for the evening? After work?’’

‘‘Nah, just watching the game with my brother at home, most likely’’ Simon shrugged, oblivious to the way her shoulders fell a bit. ‘‘You know how it is. Beers at home and yelling at the goalie’’

‘‘Sure… well, I should get going before it gets darker’’ She smiled again, and waved at Simon’s mum when she came into view from the back room. ‘‘Bye, Mrs. Riley. Bye, Simon, thank you’’

‘‘Bye, sweetheart’’ Mrs. Riley smiled and waved, before turning to her oldest son the second the door closed. ‘‘I sure didn’t raise you to be this daft’’

‘‘What?’’ Simon looked at his mum, flabbergasted. What did he do now? ‘‘What did I do?’’

‘‘That new address of hers, is from the other side of town, you absolute idiot’’ The woman sighed, a bit dramatically, slapping her son’s arm. ‘‘She moved almost an hour away and still comes to buy meat from you. How oblivious can you be?’ Oh, and she asks you what are you doing Saturday night and you tell her you’re watching a match?? Oh, I’m going to disown you’’

Simon blinked, horrified. Fucking hell. Oh, Jesus Christ.

Mrs. Riley watched in amusement as her son bolted out of the door, shaking her head before starting to clean the counters.

[broomsick]

I want to learn seidr but idk where to start or what resources are even valid and not tainted by bigotry or transphobia. A lot of posts are very vague, too. So I have no idea what they actually mean. Any thoughts?

Hello! Thank you so much for the ask.

Seiðr is quite the mysterious practice, which is why you must have found difficult to find trustworthy sources, or even one that could clearly define its nature. We currently know very, very little about it. What we do know for sure is that it was a form of pre-Christian magical practice, the uses of which stretched from divination to healing, luck-bringing, controlling weather and making game plentiful (archaeologist Neil Price). It was neither a force of "good" nor one of "evil", as it could also be used to fulfill malicious purposes, such as to cause conflicts or cast curses.

Unlike galdr, which was often practiced by men, seiðr was seen as a rather "feminine" practice. But as always, there have been exceptions to this: after all, mythology has it Óðinn himself, in his eternal search for knowledge, had learned to master seiðr! Though it was considered dishonorable for men to practice it back in Iron Age Scandinavia, it was common enough for a word to describe such men to emerge: seiðmenn. For this reason, neither galdr not seiðr are (or ever have been) confined to specific genders. This, I felt compelled to specify, especially since you've mentionned having stumbled upon many transphobic posts in your research. Galdr and seiðr do not belong to any given gender.

Another difference we could find in modern practice as opposed to historical practice is the means to reach the seiðrkona's staple trance. Archeological finds have informed us that the practice often would have involved trance-inducing intoxicants, which would have enabled the practionner to receive visions and use divination. It's possible for us to recreate such conditions in vastly different ways, namely, using music, chants, repetitive motions and the like.

Now, what's interesting to note is that the Goddess Freyja was also said to be a master of the art. Since she is often thought to be the archetype of a völva, magic practitionners who famously carried a long staff which was crucial to their craft. The term völur actually means "staff carrier", or "wand carrier". This means that to anybody seeking to re-construct this practice, the use of some sort of staff would be near essential.

Though the accounts describing völur and their work are sparse, it's still possible for us to make out a few recurring informations: they were wanderers (and were generally viewed as standing apart from society), which makes them likely to have had some sort of connection with the God Óðinn, and they went from village to village to offer their help and insights. When welcomed into a household, it's very likely they would have been offered to sit at the head of the table, replacing whoever was the head of house in their seat. This means that their presence was considered of the highest respectability. If you're interested in learning more about völur, I suggest checking out the Saga of Erik the Red, which contains the most detailed account of a völva known today.

Another interesting detail to be noted about seiðr is that weaving, whether it was physical or metaphysical, was a central part of the practice. After all, the Norns, who weave the Wyrd, are said to be the greatest of Seiðkonur. Another mythical element to support this theory is that Freyja as a deity seems to share lots of common points with Frigg. In fact, it's very likely the two were worshipped as one deity at some point in time, and depending on the areas. While Freyja is said to be a magician, capable of surviving a pyre thrice, famously, Frigg is more a clairvoyant master of divination, able to foresee the future. And both these different types of witchcraft could very well be considered seiðr practices! Now, Frigg is often depicted weaving using a spindle. That's because her myth has it she is the one who weaves the clouds, and is therefore a talented artist in this domain, which furthers the connection between magic (or at the very least, divination) and the textile arts. It's also interesting to note that the Nornir and Frigg have one major element in common: their ties with fate. While the Nornir weave fate, Frigg knows everything that's to come in the future, though she never speaks a word of it. This particular element of their respective stories greatly emphasizes the imortance of divination and foresight within seiðr practices.

Though I do work with witchcraft, I don't consider myself a practionner of this art per say. That's because oftentimes, the nordic magic I use takes the form of rune-carving, a practice inherent to taufr instead of seiðr. What little information we have on seiðr is unfortunately not enough to determine exactly how it was practiced, apart from the fiew hints here and there. I'm sorry that I can't be of much more help concerning this topic, but I'll link below a few online articles to check out if you're interested in some further reading.

Seidr

Seiðstaffs of the Völur

Encounters with Völur

Manning the High Seat: Seiðr as Self-Making in Contemporary Norse Neopaganisms

The double world: seidr and the problem of Old Norse 'magic'

Norse Magic: Seidr, Shapeshifting, Runes, & More

I will also suggest the book The Norse Sorceress Mind and Materiality in the Viking World and this video, which dive a lot deeper into the topic than I could. The YouTuber Arith Härger, who has multiple times stated his adherence to inclusive heathenry, has posted multiple videos on seiðr in the past, as well.

[emofreakks]

Hey there,

I'm not the same person who sent the ask about mistagging posts but I just want to let you know that it's actually against Tumblrs community guidelines seen here

"Spam. Don't spam people. Don't make spammy posts, don't post spammy replies, don't send people spammy messages. Be a regular human. Don't put tags on your posts that will mislead or deceive searchers. For example, don't tag a photo of your cat with "doctor who" unless the name of your cat is actually Doctor Who, and don't overload your posts with #barely #relevant #tags. Of course, meaningful uses of tags are always fine (for example, ironic "punchline" tags that add meaning or context to a post). Don't put dubious code in your posts, like using JavaScript to cause redirects or inject unwanted ads in blogs. Don't use deceptive means to generate revenue or traffic, or create blogs with the primary purpose of affiliate marketing. Spam doesn't belong on Tumblr."

While your followers probably won't report you for spam, people scrolling through the tags you use will of you tag text posts that have nothing to do with emo and scene core might, and it won't do you any favours in gaining visibility. If you're incorrectly tagging text posts you're more likely to get blocked than gain a follower

What makes you think I care.

I don’t care weather or not someone blocks me ok?

And I’m not on social fucking media to fucking impress a bunch of people over a bullshit excuse tag

If you don’t like me then block me I don’t fucking care I’m not on the internet to be liked by everyone

If you don’t like what I do then just ignore me you don’t get to decide for me how I do things this is probably the reason why nobody really uses tumblr is because people like you care so much and is so sensitive about what others post that you feel like bringing another person down over something completely bullshit

If you care so much about tags and other bullshit then just block me

Nobody is trying to be liked by a bunch of people nor does the world work like that you can’t keep everyone happy no matter what this is a great example of I mean when I say you can’t make everyone happy some people are gonna be upset with what you do in life including in social media

Weather this is true I don’t care it’s a ridiculous rule I’ve ever heard

Telling people to not put tags that they feel appreciated on and that feels “personal” to them right is fucking ridiculous

If people aren’t allowed to put a tag. A tag that’s personal to them then WHATS THE FUCKING POINT IN HAVING TAGS

IN THE FIRST PLACE

wtf is the point in expressing yourself through an app or a site when

Your not allowed to use a tag of a certain name that you consider a sense of belonging or even home

It’s not about the tag itself but the community inside of it

Behind every tag there’s a community inside of it what’s so fucking harmful to use a tag

That you are apart of, like omg I’m not allowed to use a tag that describes what my blog is about and what makes me who I am

all because i posted an opinion omg

Like what’s the point in having tags if your not allowed to put a tag that describes your identity as a person and what makes you who are through your account all because you have an opinion

It’s such a crime to put your identity or your blog idenity in a tag

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Pierced my heart 5

It was quiet, and the green ball of energy was asleep. But you remained awake. You knew the slightest sound could wake him, so you made sure to watch your steps. Every second counted in moments like these.

You walk deeper onto the trees on your side. You had farther to go. A demons sight and hearing were incredibly high. Even worse if they were a trained hunter.

But you needed to speak with the elders. It had been weeks. Surely Elder Crow was nearby observing still. He would see that you had been handling the situation as best you could.

So far, Robin had not crossed the border again. You prayed the elders never found out about the first time. You continue moving the moon being your only source of light.

"Going somewhere, young one?" Your head snapped in the direction of your elder as he jumped down from a nearby tree. "I was just looking for you, Elder Crow." You keep your head down as he approaches.

"What is so important that you leave your post?" His words are cold and crisp like the night air. "Elder, this has been going on for weeks... if he really wanted to, he would cross, but so far, nothing. I think-"

"He is testing our strengths and luring you into a false sense of security." He snaps. You flinch at the harsh words. "You are young and naive. He is the kind that likes to play with their food before eating."

You shudder remembering all the prey you have seen the archer catch. He did like to chase them before shooting... but no, it wasn't like that with you... was it?

Were you just oblivious to the fact? Was it obvious to an outsiders perspective? Elder Crow had no reason to lie. He hates lies. He'd rather give the blunt truth than a white lie.

You shift from side to side, now uncertain. "Yes... but elder, I can't stay here forever..." Even with his mask, even with it being the dead of night, you can tell his eyes are staring straight at you.

A deep penatrating gaze that makes you want to take back your words. "Child, I thought it was made clear. You can never go back."

Your mouth turns dry, and your heart feels like it's being crushed in your chest. "But... but what about you?" Will he at least stay? He is all you have left of home.

He leans against a tree. "The village is packing up and changing locations. I soon leave to help with the journey." You tremble, trying not to break down and cry. There would be nothing to go back to.

"A-and my things?" Your memories, your tent, your belongings. What would become of them? "They will be burned." He says it so calmly. Like describing the weather.

Your knees give out. Falling to the dirt, your head hung low. Traditionally, the dead's possessions were all burned with them, so they might take them into the afterlife. Burning your things meant you were claimed as dead by the tribe.

Maybe you were as good as dead in their eyes. With a demon stalking you, it was only a matter of time. But still, you couldn't help the tears rolling down your cheeks.

Everything was to be taken from you. Your entire being seemed to be striped away. Was this the punishment for lying to the elders? For not killing Robin in the first place?

You couldn't bring yourself to do it. Not then. He just seemed so innocent. You couldn't do it now either, not after getting to know him. But was it worth all the trouble he has now brought you?

What would you do now? The village would be gone, and your tribe would claim you dead. You'd be left all alone. Your soul company being the cause of your misfortune.

Elder Crow stares at your broken form for a moment. He was not the sentimental type. "I said I leave to help with the journey, not that I wouldn't be back to check for your remains!"

Your head snaps up. He would come back? He would come and check on you? Even if it was to see if you were dead or not. You hugged his legs shaking with relief.

He would not abandon you entirely. He might not show it. And he wasn't the kindest Elder, but he must care. Even if it was a small bit, it was more than anyone else in the tribe was doing for her now.

He huffs and tries to push you away, but you cling tighter. "Spoiled brat." He mutters. But instead of yanking you off or sounding angry, he just strokes your hair.

The only comfort you receive from him. "Oak will have my hide when she hears that I made you cry. Do you want that? It's only cause of her nagging that I'll even bother looking for your bones later."

You can't help the giggle that escapes your lips. The image of Elder Oak bullying Elder Crow to go find you filled you with warmth. You were still loved.

"Such a child." He mutters under his breath as he pulls you up. You stand looking up at him. He shoves a sack at you, and you stumble a bit at the weight.

"Now there is enough supplies in there to last you a month, don't be stupid cause you're not getting anymore than that!" He lectures. "And don't you dare let him set off all the traps."

He grumbles about how annoying it is to make new ones and reset others. You hold the sack tightly to your chest. Yes... he would be back. Elder Crow hated, leaving his traps unattended.

Why did you ever think he would just leave you on your own. Even if you were considered dead, you were still a child of the tribe. And now, you held a different roll.

Maybe in his mind, you were bait for his trap. One that he had to keep track of to make sure that the trap was still set. It was a strange way of thinking, but still, it was somehow comforting that he would be around.

[silvertonedwords]

Together, Chapter 4: Sunday

It's heeeeeeeere. Seriously though, this is long. Comment if you can. It's like being taken out for dinner after a difficult exam. My favorite thing to know is which gesture or moment or line of dialogue touched you the most.

__

Dear Tina,

As I start to write this letter, it is Monday evening. It was grey and damp in London today, as it often is this time of year. Teddy becomes unaccountably cross in this sort of weather. Years ago, I attempted to convince him to move back to the wild. He always came clamoring back and chattered as if to scold me, and I had to accept that we are companions for good now. It worried me at first for his sake, you understand, although he seems to lead a happy existence. Not that you would know it from how he’s looking at me right now. I’ve dropped a sketch into the back of this letter. I hope it does his peevish expression justice, and that you can imagine him sitting, as he is now, on the corner of my desk while I write to you.

Theseus stopped by this evening for his usual visit. He drank three cups of tea, and even came down into the menagerie for a few minutes without grousing about whether I have the proper permits for the building and expansion charms. (Is this something we’ll need to discuss with regards to my case when I next come to New York? Are there such rules in America? I imagine it would be frowned upon for you to have a guest who might be in violation of those rules? You know I don’t set much store by these things in general, but I will do whatever you think is reasonable, or at the very least, learn which creatures in particular to keep quiet for a few days. I’ve been involved in quite enough risks to your career as it is.)

Theseus seemed alright today. That time I wrote you of a few weeks ago was the last when he arrived at my flat too inebriated to have a sensible conversation. He speaks of Leta more often than he used to. He also seems to enjoy when I tell stories about her from school, many of which he hasn’t heard before. You’ve mentioned that you enjoy when your colleagues who knew your father speak of him. I think perhaps Theseus feels the same. It makes them closer for a moment, doesn’t it, to know that they were real for other people, too? 

Theseus mentioned to me, as you have, that you saw each other last week. I suppose I should’ve thought that you would both attend that conference in New York—you had mentioned that it was an international affair—but somehow I hadn’t. He brought you up first thing. He said that you had the chance to speak several times. Not that his opinion need carry much weight, but he said that he liked you very much, and that you are “both clever and reasonable, a rare combination in an auror”, which I would’ve thought was obvious. You described speaking about your encounter at the French Ministry, but I must say that he did not bring up that part of your conversation with me. He was gracious about it, you say. Perhaps I sell him short. 

I do believe that will remain my favorite spell that you have ever cast, although I am open to something else taking its place. I remember your face as you cast it—so determined, so calm, and so delighted after.

Auror affairs aside, Theseus seems to think it his duty to investigate everyone with whom I spend any time. I have always found it tiresome. He has always been that way, as an elder brother, you know. He seems to think that it is his job both to warn me how the world will be, and to protect me from it. Perhaps this is something you understand more than I. I am hardly similar to Queenie, of course, and Theseus did not have to become a father or mother to me, but he is so much older, and our parents were so often busy with other concerns, that he took on something of that role. Perhaps elder siblings are often like this.

I remember one incident very clearly. I must’ve been about ten years old, so Theseus would’ve been eighteen or so, having just left school and started auror training. He took me aside one day to assure himself, in quite a serious manner, that I would of course be giving up “all of that creature nonsense” when I went to school. I now believe that he was worried that he wouldn’t be there to keep an eye on me, and that I would be lonely. He had seen, I think, that I did sometimes wish for friends, even though I rarely seemed to be able to make them. As a model student, he probably also found the prospect of my being around his former teachers and fellow students rather daunting. I say I believe this now. At the time, I was so enraged that I refused to speak to him for several weeks.

You and I are similar, I believe, in that we will not change ourselves simply to please someone else. I was like that from a very young age. I imagine you were too. I imagine you sometimes, all of eight or nine, telling older children off for being cruel. 

I do not mean to suggest, by the way, that you have ever done anything like this story I told to your sister. You and Theseus are similar in some ways—you both carry heavy responsibilities, and you are both stubborn—but you are more flexible, more creative, and more curious than he is. 

My mother apparently asked Theseus who I’ve been writing. She’s noticed me with your letters, you see, and told Theseus that I “looked far too enchanted for them to be letters of business”. I think I must look pleased when I receive letters from any of the few people to whom I write with any regularity—Lally, for instance, and Jacob—but she is perhaps right that it is not quite in the same way. Theseus told her some part of the story of how we met—he does not know it all—and I must say that she is rather taken with you. I had mentioned you before, but it seems she had never been certain of our still writing to each other. 

I turned around in the menagerie last night to say something to you, before I recalled that you were, of course, an ocean away. Sometimes, when I’m carrying out the more mindless chores, I compose my letters to you in my mind. Not word for word, exactly, but I store up the things I’ve meant to tell you, and the questions I want to ask. I like how it almost makes you my companion in the work. I can almost see you curled up in a camp chair with a book or a report for work, reading away and keeping me company. I have just the chair—it’s very comfortable, and right now it’s set up next to the shed because it’s one of Dougal’s favorites.

You mentioned before that your apartment feels lonely, and I said that I am glad for the creatures, as my home never feels empty. I don’t know if that was right. It’s different when there’s a particular gap, a place that isn’t filled, isn’t it? Like your sister.

In reading over these last lines, I wonder if you will see disappointment—ridicule even—that you have not planned a visit, as I have offered. I don’t mean to suggest so. I only wish to be honest with you. I think perhaps, in our letters before Paris, I did not say enough.

All this to say, if you see an article proclaiming whatever exploits the papers have invented for the imagined figure of Newton Scamander, best-selling author, this week, I do hope you will ignore them entirely. Unless they say that he checks his mail every morning for letters from a certain American auror, devours them in minutes, and then reads them through carefully at least twice more, they are mistaken.

I must go for now. I can hear the young nifflers growing restless, and I cannot risk leaving them for too long. If you see Theseus again, promise me that you will not let him take himself too seriously. It is good for him.

You didn’t say last time how your research into Grindelwald’s associates is progressing. I would like to hear. And someday, you must tell me how you and Lally became friends.

Write me something, even if short, by Friday, if you can? I have a signing event on Saturday, and it will be much more tolerable if I have a letter to look forward to when I get home.

Be safe, and look after yourself. 

Yours,

Newt

-&-

Newt drifts awake slowly. He laughs softly when he opens his eyes. Tina still sleeps facing him, with her dark hair fanned across the pillow, and her hand curled up beside her face. His smile is one of fondness, and of such relief. How often, these past months, has he wished that they were beside each other?

He reaches out and carefully brushes her hair from her forehead. It has grown so much longer than it was when they were last together.

She’d been different then—his one day in New York a few months ago—jumping at the slightest touch, and looking away whenever he accidentally caught her eyes on him. It hadn’t felt like rejection, hadn’t stung him at all in that way, but it had made him ache to be of more comfort. Sometimes, especially when she’d written about Queenie, her mood in her letters had felt dark. While reading them, he’d often wanted to board a ship back to New York. He’d ached to at least write more plainly, I love you. But he’d known from the tender but sometimes cautious tone of her letters, from her trembling smile and tearful eyes and tight grasp on his hand as they said goodbye, that she wasn’t ready to hear it. 

Last night, he’d woken at a similar time with the cool almost-panic that he might’ve imagined everything. To have gone through such a day as that with her, and then to have fallen asleep alone in the same cot as always…

Tonight, he wakes only with relief that they are together. 

Full of seeming contradictions as she is—gentle and stubborn, cautious and bold, strong and tender, perhaps it should not surprise him that this week has been the same. She wasn’t ready, until, one day, she was.

He closes his eyes to think back over the past few days. Yesterday morning, when he’d walked into her room, and she’d held him until he calmed. Her boldness as she’d led him away from the party. That cautiously hopeful look in her eyes after she’d first closed the apartment door, as though he could possibly want anything more than to kiss her back. Her fingers in his hair. Asking him to hold her and melting into him. The way she looks at him, always, Merlin—it’s familiar of course, the tenderness and laughter and slight hint of a challenge in her eyes—but there are also parts that he hadn’t known she’d been holding back. A sort of lightness. She looks almost giddy when she looks at him, and it makes him giddy, too.

She’s remarkable. He’s often thought apathy to be the worst of human traits—towards each other, towards creatures. Tina is a wonder to watch because she cares so deeply. And he is, somehow, one of the things she cares about. 

She begins to stir. He opens his eyes to see hers.

She smiles, and his lips tug into a smile as well, before he has even noticed. “Hi,” she says.

She skims a few fingers along his jaw. “Hello.”

She sighs, closes her eyes, turns a little bit closer. Her knees bump into his thighs.

He wants…he wants…

He shifts closer, closer, until he can slide one arm beneath her ribs, the other around her waist, and push his face into her neck. Her breath stumbles for a moment, but then her arms come up around his neck and she weaves her fingers into his hair. 

She strokes his hair slowly, from his temples around and down to the base of his skull. Pleasant shivers chase each other down his spine. “Are you alright?” she asks.

“Mm.” He draws his hand down to the center of her back. “I am,” he murmurs, relaxing against her. He feels her lips at his temple. “’s a lot. And good. Feels…”

“Yeah.” 

So good. He lets out a shuddering breath. His voice grows quiet, pleading. “Don’t stop?”

“I won’t.” Her hand is still tangled in his hair, stroking slowly. She draws it down his neck, his shoulder. Her movements are slow and easy. She finds a gentle pattern: her hand combing thought his hair, then skating down his neck, across his shoulder. He whimpers and burrows closer, his hands settled on her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through her cotton pajamas.

Somewhere, someone must’ve come up with a word for this feeling, though nothing adequate comes to mind. To want and be wanted. To value and be valued. To love and be loved in return, and to feel it. He is in a state of restfulness just shy of sleep, where everything is calm and yet somehow acute. 

He hears her sniff once—tears? He fumbles blindly for her hand. “I’m fine,” she murmurs, tucking her chin over his head.

He hums questioningly.

“You’re so relaxed.”

He tries to follow what she means through his sleepy haze. “Should I not be?”

“No. I mean yes I just…” He hopes these are the not-bad sort of tears, like the kind during the wedding when Queenie and Jacob stomped on a glass and he caught her eye. “Nobody wants me around this much.”

“Rubbish,” he says, his voice muffled by her skin. 

She laughs and sounds a little tearful. Her hand moves through his hair now, from his temple back to the base of his skull. Merlin, it feels nice. 

“You’re remarkable.”

“So are you,” she returns. She continues to card her fingers through the back of his hair. Her breathing calms, and whatever it is, it does not seem urgent or painful, for she is also deeply relaxed against him. “Sleep,” she whispers. 

He hums again, this time in assent, and she laughs softly, her voice warm against his ear. Within a few moments, he has drifted back to sleep. 

-&-

When Tina wakes, Newt sits at a small table just past the foot of the bed, writing a letter. He must’ve been quiet when he got up, for she is a light sleeper by force of professional habit. She had not considered that they might be well-matched in this way. Of course, working with creatures, he must be skilled at moving quietly. 

She observes him for a moment. His messier-than usual hair, and the way the light bounces off of it. The soft smile pulling at his lips. The cotton shirt and trousers he sleeps in. His fingers spread across the surface of the page. His sun-warmed and faintly scarred chest just visible through the deep v of his shirt, and his muscular forearms where he has rolled up his shirtsleeves. He is beautiful. She knows what his skin feels like, now, but still she wants to touch.

“Morning,” she says.

He looks up. She thinks she will never tire of his expression when he sees her: the wonder and tenderness that soften his eyes. “Good morning,” he says. 

Tina sits up in bed, bending her knees, the blankets pooling at her feet.  She wraps an arm around her legs. “You’re awake early.”

“Time change, I’m afraid. Besides, once I woke I--” he looks down, smiling, “Now that I’ve gotten a bit of rest, I’m too exhilarated to sleep.”

She understands that all too well. Now that he’s here, she’s been sleeping soundly, but last week, she’d sometimes tossed and turned for an hour or more, thinking about what the next few days might bring. 

She’d thought all these changes might feel unsteady for a while. That it would feel strange to enter into parts of each others’ lives that they hadn’t known before; sharing meals, early mornings, late nights. Sharing a bed. But for her at least, this kind of intimacy feels oddly natural. “This doesn’t feel strange,” she says, looking down and stretching her feet against the soft, worn linens. “Is that strange?”

He looks at her again, and this time, his gaze lingers. “No. It’s not.” He begins to smile. “At least, since I haven’t startled you like yesterday.”

Tina bites her lip against a grin. “I raised my wand at you, didn’t I?”

“Instantly. Very good reflexes. Slightly startling.”

She shakes her head, delighted, as she will almost always admit, by his teasing. 

He leaves the letter and makes his way to the bed, sinking onto the mattress beside her. 

She slides her hand onto his wrist and up his forearm. Her fingers pass over a few thin scars. 

”I should’ve expected you to be awake by the time I reached your room. The aurors I knew during the war were light sleepers. So’s Theseus. I thought you would be.”

She melts a little at the thought of Newt trying to place such knowledge of her. “I am,” she agrees. “You’re not, are you?”

He shakes his head. “No. Except when something’s wrong with one of the creatures. Then I seem to wake easily.”

She smiles. “Like a parent.”

“I suppose so,” he agrees. He fingers the collar of her pajama shirt. 

“What?” she asks. 

“Looking, so I remember. You weren’t in bed anymore when I woke yesterday.”

She looks down with an almost shy smile, warmed by his attention. 

They both watch as he takes her hand and brings it to his lap. “Tina, may I ask you something?”

“Mm?”

“What upset you last night?”

“Last night?” He draws circles into the back of her hand with his thumb. 

“When we woke, I mean. You seemed—you were crying.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t look worried or judgmental; just curious. 

She searches for the right words to explain what it feels like that he actually wants to be around her—and not only through touch, for that is but one sometimes-manifestation of it—but around her as a being.

Perhaps it shouldn’t take her breath away. He actually wants what she has to give. He looks at her—at things that other people have told her are too much, that she should dampen; her intensity and determination, stubbornness and curiosity, her love for him—and he enjoys them. He seeks her out. He wants more. She’s known that for many months, but to experience it in so many new ways feels both wonderful and unfamiliar. 

She imagines he must know the feeling, at least a little, although perhaps he’s better than she is at ignoring what blinkered people think. She’s heard the snide comments that get made about him. She’s even heard some misplaced ones by people, like Theseus, who care about him. Mostly, she wants to turn around and snap at those people that whatever they’re describing is exactly what makes him extraordinary. What do they mean to say? That he’s too kind, too dedicated to his work, too uninterested in the opinions of those who have no imagination, too committed to bringing about change even when it is hard? The more she knows him, the more of himself he shares, the more drawn to him she feels, and it’s just a wonder, sometimes, to notice him feeling the same about her. 

“I wasn’t upset, I was—“ he squeezes her hand, and her lips turn up briefly in gratitude. She looks at him. “You were so content. With me. Because of me?”

“Yes.” He looks slightly bewildered. 

She laughs at her own muddled words. “I felt…” 

“…loved?” he offers at last. 

She nods toward their joined hands. 

Carefully, he tucks her hair behind her ear. His fingertips graze her shoulder as he combs his fingers through the strands. He presses his thumb along her hairline, and her eyes slip shut. 

A deep rumble makes them both turn to the shed door. “That’ll be Dorian. Bark much worse than his bite. Probably wants his breakfast.”

“I should go get changed and things.”

“And work down here?” he asks hopefully.

She laughs. “Sure.”

Newt stands and heads out the door. 

Tina lingers, looking around the shed. Her surroundings are not quite familiar yet, but she knows that they will be. 

Will she wake here, many years from now, and remember this morning, this Tina? By then, one of her favorite pens and a few letters that she needs to answer will rest on that table. She’ll leave a pair of boots in the case, and when they aren’t traveling, they will have a shared home outside of it, with a kitchen table where they talk over tea, and a shared bed, and—. Their little habits will be familiar and largely unspoken. She’s in no rush to get through these wonderful days, but what a pleasant future to dream. 

She has just stood when Newt re-enters the shed, walks over to her, and drops a gentle kiss to her cheek. She feels his hand skim over her hair. “Forgot to do that,” he says. 

She giggles, and almost doesn’t recognize her own carefree delight. Newt grabs the shawl she’d worn down to the case last night. He drapes it across her shoulders, adjusting its weight until she takes over, her hands brushing his. His earnestness makes her stomach jolt pleasantly, but it also chokes her throat with something else. “I won’t be long,” she whispers. 

He nods, then backs away as quickly as he’d come. 

Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and stay that way as she climbs the ladder into her apartment. 

-&-

Tina takes a sip of her coffee and folds one leg beneath her on Newt’s camp chair, attempting to gather the patience to read the next case report before her. It is the last of the week by Auror Preston, and is almost certain to be dense and difficult to follow. Its heft, at least, attests to the fact that it will be longer than it has any need to be.

Newt had offered her his desk, but when she’s catching up on case reports over the weekend, she prefers something more casual. Besides, this seat makes it much easier to glance up and watch Newt as he works. She has not accomplished as much work this morning as she usually might, and she does not care. 

Newt’s been in this section of the case for the past quarter of an hour building a new splint for Harriet’s growing wing. He has glanced at her every so often, as she has glanced at him. Sometimes, their eyes meet, and a thrill goes through her at the intimacy of it. Their own little world in the case, and all the things they’ve finally managed to say. 

At one point, she catches him smiling at her.

“What?” she asks.

“I wrote about this. You sitting there.”

“You did,” she agrees, warmth filling her chest.

She looks to his writing desk beside her, trailing her fingers along its edge. He often wrote to her from this desk. She imagines him sitting here with his tattered newspaper clipping—later her professional portrait from work—his head bent over fresh parchment; his strong, gentle hands grasping a pen. 

She can just imagine him looking to Teddy or Pick or Dougal for a moment, speaking to them briefly, and then turning back to the page to add their greetings. She can picture the paper filling up with his handwriting, which, contrary to her first suppositions when they’d met, is neat and graceful and somehow suits him exactly.

Above the desk is a series of shelves where Newt keeps a variety of haphazardly stacked papers. One pile seems to contain letters, while several others consist of field notes and sketches. On a couple of the shelves, she sees her own letters, with their familiar blue seals. 

“My favorites are on the left,” Newt says.

Tina spins to his voice. 

He continues looping twine around a piece of wood. “You keep your favorite letters on the writing desk in your bedroom.”

Tina blushes faintly to have been found out. “I do,” she admits.

She finds he’s looking at her, and shakes her head at his teasing smile. She looks back to the letters and gestures to the shelf in question. “May I look at them?”

“Yes.”

She stands and retrieves the letters from the left-most shelf, sliding them out with care, then drops back into her chair. She begins to look through them. Even though she wrote every word on these pages, it feels oddly like stepping into Newt’s space. 

The topmost letters are recent and familiar. First is her letter written immediately after Queenie’s return: scattered, happy, and grateful; and second, the letter she’d sent right after, when Queenie and Jacob had told her that they were going to marry, and that Newt had promised to attend. She skims her own words with a laugh for her excitement. Newt is still working on the frame, but she can see out of the corner of her eye that he’s glancing up every so often to watch her. 

The next letters are older. First, the very first letter she’d ever sent to him, which is familiar because she’d thought so much about what to write. And next, a letter congratulating him on finishing his manuscript. She would blush at her own exuberance, but she meant every word.

Next is her first letter after Paris. Kind, tentative, sad, exhilarated, tender; and, she’d hoped, healing to some of the wounds she’d seen in him on that trip. Looking back, she’d seen more clearly his fumbling confusion and hope and the slightly subdued way he’d looked at her, and she’d realized that in her own pain, she had unknowingly caused his. She touches the page gently, grateful that this is among his favorites. Its creases are worn, and the edges slightly frayed as though it has been carried around and read many times. She likes the thought of her words as a steadying reminder that things between them were well again—indeed, that things between them had never truly been broken. 

She, too, has kept several of his first letters after Paris among her favorites, along with his unsent letters from the time when they’d stopped writing.

Tina had arranged a portkey home a few days after Paris. Newt had gone with her to see her off, and as they’d waited, he’d handed her a bundle of letters. At her confused look, he’d explained how he’d kept writing, and how they were rightfully hers of course, and would she like to have them? She remembers gathering them up and trying not to cry, lest he worry he’d done something wrong, when in fact she did not have words for her relief and joy and gratitude. 

She’d brought those letters with her to bed many hours later, and had stayed up late reading every one. It had made her feel less alone, even as she shook with everything she’d lost. The thought of Newt continuing to write to her, telling her about his life and his work, wondering how her cases were going, writing cautious questions about why she’d stopped writing. Even when he must’ve been hurting, he’d respected her, valued her, cared for her so much. She’d felt so abandoned after fighting with Queenie and seeing that stupid article.  By Queenie and by him. It had been such a comfort to have those letters to remind her that at least one of those things had never been true. 

Shaking her head at her wandering thoughts, she carefully folds her letter and slips it back into the pile, taking up the next. It is from about six months ago; an everyday sort of letter with little stories from her day. And then, a long letter in which she remembers writing mostly about her parents. She has a few similar favorites upstairs; the letters about ordinary days that bring life and immediacy to ink and paper, and others with stories about his childhood or family that filled in the foundations of who he is. 

There is another letter responding to his request that she comment on a few new passages meant for the second edition of his book. She grins, remembering how pleased she’d been that he wanted her opinion. 

And then there is a letter she’d sent just after his visit to New York in July, describing how much she cared for him, and how much she missed him. She touches the words with light fingers. 

“Is that from July?” He asks. 

She looks up. “It is.”

“When I read that, I wanted to turn around and came back.”

“You didn’t,” she says gently. It’s such a relief to be able to talk about these things together so openly.

He rubs one index finger over a knot he’d just made.“That wasn’t what you needed from me. It was hard, but I knew…I knew that.”

She feels a rush of gratitude, and yet a touch of sadness. He doesn’t blame her for keeping him away, she knows that, but still it was hard for them both. 

 “It’s the same with creatures, you know. Especially the ones who’ve been hurt, or—what they need most is the space to feel safe again.”

“Yes,” she whispers, blinking back tears. She is…she is so in love with him, his kindness and intelligence and honesty and care. 

She’s kept so much bottled up lately, letting things out in her letters to Newt, or in quiet moments alone or with her few true friends, and then carefully putting everything away again so that she could face the next day. It feels good to feel. 

“Newt, could I…could I come hug you please?”

She looks up to find him nodding towards his work table. She sets aside the letters and walks to him. At first, she loops her arms around his neck and leans close and it is a gentle, soft hug. Then, he wraps his arms tightly around her waist and shoves his face into her shoulder, his hands pressing into her sides. She melts against him and holds him tighter. Perhaps he’s needed this too—perhaps he’s also been hiding things away. Knowing how hard this year has been on her, and on him as well, it couldn’t have been easy for him to be so far away. She’s begun to suspect that one of the ways that Newt looks after people is to be completely fine, even to himself, until it turns out that he is not. She rakes her hand through his hair—he likes that, she can tell from the way his shoulders relax—and feels as much as hears him let out a heavy breath. At last, he pulls back enough to look at her, and smoothes her hair back behind her shoulder. 

She laughs with how light she feels, hiding her face in his neck. He wraps his arms around her, turning them gently from side to side. 

“Will you come with me to check on Harriet?” Newt finally asks. “She’s taken a liking to you.”

Tina lifts her head. “Of course I will.”

He smiles. 

“What?” She asks with a smile in her voice. 

“Do you remember what we were like on my first visit, when we drank tea here?”

She chuckles warmly, resettling his shirt collar. “I, for one, was entirely innocent of staring at you whenever you turned your back.” She’d meant to sound teasing, but her voice is thick with emotion, remembering how those first days had been, feeling him see her and value her and watching him experience the same from her.

“Completely,” he agrees. He watches his thumb trace the line of her neck, as she presses gently into the touch.

And then, almost to herself, she adds. “I would catch you lookin’ at me…and you’re wonderful you know, runnin’ around lookin’ after the creatures. You’d grab my hand to drag me along like it was nothin’ and…” 

He kisses her jaw softly. “I hoped that someday we would—perhaps not exactly—well, I didn’t not hope that we would be…here. It’s very, very nice.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been hoping for it for rather a long time.”

“For how long, then, Mr. Scamander?” she asks teasingly.

But his answer is in earnest. “Since about two days after I met you.”

She smiles more tenderly at his words. “Me, too,” she admits, her voice soft and warm.

“How much do you have left to read?”

She looks back. “There are only two more reports that I have to read today. Let’s check on Harriet first, and then I’ll come back and finish. After that we should go for a walk or somethin’. Get out for a bit.”

“Tired of case reports?”

“It’s not the most excitin’ part of my job.”

“Aurors.”

“Hey,” she nudges him. 

His eyes are full of laughter. “Come on then.” He tugs her with him toward the forest. 

-&-

“The next month or so shouldn’t be too busy, if nothing changes with Grindelwald, of course. January’ll be a headache though.” They’re walking along a heavily wooded path about forty miles outside the city. Both of them bundled up against the cold before they apparated out here. The tree coverage is thinner because of winter, and the exposed branches and bits of ground are blanketed by a light dusting of snow. 

“What’s in January?” 

“We hire out of the trainee class. I’ve seen it, obviously, but it hasn’t been my problem before. There’s all kinds of politics between the departments. Angry parents or family friends who think someone we passed over last year or the year before should get another chance. People from departments who have nothing to do with investigations always seem to think they know best. And the head auror pretty much gets none of the credit and all of the blame, no matter what happens. It’s a nightmare, honestly.”

“I could come stay with you for a week or two? Keep you company? I’ll promise Queenie not to let you eat hotdogs for every meal.”

Tina stops walking and looks at him. “I’d love that,” she says earnestly. “I’ll be at work most of the time. And I’ll definitely be in a temper.”

“I like your temper. Well, generally. When it’s not because of me. Well, sometimes then, too. As long as you’re not really angry.”

She narrows her eyes, but she is not really cross with him. A moment later, a smile spreads across her face. “Okay.”

She ducks under a tree branch and leads them down the path to their left. 

“You’re goin’ to Spain next month aren’t you? For research?”

“Yes, I am,” Newt agrees. 

“For how long?”

“For a few weeks, depending on what I find.” He tries not to be nervous as he offers, “I’d like to stop in New York on my way back.”

“It’s not exactly on the way.”

“No,” he admits. 

Her smile is exhilarating. “I’d love that.”

He looks down, pleased. 

“I do want to come to England, whenever I can get away.”

“That would be wonderful. You’ll like it, I think. You were only there for a few hours, before, and that was…”

“A terrible trip?” After Paris, they’d spent a few stressful hours being questioned by the Ministry, and only a few stolen minutes together over the next two days before her portkey back to America. “Mostly, anyway. I wasn’t angry with you anymore, and that was…” 

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it, their leather gloves catching briefly. “Mum might be a bit…much, when you meet her.”

“That’s alright.”

“I’ve never brought anyone home, you see. I think she’d given up on the idea. She’s been asking when she’d meet you for months.”

“As Theseus said.”

Newt nods, hearing the smile in her voice. 

“I’m excited to meet her, too.” 

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Newt watches a fluttering wisp of hair that’s escaped from the pins she’s used to keep her hair out of her face. Her cheeks are bright from the chill. She has wrapped a deep blue scarf around her neck, and wears a wool coat the color of charcoal. Merlin, it’s lovely to see her, and not only imagine her and her voice in her letters. “I wish I could’ve met your parents. I would’ve liked them, I think.”

“I think they woulda liked you. Queenie’n I were talkin’ after you left New York—right after you left, only two or three days—I said somethin’ about how much Poppa woulda loved talkin’ to Jacob—he baked, you know. And she said—she said that Momma’n Poppa woulda loved you the minute they saw how you looked at me.”

Newt brushes her arm with the back of his hand, and she turns to smile at him, although it is a sad sort of smile.

She gathers herself a moment later. He thinks that it is not because she is avoiding the pain of it, but rather because it is a familiar wound. “What will your father think?” she asks. 

“He’s…difficult.”

“You don’t mention him very often in your letters.”

“We hardly see each other. He wishes I lived a more…conventional life. He has since I was a boy.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “I’m used to it, I think.” Her hand grazes his arm. There’s something about her presence that keeps him from shoving away the uncomfortable memories.

“I suppose he also wishes you’d choose a more conventional girl?”

“If he’s going to be so proud of Theseus for his job, he’s hardly entitled to say anything about yours.”

He can hear the smile in her voice. “I doubt he sees it that way.”

“Perhaps you should tie him to an office chair. That worked brilliantly with my brother.”

She laughs. He’s good at making Tina laugh, he thinks, and proud of it. 

“My father always thinks he knows what’s best. Perhaps he’ll see that I’m happy, and be glad. Perhaps he’ll only be disappointed that you have no intention of forcing me to take a dull office job at the Ministry. He’s always said that everything that disappoints him about me is…that it would disappoint any potential wife as well, if I ever found someone who would take a magizoologist with no ‘real employment’.”

“Then he’ll have the disappointment of being entirely wrong.” Her voice is firm. Newt catches her hand to briefly slow their walk, and closes the small distance between them. He kisses her hand as she turns to face him. Her eyes are bright and tender and just a touch indignant. For a moment, she looks at him, and he wonders if he understands a bit what Queenie had said about her sister. You need a giver. How it feels to have Tina’s strength and kindness with him. 

He’d thought touch might be an adjustment once they finally…and it is, to a degree, but he feels free of judgement, and that makes such a difference. He could pull away or ask for more or less, and she is never anything but curious, gentle, understanding. He hopes he is never anything less to her, either. Figuring out this part of themselves together feels good in ways he hadn’t quite imagined before. He is able to simply be present with her.

They begin to walk again. 

“Your potential wife, then?” she asks, repeating his words of a moment ago.

He hadn’t even thought—of course she is. In fact, potential seems terribly unnecessary. “Oh, I—”

But she is smiling and leaning towards him, and her lips touch the corner of his mouth. He stops her before she can pull away, opening his lips over hers and sighing when she responds in kind, their hands tangling between them. They manage to pull away only after several entirely pleasant minutes. She tugs his hand to bring him with her down the path, and after some trying, he convinces his feet to work again, feeling happy and dazed and rather thoroughly kissed.

“My aunt, before she died—she used to say similar things to me. She wanted me to be more…”

“Boring—” Newt says.

As Tina finishes “—ordinary.” She laughs and agrees. “Yes. Less myself.”

Newt has never been fond of this aunt who took the sisters in after their parents died. He doesn’t like the way she treated them, even if he’ll never meet her. “Utter rubbish,” he declares, still holding her hand. He isn’t ready to let go of it yet.

Tina’s voice goes soft. “Why can’t parents love the children they have?”

Her question hangs between them for a moment.“Yours did.”

“They did.” 

He looks down. They haven’t spoken about having children, at least not explicitly. But that has not kept him from thinking of it. Tina would be such a wonderful mother. He almost says it aloud, but the last thing she’d written when they’d circled around the subject was that the thought of having children in such uncertain times terrified her. “We would,” he finally says. 

She spins to look at him, but she does not seem surprised, and he wonders if her thoughts had taken a similar direction. Her expression is soft as she answers, “Yes, I hope we would.” She gently stops him at the edge of the path, leans forward, and kisses him. He closes his eyes as she pulls away, too lost in sensation to start walking again. Eventually, she tugs at his hand with a beautiful laugh, and they resume their walk. 

“Was Theseus a little like your father with you? Before you and I met. Is that where he got…”

“Yes, he was.”

“He wanted you to be less…Newt.”

He laughs. “Yes.”

“He’s learning.”

“I suppose he is.”

“Older siblings. We worry in the wrong way, sometimes. I’m not excusing him, mind you. But I get it, a little, I think.”

“You are just a bit alike. Not too much.”

She laughs. The expression lights her eyes in a way that he thinks will always take his breath away.

“He thinks well of you.”

“And I think well of him. His respect is worth having, you know. He’s a good man.”

“I suppose he is.”

“He’s told me a few stories from when you were little. Did you really keep an entire litter of kittens in your wardrobe for a month without your parents finding out?”

“I did. They were sick and needed a lot of care.”

She grins. “I’m just picturin’ the moment when Theseus found them. How old were you?”

“Eight, perhaps?”

She looks at him fondly. It is impossible to be anything but happy, when she looks at him like that. 

“Do you make a habit of asking him for stories about me as a child?”

“Hey, Queenie’s here now. I’m sure she’ll reciprocate.”

He finds he’s delighted at the prospect. “You were stubborn as a child, I’m guessing.”

“A little,” she admits.

“And you were showing signs of magic before you walked.”

“Mmhm.” She tilts her head as though not quite agreeing with that one, but he can guess from her half-smile and faint blush that he’s just about right.

Newt grins. “I never thought I’d be with someone who—with anyone for starters—but with someone who shared anything in common with my brother.”

“Next you’ll tell me you were resolved against Americans.”

“No, that suits me very well. You tend to communicate more bluntly, which I very much prefer. Not that I’d ever thought of it before…”

“I arrested you?”

“Tried to arrest me.”

“Newt Scamander.” He looks at her. “Alright. Tried to arrest you.”

He squeezes her hand, and enjoys how she drifts just a little closer. 

“I forgot—I’m supposed to ask you for an autograph.”

“Certainly, love,” he agrees, perplexed but amused. His fans tend to make him uncomfortable, but Tina is a wholehearted exception. “What for?”

“One of my deputies has a sister who’s a fan. The funny thing is, I don’t think he knew that I knew you. What happened two years ago—the details haven’t exactly gotten around. He figured I’d be able to contact you because of Theseus.”

Newt laughs. “Why do I feel as though Theseus would enjoy having that credit?”

“He certainly would.”

“He did offer to, erm, create a meeting, as it were.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wrote yesterday that I wouldn’t—”

“—shut up about me?” she quotes, teasing.

“Yes. He determined who you were rather quickly, you see—I think it was months before Mum put together the auror who’d been in the papers with me and the woman I’d been writing—and he tried to convince me that it would be an easy thing to send me on some errand to New York for his department. Never mind that they denied six travel permit requests before Paris. When I pointed that out, he said that he could just as easily invite you to some meeting in London. I think he was imagining he’d call me into his office and surprise us both.”

“He’s as bad as Queenie,” Tina says, laughing.

“He is,” Newt agrees. 

“At least he asked first?” She offers.

“Queenie does have the upper hand in guessing when her meddling might be welcome.”

“You spoke to her when you brought her back, didn’t you? About—about everythin’.”

“Yes. There was time, occasionally, as we travelled.”

“And you spoke about me?”

“Of course.” He looks at her, wondering what brought on the question. “She wanted to know how you were. Whether I thought that you would forgive her. And I wanted to know…”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to know how I could help you be happy.”

She stares at him. He wonders for a moment if he shouldn’t have said it. Then, he sees tears begin to slip down her cheeks, and draws her into his arms. She holds him tightly, shoving her face into his neck. And she begins to cry in earnest.

“Tina.” He rubs her back, and she clings impossibly tighter.

“I—I wasn’t—” she manages. “I wasn’t—for so long.”

“I know.”

“I was so lonely.”

“I know.” He drops a kiss into her hair. For several minutes, they hold each other, and he thinks as he had on Friday that Tina has not had enough of this in her life, particularly in Queenie’s absence. Perhaps he hasn’t either. The relief of someone whose presence and grasp reassures her that it’s alright to let go sometimes. 

She laughs through her tears. “You must think I’m crazy, cryin’ so much when I’m so, so happy.”

He begins to stroke her hair. “No. I don’t.” He’s honored that she feels so safe with him. 

At last, she lifts her face and swipes away her tears. He patiently thumbs away the ones she’d missed.

“Shall we go home?”

She looks around them. “Let’s walk a little longer?”

“Of course.”

-&-

Tina shushes Newt, laughing under her breath as they tiptoe up the stairs and he slips his hand into hers. They’ve both tugged off their gloves, and his skin is cool and rough and familiar. 

“Tina!” a voice calls from below them. They freeze. “How’s your sister?”

“Very happy!” Tina calls back. They’d told the landlady a somewhat-abbreviated version of the somewhat-truth, that Queenie had been away on a trip with her fiance (chaperoned, of course), and that they’d returned to be married.

“You got yourself a fella yet?” she calls.

Newt and Tina look at each other; he, with barely suppressed mirth glistening in his eyes; she, trying to decide whether to be offended at the assumption that she needs a fella, or to give in to the butterflies filling her stomach at the idea of Newt as her fella.

Mrs. Esposito clearly finds an answer in her silence. “Uh huh, I thought so! All those letters I’ve seen you carrying about. I hope it’s not that British friend that Queenie was telling me about? He sounds so odd.”

Newt, pushed beyond his limits of self-control, drops his forehead onto her shoulder from behind her, laughing under his breath. 

“Shh,” Tina admonishes, blushing and grinning and nearly laughing despite herself.

Newt uses their joined hands to guide her around to face him, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He is a step below her, and has to lift his head to reach. 

She stares, wide-eyed, as he tenderly strokes her cheekbone with his thumb. Covering his hand with hers and leaning into his touch, she tries very hard to keep her voice from wobbling as she calls back, “of course not, Mrs. Esposito.”

Whatever response the landlady gives is lost to her as she grabs Newt’s hand and tugs him the rest of the way up the stairs. 

The moment the door has closed behind them, she backs into it, pulling him with her. Their mouths crash together, frantic and a little clumsy, and he slides his hand around her neck to steady them, his fingers shockingly cool beneath her scarf. She cannot get enough. With their bodies pressed together like this, he surrounds her, and there is nothing but Newt’s lips teasing hers apart, and his cold hands and warm body against hers, and his answering whimper when she moans into his mouth. 

He slides his hands beneath her coat at her shoulders, shoving until she opens her arms and the coat falls to the ground. She tugs at his until his coat falls, too. 

“Tina,” he murmurs, kissing along her jaw. 

She hums, holding onto his suit collar lest she float away. He brings his hands back to her neck, and then he stops kissing her for a moment, guiding her to stand more fully so that he can unwind her scarf. Their eyes catch, and her stomach leaps at the sight of his, even though she’s known, for months and months, that he loved her. 

She smiles at him, gently taking the scarf from his hands and tossing it onto a small table near the entryway. 

He weaves his fingers into the ends of her hair, leaning forward to kiss her again. This kiss is slower, and she basks in the feeling of it, the way that time has stretched out this weekend, the hours and hours of precious time in which to learn each other, to settle into being together. 

Newt’s other hand skims down her back, nails just barely making contact over her blouse. Every touch is so much, it’s almost overwhelming. She wraps her arms around his neck, and feels that it is overwhelming in a good way, like laughter or tears that have been held back for far too long. Then, his lips catch on hers, and it is very hard to think of anything at all.

She brings one hand around to tug at his bow tie until the knot slips loose. She pulls at the ends of the tie until it unravels completely, feeling his throat move against the back of her fingers. 

His hands are so gentle, roaming across her back, moving through her hair. 

She breaks away to kiss his neck, shivering and smiling at the way he hums and melts into the touch. His hand joins hers and yanks his tie out from his collar, then drops it to the floor. 

She gets her hands under his jacket, helping him shrug out of that as well. They both laugh when his arms get stuck halfway down the sleeves. He steps back a little to shed his suit jacket properly. 

When he returns to her, he cups her face, and seems to be studying her. 

“Newt?”

He watches strands of her hair slip through his fingers. 

She weaves her hand into his hair. 

“I didn’t know what to make of you when we met. Why I—But then we came here and you said you were always alone and I thought maybe, we’re not so different. Not that I wanted you to be. I wasn’t glad that you were…”

She shakes her head. 

“But. I think that was the first time I really saw you.”

He looks up into her eyes. His fingertips skim the sensitive skin just beneath her eye. 

“Have I said something?”

She smiles tenderly. 

“No, no. Of course not. I only—that early?”

“Yes. That early.”

She bites her lip, her gaze bright and happy.

They stumble back into the apartment, kissing with abandon. She starts on the buttons of his vest, her knees weak as he begins to kiss her neck. He gasps against her skin each time her fingers brush his chest. 

“Is this alright?” she asks, working her fingers beneath his vest and braces.

“Merlin, yes, Tina.” She feels his tongue brush her neck and whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut as the touch sears through her.

His hands are on her hips, bringing her with him. They fall onto the sofa in a tangle of eager limbs.

For a moment, they simply look at each other. His hands are on her hips, his thumb gently soothing her skin over her blouse. Hers settle on his neck.

“Hi,” she says, fixing a lock of his hair which is sticking out at an odd angle, and feeling not the slightest bit bad for having been the one to make a mess of his hair in the first place. 

 They are not sitting properly on the sofa at all, but rather turned into each other, with her legs bent and half draped over his. 

He surges forward to kiss her once more. His hands leave her, but only to tug off his vest and throw it aside. He skims his lips over her pulse point, and she whispers his name and slides her hands down his chest, searching for more—more of him, more of being so marvelously close. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, his lips skimming along her jaw. She tugs his shirt free from his trousers, sliding her hands beneath to map his bare skin and the scars that mark it. 

“Yes. Yes.” He combs his fingers through her hair, and then his hands move down her back, and delve beneath her blouse, onto her bare skin.

“Merlin’s beard, that feels wonderful.” He presses his forehead to her temple. She doesn’t know if he means her hands on his back, or his on her back. Wordlessly, she claims his mouth with hers. She feels his fingers tracing every ridge of her spine.

Eventually, their kisses slow, stretching out until they are catching their breath between each one, and then stopping completely. She threads her fingers between his, and he kisses her shoulder through her blouse, and they both laugh, in pleasure and at how they’ve been carried away.

She lifts his hands between them, drawing circles across his knuckles. “I kept noticin’ your hands.”

“My hands?”

“Mm. When we met. I think that’s what I saw first.” She kisses his knuckles, then the back of his fingers. His hand shifts reflexively in hers, and he sighs. “When we were in that cell, and you explained everythin’ to Jacob? You were twistin’ your hands together. Everything cruel and unjust in the world makes you so angry and so kind. And I wanted—I wanted to hold your hands. So much. Even though we were in such a mess, some of which I’d caused.”

Newt strokes her cheekbone with his thumb.

Tina resettles the collar of his shirt, and realizes that the top few buttons are undone. She laughs, hardly remembering when she did that. He leans back, his eyes falling closed. 

She sees a mark peeking out from beneath his shirt collar, and reaches beneath the fabric to touch it. He shivers. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be. ’s nice.” 

“This is from when you rescued Teddy.” She recognizes the placement and shape of the scar from the story he’d told her in one of his letters.

He nods, his eyes still peacefully closed. Carefully, she traces the scar, all the way across his chest to the tip of his shoulder. 

Newt sighs, his body utterly relaxed under her touch. When she has satisfied herself in learning this particular mark, she turns and tucks herself into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He holds her to him.

She stretches, and her shirt rides up, leaving his hand in contact with bare skin. “From auror training?” he observes, tracing a ridged mark on her hip. 

“Yeah.” She yawns. “Shoulda let a healer fix it instead’a Queenie.”

“I like learning these things.”

“So do I.”

“Supper?”

She turns her face into his neck, her lips skimming across the top of his collarbone. “In a few minutes?”

-&-

“What’re you drawin’ then?” Tina asks, looking up from her book. Their dishes from supper click faintly behind them as the spell she cast washes them and puts them away.

Newt sits up a bit from the arm of the sofa opposite her. He offers her his leather-bound sketchbook, which is open to a page nearly full of pencil drawings. She reaches to take the book from him. Their calves and ankles brush as they shift closer. 

The drawings look like texture studies of some sort of pattern, perhaps of feathers. Newt has written in notes among the drawings, noting which patterns belong to each part of the creature’s body.

The tips of his ears redden slightly as he reaches over and turns the page. She is met with a drawing of herself, as she looked on Friday, with her hair curled. 

“When did you draw this?” 

“That night. I couldn’t sleep until I’d…”

He trails off, and she looks up, smiling, almost teasing. Then she returns to the drawing, tracing her own features to feel the reverence with which they were drawn—the mix of serious study and joyful exuberance. 

“You could look through it. If you want to.”

“Oh. Yes. I’d love to.” She glances up at him for a breath, then back down, and carefully opens the worn leather spine more fully, turning back to the beginning. She knows he draws—he’s often mentioned it, even in the first days of their acquaintance, when she asked after sketches she’d found lying about in the case. He’s also sent her a few little drawings as part of his letters. But being invited to peruse a whole sketchbook feels different, somehow. 

Teddy looks up at her from that first page, mischief in his eyes, making her smile. She rests the book atop her bent knees and settles in to look, turning the pages slowly. She feels Newt’s gaze on her, and his presence is warm and intimate, with their quiet breaths, and the occasional rustling of clothes. 

There are little sketches of landscapes—large and small—plains, trees, rivers, then close-up drawings of creatures, only some of which she recognizes from his book. Sometimes a touch of color has been added in, but most of the pages are pencil or charcoal and ink. A drawing of a sunset or sunrise. Pickett perched on the arm of a chair. The details of various leaves. 

He has a keen eye for nature and for creatures in particular, of course, but he is almost equally skilled at noticing the details of the man made, even if those drawings are less frequent. A cobblestone street. The arch of a window. A bustling train station.  

She laughs when she turns the page to find a portrait of Theseus, trying to look stern but really almost laughing, and thinks that Newt has captured his brother exactly right. 

Newt slides his hand beneath the cuff of her casual trousers and onto her ankle. His skin is rough and warm. 

She turns the page to a sketch of Jacob, who looks worn and tired as he sits on a stone wall, his shoulders hunched. Opposite that is a portrait of Queenie, smiling cautiously through tears in her eyes. Tina’s breath catches. She is completely taken with the honesty of his drawing. “This is from when you were with them? A few months ago?” She holds up the page, and Newt nods. 

He begins to circle the knob of her ankle with his thumb. She sighs faintly at the pleasure of it, stretching out her toes and rolling her shoulders. Her head goes sort of fuzzy in a nice way as she turns to the next page. 

Several pages follow with drawings of various creatures. The niffler sleeping sprawled on Newt’s desk. Harriet, much younger and smaller, nosing at something on the ground. There is precise detail in the creature’s posture—her bent legs and tilted head. Mixed among them she finds texture drawings of fur or feathers—Newt working out how to capture a texture or light. 

And among all of that, more portraits of people—some she does not recognize, and some she does. Another sketch of Jacob, and of Theseus. The creature assistant she’d once seen in a magazine, who she now knows as Bunty. Lally. 

“That’s Mum,” Newt says of a sketch of an older woman. Tina traces the resemblances between her and her sons, studying the kind, determined expression on her face. 

Newt runs a finger up the tendon at the back of her ankle, then down again. He circles his fingers and the very tips of his nails at the base of her calf. 

The drawings go briefly out of focus. She could turn her face into the sofa cushions and float for hours as he touches her. A shiver runs up her back and neck, and she would almost feel silly for enjoying such a simple thing so much, yet it feels so good. Her mind is pleasantly clouded and distant, and even as she goes back to the sketchbook and turns the page, she feels as though the whole world has gone soft and still. 

She hadn’t had much physical contact with anyone for months and months, not until Queenie returned, and of course these past few days. Perhaps for others it’s easy, natural, ordinary, but to have his hand brushing her skin…It feels…she hadn’t known how much she’d been missing this. 

She thinks for a moment to consider how Newt’s reacting, whether anything’s too much. As she does, she sees that his breathing is slow and even and calm, and his shoulders are as slumped with relaxation as hers. Until she’d grasped his hand on the way to the apartment Friday, he had seemed to be holding himself back at the wedding, as though he had to keep his hands at his side or tangled together lest he forget himself and reach for her. Perhaps it is a relief for him as well. 

“I have others for work. For the book and such. This one is just for me.”

He switches his hand to her other leg. She’s never known her skin to be quite so sensitive.

“Oh, I also—one moment.” Resting one hand on her knee, he bends suddenly away towards a couple of loose note pages he’d brought up, which now rest on the floor beside the sofa. He brushes them aside and picks up a slim leather-bound book beneath them, bending back to offer it to her.

 This book contains older drawings. Tina at the dinner table, her face turned shyly away. Jacob with his ill-fated case of pastries. Queenie laughing, surely at something Jacob had said. Tina and Queenie embracing in the subway. Jacob stepping into the rain. And again, and again, Tina finds her own figure on these pages. In the glittering dress at the speakeasy, and in her pajama shirt and coat at the Ministry, and on the city rooftops, her hair windswept. Sleeping fitfully in a chair at Flamel’s. Pointing her wand with a look of pure determination. Looking back at him as she reached for a portkey back to America.

A dashed together portrait of her on the docks.

“I drew that on the ship, that night,” Newt says.

She traces her own figure. It is drawn with such love. She begins to tear up. “Good tears,” she promises. “They’re beautiful.”

“Are they?”

“Of course.” She finds his hand and squeezes it. A yawn forces its way past her lips.

“Tired?” Newt asks.

“Mm.” She closes the sketchbook gently and smoothes her hand over the soft cover. “And I have work in the morning.”

“We should sleep. I’ll go settle everyone and change.”

She hesitates for a breath. They do this now, don’t they? Share a bed? “Where would you prefer to sleep?”

“Your bed’s more comfortable,” he confesses. She lets out a breath, relieved that he expects to share a bed with her as well, no matter where they are. “I’m used to the menagerie, but Dougal will come get me if there’s trouble.”

She squeezes his hand. “Alright.” 

While Newt is changing, she packs her work bag with reports and letters. Friday had been a bit of a whirlwind, with the wedding and all, but she doesn’t intend to work extraordinary hours this week. Not while Newt’s here.

She has only just finished readying herself for bed when Newt reappears. 

He climbs into bed first on the side against the wall, and Tina follows, lying on her side facing out towards the room. Even with a little expansion charm, the bed is small, and only a few inches separate them. Newt rests his hand on her hip. 

She brushes her hand over his and laughs softly. 

“What?” He asks, sounding amused. She feels the pillows shift as he resettles his head. 

“I was thinkin’ about you, in this bed two years ago, pretendin’ that you weren’t still wearin’ your vest and bowtie, and that you were gonna go to sleep.”

“I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Of course I noticed.”

“You brought me cocoa.”

“I was checkin’ up on you.”

“Is that why.”

Newt’s hand hovers above her shoulder, and then he begins to trace the seams of her pajama shirt and the lines of her shoulder blade with gentle fingers. Her hum of agreement turns to one of pleasure. 

Newt adds, his hand never stilling across her back, “That’s what you wanted to think.”

She shifts a little, and his fingers brush her neck. “Mm. What’s that s’posed’t mean, Mr. Scamander?” She enjoys teasing him with his surname, a little reminder of how they started, and hopes the fact that their bodies are mere inches apart conveys that she means to put no bite into it. 

She hears his smile in his voice, and relaxes. “You didn’t have to be kind to me. You wanted to keep an eye on me, but you offered me dinner, and a bed. Your bed.”

“Yes?” she concedes, trying to guess his line of thought. 

“In fact, you practically dragged me here. You seem to be making a habit of that.” 

“You didn’t seem to mind. And anyway, I did not drag you,” she protests, fighting a smile. 

“Mm, true, I was very willing, at least on Friday. That first time I was simply intrigued.”

“You were bein’ very suspicious.”

“So, naturally, you brought me here.”

“To keep an eye on you.” 

“But you were…kind.”

“Are you tryin’ to suggest I brought you cocoa because I liked you?”

“I am.”

He runs a single finger down the column of her neck, as light almost as a gust of wind. Then, he threads his hand into her hair and lifts it out of his way, smoothing the strands carefully against the pillow. He returns to tracing light lines out from her neck to her shoulder and back. “Feels nice,” she murmurs eventually, sinking contentedly into the pillows. She can feel him smile, perhaps at the sleepy tenor of her voice.

He skims his knuckles down her spine, and up again, then lightly circles the back of his hand against her back. 

They stay like that for several minutes, the only sounds in the room the rustling of fabric and their even breaths. Tina lets her mind drift unhurriedly between the present moment and memories that pull her in. Newt tucking her hair back at the docks. Queenie laughing at dinner the night she returned. Newt’s sad smile as her portkey took her away from London. The excited-anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach as she bought a copy of his book a few days after it came out, so proud of him, so confused and hurt, and wondering what their future held. 

“Hey, Newt?”

“Yes?” His fingertips are following the shape of her shoulder blade. 

“Why did you think I’d stopped writing?”

“Hm?”

“Last night you asked me how I’d explained the magazine article about you. I mean, what I assumed you were thinkin’.”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t ask you what you thought. About me.” His hand stills. “Would you tell me?”

The slow touch resumes. “I can try. If you like.”

“You don’t have to if you—”

“—no, I’d—I want to.” She holds her hand out to him, resting it on her hip. He slides his hand into hers a moment later. 

“You said in one of your letters that after you saw the magazine article, you put my letters away.” His voice is warm and close.

“I did,” she agrees. He runs his thumb back and forth at the base of her neck. “I couldn’t look at them anymore when I thought…”

“I was the opposite, after you stopped writing. I must’ve read each of your letters a dozen times during those few weeks, trying to understand…” Newt lets out a heavy breath. “At first, I thought you might be upset about what I’d said about aurors.”

“You mentioned in Paris.”

“Mm.” He skims his knuckles across her shoulder, and doesn’t speak for a few moments. 

“But you changed your mind?” She asks. 

“It was all I could grasp from our letters. But I thought you’d practically agree with me. And you’d known what I’d meant, I hoped.” 

“I had.” He runs one finger along her hairline to ease errant strands of her hair behind her shoulder. Then, she feels a few fingertips along her shoulder.

His fingers still once more. “I liked you.”

She smiles.

“And you liked me. I thought.”

“Newt,” she whispers. He briefly presses his forehead into her hair, and kisses her neck. She reaches over her shoulder to touch his hair, then settles her hand back beside her.

One finger taps against her shoulder. “I know you did, obviously. But, then, I wondered.”

“I understand.”

“You seemed to like me. When we sat in the case together. And at the docks when I left. And in your letters I thought…But people don’t like me, you see. Or they—they act like they do, and then…It’s terribly confusing. And you’d felt so different.”

She’s seen the way he seems to curl in on himself around new people. Newt isn’t shy, not really, and he isn’t fearful, but he can be wary, and from the casual way he’s written her stories about school and childhood that made her breath catch in her throat, she can guess where this wariness was learned. She couldn’t bear this story if he wasn’t close, she thinks. At least she can feel in his ease with her that all is well, now.

“Sometimes, I would think perhaps you hadn’t really liked me in the way I…But that couldn’t be right. You hadn’t seemed—you were— The way you were in Paris. I didn’t understand it. You were hurt and angry. But you cared.” He presses his forehead into her neck again, and she reaches her hand back into his hair. His voice is muffled against her hair. “Did I seem very different when you first saw me in Paris? I tried not to be. I wanted to be myself. I wanted you to remember why you’d liked me, before.”

“If I’d needed to be reminded, it would have worked in about two seconds. But I didn’t. I’ve always thought you were extraordinary.”

He resettles on the pillows just enough to speak clearly again, but it seems, cannot help bringing her hand to his lips to kiss. “It took you a few minutes. To develop that opinion of me."

“That’s true.”

“Not too many.” 

“Fewer minutes than I admitted to myself, that’s for sure.” 

“The thing is, I never thought I’d—I was content with my life before. Then, I met Jacob. And you, and Queenie. And there were these…gaps, where there never had been before. But if you didn’t want—me, there was nothing I could do to—but I hoped. I would say something to you and you would smile, or stare at me. And when we finally spoke, and you looked at me, and took a step closer, I thought…perhaps I’d been right to hope.”

Tina rolls over to face him.  Cradling his head between her hands, she studies his damp eyes and trembling smile. And even though his tears have almost begun to fall, he looks relieved and happy. She drags his mouth onto hers. He hums in surprise, but catches on quickly, sliding his hands down to the small of her back to press her closer. She curls one hand into his hair. The kiss becomes deeper, open-mouthed, breathless. She kisses his jaw, his ear, his neck. His hands go slack, and she tugs at his hair, and he whimpers, making her smile. For several minutes she feels only his warm hands and body and their mingling breaths and the spine-tingling good of kissing him. 

When they part, he lets out a wordless, rough sort of noise, and chases after her for one last kiss. He threads one hand into her hair and cradles her head, and she wraps an arm around his neck, arching into his touch. He rests his forehead on hers to catch his breath. 

“When I read those letters you’d never sent, I wanted so much to look after the man who’d written them. You seemed bewildered, and hurt, and sad.” 

He sniffs. “But I’m not, now.”

“No.” Tina is smiling, tearful. “You’re not.” She tucks her face into his chest. That time doesn’t sting anymore, not nearly in the way it used to. It seems that’s true for him, too. It’s becoming simply a part of their story. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks. His hands have returned to stroking through her hair.

She curls her fingers into his shirt. “It might sound odd.”

“Mm?”

“I’m not—I don’t always show what I’m feeling. I’m not open like that. Like Queenie or...I’m sorry that meant that you wondered, but, I’m glad you saw eventually.”

“I haven’t wondered since.”

She kisses his chest through his shirt. “People never seem to see how much I care about things. They seem to think that because I’m…I appear strong, so I must not feel…”

He tucks his chin over her head. “I don’t understand how.”

“I know.” She brings her hand down his neck and under the edge of his shirt, and fingering the line of a long-faded scar.

“Tina, do you remember when we met—?”

“Completely forgotten,” she teases.

He nudges her shoulder. “At MACUSA, when we were being interrogated. Do you remember when they found the obscurial that I’d preserved in my case?”

“Yes.”

He plays with one of her hands. “I still remember the look of betrayal on your face. Like everything you’d perhaps begun to think of me had been wrong.” He kisses her wrist. “I wanted you to see me. So badly. I needed you to understand—it didn’t matter so much if you agreed with what I’d done, but I needed you to believe me when I explained why I’d done it.”

“I remember.”

“And you did.”

“I did.”

“You see me, I think. When other people don’t. Or wouldn’t.”

“Yes,” she breathes. She tightens her hand in his shirt and tucks one leg over his, wishing they could stay here forever. 

“It was agonizing. That interrogation room and the cell. You were scared and crying and…Merlin it was horrible to watch. I felt…”

“You hate to see anyone in pain. But seeing me in pain hurt even more.”

She feels him nod above her head.

It is scary, she thinks. Making yourself vulnerable to this. And it is good. 

He draws light patterns across her back. She sighs happily. His fingers skim up her neck. 

“Keep goin’?” she requests.

And so he does. He rubs her back, at first above her shirt, and then beneath it. Sometimes he switches to combing her hair with his fingers. 

“I sleep well next to you,” she murmurs, half asleep.

“So do I.”

“I wasn’t sure I would. I’ve shared a room with Queenie or the girls at school for most of my life, but…”

“I wasn’t sure how it would be either. I sleep next to creatures often. But not people. Only during the war, really, and that was—”

“—very different,” she agrees. 

“Are you comfortable?”

“Very.” He laughs softly. “I’ve got you.”

She smiles, wondering, as she drifts into sleep, if he, too, is remembering the first time he promised that.

[astyrial]

an old life steve rogers x gn!reader (fluff) synopsis: someone finds you on the roof word count: 832 warnings: none masterlist | requests are open

    new york's nightlife tends to block a lot of the stars in the night sky. due to the constant light pollution that plagues the cities, it's hard to find any kind of light besides the moonlight. leaving it to be so undeniably pretty that you can't help but sit on the roof of the new avenger's 'tower' just to see.

  especially with the work that you do with the avengers, it's hard to find time for yourself. so you'll grab a book, a little chair (preferably comfortable), and a nice drink to top off the evening. and then watch as the moon rises in the sky.

  none of the avengers ever mentioned seeing you seclude yourself to the roof. so you always figured that they went off to do their own things. leaving you to have a night of peace that would normally be filled to the brim of interruptions and beady little eyes staring down yours...

  so why does it feel like someone's staring into the back of your head? you turn around to see steve standing there with his hands tucked into his front pockets. when he sees you looking back, he looks away for a moment, bringing a hand up and scratching the back of his neck.

  "steve? what's up?" you give him a small smile, grabbing a small piece of paper and setting it in the book before closing it. 

  he starts walking towards where you are, a smile on his face. "just saw that you came up here and was wondering if you wanted to chat.. if not, i will leave immediately," steve holds up his hands, as if he got caught in the act of something nefarious.

  you shake your head, sighing a little before waving him over. it wasn't the first time the two of you got together to just talk. as much as neither of you want to admit it, you're rather similar. you're a delinquent compared to steve, but always for the right reasons. which is why he does what he does as well.

  "well, come on over than cap'ain," your hand pats the ground beside you, no other chair in sight for him to sit in, "sorry the seating is a little sparse, i wasn't expecting anyone to be joining me up here. figured you were out at some diner or something."

  steve lets out a short laugh, sitting beside you on the concrete roof. a diner? that's the first thing you could think of? your mind rattles off in embarrassment as he shakes his head. "a diner? no, haven't been in one since the forties.. i'm joking about that, i was at one yesterday."

  you raise your eyebrows in amusement, maybe you weren't so wrong about the super soldier. couldn't help but revert to his old ways. "so, steven, what'd you want to chat about then? hopefully not any missions because this is my night off..." 

  "I don't know, just anything? it's hard to have a normal conversation with anyone else in this facility. like what's your favorite weather? do you have a favorite food? it's hard to find the time," steve looks away from you and up at the moon above. 

  he's right about it all, not having the time. not building relationships with anyone on the team because you just can't... no one has the emotional vulnerability to be able to step away and have a moment. besides steve, apparently. it could stem from his life before being a super soldier. 

  unlike the other members of the team, steve was down to earth, understanding. "favorite weather? thunderstorms, for sure. and my favorite food? why that's like asking which of my children i adore the most!"

  steve looks back at you, shaking his head at your answer. "what about you captain?" he purses his lips as though he's thinking before shrugging.

  "probably when it's completely free of clouds. that way i can see the moon and stars at night. it's soothing, reminds me of.. the past? i don't quite know what to call it," he looks down at the roof, not quite sure how to describe what he's thinking.

  you look over at you, a small smile on your face, "maybe just an old life? one that's no longer there, but still forever in your heart? or at least, that's how i would describe it cap'ain. do you ever wish you could go back?"

  steve looks back at you, seeing someone who doesn't just brush off his time in the past. he sighs, "go back? maybe? i had someone i loved in the past.." 

  then he looks up at you. the smile on your face, the way the moon shines just a little to give you a simple glow. steve never thought he could catch feelings for someone after peggy. as he looks at you, though, he can feel his heartbeat quickening and his palms becoming clammy.

  "but then i realize maybe there's someone for me in this lifetime too."