prod&others

So imagine that one day Harry and Draco are arguing in an abandoned corridor (like they always do) and Draco has Harry shoved up against the wall and they’re breathing heavily and Harry just says offhand, “What are you gonna do, Malfoy? Kiss me?”

And to both their surprise, Malfoy lunges forward and does just that. It’s rough. It’s desperate. But after a moment they stop. And they’re just standing there glaring at each other. Like their both so pissed that they did that.

Harry shoves Malfoy off of him and says, “Always knew you were a poof” and Malfoy snarls back, “Like you weren’t begging for it, Potter.” They walk in opposite directions and don’t talk about it again.

A few days later Malfoy is reading a Potions textbook in the eighth year common room and Harry flops down on the sofa beside him and proceeds to lay his messy, unwashed, fresh-from-Quidditch-practice hair on Malfoy’s lap.

Everyone around them stops what they’re doing to see what will happen. But neither Draco nor Harry make any comment and act like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Harry closes his eyes and acts like he’s gonna fall asleep. And Draco keeps reading his book.

After about five minutes Draco finally snaps, “When was the last time you washed your hair, Potter? I’ll have to throw these trousers out after this.”

And Harry, without opening his eyes, yawns and says, “Anything to get you out of them, Malfoy.”

“Look who’s a poof now.”

“Says the one with a hard on from just my head in his lap.”

“Git.”

“Prat.”

“Fuck off, Potter.”

Then Harry yawns again and Draco turns back to his book.

And then Harry legit falls asleep still with his head in Draco’s lap.

In Charms later that week, Malfoy insists on being Harry’s partner. They fight and say the nastiest things to each other the entire time. After class, they’re still fighting, but holding hands all the way to the Great Hall for lunch. When they part ways, Harry scowls and makes an obscene hand gesture while Malfoy gives him his best derisive sneer.

A few nights later, Harry wakes up to find Malfoy cuddled up to his side, fast asleep.

“Malfoy.”

No response.

Malfoy.” he whispers a bit louder.

He prods the other boy’s shoulder who then wakes up with a start and immediately looks pissed.

What.”

“How long have you been here?” Harry can’t help asking.

“Does it matter? Go back to sleep. It’s two in the morning for fucks sake.”

Malfoy lies back down, curling himself around Harry again, and closing his eyes.

Harry rolls his eyes, but then looks down at him for a moment. He can’t see too well in the dark and without his glasses, but Malfoy’s blonde hair and pale skin almost seem to glow. He can just make out the peaceful look on his face and for the first time ever, he sees Malfoy as Draco. An 18-year-old kid.

“Wait.”

Malfoy looks up, thoroughly annoyed. But before he can say anything, Harry catches his lips in a deep kiss. It’s open. It’s hot. It gains speed quickly. But all the while, still soft. And sweeter than Harry would have ever thought anything could be with Draco Malfoy.

Harry pulls away suddenly and lays his head back on his pillow. Slightly breathless and with a small smile on his lips he whispers, “Fuck.”

Malfoy snorts and says, “You wish.”

Exquisite Death

Got your attention, didn’t it? GOOD. Now that you’re here:

Humans Are Weird ™

I know. Anyway - I was in the dentist this morning and I had a thought. It isn’t necessarily about teeth. Those of you hopelessly addicted to Dragon Age will recognize that phrase up there in reference to some apparently gorgeous-looking, truly-heinous petit fours. Apparently they’re…I don’t know? Delicious but killing you while you eat them. Pain, but, you know “worth it!”

So there I was, getting my teeth scraped and belt sanded clean and I realized that (along with the oh-so-nice slick feeling of clean teeth) I was really looking forward to my teeth aching all day. I know. Weird. But it’s like when I had braces - I hated the rubber bands, the jerk orthodontist, getting food stuck, and the brackets scraping up the inside of my mouth. What I didn’t hate was when I got adjustments and my teeth would dully ache for days. How messed up is that? It was my own Exquisite Death. A sweet ache.

Doesn’t have to be my brand of weird. Maybe for you it’s muscles. How they ache after a good run, a good workout. You hate it while it’s happening, but afterwards, when there’s that aching tingle of a muscle well-used, it’s pretty glorious.

— — —

“Human-Denton!” The alien’s too-large eyes were wide and unblinking as he looked down on his charge who had yet to get up off the floor. Urrut was supposed to be keeping watch over this human, but he was hard to keep track of - he was constantly moving and hardly ever asleep.

Holding an arm up, Denton let it fall to the ground. Hard. Muscles aching and protesting any sort of movement. “Gimme a minute.”

“Are you in distress? Shall I call a medic? Why did you do all of that - you are…oozing! Is this normal? Shall I call a medic?” Urrut’s sticky feet peeled up from the mat - first one than the other as he shifted uneasily.

“You asked that twice,” Denton gave a wheezing laugh. “I had to see if I could do it. Gotta push yourself, Ur. Gonna hurt like hell tomorrow.”

“I am calling a medic.”

“No, Urrut-” Oh it hurt, but he sat up. Rubbing his arms, he worked the stiffness threatening to set in. “I’m fine. I swear.” Next was his legs, and then he could get up. He wasn’t kidding. It was going to hurt tomorrow, but… “Worth it.”

— — —

Maybe you’re one of those people who gets a bruise and pokes at it “because it makes it heal faster”. Let’s be real. You just like the ache of it. Reminds you that you’re alive, that you can feel, that you did something amazing or stupid or amazingly stupid.

— — —

Shore leave was over, and as the crew made their way back on board, Meera found herself watching two of the human engineers talking and laughing about what they had done with their free time, and then…then they did something odd. One peeled back the shoulder of their jacket, and the other lifted the hem of their top covering to reveal discolorations - bruises.

They were laughing about them. They were proud of them. And - she was sure her face was a mash of confusion and disgust and horror - they were prodding at each others bruises, hurting each other, and laughing about it!

Barbarians the lot of them.

— — —

Maybe it’s food. Oh god, there’s no way you don’t know someone (or aren’t that someone) that eats good that hurts. Too hot. Too spicy. Too…dairy (lactose intolerant people, I feel for you.)

— — —

The lunchroom erupted in laughter as Aimee all but bathed in the water she was pouring into her mouth, down her throat, and all over the front of her clothes. She hopped around, flailing her hands, tears streaming down her face until someone shoved a glass of white, opaque liquid into her hands and she carefully drank it as though it were the most precious nectar.

Taking flight, Zzirxax zoomed across the room, hovering nearby, “What just happened? Is she okay?”

Through laughter and cursing and what Zzirxax came to understand that the humans had done something called a ‘dare’, and that it involved Human-Aimee consuming the hottest pepper from Galmeria-6. When asked why, why would she do that, the reply was predictably human.

“Won, didn’t I?” Mouth open a moment, fanning air towards it with her hand, Aimee took a deep breath and wiped away another tear. “So worth it.”

anonymous asked:

"You cannot begin to fathom the amount of fucks I don't give " #1 Dad David Wymack protecting his foxes ! Xx

He’s watching tapes from their last game with one sweating hand flat on the desk, the other prodding the rewind button over and over again until the loops stop being anything but cheering and colour. Their lines are sloppier with more people in them. He can see where they’re stretched too thin and where the strikers are overcompensating.

He can see the tension in their ranks even though they’re trying to pull together, like they’re slapping a bandaid on a broken leg.

“Knock knock.”

Wymack looks up to find Abby hefting food through the doorway like some sort of dream. She unpacks armfuls of it onto the table and gives him a private smile when he catches her eye over the wavering paused TV.

“That for me?”

“Well this would be a hell of a show if it weren’t,” she laughs, piling a wrapped burger on top of a plastic container of caesar salad.

“Didn’t want to assume,” he grumbles, reaching for one of the burgers. She slaps his hand away.

“Wash your grubby hands first.”

He raises both hands in surrender, muttering, “you let the kids eat finger food with blood on their hands but I can’t hold a burger without scrubbing down—“

“David,” Abby interrupts pointedly. “The faster you clean the faster you eat.”

He rolls his eyes on the way to the bathroom and then rolls them all the way back to his office, keeping his affection in a headlock. Abby’s sitting with her legs crossed and her food unwrapped when he gets back, and he spies two ketchup packets lined up beside his burger, just how he likes it. He’s biting on a smile when his phone rings.

Abby startles, Wymack fumbles in his pocket, Neil’s name blinks up at him.

“Can’t you eat lunch at noon like a normal person, Josten?”

There’s a shifting noise, like paper sliding over the receiver, and then Neil says, “Coach?”

Wymack frowns at Abby across the room. She gives a little questioning head shake with her eyebrows raised, perfectly poised to be upset. He hates that they’re always bracing for fucking heartbreak around here.

“Yeah, Neil. Talk to me.”

“Uh, yeah, listen. Andrew might have killed someone.”

Wymack closes his eyes. Breathes in for three long beats, holds his hand up when he hears Abby shifting to her feet. “What do you mean might have? And think about the words you’re about to say to me, Neil, because if you try to cover Andrew’s ass I’ll get real impatient real fast, understand?”

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Stan, Richie: Wardrobe Thief

Request  “Can i have a Stan, Richie with a s/o that wears their hoodies/shirts and they just think that it’s so adorable?”

A/N  I wasnt sure if you meant both stan and richie w the same s/o, so i wrote both separately just incase. drop another req if that is what u asked for though, sorry!!

Pairing Stan Uris x Reader, Richie Tozier x Reader

Warnings  → neh? a little bit ft. smoking book richie


STAN

↳ “My hairs still wet! And my swimmers…”

“It’ll dry. It’s still better than you catching a cold”

You felt guilty as you shrugged on Stan’s hoodie. He looked away as did so, smiling to himself at the fact that you had said ‘swimmers’.

The soft cotton was warm. He wasn’t getting this sweater back, but Stan already knew that. He rolled his eyes, trying to fight that smile, as you shot him a goofy grin and a “Thanks”.

It smelled floral, like Grandmas or fancy perfumed bookstores. He was a little taller than you, and it fell a little longer than it should’ve. Stan smiled to himself the whole bike ride home, letting you pedal in front of him just to see you wearing it.

It made him feel a little more… Secure? He couldn’t quite place it. But seeing you wearing something that belonged to him, and you doing that so happily on your part, kind of reaffirmed everything between the two of you. Was he being selfish for thinking like that?

You returned it to him months later, after numerous laundry cycles left it smelling like your detergent and not his. (Was that creepy? No. Was it?) Stan appreciated it though, asking himself that same question.

It wasn’t long before all the Losers were hanging out again, messing around in the park, and you managed to snag another one. You had made some excuse about it being late, and getting cool. Stan rolled his eyes at you, but you saw the quirk at the ends of his lips.

You wondered if his parents ever thought it was strange, or if they even noticed that a jacket would disappear for weeks on end, and then be returned as another one did the same thing.

You wondered if your parents noticed. You shrugged it off, tugging the hoodie closed by the drawstrings. Stan sat beside you on the park bench, shoulder against yours.’Maybe he should stop this before it grew into a bad habit’ he thought. But then dually ignored himself.

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9

Wylan cleared his throat. “The chemistry is complicated. I was hoping Kuwei would help.”
Nina said something to Kuwei in Shu. He shrugged and looked away, lip jutting out slightly. Whether it was the recent death of his father or the fact that he’d found himself stuck in a cemetery with a band of thieves, the boy had become increasingly sullen.
“Well?” Jesper prodded.
I have other interests,” Kuwei replied.

Johnny’s Foreword for Disney Pirates: The Definitive Collector’s Anthology

Since early childhood, some point between innocence and ignorance, I recognized, as luck would have it, that I somehow possessed the presence of mind to be incessantly curious and obsessively observant of those around me. Even to the point that for a couple of years - well before my teens, I was convinced that my life’s calling was to be an impersonator. I was utterly blown away by the fact it was possible to change one’s voice and mannerisms in order to elicit an instant transformation of the face, so that, immediately, the person I had been watching, was no longer themselves. They had disappeared and transformed into another being!

I was fascinated by human behavior, especially when the subjects were unaware that they were being observed. Those elusive opportunities where one might witness moments of simple and true behaviour - pure honesty - where the subject simply exists, unaware of anything within their vicinity - floating from thought, to thought, to thought. It then became my sworn duty to alarm, unnerve, startle, shock, annoy, terrorize and panic these unfortunate subjects, who largely turned out to be my family - the poor sods. And all this just to satisfy my need, my fix, for the purity of disrupting their private reveries so as to experience the bona-fide vérité of that inevitable, involuntary reflex and recoil of horror and fear. Why, you ask? Because it made me laugh. I would howl for hours, even days, reliving those instances. But, I needed more. In my youthful glee, I became addicted to these utterly spontaneous, in the moment responses. The truth,’ as they say, ‘will set you free.’ And, it most assuredly did. I’d found my true calling. It was in my DNA to provoke and prod - others as much as myself. I know there is some sliver of cruelty in there, and for that I can undoubtedly salute the chequered history of my unruly gene pool. But, in a bizarre flip, somewhere down the road, all of these rascally provocations from childhood became the tools in my tool box for the work I do today. Was I absolutely positive that there would be ghastly repercussions? Yes! But, I didn’t care. I couldn’t. It was, just simply, plus fort que moi. It was much stronger than me. My props were limited but my mind was not. Rubber snakes, fake spiders, frighteningly strange noises. It had developed to the point where my parents were actually concerned for my sanity as my addled brain conjured up prank after prank to feed my worrying sense of humor and its treacherous obstacle course.

I forged ahead like a bull rhino. The more I learned, the more I became cautious of anyone who might belong to the seemingly straight and narrow, as I’d been driving my teachers insane, and had they been able to catch me in the act, they’d have roasted me! So, I suppose that’s why I never cared much for the suits. They represented the enemy to me. The humor impaired. They were the school principals, the deans, the truant officer, the doctor, the dentist, the fraudulent evangelists. The stern and bitter type folks, incapable of drudging up a smile that hadn’t been born out of their own perverse notion that they held the monopoly on the 'power.’ Authority has always been a problem. Beloved rogues were my heroes. The rule breakers. From Blackbeard, to Dillinger. From Jim Morrison to Iggy Pop. The list goes on. So, my everdarkening adolescent cerebrum reached out to these iconoclastic mavericks, who blatantly scoffed at convention without a care in the world, as organic an urge as taking a breath. They gave me the impetus to escape a life of mundanity. I knew I was destined for something a little more undisciplined and ungoverned. Life was mine to explore! Some have suggested that Captain Jack Sparrow was the pinnacle of that search. But, the truth is that he has always been an integral part of me, from day zero.

Cut To: Day One. Set of POTC 'Curse of the Black Pearl.’ An absurd feeling. Like arriving, for the very first time, in a place you’ve always known. I understood everything. Immediately. This was where I was meant to be. My tumultuous trek, battling toward the edge of honesty’s limits had reached its zenith. However, that battle was not over. It never is, of course, and I had to fight for my vision of the character. My truth. And that vision was realized, thanks to the ‘guts’ of Jerry, Gore, and the finest executive that The Walt Disney Company has ever employed, Dick Cook, not to mention our dedicated and incredible crews - the true soldiers who get these films done with their very blood and sweat!!! They give the film its magic. But, above all, we must thank our dear audience. For, without them, there would be 'no glory.’ We would never have gotten anywhere. But now, here we are, some five movies later with our new directors, Joachim & Espen, administering some fresh wonder, still on the ride and loving it!!!

The future is always a riddle waiting to be solved, but I know that wherever we go, Captain Jack Sparrow will remain close by. His irreverent, absurdist spirit, forever loitering intently beneath the surface of all that threatens to tame us, to bore us, and to trick us.

So, don’t be tamed. Don’t be bored. And don’t be fooled.

Long live the Pirates life.

                                                                  —JOHNNY DEPP (Surrey, 02.05.'17)

Missed Shots

Request: hello!!!!! i was the anon that requested have you ever seen a heart shatter and oh my word i am blown away!! i couldn’t stop crying after reading it!! anyways, i would love to request another newt x reader where the reader is a legilimens and she reads newts mind and finds out he’s in love with tina or leta (which ever one you can choose who you like i guess) and she just breaks i guess?? pure angst as always haha. please and thank you!!!

Word Count: 2,779

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in


August 1st, 1903

Sploosh. You shriek with laughter. Mud flies every which way. It lands on your cheeks. It sprinkles the front porch. You don’t care that your mother will be mad. You look at the next puddle and bend your knees.

A little boy suddenly bursts into your yard. He shouts, hands out in front of him, as a bunny darts by. Another boy, a little bigger with darker hair, tears into your yard, too. He stops when he sees you. He marches over, calling the other one, too.

“Who’re you?”

You scowl. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Theseus Scamander. This is Newt.” He prods the other boy in the back.

“Why’re you in my backyard?”

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anonymous asked:

Hi, just found your blog and i'm loving it! can i request a nsfw scenario of grimmjow, aizen, and byakuya where they are VERY jealous of their gf?

I did these as headcanons since I only do one character per scenario. But let me tell you, these are fun to write because I think all of these characters would behave so differently. ~V

Grimmjow

  • Everyone in a mile radius knows Grimmjow is jealous—including his S/O. He can’t hide it, nor does he want to. He’ll pout in a very macho way. He’ll snarl, butt into conversation, and take that shit outside if he feels so inclined. Grimmjow isn’t going to shy away from his jealousy… and he’s taking everyone down with the ship.
  • All of that being said, it may take a lot of concerted effort or serious justification to make Grimmjow jealous. Grimmjow is busy beating people and his S/O’s holes lmao up. There’s a lot of things that get under Grimmjow’s skin, but a casual conversation with friendly person or some wild partying don’t generally do the trick. He trusts his S/O to kick some ass on their own, if the need arises.
  • Jealous Grimmjow is a rough lover. Well, rougher than usual. Chances are, someone lost some teeth in the process and he is all sorts of fired up. His S/O should expect some intense, possessive sex. I’m talking Grimmjow shoving their face up against the wall and taking them from behind, growling delicious little threats in their ear. Really make him worry, and he’ll make you come over, and over, and over again until you’re so oversensitive that it hurts. You are his and he wants to literally pound that into you.

Aizen

  • No one else knows Aizen is jealous… until someone’s life gets completely ruined. He’s cold about it, letting a plan form to make his S/O and whoever else get a taste of what he’s feeling. It’s all about the mindfuck, all about the clever accuracy of punishment. Do not fuck with Aizen.
  • It’s easy to make Aizen jealous—he does not like others playing with his toys. He does not like others looking at his toys. He does not like others thinking about his toys. But oh boy, this many loves to play with his toys. Occasionally, he’ll consciously decide to act out of jealousy, just because he enjoys the end result. It’s an ego boost to plot and prod at others, to make his S/O beg for some mercy that they probably didn’t need to beg for in the first place.
  • Again, Aizen prefers emotional and mental sadism. Sex with a jealous Aizen is cool and airy, like being taken by a perfectly carved statue come to life. But something violent lurks just below that marble surface—he’ll keep his S/O for days at a time, intentionally wrecking their sense of time and personal identity. Aizen does what he does best in love: he ruins little pieces of them and loves them all the more for those ruined pieces.

Byakuya

  • Byakuya brings a definite air of nobility to his jealousy… and it is a horrible experience. He’ll just stand there, close to his S/O, resting bitch face with an eyebrow raised slightly in condescension. Occasionally, he’ll gracefully budge into the conversation with something far superior to say. It’s passive aggression at its finest—Byakuya will make everyone else feel inferior without breaking his exterior.
  • It’s moderately hard to get Byakuya jealous, but it certainly happens. Consider him middle-difficulty. He rarely appreciates others getting too informal or friendly with his S/O. As nobility, they are an extension of himself and the Kuchiki clan. They are to be treated that way. Byakuya hates the way jealousy feels, and actively avoids it.
  • Jealous sex won’t always be a given. Sometimes, if certain boundaries are crossed by an S/O, Byakuya waits until they beg him for release. However, say it’s a situation in which he felt that small underlying twinge of not wanting to lose his S/O. Then, the sex is intense, passionate, and absolutely focused on his partner. Byakuya wants to take his jealousy—something he finds ugly and undignified—and use it to remind his S/O why he chose them in the first place. Except hard kisses, caresses and squeezes, and a lot of eye contact.
At Swords Points

Part I

In which Riskua travelled with Mihawk instead of going to Dawn Island

(Because I really enjoyed @nordictwin​‘s AU where Riskua stayed on Melring, so I wrote my own with one of the other alternatives that could have happened, which was Mihawk taking her, *ahem*, underwing.


When Dracule Mihawk saunters into the latest Shichibukai meeting, he comes in with a red-haired, tan-skinned miniature trotting diligently along after him. A female miniature.

Even Doflamingo goggles for a moment, losing all interest in his game with the marines.

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Read Me - Drarry Bookstore AU

Hi there! Just another one-shot that no one asked for but I still felt like writing because, once again, @theperksofbeingatotalnerd hit a soft spot with her prompt.


Harry had always loved books.  Not like his friend Hermione, whose love for books seemed to rely in a bigger love for knowledge. No, books didn’t call for Harry for the same reason. His love for books relied in the comfort. How a rainy afternoon seemed so much cosier when spent with a soft blanket and a book on his lap, maybe a mug filled with tea to warm the cold fingers that turned every page. He revelled on the stories that made the rest of the world non-existent, stories that allowed him to escape reality once in awhile. Eventually, he came to love the smell of books as well, old or new, as it always reminded him of the many worlds he had lived in and adventures he had in his own couch. Even the feel of a hardcover in his hand and wrinkled pages between his fingers were enough to soothe him.

It was only natural he would end up working in a bookshop. And, for all his friends exasperation, he liked his job. He wouldn’t change it for anything. Even if it meant he passed his days placing books in the right places, after the customers left them all around, or trying to find a book someone didn’t know how to describe and dealing with nasty customers who demanded a discount or cursed him for not having the book they wanted. You would think that Harry James Potter, who always had good grades and finished college filled with other’s expectations, would have wanted more in his life than just spending his days in a bookshop, surrounded by dust and black ink on white paper. But how could he? Everyday he got up, knowing the only thing waiting for him at work was that feeling of comfort, that feeling that he could belong anywhere if he wanted to and maybe help others feel the same.

That’s why, in the day it happened, the dark-haired boy wasn’t expecting anything to be less different than the rest of the year.

He woke up, drove to work and started organizing books as soon as he arrived. It was past lunch time when he heard another customer entering the store, the sound automatically ignored by his brain after so many people coming in and out everyday. He simply continued checking the inventory on the computer, writing down anything that seemed unusual in the little notebook by his side. At this time of the day there were barely any customers, since it was still work hours and the other people had to gain their money somehow. Normally, people who visited the shop were in their break so they didn’t spend much time there, only wandering quickly, eyes barely scanning the shelves. So, it was with a little surprise that Harry raised his eyes from the computer screen when someone cleared his throat in front of him, calling his attention. Surprise, however, would be scarce to describe what he felt at the sight that expected him once he turned to help the person.

Grey eyes met his, making his breath halt imperceptibly and Harry found himself unable to stop his eyes from scanning the face that held such an intense mercury gaze. He wasn’t disappointed. The man was gorgeous. Completely out of a novel, if not better. Blonde, almost platinum, locks framed high cheek bones. A faint pink painted soft looking lips and the jaw reminded him of a book page. Only sharp enough to cut. Harry didn’t dare to spend much more time assessing the man, but from what he saw with a quick glance at the rest of him, the man was slightly taller than him, thin body with a fitness highlighted by the black suit he was wearing, probably Giorgio Armani if the way he held his head high was anything to go by. It was quite rare to see someone so high-end on the shop.

Finally shaking himself out of his reverie, he looked at the man’s eyes again, which held a puzzled look.

“Hi.” Harry said, like he hadn’t been enjoying the view just a few seconds ago “Can I help you?”

The former look was replaced by a business one and the man spoke:

“I’m looking for a book.”

“Well, funnily enough, I gathered as much since you’re in a book shop.” Harry joked before he could stop himself. It didn’t always end up well when he said something before thinking about it.

Oddly, his customer only raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, a judging expression if it wasn’t for the amusement that quickly sparked in his eyes.

“Do they pay you to try to be funny as well? Or was that just a poorly executed attempt?”

Harry blinked rapidly, taken aback by the snarky response. He really ought to keep his mouth shut sometimes. It was his time to clear his throat.

“Hm, no, sorry. What book are you looking for?” He asked, eyes cast down and a light blush staining his cheeks.

He could hear the smirk shaping the blonde man’s lips when he answered.

“Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.”

Harry’s head snapped up, once again staring at the man in disbelief. He definitely wasn’t expecting that. With all his fancy looks, Harry would have said his customer was looking for some book filled with boring economics and tedious statistics.

“I believe we still have a copy. If you’d follow me, please.” He said, cursing himself for the babbling and staring. He forced himself to relax and started to make his way around the counter to the back of the store.

“Of course.” Came the reply behind him. Somehow, his voice seemed huskier. Harry chose to ignore it.

Once they arrived at the shelf Harry knew the book was in, he immediately started to run his index fingers through the dozens of covers and titles there, almost caressing them. It was his favorite part of the shop after all. He could feel a pair of grey eyes fixed on him and struggled to say something, anything to diminish the tension between them and the nervousness creeping up on him.

“So, you like english novels?”

“I read them from time to time, among other things. Unfortunately, my last copy was too old and I guessed it was time to get a new one.”

“I never throw away my old books. I can’t.” Harry mused absently, still scanning the shelf. “It makes me feel like-”

“Like you’re throwing away the memory of the first time you read it?” The blonde interrupted.

Harry stopped what he was doing to look at the man, who was now standing beside him, with a slight shocked expression. His mouth opened and closed a few times, not sure what he was supposed to answer. Figuring he probably looked like a fish, he turned back to the job in hand and settled with “Yeah. Exactly. Every book marks me in some way so… I don’t know. It just seems wrong.”

The man made a noncommittal sound, but even if he was going to say something, Harry didn’t give him the chance to. The shorter man turned once again, now holding a book in his hands. He stopped dead in his track, however, surprised by the close proximity of the other. The smell of the spicy cologne started to fog his brain, killing any chance of an eloquent speech.

Long fingers wrapped around the book still held by his stilled one’s, and Harry finally stepped out of the stupor, taking a step back and releasing the book. Somehow, he found his ability to talk.

“Is- Is there anything more that you need?” He stammered, straightening his glasses absently.

The man seemed to consider him for a moment before holding the book under his arm and talk again.

“I don’t suppose you have Alice in the Wonderland?”

“Hmm… I think we do, yes.” Harry beckoned, while wondering why someone reading Emily Brontë would be looking for a children’s book.

They went around the store, reaching the children’s area quickly and Harry grabbed the book, immediately passing it to the man behind him.

“Thank you”

“Anything more?” Harry asked. He tried to ignore the voice inside him begging the blonde to stay a little longer. What the hell was going on with him today?

“No. I think that’s it.”

They walked in silence back to the counter where Harry, trying to disguise the sudden and completely unreasonable disappointment he felt, started to work mechanically and efficiently. After registering Alice in Wonderland he suddenly remembered:

“Is it a present? Do you want me to wrap it?”

“No, there’s no need.” The man said, waving a hand dismissively although never taking his eyes of Harry.

The green-eyed man, on the other hand, looked confused.

“Is there any problem?”

“No, no! I just…” He started before clamping his mouth shut.

“Yes?…” The other prodded, both eyebrows raised in an expectant look.

“I… I was just wondering why someone reading Emily Brontë would read Alice in Wonderland.” Harry explained, finally giving him his books in a bag.

The man tilted his head, a scowl shadowing his features while he accepted the bag.

“Not that is any of your concern, but it’s for my niece. She already knows I’m buying it so there’s really no point in wrapping it.”

Harry ducked his head, ashamed of how unprofessional he had been since the man had arrived. It wasn’t like him at all. He had always prided himself for being respectful and able to stop thoughts from influencing his actions. It seemed, however, that the handsome man in front of him could cloud his better judgement. It was unsettling. Books could be read and Harry would know what was going on. This blonde, on the other hand, was… unreadable. Surprisingly, it fascinated Harry.

“If that’s all?” He continued, a superior expression now painting his face and an indication of the intention to leave clear in his body language.

“Yes. Thank you for coming.” Harry said, no louder than a whisper and still not looking at him.

“My pleasure.” Was the response.

That night, cuddled by his favorite blanket, he found he couldn’t really concentrate in the book on his lap, instead replaying the afternoon’s events over and over again, alternating between cursing himself and remembering the man’s features. Not even the protagonist of the novel he was holding was as beautiful.

The next day, after a good night of sleep, Harry got back to normal. Pricing books, helping people and arranging the books was what he loved to do and the bliss that he felt when surrounded by pages filled with different stories was back. Until…

“What’s your name?”

Harry jumped at the proximity of the voice behind him, dropping the books he held in his arms. Reflexively, he crouched and started to collect the books back into his arms, only then realising… that voice… Someone crouched in front of him and started to help him. When he raised his head, Harry had his fears confirmed.

“Wha- What?” He babbled, yesterday’s lack of eloquence coming back full force.

“Your name. You never told me your name.” The grey-eyed man explained, staring at him expectantly and completely open, a contrast from the coldness of the day before.

“You… hm, you never asked?” It came out sort of a question, Harry still not sure what was happening. He accepted the books handed to him and swiftly got up, the other mirroring his movements.

“Well, I’m asking now.” He smiled, a little shy, but still allowing a brief flash of shining white teeth. Harry wondered how embarrassing would be if he passed out.

“I’m Harry. Harry Potter.” He eventually managed while placing the books safely in a shelf.

“I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy.” The man said and extended his hand.

It only took Harry a second before he clasped their hands together in a light handshake. He wasn’t nearly prepared for the feeling of it. Long fingers wrapped around his hand, cold but somehow warming him inside. The hand fitted his perfectly, and Harry almost mourned for not believing in destiny. He had no idea how long they stayed like that, holding each other’s hands and looking at the other. Harry didn’t know who pulled back first, but all too soon they were stepping back. Letting go of Harry’s hand, thin fingers slid through his palm, a light caress that sent shivers down his spine.

The black-haired man spoke the first thing that came into his mind. Again. He never learnt from his mistakes.

“I’m sorry, but what are you doing here?”

Draco smirked. “Well, I thought you figured that out yesterday. I came to buy a book, of course.” Then, the smirk morphed into a small sheepish smile, eyes cast down. “And maybe I was a little bit of a jerk yesterday, before I left.” He finished.

To say Harry was surprised would be an euphemism.

“You were a bit but I deserved it. I wasn’t being professional.” He rushed to explain, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

“No, it was fine. I’m just not used to talk about myself. I feel like I’m an open book in those moments.”

“You don’t like people to read you, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you read me.”

From that day on, Draco would go to the bookshop everyday, at the same hour as the first one. He would always spend minutes and minutes talking to Harry about everything and nothing at all while the black-haired man stayed behind the counter, listening to everything intently. He talked about his work, his niece, favorite films and foods. He let Harry read him. At first, Harry was still taken aback, afraid to say the wrong things as he had the first time they talked. But eventually Draco broke through all his defences, question after question, smile after smile and touch after touch. Harry knew it was nothing special, only a brush of fingers when handing him the new purchased book or how their shoulders would touch sometimes while he searched through the shelves. He still fell for Draco. Hard. He was funny, a bit (ok, maybe a lot) sarcastic, intelligent and caring. He always had a comeback at the tip of his tongue, but so did Harry and they would spend entire conversations teasing the other while still getting to know each other. Draco only won their contests when he would suddenly say something that was really close to flirting. Or maybe Harry just wanted to believe it was although he never let himself to. He would sputter and change topic or admit defeat. He needed to keep reminding himself that the blonde was only there to buy books and decided, in the meantime, to be nice to him.

It was thursday when it happened. Harry had been up until 3am reading, each chapter pulling him more into the story than the other. He knew he should be sleeping but he didn’t seem to find the strength to care. Then, his favorite character died. Which meant he continued to read and read, determined to finish the book that same night. In the end, it was 5am when he finally closed the book and his eyes.

Harry was now regretting his decision, the three hours of sleep he got not nearly enough to get him through the day without a several headache and stinging eyes. He was practically oozing off when Draco arrived.

“Hi there!” Came the loud greeting, making Harry’s head explode in a new wave of pain.

He blinked slowly, his energy not even enough for him to stand up from the bench. He really should have known better. He always needed to sleep more than six hours a day, and even then he took at least a cup of coffee in the morning. He hadn’t have the time today.

Draco must have noticed the bags under his eyes or his lack of energy, because before Harry could say anything, he was already holding his face with a hand, a concerned look in his eyes.

“You look like shit, Harry! Are you ok? Did something happen?” He asked in a rush.

Somehow, the shorter man found the energy to chuckle lightly, shaking his head while rubbing his eyes. Draco’s presence was enough to lighten his day.

“No. Everything’s fine. I’m just a really stupid person.” He assured, still amused.

The blonde didn’t seem convinced at all, scowling at him, an expression Harry had grown used to by now.

“Why does it seem like you haven’t slept then?” He pressured, both hands now in the counter as he leaned to him.

“Because I haven’t. I was reading until late.” He didn’t know why he was telling Draco, but it felt right. “Normally, it wouldn’t be this bad, but I didn’t get the chance to drink my coffee in the morning and my shift only ends at 4pm.”

He considered him for a moment, as if trying to find if it was a lie or if he was telling the truth. He settled on truth.

“How can someone be that stupid?” Draco scolded.

“My favorite character died, ok? Please, have some respect.” Harry said, a smile still playing on his lips.

“So, because your favorite character died you try to kill yourself from tiredness? Can you imagine the alarming mortality rate if everyone was as idiot as you?”

Harry laughed, knowing Draco was right.

“That’s it.” He said abruptly “I’m picking you up at four and taking you out for coffee.”

Without another word, he turned and padded out of the shop leaving behind a dumbfounded but smiling Harry. It took him almost an hour to realise Draco hadn’t bought any book.

When his shift ended almost every fatigue was gone, replaced by nervousness. He was waiting for Draco outside, jacket folded in his arm and bag on his shoulder, balancing softly has Harry shifted his weight from leg to leg. He felt him more than saw him, immediately snapping his head to see the gorgeous man approaching him.

“Ready?” He asked once he neared him, taking the bag from Harry’s shoulder and placing it in his.

“Hey! I can take that!”

Draco dodge the hand that tried to grab the bag and started to walk in front of him. “After your coffee, yes, you can”. He said over his shoulder, not even glancing back.

“You know, it really doesn’t match your suit.” Harry tried once he was able to fall in step with him.

Draco faltered a step and Harry smirked to himself. Straightening up, the blonde continued as if nothing had happened. “It’s a blow in my style that I’m willing to take.” He assured nonchalantly. Harry figured there was nothing he could say that would convince Draco then.

The nearest Starbucks was only a few minutes away and they spent them mostly in silence. When they arrived they found a table and Draco instructed him to sit before asking what he was having. Harry tried to insist he could pay but Draco was having none of it. They both settled by strong cappuccinos. Once Draco was back with the drinks they talked as if they were in the bookshop like a normal day and mercifully, the man didn’t mention Harry’s stupidity again. They somehow started talking about Harry’s university and, later, his choice of work.  

“And how did a man like you, intelligent and full of life, ended up working in that shop?” Draco asked, chin resting in his hand and real curiosity lighting his eyes.

Harry played a little with the spoon inside his half-finished cappuccino, thinking how he could explain something not even his closest friends ever understood. He sighed, not meeting the grey eyes that studied him.

“I love books for as long as I can remember. They always had an important role in my life and shaping me. Sometimes they seemed to be the only thing that could help me get through hard times. It only made sense that I would spend my days working in a place filled with something that brings me so much comfort and happiness.”

Draco was quiet for a few moments, assessing him or his answer. Harry wasn’t sure. Eventually, he spoke again.

“But why do you love books so much? You talk about them and touch them with such reverence.”

Stunned by how much he had let on during the last few days, it took him some seconds before he raised his green eyes from the table and smiled easily at the man in front of him.

“I can live in any world when I read. I guess that might be the biggest reason.”

“And what’s your favorite world so far?”

“The one where an handsome man with grey eyes and blonde hair takes me out for coffee.”

If it wasn’t for the soft gasp that followed his words, Harry wouldn’t have even realised that he spoke them. They were supposed to be kept in the solitude of his mind. But they didn’t. And now Draco knew. He didn’t wait to see his reaction. He didn’t wait for the answer. Eyes wide and mouth clamped shut, he gathered his belongings as fast as he could, blurting out an “I’m so sorry” before fleeing.

Next day, Harry was doing everything in his power to not think how he managed to screw things up so much. His struggles were revealing themselves to be useless, as he already missed Draco and it wasn’t even lunch time. There was no point anyway. He would never show up.

That’s why, a few minutes past midday, Harry didn’t hear the door open or the steps approaching him. He only noticed it when it was too late to hide, which meant he now had a sympathetic smiling Draco looking down at him.

“Oh, no.” He groaned to himself, hiding his face in his hands. “Please be a dream. My mortification was enough yesterday”

“Sorry, not a dream, Harry.” He says, chuckling almost soundlessly.

The black-haired man, with no other option but resigning to another moment of embarrassment, sighs heavily before looking up and asking:

“What are you looking for?”

Harry was about to get up, ready to fetch whatever book the blonde wanted and be done with it, when the response came.

“I think that I found what I was looking for a few days ago, as soon as I entered here.”

“But… you only got Wuthering Heights after you talked to…” His eyes widened, realisation coming into him.

Draco looked at him sheepishly through his eyelashes, not quite being able to meet his green eyes, fingers playing nervously with the hem of his shirt. “Is there anyway I could try and make your new favorite world be one where a really nervous man with grey eyes and blonde hair takes you out for lunch?”.

Harry found, as the next days came, that his new favorite world was any where Draco was next to him. And, he might not be able to read so many books with his time occupied by a certain no-longer-nervous man, but it was ok. Because suddenly, books weren’t the thing that gave him the most comfort. Draco was.

anonymous asked:

Do you think Even carried Isak across the threshold?

hhahahahahahaha boy do i. But I think like, they were joking around, poking and prodding at each other as they carried up the last of the boxes to put in their new house. And then maybe Isak said something cheeky about Even carrying him over the threshold- probably doubting his macho manly strength and Even can’t have that, can he? So  he puts on his super offended look-

And promptly slings Isak over his shoulder in like a fireman’s hold. And isak is laughing so hard and using his fists to bang on Even’s back and butt (ignoring Even’s hey hey hey don’t damage the goods). And Isak is just shouting, ‘THIS IS NOT TRADITIONAL!’ over and over again until they are both firmly in the house. And maybe Even twirls a few times to get Isak dizzy before plopping him down on a mountain of pillows in the living room.

And then Isak is looking up from the ground under his lashes at Even and it’s just. Fuck their doing it. They’re moving in together.

The Slytherin Fifth Year || Part 1 || Teacher!Newt Scamander x Student!Reader

Heyyyyyoooo so this is my first newt scamander fix. its teacher!newt x student! reader. its gonna be kind dark is later on because its like newt being infatuated and shit. like this first chapter tho is gonna be shit. but like i promise the nest couple will be okay. i hope. ANYWAY on we go. OH and message/preferably do the ask thing if yalls wanna be on a tag list for all my fics, just one shots, only peter parker, or only newt scamander, or both or everything. just tell me what you guys wanna be tagged in and ill tag you in. I’m still tagging my two bitches tho cause they gotta support me through everything. ANYWAY now on we go.

tags : @running-outta-time @munalisax

words : 1577

Masterlist

The Slytherin Fifth Year Masterlist

——————————-

Originally posted by queenmarci8284


Newt Scamander found himself faced with tremendous discomfort as multiple pairs of eyes looked up at him throughout the decently large room.

Just recently, the Mazoologist found himself being asked to teach a class based around Magical Creatures by the Ministry and the Headmaster, himself, for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The first thought, or rather emotion, that came to the former Hufflepuff’s mind was fear. He’d have to go back to the very school he’d been mocked at by peers for his love of the fantastic creatures. Foremost, he’d been expelled years back for an incident, with one of the creatures, he’d taken the blame for.

After only days of piling up pros and cons, Tina, an auror working for MACUSA and a friend from previous adventures in New York, had convinced him it was a good idea to go.

She told him, “You taught me, and so many others, that those beasts in your case aren’t something to be afraid of. You’ve found a much more complex way to look at them, and taking this opportunity, you’ll only make the students see the beasts the way you do and show them they aren’t dangerous. Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to prove your whole life?”

So, now he stood in front of many students in his first class of the year.

Nervousness was all that took over his body as he mumbled down into the pocket of his coat, “This is going to be a long year, isn’t it Pickett?”


You were trudging your way into the fourth class of the day, Potions, feeling inexplicably tired and discouraged as everyday, when you heard two girls giggling to each other,

“I heard the new teacher’s very,” the girl, Grace, beside you smirked, propping her elbow on the table and putting her hand underneath her chin, “very young.”

The other girl in front of her, Marissa, smiled knowingly, and sing songed, “And attractive.”

You sniffled a laugh, hoping they wouldn’t hear, but alas their heads turned towards you, nasty looks imbedded on their faces, “What’s so funny, Y/N?”

The smile on your face left as you slouched and mumbled quietly to the two Slytherins, “Nothing.”

“Good answer.” Came from Marissa.

Keep reading

10

In my research for an academic book on Fred and Ginger’s partnership, I’ve been watching and re-watching, comparing and contrasting, all of Astaire’s partnered dances. The reason the world went nuts for Fred with Ginger was because of their chemistry. As Hermes Pan said, ‘Ginger was his best partner because the chemistry was right… They seemed to go together.’ But what makes it so? There are many, many reasons, but here are just a few, from a dancer’s perspective. Firstly, Fred and Ginger rarely break eye contact when they dance or act together. In fact, the line between fact and fiction blurs with Fred and Ginger because they are habitually locked in each other’s eyes. What makes this special is they seem to do it even in non-romantic scenes. Whether in conflict, in romantic pursuit, or just in casual conversation, they rarely break eye contact, and even when Ginger is called to walk away or look away in a scene, Fred is always watching her. In their earlier films together (before Fred was as comfortable as a film actor), Fred often looks to Ginger during non-dancing scenes to get a feel for how to react. If you watch Fred when he dances with Hayworth, Charisse, Ellen, etc., often the woman will look at Fred for a second or two, but then break his glance and look down or away. Ginger, conversely, is completely engaged. If Fred or Ginger senses the other is watching them, they immediately lock eyes again. So that’s the first thing about them. They have some sort of innate understanding of each other’s physical presence.
This is also evident in their body language both on and off of the dance floor. Ginger is the only partner with whom Fred has virtually no respect for her personal space. This is not a cruel or domineering gesture on Fred’s part, but, rather, the sign of two dancers who think and move as one brain.
If you look at Fred’s best partnered dances with Hayworth, Charisse, Ellen, Chase, etc., again as a contrasting example, you’ll see Fred resist his natural tendency to get as close to his partner’s face and body as possible. Even in romantic dances with Hayworth, Charisse, and other fine partners, there is personal space, or an airy formality and glamour to the dance. Fred is very, very careful with his supporting arm and legs. If his face comes very close to the woman’s face, he hesitates, out of respect.
With Ginger, conversely, there is no personal space, not because Fred doesn’t respect Ginger, but because they move in one fluid line at all times. There is a physical comfort between them. In fact, many, many critics have suggested that Fred man-handles or hoists Ginger around with an energy he does not employ with his other partners. However, if you look closely, (and if you are a dancer with any training you’ll likely already know this), you’ll see that Ginger has an intense control over her upper body and her legs, but she yields to Fred’s force, particularly as the dance crescendos. This is a choice Ginger makes. If Ginger had no control over her torso and legs, she would collapse under Fred’s so-called man-handling. So, you can see it’s a natural way in which Fred and Ginger move together: Ginger resists with control over her back and legs, but gives into the sensuality of the dance by yielding to Fred’s overtaking her, in a manner of speaking. It’s a kind of physical conversation Fred and Ginger have that is so special. Let me say that it is also very, very rare, even by today’s dance standards, and I have been studying dance history for many moons.
I could go – and nearly have gone – on all day, but the other main thing that makes Fred and Ginger so potent together is what they are caught doing outside of character. These examples include nudging or prodding each other with little inside jokes or physical teases. Sometimes it appears that they don’t even think about it. They’ve worked for so many hours together, over so many years and over so many films, that they almost have a secret language. You can see this as they enter into ‘I’ll Be Hard to Handle’ in Roberta, for example, or when Ginger is “teaching” Fred to dance in Swing Time, or when they’re at the zoo in Shall We Dance. Some of the greatest tension between them comes during their famous quarrel during ‘Cheek to Cheek’, and you can see that even when they’re in a huge fight, they’re in total eye contact and even have a few moments where Fred tries to get Ginger to smile before her series of backbends.
This is not to disparage the other fine, technically pure dancers Fred Astaire has danced with, because they are all beautiful. It’s just a little exploration – from a dancer’s point of view – of what makes Fred so chemical with Ginger.

Claw Marks-(Derek Hale)

Originally posted by abzynthe

Characters: Scott McCall, Kali, Erica Reyes, Derek Hale and (Y/N)

Pairing: none, hint at Derek Hale x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of Erica’s death

Word Count: 1964

Summary: A month after Erica’s death, Derek offers the bite to her best friend, (Y/N).

Keep reading

8

winters x nixon + teasing (pt. 1)

“Well, as such, I, of course, know, but if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

flaviamfranco  asked:

What would be important characteristics in an INTP character?

Preference for logic, a tendency to try and explain reality through rational analysis or systems, paired with solid intuition (reading between the lines and forming accurate and inaccurate conclusions) that chases new ideas, alters its perspectives on a semi-frequent basis, and has a tendency toward idealistic thinking (wouldn’t reality be better if…?). Paired with a strong tendency to fall back on one’s personal sensory likes / dislikes / sentiment / sameness / personal biases and a tendency toward emotional overreactions, misunderstanding social cues or being slightly out of sync, and depending on the inferior Fe user, either a need to be liked and accepted (good Fe) or a tendency to prod other people to elicit emotional reactions (can be bad).

- ENFP Mod

Part 4

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

@shulkie suggested pining Levi so here we go.

~~

Levi watched as Jean draped his arm around Eren’s shoulders and said something into his ear with a wide grin. Eren laughed and poked his tongue out, and Jean pulled a face and pretended to recoil.

But they stayed close, those two.

Levi sort of thought they would have mentioned it if they were actually together, but with the way they acted sometimes he honestly wasn’t sure. It wasn’t really his business, he supposed, only that it was; Eren had told him flat out that he was good at shutting down their arguments, and doing that for a couple seemed weird and inappropriate.

Levi was ushered forward next, to be included in the photograph. The label still wasn’t sure how to ‘massage him into the band’s core brand’ as one of the bright, interchangeable young PR people had put it and Levi wished he didn’t even have to try. Some bullshit never changed.

They wanted him to watch all the band’s old interviews, and Levi put on a dutiful look and agreed, but secretly it wasn’t such a hardship.

They were both gorgeous, those two; fresh faced and charismatic, and Levi watched them joke and giggle and prod each other, squirming across a variety of TV talk show couches, along with their ex-bandmate Reiner. They’d always been all over each other, apparently, and Levi wondered why the PR people hadn’t told them to put a stop to it. Some of their comments were downright suggestive.

Levi didn’t need the mental images of the lean, leggy young men wrapped around each other like that, their stories of sharing hotel rooms and the back of a van working all too vividly on his imagination.

He didn’t know what to make of this whole situation sometimes; no one gets a second chance like that, a rediscovery and the opportunity to return to the stage after all those years. That alone seemed too much to expect, and here he was with two frankly beautiful young men who apparently saw in him nothing but good things. Even after they found out about his stage fright they seemed to think it was just something to manage rather than a deal-breaker.

He should be more grateful, and stop imagining them naked at the very least.

“At least you’ve done all this before,” Jean said when the shoot was over and they were heading back in the car. “It was a hell of a learning curve for us.”

“Mm.” Levi didn’t feel like discussing it; he’d felt like a third wheel for most of the time, and he doubted no amount of massaging the message was going to change that. How could it? He was a decade older than they were, and they’d almost literally found him in the trash.

He could almost sense them looking at each other, trying to work out why he was in a bad mood. Did they really know him so well so fast? Or maybe it wasn’t him at all, and they were silently communicating about more personal things.

“We should work on our narrative,” Eren said, when they’d retreated back to the boys’ apartment. Levi had sort of wanted to leave, but they had work to do. “They’re gonna keep bugging us until we have something.” He frowned. “We need something.”

Levi watched Eren return from the fridge and choose a seat across from Jean, flopping into it and somehow managing not to spill his drink. They always pulled apart when he was with them, and it was starting to bug him a little. He wasn’t prejudiced or anything.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said.

“Do what?” Eren asked.

“Act distant with each other when I’m here. I’m not going to be bothered,” he lied slightly. It didn’t bug him for the obvious reasons at least.

“We’re not?” Jean looked puzzled.

Levi rolled his eyes. “You were practically sitting in his lap earlier.”

“Oh that!” Eren laughed, a little awkwardly. “It’s for the cameras, you know.”

“What?”

“The fans love it,” Jean explained. “The idea that we might be fucking in private. They get really invested. So,” he shrugged. “We play up to it a bit.”

“Don’t worry, Levi, we won’t make you do it,” Eren assured him.

“Too old?” Levi suggested wryly.

“No. I mean, you wouldn’t like it, right?”

He could feel their eyes on him, and he resisted the urge to squirm in his chair. He wished desperately he’d never raised the topic to start with.

“I wouldn’t really mind,” he said eventually. “I mean, if they like it.”

“Well that’s great!” Eren said, with more enthusiasm than Levi thought was necessary. “We know our narrative now, don’t we?”

Levi got the distinct impression they were communicating via eye contact again.

“And he was so good!” Jean declared, beaming at the host. “We were like, we have to get this guy to play with us.”

“And then we got him out of those overalls,” Eren said, leaning against Levi on the other side. “And look at this!” He grabbed Levi’s bicep and Levi flexed good-naturedly as the crowd oohed.

“Oh my God, those arms,” the host said, pulling a shocked and delighted face for the camera. “Can I touch them?” she asked.

And Levi, firmly wedged between his bandmates, Jean’s thigh pressed against his own and Eren’s breath tickling his ear, wasn’t sure if he was in heaven or hell, but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything.