#and maybe he can try really hard and pull my wisdom teeth out with his bare fingers

[miscelliteeous]

I think gnawing on a dilfs rough weathered hands and feeling him rub my gums would help a lot with my wisdom teeth probably.

[sensei-venus]

I have to get my wisdom teeth removed soon and I'm scared. Could you maybe do something with poly hawk and moon taking care of reader after she gets her wisdom teeth out and she's really loopy and frightened by a lot

(Unedited) (I tried really hard on this, but letting y’all know, I don't have wisdom teeth. Idk how or why but I don't so I don't have to worry about them.💀) (Mentions of blood & teeth pulling)

“Whyyyyy am I-here???” Reader moaned out around the multiple cotton balls that were shoved in her mouth. She whimpers and looks around the dentist's lobby. Her hand travels up to her face and over her cheeks.

It's quickly pulled away by Moon who just gently shushes her. Moon wants to laugh just a little but she knows Reader isn't all there. It wasn't right to laugh at the poor girl.

Hawk looks over at the two girls before signing the last of the paperwork from the dentist. He had to sign a few forms about the aftercare for Reader’s mouth. She had all over her wisdom teeth pulled in one sitting.

“Moonnnnyyy why does my face feel funny?? Can we get food? Pleeeesssd?” Reader starts to tear up as Moon starts to help get her standing. Hawk grabs the small aid kit the dentist staff gave him a long with pamphlet on how to take care of her gums, and a small prescription for some pay meds. Hopefully, Moon would keep the disoriented girl busy in the car while he ran into the local pharmacy to pick up her new meds. He watched as she struggled to move with Moon out of the lobby. He walked behind them just in case Reader tried to take a tumble.

Their girlfriend was still outing of it from the anesthesia.

Hawk slowly helped get her into the car with the help of Moon by his side. They struggled as she tried to borderline escape them. Trying to get out of the vehicle from the other side. He was quick to lock the door with his keys.

“Sweety calm down. We can get you yogurt when we get home. It's nice and cold and will feel so good on your gums.”

“My gums?? What's wrong with my gums?”

Hawk got into the car and started the engine. Keeping his eyes on the road he tried his best to listen to their conversation in the back seat. Moon sat next to the other girl stroking her thigh.

Suddenly Reader started to whimper and cry, making Hawk look back in the mirror.

“Why is there bloodddd?! Where are my teeth? Hawk, they took my teeth.”

“Babe, they pulled your wisdom teeth, the nice dentist said they had to go because they were starting to hurt you remember?”

“They stole my teeth!!” she sobbed as Moon tried her best to hold back a laugh. Hawk was in the same boat trying to keep his own laughter down. He coughed into his hand. His eyes go back to the road ahead of them. Luckily the trip to the pharmacy wasn't that long and Moon was able to talk Reader out of going inside with him.

Doing his best he grabbed a few extra ice packs and picked up her painkillers. He hoped that those would be enough to get her through the next week or two as she healed.

The ride back home was perfect besides Reader's occasional mumbling.

When they where finally back hike everything started to settle down. Reader was ushered in front of the tv in their room with a newly frozen ice pack and her first round of painkillers. Moon brought her the fluid and bottle she needed to clean out her raw and open gums. She helped remove the nasty blood and spot-soaked cotton balls from her mouth and the old gaze.

For once Hawk was happy that he had seen and dealt with a lot of nasty shit in karate. Most of the wounds and gross cuts he suffered in karate were nothing like this. But still, he felt trained enough to help wash Reader’s gums out. She moaned and tried to jerk away from him at first. But with some help, he was able to get her mouth and gums rinsed out.

Moon shivered as she caught a quick glance at the girl spitting out the gross red-tinted water into the small bowl they gave her.

“I love you guys~” Reader said as Moon stuffed a spoon full of half-frozen yogurt onto her mouth. Her eyes fluttered as the cool food passed over her sore gums. She slumped into the mound of pillows behind her.

Hawk grabbed the tv remote and scanned though one of their streaming apps. He found one of her favorite long movies and clicked it on for her. Lazily she opened her eyes a little and watched the intro startup. She smiled a little at the sound of the intro music and narration coming through the speakers. Moon spooned another mouth full of food into her mouth and cuddled up next to her.

Hawk felt a small smile creep onto his face. He pulled one of the blankets from the bottom of the bed and placed it over the two girls. Slowly he drifted over to them, sliding in next to Reader.

He sighed one last time as Reader cuddled onto his side. Her head rested on his chest as they watched the movie.

It was definitely going to be a long few weeks, but at least they had a crap ton of organic yogurt and painkillers.

[triplexdoublex]

technically yes nobody can save you but I agree that hearing your fav saying that they’ve been through the same stuff that u have is very comforting especially when dealing with mental illness cause it can be a very isolating experience. But it is your choice and decision to get better, your fav person can show u that they also went to therapy and how it has helped them and that can influence you to go and try it out but that’s still up to u. With Kells I think he’s struggling a lot even if he tries not to show it to not worry us that much, and from what I’ve seen I don’t think he feels deserving of our love and devotion to him or that his mind wants to believe that we will turn on him and he’ll end up alone as he was most of his life. The line “who am I when the music stops” imo kind of shows that he’s scared all the love and support will leave when he’s not singing no more, and that maybe everyone who hated will come out in support of him only when he’s dead, cause that’s what’s happened to a lot of artists who have passed (like he mentioned in his line “thinkin maybe the hate’ll finally go away if I’m not alive”). He definitely knows we love him through the support we give him on music and project but I think he’s scared to even through music really be honest with us cause he’ll be scrutinised for it. He’s got so many eyes on him now and I think he’s scared to lose the fame and publicity he so badly wanted for so long. I believe with “don’t let me go” he even said that it was a song he usually wouldn’t put out if he had more time to sit on it or something. and I think that’s why he’s also holding onto Megan. She helped him get the fame he worked so hard for years to get, he finally got the recognition that he so badly fought for and I think if he loses her he's afraid he’ll also lose that part of fame and the awards and such, not saying he didn’t get awards before Megan but she definitely helped him get to another level of fame and publicity. And I think if he loses Megan he’ll be made fun of in the media. At the start everyone was so out of their minds on how a guy like him could get the world loved hottie Megan Fox and if it comes out saying that they aren’t together anymore, even tho all the people who saw the relationship as toxic or weird will be happy, he’ll still be laughed at for managing to lose the “most beautiful women”. Like they made fun of him after the em disses, he’ll also be made fun of if he loses Megan.

TW// Suicide ideation

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Yes technically you’re saving yourself by making the decisions needed to better your mental health but sometimes you need that spark of hope to get you started and kells is that spark for a lot of people. I’ve had many sparks along my mental health journey one of them actually being song lyrics from the song “Self Conclusion” by The Spill Canvas. I was driving home from work thinking about ending it all, I already knew how I was gonna do it — I had recently had my wisdom teeth removed and this was back when they would give you prescription pain meds for literally anything (which is how how the opioid crisis started) They gave me Percocet even though I said that I didn’t want them because I was afraid of getting addicted (addiction runs in my family) He insisted I would NEED them. But I didn’t they sat in my cabinet full and unused, and I was planning to take the bottle. I had just pulled into my driveway when the song started playing , a song I’d heard a million times before but the lyrics “we all flirt with the tiniest notion of self conclusion in one simplified motion, the trick is your never supposed to act on it, no matter how unbearable this misery gets” hit different in that moment and felt like a sign to me to stay and get help. I sat in the car and sobbed for what felt like fovever , then went inside and got rid of the pills. And did start therapy shortly after. Yearsss later when I met the lead singer I thanked him for SAVING me! Of course I was the one who decided not to go through with it and to start going to therapy , but what if I never heard that song at the exact moment I needed it , would I even be here having this conversation… there’s a good chance I wouldn’t. So yes I believe I was saved by their music!

Kells definitely gets a lot underserved hate , he has shared many times that he worries about not being appreciated until his dead. Another lyric that comes to mind is “everybody hates, but can anybody love me, guess they’ll wait until my face is on the mural” i think he finally did get a little taste of being taken more seriously when Tickets to my downfall and Mainstream sellout both went number one and her acquired a bunch of new fans . But it must be so hard to know that pretty much everyone outside of the fanbase hates him.

I don’t believe Megan helped kells to rise to fame , if anything he boosted her non existent acting career ( when was the last time you heard about Megan Fox before they got together … maybe 2007ish ) Kells gained more fame for revitalizing the pop-punk scene, but I do agree that he will be dragged for ‘loosing Megan’ I’ve already seen evidence of it in social media comments

[annekewrites]

"You're doing great! You're a real trooper!"

TMI medical/dental/etc. stuff and things that were traumatic for me adjacent to that beyond cut, jsyk.

Okay. So what you need to know for background sake is that I have not had ANY non-urgent/emergency medical anything done since...considerably before covid started, for Reasons that look like this, as I think of them:

Phone anxiety from hell - I can override it for work or in a real emergency but it's one of the worst mental spoon drains. Probably related to the days when phone calls not from family or my very closest friends were 90% bill collectors and 9% other stuff I really didn't want to deal with.

Fear of committing to an appointment, not being able to keep it for whatever reason, and then getting dropped by the practice - this happened to me once with the only endodontist who would take my insurance without, like, a six-month wait.

Multiple awful experiences taking kids to appointments and them not getting appropriate care, including but not limited to the time my son's former primary care doc wanted to prescribe estrogen-containing birth control pills to deal with menstrual dysphoria, the time we got kicked out of the ER with my daughter, and the time the other ER threatened to call CPS on us because we were supposedly letting our preteen kids drink hard liquor and watch porn (NO????????) instead of dealing with the reason we were there.

Multiple awful experiences my husband has had, including the time he had a hypertensive crisis but as soon as they heard he was on psych meds they assumed he was also using illegal drugs and possibly committing DV (no???), the time the "Wellness Management Clinic" told him to crash diet AND divorce me if I refused to crash diet with him, and the time the primary care doc's record office confused the Vicodin he got with his wisdom teeth extraction with an ongoing daily prescription.

The horrible unethical therapist I had 15ish years ago, yikes.

I'm a fat woman with adult-diagnosed ADHD, and my last primary care doc was all "you don't really need Strattera because your ADHD isn't that bad, you got to this appointment on time just fine!" (CLEARLY this woman had never heard of Appointment Mode. Sigh.)

Thanks to the above, I'm afraid of being seen as "doctor-shopping" or drug-seeking, as well as just getting yelled at for being fat and not having been to the doctor in way too long.

So yeah. I get my shots, I go to urgent care when something obvious needs urgent care (possible strep, the stress fractured foot earlier this year), but I haven't had regular anything done in way too long.

I figured the first step in dealing with this was to get back in therapy. So I found a practice that would book new patients online, and there I selected a therapist who is queer and a parent, because (as I said to them) "there's a whole lot I just won't have to explain!" And I wrote on my intake form that one of the big things I wanted to work on was my medical anxiety, because it is actively causing Problems.

Next, while bringing my son to get dental work done and noticing that he seemed very comfortable with that practice, I decided "since I'm in the waiting room anyway, let's get me in and get this party started, I know there is a mess in my mouth." And I've had the botched-root-canal tooth pulled, which was apparently a challenged, and half of my mouth has had the periodontal deep clean with the other half to be done in two weeks, plus a couple of fillings and prep and temp crowns for a bridge to fill in where a tooth was pulled before.

And the whole time I keep hearing that I'm doing great! And that's helping so so much tbh when I expect to just be yelled at and treated with scorn and that's...not what is happening. It makes me feel like maybe I can go to the actual doctor and have it not be awful, too?

I'm trying.

[lovedetlost]

On the topic of blowjobs...how do you NOT use your teeth? Maybe it’s cause I apparently have a smaller mouth than average so I can’t open my mouth very much and I have bigger teeth (like I don’t have some teeth that most people do because they had to be pulled because my mouth couldn’t fit all my teeth even after my wisdom teeth got pulled). It’s kinda hard to imagine but like my mouth does not open big at all so I am so worried that whenever it does happen (I’ve been seeing someone and if things keep going the way they are then I definitely think he’s gonna be my first partner and first boyfriend) 1. It’s not gonna fit and I’m gonna choke (because I also have a really bad gag reflex 😭 like brushing my tongue and far back when brushing my teeth makes me gag and almost throw up 💀) and or 2. It’s gonna fit but my teeth are gonna be scraping (which I have heard hurts really bad).

Sorry that’s a lot of word vomit but also could I be 💎 anon?

hi baby for sure you can be 💎 anon

okay i am terrible at blow jobs. i have a shocking gag reflex, like if i hold a teaspoon in my mouth too long i'm gagging, let alone ... also just i have zero confidence in my abilities and i'm so confused by the male obsession with them. like ... my vaginé is right here.

but there's ways around 'biological' issues. you can focus more on the licking and kissing, sucking merely on the head and not taking the whole length. communicate your worries and apprehensions. tell him you need to take it slow. you can do it in a way that ups his ego if that will make you more amenable to telling him, daddy you're just so big i don't think i can take it all just yet. do everything to cover your teeth with your lips but also realise that the act itself is quite difficult to perform and as long as you're gentle and trying to pleasure him, a mistake here or there won't be the end of the world.

secondly, don't make yourself uncomfortable or sick just to please a man. i've literally vommed on a guy from trying too hard and not listening to my bodily fears and reactions. so when i am feeling overwhelmed and need some space to slow down, i opt for a kneel at his feet and let him jerk off over me with my mouth open. as a sub it works for me, and i actually have to do no work except beg and plead and sate his ego (its my preferred position hehe).

baby, make it fun. 'sex' is supposed to be a fun and safe space to experience pleasure and sexual activity. he will get off on the fact it's your first time, that his is the first dick that's ever been in his mouth, and honestly, so he should. it's an honour and one that should be applauded and thanked for eternally. we need to give more credit and respect to our sexual partners, and actively engage in creating a safe environment where everyone feels comfortable trying and receiving new experiences.

i've answered a very similar question here if you want to check that out

[messers-moony]

Moony Wants, Moony Gets | R.L

Paring: Young!Remus Lupin X Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Summary: Moony has a natural wanting for his mate making his possessiveness visible the closer it gets to the full moon. 

He was always jealous. Blame it on the wolf in him, if you will, but Remus Lupin was highly possessive. Especially over what’s his - maybe not even what’s his but what he wants. She was gorgeous and his perfect mate—long tuffs of h/c hair and gleaming e/c eyes that glittered in the limelight. There was one problem with her, though—one major flaw in her mess of perfection. 

Y/n L/n, cunning, ambitious, resourceful, and charismatic. 

That was the problem. Y/n was a Slytherin, and Remus was a half-blood Gryffindor. To make matters worse, her closest friend was Regulus Black - Sirius Blacks brother. Remus’ best friend's brother. But Remus couldn’t help it. Her voice was like a siren's call, and her beauty was a rival to Aphrodite, but she had the wisdom of Athena. Y/n was a perfect balance of everything. 

Closer to the full moon, his possessiveness became more of a problem. Sirius was noticing the low growl that would erupt from Remus whenever someone stepped close to Y/n. James saw the lingering glares left on any male within a six feet distance of her. Even Peter observed his green eyes turn a shade darker as if someone mixed black paint into his usually bright eyes. 

Y/n sat at the Slytherin table, a cup of coffee beside her as she spoke intently with Regulus. Meanwhile, a Gryffindor across the Great Hall was glaring daggers at the younger Black brother's head. Sirius nudged him, grabbing his attention. 

“Mate, you’re growling again.” Sirius whispered, and Remus’ cheeks turned pink, “Am not.”

James gave an unconvincing grin, “Mhm, totally.”

“I was not growling.”

“I think you were.” James replied, “Definitely was.” Sirius added. 

Remus sighed, pushing his plate away to lay his head on the table, “What’s got Moony all wound up?” James queried, Remus, deadpanned looking at the laughing girl across the room. 

“I think I know.” Sirius simpered, “Do you now? Don’t be a tosser.” James stated teasingly. 

“Turn around. Slytherin, talking with Reggie.” 

He turned and looked back at Remus with his jaw dropped, “No- fucking- way.”

“What?”

“She’s the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, you tosser!” 

“Oh…”

James snorted, “Yeah, oh.”

“Looks like Moony found his mate.” Sirius winked, and Remus groaned, “Shut up about it, will you?”

“Never.” 

It felt weird. James wouldn’t shut up about how brilliant Y/n was, how the Slytherin’s Quidditch team was able to make plays that no one else would’ve even thought about. Sirius wouldn’t stop offering to talk to Regulus to see if maybe he had any intel on her. Strangely enough, Peter was silent but had a guilty look on his face. Guilty sufficient for Remus to comment. 

“Why do you look guilty, Wormtail?” Remus inquired, and Peter's cheeks flushed pink, “She- Y/n isn’t- um….” 

“What do you know that we don’t, Peter?” Sirius queried, his voice harsh, “She isn’t what you think. That’s all I’m saying.” Peter stammered out nervously. 

James tilted his head at the blue-eyed boy, “And you know this how?” 

“She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

“Woah! Hold on a second!” Sirius exclaimed in shock, “When did this happen?!”

“Back in fourth year.” Peter informed, “She seemed nice enough until you start to get serious with her. Y/n’s sharp-tongued and extremely ill-tempered.” 

Sirius sniggered, “Sounds like Moony.”

“Oi!”

“Sorry!”

“So, what does this mean for Remus?” James questioned further, “It doesn’t mean anything. Just be careful. I don’t care if you date her. Means nothing to me.” Peter replied, putting his hands up in innocent. 

Remus stared at Peter with curiosity swirling. How much did he truly know about Y/n? How did he manage to date her? Nonetheless, it didn’t mean anything to Remus because Moony wanted her. What Moony wants is what Moony gets. Later that evening, after prefect patrol, he padded into the library to dismiss any working students. But there were only two students inside. They sat in a secluded corner of the library. Regulus Black and Y/n L/n. 

Was it envy? Was it jealousy? He didn’t have time to ponder. Y/n had her head laid on Regulus’ shoulder and both her arms wrapped around his one arm. Regulus had leaned his head on top of hers, wavy black hair intertwined with her h/c hair. Both their eyes were closed, apparent they were asleep—potion and Transfiguration books placed on top of the wooden table along with an open sketchbook. 

What was he supposed to do in this situation? Wake them up? If it was just Y/n, perhaps he could’ve, but Regulus was with her, and Regulus wasn’t too fond of Remus for being friends with his older brother. Madam Pince had already left for the night, either choosing not to disturb them or didn’t notice them. Remus saw the inkpot beside the Potions book, almost empty. It was Y/n’s inkpot because the ink wasn’t black. It was a deep grape color. 

Remus sighed and grabbed the ink from his bag, charming it the same color. Discretely he took hers and swapped it out with his. Leaving a piece of parchment on top. Remus left the library without another word. Waking them up was a risk he’d rather not take. But now, he laid in his bed wondering how she’d feel about the new ink on the table. 

The sun began to rise, and Y/n’s body felt stiff. Carefully she began to stir awake after noticing a body beside her. Opening her eyes, everything seemed blurry, but after blinking a few times, she recognized the library books and the person's scent beside her. Regulus, her best friend. Y/n yawned and pulled away from him, about to begin packing their belongings, but she noticed a piece of parchment that lay on top of her ink. 

“Noticed you were out. You can have mine.“ 

Y/n hummed appreciatively. She didn’t know who gave her their ink, but she was eternally grateful for them saving her a trip to Hogsmeade. Y/n poked at Regulus’ right side, and he eventually stirred awake. His curls disheveled and his body just as stiff as she was. Regulus opened his eyes and met her e/c ones. 

“Did we fall asleep?” He groaned, and Y/n scoffed, “What do you think, dingus?”

“No need to be mean this early in the morning, Merlin.” 

“Someone saw us last night, though.” Y/n stated, and Regulus noticeably jumped, “Who?”

She shrugged, “Not sure, but they left me a new pot of ink.”

“Lucky you.”

“Lucky me.”

Both best friends cleared their table. Y/n put her Potions books away, and Regulus put his Transfiguration books away. Y/n stared at the writing on the parchment she had received earlier that day. The handwriting was almost unrecognizable. It was messy and sprawled. Whoever this was did not have good handwriting or was in a rush. But the day carried on. In Potions, Y/n sat in the front while the Marauders sat in the back. Remus stared holes in the back of Y/n’s head. 

“She’s gonna notice if you keep staring at her like that.” Sirius muttered. 

Remus sighed and continued to write his notes. If he tried hard enough, he could make out her elegant purple ink from here. It always baffled him why she chose purple over traditional black - suppose it wasn’t really any of his business, but he couldn’t help but wonder. The familiar sketchbook sat on top of the desk as well; he could see doodles in the same deep purple color. Occasionally Regulus - who sat beside her - would nudge her to pay attention, gaining an annoyed groan. 

Potions class always smelt weird. It was a mixture of glue, seaweed, and salt. It was also constantly humid. It brought shivers down Remus’ spine. He noticed it doing the same to the Slytherin girl at the front. Remus craved nothing more than to wrap his robe around her, but he was too late. Regulus was already doing the action, which earned him one of her jaw-dropping smiles. Unconsciously he began growling again. This time, James smacked his arm. 

“Mate!” 

“Sorry…” 

Dinner was even worse. Y/n had yet to remove Regulus’ robes leaving him in a button-down white shirt and the usual uniform. Sirius was surprised at his younger brother's chivalry but didn’t speak much. The full moon was that night, and as dinner progressed, Remus only gained more possessive. James and Sirius gave up on trying to scold him. It was apparent Moony wanted - no - needed her. Slytherin captain be damned, Y/n was going to be Moonys. 

A dry winter night. As usual, Remus walked to the Whomping Willow with his three friends following him. Tonight was normal in the sense of his friends turning into their animagus,’ but the odd thing was letting him out of the shack. The werewolf and the dog ran around the forest together. The rat and stag lagging behind, allowing the two animals to play together. But a stick-breaking brought the attention of the werewolves to the new person. 

He could smell them. Hear their blood running through their veins. Their heart pounding at a standard rate. The dogs barking could be heard, trying to distract the werewolf. The scent was female, and she wasn’t scared. Instead, the girl approached with confidence sticking out her hand to the wolf. Padfoot barked loudly. Prongs backed down, looking nervous. Wormtail squeaked loudly. But she came with confidence and assurance. 

Moony growled, “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” She cooed, “You’re safe with me.”

The h/c haired girl knelt on the grass, “No need to be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Moony hesitantly put his snout in the girl's palm, making her grin. His fur was soft to the touch, and his eyes turned soft. Her smile was beautiful, and Moony nuzzled his hand into her soft palm. She chuckled and patted him more. Padfoot barked excitedly and ran to her, but the werewolf started to bare his teeth again. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m yours.” 

The wolf seemed to calm down at her words allowing Padfoot to approach her. Smiling brightly, she pet both animals, “It’s okay, love.”

“My name’s Y/n. I didn’t know that there was a werewolf here.” Y/n greeted as Moony curled up beside her, his head on her thigh, Padfoot doing the same on the other side.

She caught sight of the other two animals and whistled for their attention, “C’mere.”

Prongs and Wormtail approached nervously, but Moony gave no sense of protectiveness. Y/n’s words resonated in his head over and over again, “I’m yours.” The wolf fell asleep beside her, Padfoot doing the same. Prongs approached, and Y/n patted the top of his head. Wormtail sat in front of her knee. They seemed at peace. It was the first time Moony ever felt at ease. They’d be lying if it didn’t make them happy. 

Y/n stayed up all night with the animals. Despite the animals not knowing, Y/n knew that the stag, rat, and dog were animagus’. The werewolf was unknown to her. The following morning when the stag turning into James, rat into Peter, dog into Sirius. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to find out who the werewolf was. When he turned back into a human with his clothes tattered. Y/n continued to run her fingers through his hair as he slept. 

“Morning, Marauders,” Y/n commented. 

“You’re- you-“ James stuttered.

She laughed, “Apparently, your moony really likes me.”

“Would you mind petting me again?” Sirius teased, “Maybe.” Y/n retorted, winking. 

Sirius laid down on her other thigh that Remus wasn’t laying on, smiling; she ran her fingers through their hair, “You’re a godsend, lemme tell you.”

James and Peter sat in front of Y/n, “What made you want to take a walk in the forbidden forest last night?”

“Just wanted some air.” Y/n answered. 

Remus groaned and began pushing his head onto Y/n’s hand, “Morning, Remus.”

The Marauders and Y/n had never seen him jump up that fast, “What- you- I- uh-“

“Didn’t know you were a werewolf.”

“I- uh…”

“Sirius, for the love of God, get off her lap.” James interject, slapping the boy on the head playfully, “But it feels so good.” Sirius drawled. 

James grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the grass. In the process, Sirius got a mouthful of dirt and grass, “You wanker.”

“Did I- erm- hurt you?” Remus questioned shyly, “Nope, I'm completely unscathed.” Y/n smiled reassuringly. 

Remus turned to his friends, “Nope! Y/n saved us all.”

“Are you hurt?” Y/n inquired to Remus, who took a quick look at himself, “I- I don’t believe so….”

Sirius blew a raspberry, “Thank Merlin! Dragging you to the hospital wing is bloody exhausting.”

Silence filled the forest until Sirius smirked, “You know, mate when you were talking about Moony wanting her. I thought you were joking. Turns out you weren’t.”

“Oi!”

“Oh, Merlin…”

Y/n chuckled, “Well, Moony is rather cute if I’m honest.”

Remus’ cheeks blasted with pink, and Sirius laughed. James shook his head with a big grin, and Peter looked amused with Y/n’s confession. Without hesitation, Y/n leaned over to kiss Remus’ cheek, making him hide his face flustered. She stood up and ruffled Sirius’ hand, gently rubbing her nails across his scalp, making Sirius try to lean into her palm. They all stared at her except for Remus, who was equally embarrassed and flustered. 

“If you’re looking for a fifth Marauder, I know the Slytherin common room password.” Y/n winked as she walked to the castle. 

[wooteena]

technoblade speedrunning adopting ranboo (high school edition): the fanfic

also on ao3!

hey remember this post? well i got so attatched and impatient that i wrote over 1k words for a pilot type chapter for it <3

chapter one: officer in my defense i punched that guy because he deserves it

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Techno Blade-Minecraft would call himself smart. He got good grades without trying, learned second, then third languages with ease, read textbooks for fun, etcetera etcetera. Wisdom without experience was a rare thing to possess, especially in a high school senior but techno had it tight in his grasp, easily making him a ‘Model Student’. He understood he got unneeded attention from that, which sucked, but it was an easy trade-off to be the automatic teacher’s favourite.

But Techno was a man of wisdom, not a man of sense. So naturally, he remembered a fact about baby birds he learnt when he was six years old:

‘Classical "imprinting", as seen with for example, ducks or geese, means that the animal's instinctive programming says "the first big animal you see after hatching is your mom, follow them and look to her for food, warmth, love and learning’

Actually, Techno decided he was the man of Most Sense because at that very moment, the tallest, yet somehow weakest looking freshmen he’d ever seen was being cornered by a group of hefty looking seniors.

And the baby bird, with its innocent, scared eyes was looking right at him.

He looked around the hallway, a desperate scan for other students he could push his growing parental responsibility on to. It was a ghost town, as empty as the remakes of towns from the old west he saw on childhood school excursions.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuck.’

Technoblade took a deep breath in through his nose, then released it out of his mouth like if he breathed hard enough, his empathy could be taken away with the non existent wind in the soul-crushing grey hallways. It obviously didn’t work because Jesus Christ that kid looked helpless.

As quickly as one could without compromising a freshmen’s still intact nose, Techno examined the seniors. They all wore the school football team’s letterman jacket (‘what is this, Heathers?’), a classic pointer for internalized insecurity, toxic masculinity and most importantly unrightfully self diagnosed Strong Guy syndrome, which meant that they definitely were only beating up a freshmen because that was the most they could actually fight. One point to Technoblade. They also were all at least a solid five inches shorter than him, which Techno would have laughed at if the situation wasn’t so dire. Point two for Technoblade.

Catching himself before letting his wandering mind think up a full five paragraph M.L.A sighted essay to why he could crush these nerds, he decided that two points was enough leverage to still crush these nerds, but with slightly less confidence.

With as much patience as he could, he slowly walked up to the group like a silent lion hunting his soon to be, very dead* (maybe not dead, *slightly bruised) prey. The baby bird, trapped in one of his prey’s chokehold, stared at him like he was a madman. Techno’s objective changed: knock out the dickhead choking a kid.

They stood in a corner, the choker in the middle, the other two blocking off the only escapes and laughing cruelly at the baby bird. Completely distracted.

Techno curled his fist, aiming to punch that asshole’s teeth in or at least break his nose. He starts to run, about five feet away from his target and oh god this is a terrible idea he does fencing not hand to ha-

BAM.

Choker’s nose made a resounding crack and fell back onto the jock on the left. Probably because it’d be ‘too gay’, or whatever, the guy sidesteps and lets a knocked out, nose broken, probably popular kid by comparing his ego to the size of his dick, fall onto the ground

The two awake bullies look between their knocked out friend, then at Techno, then at each other.

“MISS NIIIIHACHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!”

Techno knew they’d call a teacher because they’re cowards but really? Nihachu?

That lady is TERRIFYING what did he do to deserve this.

He let out a long, disappointed ‘bruh’ before with a jolt, remembering the whole reason he punched that jock in the first.

The child.

He doesn’t bother trying to pick up him up because holy hell he’s tall, but pulls one of the kid’s arms over his shoulder, and with his other arm holds their waist and sprints as fast as he can down the hall.

“What the…” murmurs the half dead lump on his back, and while Techno’s surprised his vocal chords aren’t dead? Not even a ‘thank you’? Techno thinks he should start doing charity work at this point.

He continues to run though, because he’s a generous soul, until slowing to open a door that opens the blinding sunlight of the free world outside their prison.

Despite himself, Techno lets his mouth slip into a big enough smile that actually shows his teeth because he just did that. His celebratory moment is cut off though, because the weight on his back suddenly felt even heavier and-

Oh my God the baby bird just fell asleep on me.

Am I a father now?

What do I tell Phil? Does this make him a grandfather?

I can’t just take him home.

What’s stopping you?

Oh my God, I’m a genius.

Techno may be a proclaimed genius, but he is not immune to the inherent propaganda of cute children, so he sets down the kid on the least grimey part of a battered metal bench to get his first proper look at the sleeping giant.

Apart from his injuries (a bleeding nose, bruises forming on his arms, a black eye and a red handprint on his neck) the kid looked… Weird. Techno had subconsciously noticed it while carrying him, but only now the complete oddity of him. His skin from the jaw down was a uniform, warm, dark brown, which was decidedly normal, but his face was… different. Not ugly, no, he looked average, if not perpetually awkward, even in his sleep. The right side of his face was a similar, if not slightly darker tone than the rest of his skin, but where it got weird weird was from the middle of his face and leftward, his face was pale. As pale as Techno, which is saying something because Techno himself has albinism; he has no melanin in his skin.

He found himself sympathizing for the kid again. Techno himself got bullied for his reddish eyes - a symptom of his albinism, and his naturally stark-white skin and hair. It got to the point that he dyed his hair pink, which decidedly made it worse because a guy dying his hair pink ? apparently high school treason to both students and the school rules. His bullies had a colourful range of insults, at least; Techno’s personal favourites being from after he died his hair: homophobic slurs. The teachers had constant complaints and even a couple suspensions, which didn’t stop Techno, obviously. What a wonder public school is.

So yes, Techno understood the baby bird, because despite Techno’s only weakness being himself (and apparently non-threatening freshmen?) as of now, it wasn’t like he came out of the womb a scary pink haired senior. He knew bullying like the hair dye aisle at his local department store.

He knew that helping the kid would make him more attached to the point of no return, but he’d accepted it. It felt like feeding a wild animal more food after making the mistake the first time, it’s not like it’ll get less annoying to have it following you around.

The moment Techno processed his own thought, his face blanched - somehow getting whiter despite literally being the textbook definition of a white boy.

He’d fallen into the ‘senior adopting a defenseless freshmen’ trap.

Shit.

Even more embarrassingly, this didn't deter Techno from pulling his first aid kit, for once his anxious over-packing doing some good.

-

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[arvinsescape]

Hi! Could you write a peter Parker x stark!reader where he gets his wisdom tooth taken out and the minute he sees reader he starts spilling out his feeling and calling her cute pet names n stuff and tony was actually very happy hearing it until he starts talking about his dirty fantasies with her? You write amazing!!!

A/N: Thank you for the request!💕 I enjoyed writing this! Sorry for the wait, i have so many to get through! I hope you enjoy! Also i’d just like to make it clear that Peter and Reader are over eighteen.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of smut. 

My requests are currently closed.

Having your wisdom teeth removed was a painful process and Peter was having his removed today. Your dad had decided to take him, get him the best care possible and of course, you had tagged along, Peter was your best friend, you’d spent hours training together and you’d even helped your dad build him new suits that you thought better appreciated his skills. It was hard work at times arguing with the Tony Stark about what was best for Peter but you were also his daughter which meant you’d inherited his stubborn streak.

Peter had been in surgery for a little while and you’d been informed he’d be ready to leave soon but he may be slightly odd due to the painkillers he was on. You were excited to witness it as you’d heard this painkiller left you with no filter and you wondered what secrets he may spill in his haze. Your dad was the first to greet him with a hand to his shoulder.

“How are you kid?” He asked as Peter looked up at him, you could see from where you were stood that his pupils were dilated.

“Mr Stark! I feel amazing.” He practically shouted as  you and your dad both stifled a laugh at the looks you received.

“Okay kid come on. Let’s get you back to the compound.” Your dad said as he moved and suddenly you came into Peter’s view. He practically ran at you and engulfed you in a hug.

“Peter be careful! You’ve just had your teeth out.” You giggled as he squeezed you.

“Missed you princess.” He said and you laughed, he never gave pet names, usually too nervous to let them slip. Your dad smiled at the interaction and you playfully rolled your eyes. Of course, your dad was a smart man, he knew you had feelings for Peter and he was all for a relationship between the two of you.

“Missed you too Pete.” You smiled as you pulled away from him and made your way to the car.

“Can I hold your hand? I really want to.” He said and it shocked you as you nodded in response and he laced your fingers together as you carried on walking. “Your hands really soft, softer than I imagined it, feels nice.” He spoke.

“You’ve imagined how soft my hands are?” You asked.

“Yeah of course I have.” He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and you saw your dad smile to himself and couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “You look beautiful today by the way my love.” Your dads grin was now well and truly spread across his face as he climbed into the car.

You climbed into the back of the car with a huge smile on your face saying a quick ‘hi’ to Happy as Peter followed and dramatically sat himself next to you. He instantly grabbed your hand again and laced your fingers together.

“Your boobs look amazing in that top sweetheart.” Peter spoke and your dad coughed as you giggled.

“Peter!” You said as you used your free hand to lightly smack his thigh.

“What? They do. I have imagined my hands on them one day.” He spoke again and your dads eyes almost bulged out of his head.

“Okay kid, calm down.” Your dad spoke.

“Mr Stark you have a beautiful daughter, I’d just like to tell you that. I’ve been in love with her for ages.” He spoke as if he’d said it a million times and your breath hitched, he felt the same?

“Yeah kid, I know. Anyone with eyes can see that but please try and keep a filter whilst we talk about my daughter.” Your dad spoke. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you realised that he was in love with you and you were him, maybe once he was off this painkiller you could talk about it.

“Y/N, I think about you a lot. Probably because I love you.” He said and you smiled.

“I think about you a lot too Pete, I love you too.” You said and in hindsight you probably should have kept quiet until he had his filter back.

“Do you think about me like that?” He asked with a smirk and heat rushed to your cheeks, of course you had but you weren’t gonna sit here and say it. “I think about you like that. I think about you being tied to my headboard with my webs while I fuck you into the mattress. Think about you moaning underneath me-“ You were blushing ridiculously hard as he spoke and if you’re dad wasn’t sat next to you it probably would have turned you on.

“Right! That’s it Parker.” Your dad interrupted loudly. “I do not want to hear another word out of your mouth. If you say anything else I will personally web your mouth shut.” Your dad spoke and Peters eyes widened in what you thought was shock but no, he had no filter, it wasn’t shock, his brain had clocked a new idea.

“That sounds fun. Hey princess maybe when-“ before he could say another word your dads arm shot across you with his hand covered by the familiar iron as he put his hand across Peter’s mouth and you gasped.

“Dad! Be careful, he’s just had his teeth out.” You said as you turned to him.

“I like the kid I really do and I like the idea of you two being together but he will have no teeth left if he doesn’t be quiet.”

[yam-writes]

mine forever  Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Strade x Reader Additional Tags: Sadism, Knifeplay, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Blood and Torture, Torture, Oral Fixation, Biting, Bruises, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Masochism, Stockholm Syndrome, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence here you go :) it’s a little shorter and i wrote it after i got my wisdom teeth out, but i hope you like it anyway! :) you can read it on ao3 or under the cut :)

You didn’t know how long you had been down there, tied to that pole. It was pretty easy to keep track of the days at first, but as the amount of times he came down increased, and the amount of sleep you were getting decreased, the days all blurred together and you didn’t know how long you were out versus how long you were awake. Not that it mattered, anyway. What little sleep you did get wasn’t any better than the horrors of being awake, your dreams poisoned by him along with reality. It seemed like no matter what you did he was always there, stuck in your head, a perfect picture of him carved into your brain.

So your mind was a little fucked. Keeping track of the time wasn’t at the top of your priorities list, but if you had to guess you would’ve said it was a few weeks. But, really, you weren’t even paying much attention. You were far too worried about the grumbling of your stomach, the dryness in your throat, the stickiness of your skin, the smell that you were pretty sure was coming from you, and the pain that crept over every inch of your body. You didn’t know how long it had been, but you hoped that it had been long enough for him to just kill you.

Of course you could never get that lucky, though. “Looks like you belong to me now.” That’s what he had said, and that’s what he kept reminding you every time he fucked you, make you fuck him, came on your face, down your throat, on your back, on your stomach, inside you. Every time he dug his knife into your skin, opened a new wound, reopened old ones. Every time he shoved his fingers in your blood and made you taste it, every time he tasted it himself. “Mine, mine, mine.” That’s all you ever fucking heard.

You thought being kept would be a good thing. That meant you weren’t going to die. But was it really worth it? If you were going to be stuck down in his basement for the rest of your life, no, it wasn’t worth it, but what else were you supposed to do? Just deny yourself any pleasure you might receive because of who was giving it to you? He was already depriving you of everything, why should you do it to yourself? It wasn’t worth it, no, but it was all you had.

You found yourself clinging onto him. When he would untie your wrists and pull you close, you dug your fingers into the back of his shirt and buried your face into the crook of his neck. You stared up at him in wonder, watching him grab tools from shelves, unbutton his belt, clean up your blood from the floor. Your body ached when he was gone, and part of that was for him. It was fucked up how much you had come to want him, to need him. You hated yourself for it, but he was all you had. What else were you supposed to do? Maybe you really were his.

You even found yourself calling out his name. Sometimes it would be in your sleep, but other times you’d be fully awake and calling out for him. It was hard sitting down there, in the dark, for God knows how long, just waiting for him to come back. You longed for any touch, his touch, to feel his fingers on your skin, the warmness of his body pressed against yours. So you called out for him. And he would come.

It was one of those times, sleepiness and blood loss making your head foggy, that you called out for him. You didn’t know how he heard you, considering that you figured the basement was sound proof. It had to be, with the things that went on down there. But you heard thumping come from upstairs anyway as you called out his name again. After a few minutes, the basement door swung open and the light from upstairs flooded in. You flinched, preparing yourself for the bright lights that would turn on next, but they never came. The room was plunged into darkness as the door shut again. You heard fumbling around for a few more seconds, and then a wall light came on, trading the harshness of the white overhead lights for a nice, warm, orange glow.

You looked at the light and then to Strade, who was leaning against a counter, his arms crossed. He was staring at you, a smile on his face, but it wasn’t his usual big, toothy smile. No, this one was more contained. He had a- you leaned in closer, trying to get a better look. You squinted your eyes and, no, yeah, he definitely did have a lollipop stuck between his teeth. He raised his arm and grabbed the stick, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth.

“You called?” he asked, amusement dripping from his voice like acid. He waved the lollipop around.

You swallowed and nodded, trying to tear your eyes away from the lollipop. The only thing you had to eat those past few days were granola bars and some jerky. Your mouth was practically watering at the candy. It wasn’t anything with any sustenance, but at least it was something different.

“Do you need something?” he asked, slowing down each word.

“I just-” you heard your voice say. “I just missed you.”

Strade let out a loud laugh. “You missed me?” he asked. He stepped forward and leaned down beside you. “Then we should spend some time together, yeah?”

You stared up at him, your mouth hanging open. His proposition hung in your head and your brain was yelling at you for willingly calling him down there, for participating in his game. You knew you were only egging him on.

“Okay,” you squeaked.

Strade hummed. He stared at you for another moment before pushing himself up. He shoved the lollipop in his mouth again. You saw the stick move as he swirled it around. He walked around until he was standing in front of you.

“So what do you want to do?” he asked, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth again.

You swallowed. Your eyes were still on the lollipop. You were really craving it. “Can I-” you started. You shifted. moving your arms in the ropes slightly. “Do you have another one?” you asked, gesturing your head towards his hand.

Strade’s eyebrows raised and his eyes shifted to the candy in his hand. “Do you want one?” he asked.

You nodded, licking your lips.

Strade let out a laugh and said, “Okay!” He stepped towards you and bent down. “You can have this one!” He reached out and grabbed your chin, pulling your mouth open. He shoved the lollipop in your mouth and you felt the sweetness on your tongue. He pushed your chin up, closing your mouth.

You coughed, the sudden entrance of something in your mouth causing you to choke. You pushed the lollipop to the side of your mouth with your tongue, feeling your saliva and Strade’s covering your mouth. Your hand instinctively raised to move the stick, but you were stopped by the ropes. The pole vibrated, which caused Strade to let out a loud laugh.

“You like it?” he asked.

You moved the lollipop around in your mouth, pushing it to the other side. You looked up at him and nodded. “Thank you,” you said around the lollipop.

Strade smiled. He reached his hand up and cupped your cheek. You leaned into the touch.

“My pet is always so polite,” Strade said. He scooted forward and placed his forehead on yours. “Didn’t even need much training.” He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, seemingly in thought. Then, his eyes opened and he smiled. “I think you deserve a reward!”

You looked at him through your lashes. “A reward?” you asked. You could feel drool drip from your lip from the lack of free movement the lollipop had.

Strade hummed and stood up. He stared down hard at you, and you felt your body flush at his gaze. You watched his eyes move as you shifted the lollipop. Then, he moved his feet, walking around until he was behind you. You heard shuffling, and then a thump onto the ground. You saw Strade’s legs appear on either side of you and his body pressed against yours and the pole as he scooted closer. He reached his hand out and ran a finger from your knee to your thigh, making you wince as he scraped over wounds. His finger ran all the way up, rubbing over your hip and your tummy. He went through the middle of your chest and up your neck. The light touch made you shudder, and you let your head fall back against the pole. You shifted the lollipop again as his finger reached under your chin, hooking around until it was running over your lips.

“Is this my reward?” you asked, feeling even more drool dropping out of your mouth.

Strade let out a small laugh as he ran his finger through your spit. He moved his hand away from you and even though you couldn’t see what he was doing, the muffled hum he let out told you that he had shoved his finger in his mouth. You heard a wet pop noise and then Strade’s voice.

“You’re antsy tonight,” he said. He leaned forward and you felt his lips brush against your ear. “You’ll get your reward soon enough.” You felt his hands on your again, slowly gliding down. He rested his chin on your shoulder, in the crook of your neck. You took in a sharp breath as his right hand rested around your neck and his left kept going down.

You bit your lip as his fingers found your clit. He rubbed circles, slowly, drawing out any pleasure you could receive from this. His other hand squeezed lightly against your neck, his thumb rubbing under your jaw. He continued to run circles around your clit, speeding up his pace so that you wouldn't notice his hand traveling up your neck.

When his finger slipped down and plunged inside of you roughly, you completely forgot about the lollipop. Your mouth flew open, the lollipop hanging on by your lip. But Strade’s hand had made its way up, and his fingers grabbed the stick. You didn’t even know what he was doing until you couldn’t breathe.

You leaned forward, letting out a loud cough, candy coated spit dripping from your mouth. You could feel the lollipop down your throat, the stick pressed against the roof of your mouth. Strade let out a loud laugh as you continued to cough, trying to get the lollipop out. His hands left your body and he stood up. You turned your head and watched him walk around until he was standing in front of you. You clenched your throat, feeling the lollipop lodged in there. You leaned forward, letting the spit fall onto the floor.

“What’s the matter?” Strade asked, bending down in front of you. He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. You stared up at him, your eyes wide at the lack of oxygen. The blood rushing in your ears made it hard to hear anything, but you could just barely catch the sounds of your own wheezing. “You wanted the lollipop, didn’t you?”

You felt tears slide down your face and you thought for sure this was how you were going to die. You gagged around the candy, your arms jerking involuntarily to get the lollipop out of your mouth. You could hear the vague sound of Strade’s laughter as your vision started to go blurry. You went still, not having enough energy to keep trying to cough up the lollipop.

That’s when Strade’s hand found your mouth, pulling it open wide. His fingers dug inside wrapping around the stick. He pulled it out and you gasped, pulling in a raggedy breath of air. You coughed more, finally able to breathe again. You spit, candy and blood hitting the floor. You looked up at Strade, feeling the scratchiness on your throat. You watched him toss the lollipop to the floor, breaking in half and shattering.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he said with a small shrug. “You look cute when you’re choking.”

You continued to cough, the tears falling freely. You jerked against the ropes as you rocked your body, trying to find your breath again. You felt the rope burning your wrists, but honestly that pain helped to bring you down as your breaths calmed and got steadier. After a few minutes, you were leaning your head back against the pole and panting at the ceiling.

Strade took a deep breath in and then walked towards the counter. You watched him pull a drawer open and you heard some clanging inside.

“You did so good,” he said. He reached into the drawer and grabbed something. He turned around with a huge smile on his face and held up a knife. “Just one more thing and then you can get your reward!”

You gulped as he stepped towards you. You pulled your legs up, but he bent down and gripped your ankle, pulling your leg back down. He pulled the other one down, too, and then reached his hand out. He ran his fingers across your stomach, causing you to suck in a breath of air. He let out a small noise and then stood back up, walking around behind you. You felt his hands on yours and he tugged up roughly.

“Stand up,” he said.

You pulled your legs up and pushed yourself onto your feet, feeling the sting of the rope on your wrists as they slid up the pole. Strade walked back in front of you and stepped close, pressing as much of himself against you as he could while still having enough room to move the knife around. His right arm leaned against the pole above your head. He looked down and pressed the flat side of the cold blade against your stomach. You took a sharp breath in.

He looked up at you as he twisted the blade and said, “Spell it out for me, okay?”

You didn’t know what you were supposed to be spelling out, but you didn’t have much time to think about it because immediately after you felt a small slash down your stomach, followed by another one and then another one. You let a loud hiss, and felt the tears brimming at your eyes. You turned your head away, trying somehow to get away from the pain.

“S,” Strade said, smiling big at you.

You didn’t say anything, completely forgetting about what he had told you to do only a moment before. You squeezed your eyes shut, but then you felt a sharp pain hit your cheek as Strade slapped you, blood splattering inside your mouth.

“I said spell it out,” he growled, pushing his face into yours.

“S!” you repeated, pushing the letter out through your teeth.

Strade smiled and gave your cheek two pats, then looked back down at your tummy. He moved the knife again, two slashes, one up and one across.

“T,” he said.

“T!” you choked out.

He didn’t waste any time moving his hand slightly and getting started on the next letter. You felt the blood from the other slashes slide down your body, and your vision was starting to get hazy. The tears fell down your face as the next slashes started, four in total, right above your belly button.

“R,” Strade said, his voice getting slower and his breathing getting heavier.

“R,” you said weakly, the dots connecting in your head. You knew what he was spelling. Of course you knew.

He moved his hand and you winced as the knife pushed into your skin and dragged down, then moved slightly, connecting to the top of the cut and dragging down the other side. Then one more slice across the middle.

“A,” you gulped, not even giving him time to speak.

Strade looked up, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Hey!” he said, sounding the happiest you had heard him in a while. “You got it!”

He looked back down and pulled the knife across your stomach again. You squeezed your eyes shut and let the tears fall freely. Your stomach jerked inward with every slash, but Strade’s right hand had moved from above your head and had gripped your waist.

“D,” you said. You could feel your body getting weaker, begging to just be able to sit down again.

Strade cut into you more, slashing once down and then three times across. You cried out, attempting to kick your legs and move away, but his fingers dug into your side, holding you still.

“E,” you sobbed.

Strade breathed in and dropped the knife to the floor. His right hand dropped and he groped himself through his pants, his other hand reached out and touched the “s” gliding over the letter lightly.

“And what’s that spell?” he asked, looking up at you, smiling.

“Strade!” you choked out. “Strade.” The second time came out more raggedy.

“Right!” he praised. His fingers moved from the “S” and traced over every letter, your body jerking and wincing with every motion. He let his fingers push into the wounds, his fingertips violating you in the worst way. He smeared your blood all over your body and his hand. When he was finished tracing the letter, he raised his hand up and shoved a finger in his mouth. He let out a small groan and then pulled it out. He let out another sigh as he looked at you, a fond smile on his face. “There! Now you really are mine forever.”

You let out a choked sob as the knowledge of what he had just said seeped into your brain. He had carved his name into your stomach, there was nothing you could do. Even if you somehow did manage to get away, he would always be on your body, always be stuck on you. No matter what you did, you were always going to be his.

Strade was on you in an instant, pressing his body against you. The friction from the fabric on his shirt rubbing against your fresh cuts stung, and you whimpered as you felt his face press into your neck. He parted his lips and stuck his tongue out, dragging the flat of it all the way up to your ear. At the same time, his fingers had found their way to his pants, his knuckles intentionally grazing against the wounds as he undid his pants. When he had pushed his pants down slightly, he moved his hand and grabbed your thigh, pulling your leg up around his waist.

His cock pressed against your entrance for only a moment before he was pushing himself inside. You let out a small cry at the rough entrance, feeling him stretch you open as he thrust all the way inside. His weight pushed you back, the pole pressing into your spine. He pulled out and then shoved back inside, the force enough to push you up the pole.

You jerked your hands, trying to reach out to grab him, touch him, push him away, pull him closer, just do anything, but the ropes stopped any major movement. He still had his face buried in your neck, and with one particularly hard thrust he bit down, causing you to clench around him. He let out a sharp hiss, sucking in the breath between his teeth at the feeling.

Strade’s fingers dug into your thigh, the tips pushing into wounds from days ago, reopening the barely healed cuts. He continued to fuck into you, his cock going deep enough to reach a spot that rarely ever got touched. The pressure was pain mixed with pleasure, your tummy feeling like it was just punched with every thrust. The bundles inside you were screaming that you should be crying out in pain, but the tears coming from your eyes were because of how good it felt despite the pain hazing out your brain. You pressed your hands into fists, digging your nails into your palms.

Strade was grunting and breathing hard, his slobber getting all over your neck. He pushed inside you again, gripping your thigh harder.

“You’re so,” he said against your neck, pausing and raising his head slightly, searching for the right word, “addicting,” he said into your ear.

You let out a small, defeated whine.

“I really am so glad I found you,” he continued, raising his head even more. He smiled down at you, getting rougher with every word, reveling in the way your face twisted. He pressed his forehead against yours, both of your sweat mixing together. “How lucky I am that someone was made to fit me perfectly.”

With that sentence, he pulled all the way out and thrust all the way back inside in one quick motion. You let out a loud cry and threw your head back. You could vaguely hear him laughing, your brain too focused on the pressure building up in your tummy, the way he was filling you up, making it seem like he was the only thing inside of you, the way his fingers were digging into your skin, and the irritation to the fresh cuts on your stomach. You clenched around Strade again, squeezing your leg around his waist tighter, feeling the inevitable about to come.

But then you were empty. Your eyes shot open and you looked at Strade. His eyebrows were pulled together, but he wasn’t looking back at you. He was pumping his dick in his hand, and then a few seconds later you felt the tip press against your stomach. Then a warmness hit your body as he came on you, along with the fresh cuts.

Strade’s fingers unwrapped from around your thigh and your leg dropped. You slumped slightly against the pole, the dizziness making it hard to stand. You fluttered your eyes and watched Strade put himself away, pulling up and buttoning his pants again. He hopped slightly and then straightened out his shirt. His eyes were on you again, your eyes heavy-lidded and your face ruined with tears and sweat and snot and some blood that had somehow made its way up there.

“We should probably clean this before it gets infected,” Strade said, reaching his hand out to run his fingers across your tummy, mixing the blood and cum together. You winced, but your body was too spent to react too much.

“Okay,” you mumbled out. You slid to the floor, rejoicing in the fact that you could finally sit again.

You let your head flop to the side as you watched Strade walk over to a nearby cabinet and pull out a small medical kit. He came back and you let him wipe you down, cleaning the area. When he was finished he put the kit up and then came back over to you. He circled around and you felt his fingers press against your wrists, untying the ropes. Your arms flopped to your sides, finally free. He circled back around.

Strade towered over you. “Time for your reward!” he boomed.

You stared up at him, fear washing over your face. But then he reached his hand out.

“Want to go upstairs?” he asked, his voice softening ever so slightly.

You looked up at him, swallowing. Your eyes flashed to the stairs and then back to his hand. Your eyebrows pulled down, your face shifting to confusion. He was going to let you go upstairs? He had to be joking. This had to be some kind of sick joke.

“What’s that face for?” Strade asked, letting out a loud laugh. “Don’t you trust me?”

You swallowed. You looked towards the stairs again and then your eyes landed back on him. You looked up at him, staring at his outstretched hand. He had to be planning something. He just had to. There was no way that he was going to let you go upstairs. He was going to get to the top and then push you back down, laughing as your crumbled body laid on the floor. He was going to let you stand up and then attack you when your back is to him. He wasn’t being genuine.

But, for some reason, you reached your hand out anyway, taking a hold of his and letting him pull you up. Whatever he was going to do couldn’t be any worse than what he had already done. Besides, you were his now, anyway. You had to do what he said.

[ofallthingsnasty]

I think we are the same person because Overhaul got me into writing dead dove too. I felt like at the time not many people were writing him how I see him- more than a germaphobe whose afraid to get dirty.

Also I totally get you. I don't think he's a medical professional at all, but I do think he has a fetish for it (or maybe I'm just projecting LOL.) I think medicine is more of a "hobby" for him. Like a mad scientist. He reads about surgery and thinks about trying them out. I mean, nothing can really go wrong considering his quirk. Like if he maims you too bad then poof don't worry.

Omg you're crazy cool btw. I can't imagine being able to do that sort of stuff. I'm thankful people like you exist! Also you'd hate me, I need my wisdom teeth removed but I'm afraid of doctors. (Ironic I know 😭)

He would totally use catheters even when completely unnecessary. You don't want to pee infront of him? Guess what. Catheter time. LOL. Going on a long trip with him? You obviously can't control yourself. Guess what. Catheter time. He'd probably keep it taped to your thigh with a cute bandaid if you're lucky. Maybe cover it with a frilly garter. He'd probably talk really loudly about how you need to be checked and pull your dress up to feel around your tummy. He'd push around your full bladder and say stuff like "Why didn't you tell me you needed to go. This is exactly why we have to do this." Even though he was the one who made you drink all that water and ignored you when you tried to tell him that you needed to go.

You probably wet yourself in fear the first time you met him, maybe he exploded some people infront of you and you just couldn't stop it. Now he has to take care of you 😔 You're so interesting and clearly broken.

Overhaul is really the perfect vessel for gross fetishes. He'd probably get hard giving you a regular ultrasound- let alone a transvaginal one. My gosh I want his gloved fingers in my mouth so bad, just tugging my lips apart 😭 BLAH he sucks. ❤️

Also, another random headcanon I have is that he'd like to use general anesthesia. For fun. He'd force you to inhale some weird smelling stuff while you struggle and then you'd wake up with him all like :) next to you LOL.

anon shajdhsajk- you NEED to share your writing, your thoughts are making me sweat over here (only if you're comfy with it of course sgahgds) oh and i get my last two wisdom teeth removed in three weeks -- you can do it too!! i believe in you 💖 tw. piss, malpractice, medical stuff

The way he'd be a total butcher... 😭 You need a whole team to perform surgeries and he... has Hari? That's probably it. I think you'd probably die a few times because that even happens in OMS surgeries and when you have to do five jobs at once it's pretty much guaranteed. Just imagine suddenly waking up on that table with a slightly sweaty Overhaul hovering over you because he had to be quick 😭 His quirk really is failsafe- but that also means that he'd experiment on you until he gets the hang of it. Books are all nice and dandy but seeing the real thing is SO different. There is blood everywhere and it's all pink and red and structures vary from body to body. (And he just tries again and again and again.) Just imagine waking up and not being able to move the right side of your face because he cut through some strands of your facial nerve (or something worse, like completely bling or unable to move some limbs). And of course, he could overhaul you but he could also leave you like this a little longer as a punishment (when it fits-) The possibilities are endless and terrifying. 🥴 And omg I had to laugh so hard at the mental image of him being all smiley after surgery - just, him doing that little animal crossing villager happy face but it's totally fake because that man just can't smile to save his life aghasgh - and you're all groggy and out of it, trying to comprehend what's happening. Just staring at him for a solid minute until it clicks. Thank you thank you thank you for sharing more catheter thoughts, I am salivating over them. Ugh the way he's obnoxiously into it 🥴 I just want to be babied like that, okay? Can't even be trusted to use the toilet, one of the most basic things ever hhhh And yeah - the wetting during the first meeting fits sooo well. You, a grown adult, wetting yourself in front of him? God, you're pathetic. Just look at you standing there - trembling, snot and tears all over your face, a puddle of piss at your feet… It IS kinda cute and you don't even run. Of course he has to take you with him, that isn't even a question 🥺

Also may I run away with that catheter idea (with credit of course)? I couldn't stop thinking about it after I answered your ask 'yesterday' (2 am for me haha) and I researched a lot… I'd love to write a short blurb about it, because I am just SO in love with that idea, goodness 😳💖 It just really scratches an itch I didn't know I had hhhh. I am going crazy over this, for real 😳

[sapphicquill]

TAZ Balance: the truth will set you free

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen 

Characters: Taako, Kravitz, Magnus

Wordcount: 2942

“You’re fuming, dear.” 

Taako turns to look at Kravitz when the reaper speaks, trying not to let the thin frown fall off of his face at the sight of his uncharacteristically smug dead boyfriend. From his spot as Taako’s personal body pillow, Magnus laughs quietly.

“I can’t believe he convinced you to teach him this shit,” Taako says with an exaggerated huff. The elf crosses his arms tightly across his chest, sticking his chin up haughtily to hammer home his petulence. Magnus laughs again, the vibrations of it rumbling through Taako’s back like a purr. Taako very courteously does not throw an elbow backwards into the fighter’s stomach, despite how much he would enjoy doing just that. Kravitz lets out a hum, smirk not quite leaving his unfairly handsome face. 

“It’s not my fault Angus got curious about multiclassing as a bard,” the reaper finally says. And, as much as Taako was loath to acknowledge it, Kravitz is right. Taako groans theatrically and pointedly does not actually respond like an adult, because fuck that. 

Angus had approached Taako after one of their lessons together--much less frequent than they once were, before Lucas had gotten the idea to start up a small magic school, but Angus seemed content to return to his first (and clearly superior) tutor whenever the chance presented itself. But instead of asking for some sage wisdom or deeply insightful advice from Taako himself, Angus had asked for confirmation that Kravitz had been a bard before becoming a reaper, then begged for Taako to bring him along for their next lesson. 

Kravitz had been over the moon when Taako begrudgingly explained the situation, and the reaper wasted absolutely no time in devising a lesson plan for the boy detective. Taako had to work especially hard to keep from swooning over his boyfriend’s enthusiasm and instead sulked to their other boyfriend about the cruelty of life. (Magnus had been very little help, the bastard. Taako left with a disgruntled whine when the fighter started theorizing on how to convince Ango that learning some rogue skills could be helpful too, the absolute traitor.) 

“You want to know what I think?” Kravitz asks after another moment of silence. Taako frowns as he finally lets his gaze meet the reaper’s eyes directly. 

“Not particularly, but something tells me you’re going to keep talking anyway, you dick.”

“You’re jealous.”

Taako feels himself freeze for half a second before he can pull himself together. Damn Kravitz for knowing him so well. Damn him and Magnus for making him feel comfortable enough to even let himself be read that easily. Damn them both.

“Oh fuck right off, you’re full of shit,” the elf tosses back almost automatically through gritted teeth. 

“Hey, play nice,” Magnus teases, poking Taako in the side. The unexpected jab sends a fluttering shockwave through the startled wizard, who squeaks before he can catch himself. Kravitz continues to look on smugly, not breaking eye contact with Taako as he scoots further up the bed and closer to the other two. 

“You’re very precious when you get all wound up like this, love,” he murmurs. Taako shifts, instinct telling him to pull away and hide, to clam up and put up an even harder front. A quiet voice that sounded worryingly sweet and comforting tells him to just come clean to the both of his boyfriends. It wasn’t like they didn’t know he was secretly a soft, if somewhat emotionally-deficient, sap. Magnus had definitely figured it out somewhere along that first hundred years, and Kravitz was frighteningly perceptive.

A sudden weight around his waist distracts Taako from the beginning of whatever bullshit emotional spiral he’s about to fall into, his body automatically pulling against the sudden restriction. Though the warmth of Magnus’ arms encircling him from behind sends an innate sense of calm through him, the elf nearly pulls something in his neck as he whips his head toward the human because Magnus, what the actual hell. Magnus has the decency to look a bit sheepish, but resolutely does not let go. 

“Mags…” Taako growls, narrowing his eyes and trying to look intimidating despite the growing fluttering of excitement in his stomach. He’s quickly figuring out Magnus’ plan and is now desperate to not show his hand because fuck, this got different, fast. This somehow turned into Taako goading his boys into absolutely wrecking him for being a stubborn piece of shit, which he hadn’t even considered as an outcome when this mock argument had started. Now, however, his mind is three steps ahead, already craving the feeling of his partners’ touches driving him insane.

Because here’s the thing—Taako, maybe, kinda, sorta actually likes getting tickled. He absolutely would never say as much, even under pain of death (and he is really familiar with how  fucking painful death can be), and the only other being in the multiverse that probably knows is Lup because, duh, twin sister or whatever. So it was always imperative Taako never let on in any way he didn’t exactly hate it when Magnus and Kravitz, whether alone or together, decide to tickle him stupid. He would probably implode from the embarrassment—and what a dumb fucking way to go after everything else. No, that wouldn’t do at all. 

Thus, it’s second nature for the elf to throw out menacing glares and cutting threats, which is exactly what he does as he feels Magnus flex his fingers and rest them at the center of his stomach. He’s unable to resist flinching at the sudden light touch to his bare midriff, though—damn, why did he and Lup convert the majority of his wardrobe into crop tops? 

Movement at the other end of the bed catches his attention, so he redirects back to Kravitz, face pinched and pout sufficiently exaggerated. 

“It’s quite alright, Taako, really,” the reaper says, affecting the tone he usually saves for puppies and small children, the absolute ass, “You’re allowed to want to be Angus’ favorite.”

“Shut up, I do not—” 

The remainder of Taako’s protest is swallowed by a sharp gasp as Magnus draws his fingers across Taako’s stomach with a quick flick

“Do you really think you’re in any position to be bitchy right now?” the human says, smile evident despite his gruff tone. Taako feels his ear twitch as Magnus’s breath skates across his skin and it takes every ounce of concentration he has to not shiver or let out a breathy half-laugh. Instead the elf remains as still as possible, frown almost ridiculously exaggerated and eyes narrow slits focused on Kravitz. The reaper adopts an over-the-top pout—no doubt meant to mock Taako’s own expression—and draws ever closer to Taako and Magnus. 

“Magnus, maybe you could help me convince our beloved to be more honest, hm?” 

The words have barely left Kravitz’s mouth when Taako feels Magnus begin to slowly drag his fingertips across his exposed stomach. Tiny zings of tickly sensation burst across Taako’s skin like low-level electricity and somehow keeping still and silent is the hardest thing Taako’s ever done in his life. He can’t, however, keep the warm bubbling feeling of anticipation and excitement from flooding his entire body, and that, of course, makes keeping still even fucking harder. 

Magnus’ fingers trail lightly across Taako’s abdomen before slowly gliding up his sides. Without really meaning to, Taako squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will himself into a trance by force. This clearly amuses both of his boyfriends, as their joint chuckles echo in stereo in the sudden darkness. Taako feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, one wrong move and he’ll cascade off the side and plunge ten thousand feet—

Then Magnus’s devilish touch reaches the top of his ribs and the dam breaks. 

A steady stream of hiccuping giggles pours from Taako as Magnus gently skitters light tickles across one of Taako’s absolute worst spots and even without looking, the elf can tell that his boyfriends have both got gleeful expressions on their stupid fucking faces. He squirms, trying in vain to block out the torturous sensation of Magnus’ fingers or escape their attack altogether, but that just seems to encourage the fighter. Feather-light scritches instantly turn into fast, fluttering pinches and quick vibrating prods and Taako would be embarrassed about how quickly he dissolves into full-fledged laughter if he wasn’t so busy absolutely losing his mind. 

“Ready to admit you secretly adore Angus yet, love?” Kravitz asks from far too close, Taako can tell he’s almost pressed up against his chest, but fucking of course he isn’t. He can practically hear the mischievous grin in the reaper’s voice when he shakes his head. 

“You leave me no choice, then.” 

Over the sounds of his increasingly frantic laughter, Taako can hear Kravitz speaking the incantation for Zone of Truth, and he’s sure Krav’s crimson eyes are sparkling with mirth. The unique sensation of enchantment magic washing over him barely phases the elf—he’s too preoccupied with Magnus’ deft hands flitting up and down his ribs to really pay it much mind. Taako squeezes his eyes even tighter and attempts to focus on resisting the truth spell, gasping around his laughter, trying to push past the way his nerves feel like they’ve been set alight so he can focus—

And then promptly fails his save. 

Of course he fails his save. How could he possibly concentrate on resisting a Zone of Truth from a powerful ex-bard-turned-Grim-Reaper with Magnus’ fucking fingers skittering across his abdomen, drawing squeaky, desperate laughter from him like water from a well? 

“Now, come on, dove, be honest with us.” 

And then Kravitz is tickling him too, on top of concentrating on a fucking spell, his nimble musician’s fingers skittering ruthlessly across Taako’s hips, and it’s impossible to think about anything other than the fluttering in his stomach, the laughter forcing its way out of his lungs, the pleasant fuzziness already clouding his mind. He can’t even remember Krav’s question, really. Taako’s brain feels like it’s been filled with cotton (but like, in a good way) and he can barely string two thoughts together before giving up thinking altogether. 

“Admit it, Taako, tell us the truth,” Kravitz purrs directly into Taako’s ear and even that tickles like hell, and between that and the two pairs of hands currently wreaking ticklish havoc on him, it feels like every wire in Taako’s brain is crossing simultaneously. He wants this to end and also never wants this to end, why can’t his boyfriends wreck him like this constantly, it’s not fair—

“Tell us, Ko, come on!” Magnus whines, seemingly trying to match Taako’s usual petulant tone as he drills his fingers into the wizard’s underarms and knocks his laughter up at least ten decibels, and that’s what pushes Taako to open his big, stupid mouth. He means to say something about the dumb boy detective, he really does, but instead all he can think about is Kravitz and Magnus making him scream and laugh and thrash around with teasing words and fluttering fingers and, well—

“I—I—” Taako’s voice breaks on a laugh, brain going a million miles an hour and also stuck in the mud simultaneously.

“Yes dear, that’s it, come on, out with it,” Kravitz says while rubbing incessantly ticklish circles into Taako’s sides. And that finally pushes an answer out of Taako, who manages to push through his laughter long enough to speak. 

“I fucking like being tickled, okay?—Shit—!”

Suddenly, the two pairs of hands on Taako’s skin still, and as his laughter slowly dies down, the full impact of what he’d just actually admitted to hits the elf like a cartload of bricks. Fuck. Shit.

Weirdly, instead of instant fiery panic, Taako is filled with a sense of...calm? It’s like someone hit pause on the entire fucking universe. Taako keeps his eye closed and resolutely doesn’t think about what just happened; doesn’t think about anything, other than a burning sense of mortification and the deepest desire for a hole to open up and swallow him up. 

“Nope, okay, that’s—I didn’t—no, fuck this,” Taako mumbles as he sits up, easily breaking out of Magnus’ hold. With eyes still closed he leaps up from the large bed and has half a mind to burn a Teleportation spell to get as far away from his boyfriends as possible before feeling a cool hand wrap around his wrist. Taako can identify the feel of Kravitz’s touch almost alarmingly well, and normally he sinks into it without more than a few grumbled faux-complaints. Here and now, the wizard doesn’t instantly pull his arm from Kravitz’s grasp like he desperately wants to, but he doesn’t move toward him either. Instead, he keeps his eyes closed and pretends he’s literally anywhere else. 

“Taako, wait,” and that’s Magnus’ voice, the one that always makes a small part of Taako melt because it’s so full of genuine love and affection and care and fuck, he has to open his eyes and face the two men he actually definitely loves, shit. He braces himself, not exactly sure what expressions might adorn the faces of his boyfriends but he’s prepared for the worst. 

The first thing Taako sees when he opens his eyes is, unsurprisingly, Kravitz, as the reaper is closer to him. What does surprise Taako is the look Kravitz is giving him. The other man looks—apologetic? 

“Taako, I’m so sorry,” Kravitz starts, and Taako feels his heart stutter a bit, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I should never have cast Zone of Truth and forced you to tell us that.”

And that—

That’s not what Taako had expected to hear come out of Kravitz’s mouth. He’d more or less thought, at the very least, he’d get laughed at. Made fun of. Belittled. Shamed. This is—far from all of that. 

“I—what?” 

If it had been any other time, Taako would have congratulated Krav for actually rendering him fucking speechless, because that’s a rarity. As it is, Taako can’t do much of anything aside from gape, gaze not leaving Kravitz’s crimson eyes. 

“The spell, it didn’t compel you but it forces you to be truthful, and you clearly weren’t ready to tell either of us that you—” 

At this, Kravitz seems to pause, looking like he’s attempting to phrase his words as carefully as possible while still turning over this new information in his mind. Luckily, Magnus, as he always seems able to, picks up right where their Grim Reaper leaves off. 

“You’re totally waiting for us to roast you or something, aren’t you?” 

Fuck, has Magnus always been this perceptive? Taako could have sworn he was oblivious as all hell but no, this is the man he’s known for over a century, of course Magnus knows all his tells. 

“Well, we’re not going to,” the fighter barrels forward, always fucking rushing in, and Taako isn’t sure whether he wants to dive back onto the bed or Misty Step to the front porch to call Lup on the Stone of Farspeech and just scream. 

“Why would we? It’s not like you’ve told us something weird or bad or anything,” Kravitz adds, finally out of his own head. He sounds a little frantic, like he desperately needs Taako to believe him and fantasy Christ, Taako loves him for it. 

“Honestly, it’s kind of adorable,” Magnus adds. Taako finally cocks his head enough to meet the human’s eyes and he’s known Magnus long enough to tell when he’s lying. 

He’s absolutely not lying. 

The sense of relief that Taako expects to flood through him comes in waves. His heart is still beating a million miles an hour (which he hadn’t even noticed, fuck) and it still feels like he could cook a five course meal using only the heat collected on his face, but his desire to run and hide and sulk is retreating, and the space between Magnus and Kravitz is looking more and more inviting by the second. 

It’s the most natural thing in the entirety of the planar system for Taako to lower himself back onto the bed and resume his position lounging against Magnus. Quiet descends on the room and it’s warm, comfortable. 

“We should probably have a real conversation about this later,” Kravitz says, and Taako surprises himself by humming in agreement rather than groaning in protest. 

“Later,” he concedes, and then Magnus is shifting again and Taako’s about to grouse about how a moving pillow is a pretty shitty pillow when—

“So if you actually like getting tickled—”

An involuntary shudder shoots down Taako’s back at this, at Magnus’ voice curling around that word, fuck, and suddenly the great brute’s hands are back on Taako’s ribs and his fingers are slowly tracing Taako’s skin and it’s like a bolt of lightning through his entire consciousness. 

“Then you won’t mind if Krav and I get back to work, huh?”

Despite quickly being overcome by tittering giggles, Taako can sense a voiceless conversation happening over him, and then Kravitz is back in his space and his hands are inching up Taako’s thighs, squeezing and stroking lightly as they go. 

“Yes, Magnus is right—you never actually told us what we really wanted to hear, love,” Kravitz purrs, mischief and affection so clear on his face that there’s no room for Taako’s anxiety to even attempt to convince him of something horrible.  

So instead of spiraling into a pit of despair, Taako revels in the wide grin pulling at his lips, savors the electric sensations rippling across his nerve endings, and laughs. 

[metalheadcowboy]

omg I was watching a real hospital programme and the nurse asked the patient “what does your partner look like so I can recognise them and go get them in the waiting room?” And the patient (under some woozy medication😂) just replied “beautiful”

^^^^ IS THAT NOT BILLY ABOUT STEVE imagine that 🥺😭😭 like the nurse asking if anyone is here for him and he’s just like “beautiful. Doe eyes. So pretty :’) :’( “

PLEASE RLKWD HIPVE THIS MADE ME THINK OF BILLY GETTING HIS WISDOM TEETH OUT HAHAHA PIHRPHIRFQW

“Steve?”

Billy blinked up at someone, only being able to make out their silhouette by the bright light fixed above the dentists chair blinding him. There was a light laugh and then a voice that he knew definitely was not his Steve’s

“No, Mr. Hargrove,” the person, lady, spoke.

“What?” Billy propped himself up on his elbows to work his way up into a sitting position, groaning at the slight head rush, “Where’s Steve?” He brought a lazy hand up to his eyes, rubbing at them with his wrist unintentionally.

“Careful,” Billy was advised as his wrist started rubbing a little loo hard, “He’s probably out in the waiting room waiting for you. If you tell me what he looks like I can go get him-”

“Pretty,” Billy interrupted, now planting the heels of his hands into the stiff dentist chair, kicking his legs back and forth, satisfied with the thunking noise it made, “Really pretty, beautiful big eyes, big hair, big dick,” he rambled off, looking at the floor.

“I want Steve.” He slouched, hunching his shoulders with a pout on his face. The dental assistant just looked at him with a big grin, trying her best not to laugh, not wanting to upset him any further.

“Well... why don’t you give me a second and I’ll see what I can do,” she offered and Billy quickly nodded, perking up in an instant. Then she was off and Billy was left alone.

He sighed, looking around the room for something to do, disappointed when he was met with only bright white walls and an empty chair. Dramatically, he sighed, plopping himself limply back down into his lying position on the dentists chair and waited.

It felt like an eternity until he heard the door to the room open again. He was upset to only see the woman at first, but then Steve emerged from behind her and he grinned as wide as he could with the cotton stuffed in his cheeks, only faltering for a second when he felt a tinge of pain.

“Stever!” he exclaimed, holding his arms out for Steve to come to him, making grabby hands like a child. Steve smiled softly, fondly, walking forwards to Billy, letting him cling on like a koala, arms wrapping tightly around his middle, face quickly pressing into his stomach.

“Oh, maybe don’t-”

“Ow!” Billy whined, “What the fuck?” he quickly pulled away from Steve, bringing his arms back to himself.

“Not cool, man,” he scowled, crossing his arms. Steve just laughed it off, reaching a hand forward to brush through Billy’s curls instead, he seemed satisfied with this action.

As Steve had a chat with the woman still unknown to him, Billy got increasingly bored. Steve not giving him enough attention, nothing to do, he was hungry.

“Steve,” Billy poked at Steve’s hip, “Steve,” he got more and more annoyed and inpatient the longer Steve kept giving him a quick ‘one minute’, “Steve!” he exclaimed, all too loud and the room went quiet.

“Do you have any food?” He asked softly, looked up at Steve with big, hopeful eyes.

“Nope, sorry Bills,” Steve apologized.

“Bitch.”

“Hey, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Steve asked jokingly.

“No, but I’ll kiss you, pretty boy,” Billy puckered up, or tried to, and closed his eyes. Steve rolled his eyes and turned back to the assistant.

“Anything else?”

“You should be all set. Within one to two weeks it’ll be like the teeth were never there in the first place.”

Billy’s eyes shot open “Teeth?” he asked, “You took my teeth?”

“Kind of-”

“Give them back, I want them back!” Billy demanded, holing his palm out flat, waiting for what he was asking for, “Steve make her give me my teeth back!”

“You’re better off without them, B.” Steve attempted to reason but to no avail.

“But I’m gonna be so ugly without them,” he sobbed pathetically.

“Oh, Bills,” Steve soothed, brushing his thumb over Billy’s temple, “How about I get you some ice cream instead?”

“Then can I have my teeth back?” Billy sniffled, looking up at his boyfriend with big, watery eyes.

“I’ll think about it.”

Send me hc’s!! 💛💛

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

So as part of my push to fill the world with soft fluff while we all need it, @sparkkeyper requested Aziraphale warming up a cold Crowley. And, well, things got a little out of hand with this bit of hurt/comfort. Also fills the @bingokisses prompt for “Brush of Lips, Almost-There Kiss/Bridal Carry” so that’s exciting!

Not clearly established, but this fic is just-barely-pre Arrangement.

“If that’s the way you feel,” Aziraphale said, hand on the door to his one-room hut, “then I suggest you leave, and find some other angel to bother with your nonsense.

“Good! Maybe I can find one who isn’t a self-righteous prick.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” the apology dripped with sarcasm, “that I choose not to blindly trust a devious…manipulative…snake.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Crowley sucked in a breath, tasting a hint of frost in the late-autumn air. “Fine,” he growled, turning away. He’d have to walk through the night to get back to London, but at just that moment he felt angry enough to march all the way to China and back. “Good riddance,” he snapped from the gate around the little garden, but Aziraphale had already shut the door.

--

“Call me a snake,” Crowley grumbled, pulling the thick black pelt more tightly over his shoulders. He’d thought the wilderness look – loose hair, black fur wrap, boiled leather jerkin belted over his tunic like armor – would make him look intimidating and cool. But as the temperatures dropped with the sunset, he really just wished for a good wool cloak.

“I’m not the one who’s manipulative and…whatever else he said.” The wind shifted, slapping across his face, sending his hair spinning behind him. “Cold-blooded. I’m not cold-blooded.”

He snapped his fingers, summoning a cloak, but the wind immediately ripped it out of his hands. It got caught on a tree branch, just out of reach. “Ah, never mind. Just slow me down anyway.”

Stuffing his hands into his armpits, Crowley marched deeper into the woods. Just follow the path west to the little creek, follow that out of the forest, main road was on the other side. Quickest route to London.

As the last light faded from the sky, the snowflakes began to fall.

--

“Coordinate our activities – of course we can’t coordinate, you fool, we’re doing opposite tasks.”

Aziraphale waved his fingers at the fire, making it burn just a touch brighter, and continued angrily chopping vegetables to drop into the pot of water. “And I certainly can’t just – just tell you what Heaven’s plans are for the north, or for the Holy Roman Empire, or for…for…blast!”

He glowered at the deep cut on his thumb and quickly healed it, an almost blinding burst of holy power. Well, that was probably enough for soup, anyway.

“All I’m trying to say, you foolish creature,” he grumbled, lifting the pot to nestle against the hot stones that circled his hearth, “is that we can’t talk…business when we meet. Is that so hard? Can you not get that one idea in your head?”

The shutters rattled in the wind, one breaking open to crack angrily against the wall. Aziraphale hurried over to push it shut, pausing to look across the dark fields to the woods beyond. Already a mix of snow and freezing rain had turned everything to a muddy slush.

Crowley would be fine. Crowley always found a way to be fine, and more often than not that way involved finagling himself into some comfortable circle where dozens of humans happily did his bidding. And when he couldn’t find that, he came to Aziraphale.

Well. Aziraphale would not – would not be duped into doing Crowley’s work for him.

“Enjoy getting yourself out of this mess,” Aziraphale said, pushing the shutter closed.

--

Bracing himself against a tree, Crowley tried to pull the back of his tunic up to protect his neck. Tiny spears of ice had assaulted it for hours, and he could feel the cold drops worming their way down his spine, soaking into his undertunic. His boots were drenched through, squishing a little with every step.

“Bloody creek,” he grumbled, searching desperately through the ceaseless fall of ice and snow. He should have passed it ages ago. He should be nearly out of the woods, and instead here he was, surrounded by mounds of wet, icy snow as deep as his ankles.

Everything looked strange. Everything looked different. Every rock transformed into something unfamiliar, every tree a shapeless mass of white. He was…

Crowley was lost.

“It’s fine,” he said as the wind shifted and the tree dropped another freezing glob of ice into his hair to ooze down his neck. “It’s bloody fine.” He pushed away from the tree and snapped his fingers, trying to summon a fire.

Nothing.

“Oh, for Sssatan’s sssake!” He pictured a cloak again. Nothing. A windbreak. A pile of blankets. A lantern.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

With each failed miracle, Crowley felt the panic rise further, which was stupid. The only reason he couldn’t perform them was because he was panicking, so the thing to do was to stop panicking.

Useless, Aziraphale had called him. I don’t know what’s worse, that you come to me to help you with every little thing, or that you do everything in your power to get out of even thinking about working.

No, wait. Aziraphale hadn’t said that, not out loud. But the look in his eyes…it was obvious how he felt. Why wouldn’t he? It was true enough.

“Stop that, stop that!” He marched on through the forest. West. Just keep going west, London had to be somewhere around here. “It’s not my fault. Pointless assignments, impossible tasks, and you, you running around undoing everything I do – it’s not my fault I can’t get anything done!”

Useless. Failure. Worthless snake.

Had that been Aziraphale? Or Hastur? Or one of the other demons? They all thought the same, didn’t they? They were all right, weren’t they?

“No!” He waved his arms, visualizing a clear path through the slush.

Instead, he slipped on an icy patch and fell, chin cracking against the ground, one arm shoving into a particularly deep mound, filling his sleeve with snow.

“Fuck, fuck.” He scrambled to get purchase, to push himself up, wriggling around on his stomach like—

Like a snake.

“I’m not,” he whispered, but without conviction. “I’m not.”

--

Aziraphale tried to keep himself busy. Cooking, preparing herbs, copying pages out of texts, bits of wisdom that would be carefully left on the right desk at the right time, according to Heaven’s guidance.

He never quite knew when he’d be called to take care of something, never quite knew when Gabriel would announce he was coming down for an inspection. So Aziraphale always had to be ready, always had to look busy. Always had to be sure he was where he was supposed to be.

Maybe Crowley didn’t have to worry about that. Maybe Crowley didn’t have superiors checking in at random intervals, making sure he really had traveled to York, or Venice, or Kiev, or wherever else a bit of Holy assistance was needed. Maybe Crowley’s superiors actually trusted him to get the work done without…(Aziraphale pressed his eyes shut, carefully removing any accusations of micromanagement to the deepest depths of his subconscious)…without their careful direction and helpful input, but that wasn’t the case with Aziraphale.

He sighed and put the manuscript pages back on the bench. It was far too dark for a human to be doing copy work, and rather too dark for an angel. Perhaps he could take a break, just for a few minutes.

It’s always another excuse with you, Crowley had shouted. Well. Not shouted, but the words had hit him just the same.

But they weren’t excuses, they were – a thousand perfectly valid reasons why he couldn’t…couldn’t let Crowley interfere with his work, and yes perhaps some of them contradicted each other, but that wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault and…

“No, stop that.” He rose to his feet. Needed to keep busy. “A bit more water from the well. Better to be prepared.” The villagers often came up, looking for medicines, for advice, for a bit of food more varied than their usual diet (Aziraphale could miracle up fresh spices and vegetables any time of year, and that wasn’t…entirely cheating). Bad weather usually kept them away, but likely it would all clear up by morning.

He opened the door.

The wind that blasted Aziraphale’s face sent him staggering back. A fistful of mixed snow and rain hit him in the face, somehow colder than ice. By now, he ground was covered almost knee-deep in some places, and he could barely see the fence from where he stood, never mind the well.

“Oh…”

But, surely, Crowley had made it back to London by now.

Surely.

--

He had to keep moving.

Crowley huddled below a tree, knees pulled up to his chest, fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, trying to shield himself from the weather.

He shivered so hard his teeth nearly cracked, his ribs ached, and he felt sick to his stomach. Stupid mammal bodies, weren’t they supposed to retain heat?

He couldn’t feel his toes. The boots were packed with snow from trying to push through drifts. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He moved them back inside the pelt wrap again, pressing them into his already-wet tunic. The boiled leather jerkin clung to him like…well, like only leather could, getting stiff where he needed it to flex, getting soft where he needed it to stay rigid. Bloody useless.

Clenching his eyes tight, Crowley braced against another blast of wind, cutting through his layers like a dagger. What was the point of all this clothing if it didn’t help?

Some part of his mind kept reminding him to move. Not time to burrow yet, not time to conserve energy. Movement would create heat, warm him up.

No it won’t, argued the part of his mind that would never not be a snake. Moving uses heat. Stay. Conserve. Burrow down and wait for the sun.

“D-d-d-doesn’t matter,” Crowley groaned. “N-n-nowhere to go.”

His joints locked up, skin trying to pull itself away from the damp clothing pressed against it. He was tired. Mammal and serpent, both so tired.

No. He had to keep moving.

Crowley wasn’t sure how he managed to get his feet under him, managed to take the first shuffling, stumbling steps.

West. He was supposed to go west. Whichever way west was.

He picked a likely direction and started moving.

--

Was that hail pounding on the thatch? Or was the rain that strong?

Aziraphale waved the fire stronger, almost enough to over-boil the pots of soup arranged around the outside.

He didn’t really need that much soup. It just. Kept him busy.

--

The sun rose just as Crowley reached the edge of the woods.

It hurt to lift his head, to shift the muscles that had been hunched and braced against the cold for so long. The brightness of the sky hurt his eyes.

At some point, it had stopped snowing. He didn’t know when, his skin was completely numb. Wasn’t even shivering anymore. It was nice, in a way. Just the comforting darkness all around.

Now even that was gone, but he could look around the endless ocean of…snow was too strong a word, it was really slush…under the blood-red of the sunrise.

He wasn’t lost anymore. The hill, there to the right, the hut on top of it –

That was Aziraphale. He’d gone in a bloody circle.

I suggest you leave, and find some other angel to bother with your nonsense.

Fuck.

Aziraphale wouldn’t want to hear it. He’d wonder why Crowley hadn’t just miracled himself to safety, and he didn’t have the strength to explain that he didn’t have the strength. He knew his miracles had failed in the night – that he hadn’t been able to focus. Couldn’t remember exactly why.

Couldn’t really focus now.

Aziraphale wouldn’t want to help. He’d still be angry over the things Crowley said. Still be stuck in his holier-than-though me-versus-you mindset. Probably want to send Crowley away.

But Crowley would never make it to London now. Might not even make it up the hill.

He pushed himself forward.

I can do this, Crowley grumbled at himself. Just need a plan.

Aziraphale would let him in. He just needed a really clever argument to convince the angel first. Tempt him, trick him. Make him think helping Crowley would somehow help himself? No, that wouldn’t work. Maybe threaten to cause trouble in the village? Though he could hardly look capable of it in this state.

He stumbled through the gate – half-open, and held in place by a mound of ice that crunched under his feet. Just a few more steps to the door.

Well. Looked like Crowley would be going with his favorite plan: winging it.

He tried to knock on the door, but his arms had stopped obeying him, his hands wouldn’t budge from where he’d tucked them in his armpits. He tried kicking the door, but the snow and slush piled in a drift almost up to his knees, so he only succeeded in making a wet crunching sound.

The wind shifted again, another volley of ice, and the last of his heat was stripped away.

He was going to discorporate here, literal inches from safety. He was going to wake up in Hell and spend the next decade trying to convince his superiors to give him another body after he’d been so careless with this one. Worthless, stupid snake…

“Aziraphale,” he tried to call, throat too raw to make a sound, his jaw irrevocably clenched. He surged his whole body forward, smashing his shoulder against the door. “Angel! C’n see…smoke…lemme in…”

The door vanished in front of him so quickly, Crowley nearly tumbled through it. Barely managed to wedge his shoulder against the door frame to keep himself upright.

“Oh, my word!”

Blinking the ice out of his eyes, Crowley could see the look of shock and horror on Aziraphale’s face. Knew he wouldn’t want me here.

“G-g-got caught,” he managed, struggling to unclench his jaw. “Sssssstorm.” It was more a puff of steam wrapped around a vowel than a word.

“But – you – that was hours ago!”

“Nrf.” Something was spilling out the door, like a wave of…the opposite of pressure. As if the air was somehow lighter, easier to move in. So close. Just had to convince Aziraphale. “Look. ‘Ngel.”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it.”

“B…” He shook his head, long, slow, dizzy loops as he tried to clear his mind. “Jus’lissen. Yer side…I mean, my side…”

“Don’t start on that now.” There was that stubborn edge to his voice. No point in arguing.

“Fffffine.” Another white puff filled the air between them and he tried to turn, one shuffling step at a time. He was still upright, that had to be good, maybe he could make it to the village before—

“No, you ridiculous—! Get in.”

“Wah…?”

Aziraphale grabbed the back of his fur wrap and hauled him through the door, kicking it shut behind him.

Something prickled across Crowley’s skin. It must be the heat, but he couldn’t feel it. Not really. The blinding light of the morning sun reflecting off the white landscape had been replaced with the cozy darkness of a shuttered hut, fire burning low in the hearth at the center. Oil lamps burnt here and there, giving a cheerful glow that reflected off the brass cookware, the earthenware pots tucked close to the fire, then bench covered in parchment, the neat white linen of the bed.

Then Crowley did feel something: the ice trapped in layers of clothing melting, sliding down, soaking further into his tunic. He bit back a groan.

“Come along, move faster.” One hand still clutching his furs, the other pressed into the small of Crowley’s back, propelling him forward.

“I c’n walk,” Crowley griped, but before he could even finish forming the words, he was in front of the fire, being pushed firmly down to sit on the floor.

“Yes, I’m sure you can, you always make such a display of it.” Aziraphale crouched beside him, brow furrowed. “Look at you. Look at your hair.”

“S’wrong wi’m’hair?” Aziraphale reached behind Crowley’s ear and pulled out an almost fist-sized lump of snow. “Oh. Nice trick.”

“Don’t be…Crowley, this is serious!” He grabbed Crowley’s chin in both his hands, ran thumbs across his cheeks, then pressed a palm to his forehead. “You’re too cold.” Cupped his hands around Crowley’s ears. “Not frozen, at least, but…couldn’t you at least wear a hood?”

“Nah. M’hair’s too good.” He tried to toss his head, despite Aziraphale’s grip, and he heard the splat of more snow working loose. “Lost it. Cloak. Wind.”

“And you didn’t just – just miracle yourself to safety?”

“Nrrrrrrgh.” Crowley bent his head, ready for the recriminations. He could stand them. Probably. Long as he didn’t have to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale ran his hands across the thick pelt, scraping through melting snow, which still clung thick enough to turn it white. “My dear fellow,” he said, voice strangely soft. “If you were in trouble, you should have…have come back.”

Crowley’s head jerked up, searching for Aziraphale’s face. It was hard to focus but, yes, his eyes, not angry. Something else.

“Didn’think…y’wanted me…”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale shut his eyes for a moment, but his fingers sprang into action, twisting the furs free to drop in a pile behind the demon.

“Wha…Angel, what’re you…”

“Isn’t it obvious? Trying to warm you up.” He grabbed the heavy pelt with one hand and tossed it aside, as easily as if it were made of cotton. “It’s hard enough to heal a demon with holy power in the best of times, but if you’re too numb to even tell me if it hurts…”

“M’not.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” His hand rested on Crowley’s elbow, tracing it up to where one hand tucked into his armpit. Aziraphale tugged, but the hand didn’t come loose. “Crowley, please. We don’t have time for you to be petty.”

“S’nice coming from you,” he grumbled, and tried to shift his arms. “Can’t. Too cold.”

Aziraphale tugged at Crowley’s arms, rocking him in place, and made a noise of dismay. “Your clothes are soaked through! Of course, all that walking.” He turned to Crowley’s boots, started tugging them off. “You’ll be lucky if you still have feet under here.”

“M’fine. M’a snake. Don’ need feet.”

“You’re delirious.” Aziraphale jerked the first boot off Crowley’s foot, water and ice pouring out of it. He tugged off the wool wrapped around Crowley’s foot and ankle and inspected his toes. “Not black, at least. I think you’ll be fine. Can you feel this?��� He breathed out heavily.

“Nnnnh.” Was that a little curl of warmth across the back of his foot? Or was he just imagining it? “Not delirious,” he added. “You called me snake. Las’time. Other thing, too. Untrustworthy.”

“Did I?” He started on the other boot. “Well, you can hardly blame me, Crowley, an agent of Hell repeatedly asking me to – to neglect my duties. What am I supposed to think?”

Crowley groaned. He didn’t want to argue. Couldn’t argue. Some of the feeling was returning to him, along the side closest to the fire, but that just made him feel colder. More miserable.

“Look, I know you’re tempting me, Crowley. I don’t know what your goal is, but I’m aware of what’s going on.” The second boot came off, and Aziraphale began unwrapping his foot. “I…I may have been…harsh. Defensive. But I’m just…trying to be cautious. You’re very good at what you do.”

“You think I’m g-good?” Odd, he couldn’t actually feel the grin on his face, but he could hear it in his voice.

“Hmmm, no. Obviously not. Demon and all that. But you are very clever.” He stretched Crowley’s feet out towards the fire, stopping them just shy of the ring of stones. The flames, Crowley noticed, didn’t feel very hot. “There. Let those warm for a moment.”

“You…” Crowley shook his head. Wished he could focus. “C-called me w-w-worthless. Ffffailure.”

“I most certainly did not!” He rested his hands on Crowley’s arms again, but they still wouldn’t relax. “I never said anything of the kind. Why would you even think such a thing?”

“Fine. You th-thought it.” Was he shivering again? Or were his lungs just seizing up?

“No. I didn’t. Truly, Crowley, I have never thought that of you.” He moved behind Crowley, crouching down, wrapping fingers around his narrow waist, tugging him slowly back. Away from the fire. “I have the utmost respect for what you do, even if I disagree with all of it, both your methods and your goals. I cannot deny that you are effective, that you get results even when you hardly do any work at all. I do not think you’re a failure. Or worthless. Nothing could be farther from the truth.”

Crowley stared ahead at the fire, which kept flaring up, brighter, redder. Tried to wriggle his toes. One of them stirred a little.

“How is that? Too hot?”

“Nah.” The shivers seemed to have faded, leaving him just tense. Hard to breathe. And move. “Not hot’a’tall. Some’n wrong wi’ your fire.”

Before he knew what was happening, Aziraphale’s arms wrapped fully around Crowley, and pulled the demon back into his lap. He gasped out a protest, even as soft arms crossed over Crowley’s and large hands rubbed at his biceps.

“Just what I was afraid of,” Aziraphale murmured, voice close to his ear. “You’re very, very cold. So cold you don’t realize it.”

“Aziraphale—! I don’t need you to…to…”

“Come, my dear fellow. You know you do. You wouldn’t have come to me otherwise.”

Long, slow movements of Aziraphale’s hands up and down his arms. He could feel the heat of them, of the chest pressed into his back. Better than fire. “M-m-maybe I’m t-tempting you.”

“No.” His grip slid once more to Crowley’s wrists and with a little pressure his hands popped free of his armpits, feeling damp and oddly distant. Aziraphale took one, then the other, giving them a few slow rubs each. “No, I know when someone is…truly in pain. You can’t fake that.” He hooked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder, bringing his fingers closer to blow on them, one hand, then the other. “And as you well know, I won’t turn away anyone in pain.”

“Do I know that?” He was feeling strangely tired. Well. Not strange, all that walking all morning, but it wasn’t the normal exhaustion. It tugged from somewhere deeper.

“Why else would you come here, even though you were angry at me?”

“N-n-nowhere else to g-go.” He leaned back a little, soaking in the warmth. “’Sides. M’not angry. C-can’t stay m-mad’t’you.” The movement of Aziraphale’s hands against Crowley’s slowed, briefly. “Y’r mad’t’me.”

“Am I?”

“Called m-me sssssnake.”

“I…But I always call you…serpent. Foul fiend. All sorts of things.”

“S’different.” He didn’t know how to explain it. How serpent was clever, chaotic Crowley, slithering around, outsmarting his opponents; but snake was stupid, useless Crawly, begging for his life, cowering in fear, hiding from every failure. Aziraphale couldn’t understand. He didn’t have two selves – a true one he tried to project, a wrong one that everyone saw anyway.

But even still. It hurt.

“I see.” One of Aziraphale’s hands dropped to rest against his stomach. “But you aren’t angry? That I sent you away like that?”

“Naaaah. Yer’n’angel. Gotta ssssay th-th-things like that.” Aziraphale still held one hand, thumb rubbing circles on his palm. Crowley wiggled the fingers of the other, and smiled to see them move. “Just…wish you’d trust me.”

“Why?”

“Cuz I trust you.” He tried to squeeze Aziraphale’s hand, but his fingers still moved stiffly, like twigs on a frost-covered tree. “I like you.”

Now both of Aziraphale’s hands were at his waist, pressing him back. It was nice. “Do you mean that, Crowley? Do you trust me?”

“Course.” Crowley turned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and found the angel’s face alarmingly close. His eyes were right there. His lips. Right there. “N-nerrer trusted anyone b’fore. N-not a lotta trust in Hell. Erryone’ll b-b-betray you.” He smiled, or at least he thought about smiling. No telling what expression his face wore. “You, too. You’ll b-betray me. S’fine. Don’ mind. J-j-just hope I see it comin.”

“Crowley…”

They were right there. Crowley thought of leaning forward just a little. See if that heat was in Aziraphale’s lips, too. Drink it in. Warm him from the inside.

“But even so. Yeah. I trust you.”

Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath. “Good.” His hands grabbed at Crowley’s belt and began to unbuckle it, loosening the leather jerkin. “You need to take your clothes off. Now.”

“Oh. Oh.” He dropped a hand to pat Azirphale’s…something…missed entirely, anyway, and landed in the dirt. “Angel’s g-gonna tempt me.”

“Stop that, you ridiculous…” He huffed out his annoyance. “Crowley, your clothing is soaked through and it’s making you colder. Let me help you out of it and into the bed.”

“You g-gonna j-j-join me?” He’d only said it to make Aziraphale uncomfortable, indignant. He really liked those little huffs. Instead, he was only met with silence. “Aziraphale?”

“Crowley…you’re always a little cold. Barely produce enough heat even when you aren’t…” He’d unwrapped the soaking leather, and one hand clutched at the hem of Crowley’s tunic. “No, I won’t. Not if it will make you uncomfortable. You can keep your clothes on, too, if you prefer. There are other ways to warm you up.”

“Oh.” He wished he could see Aziraphale’s face. “D-don’t mind. Ssssaid I trust you. Meant it.”

“You…ah…”

“Gonna haf’ta c-c-carry me tho. M’feet’re…” He tried wriggling his toes again, succeeded in flexing his whole foot together. “Do what you gotta. Trust you.”

He hadn’t realized how awful the tunic felt, clinging to his ribs and back, until Aziraphale peeled it off over his head, ran his hands quickly over damp skin. The rest followed soon after, and Crowley felt…not warmer. Lighter. As if some burden had been removed.

Aziraphale slipped on arm under his knees, the other around Crowley’s back, and lifted him easily, carrying him across the little hut to lay him on the bleached-white linens of the bed.

“S’nice,” Crowley murmured, as Aziraphale found more blankets to pile on him. Miracled up? Possibly. Lucky bastard.

“Oh. Ah. Glad it’s comfortable. Don’t really use it myself. Only have it because visitors expect it. Like the chamber pot.” He gave the blankets one more tug, then brushed his fingers across Crowley’s hair. “Is this better?”

“Mmmmh. Sleep?”

“One moment.” A rustle of fabric, and then the bed shifted and another body slid in beside him, tugging him against the soft, warm chest. “Is this better?”

“N-now’m warm.” He ran his fingers across Aziraphale’s back, feeling the way his skin dipped under the pressure, as if Crowley could truly sink into him. “Y-y-you’re n-nice.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue, but his hand didn’t stop rubbing a slow circle across Crowley’s back. “That really is enough of that.”

“No. I m-mean you’re n-nice.” If he wiggled a little, he could rest his head on Aziraphale’s arm. Hmmm, that was good. “Y-you d-didn’t need t-to help me. M’a demon.”

“I told you. I will help anyone. Even you.” A hesitation, and Crowley could swear he felt something brush across his forehead. Maybe his hair. Everything still tingled a little. “Especially you,” Aziraphale said, voice even softer.

“Won’ help me wi’my work,” Crowley grumbled.

“That’s…I can’t…it’s different.” Another hesitation, and now he could feel Aziraphale’s other hand, still running evenly up and down his bicep. “What…did you want me to help you with? I…suppose I…wasn’t really listening.”

“Nrf.” Oh, he could feel himself shivering now, in a distant sort of way. “J-J-Jus’wanna know f’you’re…gonna…cancel out m’next j-job. S’along way t’walk for n-n-nothing.”

“And if I am?”

“I sssstay’n London. Ssssay you th-thwarted me. Sss’all g-good.”

Crowley could hear the rhythm of Aziraphale’s breaths, of his heartbeat, of the hands on his skin. It was all nearly enough to lull him to sleep, even without that glorious heat that surrounded him, reflected back from the blankets. It was the closest he’d ever come, in this body, to that luxurious feeling of basking, gathering the sunlight on his scales.

“You know, Crowley…perhaps we should talk. When you’re better.” His forehead pressed against Crowley’s, and he continued in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry I threw you out. I’m sorry I called you a snake.”

“Ssssss.” They weren’t supposed to say those words. “Can’t ssssay m’sorry for wha’I said,” Crowley muttered. “Umm. Cuz. Fffforgot what it was.” He remembered being hurt. Angry. But the words themselves escaped him. “I was jus’…jus’…”

“I understand.” Another of those funny brushes by his hairline. “Sleep now. I have you.”

--

Aziraphale’s lips still tingled where they’d brushed Crowley’s forehead.

For a moment, back by the fire, Crowley had been too cold. Too still. Aziraphale had come very close to losing him, and that frightened him more than anything. He couldn’t say way. It was just discorporation, and yet…

I trust you.

One last brush of lips, so gentle it could hardly be called contact. Even still, Crowley sighed in his sleep, pulled a little closer. He was shivering now. That was a good sign.

“I think I’ll trust you, too,” Aziraphale whispered. “I’ve…never trusted anyone before, either. We’ll have to learn together.”

[thunderc1an]

Po3 rewrite, Chapter 3:

Table of Contents | Chapter 2

Within days of the incident Hazelpaw’s apprenticeship was given to Brightheart to oversee, Mousepaw heard speculation that this was just for the time being and soon Hazelpaw would return to train under Spiderleg, but a half-moon had already passed, and this exchange has yet to happen. 

To think that he had not even noticed the state in which Hazelpaw was pushed into by her former mentor was very shameful on his part; and when he had formally apologized to Hazelpaw for said actions his littermate had simply laughed, and smiled, and then brushed the conversation into another area of interest.

“Mousepaw,” The apprentice was then pulled from his thoughts. The image of his mentor came into focus. “Now is not the right time to allow your mind to wander, please pay attention to the lesson” Brackenfur advised lightly and at this Mousepaw became shy with embarrassment, a good apprentice would be attentive to every word that came from their mentor’s jaw. “I’m sorry, sir”. The senior warrior shook his head gently with a rather bemused expression to his features. “We’ve been over this already, there is no need for the formalities, Mousepaw. To you I am your mentor, above the fact that I am the clan’s deputy.” 

With his statement Mousepaw was reminded in part of a few heated words that were spoken before the skirmish broke loose:

Any clan cat knows the bond between mentor and apprentice is deeper than that of blood.

“Sir?”

The smile on his mentor’s face had reluctantly grown in length.

“May I ask a question?”

The older tom nodded, moving to sit himself in a brightly lit patch of grass, for a moment Mousepaw had to squint as the golden pelt of his mentor glowed in the sun. The forest was relatively quiet this day and his ears could pick the soft sound of a mouse moving along in the undergrowth, or perhaps it was a squirrel, and he had thought wrong. “Is it true, that the bond between mentor and apprentice is deeper than blood itself?”

The clan deputy hummed thoughtfully, its pleasant tune echoed gingerly around him. After a few moments in what seemed like thoughtful contemplation Brackenfur spoke: “Well, yes, it is believed that the bond an apprentice has with their mentor should surpass the bond of family”. Mousepaw did have great care for his mentor but he wondered if he and the older tom would ever reach that point of familiarity, but then again, stronger than that of family? “Of course, not all those who mentor deserve the loyalty of their apprentice.” These words were spoken in a way that suggested his mentor’s apprenticeship was not the most pleasant one.

Curiosity got the better of Mousepaw and he pressed the conversation in that area wanting to know more. “Who was your mentor, are they still in Thunderclan?”

“No, not anymore. My first day as an apprentice would be the last day I would train under him; he simply fell in love with the secrets of the river.” The white apprentice’s ear flickered upon sensing a faint underlying bitterness to his mentor’s demeanor, one that had aged neatly without always showing itself. He knew there was a deeper meaning to what the senior warrior meant, but this time the young cat did not press further. “I no longer hold hostility towards him for in his absence I became the clan’s apprentice. The warriors of Thunderclan never discarded my training, they generously passed their knowledge and skill to me. Every Thunderclan cat, whether they sustain the title of warrior or monarch, I have learned from.” “Even Firestar?” Brackenfur chuckled, a low thing that was hoarse yet comforting, distantly, as he tucked the tune into the ends of his mind, he would assume this was how the laughter of a father should sound like. “Yes, even Firestar, as well as many cats that I have sadly outlived.” Who were those cats? Mousepaw could not help but wonder. Cats before his time, how were their stories written and what were they like? “Mousepaw, I may be your mentor but I wish for you to learn from every cat in Thunderclan. A warrior can have the talent to defeat those who are bigger than they may be but a true clan cat will come to understand the beauty of each and every one of their clanmates and appreciate it”. “How did you learn to appreciate it?” He asked shyly rather awed by the wisdom the older cat carried with his person. “Me?” Brackenfur asked before an even brighter smile lit his features “You see a very special kit taught me so,”

And this stumped him, no matter how hard he thought about it Mousepaw could not make any sense of the explanation he was given, even as the pair had now made their way further into the lush territory, he still continued to think upon it. It was not necessarily a bother that he could not understand how a kit alone could teach Brackenfur such a compound subject, but instead he was fairly intrigued by it. Perhaps he should speak with the kits of Ferncloud once they come into this world. Maybe then he would learn to be a refined warrior of Thunderclan.

The white apprentice bent himself down to properly sniff a tuft of grass. “Mousepaw, what do you smell?” The young cat took a few heartbeats to decipher what he had just smelled as he straightened himself. It was something most definitely nasty. An odor that had made his nose crinkle with disgust. “Something icky,” and Mousepaw had wiped his nose with his paw to rid the scent that had stayed behind; it did not work.

“I want you to remember it well, Mousepaw. This is the smell of dog” 

“Is it still here?” He asked with fear gripping his words. He himself had never encountered a thing known as a ‘dog’ before but when he was just a small thing that could waddle his littermates and he would listen to the stories of the cats that had come to visit their little family within the nursery. Brightheart’s stories were the scariest in all the clan; she would tell stories of monstrous shadows that would gallop through the forest with teeth as big as young trees: dogs. The pair were far from camp but the scent was still within the territory, closer to that of the border Thunderclan shared with Shadowclan. “No, the smell is stale, but it is a matter that will be reported back to Firestar,” Brackenfur smiled kindly down at him “Just to be safe, one should never hesitate on matters such as these.” Mousepaw nodded, storing this newly given advice somewhere in the reaches of his mind.

“Well, well, well, look what we found here” A new voice made itself known and both toms’ heads turned to its source. Sorreltail emerged from the undergrowth, her dappled pelt camouflage her form well, she seemed to blend with a good number of shadows that surrounded them. Jaypaw was next to poke his head from the undergrowth, his large ears twitched and as the slender tom stepped forward, his long whiskers brushed against every plausible surface that was within reach. “Sorreltail, Jaypaw, what a surprise” The deputy greeted, having dipped his head. “Likewise, good Brackenfur, Mousepaw,” The she-cat meowed pleasantly, and a look was shared between the older warriors.

“So, Jaypaw and I just finished with our own activities, would it be any trouble if we were to join your little party?”

“Not at all, I see no problem with this, do you Mousepaw?” and the apprentice in question shook his head. Jaypaw was quick to voice his opinion however: “Do we have to?” the young dark grey cat bemoaned, “We’ve had no fun today, it’s just been lessons after lessons” Mousepaw looked to see Sorreltail’s reaction, Jaypaw was only some moons younger than him but he’d never dare to speak to his mentor in such a tone or manner. But, the molly wore a kind expression, one filled with affection at the other apprentice’s actions; the way she looked was close to motherly. “I see nothing wrong with having a break, Scruffy.” She meowed, “Actually, you’ve done well today so let’s just end class here. Mousepaw, could you take Jaypaw back to camp?” The white apprentice perked at his name and then quietly looked to his mentor for approval. Brackenfur opened his mouth, surely to say something on this matter, but with the way Sorreltail rose her brow at him the deputy was quick to push it aside with a heavy sigh, he smiled, “Go on Mousepaw, you boys get back to camp, alright?” The pair nodded, then turned to leave, and as they left they heard the friendly chatter of the older cats.

Now well within the heart of Thunderclan Jaypaw and Mousepaw had begun to make some small talk. They should have done some hunting, the forest was alive and full of prey, but both cats had done well in their lessons this morning and they really did deserve a much needed break. “Like I said, I would much rather have you as my littermate than have Lionpaw as my brother.” Jaypaw huffed aloud and Mousepaw sheepishly smiled, “I’m sure it’s not that bad, he seems like a good cat,” The white apprentice meowed, having made an attempt to defend his clanmate.

“Oh please Mousepaw, you’re always too kind, don’t give my brother so much praise it might somehow inflate his already large ego” and Mousepaw could not help himself by laughing at this statement. So much for trying to defend his clanmate. It was true however, Lionpaw’s ego, when it showed itself, could rival no other cat. Yet Mousepaw had no real quarrel with it or with the apprentice themselves, for Lionpaw was a strong and very skilled individual, even for his young age. As long as Lionpaw could continually beat every apprentice in Thunderclan then the red tom could keep his pedestal, it was well earned in Mousepaw’s eyes. Though, Berrypaw certainly did not think this way. His own littermate would wine and moan that Honeypaw would never think he was the coolest cat out there if he kept on losing to a cat that was younger than he was. Perhaps Mousepaw could kindly ask Lionpaw to go easy on his brother during their next sparring session, surely it would be a blessing upon his ears if that love-sick dolt were to shut his-

Jaypaw laughed and Mousepaw blinked from his thoughts, not having expected the sound. His brows were raised in question, not knowing what Jaypaw had found funny, the pair had just walked a good number of paw steps in comfortable silence. 

“Oh,” Jaypaw’s head turned away from his line of sight in a shy manner, “Sorry, I was thinking about something funny,” Mousepaw flushed with embarrassment at the small misunderstanding, he apologized, but the awkward atmosphere had already hung itself over the pair. How silly of him, they were almost back at camp but Mousepaw wished to keep talking with Jaypaw; just a little longer nothing wrong with that, but his selfishness was a rather small part of him, it was not strong enough to ask if possibly they could idle longer. Additionally, with the delicate silence that had been created it was rather hard to strike up a conversation.

“Mousepaw?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to head back to camp, yet. That’s too boring, let’s go have some fun before we return,”

Mousepaw smiled, “Ok”.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Eleven ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4471

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Hello hello, happy Easter! Tomorrow (Monday) is a little bit hectic for me so I’m getting this one out tonight (Sunday) instead. Thanks for reading :)

After a quick breakfast with Haldir and Glorfindel, they set off and I spend the day exploring Imladris. I do not stray far from the main household, yet all that I discover does not cease to amaze me. Elrond’s home is beautiful. If it weren’t for all the horrible, sudden drop-offs, I would consider it a perfectly wonderful place to live.

I spend the first part of my day in the garden. Behind the stone of the estate is a sprawling field filled with an impossibly wide variety of flora. I pass time exploring each bush, tree, and sprout, every one somehow more beautiful than the last. A few of the more sweet-smelling blossoms make me sneeze, so after a while, I head back inside to explore Elrond’s extensive library. But when the sun begins to sink below the horizon, I know I shouldn’t put it off any longer — I have ignored him since our arrival. I need to go see Alex. We haven’t talked in private ever, really, but I feel like we need to touch base. Though we may be slightly at odds, we owe it to each other to work through it.

I remember an attendant leading him down the hallway below mine as I ascended the stairs last night, and from there, it’s not hard for me to figure out which room is his. All the other doors are open, indicating that the inhabitants are out for the day. Already in my short stay here, I realize the elves are much more trusting than humans — while private, they must rely on each other to respect that privacy, because they don’t attempt to bar others from entering their spaces by closing their doors when they are not home. One door at the very end of the hall is closed shut. It is undoubtedly Alex’s.

I knock once.

He opens the door and I try to disguise my shock at the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled hair. In all my memories of him, he is so put together, and this is completely at odds with the man I think I know. He ushers me in and shuts the door quickly behind me. The slam echoes through the stone room. He turns to me, wringing his hands together almost nervously. Unease grows in my stomach.

“Are you okay?”

He shakes his head violently and begins to pace the length of the small bedroom. “Of course I’m not okay. We’ve been wrenched from all that we know and dropped in this ridiculous place—” He cuts off his words and stares at the ground, shaking his head. “Look, I’ve decided that there’s no way around it. We are in some sort of other world — there’s no way this is some place back where we’re from. But if we did arrive here somehow, that means there has to be a way back. So we need to find it.”

I sit on the edge of his bed, watching him warily. I, too, have recently accepted the reality of this new world, but I hadn’t expected Alex to come around so easily — especially after our conversations on the way here. But getting home…if it’s a real possibility…”Do you think we could do that?”

His eyes snap to mine, desperation causing them to blow wide. “I think Elrond could. The people here hold him in such high esteem—I believe he’s very powerful. We need to talk to him, plead our case. If anyone could send us back, it’s probably him.” He notices my silence and turns on me with an accusatory stare. “You do want to go home, right?”

I swallow. “I…I think so. I mean, it is really dangerous here….But Elrond had a good point when I talked to him earlier. He said it’s probably just as dangerous in our homeworld.”

He groans almost animalistically. “I cannot keep having this fight with you! We don’t belong here. The dangers of our world are ours and the dangers of this world are theirs. And just because we agree that this is a different world doesn’t mean that anything’s changed. We still have people back home who miss us.”

But after my conversation with Haldir, I’m not so sure that’s the case. Yes, there are probably people who miss us in the usual sense, but the crushing grief that must come from being separated from someone you really, truly care for…I’m not sure I have that. I think I would know if I did.

I try to redirect the subject, not wanting to get into it with Alex. “How do you think it would work? Getting home. Do you think we would get our memories back?”

He stops pacing, excitement entering his eyes now that I’m seemingly more agreeable to his position. “Yeah, I think we would. Now, does that mean we would lose the memories we’ve made here? Maybe. Probably. Again, I think Elrond has the answers.”

I let my eyes fall to my fingers. The thought of forgetting…of basically erasing my time here, the friendships I’ve made…it makes me feel horribly sad. I drop my head into my hands. Oh, I just don’t know what to do!

“Let’s go talk to Elrond,” Alex urges. “See what he has to say.”

“Okay,” I agree, trudging to the door. At the very least, it will provide a distraction from the grief that has hit me so unexpectedly. “He’s probably in his study—follow me.”

I lead Alex along the same route I took this morning. Only, then, Haldir was at my side. I feel a pang of loneliness. Huh. After two weeks in constant company, I guess it is a little strange to be separated from him and the others.

As this morning, Elrond is in his study, surrounded by books and stacks of parchment. Stress tugs at the edges of his eyes but when he raises his head to greet us, it fades into a look of knowing. He was expecting us.

“Ah,” he stands, beckoning for us to enter. “I was wondering when I would be seeing you. Please, come in. I believe we have much to discuss.”

Alex strides forward, a stubborn set to his shoulders. He wastes no time. “How do we get back home?”

Elrond raises a thoughtful eyebrow, leading us to an auxiliary room with plushy chairs and couches. I sit on an unoccupied cushion. “What makes you so sure you can?”

Alex huffs. “If we got here, we can get back. Somehow, there’s a link between the worlds. We just need to find it and use it to get home.”

Elrond nods, appraising my friend. Unexpectedly, he turns his head to me. “And you, Cosima? Do you think there is a way home?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I close it, looking at the ground to buy myself some time. What are the possibilities? What are the chances? … And what am I hoping for? “I…I think Alex is probably right. Doors open both ways, right? If it opened to send us here, it can open to send us back. But we don’t know how easy it is to open that door.”

A sparkle enters Elrond’s eye. “Humans often do not get enough credit for their intelligence, nor their tenacity. Yes, I agree that there should be a way for the two of you to return to your homeworld. Power in Arda is changing. Forces of evil grow and the wisdom of the elves must adapt to overcome it. There is a finite amount of power in this world, and with it being pulled in so many different directions, it is possible it has grown thin in its blanket over our universe. The two of you could have fallen between the cracks.”

I look at the wall, not able to withstand Elrond’s piercing gaze or Alex’s frenzied one. If there is a real possibility of going home…isn’t it my duty to try?

Something in Elrond’s words catches my attention. “If the dispersion of that finite amount of power is constantly changing…is it possible that the ‘crack’ that let us in has already closed? Or moved somewhere else? If we tried to go back, isn’t there a chance we would end up in some other world?”

Elrond’s mouth sets into a grave line. “Precisely. There is a great deal of risk involved in your endeavor to return to your world.”

“But you can help us?” Alex speaks in a rough, desperate voice.

Elrond shakes his head, expression regretful. “I have power, yes, but not in the way you seek. If someone were able to help you—and bear in mind, it is a strong ‘if’—it would be Lady Galadriel. I believe you have heard of her through your companions?”

Alex grits his teeth, standing and beginning to pace a furious line. “Are you positive there is nothing you can do? It took two weeks to get here and that wasn’t even the whole journey. We do not have time to wait for them to decide to return to Lothlórien and then make the trip there. That could set us back months.”

“With regret, I am unable to help. My skill lies in healing and languages—academia, really. My power cannot compare to that of the Lady. I am sorry.”

I hate myself a little for it, but I feel relieved. The choice is taken from me. For the time being, all I can do is wait. Lady Galadriel might be able to help us, yes, but it will be at least two months before I have to make the choice to attempt to return home or not.

Alex evidently doesn’t feel the same way, and I don’t like the way he’s glaring at Elrond. I try to smooth things over. “Thank you for speaking with us and trying to help. We’ll let you get back to your work.” I stand, bowing my head in farewell as I’ve seen the elves here do. Alex makes no move to follow me. I prompt him with his name. He keeps his jaw tightly clenched but does incline his head towards Elrond before stalking from the room.

I have to jog to catch up. “Alex—“

“Entertain yourself, Cosima. I want to be alone.”

I take a step back. It’s not his words that stun me, it’s the grief in them. He sounds like he’s being torn apart.

Whereas I feel relief and, if I’m being honest with myself, no small amount of happiness.

I think I’m a bad person.

But I can do one good thing, and that’s grant Alex his wish to handle his feelings in private. I step forward, give him a quick, awkward hug, and let him walk away.

{***}

After lunchtime, there’s a knock on my door. I open it to the grinning faces of Rumil, Orophin, and Lavandil.

Laughing at their enthusiasm, I wave them in, grateful for the seating area in my bedroom — it makes hosting quite convenient.

Rumil whistles lowly, taking a look around. “Look at how they’ve set you up! I’ve got to share with Haldir which is just as terrible as it sounds. He says I snore! I do not snore.” He looks so offended, I don’t have the heart to tell him that he occasionally does.

Lavandil runs her hand over one of the gossamer curtains, eyeing the view. “I love these falls. You don’t seem them as well back where I grew up—that’s partly why I moved to the main city. They’re wonderful, no?”

Even though I’m not a fan of their height, I can definitely agree to their splendor. “Oh, absolutely. After days of the plains and rocks, it’s so nice to have a change of scenery.”

Rumil pours himself a glass of water and reclines on the chaise. “So, where have you been off to today? Baranor and I came looking for you this morning but you weren’t here.”

I blink. I figured Rumil would know, given he shares a room with the brother who collected me. “Haldir took me this morning to see Elrond about my arm. See?” I hold it up to present the thin, raised scar. “All healed. It’s miraculous, really, how it healed within minutes. And then Glorfindel, Haldir, and I had breakfast in the kitchens because I guess we missed the main meal, and then the two of them took off for the borders. I explored for a bit and then—” I falter. Should I tell them about my meeting with Alex and Elrond? Silly, I admonish myself. You didn’t do anything wrong. Still, it feels strange to admit to them that I had been seeking a way home—a way to leave them, essentially. But there’s no good reason to keep it hidden, so I brush aside my hesitation. “I talked to Alex, and then he and I went to visit Elrond.”

“About your home,” Orophin guesses, gravity in his voice.

“Yes,” I admit.

Rumil gapes, evidently caught off-guard, and I shoot him an apologetic look. Yeah, that hurts.

“We wanted to know if getting home is even a possibility. And, well, jury’s still out. But Elrond thinks if someone can help us, it will be Lady Galadriel. So…” I shrug.

A twinkle enters Rumil’s eye and he sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So you’re returning to Lothlórien with us?” All traces of hurt have disappeared from his features.

I can’t help but grin at his excitement. “Yes—if you’ll have us.”

“Of course we will!” He beams, sitting back into the chaise with a new air of relaxation. “I mean, Haldir has the final say of course, but he’ll say yes. He might not like Alex, but he has grown quite fond of you.”

Each ellyn suddenly seems very interested in scrutinizing my face. I feel my cheeks heat under the weight of their stares and try to disguise it by standing and filling a glass of water. “I’ve grown fond of all of you, too.”

Rumil presses further. “Yes, but if you had to pick one—someone you’re the most fond of—who would that be?”

Orophin chuckles and Lavandil bites her lower lip, looking up at me with interest. I take a sip of the water, trying to buy myself time. This feels like a trap. I get around it as best I can. “Roch, of course. I miss him already.”

This sends them into fits of laughter and evidently puts their curiosity to rest — for the time being. I return to my seat, lounging along with them. When the sky begins to darken, Orophin requests dinner to be brought to us and we talk into the late hours of the night enjoying good food and even better company. And, though I am sure to feel guilty about it later, I do not miss Alex or my home at all.

{***}

Despite my full belly and long day, sleep eludes me. Part of that is my fault—I hold myself back from drifting off, not wanting to have another nightmare. When it must be at least midnight, I give up tossing and turning and change back into my day clothes. I didn’t spend near enough time wandering the garden or the library — perhaps I can tire myself with some exploring. As silently as possible, I push open the creaking door and step into the hallway.

It’s surprisingly bright — I’ve caught the moon when it’s high in the sky, and tonight it is full and robust in its shine. Light dances atop the ever-flowing water, creating a sparkling effect that leaves me breathless. Once again, I find myself glad that I have more time here. Though part of me feels like I should want to return home, another part of me isn’t near ready to leave. There’s so much more to see and learn and…well, I’m not ready to give up my new friends.

I go slowly down the open-air corridor, trying to keep my noise to a minimum. The household is asleep, for the most part. I see the odd attendant bustling around finishing duties, but the night is quiet and peaceful. It’s too beautiful to pass time away inside, so I elect to go back to the gardens and just avoid the blossoms that sent me into a sneezing fit earlier today.

The gardens are at the back of the estate and I do my best to remember the path I took this morning. With so many pavilions and archways and hallways and staircases, it’s easy to get lost. But all hallways—sooner or later—lead outside. So, after minutes of unsuccessfully trying to retrace my path, I choose a hallway at random, deciding to follow it to its end.

Further down, warm light flickers and ebbs—candlelight. As I get closer, I catch a voice I know well. He speaks in hurried, hushed tones in the Elvish language—arguing, maybe? Or just having a rushed discussion? A vaguely familiar voice responds in the same manor. Abruptly, the sounds cut off.

I take a few steps forward, the two figures becoming visible in the limited light.

“Haldir?” Squinting, I realize why I sort-of recognized the other voice—it belongs to Glorfindel. The two turn to me, each dipping their head in welcome.

Glorfindel looks perplexed. “Hello, Cosima. Do humans not require much sleep?”

I laugh guiltily. “No, they do — probably more than elves if we’re basing it on my traveling companions. I just couldn’t sleep so I was trying to find the gardens.”

Haldir steps out of the doorway and turns to Glorfindel. “Ah, I should be letting you get to bed, mellon.” He gives a nod of farewell to his elven friend. “We will continue our discussion tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes.” Glorfindel waves off Haldir’s stern look and moves to shut his door. “Goodnight.”

Haldir and I are alone in the hallway.

He clears his throat. “Would you like company?”

I smile, gesturing in the direction of what I hope is the outdoors. “Sure. You’re not tired after being gone all day?”

He shrugs, clasping his hands behind his back as he walks. “Tired, yes. Though my mind is not yet ready for sleep.”

“Was it a long day, then?”

Haldir sighs, and the sound is so weighed down with exhaustion and sadness that I nearly stop and insist we both go to bed. Sleep might make him feel better. But he is an adult and so am I, and neither of us really wants to sleep. So I say nothing and wait for him to explain.

“Much of Elrond’s border patrol is young. I worry they are unprepared for the increase in attacks. The conversation you heard—Glorfindel and I were disagreeing. I think it is worth advising Elrond to send his more experienced fighters to the borders and allow the newer ones to use this time to train. Glorfindel thinks calling the entire army is an overreaction and that I am overstepping my bounds. And he is right. I am captain of the Lady’s guard, not Lord Elrond’s. Still, I cannot help but believe it is worth interfering in this way — I think it could save lives, help Imladris be more prepared.” He looks at the ground, shaking his head. “I am sorry. I don’t need to be bothering you with this.”

“No, it’s alright.” I chuckle ruefully. “You’ve seen me cry so many times, you’ve earned the right to talk about whatever you want.”

He smiles and gives me a side-eye. “I’ll admit, while your tears used to perplex me, I think I am more accustomed to them by now.”

I roll my eyes and make a conscious effort not to be offended. “Great.”

He gives me an apologetic look, but mirth dances in his eyes. I turn the conversation back on him. “So what are you going to do?”

He sighs slowly, turning the corner into an adjacent hallway. “I will continue discussing it with Glorfindel tomorrow — it would be ideal to have him on my side. But if not, I plan to go to Elrond. I’d rather cause offense than withhold strategies that could save lives.”

I nod, agreeing. “Hopefully Glorfindel will see your side, and if he doesn’t, at least Elrond. I can’t imagine he would disagree — Elrond doesn’t seem like the type of man to choose pride over lives.”

“Ellon,” Haldir corrects gently.

I turn over my shoulder so he can see the begrudging look I give him. “Ellon.”

Haldir smiles almost smugly and we step from stone to lush grass. We’ve come out on the side of the estate — the garden is in the back. Thankfully, Haldir seems to know where to go. We curve our path left.

It’s a bit humid and I can feel my hair already reacting. I bring a hand to the back of my head, attempting to smooth the frizz. “Speaking of Elrond, Alex and I went to see him today — Did Rumil tell you?”

Haldir shakes his head but gives me a look that shows he’s not surprised — he guessed Alex and I would ask Elrond about getting home.

I continue, feeling a tad nervous. Rumil said Haldir wouldn’t object to our returning with him, and I don’t think he would…but what if he does? I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself from taking it personally.

I twist the fingers of my right hand into the fabric of my dress. “Um, Elrond mentioned that if anyone can help us get home, it would be Lady Galadriel. So—if it’s alright with you, of course—I—we—would like to return home with you. To Lothlórien.” I add, perhaps unnecessarily.

Haldir stops walking and turns to me, blinking once. Dread seizes in my chest. Oh no.

But his lips twitch and I realize he’s fighting a smile. “Lothlórien would be happy to host you, and I would be honored to escort you back.”

I beam, feeling nearly giddy with relief. Haldir relaxes and a hesitant smile brightens his face. The movement causes moonlight to reflect in his eyes. It sets them alight. I can’t believe I used to think them cold towards me — they are anything but. Guarded and suspicious at times, yes, but never cold. Not now that he’s gotten to know me, anyway. Instead, they are soft, gentle. And, exactly as Rumil had said, fond.

“Thank you.”

He inclines his head in that formal way of his, and the softness never leaves his eyes. He resumes his steps, leading us around the corner and into the labyrinthine garden.

I sneeze.

And again.

And again.

Haldir sputters out a ridiculous laugh, the sound so carefree and wild that I almost don’t mind having to sneeze to hear it.

“You’re allergic,” he accuses, gesturing to the flowers to our right.

I shrug, trying to ignore the tickling in my nose. “Just to some of them. Come on, I found an area earlier that’s not so bad.”

Haldir chuckles and shakes his head but follows me through the gardens. “Why did you want to come here if it just makes you sneeze?”

“Because it’s beautiful,” I answer simply. Because sometimes, that’s enough.

I find the alcove I discovered this morning and sit on the stone bench there, scooting over to make room for Haldir. He sits next to me, stretching out his long legs. Looking up at the sky, I can see stars through the wooden, flower-filled lattice that hangs above us. I sigh, finding the sight of the  sky sobering. “Do you know how I finally realized I was in another world?”

Haldir shakes his head, waiting for me to continue.

“The stars,” I murmur. “In almost every memory I have, I’m looking at the stars. I know their patterns, how they move with the seasons, the names of each constellation. I watched them my whole life. But that night in the plains—when you came looking for me by the river—I looked up and realized that I don’t know these stars. They’re not in the right order or in the proper places. And I knew, even if I wasn’t ready to accept it, that these aren’t the stars of my world.”

Haldir tilts his head to the side, watching me in silence. He twitches as if to move and then tenses, looking uncertain. But after a moment he sets his jaw and, in one fluid motion, stands and removes his cloak, laying it on the ground. He offers me a hesitant smile as he sits—the expression so at odds with his usual confidence that I half-gape at him in disbelief. He reclines slowly, leaving room for me to do the same.

I press my lips against a smile even though I can feel that I’m losing the battle. Okay. I rise from the bench and, taking great care not to step on Haldir’s fingers, lay down next to him.

The thick fabric of his cloak mitigates the coolness of the ground and I stretch out, feeling my back resting on the firm surface of the earth. Though we slept near each other outside every night for two weeks, there were more people, then. We were farther apart. Now, we are alone and, due to the width of the cloak, there is only a sliver of space between us. If I moved my arm even slightly to the right, it would touch his.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, gentle, and rumbles deep in his chest. “I have been watching these stars for centuries. They will become familiar to you, too. You only have to spend time with them.”

So I do.

Haldir and I lay on his cloak staring at the stars for hours. We don’t say much, only periodically mentioning something about our days or asking the other if they’re comfortable or cold. The newness of our proximity never fades, and I find myself hyper-aware of the warmth on the side of my body that nearly touches his. There’s a desire in me—something new and strange—to close that space between us, to rest my head on his chest and feel his arms hold me. I fight it, attempting to focus on what’s above me instead. He doesn’t seem to be struggling like I am.

At some point, I must slip into sleep. When Haldir gently nudges my shoulder, there’s a touch of early light in the sky. He smiles softly, offers me a hand up, and walks me to my room in silence. My efforts and sleep deprivation have left me exhausted. I barely remember climbing into bed and immediately fall back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile <3 Let me know if you’d like a tag! 

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[hopeisour4letteredword]

with friends like these

Summary: Apollo gets his wisdom teeth out, and Clay babysits.

Link to AO3 in the notes.

"Apollo, buddy. Buddy. You gotta lie back down."

Apollo blinks owlishly at Clay, swaying in place in the middle of the kitchen. God, Clay would feel better if he at least had the sense to lean against the counter. "But I want coffee."

"No coffee for you," Clay says, forcing himself to be stern despite the dreading anticipation of the way Apollo's expression falls, comically sad. AJ always looks younger than he is, as a big brave twenty-year-old, but the sad little pout while he's out of his mind on painkillers, cheeks swollen from surgery? He looks like he's twelve. Adorable. Clay feels bad for him, he really does—he got his own wisdom teeth out last year and he remembers how much it sucked—but the little baby pout just makes him want to smile. "You'll wind yourself up something good, sunshine."

"It's not that much caffeine," Apollo tries to say, even as he lets Clay catch him by the arm and pull him, stumbling, out of the kitchenette. "An' it would make me feel more awake."

"You don't need to feel more awake, you need to rest."

"But I've got stuff to do," Apollo says, mournfully. Clay manages to wrangle him back over to the couch and nudge him back down onto the cushions. Apollo makes doe eyes up at him while Clay grabs the nearest blanket to wrap around his shoulders. "I gotta work on my readings—"

"It's winter break, you don't have readings."

"But next semester."

"You don't have any advance readings yet. You checked and told me so before the surgery."

"I have to stay ahead," Apollo says. His eyelids droop. "I gotta be good at my classes so I can be a good lawyer."

"You're gonna be a great lawyer. But you aren't a lawyer yet, and you don't have any classes right now, so just take it easy, okay?"

Apollo opens his eyes again to peer back up at Clay. "My mouth hurts."

"I know. Sorry, buddy. Not time for more painkillers yet. You want me to grab you the ice pack again? Get the rest of your shake?"

Apollo nods, still looking glum. Clay dutifully returns to the kitchen to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer, which he wraps in a kitchen towel, and the rest of Apollo's post-surgery chocolate shake out of the fridge. When he gets back out to the living room, Apollo has toppled over to be horizontal on the couch. Clay puts the necessities down on the coffee table and scoops Apollo's legs up onto the couch so he isn't twisted all funny. The last thing the poor thing needs is unnecessary strain making him uncomfortable. He ruffles Apollo's hair. Apollo leans into the touch. Aww.

"Anything else I can grab you?"

"Can you sit with me? I wanna watch you play games."

"Aw, sure. What do you wanna watch?"

"I dunno. Anything's fine."

"Let's play some Odyssey, then. I'll go grab the Switch."

Apollo brightens, just like Clay thought he would. He always did like playing on Clay's Switch when they were kids. Even for Clay, it's hard not to be transported back to sleepovers, hushed giggles as they tried not to tip Clay's dad off that they were staying up late while they played games under the covers, whenever he picks it back up to replay something. He knows the memories are even more precious to Apollo, who spent so much of his adolescence struggling through foster system bullshit.

"Yeah!"

"Okay, sit tight."

When Clay comes back, Apollo has propped himself up enough to try to drink more of his shake. It dribbles out of his mouth.

"Oh, man. You got a little, uh—"

Apollo looks frustrated. "Did I miss again? I still can't feel my lower lip."

"Yeah, no, it's, um—you're fine, just let me—" Clay grabs a tissue off the box on the coffee table and wipes Apollo's face. "There you go."

"Thanks," Apollo says. He smiles, wobbly but true. "You're the best."

"No problem, sunshine," Clay says, smiling. He moves around the room, getting the Switch hooked up to the port so it will show up on the TV, before he lifts Apollo's upper body out of the way so he can slide onto the couch with him. Apollo's head ends up propped on his thigh. He helps Apollo adjust himself so there's no pressure on his cheeks, and he can easily hold the ice packs in place while seeing the screen. "Here we go."

"Let's-a go," Apollo says, in a terrible Mario impression. Clay barks out a laugh and starts the game.

"Goofball."

They don't get very far into the game before Clay is pretty sure Apollo starts to doze beside him. His breathing evens out and his weight goes limp. That's fine. He's warm and cozy, and Clay likes being someone he feels comfortable enough with to sleep around. If this is helping him feel a little better while he's in pain, Clay's satisfied. It's not like it's a hardship to sit here and play video games and be his pillow.

But the fact that he thinks Apollo's mostly asleep does mean Clay almost gets the shit scared out of him when Apollo says, suddenly, "Clay."

"Jesus!" Clay fumbles a jump and Mario goes plummeting to his doom. Oops.

"Yes, hello, hi. I thought you were napping, buddy. What's up?"

"You know you're my best friend, right?"

"Yeah? Of course."

"You know?" Apollo rolls so he's mostly on his back, looking up at Clay with big, sad doe eyes again. Clay stares back down at him, befuddled. Of course he knows. "Cause I—I know I'm kinda bitchy sometimes—"

"Aw, Apollo—"

"An' I can't help you with your smart science stuff a lot—"

"That's not—"

"An' I get really anxious and you have to babysit me sometimes an' I yell at you for it—"

"Apollo—"

"But you're really important to me and it would suck if you didn't know just 'cause I'm stupid."

"You aren't stupid," Clay says. He ruffles Apollo's hair again. Apollo's eyes slide closed, lips tugging back into the miserable little pout. "I know I'm your best friend. You're plenty nice to me. Just 'cause you're a little prickly when you're stressed doesn't mean you don't make it obvious that you care about people."

Apollo sniffles. Oh, no. Case in point, though.

"And you don't have to worry about not helping me with science stuff," Clay adds. "I know I'm not that helpful with your law stuff, either. You're way better at helping me review than I am at helping you review."

At least that makes Apollo smile a little. "Jus' easier to read formulas off notecards than legal definitions."

"You can say that again." Clay will take astrophysics over civil law any day. "Besides, you're the best hype-man I could hope for. Who else is gonna get me super pumped to go to space even though it scares the piss out of you?"

"It's so high up," Apollo whines, making Clay cackle. He never thinks about fear of heights as an issue with spaceflight until Apollo mentions it. "An' there's the whole vacuum and no air and you're just going in a tin can—"

"Don't talk about my girl Hattie like that, she's perfect."

"An' even Mr. Starbuck is nervous about it."

"And you help Sol get psyched for it too," Clay says. He pats Apollo gently on the shoulder. "Which is exactly what I'm talking about."

Apollo sighs.

"I know we're best friends, sunshine," Clay adds, more gently. "Come on. You think I would agree to live with you if I didn't know you liked me? I bet you could pull some real passive-aggressive roommate pranks if you wanted to."

Apollo huffs out a tiny laugh. "Maybe."

"There we go. We're fine, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Say it with me. We're fine."

"We're fine."

"You're Apollo Justice and you're fine."

"I'm fine!"

"That's my boy." Mario has fallen asleep standing up on-screen. Clay is considering whether or not he should keep playing or encourage Apollo to go take a real nap when Apollo shifts beside him. Clay lifts his arms out of the way on instinct, holding the controller aloft, when Apollo braces himself on shaky arms to turn and crawl the rest of the way over to plop himself down in Clay's lap. "Wh-oa, buddy. Hi there. You want cuddles?"

"Yeah," Apollo mumbles. He drops his head onto Clay's shoulder. Clay carefully shifts his weight and settles down against the back of the couch, letting it take both of their weight. He doesn't think of Apollo as a big guy, because he's not, but geez. A whole adult human does kind of weigh a lot. Good thing Clay's been beefing up for his training. "Are you at the moon yet?"

"Nope. Only at the gardens. It hasn't been that long."

"You're gonna get to the moon someday," Apollo says, with loopy certainty. Clay almost bites down on a grin before he remembers that Apollo can't see him anymore and he can smile as much as he wants, safe from scrutiny. "You're gonna be a kickass astronaut."

"Aw, thanks, bud."

"You're really smart. And good at solving problems."

"Flatterer," Clay says, grin spreading wider. God, he wishes he'd thought to grab his phone and start recording this. Yeah, he does know he's Apollo's best friend and Apollo loves him and all that, but he sure as hell doesn't get this mushy often. It's really cute.

"You deserve it. You're the best friend in the world, Clay," Apollo declares, and promptly passes out on Clay's shoulder.

---

"Anyway," Clay finishes. He knocks back the rest of his mocha. "That's what AJ was like when he got his wisdom teeth out, so like I said. Don't be too embarrassed about it."

Klavier is laughing so hard he's almost crying, a hand slapped over his mouth to muffle the sound of it. Apollo's in the kitchen right now, cooking the three of them brunch. Hopefully the sizzle of frying eggs and sausage covers the sound of Clay's indiscretions out in the living room. Clay's dead meat if it doesn't.

"He never mentioned," Klavier manages to get out, when he finally gets himself under control. "How cute."

"It was pretty great," Clay says, fondly. "But please don't tell him I told you about that. I don't want to die before I make it to the moon, and he will actually kill me for realsies."

"Your secret is safe with me." Klavier props his chin on his hand, grinning. "Has he ever gotten quite so affectionate other times?"

"If he's drunk enough, yeah."

"I'll have to keep it in mind, then."

"S'why I told you," Clay says. He considers the sly, affectionate curl of Klavier's smile for a second before he adds, "But don't bully him too hard afterwards, or you will lose drunk Apollo privileges. Only moderate mortification allowed."

"Would he be taking the privileges away or would you?"

Clay lets his own smile go sharper. He likes Klavier just fine, and he doesn't really believe he'd be that mean to Apollo, but... well, Apollo's Clay's best friend, too. He has obligations if Apollo's boyfriend is an asshole to him. "Fuck around and find out."

"Fair enough, Herr Astronaut," Klavier says. There's a clatter of plates in the kitchen as the sizzling dies down.

"Food's ready!" Apollo hollers. Clay casts Klavier a glance; Klavier mimes zipping his lips, winking. They both push away from the table to wander into the kitchen. Apollo bustles around fixing a plate of food, a pile of hashbrowns and sausage and eggs. Klavier creeps up behind him and puts his hands over Apollo's hips. Apollo startles, almost knocking him away. His cheeks go pink.

"What do you think you're doing? Clay's literally right there."

"Don't mind me," Clay says, cheerfully. He loves having ammunition to give Apollo hell over later.

"I think he already has an inkling that we're dating, Liebling," Klavier murmurs. He leans down to kiss the top of Apollo's head. Apollo gently elbows him in the gut, pushing Klavier away as his cheeks go even redder.

"Yeah, and he's already insufferable enough about it without you hanging off me in front of him. Come on, back off."

Klavier obligingly steps back. He and Clay begin to fix their own plates. Hovering nearby, Apollo asks, suspiciously, "What were you two gossiping about out there, anyway?"

"Oh, nothing," Clay says. He smiles sweetly when Apollo narrows his eyes at him. "By the way, AJ?"

"What?"

"You're the best friend in the world."