#<- they’re not hurting you !!

[elodieunderglass]

Having dug out the Unfinished Tales to reference a conversation Tolkien wrote between Gandalf and Pippin (but didn’t publish) I thought I’d share it. Gandalf is talking to Pippin about the history of Thorin’s company, hobbits and why he chose Bilbo.

This is evidence for the grand statement I just made about how Bilbo was intended to be a catalyst that changed his society, and that hobbit society was indeed significantly different after his journey, with large social changes occurring between The Hobbit and Fellowship. But it’s also a very funny passage to me so here it is:

‘And then there was the Shire-folk. I began to have a warm place in my heart for them in the Long Winter, which none of you can remember.

They were very hard put to it then: one of the worst pinches they have been in, dying of cold, and starving in the dreadful dearth that followed. But that was the time to see their courage, and their pity one for another. It was by their pity as much as by their tough uncomplaining courage that they survived. I wanted them still to survive.

(😭😭😭😭. Also the theme of having pity for each other is what redeems both Bilbo and Frodo re: Gollum.)

But I saw that the Westlands were in for another very bad time again, sooner or later, though of quite a different sort: pitiless war.

(This is possibly one reason why this passage didn’t make it to publication - Gandalf shouldn’t have had this much foreknowledge of the upcoming war of the ring.)

To come through that I thought they would need something more than they now had. It is not easy to say what. Well, they would want to know a bit more, understand a bit clearer what it was all about, and where they stood.

(It’s also explaining that Bilbo’s role in Thorin’s company was predetermined both by a more omnipotent Gandalf and by Fate; that Gandalf selected Bilbo to be a social catalyst, to return and provoke hobbit society into a more adaptable, resilient state; therefore increasing their chances of surviving.)

They had begun to forget: forget their own beginnings and legends, forget what little they had known about the greatness of the world. It was not yet gone, but it was getting buried: the memory of the high and the perilous. But you cannot teach that sort of thing to a whole people quickly. There was not time.

(Thus Bilbo was supposed to be changed, and return changed by his journey, to teach his people.)

And anyway you must begin at some point, with some one person. I dare say he was “chosen” and I was only chosen to choose him; but I picked out Bilbo.’

‘Now that is just what I want to know,’ said Peregrin. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘How would you select any one Hobbit for such a purpose?’ said Gandalf. ‘I had not time to sort them all out;

(He is SO funny)

but I knew the Shire very well by that time, although when I met Thorin I had been away for more than twenty years on less pleasant business. So naturally thinking over the Hobbits that I knew, I said to myself: “I want a dash of the Took” (but not too much, Master Peregrin)

(This is brilliant we are always BODYING pippin constantly. NOT TOO MUCH TOOK 👀. We were ROBBED not having this in canon )

“and I want a good foundation of the stolider sort, a Baggins perhaps.” That pointed at once to Bilbo.

(Eugenics! Observing them like laboratory mouse lines! Call him a Charles River BILB/o the way you’re genotyping these poor little bastards for your purposes)

And I had known him once very well, almost up to his coming of age, better than he knew me.

(??? Hiding in the bushes spying or…?)

I liked him then. And now I found that he was “unattached” – to jump on again, for of course I did not know all this until I went back to the Shire. I learned that he had never married. I thought that odd, though I guessed why it was; and the reason that I guessed was not the one that most of the Hobbits gave me: that he had early been left very well off and his own master.

(Was it cos he’s gay as fuck, Gandalf)

No, I guessed that he wanted to remain “unattached” for some reason deep down which he did not understand himself – or would not acknowledge, for it alarmed him.

(I 100% now and for always love a narrator in a constant state of Just Fucking Lies To Everyone All The Time, Giving Us Nothing, Acknowledging Nothing Including Himself. NOPE NOT PROCESSING ANYTHING TODAY THANKS. WE’RE CLOSED. COME BACK TOMORROW. just A Massive Liar about everything and for what!!! Bilbo Baggins my beloved you were born wrong.)

He wanted, all the same, to be free to go when the chance came, or he had made up his courage. I remembered how he used to pester me with questions when he was a youngster about the Hobbits that had occasionally “gone off ”, as they said in the Shire. There were at least two of his uncles on the Took side that had done so.’

You can see why I love this! And I can see why Tolkien didn’t include it, too. Still very fun passage and near enough to canon to be used if you ever want to.

[lazylittledragon]

did somebody say dadkarios

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Finarfin Fades.

No one expects it, no one’s faded in Valinor since Miriel. The War of Wrath is won and he comes back, waving off the courtiers, well wishers, and congratulators with his usual grace, and walks into the palace of Tirion. To rooms abandoned since their owners left so long ago. Winding deeper and deeper his feet take him to what was once Finwë’s favourite garden.

He’s so tired.

He’s fulfilled his promise to Fëanaro and Nolofinwë, to avenge them. To make the agony of their final moments - agony Finarfin felt, falling to the floor screaming as fire and darkness consumed his spirit - count for something. Now Morgoth is finally gone, but he’s not the only one.

His brothers, larger than life, larger than death, are gone. With them his sons. Niece. Nephews. Grandchildren. His daughter is never to return. He Saw little Nelyo’s death in his dreams and is sure hopes for the child’s own sake that Makalaurë will be close behind.

Little remains. Even less on these golden shores.

So Finarfin sits on a bench long overgrown with vines and weeds, and watches the sun filter through the thicket, wishing the ghosts he sees in his father’s garden would flesh out.

He sits. He waits.

And by the time anyone finds him, it’s too late.

…at least he’s smiling again.

[ssruis]

Good eye!

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 251

Danny is tired and annoyed. On one hand, his parents took the whole ‘so I might be slightly dead’ pretty well! Which is good! On the other, they decided to send him and his sisters to their uncle while they take care of the Guys in White and refurbish the house to be, well, him safe. Which meant a ridiculously long flight all the way to New Jersey. 

A flight he was pretty sure happened to be illegal what with the fact that neither of them were asked for their IDs or anything despite having them with them. Hm. Y’know he’s not going to question it, he’s getting a nap the moment they get to Uncle Harvey’s. 

[halflifebutawesome]

anyone wanna be boy bestfriends in a scary research facility and get increasingly concerned for eachothers well-being?

[crmnlgy]

behind the scenes, s1 vs. s2 💘

[daenerys-targaryns]

daenerys: has finally decided that negotiating with the masters is a lost cause and plans to bring fire and blood to them (because slavery has to end somehow) in her journey to dismantle a thousands upon thousands year old violent regime; which would result in freeing millions of innocent men, women, and children from the terrifying brutality they’ve been subjected to their entire lives.

antis: she’s choosing violence, this is foreshadowing for her burning king’s landing! or the water gardens! MAD KWEEN! she’s a targaryen! the targaryens are evil incest lizard people with superiority complexes! and daenerys is one 😱😱 (i’m so intelligent!) bad colonizer! dragons are nukes! what about the innocent slavers? did you know every time a targaryen is born THE GODS FLIP A COIN—

[hasello]

Leosagi dynamic in short (at the start):

bonus for this

[jubshead]

𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬

Paring: Lydia Lebasi x Reader

Summary: A manager’s duty also includes helping your client after a traumatic experience.

A/N: This character is from Episode 11 from season 16 of Special Victims Unit!

This is a request from a special moot of mine, Tea aka one of my favorite editors. I hope you enjoy!

I've got some other ideas for this character if you guys would like to read

Warnings: Mentioned drug use, Mentioned attempted rape, Age difference, Crying, Fingering

Word count: 2.8k

Date: Jan 10, 2025

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!

Masterlist | Taglist

Tag list: @agathasreality @yippie-kai-gay @missquints @live-laugh-love-lupone @amethyst-bitch @greek-freak101 @crescendoofstars @multixfan @im-a-carnivorous-plant @thoroughly--confused @kukikatt @aggieharkness @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @diorrxckstar @liliastriangle @cowboykya @czl4t @daddyriovidal @maevaofendora @thecavalrywife @welmelsblog @nctxrejects @bravewithacapitalb @cupofsapphics @darkangelchronicles @confuseuniverse @yun4-st4rx @kinglet1963 @vigilante24ish @xanthreee @cacasburro @ahsfan05

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

A warm breeze sways the white curtains, the sky is blue and a few cheers come from the front of the building, barely audible at the height of the bedroom. The bird chirping makes you grunt, irritated by the noise and squinting against the daylight, you reach out and feel the headboard for a glass of water. The thirst is accompanied by a throbbing headache, the combination can only mean that you had the best, or worst, night. 

Propping up on your elbows, you gulp down the liquid, greedy for the relief it brings to your throat. The water feels like a drop in the desert, there is not enough to satisfy you and, frustrated, you throw yourself back on the bed, feeling a sourness in your mouth.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, trying to settle down the nausea and gather enough courage to get up and take a shower. The slugshiness is typical of these types of mornings. 

Sitting up and running your hands over your face, you place your feet on the cold tile and stand up, only taking one step before bumping into something. Looking down, an uncontrollable scream leaves your lips and you retreat back into the bed, panicked gasps constricting your lungs. 

Motionless brown eyes stare at you, a corpse lying on the floor of your suite. The man is wearing jeans, a shirt with your face on it and crooked glasses. Blood is everywhere, staining his shirt and making a puddle. You look down at yourself and see that, like him, your clothes are splattered with crimson. 

With hands shaking and an anxiety attack creeping up, you try to sort through your jumbled thoughts from yesterday. The night was hazy, the mix of drugs and alcohol affecting your memory and making you look around for answers. Messing up the sheets, you grope the bed in search of something, anything, that would help you. When your hand brushes against a hard object, you freeze, grabbing the cold gun and bringing it into your line of vision.

Oh, fuck. 

It was yours, Lydia had gifted it to you. 

‘For protection’, she had said. Scanning your body for any injuries or unperceived pains, you let out a relieved sigh when you realize you’re fine, physically speaking. 

With your manager in mind, you pick up the hotel phone, dialling and pressing the white device against your ear, you hear it ring. 

“How’s my-”

“Lydia.” You sob, unnoticed tears streaming down your face and the hiccups immediately coming out when you hear her voice. 

“What happened?” The concern is palpable in her tone, a sound comes from the other side of the line.

Unable to formulate a response with your uncontrollable sobs, uneven breathing and blurred vision, you barely register what she says before she’s hanging up. She’s coming up to meet you. 

Time stretches on for what feels like an eternity, in the few minutes you wait for her all the outcomes of this crime flash before your eyes, you still weren’t sure what had happened and you’d be punished for it. 

The knocking brings you an indescribable rush of relief. You stumble out of bed and bang the door open, throwing yourself into Lydia’s arms. For someone so short, she apparently has enough strength to hold your weight and pull you inside, intent to give the two of you some privacy. 

The embrace is like a warm blanket over you, the shushing sounds she makes are a lullaby to your ears and the hand caressing your hair makes you melt. You grip her clothes with closed fists and sob into her neck. 

She rocks you gently, and when the crying begins to subside, she cautiously pushes you forward, cupping your jaw and running her thumbs over your wet cheeks. 

“What happened?” She asks softly. 

Without the courage to answer, you look down and wait for her to follow your gaze. You can tell when she sees him by the way her touch stiffins against your face, you are quick to grab her hands and hold them in place. 

“He was there when I woke up.” You murmur.

“It’s alright, baby. It’s alright.” She focuses her attention back on you. “Do you remember what happened?” 

“No, I took some pills last night…” You answer uncertainly, she wasn't a big fan of you using drugs. 

She grabs your upper arms and takes a step back, inspecting your bloody outfit. You hadn’t seen yourself in the mirror yet, but you could imagine how much of a mess you looked. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“No.” She stares at you. “At least I don’t think so…but Lydia, if this gets out I’m ruined. My career will go down the drain and I’ll most certainly end up in prison. And it had to be now! Just when things start working out for me, I-”

“No, no, no. None of that.” She interrupts your nervous ramble and pulls you close once again, your arms circle her waist. “All that matters is that you are not hurt.” She scans the room, engines turning as a solution forms in her head. 

“Go take a shower, baby. I’ll handle this.” 

It feels so good to have someone take care of your needs, have control over every situation. You don’t even protest as you head to the bathroom, if she said she’d take care of it then she would. Lydia was like that. 

The shock when you see yourself is expected. What you didn’t expect were the thick drops of blood covering your neck and face, the smeared make up and the still dilated pupils, traces of the night in your appearance. Calming yourself with a deep breath, you carefully remove your clothes, throwing them in the sink. 

They’d have to be burned later.

You hear your manager’s voice coming from outside, probably on the phone as she speaks firmly and rapidly. Turning on the shower and stepping under the stream, you let the hot water smooth your worries. You struggle to organize your memories of the night before, you remember the party, the fans, making out with some random woman and, at some point, coming up to your room. 

You know better than to mix your usual sleeping pills with alcohol, you weren’t sure why your drunk self did it, but it was certainly the reason why you were having the worst amnesia of your life. After downing them, you can’t remember much more. A faint knocking sound, someone pushing you inside and your weakened state unable to hold the door. The rest is blackness, you couldn’t recall what happened if your life depended on it. 

And it just might. 

Washing yourself raw, you ignore the noises outside and focus on your bath, running your fingers through your scalp and rinsing the shampoo out, stalling as much as possible. The only thing you wish for at the moment is to be held by Lydia, she would soothe you like she had done before and take care of everything, and in the end it's this desire that makes you step out of the shower.

Your movements are mechanical as you stare at your reflection and brush your wet hair, without makeup you can see the dark bags under your eyes. The movie is being released in a few weeks and what better way to promote it than by throwing the biggest parties? At least that seemed to be the producers’ thinking. 

The voices from outside quiet down, you put on the hanged white robe and open the door. The place is spotless. The sheets are new, the floor is shining and there’s no blood covering the furniture, you’d think your mind was playing tricks on you if it weren’t your manager’s tension.

Lydia is sitting on your bed, typing rapidly on her phone. You notice for the first time that she’s in her nightclothes, black pants and matching blouse, a robe over top. Her straight hair is tucked behind her ears, her bangs are out of place and she’s not wearing a single trace of makeup. She looks beautiful. 

When she spots you, she motions you to come forward, patting the mattress before standing up. You comply with her unspoken request and sit, watching as she fills a glass of water and brings it to you, crouching down and watching as you down the liquid. 

“Oh, my sweet girl.” She says, one of her hands brushing your locks aside while the other rests on your thigh. “What happened?”  

“I’m not sure.” You whisper. “I don't remember a much, but I think- I think he tried-” 

A sob escapes your mouth and cuts you in half, it’s only 10 in the morning and you are already so sick of crying. It doesn’t matter that the sentence was left unfinished, Lydia understands the situation right away. 

She makes shushing sounds and wipes away your tears, letting you get it out of your chest. Your body trembles, your breath comes out in gasps and the hiccups make your throat hurt. 

“Are you sure he didn’t do anything? It wouldn’t be your-”

“Yes, I’m sure.” You snap at her. “I’m not crying because of him. I just- I feel overwhelmed. There are so many ways this could go wrong and the possibility of losing everything I've worked for because of some sick jerk is driving me mad.” 

Your voice is firmer, the confidence you lacked returning to you at the prospect of having your career ruined. 

“Everything is taken care of. There’s no need to worry anymore.” Both her hands fall down to your thigh, their palms brushing up and down. “Relax, okay?” 

“I can’t relax! I killed somebody!” 

Your relationship with your manager has always been great, there hasn't been a single moment where you’ve yelled at her like you just did. This situation is making you anxious. 

“You just went through a traumatic situation.” She squeezes your knees. “Maybe you should-”

“Oh god, Lydia.” You roll your eyes, your body shaking as anger bubbles up in you, the impact of the situation finally settling in as you speak your thoughts out loud. 

Fucking asshole. 

“What can I do to help?” She asks. 

It’s embarrassing how quickly you think of an answer. 

“Can’t you help me relax?” You stare down at her, hoping the meaning behind your words gets through to her.

The request is placed in a very dangerous area. As close as you and Lydia are, you’ve never crossed that line, but you’ve heard the rumors about her relationship with a few of her past clients. It was no secret that the woman in front of you put your desires and needs above all else. It was the reason she was one of the best managers in the country. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you could admit that you’ve had some sort of crush on her for a while now. So when she doesn’t even blink at the insinuation, your heart skips a beat. 

A hum leaves her throat and her eyes roam over your body. Your back is slightly hunched, the robe is rumpled and falling off one of your shoulders. Drops are absorbed into the white material and the wet strand of hair she tucked behind your ear is still there. Your manager is crouched between your open legs, her hands resting on your uncovered thighs.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Her palms travel up, close to your bare center. “Of course I’ll help you.” 

Her soft voice is enough to make you relax into the mattress, the pent up stress settling down as your mind gets distracted by the beautiful woman in front of you. 

She applies pressure to your leg, enough for her to kneel and come face to face with you. Her eyes are comforting and she gives you a reassuring smile before letting out a surprised sound when you crash your mouth against hers, anxiety getting the better out of you. 

The kiss is hard, your breath coming out raggedly as you grab her nightclothes, trembling. One of her hands grips your waist and the other cups your cheek, thumb running over the wet skin and pulling you slightly away. 

“Everything is taken care of.” She repeats. “All you have to do is relax, baby.” 

She’s the one who initiates the kiss this time. It’s slower, languid as she guides you and sets a serene pace, trying to calm you down by taking her time. The fingers beneath your robe graze over the top of your exposed core and you shiver, opening your legs wider. The palm on your face runs down your front, stopping halfway to untie the white material that hides your body. 

She separates, far enough for her eyes to travel over you, admiring your naked form and the way you sit, spread and ready for her. 

Grabbing you ass, she pulls you forward, harder than you expect as your bottom comes to rest at the edge of the bed. She leans into you, nose brushing the skin of your neck as her hands move to your breasts, cupping them and ranking her nails over the skin. 

“Lydia.” You groan. 

A hum reverberates through her, palm bending you back as her tongue runs along your collarbone all the way down to your chest. She sucks on one of your nipples and you whimper, tangling your fingers in her hair and holding her in place. 

Her idle hand travels lower, finding your center and parting your lower lips, digits running over your already wet entrance. 

“Oh, baby. I didn’t know I had this effect on you.” She says and you can only nod as her big brown eyes look up at you. 

She gives you a soft smile and focuses back on your neck, teeth scraping your skin as she holds you by the waist and a finger deeps into you. The feeling of having her inside makes you dizzy, the desire you’ve had for her finally taken care of as she moves, slowly but enough to make you throw your head back and moan. 

The movement gives her more access and she softly bites the junktion of your shoulder, your arousal increasing as she works you up. When her tongue sweeps over the mark she left behind, her digit falters as a second one joins in. The pace changes, she thrusts faster into you, the squelching sound of your core accompanying your groans as you hold onto her shoulder and circle one of your legs around her waist. 

Any thoughts you had before completely vanishes from your mind as she grabs your ass and pulls you forward, going deeper into you. 

“Yes, baby. Let it all go.” She whispers in your ear.

A sob rips from you as she speeds up, your fingers traveling up to tangle in her hair and pull her into a desperate kiss. This time, she lets you lead, swallowing the moans that slip from your mouth and keeping the fast pace as your tongue slides alongside hers. A whine escapes you when she pulls away. 

“I’ll take care of your every need.” She tells you, resting her forehead against your sweaty one and hardening her rhythm. “Everything you wish for is yours.” 

Moaning at her words, you feel your thighs trembling as you grip her neck, ragged breaths mingling. Her fingers curl up and your eyes close of  their own accord, muscles spamming as you pant. 

When her thumb finds your clit and circles it, your whole body tenses. Hands bunching her blouse as you hiccup, legs tightening around her and hips undulating to prolong the pleasure. 

“You’re mine now.”

The words send you tumbling, pleasure cascading along your spine as your walls flex around her fingers and you melt into her touch. Head falling onto her shoulder as the last shocks of your climax ripple through you. 

She holds you as you come down, digits deep inside you, waiting for your approval to pull them out. Her other hand rests in your hair, nails raking across your scalp and making you shiver. 

When you feel you have enough sense of mind to separate, you nod and moan as her fingers leave you. The morning adrenaline rush fades as your body loosen from the orgasm, your eyelids growing heavy as you settle into her embrace. 

“Lie down, baby.” She says, guiding you to the bed and placing a pillow under your head. “Sleep now, you’re safe.” 

She presses a kiss to your forehead and turns around. 

“Don’t leave.” You grab her by the hand, practically whining. “Stay with me.” 

She stares and you give her the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. She’s always been better at this than you, even if it’s unintentional. 

There is no hesitation as she lays down next to you, palm coming to cup your cheek as she examines your face. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” She places a soft kiss on your lips. “Rest now.” 

And just like every other time, you do as she says, letting sleep engulf you as her arm circles your waist and pulls you forward until you’re resting against her neck, her comforting scent lulling you into a dreamless nap.

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

A/N: @yourbasicqueerie asked me to tell you guys that this isn't beta read not bc she didn't want too, but bc she couldn't do it atm

[keyslox]

you didn’t know . . .

+ some more doodles! (all drawn on whiteboard fox) (colored on my phone d:3)

[alexturntable]

Charles getting that cramp and everyone immediately forming a protective circle around him

[ninyard]

just thought about aaron going to class for the first time after the trial. like it finishes on a friday and he has to walk into a biology class on monday and act like nothing happened, and act like they haven’t all been talking about him and his brother all week, like they haven’t all been debating whether or not their classmate is a cold blooded murderer or not. did he silence the room when he walked in? did anybody even know what to say?

[checkadii]

When he heard the death rattle, Gilgamesh moaned like a dove. His face grew dark. “Beloved, wait, don’t leave me. Dearest of men, don’t die, don’t let them take you from me.”

[quietwingsinthesky]

i really do think the desire to paint ten as unambiguously The Worst™️ when it comes to his relationship with martha is out of this desire to uncomplicate their relationship. to decouple them as friends and people who profoundly impacted each other’s lives. it’s just an easier narrative to swallow: that ten was Awful to her and then martha kicked him to the curb when she realized she was too good for him. easier, maybe, then dealing with the troubles of unrequited affection don’t have to be anyone’s fault, or that ten shut martha out in a lot of ways but let her in in others that he wouldn’t let any other companion near, or that they were still friends, they still wanted to see each other and be around each other, even though it was messy and sometimes hurt. you know?

[the-broken-pen]

love your writing yo can I ask for a little hurt-comfort mlm

“Oh. Oh. That’s—that’s a lot of blood,” the voice above him sounded strangled, like they were choking on every word.

The hero cracked an eye open, dizzy and cold and tired, and hummed something that could have been an agreement.

“Hey,” he said, voice raw, and his friend stifled a sob as they collapsed onto their knees at his side.

Their hands pressed hesitantly against the wound, and they were trembling. His hands were slick with blood. It took everything in them to drag them, shaking, to rest on top of his friends, and press down hard.

The pained noise he made caught in the back of his throat. Just barely.

“You have to press harder,” he managed. The pain had swelled to something almost unbearable. He was drowning in it, to the point where it was almost the kind of pain where it became something wretched, something else that swallowed you whole. “The bleeding, it—“ he had to stop, gasping for a breath.

His friend had started crying, but they pressed harder, dutifully. He loved them for it.

“I don’t know what to do,” they sobbed. “You don’t do hospitals. What do I do.”

He let go of his friends hand, digging for his pocket. His grip slipped the first two times; he managed it on the third, sliding his phone onto his stomach.

“Speed dial,” he offered, and closed his eyes before the look on his friend’s face made him vomit.

“Speed dial? Speed dial. Okay. Okay,” his friend said. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.” He was certain his friend wasn’t saying it to him. Their free hand scrambled for his phone.

By the time they managed to get it to ring, the world around him had turned into something muffled and cotton around him.

“You? You’re his speed dial—don’t…I don’t know what….bleeding…not responding…please, just….”

A crack cleaved the air, the smell of ozone suddenly stronger than the smell of his own suffering, and then a hand was replacing his friend’s. The other found the side of his face, thumb curving under his jaw.

“Hey,” and oh, he knew that voice—something raw in his chest eased. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

He managed, just barely, and the villain peered down at him.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“You’re bleeding out,” the villain said, and it was the softest he’d ever heard him. “You need care, or you’re going to die. Can I move you?”

Do you trust me?

“Always,” he tried, but it came out weak and desperate.

The villain pressed harder, and he keened high and pained in the back of his throat. On instinct, his hand darted up to the villain’s wrist, latching on too tight for anyone without superpowers to handle. The villain didn’t flinch.

“You’re okay,” the villain murmured. His thumb brushed over the hero’s jaw, soothing.

There was something the hero was forgetting—

“My friend,” he choked out. “Where—are they—where—“ he struggled to sit up, and the villain simply guided him back down.

“They’re fine,” the villain promised. “I sent them home. Maybe a little traumatized, but they’re okay.”

“Okay.” The hero nodded to himself, or he tried, or he didn’t. “Okay. They’re okay, okay, I’m—“

“Okay,” the villain finished for him, and even half sick in pain the hero could tell he was intentionally keeping his voice easy. “You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

His hand shifted underneath the hero’s back.

“Breathe for me?” The hero tried, and managed a half wheeze. The villain just nodded. “Good. This is gonna suck.”

His other hand wormed its way underneath the hero’s knees. He blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision, and the villain stared at him. Barely disguised concern was written into every inch of him, like the only thing his bones could remember was panic. For him.

The villain was scared for him.

That was bad.

“What’s going to suck—“

The villain hauled him upwards, and his vision went white.

He woke up some time later, chest heavy and head floating somewhere above his body.

He hummed something that might have been a question, and the villain was above him in an instant.

“Are you in pain?”

The hero blinked at him for a moment. Mostly because he couldn’t really remember how to do anything else. The world felt sluggish. A second delayed behind normal. Which should have been concerning, panic worth and world ending, but it simply just…was.

“No,” he said finally, and his voice sounded weird. His throat ached, separated from him by a wall of warmth. “I was screaming?”

The villain swallowed, hard, and the hero managed to drag his gaze down to the needle and thread clutched in the villain’s hand.

“Yeah.” The villain sounded like he was choking on the words. “You were screaming.”

He opened his eyes whendidheclosethem and peered upwards again. He was on a couch. Or a bed? Bed, he decided a second later. The villain was kneeling next to him, and there was something soft tucked around his legs. He went to sit up, look down at his stomach; the villain’s hand came up to rest on his forehead, gently keeping him down. He must have made some noise of displeasure, because a moment later, the villain’s hand carded through his hair.

“Easy,” he murmured, focusing back onto the hero’s side. He heard the snip of thread; the sound of the villain throwing something onto a side table without care.

“What did you give me?” The hero’s tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“Lots,” the villain said.

“Lots,” he said back, managing to sound more incredulous than he actually cared to feel at the moment, and the villain snorted. “Haven’t heard of that one before.”

“Had to make something special for the boy wonder,” the villain smoothed a hand down his side, and the hero half leaned into it. Mostly he managed to sink further into the mattress. “You burn through shit fast, you know?”

The hero did know. He knew very well, unfortunately.

“Thanks,” he managed. His head lolled to the side without his permission, resting against the villain’s arm.

“You’re going to pass out again,” the villain informed him. He made a noise in the back of his throat that could have meant anything. The villain seemed to understand regardless.

Am not, he tried to say.

The haze of medication and blood loss stole him first.

The next time he woke, he was half sprawled against the villain’s side. Something cold was set onto his cheek, and he reached up to remove it, hand clumsy. The villain caught it before he managed to remove anything.

“You spiked a fever,” he said quietly. “I just got it back down. That’s probably why you woke up. How are you feeling?”

That was…a lot.

“No pain,” he said eventually. He thought he felt the villain give a heavy sigh of relief.

The world was clearing itself up bit by bit, settling the furniture back into the correct places until it no longer felt like things were sliding around him.

The villain’s hand was back into his hair again.

“Good,” the villain said, but the hero wasn’t really sure it was meant for him.

Something in his chest loosened.

“I thought I was going to die,” he admitted, and he wished his tongue was still numb, because the villain stilled, hand curled in his hair.

“That’s not what you told your friend.”

And yeah, the hero half remembered the pieces of that. A promise he was okay. Everything would be fine. He was always fine, wasn’t he? How strongly do you have to will to will someone to stay. Exactly how many pounds of force does it take to stop someone from bleeding out—

There was a chill curling itself around his ribs.

“I thought I was going to die,” his voice was raw. It wasn’t because of his throat. He sounded afraid, even to himself.

“I would never have let you do that,” he managed a moment later. His hand resumed in his hair.

And somehow, despite the knowledge of how hard it truly was to save someone, how long it took to learn that kind of information, the knowing of exactly what was survivable and what couldn’t be escaped, how strong you had to be to shift through rubble—the hero believed him.

“I know,” he said, because the villain had to know. That he believed him. That he would always believe him.

He melted into the villain’s side.

I trust you, I trust you, I trust you

The villain hummed, in that way of his that told him he understood exactly what the hero couldn’t vocalize.

“I’m your #1 speed dial?” He questioned after a moment.

The hero huffed a laugh.

“You’re my only speed dial.”

The villain froze.

And then he was shifting, pulling the hero closed to him. The villain tucked him close, chin settling onto the top of his head. The hero pressed his face into the hollow of the villain’s neck.

“I will always come,” he said, and this time, his voice was the one that was raw. “You call, and I will be there.”

He said it like it was easy. Like it was that simple.

Maybe it was.

Maybe for them it always had been.

A fondness he couldn’t put words too settled onto his shoulders.

He simply breathed into the villain’s neck, and the villain’s arms looped around him a bit tighter.

“You’re okay,” the villain said into his hair. Like he was confirming it.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re lucky you have super healing.”

“I’m lucky I have you.”

The villain laughed softly.

“Suck up.”

“And what? You gonna stop me?”

He could practically feel the eye roll. “Been trying for years. Hasn’t stuck.”

“Well, you had the perfect opportunity—“

The villain hushed him.

“Just. Shhh for a bit,” he said softly.

The hero, obediently, shhh’ed.

The villain’s hand ran through his hair again, and his eyes shuttered closed, settling further against the villain’s chest.

“Cheater,” he murmured, and the villain huffed a laugh, but didn’t deign a response.

And together, comfortably, curled around one another like two halves of a whole, they just breathed.