#my other teeth grow this way ^ and my wisdoms are growing this way >

[bluebellhairpin]

being really suspicious about this one wisdom tooth rn.

[mikhailoisbaby]

-

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Your Specialty (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer sees his significant other comforting a child and it makes him wonder. A/N: Written for my best friend on her birthday. Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Comfort Content Warning: Minor self-deprecation, implied difficult childhood, crying Word Count: 1k

MASTERLIST

Spencer loves you every day. There is never a doubt or a hesitation. With each glance, he finds something new to add to the ever-growing list of reasons why he is right to love you.

But there are some moments where even he, in his seemingly infinite wisdom, is unable to put into words the way he feels when it comes to you. In those moments, all he can do is silently soak in the unknowing.

It was a quiet moment, all things considered. There was no more bad guys to be caught, no more bloodshed to be had. Still, there were tears, as there usually were when you were around.

It wasn’t your fault. You just have a way about you that makes people feel… loved. Sometimes for the first time.

Spencer peers through his open office door to find you. You are on your knees, eyes locked with the young boy standing in front of you.

His small body shakes with incoherent sobs. He is held steady only by your gentle hands cupping his face. Despite the sight, you are smiling. A calm, subtle curve that holds him up in another way.

From where he is, Spencer can’t hear your words. But he can still feel the relief. He finds himself mirroring you both, with deep inhales fighting against the knot his throat. The air comes out warm and trembling.

In that moment, as he watches you comfort something small, he is a little boy again. He is the one lifting his arms in a silent request to be loved in a simple way.

And he can feel it. He feels your arms as they wrap around the little boy and lift him gently from the ground.

The feeling is almost too much, but he doesn’t look away. He watches and waits patiently for you to let the little boy go.

He waits for you to notice, to quickly come to him before your own trembling hands are noticed by the boy being carried away to what Spencer still hopes will be a happily ever after.

Spencer watches you the entire time. His own mind races, struggling still to find words to explain the feeling in his chest.

He’d almost gotten it when you interrupt the thought with a laugh.

“What is it?” you ask.

Any eloquence vanishes and is replaced with a stammer.

“You’re uh… you’re good at that,” he says. "Comforting kids."

Somehow, it sounds better than it did in his head.

Unbeknownst to the depths of the compliment, you glance over your shoulder to see the boy still watching you.

You recognize the same expression on your lover’s face.

“Kids are easy to love,” you answer.

He accepts your humility. He meets the modesty with his own typical self-deprecation.

“You should’ve seen me as a kid.”

Beneath the words, you hear the uncertainty. That stubborn, relentless fear that there is something rotten to be found in his heart.

You narrow your eyes as you inspect him. His shoulders square under your scrutiny. You look at him, carefully reviewing each wrinkle and freckle. You tilt your head to look at him in another way.

And you find nothing at all rotten.

“I would’ve liked that,” you tell him in earnest.

Emboldened, but still afraid, Spencer dares to take another step forward.

“What do you think you would’ve said?” he says like it’s a joke.

This time, your pause is a couple beats longer.

You look at the man in front of you and try to imagine him with teeth too big for a tiny frame. You imagine unruly curls and thick, crooked glasses perched over innocent eyes.

You look at the man you love and you see it. A small boy staring up at you in his oversized suit. Always trying to be both smaller and bigger than he was meant to be.

“I’d tell him,” you say, unsure of your own words, “that he’s strong and clever, and he shouldn’t have to try so hard to prove it to everyone.”

Spencer sucks in a breath that betrays his aloof demeanor. The words hit him like a swift blow to the stomach. But even with the pain, he hopes you’re not finished.

You’re not.

“I’d tell him that I know he’s trying his hardest, and sometimes things are bigger than us and…”

You bite your tongue to stop tears from welling. You breathe in sharply, reaching up to place both palms against his reddened cheeks. You laugh as they shift towards a goofy grin despite tears.

“I’d tell him that everything’s going to be okay,” you say confidently.

“Oh,” he chuckles; a sad but necessary sound.

"Yeah."

Gentle thumbs wipe each droplet that manages to spill from big golden brown eyes. The same as you had moments before, you catch what you can of his sadness and turn it to comforting warmth across his cheek.

Spencer bites his lip, looking down at your feet before daring to look at you again. Because when he does, he loses his breath and his sense once more.

“I, uh... I think he would’ve liked that,” he confesses.

“I know,” you whisper with a genuine remorse. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Spencer accepts the apology but refuses to stay in the past any longer.

“But you’re here now,” he says quickly.

“Yeah, I am,” you laugh in return. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

But letting you go is the furthest thing from his mind. In fact, he pulls you closer until there is nothing but atoms between you. Strong arms embrace you and his clever words muffle against your hair.

“I wouldn’t even dare to try.”

Together, you settle into the silence. You share your warmth without restraint. Just two bodies swaying in a simple and symbiotic embrace. You enjoy the comfort, the company, the lack of need for words to describe it all.

And once you feel he’s had his fill, you sigh against his shirt.

“You know, I’m going to get through to that little boy eventually.”

Spencer halts his step as he starts to laugh.

“Is that a threat?” he asks.

Without moving from your place against him, you smile.

“Watch out, Dr. Reid,” you hum. “I’ve been told I’m good at this.”

Spencer accepts the warning with a smile.

“Yes," he chuckles. "Yes, you are.”

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

[silkjade]

MIDNIGHT VICES

alhaitham x reader ⤀ synopsis: a year older, and none the wiser… doesn’t the birthday boy know not to mix his alcohol ? as alhaitham grows incessantly needy, he sneaks you away for a quickie behind the tavern ⤀ cw: fem!reader, established relationship, drunk sex (more of a buzz + everything is consensual), unprotected + rough sex, fingering, creampie, exhibitionism, very sweet — mdni || ꒰ 2.5k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: it is still feb.11 in my time so happy birthday to the loml ! ♡ slightly selfship coded, prev titled ‘places we won’t be found’

10 minutes before the clock strikes twelve, Alhaitham takes note as you slip away from his side with a quick kiss to his cheek, promising to return in haste. 2 minutes before the clock strikes twelve, you return with a round of shots for the table—Snezhnayan firewater, of course.

“And an extra for the birthday boy,” you tease, sliding the remaining glass towards your ashen-haired boyfriend. 

And thus, at midnight of his birthday, Alhaitham takes two shots of firewater—and in the 10 minutes it takes for the liquor to mix with the wine already in his system, he realizes that his wisdom has yet to catch up with his age. Because despite turning a year older, he feels none the wiser when you sidle up to him so nonchalantly, as if every brush of your bare skin on his, isn’t crackling with electricity that makes his hairs stand on end. As if he doesn’t wish to drag his tongue and teeth down the curvature of your neck and shoulders. As if you were not the direct cause of the lecherous, alcohol-induced thoughts forming in his head or the tightness quickly growing in his pants. 

Beneath the table, he reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers in his. You smile into the rim of your drink; Alhaitham has always been clingier in private, and even more so with a drink or three in him. Leaning over, you rest your head on his broad shoulder, turning just a smidgen to press a kiss into the mottled flush of his skin, but it only makes the throbbing worse. 

Maybe—no—it was definitely due to the influence of that firewater, but it’s a thrum like no other. He cannot think, he cannot will it away, he cannot ignore it. Frustrated, he squeezes your hand, just a semblance of a warning before guiding you to his crotch, showing you just what you’ve done. I need you, his actions say, coughing to stifle the grunt that escapes when you inadvertently palm him through his pants. 

You blink, eyes wide in revelation. Ah. 

“I think I need some air,” you lie. “Haitham, would you accompany me?”

Though really, it’s Alhaitham who’s dragging you out the back door of the tavern, where you’re immediately herded until your back is pressed flat against the wall, and your lover’s lips find their place firmly against your own, the lingering notes of wine still apparent on his tongue as you follow his lead. He’s bolder than usual, uncaring of who might turn the corner, and hungrier in his kisses, biting, tugging at your lip for an audience with your tongue, entitled in the way he steals the breath from right out of your lungs, as if it were his air to breathe in the first place. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, treating his veins like marionette strings, but you’ve lit a fever in his belly and he’s resolute to soothe the heat fogging in his head. 

You’re no better as your nails graze down his chest, one hand scrambling to undo his pants, while the other slips beneath the opening, working along the hard length of his cock, pumping his shaft, and glossing over the leaking tip until he bucks into your fist, groaning, because a handjob just isn’t enough. 

The grip on your waist tightens—pulling you in, ever closer until your hips are aligned, and you can feel how his standing erection rubs against your belly, wordlessly asking for something more. One of his hands roams further down: smoothing over every curve your body offers, but only settling upon the underside of your thigh, slowly oscillating up and down over your tender flesh. It’s not long before you feel his touch slide higher, up past the edges of your skirt, fingers hooked between the waistband of your panties.

Elegant, romantic… Alhaitham knows you’re well versed in his preference of lingerie, knows that he could quite confidently, recognize each pair by touch alone… and so he notices when something feels different—the pattern alien to the very fingertips that have traced and memorized the details of every piece you own. And though the alcohol has burned through the last remnants of his inhibitions, the pleasant buzz in his veins surges anew, and the lace material shifts as he feeds into his earthly desires—tugging the flimsy cloth down just an inch, then pausing as if to ask permission before tearing the little thing apart.

“Are these new?”

You whine at the halt in his movements, wriggling and grinding your hips so that maybe he’d get the hint to touch you again. “Was supposed to be a surprise,” you breathe.

And though he has yet to lay eyes on your salaciously thoughtful gesture, Alhaitham hums low in his throat, delighted. “Then I can’t wait to unwrap you later,” he whispers into your ear, trailing wet kisses down the sides of your neck, and leaving you to shiver in his wake. 

Alhaitham is not a frugal man by any means, but he’d never let a gift like that go to waste… so he’ll try to be careful, he tells himself, for he dares not make it a promise. Between the alcohol swirling in his head, and your familiarly pavlovian scent, there lies a nebulous cloud of lust and want, blowing air directly into the heart of the fire, urgently demanding him to quell the almost painful erection that threatens his good sense. 

Still though, he tries—willing himself to untangle his fingers from the gossamer threads, opting to migrate just a bit further south, comfortably cupping his large hand around your dripping cunt, thumb rubbing firm circles onto your clit, from across the lace. Hips jerking, your arms tighten around his neck, fingers lacing a crown in his head as you hug him close, crushing your lips back against his in the hopes it’d muffle the whimpers begot from the sudden spike in stimulation. 

At your wordless insistence, two deft fingers swiftly push your panties to the side, running back and forth, feeling the wetness between your folds, as more kisses line across the edge of your jaw, down the column of your throat, and in the spot at the juncture of your neck, where he knows you’re most sensitive. 

“I want you,” he mutters, jagged breaths painting an irregular warmth onto your skin, like droplets of cold fire that melt into your flesh, teasing arousal to twist and churn in your belly until it breaks through the barrier, leaking out of your cunt and coating his fingers in your slick.

“You have me,” you promise. 

Without warning, his digits slip through the threshold, immediately beginning his campaign within. You buck at the sudden, but welcome intrusion—tipping your head back against the wall, fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut, as a quiet, stuttered gasp sounds from your lips. 

Alhaitham fucks you harsh and fast—sloppy, though that’s not to say it isn’t without his usual precision. The way the pads of his fingers rub upon all your hidden ridges, and how his knuckles angle to brush against all the right spots—every twist and curl is deliberate, every movement a tribute in working you wet and open, until you’re lightheaded, and rocking into his slender digits, desperately in need of something more. 

Adjusting his position, he digs the heel of his palm against your clit, mercilessly bullying the nub until the rough sensation draws a low moan as you clench around him. Liquid fire continues to run its course, and then again and again through your veins, and you’re unable to fathom how your legs could still possibly be standing. By your trembling alone, you’re sure you’ve already melted to putty in his hands. 

“H-haitham—please…” You all but moan as he crooks his fingers again, once more prodding where you need him most, before drawing out, ignoring the way your cunt clenches and sobs, begging him not to go.

But he too, is eager to remedy the loss, and you’re quick to feel it by way of the thick tip—far wider than a mere couple fingers—lined against your entrance. Guided by the hand still on your thigh, you wrap a leg around his waist, locking him in close, as he breaches beyond your sticky folds, plunging his cockhead home into your silken insides.

Alhaitham swallows your moans for you, slotting his mouth onto yours, deepening his kiss just as he deepens his cock, easily slipping to the hilt in spite of the stretch. He starts moving immediately, long thrusts, powerful and relentless as he slams in and out of your hole, desperate and haphazard and messy. There’s little time to waste in this indeterminate window of privacy, but he cannot help but savor the way your cunt rejoices with every drag of his cock, grasping onto every inch, every vein. You’re so tight when you squeeze around him like that, trying to milk him for all he’s worth, and at this point, he’s quite sure that no amount of alcohol could intoxicate him the way you do. 

His tongue in your mouth, his cock in your cunt—all your senses seem to be overridden by alhaitham. The subtle spice of harra fruit in his cologne, the sweet notes of wine still lingering on his tongue. The wisps of hot breath as he pants and groans quietly beside your ear, and the bruising grip on your ass and thighs, digging into your skin, guiding your other leg to, too, wrap itself around his waist so that you’d fall ever deeper onto his length. 

Haitham! Haitham! Haitham! Your mind churns up a cacophony in your head, screaming in lieu of what your voice dares not utter so close within the vicinity of the public eye. But holding it all in does nothing, except heighten your sensitivity, both that of tangible and intangible nature. 

You feel as if you’re about to burst at the seams, because how lucky you are that even in his inebriation, your lover still fucks you so well, like a beast in rut—careless, merciless, but you’re so, so full. Your lashes flutter with tears, opening the gates for a litany of soft mewls and whimpers to escape out of the depths of your throat, unwilling to be silenced.

“Any louder and someone might notice,” he whispers, nipping at the skin beneath your ear as he teases you with a playful chide. “It’s a packed house tonight.”

Immediately, you slap a hand over your mouth, hoping it’d be enough to muffle your moans because there’s no way you can suppress anything any longer—not when Alhaitham can feel your walls convulse at the threat of discovery, and especially not as he further feeds into the not-so-distant fantasy. 

“Unless that’s what you want,” he rasps, shifting you on his hips. “For someone to stumble out the tavern, find you fucked out. Cockdrunk. Exposed…”

With each word, he makes sure to follow with a soul rattling thrust, letting gravity do its work as he prods even deeper, sinking you further into a delirious haze. But you shake your head no as you bury your face in the juncture of his neck, sobs racking through your body, more slick gushing from your hole. Your hand, previously clamped over your mouth, now joins the other as it digs into the flesh of his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“Only want you to,” you hiccup, pausing to break, singing gasps as his languid strokes hit a particularly delicate spot. “Only wan’ y-you to see me like this.” 

And the wires in his head short-circuit in the drunken pool of his thoughts, clearly pleased at the fact that you share his sentiments. Because he should be the only one to ever lay eyes on this lascivious sight. Cheeks flushed, imprints dappled about your skin, cunt split open, stuffed full of his cock, from the fat tip all the way down to its even girthier base… He could care less who happens upon the grand scribe engaging in such perversions; the worst case scenario is but public discourse. You however, well…he isn’t one keen to share in his gifts.

“Then cum for me,” he coos, and he shifts his hand between your bodies, searching for, and stroking your clit as he finds it—until you’re writhing in his arms, between he and the wall, thighs quivering around his waist as you cum and clench and release around his cock. 

Your chest heaves, hugging your lover close, chin digging into the dimple that sits on the back of his shoulder. His thrusts grow uneven, stuttering as he too, fractures into his own high. Ribbons of his cum run hot as he fills your insides, cock pulsing with each spurt that paints your walls with his seed. The two of you stay like this for a minute, hearts syncing between the breathless wake, panting in the warm afterglow of two bodies strained, breaths mingling into something sweet. 

“We should—” He starts, breathless.

“Before someone sees us,” you interrupt, nodding at what you can only assume would be the most logical end to this tryst. 

But Alhaitham only lets out an airy chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, before resting his forehead against yours. “I was going to say we should stay like this a little longer.” 

“Oh? Did one birthday suddenly turn you into a romantic?” you tease, yelping as the hand still gripping your ass pinches at the soft flesh. 

“I’m always romantic.”

“That’s debatable,” you quip back, “But…since it’s your birthday, I suppose I must agree that you are the most romantic man in all of sumeru.”

“Not all of Teyvat?” Alhaitham smirks, and you can’t help but melt, giggling as you kiss at the crooked corner of his lips. His hold loosens as he begins to untangle your limbs, snapping those new lace panties back into place, and setting you down gently, though never fully letting go until he’s sure you can stand, albeit on wobbling fawn legs. 

It takes little time for him to redo the buckle of his pants, and even less for him to notice the nefariously lecherous state he’s left you in: your hair’s a mess, clothes wrinkled, lipstick smeared upon kiss-swollen lips. And who could ignore the drying stains of your cum and slick staining your thighs, or the white trails of his cum leaking out from your folds, slowly making its way down the insides of your legs.

“You should head back in first. I…need to clean up a bit, clearly,” you mumble, but Alhaitham only scoffs. As if he’d ever allow anyone in that tavern to see you in such a state. His fingers reach for the sharp end of your chin, tilting your face up towards him, and drawing your doe-eyed gaze back into his orbit. If he remembers your words correctly…

“I want to be the only one to see you like this,” he murmurs. “So let’s go home. And if I recall, you still owe me a surprise, no?”

notes2: wrote this in one day so it’s not my best T^T and it's far from optimal posting time, but i wanted to post while it's still alhaitham's birthday in my timezone :'D anyways, thank you for reading, and as always, reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated ! ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[azzibuckets]

loopy in love part 2 [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: sorry for the long wait! i wasn’t gonna write a second part but @makethemhoesmad forced me to.. and let’s pretend that azzi miraculously healed before the end lmfao

word count: 1.4k

part 1 | masterlist

Azzi needed to forget.

She needed to forget how warm Paige’s hands were when they’d traced her hair. She needed to forget the feel of Paige’s lips against her cheek, grazing across her skin and coming so close yet so far from where she needed it the most. She needed to forget the way Paige held her through the night, the two of them pressed so close together she didn’t know where she ended or began.

And she really needed to forget how uninhibited she’d been with the nitrous oxide running through her veins, revealing the secret she’d spent years perfecting to keep away, locked in the corners of her mind. Paige had been gone when Azzi had woken up this morning, with no text or note. Azzi been relieved at first, not knowing what to say or do so soon after the fact. But she also couldn’t ignore the anxiety swirling in her stomach, worried that she’d ruin everything they’d built over the past few years.

So that’s how she found herself with a bottle of tequila in her hand, sprawled out on the couch at 1 PM. Her apartment was utterly dark, the curtains drawn to block out the sunlight. She knew this wasn’t a healthy way to cope, but frankly, she didn’t care. She wanted, needed to numb the ache in her heart at Paige’s absence, at how she’s embarrased herself last night and probably destroyed their friendship ever.

But the doorbell rang, and when the door revealed Paige, Azzi was stuck, unsure of what to say or do. Paige’s face was void of emotion, her expression tightly controlled in the same way it was when she talked to reporters, the press, strangers, anyone that wasn’t someone she was close to. Azzi’s heart thudded.

Paige stepped in, not waiting for an invitation. She set a drink on the counter, the cup wet with condensation. “I brought you a smoothie.”

Azzi’s hands gingerly rubbed her jaw that was still swollen. “Thanks.”

Paige nodded in acknowledgment. She didn’t say anything, but her foot nervously toeing the ground told Azzi everything she needed to know.

“This is awkward,” Azzi blurted out.

Paige winced. “Yeah, it is,” she admitted. She went to go sit on the couch, but she paused when she saw the bottle of alcohol sitting on the coffee table. She picked it up, staring at it in disbelief as Azzi looked away in embarrasment. “Is this yours?”

“No, that’s…” Azzi’s mind furiously searched for someone to blame it on. “Caroline’s. She left it here the other day.”

Paige’s eyes hardened. “I can see droplets on the table.”

Azzi swallowed.

“Are you kidding me, Azzi?” Paige threw the bottle on the couch and approached her with blazing eyes, her jaw tense. “Did you happen to forget that you had surgery yesterday?”

Azzi sighed, having had enough of the conversation. She went to the kitchen, rummaging around the cabinets for something soft to eat. “It was just my wisdom teeth,” she muttered. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Alcohol thins your blood, Azzi, you know that.”

“I really don’t need you to babysit me right now.”

“Then stop acting like a kid.” Paige marched past Azzi to the sink, bottle in hand. Before Azzi could stop her, she unscrewed the cap and poured the entire bottle of tequila down the drain.

“Paige, what the fuck?” When Paige only smirked at her, Azzi felt herself grow hot with anger at her audacity. “That cost fucking money.”

“Please,” Paige scoffed. “This shit is cheap as hell. And we both know money isn’t an issue with you.”

Azzi was done with this conversation. She was done with the way that Paige was able to get under her skin so easily and make her feel things that no one should feel for their best friend. Knowing she was only proving Paige right but still not caring enough, she headed to her room and slammed the door, feeling like she was 13 years old again.

But, of course, Paige followed her, opening the door and slipping inside. “Wanna tell me why you’re trying to get drunk at 1 in the afternoon?”

“Wanna tell me why you’re not at lift?”

“I’m not at lift because I wanted to make sure you were healing okay.” Paige’s voice rose an octave, but she forced herself to calm down once she saw the change in Azzi’s body language, how she was shifting away. “What happened, Az?” Her voice was soft now, and she took a seat next to the younger girl, letting their elbows knock together.

Azzi stared straight ahead, focusing on the loose thread in the carpet instead of daring to glance over at Paige. She could feel the alcohol buzzing loosely through her body, not enough to be intoxicated but enough to give her that little bit of boldness she wouldn’t have otherwise. “You don’t think I notice that you don’t tell me anything anymore?” The words cut like a knife in Paige’s chest, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, trying to let Azzi continue before saying anything. Azzi brought her knees up, folding her arms around them, making herself as small as possible like she was trying to protect herself. “Lately we’ve been fighting all the time. I-,” she paused, inhaling deeply, “I wasn’t even gonna ask you to take me to the dentist. I was scared you’d say no.”

Azzi closed her eyes briefly. “You know how devastating it is? To realize that I’m in love with my best friend, that I have been for the last four years. But then you started to pull away, and now it feels like I’m losing you, and I don’t know what to do.” She finally worked up the courage to look at Paige, but as soon as she did, she regretted it almost instantly. Paige’s eyes were rimmed red, wet with tears, her bottom lip trembling.

“It was two months ago.” Paige recalled the moment she’d started distancing herself from Azzi. “The guy at the bar - he was flirting with you. Remember how I was in a terrible mood that night?”

Azzi chuckled. It had become an inside joke with the team, how Paige had been the one who came up with the idea to go to Ted’s to celebrate that win, but had ended up sulking in the corner of the room the entire night because she “didn’t feel well.” “I remember.”

“You were flirting with that girl from Virginia Tech.” Paige was the one to look away now. “I remember feeling so irrationally angry. And I couldn’t even be mad, because you looked gorgeous that night. With your black top that I love.” Paige laughed dryly, but there was no humor in her voice. “And I remember thinking, damn, if I were that girl and seen you on the court playing like that, I would’ve flirted with you too. And I think that’s when I realized. That to me, you were more than just my best friend.”

Paige’s words hung in the air between the two of them, the tension almost tangible. Azzi burrowed her chin into her knees. “We fought that night,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“We did.” Paige anxiously rubbed her elbow. “And we got over it, but…”

“We never really did,” Azzi finished.

Both girls were silent.

Paige turned to face Azzi, giving a small smile. “But yesterday, huh?” She waggled her eyebrows obnoxiously. Azzi went to push Paige, but Paige grabbed her wrists instead, pulling her into her body until they were only a couple inches apart. Azzi had never been this close to the blonde before unless you counted her dreams, and it was dizzying, the smell of Paige’s perfume combined with the warming heat of her body.

When Paige’s fingers trailed up her palms, lightly tracing each groove before grazing the skin on her arm, Azzi sucked in a breath. Paige had touched her before. They cuddled almost every night for fuck’s sake. But it was different now, with electricity charging the air between them.

“Do you want this?” As soon as the word yes left Azzi’s mouth, she was pulled onto Paige’s lap, her legs straddling the blonde’s hips. Before she knew it, Paige’s mouth was on hers, soft and gentle, and Azzi realized then that she was fucked. In a split second, she knew that there was no way she’d be able to live without getting to taste Paige’s lips over and over again for the rest of her life, without the feeling of Paige’s teeth nibbling at her bottom lip and Paige sighing into her mouth. It was electrifying and it was thrilling and it was perfect, the way Paige’s lips molded against hers.

Paige suddenly pulled away, wiping at her mouth with a grimace. “I think I taste blood.”

Azzi ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Way to ruin the mood.”

Paige laughed, then pulled Azzi down so that they were lying on the bed, facing each other. “I’m sorry for pulling away. I was just trying to protect myself from falling too hard for you.” Paige’s thumb went to stroke Azzi’s cheek. “But I don’t think it worked anyways.”

Azzi’s breath caught, and she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from smiling too hard. “I don’t blame you. I’m pretty easy to fall in love with.” She expected a quip back, but Paige only stared at her with intensity.

“We’re still best friends, right?” Paige’s voice was small and unsure.

“I’ll die before we stop being best friends,” Azzi assured, pressing her forehead against Paige’s.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

What's Your Favorite Color?

Simon Riley x Reader

Synopsis: After mutual feelings were discovered, you are invited back to Simon's room for some tea.

This is kind of a part 2 to Words of Wisdom, but it can be read on it's own!!

Warnings: SMUT!!! Pure smut, p in v sex, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, creampie. MDNI!!!!!!!!!

A/N: I have some requests I am working on, but as always feel free to send some my way! Thanks for all the support guys! :)

"What’s your favorite color?” You asked as you moved to sit cross-legged on Simon’s bed, taking a sip from the tea he had just made for the two of you.

“I just kissed you, and invited you to my room to drink tea, and that’s the first thing you ask me?” Simon's brows raised slightly, and a smirk started to form on his face.

“What should I be asking you? What’s your shoe size?” You joked, swatting him on the arm playfully.

“Sometimes I do wonder what goes on in that head of yours.” He moved just in time to dodge the second swat from you.

“Right now, I’m just thinking that I’d like to kiss you again.” You admitted meekly, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. 

“What about the tea?” He replied, his smirk growing.

“Screw the tea.” You set yours and his tea on his night stand, and threw yourself into him, placing your lips on his.

“I take my tea very seriously, love.” He deadpanned, pulling away to nip at your chin.

Rolling your eyes, you pulled him down so he was laying over the top of you on his bed. Leaning up to kiss him again, you threaded your fingers through his hair, and pushed down lightly to pull his face closer to yours. Simon groaned at the action, and his hands wandered to lay on your waist giving it a firm squeeze. He let his tongue swipe your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth to allow him access. His tongue slid over yours, massaging the muscle before exploring the rest of your mouth. 

You pulled on his hair, pulling Simon away so you could place a kiss on his Adam's apple. You traced your lips along the side of his neck, nipping at the skin lightly before smoothing your tongue over the skin. You looked at the small bits of purple that were starting to form on his neck and grinned. 

“You’re lucky I can cover these up.” He said looking down at you. The smirk on his face had vanished, and was replaced with something darker.

“Lucky am I? Why’s that? Maybe I wanted people to see those marks.” You chided, leaning back up to kiss him.

“You want marks to show off? I can give you that.” Simon dipped his head down and nipped harshly at your exposed collarbone, licking tantalizingly slow across the broken blood vessels. You moaned at the contact as you returned your hands to his hair and gave it a firm tug.

“Y/N, love. Look at me.” Simon put his finger under your chin to lift your gaze to him. “I don’t want you to feel pressured for this. I need to know this is what you want.”

“Simon, I already told you I have wanted you for years. I think we’ve both waited long enough for this.” You breathed, looking deeply into his dark eyes.

This was all the confirmation he needed, and he met your lips with a new ferocity. The kiss was a clash of teeth and tongue as the two of you tried to pull one another impossibly close.

He returned his lips back to your collarbone, leaving softer bites as he trailed down your shoulder. He lifted you up slightly so that he could remove your shirt. Moving his hands to cup at your breasts through your bra, he kissed the divet between them before shoving his head in between them, licking up and down at the skin there. He reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, freeing your breasts. 

“God, you are so fucking beautiful.” He murmured, throwing your bra to a corner of his room. He dove back in, latching his mouth back onto your hard nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud, while massaging the other breast. You moaned loudly, and arched your back to push yourself closer to him.  He moved to the other breast, continuing the same mouth movements as he had on the other.

You felt yourself growing impossibly wet, and started to whine softly as he moved his mouth slowly down your body. He practically ripped your pants off, and wasted no time in removing your panties either. Looking up at you, the smirk from earlier had returned, before he dove in between your legs. Light kisses were placed on the insides of your thighs, and he moved his face to line up with your heat. He blew air on your cunt, and you couldn’t help the whine that emitted from your lips.

“Simon, please.” you cried out, throwing your head back onto the pillows.

“Please, what? Use your words.” He teased, continuing to blow air on your most sensitive region.

“God please, please put your mouth on me.” You begged, moving your hands back to his hair and tugging harshly.

“Good girl.” He immediately latched his mouth on your clit, and sucked. You moaned his name loudly, and tugged harder on his hair earning a growl from him. He stretched his tongue out, and flicked it back and forth on your bud at a brutal pace. Sensing you were enjoying yourself, he moved his tongue down further, and lapped as much of your juices as he could. 

“God you taste fucking amazing.” He mumbled as he stuck his tongue in your entrance.

To say you were a mess was an understatement. He was tongue fucking you to oblivion, and all you could do was grind your wet pussy against his face. Simon, clearly enjoying your movements, decided to add to your pleasure by adding one of his fingers into your hole, while moving his mouth back to your clit. 

His finger went at a deliciously slow pace, his fingering, mixed with the ministrations of his tongue, had you seeing stars. The sounds that were coming from his mouth were obscene, and you were clearly more wet than you had thought as each time his finger moved in and out of your pussy, the quelching was all that could be heard. 

“Be a good girl and cum in my mouth, yeah?” He asked, moving his mouth to lick up and down the entirety of your heat.You nearly came right there at his words, and moved to grind your pussy even harder against his face. He stuck his tongue back out to flick against your bud as fast as he could, and added a second finger. You felt the coil in your belly snap, your thighs squeezing around his head and you silently screamed, as your first orgasm ripped through you. 

He laid between your legs for a few moments after your high, licking up all you had to offer him. As he pulled away he wiped your mess off his face, a smile growing on his lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that to you.”

It took a moment for you to catch your breath, and when you did, you pushed Simon down so he was lying on his back. Climbing over him, you got to work undressing him. Once his shirt was off, you looked at his chiseled abs, admiring his body. Scars had littered his skin, and you bent down to run your tongue on each one you could find. You could hear his breath hitch as you got closer to the waistband of his bands, and in one solid stroke, they were off.

Seeing the outline of his cock in his boxers, you grew excited. He was bigger than you had expected, which shouldn’t have been surprising to you. You turned your eyes to him with a sultry look, as you slowly peeled off his boxers freeing his cock.

“God you’re so gorgeous Simon.” You cooed, as you dipped your head down to place a kiss on his shaft. Closing your eyes, you grabbed him in your hand and moved to lower your mouth on him, tongue swirling at the precum on his tip.

“Fucking shit.” He growled, his hands coming to tangle in your hair.

You smiled around his cock, and started to bob your head up and down, while running your tongue alongside his shaft. You could fit the majority of him in your mouth, gagging slightly when his tip hit the back of your throat. You continued to deep throat him best you could, while you moved your hands to cup his balls and massage slowly. 

“Oh my go-god. Y/N.” He moaned, as he pushed your head down slightly for you to take more of him in your mouth.

Growing rather confident at how much of a mess you were making of him, you quickened your face, bobbing your head up and down, and allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of your throat each time.You moved your hand to his shaft to cover what you couldnt with your mouth and continued to run your tongue along his shaft with each up and down motion of your mouth.

Simon’s breathing started to quicken, and you could tell he was close. “I’m gonna c-cum.” He groaned, before his dick pulsed in your mouth, painting the back of your throat with ropes of cum.

Pulling yourself away from his cock, you made eye contact with him as you swallowed, and licked your lips. You gave him a devious smile, which in reply he grabbed your waist and threw you back down underneath him.

“You are a fucking minx, do you know that?” 

“Only for you, sir.”

He laughed at that, before bending down to kiss you again. Resting his forehead against yours he kissed your cheek softly as he felt in between you to line himself up with your entrance.

“Let me know if you want to stop.” He looked at you with a serious expression, and you nodded moving up to place your lips on his again.

He pushed his hips forward, and slowly entered you. The two of you moaned loudly, and Simon rested his forehead against yours once more. The stretch was unbearable at first, the burning almost too much for you, as it felt like he was splitting you open.

“Oh my god.” You cried out, your breathing became fast. As the initial pain subsided, you looked to Simon and nodded, giving him the okay to move.

He pushed all the way in, before pulling back out completley. You looked at him and were about to make a comment before he smirked, and thrusted back into you fully, filling you completely. You gasped and your arms flew around his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

He started at a slow pace, and looked down in between the two of you to see your pussy swallowing his length whole. He grew addicted to the sight and slowly started to pick up the pace, never taking his eyes away, until he heard a squeak come from you.

Wanting a deeper angle, he lifted your legs, and pushed them as far as he could toward you. Simon nearly came at the sight of the bulge that was now evident in your stomach from him.

His pace quickened, and all that could be heard was the slap of skin against skin, and the wetness of your pussy. 

His pace was brutal. The sounds of your moans filled the room, and you could hardly catch your breath. It seemed there was no end to Simon's stamina as he relentlessly pounded into you.

“S-Simon, let me ride y-you please.” You begged, placing your hands against his chest. When he stopped his movements, you moved to flip the two of you around, and sank down on his cock. 

“Fuck, I could die in this moment and be the happiest I’ve ever been” He groaned, throwing his head back on the pillows.

Smiling to yourself, you began to move your hips slowly, teasing him. He reached up to grab one of your nipples and pinched it hard. You squealed at the motion and started to bounce up and down on his cock. Trying to get a better angle, you leaned back slightly and laid your hands on his thighs behind you. Simon moved his hand to your heat, and he used the pad of his thumb to circle your clit. You moaned loudly, and your hand flew to one of your breasts to play with the flesh there.

The sight was glorious for Simon, watching you ride him, while your tits bounced, he was so close to his second orgasm. He leaned up and pulled you close to him, shoving his face into your tits while running his hands alongside your back.

“Fuck baby, I’m almost there cum with me.” He begged, thrusting his hips up to meet yours. 

You cried out as his cock hit just the right angle, and your second orgasm of the night hit you. His grip on your back tightened, as your pussy squeezed him just hard enough to trigger his own high. He groaned loudly as his cock pulsed inside you, painting the inside of your walls with his cum.

The two of you sat like that for a while, breathless and staring into each other's eyes. A small smile formed on his face as he leaned forward to place his lips on yours. “Hate that I could’ve had you for years now. I was a fool to not say anything sooner.” He admitted, kissing your nose.

“Makes two of us, but we are here now.” You moved your hand to stroke his cheek softly.

“That we are. Let me go get something to clean us up, yeah?” He stood, placing you back on the bed as he went to go get a cloth to clean you.

Later that night after another round of tea, you felt yourself growing tired. You moved to go grab your shirt, to which Simon batted your hand away. “None of that, you’re staying here tonight.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to overstep.” You said sheepishly. You were worried that Simon may have not wanted you to spend the night. This was so new for the both of you, and you were worried about doing something to push Simon away.

“Think we are past that, love. You’re mine now. Now get back in that bed, and let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

As you laid in bed with you being held close to Simon, he was stroking your hair softly. You could feel yourself drifting off to sleep before you heard him mutter, “Green”

“Sorry?”

“My favorite color, it’s green.”

You bit back a smile before placing a light kiss on the hand that was wrapped around you.

The two of you had gotten the best sleep that night that either of you had gotten in years.

-------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Second time writing smut so still trying to figure out my writing. Hopefully you guys enjoyed this!!! :)

[steam-beasts]

This is not my body - short story

- Thomas -

Thomas never asked for this. He never wanted this. The day he got infected by that damn coal, he just wanted it to be a normal illness

Dear Lady above, why did it have to be like this??

As he rested in the Ffarqhuarr sheds, in his humanoid form, he curled up tighter and whimpered. He didn't blame the controller for this, he couldn't ever have known. He didn't blame Lady for this. He didn't really blame anyone for this. But he sometimes just hated it in secret. As he dug his nails into his biceps, still to this day, it felt unfamiliar.

No matter what, he was still a locomotive. A sentient machine, way down inside. But lingering, way down inside, this didn't feel like his body.

- Edward -

Edward was fine with this body.

He didn't mind it, really. When he first got it, he was admittedly quite stressed out about it. The itchy fur, the heavy cumbersome limbs. It was a nightmare. He had seen a lot of things through the years; engines being sent for scrap heap, intense, almost fatal crashes, and having to watch as humans he knew grow old and weak, and he would always outlive them.

It was mostly quite sad. But Edward learned to get over it. He had been humbled through his years, gaining wisdom and passing it down to the younger engines. He was always calm about it, calm and collected.

But the infection did something to him. Not just mentally, but physically.

Instead of sky blue wheels that rolled along the rails, he had thundering, monsterous paws. Claws that can tear through flesh with utter ease, and sharp teeth that can sink into prey. He, like the others, couldn't control himself.

He hurt people. Killed people. Ate people. Was he calm and collected after that? No. Admittedly, the fact he did and can do such things, the bloodlust, it made him a little bit looney. Edward found himself more pulled towards the horror genres. An effect of being a blood-hungry beast, the old engine had to guess. Edward was a machine deep inside. A product of Lady and mankind. Even with these new feelings, that's what he'd always be, no matter how much this damned curse warped his body.

Did he hate it? No.

...he just didn't like it.

- James -

James stared in the small window. He admired himself, with horror, fascination and a bit of sadness. He looked splendid! As splendid as ever! His fur was fluffy and perfect, his claws were lovely, perfectly sharpened and red. He was splendid...he HAD to be. Right?

It took a lot of work to get here: he had to get painfully sick and puke his boiler pipes out nearly every night, then came the horrid, agonising sensation of his chassis peeling off. Beautiful, beautiful red blood smothered the place around him. Yes, he was screaming to the high heavens, screaming his breath away as the rails were painted in many shades of red. But it was of happiness, totally happiness. He was even more amazing than ever.

At first, he absolutely hated it, when he came to his senses after a while, he would rip out the grey fur that covered most his body. He'd whine, he'd hurt himself, he'd cry and sob. He felt like a giant, ugly rat, parading as a steam engine. As he sat there, staring into the window, his eye shadow was running. He didn't even notice he was silently crying. He was splendid. He was a splendid engine.

But deep down inside, he knew he was a freak. He grew more obsessed with his looks, in order to not be seen as a freak, James would pamper himself, make himself as splendid as possible.

James wanted to love it. But way down inside...he hated it.

[milimeters-morales]

i like think of the other aspects of having powers/side effects like spidey (specifically a metabolism as fast as theirs) because it’s just so fun. you can go the spider-first route, where you consider what an irl spider does before you try to apply it to a human and work it into the metabolism, or you can go the power-first route, where you consider what such an enhanced metabolism implies about the rest of spidey’s body and then work it into a spider’s irl behaviors to try and tie that together. you can end up with “irl spiders can last for weeks without food so spidey will still experience all the side effects of not eating for a long time but delayed a week or two later than a normal human” or you can end up with “spidey needs to eat almost constantly but their diet is partially blended foods because the constant eating would make them sick, also irl spiders don’t eat food whole” stuff like that is my bread and butter.

sometimes i try to think of how the smaller stuff is changed too like how fast does spidey’s hair grow now? i know accelerated aging isn’t a power but if a height change is a side effect of the bite, then if one didn’t have their wisdom teeth growing in before the bite, does that mean the teeth will grow in quicker (more pain) and need to be removed way earlier than expected? what about fingernail growth? the heart’s obviously stronger, but does that mean it’s also got to have more of an electrical output, and would also need way more of an input from a defibrillator if it stops??? what if it stops while out as a civilian, and the paramedics don’t know if they should go higher and risk killing an (what they think is) average human???

There’s just so many ways to explore side effects, like maybe spidey needs to drink a lot of coffee to feel any side effect bc of a fast metabolism, but is that the only change, or is the side effect (once there’s enough caffeine) always going to be them being extremely disorientated and sometimes shooting webs in awkward/useless spots???? just so much to consider ^3^

[aemonds-favorite-rider]

Their Delight.

(a/n i smoked a little weed and thought about this for quite a bit. skipped pen to paper and just went straight this. Alternate Universe where you are Rhaenyra's first born daughter before Jacaerys. also don't come at me about their accurate ages. as usual, everyone's 'legal' aged)

There was no greater celebration than when Princess Rhaenerya Targaryen safely delivered a healthy daughter. Everyone was smitten with the cooing little baby. Despite being born with dark head of curls as opposed to the Silver Targaryen and Valyrian hair, people could not help but grow to adore the little Princess (Y/N). Even now, as a young woman almost grown, Princess (Y/n) was poised with grace and wisdom. Ever the cheeky of course and she was not to be messed with, her attitude when provoked rivaled scathing fire from any dragon in the realms. Her beauty unmatched according to most talks of anybody. Small folk, Kingsguard, even her own family constantly speak of her beauty and charm.

So it would come as no surprise when her own uncles became enamored with their sweet little niece. Bastard or not, they both were unreasonably smitten, Aegon being two years her senior and Aemond a year your junior with her being Helaenas age, although now one and nine. She sat atop the Iron Throne presently. Her lips stretched into a polite smile as she listen to yet another small houses proposal.

"Thank you, Lord Tully, for such a generous marriage proposal." (Y/n) responds sweetly, her voice dripping honey practically. "I will need time to consider such an offer." She gives a default response, the same response she had given the several before him, and several after him. The man bows deeply with a hopeful grin on his face before heading towards the door. Leaving (Y/n) to exhale tiredly as she speaks through her teeth. "And next would be...?" The tiredness in her tone cannot be mistake before her now stepfather and uncle Daemon speaks with a chuckle. "Perhaps a break?" he suggests as she smiles appreciatively up at him. Not needing further invitation and she stands before leaving for the gardens. Reveling in the moment by herself in such a peaceful setting.

Aegon, however, watches her carefully as he chomps on an apple messily. Swallowing a bite before setting the apple on the stone railing before falling in stride next to you.

"Well, if it isn't the little realms delight." he teases playfully as he stare at you with a lopsided smirk. "You look ravishing today, you know niece?" He flirts shamelessly as he looks you up and down. (Y/n) can't help the chuckle that escapes at yet another one of her Uncles reckless attempts of flirting, going to speak before a cool yet dark voice speaks from the other side of her

"That is a big word for you Aegon. Where would you have learned such lexicon?" Aemond speaks with a smirk as his brothers face falls into a scowl. "Perhaps you heard it used in one of the brothels you visit?" Aemond suggests as you bite back a laugh. If looks could kill, you wouldn't wish to be Aemond Targaryen with the way his brothers eyes fill with absolute anger.

"Perhaps it's best if-"

"How is Madam Sylvi these days, Aemond? See i have cut back quite a bit on my visits...but i hear the same cannot be said of you." Aegon quips back. The princess between them both stops walking, causing the bickering prince's to do the same. Sighing heavily as she realizes they were going to argue over her once more.

'Flattering, truly' she thinks to herself as her eyes dart back and forth between them both as they begin to heatedly exchange insults. The princess takes the moment to study each brother.

She studies the way Aegon's full lips twitch in anger. His hands animatedly flying around as his skin grows red while he speaks defensively. A vein ever present in his neck that leaves her flushed. Her eyes darting over to take in Aemond's cool and casual demeanor. His sharp jaw clenched as he spews casual insults and jabs.

"Excuse me?" She calls out as she holds up a hand to stop them both. "If I may?" she sasses slightly with a lopsided cheeky grin. Leaving both brothers to freeze, Aegon in frustration and Aemond in an embarrassment. Having both lost their cool in front of you before you speak again. "You know...the betrothals are a formality...Targaryen customs and all." She speaks calmly before biting her lip.

"You both have been fighting for my affection since childhood you know. I have taken notice you know. I am to wed one of you, which is not something I wish to do." She utters, causing both brothers to deflate visibly. A slow smirk spreading onto her face before speaking. "I mean after all, Aegon the Conqueror had two wives...who says i cannot have two husbands?" she state simply before turning on her heel. Leaving both brothers to stand in shock as their hearts practically explode. Warmth rising to Aemonds cheeks as he picks up his slackened jaw before turning to his brother. Aegon's awestruck grin, and obvious arousal at your boldness stands frozen in the hallway.

"A delight indeed." He giggles as Aemond and him watch your retreating figure head back into the throne room. Aemond swallows hard before nodding in agreement.

[idalenn]

Day 1 - Steer

Aftermath of the Crystal Tower. Alphinaud learns from a true businessman. (A Realm Reborn)

Full text below the cut if you'd rather read it on Tumblr instead of Ao3.

“And of the boy – were you successful locating his next of kin?”

“The documents provided by NOAH were bereft of evidence related to his origins. Unofficially, we’ve heard claims he may have familial ties within the Corvosi of southeastern Ilsabard.” The Elezen woman tapped a quill to the open, hide-backed volume in her hands. “But we are unable to confirm their validity at this time. It remains hearsay.”

“Then our efforts must be concentrated in a more scholarly direction. We cannot simply shrug our shoulders when it comes to Sharlayan. Having the loss of their pupil go unrecognized, or worse – underappreciated – will impact future endeavors. Reparations will soften the blow and secure fertile grounds for tilling.” With his own writing tool, edges leafed in gold and tipped with a brilliant ruby, Lolorito scratched his final signature onto the treaty.

A click of the inlaid jewel sent the tool’s end retreating into itself. Black ink dripped from the hole; blood from an open wound. One quick swipe with cloth made of finer material than Lillian would ever own picked it up without a trace left behind. Lolorito curtly tossed the cloth back among the ink pots. “A veritable drop in the ocean of spoils we’ve earned this day, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lillian felt a veritable ocean of sweat growing in her boots. Devoid of windows or any sort of opening to the outside save the single door combined with an abundance of crystal-lit lanterns, the Monetarist’s chamber buffered her and Alphinaud with a furnace’s heat. Even wearing gloves she feared taking the document in hand and drenching their hard work. The scars across her face ached under the pressure.

“Adamantite. Allagan technology. Wisdom beyond measure and reach, and beyond price some might claim, but there will be a price, and as sole owner of that crystal tower, the price shall be any figure negotiable.” The Lalafell chuckled to himself as he sealed the treaty with wax and sigil before sliding it across the desk. “And this is just the beginning. I know our contract was only for the tower’s acquisition, but I have grand plans in motion for future expansion, and you’re just the two to help see them bear fruit.” He spread his arms wide as though welcoming them into his embrace. “Care to stay for a time?”

Another cramp ran through Lillian’s leg. The chairs they sat in were perfectly Lalafell sized, undoubtedly Lolorito’s primary audience, but less so for the snow-haired Elezen child across from him, and unbearably small for the Miqo’te dwarfing every other soul in the room, whose legs were forcibly kept at such an angle between chair and desk that, if this meeting continued much longer, were liable to fall off.

“Other business calls.” She said.

“Of course. Scions and governments running you ragged must come first, but forget not my offer. And you, Master Alphinaud? From your quiet I must believe in some thought being given.”

Alphinaud took the treaty in a shaking hand. “Your assistance to the Crystal Braves is greatly appreciated, Lord Lolorito. If I may, I have but one more question, and after we’ll be on our way.”

“Then I take it you need time to consider.” Lolortio stroked his goatee, smiling with brilliant white teeth. The mask made interpreting his expression impossible. To Lillian it appeared a predator’s grin. “Very well. The floor is yours, my boy.”

“Care to share the details on how you intend to move forward? Specifically, I wish to know how you will honor the loss of G’raha Tia, without whom this endeavor would have ended in failure.” The Elezen aide narrowed her eyes. Lolorito’s smile never dropped an ilm.

“For effort contributed, I suppose you can be trusted with particulars. I am nothing if not fair, as Nald’Thal demands.” One of the lanterns flickered, and a glint off a gold-plated scale on the Lalafell’s desk caught Lillian’s attention. “G’raha Tia has no will, no family of note who can be contacted or given payment, and represents no organization outside of one within Sharlayan. Any and all possessions within NOAH’s hands will be returned to that organization. His share will, of course, be divided amongst all hired.

“Sharlayan will receive a lump sum of gil in an amount yet to be determined but no less than two hundred thousand. That previously mentioned organization will also partake of a sizable donation. Ah, but this name eludes me.” He snapped his fingers rapidly as if trying to light a spark. “I’m sure it began with ‘students’ something or other… the students of…”

“Baldesion.” Alphinaud finished through gritted teeth.

“It is refreshing, Master Alphinaud, to meet another so untrained in subtleties and be reminded I am not so alone in this world. As someone eyeing to hold a position of political power in our realm, you would do well to either hone a silver tongue or abandon all pretense of furthering your cause with it.”

“You only saw our friend as numbers to be counted!”

“Absolutely! Much in the same way you yourself only see the Syndicate in measures of usefulness and value to your coffers. Life is a series of numbers! You sought profits as well as I, my boy, and in doing so one must on occasion plan for declines. All gathered in this room have value, and all will be made equal should misfortune come to pass.”

Lolorito leaned forward over the desk, his hands folded together in a wall from which atop he stood a giant before Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light. “You captain an uncertain ship, Master Alphinaud, and unless you wish your company dashed amongst the rocks, you had best learn to steer.”

[oneatlatime]

More Zuko Alone Thoughts

Last season our expository Zuko episode was The Storm, an episode which I loved. It was both a well-written and well-animated piece of media, and enthralling to watch. I don't want to say enjoyable because of the subject matter discussed, but it was certainly good.

This season's expository Zuko episode was Zuko Alone, and I didn't like it. Although it was animated fantastically, I found the characterisation of Zuko in the present day sections to be completely off. I found it embarrassing, awkward, and frustrating to watch. Now, I've seen the rating this episode has on IMDb, so I know this is just my opinion, and a fairly unpopular one at that. I'm also aware that I'm biased because Zuko is not my favourite character. But I want to explore why, in my opinion, The Storm stuck the landing while Zuko Alone flubbed it.

Here's what I think is the main reason: The Storm is Aang's story about his past, juxtaposed with Iroh's story about Zuko's past. Aang and Iroh are our storytellers; Aang and Zuko are the stories being told.

Zuko Alone is Zuko's story of the present, being experienced through Zuko's perspective, juxtaposed with Zuko's story in the past, being experienced through Zuko's memories. It's too much Zuko, and unlike the characters in The Storm, Zuko has no idea what's going on.

Despite his flightiness and inability to take things seriously, Aang is perceptive, socially and emotionally intelligent (as much as a 12 year old can be), and able to be subtle when the situation calls for it. Look at The Great Divide: as soon as he had the appropriate backstory info, he saw right to the heart of the conflict, he saw that it was stupid as Hell, and he saw and successfully executed a way to fix it that relied entirely on an accurate assessment of all involved parties' stances. And it worked.

Iroh has easily the highest perception stat in the whole show, when he isn't being deliberately obtuse. His wisdom is off the charts, if his one liners are anything to go by.

So despite some very (very) notable differences, Aang and Iroh have similarities in their personalities and their perspectives, and importantly for this post, in their self-knowledge.

Then we get Zuko, who has the perceptiveness and subtlety of a mud brick to the teeth, all the wisdom of a bandaid wrapper, and the social and emotional intelligence of something that starts to grow in your sink when it's been too long since you did the dishes.

Aand and Iroh can see the themes, lessons, mistakes, and places for improvement in the stories they're telling, about themselves and others. Zuko is stumbling through both his past and his present. The Storm is compelling because the audience gets to simultaneously learn expository detail and watch Aang and Iroh go through a process of self-analysis, recrimination, and commitment to doing better. It's an info dump with a hefty dose of character building on the side.

Zuko in Zuko Alone is a dumbass blindly stumbling into the same mistakes we've already seen him make, learning nothing in the process (that I could detect - maybe he'll run into the family's older brother in a few episodes and work up the courage to save him based on what he learned during his time with that family, who knows). Zuko has been trained to be a fighter, not a person, so of course he's going to fail at the 'soft skills' parts of being human. So Zuko needs someone with him to do/model that soft skills work until he learns how to do it for himself. But Zuko is alone in Zuko Alone, so the character development that could have happened doesn't.

I don't need morals and themes explicitly spelled out in the narrative; I'm fine with subtext. But Zuko in Zuko Alone so thoroughly misses what's going on in the episode that it's annoying to watch. And there's no indication at the end of the episode that he's learned anything from having missed those things. There's no indication that he's aware that there was anything to miss.

In The Storm, Aang has Katara to bounce off of and help talk him through his story. Iroh's wise enough not to need a foil, but he does have the ship's crew, both as a reason to tell the story and as an audience to play off of. Heck, in Bato of the Water Tribe, Sokka has Bato giving the speech about the lonely wolf to help him understand the point Sokka's dad was trying to make in the flashback, and avoid the wrong course of action (leaving Aang behind). Aang moves on from self-recrimination and Iroh has won back Zuko's crew's loyalty at the end of The Storm; Sokka has finally understood 'being a man means being where you're needed the most' by the end of Bato of the Water Tribe. But Zuko is alone by choice in Zuko Alone, so he finishes the episode exactly where he started, his mother's last words entirely misinterpreted. No wiser, probably unable to even articulate where he went wrong beyond fire = bad in this context.

There seems to be a theme in this show of the necessity of friends and family networks and support. Aang (with Katara's help), Iroh (with the crew as audience and motivator), Sokka (with Bato's help), all come to better understandings of their responsibilities and/or their mistakes by working things out with the help of at least one other person. Zuko ditches Iroh to play at being a lone wolf and fails in a way that's frankly embarrassing to watch.

So the reason I don't like Zuko Alone is that he's doomed to fail from the start. Zuko is (trying to) go about his character development in a way this show has already showed us is opposite to how it should be done. I'm not fond of 'doomed from the start' narratives as a general rule, mostly because to me they feel like a bad investment. If you know it's all going to end badly (because it started wrong), then why bother committing the time and effort the narrative asks of you? (She says, having read The Silmarillion twice).

So if I became Queen of the world tomorrow and decreed that Zuko Alone needed to be changed to fit my personal tastes, how would I do it? The obvious answer is to shove Iroh in there, but it probably wouldn't work anyway, because Zuko is not showing any signs of being ready to listen - REALLY LISTEN - to those wiser than him. I'm not sure if he's even ready to admit yet that there are people who ARE wiser than him. He's already admitted that there are people with more martial prowess than him, like his sister, but I don't think Zuko actually values wisdom enough to see its worth. So it's probably not even on his radar. If Iroh's presence wouldn't work, what about having a removed narrator, like Iroh did for Zuko's story in The Storm? A narrator who is not as thoroughly blind to what's going on in the past and the present as Zuko. Maybe a single episode character, who tells the story of that time a stranger came to town? That might work. It would fit with the genre this episode is paying homage to. Or you could have an interesting juxtaposition, where the narrator character is not omniscient, narrating the present only, and Zuko is completely alone during the flashback bits. That would probably lead to Zuko making the same mistakes anyway, since it's really his past that he needs to work through.

Or maybe I'm reading way too much into this and I just don't like Zuko enough as a character to like a Zuko-centric story, no matter how it's told. Or maybe 24 minutes of second-hand embarrassment is 24 too many for me. At least he's keeping Song's horse bird fed.

[creativenicocorner]

Hello! I'm really curious what Starry Starry Night is about?

♡(o˘◡˘o) Thank you so much @disorganised-thoughtss for asking! ♡

This is another fic I'm excited to sink my teeth into when I get the chance!

"Starry Starry Night" is heavily inspired by the manga Insomniacs After School by Makoto Ojiro.

I plan on having it be very Tome centric, taking place nearly directly after the events of the Reigen Manga. As a result of Rusty-chan, the forest, and Roshūto, Tome develops a really bad case of insomnia and really struggles to sleep. Making her snap a little more than usual, and causing a bit of growing pains in terms of inserting herself into Spirits and Such.

The following is a super rough bit of back and forth during some brainstorming. I'm always fascinated by the thought of either Tome or Teruki feeling ... complicated feelings as (what they feel to be but aren't) 'replacements'.

Idk I'm not married to this bad and forth, but I think some version of this will perhaps exist in the finished product:

"I know why you really don’t want me here.” “Yeah?” Challenged Reigen, matching jeering tone with jeering tone. And then Tome straightened, right and serious and deftly to the point in the only way teenagers can: Terrifyingly. “You’re just mad I’m here instead of Shigeo." A fiery whine tinged her voice with emotion. Tome hated it, hated how her eyes felt prickly with potential tears. "You wish he were here, instead of me.” Reigen’s eyes widened, then he looked away, unable to meet Tome’s challenging eyes. Mostly because, in that moment, he was too ashamed. Dreadfully so. She was right…in a small sense. He did miss Mob, but he had grown, and that's okay. Reigen just didn't realize how much he'd miss him until the moment Tome pointed it out. And it made him feel wretched. He had no idea Tome felt this way... did Teruki as well? Or any of the other gaggle of teens? Reigen took a measured breath while Tome pointed at the act as if exposing condemning evidence. "See!" Tome continued her jabbing motion. "I knew it!" Serizawa looked between the pair of them, unsure how to help. A growing silence was filling the restaurant as fellow patrons turned to watch the scene in curiosity. Reigen and Tome ignored them. "Alright," said Reigen, resigned, and painfully honest, "…yes." "HAH!" Tome jumped, and nearly caused the table in their booth to jolt. "I do miss him," continued Reigen, ignoring her interruption. "But that doesn't mean I expect you to replace him. You're your own person Tome, and he is his own person. No one can replace another. People aren't things, it doesn't work like that. Which means you are irreplaceable in your own right, Tome-chan." The dagger straight point of Tome's index finger transformed slowly into something less sharp. Serizawa smiled, and politely passed Tome a tissue. With fumbling hands she accepted Serizawa's tissue gratefully. Then looked away from Reigen's knowing look, "shut up." Reigen nodded. "Allergies, huh?" "Whatever." Reigen and Serizawa shared a smile. Over the sounds of Tome blowing her nose, Serizawa said cheerfully, "I wonder what they have to offer for dessert."

Anywho... Instead of sitting around at home, staring at the ceiling waiting for a sleep that won't come, Tome starts spending her nights wandering Seasoning City alone which is interesting, until not safe/risk of getting caught by a bicycle cop.

During one of her nightly escapades she runs into Takenaka (who struggles with insomnia for different reasons. Wanting to take advantage of the night as one of the few times the world is a little quieter for the telepath. Making it one of the few times he doesn't need to use his headphones). Shenanigans ensue, but also a far deeper friendship than before.

One night they stumbles across Reigen as well, (likewise still experiencing after effects of dealing with Rusty), but his insomnia is something he had been dealing with since before dealing with Rusty. Words of wisdom etc and encouragement for Tome to learn astronomy. Among other Tome and Reigen shenanigans as I love them as a bombastic chaotic duo.

Somewhere down the line Tome manages to convince Reigen to chaperone for school sanctioned nightly escapades for night time photography.

Serirei things happen in the background, sometimes mirroring Tome's own navigations of the heart (she WILL be a disaster bisexual because I DO make the rules of this fic haha). And perhaps exploring what it is like to be in a fresh new relationship with each other (serirei)?

And uh, yeah! I have a very vague idea, but a barely there outline, and am filled with vibes. I'm very excited for this concept though! I think Tome developing a love for astronomy and star gazing feels completely natural considering her love of aliens. And yeah, I want to see more Tome and Reigen scenarios/shenanigans, as well as explore her relationship with Takenaka more

We'll see how these vibes grow haha

(♡˙︶˙♡)Thank you so much again for the ask!!

[adrift-in-thyme]

Odysseus and Telemachus w/ “Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”?

Thx for the request!!

CW for descriptions of past death, blood, and injury

———————————-

Odysseus is not a naive man.

As he fought his way across ruthless waters, he had not dared to think that a homecoming to his beloved Ithaca would rid him of the violent echoes in his ears. The sounds of friends crying out in anger and fear and desperation.

Crying out for him to save them. 

He had been right not to hope. Even now, months after he awoke on shores so unfamiliar they had grown foreign, they scream.

Often, he bears them. Often, when they howl in the darkest part of the night, and Penelope’s arms encircle him, a shield in their wake, he can stand to remain still. Allow them to wash over him and leave.

But other nights he is too silent in his agony, Penelope’s exhaustion too heavy. And he cannot stand to lie beside her, his heaving gasps growing louder until they are bound to disturb her rest.

Many years she has spent in anguish, many nights she has passed without slumber. Because of him.

He will not entertain the thought of causing more. Not if he can help it.

So, out he goes on feet as silent as he can make them. He slips from their bed, pulling his robes around his shoulders. Like a wraith, he travels to the gardens. 

That is where he sits now. The stone of the bench he rests upon is cold. That is good. It keeps him alert.

The wood in his hands is still an indiscernible shape. His whittling knife has neglected to form it into something lovely. He does not truly see the slow work he makes of it. Flashes of crimson are what dance before his eyes, jerking like the desperate forms of the guilty, dangling like puppets. 

Broken bodies, smoldering remains, feral teeth gnawing on the forms of men he loved as his own brothers.

A bubble of blood forms on his thumb. It seeps into the wood before he can stop it. 

Odysseus curses, softly. He feels nauseous. 

“Father?”

He startles. Telemachus has snuck up on him, it seems, while he allowed his thoughts to enshroud him.

Sharp eyes — just like Penelope’s — gaze upon him from the shadows. Telemachus walks out of the cover of the palace walls, still wiping slumber from his face. 

“What are you doing out here so late?”

Odysseus pats the bench. Telemachus eases down beside him, frowning.

“Please tell me you aren’t thinking what I think you are thinking?”

The war-scarred king chuckles. There is little humor in it. 

“You are as perceptive as ever, my son,” he murmurs. “The dead exact a heavy toll. But it is their due. We must remember them. We must breathe their names so that none forget them.” 

“Of course.” Telemachus’ smile is soft. 

Every day, he sees more of his mother in his face, his movements and mannerisms, his maturity. Odysseus is glad of it. He does not wish to see too much of himself in his son. Perhaps, if he has inherited Penelope’s grace and wit, he can be kept from making the many mistakes that Odysseus has. 

“But, Father,” he begins, now, “allow me to share some wisdom, if I may. It is that which Mother imparted to me when I would lose myself in ruminations over what terrible fate had befallen you.

“Your friends wish for you to remember them through tales of their bravery and glory. They wish you to recall them, if you can, as they were when they were whole and healthy. They do not want their final moments to be the only thing painted vividly in your mind’s eye.”

Odysseus looks down at his hands. Calloused and scarred, the only tales he can see upon their weathered surface are those of pain.

Telemachus is gazing at the sky, face tipped back to be graced by the gentle twinkling of stars and glow of the moon.

“Mother told me all about you when I was young. About your courage and wits, your strength and prowess. And — ” He sends his father a grin — “about your faults as well. I would not have had a full picture had she not painted one of a man of strength and weakness.”

“And that picture — faulty though it may have been, in parts — is what you held to?” Odysseus says, soft and teasing. 

He dredges up a smile now, wraps an arm around Telemachus’ shoulders. The ability to not only sit beside his son and converse with him, but to touch him, to hold him, is still a thing that fills him with awe. 

Telemachus leans into him. He rests his head on his father’s shoulder. 

“Yes. The man I knew you to be, the woman my mother is, are the things that allowed me to persist while those monsters invaded our home. They are what made me who I am today.”

“Well, then.” Odysseus’ smile grows and it softens as it does so. “I suppose, in my absence, I did something right. Though, I will not even begin to try and take credit for the man I have seen that you are. I am proud of you, Telemachus. You are a far greater man than I have ever been.”

“That is a great compliment,” Telemachus says, leaning closer. The two men gaze up at the sky together, unhindered in this precious, small moment, by the ghosts of their pasts. They have crept to the corners now, banished from the forefronts of tired minds.

“For you are a man I could never cease to be proud to call my father.”

[stephsageek]

I have COVID. Enjoy my barely coherent Five x Lila writings I've been doing:

Excerpt from Chapter 3: Eight Months, Two Weeks, and 4 Days: December 17th, 2019 (Five's POV):

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Hargreeves for coming,” a matronly woman greeted as she stood up from her secretarial desk.

Lila smiled graciously, shaking the woman’s proffered hand.

“Not at all. Anything for my precious baby brother.”

Lila glanced over just in time to watch Five’s eye twitch from where he was slumped, seething, in a chair just outside the principal’s office. He’d already had his thorough ‘dressing down,’ and was more than ready to leave

His clothes were rumpled, and he hadn’t bothered to wipe the blood that dripped from his nose. His mouth twisted in barely restrained irritation as he scowled at nothing in particular.

Several chairs over sat another boy much bigger than Five.

He looked decidedly sullen, what with his torn letterman jacket, two black eyes, a broken nose, a split lip, a patch of hair missing, and two wrists that sat in awkward angles while a paramedic fussed over him.

Five gave him a slow reptilian grin when their eyes met, and the boy hurriedly looked away, shifting his entire body as far away from Five as he could.

Five couldn’t quite recall the boy’s name—Skylar? Tyler? —he was sure it was something irritating.

Five had caught him bullying another student, taking the braces she needed for walking and holding them above his head. He remembered Diego once doing something similar to Viktor when they were eleven.

Five had been less than amused by his antics; much less how he’d suckered punched Five for trying to break it up.

At least it wasn’t a teacher that had crossed Five this time.

That History teacher at his last school had been way too handsy with her students and had been less than responsive to Five’s warnings against the wisdom of such improprieties. It had unpleasantly reminded Five of the Handler.

Shitty public school system letting in any yahoo off the streets.

“Just sign here and you can take him home,” the woman explained, picking up a clipboard from her desk.

Lila jotted down several signatures for Five’s withdrawal, occasionally glancing over at him, and putting on an exaggerated air of disappointment. Five rolled his eyes each time. He was unsure of who’s benefit it was for.

“All right. Everything looks to be in order,” the woman announced as she picked up the clipboard and flipped through a few pages. She gave Five a stern look of reprimand before saying, “You can both go,” her tone conveying that it was mostly Five to whom she was referring.

Five stood, gritting his teeth, and roughly grabbed a backpack. He headed out the front doors without so much as a look back.

“Thank you, Mrs. Capwell. I’ll be sure to contact his social worker,” Lila hurriedly thanked the other woman before hustling after him.

“You need to stay out of trouble young man! You’re running out of chances!” the older woman harshly called out to his retreating back, her voice growing distant as he sped away.

Lila found him already standing before Wanda, his posture impatient and angry.

Lila unlocked the driver’s door and disengaged the locks. She shifted uncomfortably, trying her best to make room for her distended belly.

“So, another bust then?” Lila remarked casually as she slid herself behind the wheel.

“I’ve had it!” Five burst out from the passenger’s seat. “I don’t care what deal I made with Viktor. This is it! I tried regular school—it is not working!” he bit out harshly. He looked over at the way Lila shifted uncomfortably, trying to make room for her distended belly while still being able to somehow reach the peddles. Five sighed, roughly opening his door and all but stomping over to her side and yanking the door open.

He was not doing this for her.

He just hated sitting there watching her shift around lollygagging. It pissed him off.

He took hold of Lila’s wrist pulling her from the driver’s seat and onto the asphalt.

“Oi! Wha—”

“I’m driving!” he snapped, taking the keys from her hand and pushing her by the small of her back over to the side he had just left. He made sure not to be too rough as he hustled her along impatiently.

Lila huffed in annoyance, but once she was settled, she looked undeniably more comfortable.

Five roughly swiped at the blood on his face as he checked his mirrors, preparing to leave.

Lila frowned as she took in his frustration.

“So,” she drew the word out, “Why me?” she questioned once the car was in motion.

“What do you mean?” Five bit out, to which Lila rolled her eyes at his attempt to be obtuse. He hated that it rarely worked with her. She was much more stubborn than the rest of his family.

“You know exactly what I mean, Five! Why me and no-not Viktor? O-or any of your other brothers? Hell, even Allison—?”

“You know why,” he muttered.

[scentedpeachlandcreator]

Hey, so I really really really really need ur help. 🥺

So for a little while now I been manifesting straight teeth and getting rid of my wisdom teeth without having to go through surgery.

So I’ve been doing the usual like affirming, ignore/ dismissing the 3d, visualizing/imagining. I think I had used the list method where I wrote down all the things I wanted for my teeth and I’ve been using one affirmation to get me that stuff. (My affirmation: my teeth are so perfect )

But ever since I started it’s def been a struggle.

For whatever reason while I’m trying to imagine my teeth being straight in my imaginal act I can only see and feel my crooked teeth bc that what I know lol idk what straight teeth feel like to me. (I hope that made sense lol)

Also when I start affirming or imagining, a few days later my teeth will start to hurt or bother me more than what they were previously which is very frustrating. This sucks bc I’m basically getting reminded that I don’t have straight teeth. 😭

I’m really trying my best to ignore/ dismissing the 3d but it’s been so difficult since I can feel my crooked teeth, I can feel my wisdom teeth growing in, and I can feel and see that my other teeth are shifting around from my wisdom teeth growing in. It’s sorta getting to the point where it’s getting hard to close my mouth since my teeth are getting in the way.

I try my best not to touch or feel my teeth bc I don’t want neg thoughts to pop up. So I just try to ignore them all together but then something will pop up to remind me that I’m not where I wanna be with my progress.

I really don’t wanna have to go to a dentist cuz I have a big fear. I had a bad experience at the dentist and now i don’t ever wanna go back. Every time I think of going to the dentist it makes me panic. So that why I’m tryna manifest everything in my mouth to be perfect so I won’t have to go and deal with that.

Plz plz plz help me out here. I need advice😭🙏. I need a solution, I need to know what I’m doing wrong so I can fix it. I don’t usually see success stories on getting straight teeth so I just need sum help with this 😭🙏

Tysm ❤️and so Srry this is so long 💀

Hello dear!

The problem is that you're repeating the old story without you realizing it, if you had perfect teeth, would you be looking for it in the 3d? Will you panic? Check results? No of course.

No matter what happens in the 3d doesn't matter, your subconscious doesn't know what Happening in the 3d until you tell it to.

Instead of saying that this doesn't work and that your teeth aren't changing, be like "oh! I forgot that i have perfect teeth".

Talk about like it is something normal to talk about.

If you notice yourself going back to repeating the old story or spiralling, affirm "it is done, i already have it".

Remind yourself that it is done, you have nothing to do but persist in your assumption, repeat the New story.

Always Always remember that the Real reality is your imagination.

Keep repeating your affirmations like they're fact, and when you see no movement from the 3d, keep persisting.

If you want more information and some helpful post, read my "before sending me an Ask" it is pinned in my blog.

You Can read my post too.

Xoxo, Eli

[theficpusher]

Finger My Mouth by LouisThiccSexyGlitteryAss | E | 1515 Louis' dentist (and childhood crush) rides him on the orthodontic chair.

A+ Patient by YesIsAWorld | G | 1882 Harry hated everything about the dentist—the antiseptic smell and the bright light in his face and the disappointment in himself and the suction thingy that kept his mouth too dry. But the thing he hated the most was how in love with his dentist he was.

Working With Mouths. by kotabear24 | M | 2075 But, basically, Louis goes to a new dentist...who is Harry Styles.

The gas had a delayed effect(it's just the dentist's office) by AxWorldxAway | nr | 3832 "Got a bit of a laugh, eavesdropping in on my very personal conversation with myself, eh?" Louis pulled the straightest face he could, acting as stern as he could, and he almost pulled it off. That is, until he saw the way the boy paled dramatically and his eyes widened comically. He burst out laughing a second after the boy began rushing out a hasty apology. He couldn't stop laughing, doubling over from his place perched in the chair. The other boy began chuckling slightly along with him. Louis knew it wasn't that funny, but he had to keep his spirits high somehow; he was sitting in a dentist office after all. (Louis cracks his tooth and is forced to take a trip to the dentist. Harry just happens to be the attractive dental assistant to Louis' eccentric dentist.)

Brace Yourself by Kaname | nr | 4056 "Standing in the doorway, wearing the most garish pair of banana scrubs that Louis had ever had the misfortune of seeing, was the most bloody gorgeous man he'd ever laid his eyes on. His hair was twisted into a messy bun of shiny, perfect curls; his thick lips curled up into a playful smile while a set of sparkling green eyes read through his folder. 'Hope you’ve not had trouble "filling" the time before the appointment, then,” the hygienist mused, smirking down at the file in his hands. His muscular forearms were blissfully exposed, a white undershirt rolled up to the elbows while a set of long, elegant fingers flipped leisurely through Louis’ x-rays. “Not that I mean to "drill" you about what you do with your free time, but it would be awfully "root" not to ask.'" (Louis is a whiny arsehat who hates the dentist, and Harry is a hygientist with a pocket full of dental puns and a thing for petite men in poof-hats.)

always tell the truth by anditsonlyforthebrave | nr | 5027 Harry is Louis' dentist and getting a wisdom tooth removed shouldn't be the end of the world.

Tantrums and Toothaches by sagegreenharry | nr | 5159 Louis and Harry's daughters always loved their dentist appointments with Louis. While Harry was off to the side doing his deep breathing, the girls would be laughing in the chair with Louis as he cleaned their teeth. So, this time when Harry gets the text from Louis to bring himself and the girls to his office, and Eva turns pale as a ghost, Harry knows something must be up.

Beautiful smile by HESLWTLJPNJHZJM | G | 5297 Louis takes Doris to her dentist appointment where Harry just so happens to be the dentist. Shocker, I know.

You smile all the time ('cause how can you not show it?) by thebreadvan | E | 9500 Harry’s eyes unwillingly slip up to the doctor, scanning his features and the focused crinkle between his brows. His jaw looks sharp, especially when he clenches it, pearly teeth biting into his bottom lip. Harry admires the stubble growing on his cheeks, and the impressive cut of his cheekbones, and – the blush blooming from his cheeks down to his neck. Harry blinks away, hoping he hasn’t been caught staring or made the man uncomfortable, but Dr. Tomlinson clears his throat and his leg starts bouncing beside Harry’s chair. Harry looks up again, and finds his face twisted into an undecipherable grimace. “Uhm,” Dr. Tomlinson stammers, “Could you hold your tongue still for me?” Harry stops breathing when he realises. He is licking Dr. Tomlinson’s fingers. <<>><<>><<>> Or, Harry never liked dentists, until now.