#i was more comfortable in the desert with the bears then this

[letters-unsending]

No. 53

////

Villain is either very good or very bad manipulator. Accidental seeking of comfort.

////

Villain pinches the thin neck of his wine glass as he peers over Hero's shoulder.

"I was quite fond of that set," he mused, surveying the wreckage between Hero's palm.

Bits of fine China and glass gleam, their sharp edges catching the chandelier light. Hero holds the last intact piece of glassware, a teacup, with spasming fingers. His wrist jerks and amber beads of tea join the runnels of sweat slipping down Hero's palm.

"You said you wouldn't give me anything that mattered," Hero grits out.

"I lied," Villain reaches, curling his hand over Hero's damp shoulder, "more pressure would have ruined our little lesson and I promised you that we'd start out easy."

The teacup shatters. Fragments fly like spittle and speck the embroidered tablecloth.

Hero palms the table and breathes a shuddering breath, staring as the tea soaks into the fabric, deep orange overtaking paisley print like a bloom of fire. Villain's fingertips hang over his clavicle. Every ragged gasp reminds Hero of Villain's palm perched upon his shoulder, pressing down.

"I can't do this." Hero exclaims, jolting upward. The tile beneath his toes cracks as he wrenches himself free, away from the table and the feast of broken porcelain spread upon it.

Villain's fingers hang in the air before curling around the back of Hero's deserted seat. He turns his head toward Hero, who stands with shoulders hunched and hands fisted at his sides. The sound of his heaving rips through the room before drowning in the thick curtains and glimmering finery fixed upon the walls.

"Why, we've just begun, [Hero]," Villain croons, "and you've been doing splendidly.”

“I never wanted power. I wasn't supposed to have this power.” The gold decor gleams in Hero’s peripherals as he staggers back. “I'm so tired of being careful.”

“Then be careless. Be brutal.” Villain sets down his wine and glides over the crack in the tile. He settles in front of Hero and grabs his tense shoulders, manicured nails biting into muscle, backed for the first time by a measure of superhuman force. “I won't stop you.”

Beneath Villain’s touch, Hero startles, head snapping up. His grip warms his shoulder with pain. The ache rolls down his spine, a nostalgic twinge.

“Did you even want to help me,” Hero asks, settling into Villain’s hold, leaning, “or was this just a ruse?”

Villain almost releases him. His fingers spasm across Hero’s shoulder blade before steadying, singing that constant stripe of pressure into his skin–a force that would've felled any other man.

“Of course, I wanted to help. Your predicament is so similar to my own,” he assures, “it's only natural to sympathize, but control is not your issue. Since gaining your power, your every waking moment has been a practice in control.”

“I have broken everything you’ve given to me,” Hero reaches out and grabs Villain's forearms, applying a reciprocal, biting pressure overtop his satin sleeves, “how could that possibly reflect control?”

As soon as Hero’s palms press in, Villain’s knee jilts forward before steadying again. He takes a long breath under the guise of delivering his next words with trepidation.

“When I first inherited my power, I was like you. I was careful, so very careful, [Hero].” Villain pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth as Hero’s hands slid further down, cupping his elbows. “But the more you care, the more you exhaust yourself. Every delicate thing becomes a burden you must bear simply because of who–what–we are and there comes a point where even the most well-meaning person can not maintain such constant vigilance.”

“I have no other choice. I can't stop caring.” Hero squeezes down, thumb digging against Villain’s bicep. “I'm a Hero now. What if I hurt someone?”

“You can still care when you need to, but you must allow yourself to relax. Indulge in your strength,” Villain glances toward the glittering sea of glass shards, “do not fear it.”

“Okay,” Hero whispered, dropping his hands, “I think I understand.”

Villain slowly withdrew his grasp from Hero’s shoulders, his elbows still pulsing with the press of Hero’s grip, hanging onto the sensation like a physical afterimage.

<><><>

“Go ahead.” Villain breaks the silence as they hover in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“If you desire it, I understand,” Villain swallows down an anticipatory breath, “you shouldn't have to fear the act of comfort.”

Hero approaches, placing a tentative hand over Villain’s wrist, increasing pressure in increments, testing the strength of the bones beneath. It's a fickle weight compared to before, to those angry fingers digging into his arms. Lightly, Villain breathes through his nose.

“You were so bold before. You didn't hurt me,” Villain keeps his voice instructive, almost monotone, “you need not be concerned now.”

“I'm not concerned,” Hero retorts, sliding his hand up to Villain’s shoulder, “I'm just adjusting.”

Villain closes his eyes, his heartbeat thumping beneath Hero’s palm. He channels his buzzing impatience into impeccable stillness and wishes he'd finished the wine he'd left on his dining table.

And finally, finally Hero pulls him in, hands connecting over his spine.

It's still too light. Hero stalls against him, his shoulders a tense plane.

“Reserve your care for the people who need it.” Villain reaches around, placing a hand over Hero’s back. He feels him breathe against his fingers.

Then there's pressure, sweet pressure around Villain’s ribs, stealing his breath. For a moment, Villain wishes he could bruise, wishes he could prolong this sensation and paint it purple across his skin. He chokes out a cramped breath as Hero’s head turns against his neck.

Immediately, Hero lets up. Villain’s hand keeps him from lurching away.

“No, no, you did not hurt me,” he leads him back in, “I am alright."

Wariness draws Hero’s back into a taut line and Villain sighs, dropping his head against his shoulder.

“It's been a while, hasn't it?”

“I hurt the last person I touched. Broke [Other Hero]’s hand. It was so easy,” he lamented, “I hardly even noticed it happening until it was too late. Forgive me if I'm a bit nervous.”

This time, Villain pulls Hero back and squeezes, pressing his nose against the collar of Hero’s sweater. He runs a hand down his spine, marveling at how nothing breaks, at how Hero unspools and leans into him.

“I'm sorry. I know how hard this can be,” Villain murmurs, though some part of him feels like an open wound in the wind, bleeding and overexposed.

The pressure came again and Villain remembered to breathe as Hero held him. These arms and hands would one day grow stronger. One day, they would bruise Villain, and Villain would be capable of breaking, but by then, Villain would have Hero’s mercy.

He would remember Villain as a guiding hand and source of sympathy.

Villain hoped that was enough.

[theskeletoninthegarden]

Sleeping with the door open for once and my brain is bullying me

[rooksamoris]

Woke up, first thing I did was see your response to my request! I love it! You have done well in spreading the Jamil L/N agenda.

Here is my next request: a confession/proposal scenario.

Reader confesses, Jamil tries rejecting them but reader knows him too well and asks for the real reason. Cue his usual "you deserve better than a servant" & "I don't want to trap you in a life of servanthood". Reader, completely unfazed, just goes "then just marry into my family". Cue blushy Jamil cause he somehow got a confession and a proposal all at once. Before he can overthink Kalim just busts through the door going "YES! I'LL PAY FOR IT!" (he was eavesdropping).

💞 — in which jamil rejects you and then rethinks it.

💞 — jamil viper x reader

💞 — warnings: hurt/comfort vibes, metaphor of burning skin on sand used

💞 — around 750 words. im obsessed with jamil taking his lover's last name to escape servitude. so sorry this took sooooo long!! im getting to requests and asks asap <3

“No.” You did not even get the chance to complete your confession before he suddenly hit you with a rejection. A cold rejection at that. You recoiled, pulling your offering with you, and your brows furrowed. “You didn’t even let me fin—” Jamil sighed, seeming exasperated with you, “It’s so obvious what you’re about to say,” he tells you, before turning around, his long dark hair following him and swaying. To be fair, you were quite obvious. He could see exactly what you were about to do. He had noticed the way you had been looking at him lately. If you were not talking to him, you were gazing at him longingly somewhere in the corner instead of paying attention to what Grim or Ace was saying. You made it even more obvious with how you showed up, bearing gifts in your hands and constantly touching up your appearance. If he were anyone else, he would have reassured you that you looked amazing instead of just rejecting you before you could say a word. Before he could walk away, you grabbed his wrist. Perhaps you were suddenly possessed with the confidence of the Red Queen, or maybe you were just stupid, but you did it and now had to deal with it, “At least tell me why,” you pleaded.

His heart broke a little when he heard the tremble of your voice. You bit the inside of your lip to keep anything else from escaping. This was the last thing you wanted to happen. Your fingers slipped away from his wrist and you averted your gaze in embarrassment. “I’d never have any time for you,” he said, simply, keeping his head turned away from you, “I’m very busy taking care of Kalim as is… it would be dhulm (cruel) to do that to you,” he added. That was the last thing he wanted to say. He knew this confession was coming for a while and prepared himself to reject you from the first time he felt your lingering gaze. What he wanted to say was that he wanted you to. Jamil would have used his bare hands to dig through layers of scalding desert sands for just a sip of what your love could have been like. He would have worn the burn scars like a trophy—a testament to his love and devotion. Instead, he said no. Before you could speak, he held a hand up to silence you, “I can’t give you the life that you want to live. You’d be bound to servitude for just being mine.” He loved the thought of that. Being able to call you his was a dream, and it would stay a dream. When his blood was spilled, it did not hold even a bit of value, and he could not bind you to him and make your blood as worthless as his. There would be no ceremonies when he died, no pretty tombstones, and few people who would care enough to attend. He did not have it in him to make that your fate as well. You stared at him in disbelief, your nose scrunching up slightly as you grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. It was a forceful tug, causing him to stumble forward a bit, and you took your chance, pressing your forehead to his. Those eyes of yours were piercing and determined. “Marry into my family. Take my last name, and Viper servitude would be a thing of the past.” His hands were suddenly torn out of the scalding sands which burned them. He stared at you in pure shock, a blush rising from his neck, to his ears and finally painting his pretty brown cheeks. His brows were knitted—the words dared not to spill out of his lips. “H–Huh… wait—you can’t be—” Before he could speak, Kalim barged in with a wide grin on his lips, throwing himself against you and Jamil and tugging you both close in a hug, “I’ll pay for it! It will be the most grand occasion! We’ll even dress up the camels—” As Kalim rambled, Jamil looked over at your pretty, smiling face. You were laughing at Kalim’s words and planning the occasion along with him, as if you would be married tomorrow and not years from now. His gaze softened, and when your eyes met his, you knew he accepted your confession. Finally, he could let someone mend the burns the sand left on his palms.

[hadesoftheladies]

to my indian sisters, may you know your grief and anger are shared by many. may you create a more just world with your voices. you are the path toward a humane and fantastic future, you are the explorers and inventors our world desperately needs. your strength is the pride of the human race.

to my usa-american sisters, may you secure your rights and come together in a new and powerful way, pulling away from other divisions in order to come into your power and wrestle your country back from the self-destructive hands of men. to my native sisters especially, may your resilience in guarding the earth from the violence of men yield fruit. may your people roam their lands freely and without fear once again. may your daughters be rescued from the dim trucks of the military ghouls of a society merely pretending at civilization.

to my afghani sisters, may the world, sun and sky, once again see your beautiful faces. may your voices run as free, wild and far as the wind again in song.

to my sisters in iran, may you you once again dance without fear as boldly as the fire. may the evil world of men around you burn and may your daughters and mothers kick up its ashes. women. life. freedom.

to my south korean sisters, you are fiercer than anyone could have ever imagined, a beacon of hope to women everywhere. you have inspired a generation of women to reclaim what is rightfully theirs and there is no reward we could give that would ever measure up to that gift. i will do my best to follow your lead into freedom.

to my sisters in congo, no one knows the pain you have endured and no one can fathom it. i will keep my ear out for your weeping and your crying. i will not turn my face from you. i will see you.

to my sisters in sudan, you have done your best to bear more than can be humanly possible. i cannot comprehend the volume of your suffering. i cannot fathom it. but i refuse to forget you. i ache for you. may your stomachs once again be full and your bodies free of the pain of hunger. may you find shelter from the desert and the wild men that roam it.

to my tigrayan sisters, you should never have had to suffer for the hatred and greed in men's hearts. may your world be once again filled with friends instead of enemies.

to my sisters trapped and corralled in deutschland, may you break out from the display windows and trafficking pens. may your body find rest and comfort. may you find home and love. may you go to bed at night and fear nothing. may the district one day go completely dark.

to my sisters in palestine, may you see the day you rebuild what had been utterly destroyed. may your every need be met and your grief validated. may your anguish be taken from you. may abundance surround you and may there be laughter once again in your homes.

to the immigrant women, the working class women, the mothers, the schoolgirls, the women in cities and countries facing rising rates of femicide and assault, the victims of cyber-bullying . . .

there are so many of us, suffering at the hands of incessant male violence. no matter the age, income, or ethnicity. no matter the location. it is everywhere. and so i grieve with all of you, i am angry on all your behalf, i hope for all of us. and i will do what i can to let you know you are not alone in the world. we are here, all of us, together.

may we all be free.

[juuuulez]

📰 | dessert.

i can imagine being woken up at ridiculous hours because carmen needs you to try a dish…anyway that’s what this is + domesticity + husband carmy + soft pregnancy vibes.

short and sweet.

You’re lying half-asleep in bed, vaguely tethered to reality by the distant clanging of pots and pans. It isn’t enough to fully wake you, too comfortable buried under the thick blankets, having finally found the perfect position where your stomach doesn’t seem to get in the way.

Which, lately, it’s always in the way.

The door creaks open, and Carmen’s footsteps are quiet, feather-light. He sits down at the edge of the bed, one hand nudging your shoulder, the other guiding a spoon into a little dish he sits on his lap.

The movement rouses you just enough, gaining the smallest inkling of consciousness. It’s in front of your face and pressing against your lips before the awareness can fully set in, velvety chocolate coating your tongue. The taste is thick, yet not overwhelming, somehow both dense and light at the same time. Maybe some sort of mousse.

“That’s.. yeah, ‘s good..” You mumble, eyes blinking open blearily to twist slightly on the bed, moving to face him. The movement causes your shirt to ride up, not bothering to tug it down, despite the slight chill that spreads over your stomach.

Carmen’s hand finds the edge of the duvet, pulling it to cover your body properly. “Good?” He echos. “Just good? C’mon, baby. Gotta give me a bit more than that.”

You suck in a breath, resisting the temptation to fall back asleep, which has amplified now that he’s finally next to you. It has to be around 1am, at this point. Usually, the baby keeps you up, kicking incessantly, but it seems the little bear has finally quietened down. Not Carmy, though.

“I dunno, Carm. I like it,” You sigh, eyes fluttering closed. “It’s good.”

Without your gaze on him, Carmen looks down at the dish, staring into the ceramic bowl like it’s his worst enemy. About a thousand things run through his mind, all with the primary focus being perfecting the desert.

“Yeah, okay..” He’s resigned, already making a move to try and stand. The motion causes you to stir again, a hand blindly fumbling with his wrist to pull it back in.

“No, don’t take it away. I’m not done.” You protest.

The spoon has already been caught between your fingers, and Carmen doesn’t have it in him to stop you. It penetrates the light mixture with ease, scooping another mouthful of the light mousse between your lips.

“It’s not right,” Carmen would say, sounding so utterly defeated. “You don’t have to eat it.”

You simply shrug, having already gone back for the last little piece. “I wanna eat it. I’m hungry.”

The smile threatens to return to Carmy’s face. With the renovations underway, he’s been missing his time in the kitchen. So, he brings it home. Working endlessly on new recipes, testing menu variations, anything to keep his mind running. Maybe the notion of having a child is starting to freak him out a little, so the work serves as a distraction.

“Hungry?” He repeats, “Weren’t you just asleep?”

“Well, I’m awake now. Might as well eat.

It’s a sound argument, and Carmen knows not to push it. He’s just lucky that you’re always so willing to put up with him like this. So, he puts the empty dish down, taking the spoon and laying it on the bedside counter.

He’ll stroke your hair while you chew the last mouthful, your eyes coming to a soft close. There’s some chocolate on your lip, which Carmen swipes off with his thumb, before sucking the digit into his mouth. It doesn’t taste that bad.

“I’ll join you soon.” He promises, leaning down to place a chaste kiss to the same spot. You give a small grunt in response, wanting to persuade him otherwise, but not having the energy to do so.

You’ve already melted back into the pillow, happy and sated with the taste of chocolate on your tongue.

[marc-spectorr]

𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒎

pairing: duke leto atreides x fem!reader

summary: It's the night before your wedding to Duke Leto Atreides and he finds you struck by panic about your future in Caladan.

warnings: 3.1k wc. arranged marriage, panic attack, anxiety, mentions of conceiving. my limited dune-lore knowledge. soft!leto.

a/n: first leto fic ahhh!! i may or may not write more parts to this in the future. i had so many ideas but if i wrote them all in one fic, it would be a long one (not to mention it would take 1001 years to finish and post). anyway, feedback is very much appreciated! hope you enjoy :)

—

Caladan.

There is a beauty to it that you cannot deny. It's captivating from the very first glance. An indescribable sight, unparalleled to anywhere else in the universe.

Of all the worlds you could be in at this moment, a part of you is glad it's Caladan. In spite of the circumstances that brought you here, you try to be grateful for it. Surely, there are worse places to live on than this.

Here, the ocean is vast, stretching far beyond the starlit horizon. A fresh breeze carries the salty scent of the water towards you. It tickles your skin as if it were a feather, the light coolness sending goosebumps along your arms. You tug your shawl more closely around your shoulders.

It is far from the hot desert landscape you know and love. Despite its recent hardships, that planet was once home to you. It still is. You wonder how long it will be before you consider Caladan as such. It's been one week since your arrival, and you're in a period of adjustment, which in truth, has not been too easy.

The beach is empty, unsurprising as the moon has moved far past its highest point in the sky. You can't sleep. You haven't for so long. Similar to all the nights prior, you had tossed and turned endlessly under silken sheets before deciding to go for a walk. You found no comfort in your bed despite the mattress beneath you being the softest there ever was.

It could be the chambers themselves, surrounded by four dark walls that are still very much foreign to you. You must get used to it, you remind yourself. In fact, it's more than just a room that you must get used to.

Tomorrow, your life will change more than it already has when you moved to Caladan.

Tomorrow is the wedding—your wedding. Many esteemed members of the Great Houses will be in attendance, alongside your closest family and friends, who are now worlds away from you. They will all be present to witness you exchange vows with Duke Leto Atreides, a man you barely know.

You exhale a deep, long sigh and draw your knees under your chin. Gentle waves lap onto the shore, the white foam almost reaching your toes before ebbing away. You watch in comfortable silence, the hypnotic rhythm of the waves creating a sense of calm.

Unwittingly, your mind combs through recent events. You spent plenty of these last few days surrounded by those more interested in your upcoming nuptials than you are. You've grown weary of feigning smiles every second in their company, of pretending to be okay when you are far from it.

You feel alone. You are alone.

It’s a sacrifice—leaving behind the life you had to help your struggling home world. Things are changing faster than the time you have to process them. But you can't afford to wait—the sooner you marry Leto, the sooner your father and your people's burdens will go away.

You are doing the right thing. The noble thing. It's what you were raised to do. The last thing you wish is to be seen as a disappointment.

Still, it doesn't mean you have your worries and doubts. You lack experience, having never courted someone before. You question whether or not you would be fit to be a wife to the stranger who is the Duke of Caladan. You're well aware of the responsibilities you would have to uphold, the expectation that one day you will need to bear him an heir…

You shut your eyes, trying to push past the feeling of your heart starting to pick up and thud heavily against your ribs. But the pit of anxiety gnawing at your stomach grows and grows, and it's a losing battle. Not even the ocean waves that mesmerized you moments ago could distract you from the mounting panic inside.

Your thoughts batter you from within like a storm raging out of control. The pressure and expectations others have on you— that you have on yourself— can't be stopped. 

They're too loud; they refuse to be ignored this time around.

Your body trembles, your breaths are short and shallow, and it feels like you are drowning; you're helplessly caught in a dangerous current that pulls you under the water. The weight in your chest drags you down and deeper, sinking and sinking until you hit the very bottom of the depths of your own mind, deprived of any air, any light.

It's only until a voice calls out your name over and over again that you resurface. Warm, gentle hands urge you to sit right back up, and you don't have it in you to fight against them. You don't remember curling up on your side, wound in a tight little ball, nearly burrowing yourself into the sand bed as if wanting to be swallowed whole.

"Breathe, darling... Listen to my voice and just breathe, alright? One... two... three..."

You can't see him, not through the hot, stinging tears obscuring your eyes. But you can hear him. His voice's hazy, soft lull is strangely familiar, yet you cannot place whose it is.

He coaxes you repeatedly, and you focus on his words as if they are your one and only lifeline—as if they are the calming waves reaching the shoreline. 

You do as he says. You breathe.

"One... two... three... That's it, my lady. Deep breaths for me, and again— one... two... three... Good girl, and again. Breathe..."

You're unsure how long has passed by the time your heart slows, and your breathing evens out. Your blurred vision clears once your tears have settled, and your eyes widen when you recognize the face before you.

Duke Leto Atreides kneels beside you, dressed in a manner you have never seen him in. He has on a loose white shirt and dark lounge bottoms, his graying head of curls mussed by the wind blowing past.

You're uncertain why he's at the beach alone at this late hour despite being seemingly ready for bed. Perhaps concerned guards informed him of your wandering about the castle in the dead of night. Did he come all this way in search of you?

Leto’s dark eyes search your face for the reason of your distress. Embarrassment sweeps over your cheeks— you cannot imagine how much of a pitiful mess you look. God, what if you've ruined it? What if seeing you this way, so weak, and frightened, and pathetic, has Leto wishing to rescind his agreement to marry you? What if, what if—

"Hey, shh… Relax. There is no need to fret," Leto soothes. He must have seen the worry in your eyes, but instead of ridicule as you anticipated, he looks at you with concern.

You cast your gaze down, catching sight of your hand in his. He hasn't let go of it since finding you, and when he notices your muscles tense up from the anxiety that seizes your body once more, he squeezes.

Leto squeezes your hand firmly but nowhere near the point of pain. His words are a quiet murmur in your ears. "Don't go back there, darling. Stay here, on this beach. Squeeze my hand back so I know you're here with me. Can you do that for me, please?"

With his other hand, Leto places a finger under your chin to tip it upwards, meeting your eyes. Again, he holds your hand tightly and brushes his thumb over your knuckles. You concentrate on him, matching your breaths to his. The tension starts to slip away bit by bit, and when it does, you finally squeeze his hand back.

"There you go. Just breathe, you're alright," Leto murmurs with a small smile. It dawns on you how close he is when the sound of the ocean becomes second to his voice. "Better?"

You swallow, then nod following a brief pause, not trusting yourself to speak.

Moving slowly so as not to startle you, Leto picks up your shawl from the ground, dusting it clean of grains of sand before draping it over your shoulders.

You expect him to leave, seeing you have regained some semblance of composure. You much prefer that he would. You can't handle explaining to Leto what was wrong. Is wrong.

The air turns silent as you face the water, wiping the dried-up tears from your cheeks with your fingers. You don't see Leto in your peripheral vision, but he's there, watching you. You can feel it.

"Here," you hear Leto say. Glancing to the side, you find him still sitting next to you. He offers his handkerchief, gently motioning it toward you when he senses your hesitation.

With the slightest smile, you accept the piece of cloth, whispering a "thanks" and looking away. 

It occurs to you then that this is your first true moment with Leto. Before today, you had only seen glimpses of him. The most time you have spent with him was during your first encounter, and even then, it wasn't for long.

You chalked it up to Leto having no genuine interest in you. Why would he? He has duties that are much more pressing than entertaining you.

It's not much of a surprise. It would be wrong of you to expect for more. Ultimately, this marriage is not one for love but born out of necessity. A political alliance. A guarantee that your people will be well taken care of. That's the agreement.

Not to mention, you've heard them— those hushed talks amongst the servants and guards about how Caladan does not stand to gain anything from the union.

They are not wrong; many have supposedly expressed concern, including members of the Duke's inner circle. You wonder if he will come to regret his decision one day.

"You've had quite a fright there."

Leto's voice cuts through the silence between you. He shuffles from behind, sitting where he can better see you. You stop yourself from glancing down; it would be rude, and you don't want to tarnish both your image and your family's name even more than you already have.

"I-I am deeply sorry, my lord. You shouldn't have to see that," you manage to get out, catching the way Leto's brows knit together in response.

"There's no shame in such. Why apologize?" he asks you in a soft tone. "And please, there's no need for formalities. Call me Leto. After all, we are betrothed to one another."

Your throat suddenly dries at the reminder that the man before you is your soon-to-be husband. You wring your hands in your lap and give him a nod, skirting from answering his earlier question.

Leto is quick to pick up your nervousness. You can almost see his brain working to piece it all together and grasp what was happening when he stumbled upon you.

You dread what words Leto might say, fearing they will be judgments made against you. You hide from his piercing stare, picking at your nails until a pair of rough yet gentle hands gathers yours, halting you.

Leto squeezes your hands softly, very much like he did before, and it soothes the part of you that has always ached but you could never get rid of.

"You do not have to carry your burdens alone, my lady," Leto murmurs, leaning to catch your eyes once more, and he does. "Whatever it is, unload it on me. Now, tell me what's wrong."

It's almost cruel that your instinct is to doubt him. But if the sincerity bleeding into his voice wasn't enough for you to give him a chance, then it's the tenderness in his gaze. You see the understanding in them, the concern and genuine desire to ease your troubles away.

Your initial perception of Leto has been wrong. You've been wary of him. Intimidated. But this is no man holding no care for you. He could have easily walked away after finding you amidst a fit. Instead, he stayed. He's here when you were convinced he would never find the time to be.

You open up to Leto like a floodgate, admitting to him the thoughts that plagued your mind from the day you learned about this marital arrangement, your nervousness for tomorrow's wedding and your fear of solitude in Caladan in the days that would follow.

You feel selfish, guilty even, for saying all of this out loud. You have no right to complain when the locals here have treated you with only kindness. Others would dream of being in your shoes—of living in a beautiful land, gaining an honorable title, and having a husband who would make you the envy of many.

Why must a blessing cause you great grief?

Leto listens to every word with undivided attention. He lets you speak freely and honestly, never once interfering between your sobs and sentences. He clears his throat only when the whispering waves of the ocean have lingered in the space between the two for some time.

"You are right when you said some of my advisors opposed me marrying you," Leto begins softly, gauging every bit of your reaction as he speaks. "They told me it would bring no benefit to House Atreides—that all we'll do is use up precious time and resources for a dying planet already beyond saving. Their words, not mine."

There is a quiet beat. Leto glances towards the horizon, where the first faint inklings of dawn break through the skies. He continues: "I realized then that those men do not uphold the same values I believe in. Caladan has more than enough riches to go around. There is no humanity in turning a blind eye to people's suffering—especially when we have it in our power to provide aid.

"I've had plenty of disagreements with my advisors, but I couldn't allow those without hearts to remain on my council. My lack of presence is not because I had no interest in getting to know you. Rather, I was ensuring those who showed little care for my bride and her ancestral land no longer served as advisors of mine—a task that regrettably stole time I would have spent with you."

You fall silent. The breath that leaves you seemingly takes more of the load on your being. Your respect for Leto grows. You see now the kind, thoughtful, benevolent man he is. 

How could you have been so wrong about him? You'd been irrational, too assuming. So afraid he would turn out to be the complete opposite when he gave you no valid reason that he's such. You should not have been quick to judge his character when you had known nothing about him in the first place.

"I... thank you, my lor—Leto," you eventually say, turning to him. Shame and remorse cling to your tongue. "I am terribly sorry again. Had my mind been sound, I would've realized my distress is unwarranted."

"Nonsense. You're overwhelmed; your worries were reasonable. All I want is the two of us to be on the same page," Leto replies. The warm smile that adorns his lips when you correct yourself and address him by name lingers. “Let's start over, shall we then?"

You watch as he stands on his feet, reaching out his hand towards you. With Leto's help, you pull yourself up from the sandy floor, shaking off the pins and needles stinging your limbs. He holds his hand out once more, this time for a handshake.

"Hello, I am Leto and welcome to Caladan. It is a pleasure to meet you and an honor to have your presence here."

A smile blooms across your face as you shake his hand, formally introducing yourself to Leto the way he had. "I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to this. I, my father, and our people are eternally grateful for your generosity."

Leto makes a small bow of his head, capturing your hand between his own. Something inside you feels lighter now. The air around you, once thick like water, isn't anymore.

"You will no longer have to worry about your home world. I will make certain they receive all that they need—as for you, as well. I am here for you, even if it's simply as an ear to listen."

A pause. Leto's voice melts a touch softer. He looks at you with eyes deep and brown as the bark of a pine. "In a matter of hours, you and I will wed. It's merely for formality's sake. What goes on between us as husband and wife is nobody's business but ours. Please know that I ask for and expect nothing in return for agreeing to this arrangement. You will never be forced to do anything you do not wish to. Ever. Is that understood?"

You take in Leto's words, becoming aware of the unspoken ones, those hidden between the lines. Their implications settle on you, and you let out a quiet breath of relief into the air.

"I do," you assure before adding, for what could be the hundredth time since Leto has joined you, "Thank you."

“You’re welcome, my lady.”

The sun peaks over the skyline, casting bright golden rays over Caladan. Leto briefly glances in the distance, the silver strands of his mane and beard catching the light, and they glimmer before your eyes. He smiles wide, the lines on his face crinkling as he watches the sunrise.

You also find yourself smiling, spending a moment more studying Leto's profile before turning to what's ahead of you.

Caladan takes your breath away, even more so in the daylight. You can fully appreciate it now that the storms in your mind have passed, and it's as clear as the skies.

"It's a beautiful day to get married." Leto remarks as the two of you gaze out to the water. After basking in the peaceful silence, he meets your eyes again, offering you his arm like a gentleman would. "Come, let me escort you back to your room. We both should rest up a bit before the festivities start."

Nodding in agreement, you quietly say goodbye to the ocean and allow Leto to guide you away from the beach. The sand beneath your shoes eventually turns to a rocky pathway at the foot of Castle Caladan, its grandeur towering over you.

A warm hand slips into yours.

"From now on, you will never feel alone," Leto says, pressing a soft squeeze to your hand. His hold is comforting, and reassuring. “You will always have me at your side, darling. I promise you that."

You smile at Leto, feeling something tender unfold in your chest when he returns a smile of his own.

You believe him, and for once, you think you will be okay.

—

taglist: @pigeonmama

please note that i’m starting a new taglist for my fics. if you would like to be included, let me know :)

[i-cant-sing]

I loved the new chapter! Thank you for publishing it! I’m just wondering how a modern Baldwin and Saladin would act

hmmmmm interestingly, i think modern day Salauddin would be a self made billionaire, probably has his own business he started from the ground. He's still a practising muslim, he still keeps his gaze lowered with the opposite gender, hits the gym so he has good built but not like buff. Rejects proposals left and right (until you came along lol). Still plays chess with you, buys you a whole WARDROBE full of khimars, abayas, niqaabs (if u wear them) but they're made of the finest materials and from luxury brands only. spends a lot of his wealth on charity and especially on gaza and palestine. I also think that he besides horses, he has a black kitten at home that he adores because she's so brooding and he spoils her to no end. he has a cool collection of cars, goes to monaco often for the f1 races (he has his own team too), and he also goes to deserts with his Arabian horses for races and takes part in polo games often (and he's also very good at archery). Chess is something he's reserved to playing with you only.

Moodboard for Salauddin:

Modern day Baldwin would probably inherit his dad's business- he's basically a trust fund baby but he still is very smart and his IQ is off the charts. But he's not like a genius gone crazy. No, no- he's still low key himbo, high key golden retriever bf who has managed to expand the family business 1000000X times. His work rival is Salauddin's company but he's also Salauddin's self proclaimed bestie. I like to think that he goes to church on sundays with the fam and all the ladies are just fawning over him there- and he KNOWS, he's got this charming smile on his face as he passes by them and hears these girls sigh dreamily. Idk why but he also gives off the vibes that he's crazy good at calisthenics or parkour (has given sibylla and his dad multiple heart attacks when they caught him hanging off the edge of the roof), so he's got a good built too. He has a car collection too but he prefers bikes. Oh and his bikes are 👌✨ pookie bear just loves to cruise around the city on his bike with a speed that could possibly lead him to God. also donates a ton, to gaza and palestine too. i also think that since his family is like old money, they more than likely have contacts everywhere including the government. and since they're soooo rich and resourceful, government agencies tend to ask them for help often. so i think that Baldwin with his high ass IQ has done a lot of undercover operations for cia and i also think that he had developed an interest in computers from a young age so he's really good at hacking and stuff, he's got dirt on everyone and everybody and has solved so many cases from the comfort of his home, all while remaining anonymous.

moodboard for baldwin:

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Phileas Fogg and Touch Aversion

I'm going to try to resurrect a post I had written on twitter a while ago when I still had an account there (and when it was still called twitter). It's long, so bear with me, and do keep in mind that these are just my hc's and there's always room for interpretation.

***

So one thing that becomes clear about Phileas from the start is how much he tries to avoid physical touch. Even with those he knows well, like Grayson. Look at how stiff he is here, how he avoids eye contact, how he leans back a tiniest bit.

This physical discomfort is even more obvious with strangers, of course. Especially with strangers who threatened and intimidated him only hours earlier. Even when the contact is no longer a threatening one (you all remember senor Moretti, yes?)

Remember the aborted hugs? The man is so excited to see Passepartout alive that he forgets himself for a moment....

...only to remember at the last minute and have the hug become nothing more than an awkward (safe?) handshake

or, in Abigail's case, a near-pat on the arms

But it's something deeper than just simple intimacy avoidance. There seems to be a discomfort, a fear almost of physical closeness with ADULTS. I'm going to veer onto a slight tangent here that ties into my hc about Fogg's childhood and take a look at this scene in the desert:

Remember how incredulous Passepartout was when Fogg asked him to move because he, ostensibly, couldn't pee otherwise? "I thought you went to boarding school" he said, the implication being "why are you so afraid of having someone stand next to you when you pee?"

The whole situation is funny to Passepartout (and meant to be so to us as well), but Fogg doesn't appear to be amused in the slightest. He pleads, actually pleads with Passepartout to move. And look at how uncomfortable he is. How he tries to block out Passepartout's presence.

And look at this moment here. This is where Passepartout whips out his joystick &starts watering the sand. Look at that cringe, that nervous swallow. I'm not saying this man was definitely traumatized in boarding school, but... he was definitely traumatized at boarding school

This is not to say that he can't handle physical contact at all. He can and does when the situation demands it. When it's a matter of life or death, for instance.

But notice the reluctance, the uncertainty even here.

The only time he DOESN'T hesitate? When someone else needs it, needs HIM.

When it's him alone however? Even when the touch isn't remotely threatening?

He freaks out and tries to run.

And when running is not an option? Freezes like a deer in the headlights.

This moment here shocked him so completely that he drew a blank on all thought, and it wasn't until the lieutenant had uttered the word "coward" - the word that keeps driving him forward - that he snapped out of it

It's different, of course, when it's Estella.

He doesn't shy away from her touch. Welcomes it instead.

Initiates the hug and follows through

Estella is safe. Estella cares about him. Estella would never hurt him. But that kind of safety, that kind of certainty - it doesn't exist where other adults are concerned. Not yet. So he errs on the side of caution and stays back when everyone around him is hugging and celebrating

Doesn't respond to enthusiastic shoulder pats and friendly arm squeezes when he makes his triumphant return home. He looks uncomfortable. Lost. Wary.

Compare that to Abigail's reaction in the same scene

But there are also others whom Phileas is comfortable with, in addition to Estella. Those whom he doesn't view as a threat: kids.

Look here at Alberto plopping to sit down right next to him. Phileas doesn't even flinch. Accepts his presence easily with no discomfort shown

Smiles at Alberto just as easily, too.

Look at Noori here. She grabs him by the hand, drags him behind her. He doesn't mind one bit.

Look at Fogg's reaction when that girl runs out to hug him. He is surprised but not frightened. He goes soft and maybe even a little happy. He hugs her back. He thanks her.

Now look at the difference when Abigail goes to do the same. He stiffens immediately. Pulls back. His whole posture screams "get away".

It doesn't mean he doesn't WANT the physical touch. He does. Longs for it, in fact.

But he believes he lost his chance for this closeness, he mourns the loss of it, and he doesn't think it's for him anymore. He's also likely afraid to test if what he believes is true.

BUT... But... There's a silver lining to all this. Because there IS character growth for him in more ways than one, and he DOES become braver and stronger in more ways than one. And in the end he DOES dare to reach out and he DOES find the courage to NOT pull away.

If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading :) And please come check out my ATWI80D fics where all of this is explored in greater (and angstier) detail. ;)

[jennelikejennay]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This has been my xenobiology deep dive for today.

[kinq-sleazee]

MDNI| toxic relationship, accidentally hurt by his quirk, gaslighting, manipulating, suggestive content , a need for therapy :(

shigaraki cries when you threaten to leave. no, not earth shattering sobs but silent tears that spill from the ducts as he watches you pack. you’re turned away because you can’t bear to look at him. “i knew you would leave me… just like everyone else”. his voice is hoarse and raspy, a dejected tone that claws at your soul. you pause your actions, clutching at the handles of the suitcase to take a deep breath. he approaches tentatively, like a lion studying a lamb. “i can’t keep doing this, Tomura” he winces, disgusted by the bitter sound of his given name from your lips. “how many times do i have to say m’sorry, angel”? the man reaches for your bruised and bandaged arm—evidence of his temper. “didn’t wanna hurt you, baby. just wanted you to listen, you know i hate it when people don’t listen to me”. you snatch away, tears threatening to fall. “people ?” you hiss, “I’m your girlfriend , tomura. you don’t get to treat me like your minions!” he goes silent. you still haven’t looked at him. and chest heaving with fists clenched. and even with the vortex of emotion he can only focus on one thing. “you’re so beautiful when you cry”. it’s dry and mirthless, your laugh. “god—you’re sick”. he shrugs, “you’ve known that from the beginning”. he’s right about that , at least. you’re still not looking at him and he needs that to change. he knows if you’ll just meet his eyes then it’ll be fine ! “it’s not my fault that i’m like this. i was beaten, bruised and abandoned. being discarded is why i am the way i am” he sniffs, “i just hoped that you…” he trails off, knowing that your kind heart wanted nothing more than to comfort him. he can see it in the way your hands flex. “don’t you love me anymore, angel ?” your body stiffens. he has you now, and he knows it. hook, line and sinker. of course you meet his gaze, eyes brimming with tears. so full of love and utter devotion. it’s foolish really. you’re too good for this world. too good for him. he knows it too but he is a deteriorating corpse in a vast desert and you are a tropical oasis. you are his salvation. he needs you. and you love him. crimson renders you motionless, with him walking you backwards against the wall. “baby, my angel” it’s whispered against your skin. his head tucked in the crook of your neck to graze the sensitive flesh there with his teeth. “i need you, angel. don’t you know that ?” his tongue trails upwards, a glistening path up your face to capture the salty tears that linger. roughly, he palms your breast and gropes your ass. small pecks across your cheeks until his lips meet your own. you try to resist, really you do, but his teeth break the skin making you gasp and he bullies his way against your tongue. the kiss is raw and passionate and bloody and you feel yourself drowning once again. “you are mines, angel. i’d kill us both, before i ever let you leave me”. it’s not a threat, it’s a promise between lovers , whispered sweetly as he falls to his knees, pulling your tights down with him. a kiss is pressed to your mound, followed by the rough pad of his thumb. your knees buckle, but he holds you steady. “don’t worry, baby, i’ve got you. i’m never letting go”. you made shigaraki cry when you threatened to leave, but he made you cry and beg to cum.

[velvetures]

Vulnerable pt.2

A/N: Due to everyone's love for the first installment, here's a continuation! It's not full NS/FW to "completion", however, a third post will finish up the little mini-series if part two does well enough. Summary: After getting Ghost to release his tensions after a harsh mission, you're surprised to see how far things go. Ghost is just as shocked. TW's: sexual content NS/FW 18+ ONLY, fem reader, cursing, sexual thoughts, intimacy, not proofread. If I missed something... let me know.

Read Part One Here

Ghost’s eyes flicker in the dim light with something you’ve never seen before. It’s similar to the pain you’ve seen on his face when trying to nurse a stab or gunshot wound. Tinged around the edges with a panic and cracked lines of desperation. For such a strong and self-proclaimed heartless man, his eyes show so much deeper a story. One that calls out happily at the idea of keeping you close to him like this. Interested. Much more than he’d ever felt before.

“If you want to, we could lay down?” You suggest gently, looking at the bed and then back to him. “I’ll keep going.”

Those silently expressive eyes shift all over again. “Yes.”

You stay still, allowing him to choose the pace and tone of this. Wanting him comfortable and feeling safe with you. All of it could stop the second he made it clear, but for some reason, you really couldn’t understand why the Lieutenant was letting you in. And it wasn’t because you were massaging his back. Twisting his lower half onto the bed, Ghost shifted until settled down on the bed on his back, totally open to you. In his relaxed position, you can feel how the invisible magnets between you shift from pushing forces to pulling ones. Body heat radiating off of him and his steady breaths almost acted like a sleeping pill for you as you laid down next to him, careful not to edge into his personal space.

“How would you like to lay?” His eyes wander over your face softly as you question him; head leaning to the side to get a full look at you resting next to him with your messy hair and t-shirt with little holes dotting alone the stretched-out collar. Ghost couldn’t help but realize how pretty you looked right now with your little smile and glowing skin illuminated in the yellow light. It doesn’t take a lot of thought before he gives a very quick and confident answer.

“Facing you.” His dark eyes study you for a response.

One he fears will be hesitation or discomfort. Fuck, maybe even fear. You’d seen him do things even hell would shudder at, yet you always came to him bearing a trusting and happy disposition. Being covered in blood, sand, sweat or mud never deterred you from walking right up to him like some lost little puppy hoping someone would find it cute enough to take home. Genuinely it bothered him. Why do you overlook the danger he presented. How you could be so fucking pleasant and calm in almost every situation you were thrown into. Something he’d been angrily dismissing as nothing more than a passing trend until you really got to know him as well as others had. Yet nothing changed. In fact, you appeared almost excited at the prospect and wiggled yourself into what he assumed was a more comfortable position on your side with one arm propped up under your head.

Ghost shifts himself onto his side with a small grunt, getting into an equally comfortable position that closes a bit more distance between you both. If you had mentioned it, his excuse would’ve fallen somewhere along the lines of you having short arms and that he was only accommodating your size. Nothing could pry the truth that he just liked being close to you out of his mouth. Days in the desert hadn’t nearly touched you. Sure you were a little rough around the edges without time to redo your hair or do any of the other small things… But damn you still looked pretty. With so little space between you, he could smell how sweet you were too. Not that fake shit women always put too much of on. You smelled right. Like a woman ought to. Natural, and… maybe a little on the salty side. It meant you’d been busting your ass in the field, and that thought alone gave Ghost a bit of a shiver as he inhaled deeply.

Face-to-mask with just a little more than a couple inches between you, the closeness felt comforting, reassuring. Ghost at ease, getting to take his time admiring all of the small things he’d never thought to appreciate, while you revel in such a strange yet lucky opportunity to watch him practically melt into the bed all because of your touches and soft words. Perhaps it’s because of all his walls coming crashing down that you’re able to begin trailing your fingertips over his arm. You worked from his wrist to his bicep then over and down onto his ribs, feeling the texture of burns and scars and the small raised edges of tattoos sunk into his skin.

Ghost lets out a low, soft, moan as your hands glide over his stomach. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks directly at you, blinking innocently like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’s so eager yet nervous for any sort of attention, and while you have no intention of stopping, you’re careful to not move too quickly. His breath increasing under your hand is a good enough indication that he was feeling something, and strongly, at that.

“More,” he breathes out, nearly panting with his one hand fisting at the sheets under him.

He’s starting to shake inside. Tingling on every surface you touch and fighting back the desperate urge to just make an observed amount of noise with just how much he likes this. It’s been so long since anyone had touched him so intimately. The overstimulation was nearly enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. Yet he swallowed thickly, willing himself to act as normally as possible. For fuck’s sake you hadn’t done anything that should reduce him to such a pathetic excuse of a man on the edge of anticipation waiting to see where you’d touch him next. You made it even harder when you looked up at him with a smile and raised eyebrows.

“Can I try something?”

He can’t nod quick enough, watching those eyes of yours light up. He shivers as your attention moves upwards to the hem of his mask, toying with it a little before tracing long lines from the base of his throat all the way up to his jaw. Working to trace out the shapes and planes of his face under the thin material. It makes him quiver and tighten his fist around the sheets in his hand. Without thinking, he moves his other arm to wrap around your waist tightly and pulls you the rest of the way against him with a small growl of lost patience. Ghost wanted you close, but god you were just too sweet to do it on your own. And with your body heat scalding against his bare skin, he gives a pinched sigh, eyes fluttering closed with you still rubbing his face.

“This okay?” He whispers lowly, his arm still wrapped around you and his hand pressed flat against the deep sway of your lower back; thumb rubbing over your belt loop absentmindedly. Hearing your soft sigh pours over his mind like thick honey in tea.

“Of course, it is,” Your hand curls around the edge of his jaw reassuringly. “You can touch me back if you’d like to.” You offer, reaching behind him to trace a line up his spine. Ghost’s eyes open at your invitation, his gaze -heavy- but fixed on you. His body tenses ever so slightly as you ask. Then, he closes them again and a small hidden smile crosses his lips.

“Yeah…” He answers at a mere whisper.

He moves his hand from its resting place and moves it to the swell of your hip, running it over your waist, fingers lazily catching the edge of your shirt and rolling it up enough that his fingertips brush against your bare skin in a soft gesture. You sense his nervousness in the slight shake of his hands, unsure of where to go, but fighting with the desire to touch everything at least once. Like he’s terrified he won’t get another chance but doesn’t want to scare you away from him either. His arm moves upwards, his hand coming to the side of your face; fingers smoothing back a couple of stray hairs and running across your head. Mentally you stutter for a moment, your arm draped over his side and your hand on his back stilling. Enraptured with Ghost’s rough hand touching you carefully. Treating you no differently than a bomb ready to go off at the slightest wrong move. So gently his thumb brushes over your cheekbone, hearing a tender sigh from under his mask.

“That feels good,” You whisper, lips brushing against the edge of his palm.

An answer doesn’t come, but you can see him nod his head. You can almost picture his smile as his fingers continue to run through your hair, twisting the strands around his fingers and pulling slightly before repeating the motion over again. Lacing his hand closer and closer to you with every soft touch. Ghost can’t help himself from tracing down the curve of your back again. Absorbing the comfort of your breath fanning over his chest and his hands getting to truly feel every inch of you he never even thought about touching, let alone actually laying next to you this close and feeling your smooth skin under his calloused palms. Experience in this kind of thing was as foreign to Ghost as the idea of working a nine-to-five at some office building typing on a computer or attending one o’clock meetings for a budget report. While that sounded mind-numbing enough to blast his own brains out…. he still felt like he’d have a better grip on living a life like that more so than he did lying next to you…

So fucking pretty always smiling like that.

He feels you lean even closer, resting your head against his bare chest and sinking deeper into the bed. Allowing him total freedom to do what he wished. If you could purr, he imagined you’d sound no different than a little kitten tucked inside someone’s shirt, kneading its paws into your skin. Ghost did smile widely this time, moving just enough to unbind his other arm out from under himself and curl it around your head to toy with the extremely soft strands right at the nape of your neck while the other rubbed at the dimples he felt in the small of your back.

You moan softly when his strong fingers squeeze at the back of your neck, rubbing in circles just at the back of your head to mimic the same technique you used on him earlier. Ghost was a quick study, but having large enough hands to practically scruff you with only one made it easier. Muffled in his chest, it didn’t come out nearly as deep and unrestrained as you’d actually been, yet you didn’t miss the slight shake of Ghost’s chest as he chuckled darkly. Proud that he’d elicited such a response, and already moving his hands more confidently to try and find somewhere else he could touch to make you repeat the noise.

“Does that feel good?” His voice pours over your ears like the bourbon he drinks, flooding your mind with a hazy and warm feeling.

Nodding your head to answer, his thumb runs lightly over your jaw again, this time squeezing affectionately. The Lieutenant on the other hand is relying far too much on his mask to keep his mounting excitement under control. Biting back an instinct to be rougher and see what other sounds you could make for him. Wrestling against the want to fully remove your shirt to see if you felt this soft everywhere. Suddenly hungry and hardly masking it. When you feel him suck in a harsh breath, you look up to see his eyes resting firmly on yours. A silent question lingers in the inch or two gap between your faces. His chest rises and falls quickly, anticipatory.

Swallowing the fucking childish nervousness clawing at his throat he finally speaks. “Should I?”

“I’d like if you did.” You whisper back, looking between his eyes and the painted teeth of his mask where you’ve pictured his lips being. Hoping. Praying. Fucking begging whatever beings could be in the sky above that you’d understood what he was asking for. That he’d give you so much more than you ever expected or dreamed of.

The Lieutenant’s eyes lock onto your mouth, and you can actually hear the thick swallow and deep breath he takes. A moment of anticipation that he couldn’t help but close his eyes for, bringing his masked face closer and closer. No more than a breath away, he can smell your hair and it makes him freeze. Quickly overwhelmed and unsure of how to move forward. So in the depth of his own mind, the presence of his mask still covering his whole lower face escapes his attention. You’re calm enough to help him, reaching between you and lifting the hem of his mask just enough to uncover his lips; Carefully resting the mask on the wide bridge of his nose.

You see deep scars -old and new- all over his lower face. Two of them cut over his lips in wide slashes that differed in color from the rest of his beautiful skin. It made your heart squeeze with sadness. Seeing the first real proof of just why Ghost was so closed off and afraid of letting anyone in. The first-hand experience left him always marching on a fine line between professional collaboration and a real, deep emotional connection to those he protected and those who wanted more than anything to protect him too.

Care about him.

It’s the one thought that brought you to press your lips to Ghost’s. Firm and sure of yourself but still sweet as sugar against his mouth. It takes him far longer than he thought to respond in any meaningful way. The sensation is so different, saccharine and syrupy. His. breath increases in pace, and you can feel his tongue teasing at your bottom lip in curiosity. It’s anxious yet bold. Even his hands are still shaking, they’re already wandering under the hem of your shirt much further than before. Grazing the bottom edge of your bra just like his tongue messily begged for more.

When you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, Ghost feels his inhibitions falling away. Opening his mouth with a low groan and pushing himself deeper, licking against your tongue greedily and tightening his grasp around you to begin rumbling for the hooks on your bra.

He’s nearly panting when he pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours with the hooks of your bra undone without even remembering when he’d done it. The sensation is sending heatwaves through your stomach, flooding your body with heat that rests on your cheeks.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbles, pulling at your shirt slowly and guiding it up over your head with care not to let it catch on anything.

Your heart thumps furiously as he kisses you, his tongue grazing against your own, softly and sweetly. His teeth tug on your lower lip, and his hands explore your back, feeling the smoothness of your skin. The warmth of his lips feels wonderful, his tongue exploring you as his movements become more frantic.

You feel his hands leave your back and move to your breasts, running lightly against the plush flesh before squeezing softly. Teasing his thumbs over your hardened nipples, giving you a darkened look when a small whimper slips from you. Ghost's eyes flick down, catching the image of your topless body before him and the almost pinched look of pleasure suddenly shocking your body. He smiles at you, his lips parting slightly as he does so feeling a new sense of accomplishment than ever before.

Hurting people felt natural to him after so many years alone and fighting to survive in every moment that came to pass. Rhythm and attention to the enemy's detailed reactions made him a lethal weapon against anyone his talents were directed at. With you in his hands though, the act of fighting was similar yet so very polar opposite. He watched and listened to every pretty little sound you made, but instead of that unending desire for retribution, he was being satiated with the knowledge that he could make you melt with nothing more than his mouth and hands.

Fuck, that thought almost ended Ghost. He couldn’t imagine just how many sounds he could rip out of you if he could use his hands or mouth somewhere else. God, if he ever had the chance to give you his cock, there’d really be no way of going back. He looks you in the eyes for a moment, then back to your lips, before kissing you again, his tongue exploring you as his hands run up and down your body.

He's so fucking eager now, and it shows, his excitement building in every movement of his hips beginning to roll up against yours. He's making you feel so hot and desperately needy for anything that could be given to you, and that's all he wants. Make you feel everything possible… all under his hands. His body, his touch. Only him. It couldn’t be anyone else now that he’d been given a taste of you.

The stone-cold Lieutenant Ghost is ready to give you everything all in the pursuit of making you feel absolutely overwhelmed with pleasure.

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

[leighsartworks216]

Small Hands

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Title based on the song "Small Hands" by Radical Face (definitely listen to it, it fits this so well)

Note: This has (vague) spoilers for Act 3, but also I have not seen the scene with Cazador in question (I started to, but then my heart just hurt too much to keep watching)

Warnings: references to violence, swearing, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 718

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

It's been several hours since... since Astarion earned his freedom. He could still feel the rage and despair and fear just below the surface, bubbling like acid. He can feel the angry words he spat at you burning his tongue, even now.

And despite it all, you were right. Ascending would not have brought him the safety he desired. It would have consumed him, as it had consumed Cazador, and his master before. A never ending cycle.

Now that he's had time to think about it, to think clearly away from that wretched place, all he wanted was to be held. Safe. But not because he wields the power to crush everyone beneath him - because he would be protected. Cared for, unconditionally. Loved. And, of course, the one little detail that had him pacing for the last hour, he had no idea how to ask for something like a cuddle from the person he screamed at for refusing to help him ascend.

He couldn't bear the awful feeling that swelled in his gut, or the way his skin crawled with discomfort. He couldn't go the whole night like this. So, before he could think about it much longer, he left his tent and sought you out.

As usual, you lay under the stars in your bedroll. The fire was burned to embers. He wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there until the next century passed. His nails dug into his palms as he crossed the space to reach you.

You shifted as he neared, until you were blearily looking up at him though heavy-lidded eyes. You didn't scowl or turn over to ignore him, you just stared. He tried again and again to speak, to explain what he wanted and apologize and just - anything. But instead he just stood there like a fish gasping for water in a desert.

When you moved in your bedroll, he fully expected you to curl up and ignore him. What he didn't expect was for you to open up the blankets keeping you warm, and what’s more he didn't expect you to open your arms as though preparing a hug. He was stunned speechless - as if he weren't already. He was shocked back into his body when he noticed a shiver run through you.

Carefully, as though you'd rescind the offer with one wrong move, he slipped in beside you. You'd cuddled before, more times than he can admit without becoming embarrassed, but it felt like the first time. He didn't know where to put his arms or legs or head; an uncomfortable gap full of cold air separated you both, but he dared not fill it.

You closed the blankets around him, absent-mindedly tucking him in. And, he couldn't tell if it was purely subconscious or if you were somehow awake enough to notice his reluctance, you wrapped your arms around him and scooted closer. You tangled your legs with his, drew his head to your chest with your arms around his shoulders, and pet his hair.

He ignored the burning behind his eyes as he relaxed into the gentle caresses and heat you provided. He wrapped his arms around your middle and pressed further into your chest, turning his head until his ear was right over your heart, beating steadily behind your ribcage. Beating for him, despite it all.

You sleepily tangled your fingers in his curls, running through them and feeling the way they stubbornly bounced back. Your movements were so very slow, and really quite uncoordinated, but it was the best feeling in the world to him right now. He released a shaky breath and felt you squeeze him around the shoulders in response.

With time - no more than ten minutes - your loving ministrations slowed to a stop as your breath evened out. Fast asleep once more. And still holding him. Even after everything. Even after he cursed you for stealing a life in the sun from him. You were so, so good to him, even when he didn't deserve it.

What little sleep he finds is accompanied not with visceral images of stabbing his master to death, or of the innocents he lured for the ritual, or even those 200 years of pure shit. No - he dreams of laying in your arms like this. Forever.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog

[dira333]

Date Nights - Aizawa Shouta

From the Date Night Series - Tagging @alienaiver

Edit: You need to have this visual while reading

1.

“Are you ready to go?”

Shouta looks up from his desk. He’d been so close to resting his head on it, to giving his tired eyes some much-needed rest. 

Your smile is warm and inviting. And it makes something tingle in the back of his brain, something he’d been trying to remember all week.

“Oh no,” he groans softly, “I forgot our date.”

Your smile doesn’t falter.

“I heard about your day from Hizashi,” your voice does not carry any resentment yet his heart is thundering in his chest. 

God, he’d been so anxious about it, had been pondering where to go and what to do for hours, how could he forget?

“Let me just get a coffee real quick and we’ll be good to go,” Shouta insists. He’ll also need at least five minutes in a bathroom and a spare change of clothes. He knows he looks more like a homeless person than anything else right now and he probably smells like it too.

“No need,” you wave him off. His heart stutters to a halt. 

Please don’t cancel, Shouta thinks, just as you reach out and take his hand. Your fingers are warm against his own cold ones, bad circulation be damned.

“I asked you out, so of course I planned the date. Come on, we don’t want to miss anything.”

“But coffee-” He manages, his heart pitter-pattering away as he follows you down the hallways of the school.

They are deserted, thankfully. As much as he loves the feel of your hand in his, he couldn’t bear it if anyone saw. 

Your car is a lime-green monstrosity. You smile sheepishly when he stares at it.

“I like bright colors,” you shrug, “And I’ve never lost my car in a car park since I’ve bought it.”

He can’t argue against that. The seats are soft and he can feel himself slipping, almost falling asleep against the window. When he jerks away, adamant to at least look awake if he’s not looking like much else, he finds your hand resting on his knee. His mouth runs dry. Can he? Is he supposed to? 

He puts his hand on yours and you turn to smile at him before looking back at the road. 

It’s a quiet ride. Somewhere in the organized chaos of his brain, he jots down that you don’t listen to music while you drive. It’s a welcome change from sharing rides with Hizashi.

“We’re here.” You park in front of an apartment complex. “Come on up.”

Your keys jingle in your hand as you walk in front of him, up the stairs and down a hallway. You open the door that has your name on it.

His heart thunders traitorously. Did you bring him to your place for your first date? Why?

His mouth won’t let him form words, so he follows you silently, his mind racing ahead. 

It’s only when he’s slipped out of his shoes and pulled on the bunny slippers you’ve placed for him, that he makes sene of what’s going on. 

In the middle of your living room is a fort of pillows and blankets, big enough to house All Might in his muscle form if he wanted to.

Shouta stops and stares. You do flourish your arms. “Tada! Do you want something to drink first? I thought it was a good idea because you honestly always look like you don’t get enough rest and it’s important to take care of each other’s needs in a relationship and I asked you out so-” 

It’s the first time he’s heard you rambling today and the familiar sound soothes his nerves a little. At least you’re nervous too.

He steps forward, boldened by your own actions, and kisses you.

You sink into it right away, arms thrown around him to pull him even closer.

When you pull back first, he can’t help but chase after you, to sink further into your embrace as you giggle with your face pressed against his neck.

“I’ll make you something to drink, okay?” You whisper, face still hidden away. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He wakes up hours later, throat perched, head in your lap.

You’re reading something on a tablet, one hand free to drag itself through his hair in a motion that could put him back to sleep again.

“So, about a second date…” You ask when you stop at his place in the morning so that he can get a fresh set of clothes before work. You’re not looking at him but your hands are squeezing the steering wheel, telling him how nervous you are.

He leans over and kisses you, pouring all his feelings into the gesture.

“There’s a bookstore in my neighborhood,” he offers, “We could go there after school. Today shouldn’t be as draining and even if, I want to go with you.”

Your smile could light up the world. It certainly lights up his.

-

2.

“Ready to go?” Shouta’s patting himself down as he asks. He’s got his keyes, his pain medication, his phone is fully charged and his wallet’s there too.

You’re still on the Couch, petting Muffin. The old tabby is purring so loud he can hear it from the entryway. 

“For what?” You ask, a little distracted by Muffin trying to chew on your fingertips.

“We’ve got a Date, honey. Why did you think Deku picked up Eri?”

“Because he wants to spend time with her?” You pull Muffin from your lap and deposit her on a pillow, kissing her head when she mews.

You yawn as you walk over, don’t cover your mouth in favor of brushing the pet hair from your legs.

“What kind of date?” You ask as you pull close and kiss him, snuggle into his embrace.

“There’s this new Bookshop a few blocks down. I walked past it a few times when I went to the park with Eri and it looked promising.”

“Really?” You furrow your brows. “How do I not know about it? I’ve never seen one when I go to the park with her.”

“That’s because we take a different route. More cats, less foot traffic.” He kisses your cheek and pushes you toward the bedroom. 

“Five minutes, you need a different sweater. I won’t go out with you looking like this.”

You stick your tongue out at him, but comply. 

When you come back, he can’t help the laugh bubbling in his throat. You’re wearing a Ganriki Neko sweater in purple and turquoise over a purple skirt and turquoise tights, an outfit he’s seen last at one of Hizashi’s costume parties.

“How do I look?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Like I need sunglasses to take you in,” He jokes.

The walk to the bookstore is short and quiet. You’ve been distracted lately, 

Maybe it’s the new Class you’ve got or Eri’s recurring nightmares, but he’d been planning a date like this for a while now. Taking a break just hasn’t gotten easier now that they’re parents.

“Pspsps,” He leans down to feed a snack to the little black kitten that Eri has fallen in love with. It’s well groomed and clearly belongs to someone, but it loves coming over to say hi.

-

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Shouta declares the moment you step into the store. It’s lovely, not entirely rebuilt, but rather renovated, giving the old, darkened wood some new life. 

You nod and wander around, peeking at the shelves in search of something that tickles your interest. He finds you in the non-fiction aisle not much later, deeply invested in a cookbook.

“This has everything,” you explain. “How to eat during your pregnancy or if you want to increase the chances as well as how to feed children of different ages.”

“Okay? How are the recipes though? We’ve got plenty of cookbooks at home we don’t use.”

“True,” you grumble. It’s your least favorite thing about him, how he tends to stop you from impulse buying. He offers you your drink before you can dwell on that any longer.

“For you, sugar with a side of coffee.”

“Har Har.” You mock laugh before taking a sip of the concoction, furrowing your brows a little. “It tastes a little off,” you claim. “Did you ask for something from the menu?”

“No, I gave them your special recipe. Sorry, do you want something different?”

“No, it’s fine. They probably made it for the first time this way.” You take another sip and your brows relax. “I’m just a little weird today.”

“I’m a little weird everyday,” he offers and you lean into him, heavy, warm and familiar.

“Let’s take a look around, shall we?” He grabs your free hand with his, swings them around as he pulls you forward. There’s plenty to see and soon enough, his arms grow loaded with books. The newest edition of the manga Hitoshi reads, a signed biography of a Hero Hizashi’s still very enthusiastic about, bookmarks and a little Neko Nightlight for Eri, the list goes on.

“I need to sit down for a bit,” Shouta exclaims when you turn back towards the non-fiction again. “You can find me at the children’s books.”

“Okay.” You get on your tiptoes and kiss his stubble. “I won’t take long.”

-

Shouta’s halfway through a book about a little mole looking for a home when you come back. He’s accustomed to the sound of your footsteps, even if they come a little more hesitant, like now.

You’ve got one book in your arms, the title hidden as it’s pressed against your stomach. 

There’s a shy smile on your face as you turn it around to show him the cover.

“How to be Pregnant for Dummies.”

He reads it and reads it again. The news take a moment to seep into his brain but when it does, he almost takes down the book display with how fast he jumps from his seat.

“No way!” 

“SHHH!” Someone shushes him from the front. Shouta doesn’t care.

You’re smiling, eyes a little teary.

“Since when do you know?”

“I got the results today, but I missed my period so I’ve had a hunch for a week or so. It’s still pretty early.” You giggle when he peppers kisses all over your face, making it almost impossible for you to keep talking.

“Sorry, I was a little bit in my head the last few days.”

“It’s okay. It’s big news.”

“Hm. How do we tell Eri? And Hitoshi? And-”

Shouta turns around and pulls a book from the pile he wants to buy.

“Little Neko got a sibling?” You ask, a little dumbfounded. “How did you know?”

His smile is a little sheepish. He can never lie to you.

“I didn’t. But the Neko was cute.”

You laugh at that, pull him closer. It reminds him of their first second date. 

Of cuddling in a corner at the bookstore, away from prying eyes.

Some things will never change, even with a metal leg and a new life on the way.

-

“Where do you wanna go next?” He asks when the books are paid for, hanging off his right arm as you lean onto his left.

You blink up at him, eyes still a little red-rimmed from all the happy tears.

“When’s Eri coming home?”

“Two hours, maybe. Do you wanna go home and cuddle?”

You ponder that for a second, your hands warm on his. 

“Let’s get ice cream,” you decide, a wide smile on your face. “And when we get back, we can make a fort!”

Shouta pulls you close, presses a kiss onto the top of your head.

“I love you.”

“Mhm,” You grin up at him. “I love you more.”

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[avatar-anna]

Bruises

"I feel so...hollow," you said, your voice breaking on the last word. "But—But like my feelings are so heavy they could drown me at the same time. I don't—I don't know when it started, but I can't remember how to be happy without waiting to be punished for it later."

Tears were tracking stains down your cheeks like small rivers, leaking out of your eyes faster than you could stop them. Not that you tried to, anyway, even that seemed exhausting. One thing you could do was avoid Harry's gaze. You felt it like a severe burn as he practically begged you to look at him, but you just couldn't. Not while you were so vulnerable. You felt stripped bare, even more so than the number of times the two of you had been intimate.

"Y/n—"

"Don't," you said, nearly leaping out of your skin when he rested a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him then, saw the pain in his eyes at your rejection of his touch. But you couldn't handle it. Your soul felt raw as you said things you never thought you would out loud. "Please don't, I can't—"

Harry seemed to understand as he nodded and took a step back, but the concerned furrow of his brow remained, his fingers curling awkwardly at his sides. He'd always been the type to communicate through touch—a squeeze on the shoulder, a tip of your chin, a gentle nose nudge on your cheek, a hand never far away from your person. You knew that he craved touch to comfort people, and yet he stayed put. For that you were thankful, and it helped you find your words again.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," you said, almost too quietly for anything but your thoughts to hear. "I—I don't know why I'm feeling like this, or how I got here, I—I just feel like I'm stuck in this emptiness."

Saying all of that made you want to run and hide. Harry didn't need to know all this, how wrecked you really were inside. No one did. He was just someone who happened to be around when you were at your worst. Normally you were able to keep a lid on your darkest thoughts, but he'd come over when you were in the thick of it, and you couldn't exactly hide how you felt when you were crying uncontrollably for virtually no reason other than it was a Tuesday afternoon and life suddenly felt like one big chore.

Maybe it was the holiday, seeing everyone so happy, hearing songs about falling in love and kissing under mistletoes and commercials that said, "The perfect gift for that someone special!" Being surrounded by so much cheer only left you feeling more hollowed out, more lost than you'd ever thought you'd become.

"Y/n, why—why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Like what?" you laughed bitterly. "That I cry at the drop of a hat and can't handle light teasing from my friends? That I haven't felt right for weeks and getting out of bed feels like a chore? We—That's not who we are to each other. I—I have no one."

The words clanged around, grasping onto your heartstrings and convincing you it was true. You had friends and family, but when the darkness reared its ugly head, you always felt hopelessly and inescapably alone. Words deserted you when you needed them most, leaving you to smile and pinch your skin, trying your best not to cry in line at the grocery store or while sitting at your desk at work. It was all too much, too much to handle, and yet you didn't want anyone else but you to share that load, the weight of your inexplicable despair.

"Do you honestly think that?" Harry asked. You couldn't even dignify him with an answer. It had been humiliating to say it once, let alone look him in the eye and say it again. So you just shrugged and wiped your cheek. "You're my friend, Y/n, and I care about you. I'm sorry if I haven't done enough to make you know that."

"It's not just you, H," you sniffled, feeling bad for making Harry uncomfortable. It wasn't his job to make you feel better. Your problems were yours to bear alone. They always had been. "I don't—I don't know how to do this."

"Do what, love?"

Despite the discomfort of having shared so much, Harry's gentle voice felt like a warm blanket over your shoulders. It made you finally look up to meet his eye. You were surprised to see so much emotion held in them, but you didn't shy away from it like you thought you would. It helped fill that hollow ache a little, made you feel a little less alone.

"I don't know how to deal with this any other way," you said, trying to explain. "I don't...I hate sharing this stuff with people. It makes my skin crawl."

Your body felt heavy, your soul weary, as if no amount of shed tears or leaning on shoulders would ever ebb the emptiness that was taking over you. But you didn't want the pity. You didn't want anyone to worry or look at you differently because of how sensitive you tended to be sometimes. To deal with the myriad of moods that swung on a pendulum day to day, sometimes moment to moment. The pressure of feeling like you should reach out and ask for help was almost worse than the emptiness and despair.

"This is a good start," Harry said, inching just a tiny bit closer. "I just don't want you to think you can't talk to me. You can, Y/n, and I'll listen, or give you space, or help you find professional help, or do whatever it takes to make you smile. Just let me be here for you."

The notion didn't sit well with you at first. It wasn't how you dealt with things, though clearly your methods weren't working. That didn't make letting Harry in any less scary, or any easier. But Harry was still here. You'd broken down, shared just how broken you really were, and he was still here, asking to be someone for you to confide in.

Harry had been your friend for a long time. You ran in the same circles and saw each other often enough that you'd consider him to be someone you were close to. It wasn't until your arrangement that you got to know him more. You'd never had a friends with benefits situation before, but you never imagined it to be so easy. Rules had been sketched out, boundaries were made and kept, and things between you just seemed to work. Even when you didn't see each other for a week or two at a time, there was no awkwardness.

There was no jealousy at parties or possessiveness; you were exclusive, but okay with the idea of ending things should either of you meet someone you wanted to explore a relationship with. You and Harry just clicked—two friends who happened to sleep with each other, companions who could hold conversations about their jobs amicably, yet knew every inch of each other's bodies intimately. And now Harry was offering something more, something different.

Nodding, you said, "Thank you."

Harry gave you a small grin, then tentatively reached a hand out to wipe away a stray tear. You let him, not feeling like a startled animal anymore. You knew part of you should've felt embarrassed that Harry had caught you in such a state, that you'd let him see how broken and hurting you were on the inside, and maybe a small part of you did, but you mostly just felt like a weight had lifted off your chest.

"Can I get you anything? Maybe a cup of tea?" he asked, leading you over to your kitchen counter as if it was his home, not yours.

You let him, content to watch him move around your kitchen as if it was his own. He'd been over to your place enough times to know his way around and know how you took your tea.

Sitting in silence, you watched as Harry took a mug that looked like a gingerbread man and one that had a textured, cable-knit sweater design from your cabinet and fixed up two cups of tea. His shoulders flexed beneath his loose shirt, dark brown curls curving every which way at the nape of his neck. The familiarity of this moment was comforting after such an emotionally taxing and foreign afternoon. Harry was here as often as your busy schedules would allow, or you were at his place, neither of you concerned with how much time you spent together.

Though today you hadn't expecting to see him, hence the emotional breakdown. You didn't really plan those kinds of things, but you'd been feeling more down than usual and had been seeing Harry less and less recently as a result. Every text about a next meet-up, whether that was to get lunch or have sex or anything in between, had been rebuffed quickly and kindly. Today he'd shown up out of the blue.

"H?"

"Yeah?" he said, his back still to you.

"Why did you come over today? Y—You didn't text like you normally do."

Harry looked over his shoulder briefly, a small smile playing at his lips. "We hadn't seen each other in a while," he said breezily. "Which is fine, I know we're both busy, but I just had this distinct feeling you were avoiding me."

"I'm sorry," you said, finding it easier to say it when his back was to you. "I don't mean to do that."

"I know," Harry said, that same gentle and easy tone in his voice. "I've always known you're squirrelly about feelings."

You huffed at his choice of words, trying to focus on his humor rather than the fact that he seemed to know you better than you thought he did. You appreciated that he didn't state the obvious, which was that you went way past "squirrelly." The last hour had been emotionally taxing, and you appreciated that Harry offered you a modicum of normalcy.

"Thank you for checking up on me," you said. "You're a good friend, H."

Perhaps better than I deserve, was what you didn't say, because you knew he would scold you for even thinking it.

"Well, my visit wasn't totally innocent," Harry teased as he finally came over with two steaming mugs of tea, yours done just right. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, but didn't say anything more than that.

Raising your brows, you said, "Ah. You couldn't find anyone to watch Hallmark Christmas movies with you, could you?"

Harry chuckled into his mug, taking the excuse you both knew was a lie and ran with it. "Yeah, that's exactly it. I knew you'd understand."

"I wouldn't say to no a cheesy Christmas movie."

"Promise me you'll tell me when you're feeling like this again," Harry said a while later.

You could tell Harry was trying to hide his eagerness to pull you into your room and fire up your TV. His eyes scanned over you briefly, as if he was trying to assess where you were at mentally. It would be hard to see that stare, to know Harry had seen you at your lowest and would constantly be gauging if you were on the verge of another breakdown. But the thought didn't irritate you the way you thought it would. You were surprised to feel a little relieved that you weren't the only one taking care of you, at least for the time being.

You were huddled under a mountain of blankets together. Twinkly lights in your bedroom casting a warm light over you both. You'd meant to put them up earlier in the month, but hadn't made yourself get around to it, the small task falling to the wayside the same way a lot of your everyday chores did. Harry took one look at the forgotten box of lights and got to work, even going as far as putting a looped video of a roaring fireplace in his phone and setting it up next to your television. It was a little silly, and a tad over the top, but you appreciated it all the same, the lengths he was going to ease the ache in your chest as best he could.

He was practically on top of you now, but unlike the events of today, that was something you were used to. Harry liked to sprawl out, specifically with you underneath him—leg over your waist, arm tucked across you to keep you close, face buried in your neck or chin resting on top of your head. He insisted on draping himself over you like a blanket, even before you started sleeping together.

"I don't want to bother you—"

"Bother me, Y/n," Harry said, his voice gravelly as he gently turned your face to meet his gaze. "I'm not doing my job as your friend if I'm only with you when things are easy or—or good. You're not alone, okay? As long as I'm in your life, I'm in it. Good and bad."

"I'll try."

You tried to blink back tears, a little surprised you had any left to shed. Your face was undeniably puffy and a little dry, and you were tired in a different way than you had been the last few weeks. But these were different tears from earlier. A different emotion took over you as you nodded.

That seemed to satisfy Harry. He kissed your forehead, and you closed your eyes against it, allowing yourself to believe everything he'd said to you today.

You weren't magically fixed, that crushing weight was still waiting for you like a monster under your bed, but you weren't alone. Harry had turned the lights on, showing you that perhaps there was no shame in letting someone see the worst parts of you. Because he was still there, promising to hold your hand and help you until you felt whole again.

[sunrise-imagines]

welcome back!! can i please get finn (fionna and cake ver obv <3) basic pda headcanons i'm STARVINGGGGG

YAYYY TYSMMMMM

Thanks for being my first new request! I’m so happy to get back to writing after so long, and yesss it is dry as a desert out here looking for adult Finn fics so why not add to them myself :)

Hope you enjoy!

~Adult Finn PDA headcanons~

•Remember back when I said Steven was the PDA king? Yeah nah Finn dethroned him.

•Love love LOVES showing you off to everyone, like this man will not shut up about how amazing you are.

•He’s gotten a lot more bold than when he was a teenager, he is absolutely not afraid to kiss you right in the middle of a conversation, even when you’re talking to someone else/a group of people.

•He gets even worse when he’s drunk, he will constantly cling to you and try to make-out. You can’t even push him away because he’s built like a brick sh*t house, so you just have to deal with this bear of a man smothering you all night.

•Loves rubbing his face against you while cuddling, especially your belly and chest.

•For the love of Glob, please touch his hair and beard. He will practically purr when you run your fingers through it.

•Is almost always holding your hand or has his arm around your waist when you go out.

•Fist bumps are also a way he shows affection. Like if you aren’t comfortable with a lot of touching he will definitely give you fist bumps instead.

•Just likes to hold you and touch you pretty much everywhere you’re comfortable with, not in a sexual way but just to ground himself and remind him that you’re really here.

•Hugs are very important for him. After losing Jake, he’s become so caught up with trying to distract himself with adventure after adventure and he forgets to just slow down.

•There have been many times where, when he’s packing up to go on his next big adventure, you come up and just hug him and beg him to stay safe and come home, and he just melts in your embrace.

•And when he gets back he always gives you a big bear hug, lifting you up and squeezing you so tight you have a little trouble breathing. He doesn’t mean to, he’s just so happy to see you again he can’t help it.

•So yeah Finn’s a huge dork for you, but would you really want it any other way?

[laurfilijames]

All I Want...

Pairing: Will Miller x reader

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Angst. Swearing. PTSD. Panic attack. Mentions of an unhappy childhood, military service, personnel being KIA. Tom's death. Grief. People being unhappy at Christmas. (There's some fluff too, bear with me!)

Summary: Will tries to fight off a panic attack early on Christmas morning, his unenthusiastic feelings toward the holiday making him feel guilty on top of everything else on his mind, only to be reminded that it's okay to not feel festive and that he's not alone.

A/N: I'll be the first one to admit that Christmas isn't all it's cracked up to be sometimes. People often call me Scrooge, but I've learned over the years to prioritize my mental health around the holidays and take it all in stride. To those who struggle in any kind of way this time of year, I see you, and this is for you.

This fic follows some of my headcanons about the Miller brothers in that they didn't have a great upbringing, and that Will often suffers from poor sleep and panic attacks.

---

Scrooge. The Grinch.

These were some of the names bestowed upon Will over the years, his less than enthusiastic feelings toward Christmas noticed and pointed out as often as possible during the holiday season by those closest to him, mainly Benny.

It was innocent enough, his brother, Fish and Pope all aware and understanding to the reasons why Will wasn’t overly excited, but sometimes it got under his skin and the temptation to tell Ben to fuck off sat on the tip of his tongue on more than one occasion when he got going on a roll of teasing him.

He always tried his best to keep his opinions to himself, not caring to bring it up in order to avoid the shock and disbelief that someone could hate Christmas, having to stand and painfully listen to whoever was scolding his humbug ways try to convert him and preach all the reasons why it was so magical.

He had been this way for as long as he could remember, the earliest memories of an unhappy Christmas morning tucked away in the back of his mind until they inevitably were pushed back to the surface each time the radio stations turned their usual music to all the annoying holiday songs and people started asking the mundane “Are you ready for Christmas?” questions to everyone who never wanted to give an honest answer. He could always see the stress most people carried with them this time of year, the worry of spending money they didn’t have and not meeting expectations evident on their faces as they frantically rushed around to get all the things ticked off their lists to make the day ‘perfect’.

Perfect was never a word Will would use to describe any of his past Christmases, the thought making him scoff and shake his head as he looked up at the night sky, counting the stars as a way to try to clear the persistent thoughts that had gotten him out of bed at 3:26 AM.

Vivid images that he had tried to blur and forget always reappeared no matter how hard he tried; his parents yelling from the kitchen loud enough he had to peel Benny and his one toy from under the tree to go outside to get away from the anger, not to mention the countless Christmas mornings he woke up to gunfire or spent the day trudging through the rain and freezing cold, or had sweat clinging to his back in the heat of the desert, more often than not spending December 25th on tour and deployed somewhere that mimicked hell.

Will couldn’t help but feel guilt more than usual on days like today, thinking of all the families whose sons or daughters, husbands or wives and everything between never made it home to celebrate another Christmas with them, that shame becoming part of the reason he tended to make sure he was always off serving somewhere, not feeling like he deserved to be in the warm comforts of home with those he loved.

Add that to the long list of things his ex resented him for, one more thing he could never do right, and something else she refused to make an effort to understand despite him trying to explain it.

Today it seemed to all weigh more than it normally did.

Tom’s death was still fresh in all their minds, this being the first Christmas Molly and the girls would have to spend without him, and the thought of their irreparable grief made Will want to crumble.

He exhaled a long breath, blowing it out shakily from his lungs, his chest feeling tight as his heart pounded inside it like a caged animal.

He inhaled as slowly as he could manage, one, two, three, counting in his head to gain control over the quickly rising panic.

Exhaling out, one, two, three, his heart still hammering, his pulse furiously thrumming in his neck.

His hand shook as he lifted it up to rub the back of his neck roughly, feeling sweat accumulating on it and dampening his palm that was equally wet.

The steadiness of the number of seconds between each laboured breath was doing little to keep him calm, the thoughts of his conversation with you a couple of days prior echoing in his mind to drown them out along with the ringing in his ears.

You swore up and down a hundred times that you were fine with not celebrating, assuring him that you were relieved to not make a fuss over Christmas and reminding him that your own views of it were also plagued by unhappy memories; that being alone with him was more a gift than anything wrapped in paper and bows under a tree. He knew you meant it when you said you wanted to hide away with him until the madness of it all was over, but now his mind was playing tricks on him, making him doubt your words and sending him into a tailspin over projecting his attitude toward it on you.

But he knew you wouldn’t lie to him.

He kept on that train of thought as his fingers wrapped around the railing on the deck, gripping into the wood as hard as he could, feeling the splintered pieces from years of weather digging into his skin. Drawing in another short breath and gasping slightly, he did his best to remember why he came outside in the first place, seeking fresh air that ironically had become suffocating.

One, two, three, he repeated to himself again, closing his eyes to better focus on slowing his breathing down.

A minute and thirty-seven seconds had passed with him concentrating, able to let the consistency of the numbers aid him as he continued to count, the feel of your warm hands slipping up his cold, clammy back allowing him to finally release the tension he had been holding in his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he muttered, his voice lacking the conviction he hoped it had.

“I never thought you weren’t,” you whispered, your hands still pressing reassuringly on his torso as you moved beside him, your lips meeting his shoulder to kiss it twice.

Will smiled, grateful for your belief in him, never making him feel weak or like he needed saving, simply there with a love and empathy he had sought his whole life.

He released his grip on the rail and glanced over at you, shooting you a weak smile gathering you in his arms for a hug, kissing the top of your head appreciatively while you continued to rub your hands in a calming, languid pattern across his skin.

“I love you,” he murmured, feeling his heart beat in a stronger rhythm different from how it had moments ago.

“I love you too, Will,” your lips moved against his chest, your arms squeezing him a little tighter as you pressed yourself closer to his body.

“You’re sure you’re happy to spend Christmas this way?”

“More than happy,” you reiterated, pulling your face away to look at him, his blue eyes like flames against the deep navy of the night sky.

“Okay,” he sighed, leaning in to kiss you.

“You know there’s that song, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’,” you smiled, watching his expression change, his grin stretching out to form the creases in his cheeks as he shook his head.

“Please don’t sing it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Will chuckled and kissed you again, slowly, his tongue slipping into your mouth with a gentle demand.

“Let’s get back to bed,” he said quietly, nodding toward the house after he broke the seal of your lips.

As he led you into the house, your fingers laced with his, he thought how maybe he could find ways to celebrate Christmas with you that wouldn’t make it all seem so terrible, the idea of creating your own traditions somewhat exciting to him.

He smiled at you over his shoulder, stopping in the middle of the hallway where he clasped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, his body pressing into yours with a need to show you just how much you meant to him, knowing that as long as he was with you he could face anything.

---

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated and if you'd like to be added or removed from my taglist please let me know! 💗

Taglist: @sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989