#ship: hold me closer

[starrysnowdrop]

OC x Canon Week 2025

Day 1: Kiss in the Snow ❄️☃️

+ Monochrome 🖤🤍

[starrysnowdrop]

Hali x Aymeric

How It Started

How It’s Going

Hey... hey anyone with wolships or other FFXIV ships (since I know not everyone's characters are WoL).

Show me your "How it started // How it's going" can be gpose, art, writing. I just want to know about your ffxiv ships. Can be OCxOC, OCxNPC, Polyships, multiships, or anything else I didn't account for.

[anghraine]

The other thing about the Kirk-Uhura brotp that I have many feelings about:

Of all the ~430 positions filled by people on the Enterprise, I'd argue that there are none for which outwards composure is more important than for the communications officer and the commanding officer. Above all others on the ship, those two have to stay cool under pressure and retain the ability to keep talking (often to large numbers of people), while projecting unfaltering assurance and resolve.

As individuals, Kirk and Uhura have obviously put a lot of effort into developing that bedrock of composure, while also being pleasant or assertive as needed. Throughout TOS, they both come across as confident, charismatic, very skilled, eloquent professionals. Both of them can be lightly charming and easy to underestimate, or sharp-tongued and forceful, and both of them are clever and good liars.

But tbh, I think that TOS also gradually reveals both Kirk and Uhura to be incredibly high-strung people who are just really good at their jobs.

It's not that either is naturally easy-going and chill! As people, Kirk and Uhura have zero chill. They're just very controlled and very deliberate about projecting what's needed.

Neither are perfect at this by any means. Kirk lashes out now and then, and visibly fights off tension headaches or anxiously fiddles with his own hands. Uhura gets intensely nervous or upset every once in awhile. There are points in the show where one of them will just start losing their shit. But that's unusual, and mainly used to flag the circumstances as exceptional. And even in those cases, we repeatedly see them swapping the role of being a calm and reliable rock for the other one as he/she is about to snap. When Kirk's composure starts to crumble, we'll often see Uhura as this steadying, quietly supportive, or challenging presence as needed; when Uhura starts falling apart, we repeatedly see Kirk flip into a calm, affirming figure taking pains to remind her of her importance and capabilities.

I think this is a bit different from the way that, say, Spock works to keep an iron grip on his vulnerabilities and adheres to cool reason while doing Science, or McCoy might get snappish or plainly desperate but always has a clear enough head for Medicine. Kirk's and Uhura's roles, at least as they choose to approach them, require these constant performances of a sort of lightly emotive, personable steadiness that keeps the whole ship smoothly running even as they're doing the intellectual/practical work of their jobs.

Also, in addition to the explicit dialogue around their professional synergy and rapport, quite a bit is carried by physical acting from Nichols and Shatner as well. For instance, we'll see Uhura's expression shift without a word to dawning realization around some Scheme or Shenanigans that Kirk is carrying out while people around her are still visibly ?????????? Or you'll see these moments of solidarity or trust in how Kirk physically carries himself towards Uhura. It's also made really clear that there is zero sexual attraction or romantic interest between them—they're both charming, attractive, intelligent, and even close in age but it's just not there at all, even repressed or stifled.

In any case, Uhura is the only person other than Spock whom Kirk feels the need to name both times that he records potentially-posthumous special commendations in TOS.

Kind of-neurotic-but-hypercompetent platonic duo of my heart <3

[starrysnowdrop]

So I’ll go through all three of my ships briefly, starting with Hali, then Yume, and then Sohna!

Hali x Aymeric

For me, I’ve loved Aymeric ever since his first appearance in 2.4 with his meeting with Alphinaud, and Hali has been smitten with him since she first saw him as well, at the same time, but my reasons and Hali’s reasons are very different.

At first, I thought Aymeric had major hidden antagonist vibes, like he was going to betray us and he was going to be the big bad of HW, but instead I was completely wrong, and he ended up being the exact opposite of what I had expected, and I ended up loving him even more for it.

Hali always thought the best of Aymeric, and she wanted to climb him like a tree ever since she first saw him, but the “Oh” moment for her was not until the assassination attempt on Aymeric’s life in 3.1 that Hali realized that her feelings were way deeper than just friendship. A love confession wouldn’t come until 6.0 though! 🤦‍♀️

Yume x Zenos

((Yume’s side blog: @firelightmuse))

Both Yume’s and my feelings for Zenos have been, well, complicated to say the least. I’ve always thought he was hot as hell, and next to Aymeric, he’s definitely the hottest man in game for me. But I wouldn’t even think of shipping him with Yume until this year, thanks in part to a dream I had, and also a HUGE boost from @meepsthemiqo (TYSM my friend!!).

For Yume, she became obsessed with him after he had defeated her in battle twice, and spared her life twice, which drew her to Zenos, as she had never been defeated before in a one on one battle. Even though she knew he was her enemy, her feelings for him only grew over the years, and her “Oh” moment comes after their battle in Ultima Thule, in which she realized that she couldn’t let him die, and she saved his life instead.

Sohna x Alphinaud

((I don’t have any banners made for Sohna or for the ship banner yet, so have an Alphi gif instead!))

So, this is my newest ship, and many of you probably never knew this, but Alphinaud has always been my favorite Scion, and he’s overall one of my favorite FFXIV characters period. Talk about that character growth! He’s such a great character, and I even thought of shipping Yume with Alphi a LONG time ago, but I aged Yume up to 24 at the beginning of ARR, and they had a good friendship instead. I have never tried to write a ship with Alphi until now, but I have been fond of him since his character growth in HW.

For Sohna, she’s smitten from the beginning, but she has her “Oh” moment and falls for Alphi hard when he saves her life in the first attack on Tuliyollal. That’s all that I have for them for now, but I’ll be working on Sohna’s development in the meantime.

((Thank you for sending this to me @mimble-sparklepudding!!))

fellow wol x npc shippers- If applicable, what was the "oh" moment for you and your oc falling for their love interest? Was yours seperate from your WoL's?

[starrysnowdrop]

Happy Little Ladies Day! 🌸

~ From Hali and Aymeric 💖

Seneschal Prince Aymeric surprised his Princess by showing up in Ul’dah unexpectedly while Hali was entertaining the crowds with her dancing before the Songbirds took to the stage. As soon as Hali’s performance was complete, the happy couple enjoyed the rest of the celebrations together.

[heartbeetz]

In theory I would loooove to see a kᎥtt replica in person someday. But it is probably for the best that I don't. I would be so visibly autistic + objectum + homosexual about it and it would be SO embarrassing for everyone involved. Excited stimming and grinning the whole time but also blushing and shy. And that's IF I was even brave enough to try to get closer instead of awkwardly keeping my distance. Idk if I could handle it.

[misstoodles]

I’m the wise guy who thought continuing my bad batch rewatch with the end of S2 before Christmas wouldn’t result is emotional damages.

What a wise and totally not flawed idea.

[starrysnowdrop]

Oh no Sea, you have asked for me to gush about my favorite topic in the world… I warn you and everyone seeing this, I can be long winded, but I’ll try to be brief so bear with me for a bit. First, here’s some gposes to satisfy the eyes:

Next, I’ll put the rest of my answer under a cut. You’re welcome to all who hate scrolling. 😉

Alright, onto actually answering your question. Ahem…

Hali is actually not my first WoL OC, even though she is my main and pretty much my only WoL OC right now. Before Hali was created, I had an Auri Hingan Samurai woman named Yume, and because of how I had written her, as a very stoic, no nonsense warrior through and through, I had a hard time shipping her with anyone. Over the years I tried shipping her with Cid, G’raha, and I briefly thought of Artoirel, but before any of them, my first choice of an NPC ship was Aymeric.

It took me quite a while to realize that a huge part of me wanting to ship Yume with Aymeric as a first choice was a very personal one. Aymeric was the first character in FFXIV that I completely fell for. He is so special to me, and that made me try to ship my only WoL at the time with him. But as you can see, that ultimately didn’t work out.

It didn’t work out because Yume and Aymeric didn’t vibe well with each other. I had realized that Aymeric is much too polite and respectful of decorum to break Yume out of her shell to make a deeper connection than just comrades that respect one another, and I didn’t think Yume was the kind of person that Aymeric would come to love either, as she would likely remind him of the many Ishgardian nobles that he was around all the time. So an NPC ship with Aymeric was discarded, and though I personally was very saddened by that, I thought it was the right decision for both characters.

After a few years, as I kept getting frustrated with the ships I was trying to write for Yume, I decided to make another WoL OC that would be different from Yume in every way. She would end up being much more of a self insert than I expected, but nonetheless I fell in love with the pink haired, happy go lucky Lalafellin woman who would become Hali.

As I got Hali through the base ARR and into the ARR patches, I didn’t have any intention on trying to ship her Aymeric and to try a WoL x NPC ship with him a second time, as I even had a brief idea to ship her with Krile later on.

But everything changed once Hali met Aymeric in 2.4, the lead up to Heavensward. I saw them in the cutscenes together, and as ridiculous of a height difference they had, I still couldn’t help but giggle squeal whenever they were together. I couldn’t help myself. I just had to try to ship Hali with Aymeric.

So I decided to try to write a few prompts with them together and see how their dynamic was. And it was even better than I had expected. Not only was I highly impressed and kept getting inspired to write more, but I got a ton of positive feedback from so many people telling me that they loved Hali and Aymeric together.

And I guess that was that. I never looked back since. They are my everything (well fandom wise of course); they make me so damn happy. Just looking at them makes me smile and wanting to write and gpose more. I can’t get enough of them. I don’t know if I could ever write a ship better than Hali x Aymeric. And I don’t even want to try either.

I still can’t fully comprehend how a pink haired, bubbly, sunshine of a lalafellin woman and a noble, brave, and charismatic Ishgardian knight could be such a beautiful and dynamic couple that would not only bring me endless joy but also keep inspiring me far more than anything else I’ve ever written. It is utterly beyond my comprehension, but somehow it works. And I am forever grateful that I just followed my heart and wrote what I wanted and not for anyone else’s approval but my own.

I somehow hope this inspired someone out there to not be afraid and just go for the ship they want to write for. Trust me, it’s worth it.

💖

Another random WoLQotD/OC question

I thought I'd ask this while I worked on my other questions. :)

If you're a WoL x NPC shipper, what drew you to that ship and why? What makes that ship the pinnacle for you and your oc? Is it that you love the canon character you write them with, you find their dynamic interesting or something in between?

If you're not a WoL x NPC shipper, but you have a ship with another person, how did that come about? What makes that ship fulfilling for you? Has the ship impacted your relationship with that other person? Feel free to gush, I wanna hear it!

Oh, and pictures are a must (if you have them).

[that-wizard-oki]

Kids how do we feel about King Art and Malory ship?? Give me your thoughts

[starrysnowdrop]

Hali sighed deeply and gazed towards the floor frowning. “Are you referring to that ridiculous bodice ripper entitled Star-Crossed Lovers? Ughhh…”

She crossed her arms as she began to recall a seemingly troubling memory. “I had first seen that novel when I was… well, deeply troubled by, umm, shall we say, personal troubles. I read the back cover and once I realized that my lover was supposedly Pipin Tarupin…” with a shake of the head, Hali regained her composure and continued, “I should have been flattered by it. Pipin is a wonderful man, and anyone would be lucky to have him as a romantic partner. However, I could only hold it as evidence that it mattered not that I was a Warrior of Light. I was still a mere common woman who was in love with a man who was unobtainable, and clearly the public at large knew it as well. The only person who would look at me with romantic or sexual attraction would have to be a fellow lalafell after all.”

Hali looked up and shrugged her shoulders, finding her smile once more. “Not to worry though! In time, I learned to ignore those sorts of salacious rumors about the Warriors of Light, the Scions, and Eorzea’s leadership, as they never seem to guess any of the relationships correctly anyway. You can only see how the populace all nearly fainted when Aymeric and I formally announced our courtship as testament to that.”

Giggling, Hali leaned in and quietly added, “Did you know that I found a copy of that novel in Aymeric’s bedside table? But that’s a story for another time!”

Your WoL finds a romance novel written about them. Who are they paired with and how do they react?

[reignpage]

“What about that guy?”

You sigh. He’s at it again. For the past couple days, Satoru’s been hellbent on setting you up with random men. He pointed out all sorts of people – a big, burly man with a long beard, a skinny tortured soul, and yes, even a homeless man. There’s no logic to his selection; everyone’s good enough. But also, no one is. 

“On second thoughts, don’t go with that guy. He looks sketchy.”

Your brow quirks up. “Sketchy?”

“Yeah, like he collects My Little Pony figurines in jars.”

Sitting on a park bench, you two watch the world go by, alone in a little bubble. It’s cold but you don’t dare huddle closer to him. Instead, you wrap your arms tight around yourself. None of the men he picks out will ever be The One, that ship has long passed now. He knows that. Maybe that’s why he’s trying so hard. 

“He looks like he can cook – you like guys that can cook, right?”

You shrug. “It didn’t really matter since you bought good food for me all the time. And your private chef’s the best. Sweetest man I know.”

Laughing, he asks, “Am I second best, at least?”

“You were.”

Satoru falls silent. One day, you’ll acknowledge that you’re being unnecessarily cruel, but you can’t find it in you to care right now. He deserves this. How dare he sit here, beside you, like nothing happened, trying to set you up as if it’ll fix everything he broke? 

Doesn’t he know he’s hurting you? Doesn’t he know better? After all the years you’ve been together, he thinks it can end like this? That you two can laugh on this bench, your bench, like the old times? The realisation that he wants to let you go, sever all ties and never look back washes over you. Again.

You might just throw up.

“I can’t move on until you do,” he says, and when you close your eyes, you imagine he bears a soft smile on his pretty face, kind and playful. Always kind. Always playful. But now carrying a certain coldness you don’t recognise. It’s a coldness one only faces on the other side.

Shivering, you hold yourself tighter again. “I know.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“I was.”

When the people pass by, they don’t give you a second glance. To them, they just see a blur, a shapeless mass of something that used to be alive. If they look closer, they’ll see two people: one frozen in time and the other stuck between worlds. 

Both forgotten in the chaos and lost in their own grief. 

Never to be found.

[sixeyesonathiel]

pirate!satoru who has a bad habit of picking up shiny things and an even worse habit of teasing the sweet mermaid he meets every sunset.

he first saw you while chasing a storm. his crew had warned him of cursed waters ahead, thick with fog and stories about drowned men who never sank. sea birds had stopped circling, and even the wind seemed to hesitate—but satoru liked cursed things. they were usually interesting. and interesting things always led to fun.

what was more fun than a girl in the sea, glowering at his ship like it had insulted the ocean herself?

he remembers that day like salt on skin. ropes whipping in the wind, the creak of the ship’s old bones groaning beneath his boots. gulls screeched overhead, barely heard over the crack of thunder. and then—your eyes, breaking the water like two shards of moonlight, locked onto his with that same look of unimpressed calm, as if you’d already judged him and found him deeply, deeply annoying.

you were tangled in another crew’s net, fins thrashing, hands cut red from rope. he didn’t free you out of chivalry—no, he wasn’t that sort. he just hated the other pirates. loudmouthed, greedy, and smug, like they were owed the sea’s bounty. they caged you like a prize pearl in a box. and that pissed him off.

“i owe you a favor,” you’d said afterward, voice soft like seafoam clinging to a quiet shore.

“you can owe me your company,” he’d replied, tipping his hat like a man far too confident for his own good.

turns out, getting under your skin was impossible. your metaphorical skin might’ve been made of coral and old secrets. he teased. you smiled. he flirted. you tilted your head in confusion. he poked. you thanked him.

like now.

he lounges at the edge of the ship, one leg dangling lazily over the side. the sun’s lowering behind him, turning his white hair gold at the edges, glinting off the pale sweep of his lashes. the breeze lifts the ends of his coat, fluttering it just enough to add flair. in his hands, he twirls two mismatched seashells between calloused fingers, idly rolling them together with a click.

a few crewmates are scrubbing deck nearby, trading quiet gossip about strange tides and the price of fish. none of them look over. they know better. at sunset, the captain talks to the sea—and she talks back.

then you arrive.

rising slowly from the waves like the ocean herself breathed you out. droplets cling to your collarbone, shoulders glistening under the fading sun. your hair, wet and clinging to your cheeks, frames the serene warmth in your eyes. you blink at him with that same quiet anticipation, like this ritual—this meeting—is the most natural part of your world.

he smirks, holding up the seashells. “oi, these yours?”

your brow furrows as you float closer, curiosity blooming across your face. “mine?”

“they look like your bra,” he says casually, letting them swing between his fingers.

you tilt your head. “bra?”

satoru leans forward on his elbows, grinning like the smug little shit he is. his eyes gleam with mischief, watching your expression intently.

“you know. the thing you wear over your chest?” he makes a vague motion toward your own shell top, then glances down at the ones in his hand. “though these—” he eyes the tiny shells, then very obviously eyes you, “—are definitely snack-sized. yours are, uh. not.”

you look at the shells, then down at yourself. then back at him. your smile spreads slowly, luminously. “they’re very shiny. thank you.”

he freezes. “wait. no, that’s not—”

your fingers break the surface and take them gently, like he’s handed you something precious. your touch is cool, damp, and feather-light against his knuckles. he tenses, a little startled by the sincerity of the gesture.

“i will wear them tomorrow,” you say, delighted. “they’re beautiful.”

he sputters. “they’re too—wait, you’re serious?”

you nod, already lowering back into the waves, cradling the shells like they’re pearls from a lover. “thank you, satoru.”

the sea folds over you in one smooth motion, and you're gone—your tail flashing silver in the last bit of sun, leaving only ripples behind.

satoru stares at his now-empty hands. then drops his face into them with a groan. “i was teasing, you little—”

that night, he doesn’t sleep right.

he tosses in his hammock, arms crossed behind his head, boots kicked off haphazardly on the floor. moonlight drips through the porthole like spilled milk, casting pale lines across his wall. every time he closes his eyes, he sees the way yours sparkled. hears your voice echoing in the back of his skull. "i will wear them tomorrow."

“they’re too small,” he mutters. “they were for crabs. or like, decorative. who even makes shell bras that size?”

he flips over and buries his face into the pillow with a frustrated grunt. wills himself to sleep out of sheer frustration.

satoru wakes with a start the next morning, tangled in the hammock’s netting like a man caught in his own trap. the wood above him groans softly with the sway of the ship, but inside his skull, everything is loud. echoing. relentless.

"i will wear them tomorrow."

the memory hits again, not so much a whisper as it is a war drum. a cursed prophecy. his breath catches, and he blurts out—“shit.”

he nearly tumbles out of the hammock, lurching upright like he’s missed roll call at death’s door. his coat is thrown over his bare shoulders in a crooked mess, one sleeve still twisted from sleep. one boot is half on, heel dragging noisily across the floorboards as he bolts for the deck like a man late to his own wedding. his hair is a disaster—white tufts sticking out in every direction, the ends tangled like salt-kissed seaweed.

his crew parts like startled fish, wide-eyed and wary. some lift their heads from mugs of lukewarm grog, others pause mid-scrub, the morning sun casting halos over buckets and ropes.

“what’s gotten into the captain?” a deckhand murmurs, still holding a mop dripping seawater.

“maybe the mermaid did curse him,” another offers, leaning on the railing with a skeptical squint.

“more like blessed,” a third snorts, biting into an apple with the smugness of someone watching a romance unfold.

satoru hears all of it. ignores all of it. his boots clack against the wood like thunder rolling toward a storm.

his strides are frantic, yet deliberate. his shoulders tense. his expression, usually carved from smug marble, is twitchy—like a man walking into his own trap with his eyes wide open. he rakes a hand through his hair—more chaotic than usual—and curses softly when it tangles between his fingers.

the morning air is salty, thick with gull cries and the faint scent of fish stew wafting from the galley. behind him, the sun has barely begun to climb, painting the deck in long gold strokes and casting shadows that stretch like sleepy cats.

and there you are.

rising from the sea like a myth rewritten.

your silhouette breaks the water with ethereal grace, droplets clinging to your skin like borrowed starlight. your hair, soaked and glinting like pearls, drapes around your shoulders, framing your face with moonlit strands. your eyes—curious and bright—search the horizon before landing on him. and there, nestled over your chest in all their misplaced glory—those fucking seashells.

tiny. ornamental. utterly useless in the face of reality. they barely cover what they’re meant to. they sparkle obscenely under the sun.

satoru’s spine locks like a rigged pulley. his pupils shrink.

he pivots too fast—then smacks directly into the mast.

thunk.

“ow—! dammit—” he hisses, stumbling back and grabbing his forehead like he’s been cursed by the gods themselves. one eye cracks open, pained and watery, just in time to see you waving.

“satoru! good morning!”

your voice is sunshine poured over seafoam. you tilt your head, cheeks dewy and glowing, sea breeze brushing through your bangs.

he spins again, half-hiding behind the mast, gripping it like a lifeline tossed from a lifeboat. his mouth is dry. his pride is dissolving. he forces a grin—shaky, stretched thin like fraying rope—and manages, “h-hi.”

his voice cracks in the middle like a boy in love. a boy in trouble.

“the shells fit nicely!” you call, hands floating over the water’s surface as you paddle closer. “they’re a little snug, but very shiny. i like them.”

his brain just stops.

“i—i figured you’d—uh—you didn’t have to actually—I was just—just teasing—”

his words trip over each other like drunken sailors on a tipping deck. his hands flap helplessly in front of him, like he can push the moment away through sheer air resistance.

you blink, thoughtful. your tail flicks behind you under the water, sending a ripple that bumps gently against the ship. “teasing?”

he breathes in too fast and immediately regrets it, choking on his own spit. he bends slightly, hand over his chest like he might physically keep his soul from bailing.

he looks at you. really looks.

the way your brows knit together softly in confusion. the way your fingers cradle the shells like they’re delicate offerings. how your skin glows, kissed by the morning light, shimmering where droplets cling to you. how the innocence on your face is devastating.

he drags a hand down his face, fingers smearing across his cheeks. his pale strands falls over his eyes. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you look genuinely concerned. “with seashells?”

he gives a defeated nod, letting his forehead rest against the mast like he wishes it were a guillotine. “yes. exactly that.”

you hum thoughtfully, still watching him. “do humans often give shells like that to show affection?”

he chokes again. this time, violently.

“w-what?! n-no, i mean—sometimes? not like—i wasn’t—it’s not—”

you smile, pleased with the answer you’ve crafted from his gibberish. “then i’ll treasure them. thank you again, satoru.”

you say his name like it’s a charm, a secret tied to your tongue.

he might actually die.

[afreakforyautja]

well look at that, my horniness took the better of me, so here’s the result

I bite back

Yautja x Reader / Yautja x Human female

Rating: 18+

“When is this going to end?” you murmured, gently tapping your forehead against the cold glass of the chamber that held you.

“You keep feeding me. Giving me water. What do you want?” you asked again, your voice low, tired.

It was strange. You were aboard a spaceship—held captive when you’d expected to die the instant you locked eyes with the creature that had taken you.

At first, you fought. You cried. You screamed. You pounded your fists against the reinforced glass until your hands ached.

You had been so much fiercer in the beginning.

Now? You were numb. Almost bored.

Days blurred together, each marked only by meals of unfamiliar but oddly palatable fruits and endless silence from your captor.

The questions haunted you: Why did it take me? Where are we going? What does it want?

Fear had long since faded into fatigue. You were too tired to be terrified anymore.

In truth, some days, you thought you would’ve preferred death over this drawn-out uncertainty.

But then… something changed.

One day, the alien stumbled into the ship, and you froze.

It was wounded.

A deep gash ran down its arm, green blood—neon and thick—oozing from the torn flesh. The limb hung at an unnatural angle, barely attached.

You watched, breath caught in your throat, as it clumsily moved through the ship, almost forgetting your presence entirely.

It collapsed onto a pile of thick rugs, panting, trembling.

You observed behind the glass, transfixed.

It was the first time you’d seen it in pain. The first time it looked… vulnerable.

Maybe, just maybe, this was your chance.

It stitched itself with crude but efficient movements, applying strange, iridescent substances you couldn’t identify. It let out a low, guttural sound���half a roar, half a groan—and then lay still.

You sat down, quietly, eyes on its shifting, unsteady breath as it twisted in discomfort.

It wasn’t out for long.

Minutes later, it stirred abruptly, eyes opening wide with a sharp inhale.

Then it disappeared and returned shortly, holding a tray of those strange fruits you’d been living off of.

As always, it slid open the small hatch of your chamber and pushed the tray inside.

But this time, you moved.

You reached out, quickly, instinctively and grabbed its wrist.

It froze.

For once, it didn’t pull away. Maybe it couldn’t. The wound had slowed it down.

But still… it let you touch it.

Your hand trembled slightly as your fingers wrapped around the rough, scaly texture of its skin. It was cold. Not quite like a reptile, but close. Unfamiliar. Alien.

You didn’t expect it to go this far, that it would allow contact.

You swallowed hard.

“Are you… hurt?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

No response.

“I saw you. You collapsed.”

A pause.

“Let me help you.”

You didn’t know what you could do. You had no training, not even with human medicine, let alone whatever this was. But the words came anyway.

“You’ve been feeding me. Taking care of me. Let me return the favor.”

Still, it said nothing. But it didn’t move either.

Maybe it was trying to understand your intent—measuring the risk.

Then, slowly, it shifted its hand beneath yours.

Your fingers slid over its palm as it moved. Coarse. Cold.

You repressed a shiver.

The creature took a step back, eyeing you carefully. You were still kneeling, looking small, unthreatening.

You knew how you looked to it. Fragile. Weak. But that was the point.

You wanted this—this moment. A crack in its guard.

If it trusted you, even a little, maybe… just maybe… you could turn that into a chance.

A way out.

The creature took two ragged, guttural breaths before stepping closer to the chamber. Its clawed finger slid over the padlock in a slow, deliberate motion. With a soft, mechanical click, the door released.

What?

Was that it? Was it really that easy?

Had all it taken was appearing small—fragile—for it to trust you?

Before the door had even swung halfway open, you were already slipping through the gap, adrenaline firing through your veins. You moved fast, fueled by a desperate, animal instinct to flee.

But freedom didn’t last more than a breath.

A hand, massive and unrelenting, wrapped around your throat and slammed you back against the cold glass chamber. Your skull hit the surface with a thud, and all the air was gone from your lungs.

Panic overtook you.

The creature’s clawed fingers squeezed, just enough to restrict your breathing but not crush it entirely. Its grip was so strong, so terrifyingly effortless. The sharp curve of its nails dug into the tender skin at the nape of your neck, pressing hard enough to hurt, to warn.

You clawed at its wrist, nails scraping over its scaled skin, desperate for air.

It didn’t flinch.

Even with blood still dripping from its wounded arm, it held you firm, as though pain meant nothing.

Your feet dangled, your body pinned like prey, caught and immobilized.

It could kill you. Right now. Just one twitch of that wrist and it would all be over.

Your vision blurred at the edges. Your eyes welled from the pressure.

“Please—” you gasped, voice cracked.

The grip loosened, barely.

Air returned in small, painful sips, but the hand remained, keeping you locked in place, back pressed hard to the smooth surface behind you. You coughed, instinctively reaching to support yourself, but the creature didn’t move away.

It leaned in closer, massive frame radiating heat. Its head dipped low, its strange mandibles brushing your cheek. Its breath, hot and coarse, ghosted along your skin, and then came the sound.

A low, rumbling growl vibrated from deep within its chest. Not quite a purr. Not quite a snarl. Something primal.

It grew louder, reverberating in your ears and against your ribs, until it cut off sharply.

Then came the voice… deep, guttural, foreign… but unmistakably clear.

“If you try to escape again, I won’t hesitate.”

He didn’t say what he would do. He didn’t need to.

You nodded quickly—yes, yes, you understood.

You were no threat. Not now. Not yet.

Slowly, his grip slackened, and you dropped to the floor in a heap, gasping, fingers clawing at your throat as your lungs fought for air.

You looked up at him.

He towered over you, chest rising and falling rapidly. The wound on his arm had reopened, neon blood dripping down in thick lines, staining the floor.

Even in pain, even with one arm nearly useless… he was still dominant. Still terrifying.

And yet…

You saw it. Something behind the rage, the instinct, the brute force. He was hurting. Breathing heavily. Off-balance. Vulnerable… in his own way.

This was dangerous. All of it. You knew that.

You rose to your feet—slowly. Carefully.

Every movement was cautious, as if one sudden gesture might awaken some dormant, primal instinct in him.

You kept still once upright, eyes locked on the heaving rise and fall of his chest. The green blood still poured from his arm, trailing in slow rivulets down his thick, scaled skin. It was grotesque and oddly beautiful. Like art painted in pain.

You had never seen anything like him before.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and spoke, your voice soft and unsure.

“Tell me how to help you.”

Silence.

He didn’t look at you immediately. Instead, he walked toward the part of the ship where he’d earlier attempted to patch himself up.

You watched him, his steps heavy, his breath audible. With a sharp tilt of his head, the long, rope-like dreadlocks shifted around his shoulders with grace.

He turned, mandibles twitching, the low clicking sound they made vibrating in the air between you like a warning or a signal.

He held something out.

A skin stapler—if you could even call it that. It was massive compared to any human medical tool, mechanical and crude, made for strength over finesse.

Then, without a word, he turned his back to you.

And only then did you see the true damage under the light.

A jagged slash, deep and raw, tore across his back. It wasn’t just bleeding—it was gaping, the green fluid seeping from it in thick, steady drops. You could see sinew beneath. Maybe even bone.

You stifled a gag, covering your mouth briefly before forcing your hand back down. Your stomach churned.

This was worse than you thought.

His back muscles twitched under the strain, contracting with each breath. Even still, he stood tall, tense, waiting.

You had to do this.

You needed his trust. And if earning it meant holding back the bile in your throat and pretending your hands weren’t shaking uncontrollably, then so be it.

Your fingers trembled as you took a step forward. You reached out with your free hand and gently touched his shoulder to steady yourself and him.

He flinched.

His skin was cold, much colder than you expected, and the contrast between your warmth and his body made him shudder. But he didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, before pressing the device to his torn flesh.

You braced yourself, and then pulled the trigger.

The stapler hissed as metal bit into skin.

He grunted, guttural sound rumbling from deep in his chest. His hands slammed down onto the metal table in front of him, claws digging into it, leaving deep gashes in the surface.

You kept going.

Staple. Staple. Staple.

With every burst, his muscles flexed. His arms shook under the pain, and the table beneath him groaned under the pressure of his grip.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t strike out. He simply endured.

By the time you were done, the line of staples snaked clean across his back, sealing the worst of the wound. You stepped back, your hands slick with sweat and blood, the device trembling slightly in your grip.

You had done it.

He leaned against the table, his breaths deep and uneven. You watched his back shift with each inhale as he flexed the stitched muscles, testing the damage, testing your work.

Your hands were still trembling slightly when he turned and took the stapler from your grip.

Then, he faced you.

He didn’t speak. He simply watched.

The kind of stare that made the air feel heavier.

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing. But he seemed to be waiting for something—anything.

And when you remained still, uncertain, he closed the distance.

His hand reached for your face, fingers curling around your cheeks, thumb and forefinger applying just enough pressure to coax a reaction. You flinched slightly.

“What else do you want?” you asked, voice low and guarded, a frown forming on your face.

But the alien didn’t respond. He merely observed, eyes flicking across your features like he was trying to learn you, maybe even memorize the softness of your skin beneath his clawed fingertips.

His hand left your face, trailing down to your neck, then your shoulder, tracing a path beneath your arm and along your forearm. You shivered involuntarily when his thumb pressed firmly against the underside of your wrist, pinning your pulse.

He felt it.

Your heartbeat.

Unsteady.

And undeniably human.

A low purr resonated from deep within his chest, vibrating through the air like distant thunder. It wasn’t threatening, but it was possessive. Satisfied.

You let him explore you, not out of desire, but out of necessity. Every touch was a test. You didn’t know what he would do next and neither did he, maybe. But still, he touched like someone who had been holding back for too long.

When his hand slipped under your shirt, brushing just below your bellybutton, you stepped back instinctively, muscles tightening.

You couldn’t read his intentions, maybe he didn’t fully understand them either.

“I’m… ticklish,” you said quickly, a shaky breath escaping as you gently pushed his hand back up to your stomach.

Whether he believed the lie or not, he withdrew, wordlessly. Then, with fluid strength, he turned you around by your shoulders.

His claws traced along your back now, slow,intentional strokes.

Right over the spot that mirrored his own injury.

The gesture didn’t feel like threat.

It felt like recognition.

You bit your lip, steadying yourself when his touch followed the length of your spine. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth when his claws reached the small of your back. A tingling ripple ran across your skin.

He paused there.

Then, nothing.

Just silence.

Until you felt it.

Hot breath—on your neck.

It ghosted over your skin in slow waves. You froze, every instinct inside you telling you not to move.

His mandibles clicked, close to your ear. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, your head turning slightly away, just to escape it.

That’s when his grip tightened. Hands holding your shoulders firmly, anchoring you in place.

Don’t move, your mind warned.

Don’t give him a reason to think you’re resisting.

His breath returned, heavier now, brushing over the nape of your neck and then came the sharpness. You hissed softly as you felt the faint sting of his mandibles grazing your skin.

There was moisture.

Not blood—at least not yours.

Then, a slick warmth dragged slowly over the same spot.

His tongue.

You hadn’t seen it before, but now you knew. It was real, and it was on you.

Testing you.

Tasting you.

You clenched your jaw, holding in the gasp that threatened to escape. The sensation was foreign, unnerving, but strangely cautious. He wasn’t being careless. He was exploring. Reading your reaction. Studying how far he could go.

You were being mapped with his mouth, his claws, his curiosity.

And all you could do was endure it.

You hadn’t expected things to escalate this quickly—yet they had.

The sensation that bloomed where his mandibles had latched onto your skin again was so alien, so unfamiliar, you could barely contain the noise that threatened to rise in your throat. It wasn’t like anything you’d felt before, stinging, with a strange heat. And that’s what unsettled you most.

And still… that same unknown sent a pulse of something dark and electric down your spine.

Your knees trembled—not just from fear, but from the way your body responded to the contact. Helplessly, shamefully. Your heart threatened to burst out of your chest, as if caught in a tug-of-war between terror and… something else.

Another hiss slipped from between your clenched teeth when his tongue swept along your wounded nape, tasting the blood he had drawn moments before. You could feel the deliberate slowness in the way he licked over the bite, like he was trying to understand you—your scent, your flavor, your limits. This had to be a test, didn’t it? A threshold he was pushing you toward, waiting to see whether you would flinch… or endure.

If you could survive this, if you could hold your ground, maybe he’d trust you. And if he trusted you, then eventually… maybe you’d be free.

Then his hands were on you again, turning you to face him.

His breathing was ragged, strained, his chest rising and falling fast.

His mandibles were slick with crimson, your blood still fresh on him.

You should’ve recoiled in horror.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your eyes lingered on the tautness in his body, the tension in his shoulders. His gaze bore into you unrelenting and unreadable. Yet there was something unmistakably raw in it. As if he didn’t fully understand what he was doing, only that he needed to.

One clawed hand rose slowly, catching the hem of your shirt and giving it the smallest tug, pulling you closer until you were pressed to him, your face just above the curve of his chest. He was colder than any being you’d ever touched… and yet somehow, from within, he radiated heat. Like a furnace buried under stone.

Your breath stuttered as you tilted your head up, eyes meeting his.

He studied you the way a predator studies prey, but there was no hunger. Just intensity. Curiosity.

And then, without a word, one long, talon-tipped finger rose to your lips.

You held your breath.

He dragged it gently across your bottom lip, then pressed inward, urging your mouth open, just enough to trace the warmth inside. Your lips parted automatically, breath catching as the cold of his skin met the heat of your tongue. You didn’t even realize you’d made a sound until his chest rumbled in response—a satisfied purr.

He was testing you again. Learning the intricacies of your body the way someone learns the pressure points on a weapon.

And still… you didn’t pull away.

“Ooman, your heart is racing… yet you don’t seem scared.”

His guttural voice struck the air like a blade, freezing you where you stood.

Those red eyes—dark and unreadable—pierced you from above. There was something almost gentle in the way he stared, but it was impossible to ignore the sheer force behind his stance.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Your heart was hammering inside your chest like it was trying to escape your ribs… yet you hadn’t ran.

You hadn’t screamed.

He had touched you—bitten you—and you hadn’t moved.

Maybe worse… part of you didn’t want to.

Shame curled hot and thick in your chest, but shame didn’t undo the way your body had reacted. You were only human. You couldn’t control everything. Not when it felt this strange… this overwhelming.

He pressed his thumb further against your tongue, forcing you to choke slightly, the reflex hitting before you could stifle it. Tears welled up in your eyes from the gag, but even as your vision blurred, he didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze sharpened, his mandibles twitched, and the shimmer in his eyes suggested… fascination.

He liked that sound. Like he had just discovered a new function in a toy he hadn’t yet finished learning to play with.

“Are you sad, ooman?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. That question was… unexpected. But you realized quickly why he asked it.

He had only ever seen you cry when you begged him to let you go, sobbing behind reinforced glass. You were sad then. Terrified.

But now?

“…No,” you whispered.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, glancing at the saliva stretched between his fingers. He examined it with the same curiosity a scientist might give a strange specimen before flicking his gaze back to you.

“Then what do you feel?” he asked again, this time quieter.

You didn’t know how to answer.

Fear, yes. Curiosity, definitely.

But the heat coiling inside you, the warmth spreading down your spine and pooling between your legs—it wasn’t curiosity alone. It was something deeper. Something primal. Something neither of you seemed able to name.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

And you meant it. The confusion, the contradiction of everything in your body and mind. It was too much to untangle.

But something about your honesty changed him.

He studied you again, slower this time. And then his claws returned, sliding under the hem of your shirt. With one decisive movement, he tore the fabric, the sound ripping through the quiet as you gasped.

Your stomach, exposed now, just below your ribs, was bare beneath his stare. A sharp sound left your lips as he pressed a single claw to your abdomen, not aggressively, but intently.

He was testing you again.

The touch crawled up, just below your chest, and stopped when you tensed, your eyes shut tight in fear and… anticipation. But he didn’t go further.

“Why is your heart racing again?” he asked, voice low and impossibly close.

You opened your eyes, meeting his.

“Are you scared, ooman?”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to lie, to give a simple answer and end this test. But there was no hiding from him.

You nodded. Then, unsure… you shook your head.

His mandibles clicked, clearly confused by your response.

“Use your words,” he commanded, the demand more like a nudge this time.

Your face burned with shame.

“I… I am scared,” you whispered. “But I also feel… hot. Wherever you touch me.”

You couldn’t meet his gaze anymore, so you looked away, resting your forehead lightly against his chest. Partly to hide, partly because he felt so real.

He was massive. You hadn’t truly registered the sheer scale of him until now.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, his voice hoarse, strained. Desperate to understand.

You nodded again.

“Speak,” he said, more forcefully now.

“…Yes.”

The sound rumbled from deep in his chest—a pleased, almost feral purr that vibrated through his body and into yours.

He liked that answer. All of it. Your hesitation, your embarrassment, your honesty.

And then, without warning, he moved.

In a swift motion, he slid an arm beneath you, gripping you just under your thighs and lifting you into the air like you weighed nothing. A yelp escaped you—startled, unsteady—as your hands instinctively wrapped around his neck.

You felt the wetness of his healing wound bleed onto your pants, staining them green. The contact was hot and sticky, and your panic spiked just enough to make your breath hitch.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he lowered into a crouch and dropped you onto the pile of thick, ragged furs that covered the floor. The makeshift bedding cushioned your fall, but your body tensed as he loomed above you.

He knelt now, towering yet strangely calm.

The light overhead cast shadows across his skin, accentuating the dark blue hue of his chest. Scars, some old, some fresh, lined his torso, like a war map drawn across his body. He didn’t speak, didn’t gesture. He simply presented himself.

And you stared, drawn in despite yourself.

He didn’t wait for your permission this time. His hand grabbed your wrist firmly and brought it to his chest.

You hesitated.

Then… slowly, he let you explore.

Your fingers traced the hard lines of his muscles, the roughness of scarring, the slickness of partially healed wounds. He made a noise, deep and choked, when you grazed one of the fresh cuts.

Your eyes drifted up to his dreadlocks, long and heavy, brushing over his chest like strands of ink.

Hesitantly, you reached for one, curious now. You wrapped your fingers around it, stroking once, then again, before giving it a light squeeze.

That’s when it happened.

His entire body jolted, his muscles seizing as though you’d flipped a hidden switch. He collapsed forward slightly, one fist hitting the ground to steady himself, breath tearing from his chest in ragged bursts.

Your eyes widened.

Whatever those were… they weren’t just hair.

You let go immediately, crawling back into the furred rugs as he struggled to regain composure.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t move.

But your mind raced.

What was he?

And what had you just done?

You thought, for one breathless moment, that maybe this was your chance.

Maybe that flicker of weakness, his body buckling from your touch, meant you could shift the balance. Regain some control. Use it against him.

But that illusion vanished the instant he caught his breath.

He looked up at you with a low inhale and you saw it. The shift. The hunger. The intent.

Like a predator fixing its gaze on something it knew it could catch.

You stared, uncertain whether to brace or beg.

He didn’t give you time for either.

With a sudden, terrifying grace, he lunged forward, crawling fast over the rugs until he loomed above you. His forearms landed on either side of your head with a thud, enclosing you in his shadow.

You barely had time to gasp.

Warm blood dripped from his healing wound, trickling down to your cheek. You clenched your jaw to keep still, holding your breath, afraid to move or speak. Maybe this was it, maybe you’d pushed too far.

Then he lowered his head.

You heard the click of his mandibles before you felt his teeth.

He sank them into your shoulder, not deep enough to break bone, but enough to make you cry out. Sharp, white-hot pain bloomed across your skin as you twisted beneath him, but his weight pinned you like prey caught in a trap.

His hand pressed hard over your chest, flattening you against the furs, and then he struck again. His mouth finding your other shoulder with terrifying speed.

Another bite. Another cry.

This time, something was different.

He lingered.

You felt his tongue glide slowly across the mark he had made, the heat of it dragging across your skin, soothing and igniting at the same time. The sting of pain morphed into a low, building ache. You gasped, but not from pain. From…

Frustration.

But not the kind born of anger. This burned lower, deeper. A need you didn’t recognize, spreading like fire in your belly.

Your nipples stiffened under the thin fabric of what remained of your torn shirt. You weren’t sure when it happened, but his hand, still pressing on your chest, seemed to be aware before you were. Every brush of his palm made the sensation worse. Unbearable.

His mouth trailed lower, tongue dragging along your collarbone, then upward toward your neck.

You knew what was coming. Another bite. Another mark.

And some primal instinct in you snapped.

You acted before thinking, before fear could stop you.

You reached up, grabbed one of those thick, heavy dreadlocks hanging over your face… and yanked.

Hard.

He reacted instantly.

His body spasmed, his torso pitching forward until his chest nearly collapsed onto yours. A guttural sound erupted from him—not a growl, not a roar, but something building in his chest, shaking through his ribs like a lion’s warning.

His breathing turned ragged, desperate again. You felt him straining against the instinct to move, to react—to take.

His fist slammed down into the furs beside your head to steady himself.

You’d hit a nerve. Literally.

You let go. You could’ve stopped there.

But you didn’t.

Driven by something reckless, something stupid, you leaned up—and bit the same dreadlock between your teeth. Not enough to maim… just enough to threaten. To warn.

To show him that you could.

And that’s when it changed.

His hand shot up, clawed fingers wrapping around your throat.

Not with full strength, but enough to knock the air from your lungs and force you to release your bite.

He held you there, suspended between danger and awe. The grip at your throat was firm, unrelenting… but conscious. Just enough pressure to remind you: he was in control now.

Yet his eyes… they told another story.

Because in that moment, he wasn’t just looking at a fragile, soft-skinned thing he’d captured.

He was looking at something dangerous.

Something wild.

Something that bit back.

Your teeth might be small, but they could’ve torn through that sensitive appendage. And he knew it.

You saw that realization land behind his eyes.

And you saw something else too.

Respect.

Predator or not, he now understood:

You were not prey.

You stared up at him, breath hitching under the pressure of his hand, your body thrumming with adrenaline, confusion, heat.

“You bite like an animal,” he growled, voice low. “Yet you’re not one of them.”

The hand around your throat stayed firm, his grip no longer punishing, but purposeful. Curious. Possessive.

He studied you like a puzzle he hadn’t expected to find inside his cage.

Your chest rose and fell beneath him, breath caught somewhere between panic and anticipation, your lips parting reflexively as his thumb pressed against them—harder this time. Enough to make your head tilt slightly, your jaw strain. Enough to draw out those same desperate, involuntary sounds that had already begun to unravel him.

Mewls. Gasps. Whimpers that betrayed you, that sent heat rushing through both your veins and his.

He made you feel weak, pinned under his massive frame, restrained, breathless and yet the trembling in his chest betrayed a dangerous truth: he was just as undone as you were.

There was green blood staining the rugs now, hot and slick, smeared along the curve of your hip where he’d held you. His claws flexed at your sides, eager, restrained, and trembling. The Yautja was trying to hold himself together, and you… you were the reason he was falling apart.

In all his years of battles, of honor duels, of hunts through hostile terrain and endless bloodshed, he had never been brought to this edge. This need.

And not just because you fought back.

It was how you did it.

You didn’t bare fangs to kill.

You bared your teeth to warn, to challenge. To play.

And in his world… that meant something else entirely.

The way you looked up at him, defiant even as his hand rested on your throat. The way you gasped around his thumb, shame flushing your cheeks but never reaching your eyes. You weren’t meek. You were alive. Burning.

That was a language he understood.

It wasn’t what he expected when he first claimed you. You hadn’t fought then. You’d been taken without a struggle. No weapons, no resistance, just a shaking, wide-eyed creature.

He was supposed to drag you back. A trophy. A specimen.

Maybe even meat, if the elders had deemed it so.

But he hadn’t brought you to them.

He hadn’t handed you over.

He hadn’t harmed you.

Not even once.

Instead, he kept you.

Why?

He hadn’t known the answer… until now.

Now, your body squirmed beneath his. Your heat mixed with his, and your spirit rose like a flare against his instincts. You weren’t just prey. You were spark.

His chest began to tremble with a low, guttural noise, not quite a growl, not quite a purr. Something deeper.

Amusement.

He laughed.

It was alien, yes, but unmistakably pleased.

A sound from deep inside his chest, vibrating through your body like a drumbeat.

You blinked up at him, startled by the change. The gleam in his eyes was no longer just predatory. It was amused. Intrigued. He tilted his head as if seeing you for the first time, not as an obligation, not as cargo.

But as entertainment. A wild, feisty creature dropped into his hands.

You felt it then, something shift in the way he looked at you.

You weren’t just a captive anymore.

You were his distraction… his companion… his toy.

And in a life filled with blood, silence, and cold steel…

You were the first thing that ever made him feel alive.

[starrysnowdrop]

Here’s a small sampling of my ship, Hali x Aymeric! The timeline of events are way too long to go over in detail right now, but feel free to read what I have on my pinned post. They are idiots in love who are mutually pining for one another but don’t think the other returns their feelings. It isn’t until the events of EW that they finally confess their love, and now they are living together and very happy. I’m thinking that a marriage proposal might be coming in Dawntrail, but in the future they get married and eventually have three children.

I just love them very much. They make me so happy.

🥹💖

WoL/OC Question(s)!

This one goes out to the WoLshippers! Who do you ship your WoL/OC with? An NPC or another WoL/OC? How did they meet, and how long have they been together? What kind of relationship do they have?

Show me your favorite SFW gpose/art of them together!

[that-one-p00k1e]

─────〃★ hold me, console me ೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

✧ summary: how they'd hug you in their sleep ft. Sylus, Zayne, Caleb, Xavier, & Rafayel

✧ content: fluff, gn!reader, most likely OOC, a lil angst (?) if u squint, established!relationship

✦ a/n: in honour of Sylus coming home to his bride🤵‍♂️👰‍♀️ pls send prayers writer's block is killing meeeeee

— SYLUS | ★ The Sweetheart Cradle

Sylus has always been guarded his whole life to the point of keeping a gun under his pillow at all times, and sleeping on his stomach as to make it easier to reach it. A peaceful slumber was rare for someone like him. Always in high alert of his surroundings, haunted by nightmares that seem to mock him every night. That was until you came along. For once, he allowed himself to rest his back onto the mattress. His stomach, which used to be facing down, now had a small arm snaked around his waist, a bundle of warmth cuddled next to him. Instead of reaching for the cold metal of his weapon, his arm wrapped around you to pull you closer. He leaned his head down, catching a whiff of a floral scent. His lips made contact with the top of your head, and you felt him letting out a deep, silent sigh. For once, in his life, Sylus could sleep in complete peace, and an empty pillow where a gun wasn't needed.

— ZAYNE | ★ The Spoon

He's a simple man, and for him, it feels awkward to initiate certain gestures himself because of how used he was to having you doing it first. So when he feels a little in need of physical affection, he'll just wrap an arm around your waist, pull you close until your back touches his chest, and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. It's a common position, so what? All he wanted– needed –was warmth, closeness. A reassurance that you were still here despite all the downs you've gone through together. He held you firmly against his chest, as if an attempt to be your shield. It was his way of healing from his guilt, a demonstration of the deep protection he so desperately wanted to provide you with. He was a rusted ship, flawed with damaged steel that sailed in an ocean of regret. And yet, you were there; holding onto him with no sign of letting go. You were here. You were his anchor.

— CALEB | ★ The Face-to-Face

This man has spent so long being apart from you, so he was not going to waste any opportunity to hug you. He wanted to fully embrace you, to feel you whole. He'd wrap both his arms desperately yet tenderly, like he was eager but afraid of making damage. He'd pull you close until there wasn't even an inch of space, then let your head rest against his broad chest, his heartbeat serenading through your ears. You could feel him shudder as he nuzzled his against your neck, sensing the relief in such simple gesture. It was paradise. Heaven, even. He combed through your hair as it grounded him, as if he was trying to forget the remaining time you had together, the only thing keeping you both separate. He wanted to feel this every day – every night. He didn't want to let go, not ever. It was selfish of him, but sometimes, a little indulgence is necessary.

— XAVIER | ★ The Tummy Snuggler

Somehow and somewhat, he finds comfort in sleeping on your stomach. For him, it felt way better than using a pillow. Warm, soft, squishy, and makes it easier for you to play with his hair. He likes the feeling of being pampered, so clinging onto you made it better for him to sleep. The way your heartbeat would echo through his ears; how your stomach rose and fell; and your fingers strumming through strands of his hair like you were playing a soothing melody, lulling him to a state of slumber. He'd cling to you like you were his support system, the only thing that could keep him away from nightmares. Though he is a deep sleeper, if you moved even a few centimeters, his arms that were once loose would quickly tighten themselves around you, making sure to keep you at his grasp. The only way to escape? Well, guess you'll have to wait until the sleeping beauty arise from the sleep himself.

— RAFAYEL | ★ The Pretzel

This man was clingy and whiny even in his sleep. You'd be sleeping peacefully next to him until he starts tangling himself up with you. At first, it was just the normal arm over waist, leg over leg. Then he grumbled lowly, saying how he's the only one trying to keep the both of you together. Complying, you hugged him back, but it still wasn't enough. He'd shuffle here and there throughout the night, trying to find a good position. After some unconscious twists here and there, the two of you were practically tangled up with each other. Legs interlocked, arms intertwined; one head was on a pillow that stood at the very edge of the bed, holding on for dear life, and the other was sleeping on the other's chest (could be either of you). It looked uncomfortable, but it really wasn't. For you and him, it felt like a puzzle fitting together.

[starrysnowdrop]

Happy Kiss Day!

From Hali x Aymeric 💋