#Brighter Than the Dawning Blue

[romancemedia]

Anime Royalty/Commoner Couples

[maidoftheday]

Today’s Maid of the Day: Mia Clementis from Brighter Than the Dawning Blue

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode II 

Concurrent Tides

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff. Most illustrations are now on her patreon.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19) Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, profanity, age gap, aggressive rut cycle, heat cycle, dom/sub dynamics, jealousy/posessiveness, knotting, marking, scenting, praise kink, breeding kink, size difference, p in v, mating/bonding, multiple climaxes, creampie, ralak is a bit of a meanie in this, let me know if I forgot anything? Word Count: 10k Requested: Yes || No Author’s Note: the second special episode is finally here. sorry it took forever to get it out, but better late than never :') i hope you guys enjoy <3 theres another part to come after this one! 🤍 Synopsis: what happens if you and your new mates cycles sync? 

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——

“Only I knot you.”

That was the first time you’d ever seen Ralaks eyes shift in colour. That same night right after he pulled you out of his memory of his first rut. A beautiful, deep blue, glistening before your honey glazed orbs. It’s barely been a week since that night, yet it replays over and over. Day and night. How he looked at you with nothing but unadulterated greed, hardly catching his breath as he tried to steady his galloping heart. It was something deep-rooted and primal. 

Something animalistic. 

Since, you’ve longed to see him fully immersed in such a state. A state where self control and sexual desire no longer coexist. He’s always too concerned with you and what he thinks you can and cannot manage that he never allows himself to do what he truly wants. The level of restraint you feel through the bond is indescribable. A level you nor any other na’vi could conceivably attain. Regardless, most nights you find yourself fantasizing about this ‘lack of control’ right before bed. 

Nights like tonight. 

Where the stars shimmer so brightly that you need to draw the curtains, and the air is exceptionally cold and crisp that you need to huddle closely together for warmth. When your nose is buried so deep into his chest that there's no other choice for his scent to fill your lungs. And tonight he smells extraordinarily good. The salt of the sea mixed with leather hide. And oddly enough, he smells like… home. The forest and its greenery. It’s quite ironic but perhaps it’s Eywa’s way of saying that this man is truly yours. It's so comforting and right. Like a cup of hot tea on a stormy night, never failing to put you to sleep. A remedy that works in seconds — but not tonight. 

Tonight you’re restless and he can sense it. 

“What is it?” Ralak husks, shifting his position to hold you a little closer. “Cold?” 

Truthfully, you’ve been feeling a little off. Your body has been restless and haunted. As if it could sense some sort of change of shift in the atmosphere. Or perhaps it was between the two of you. “No.” You mumble, lifting your head to look up at him. “Just can’t sleep.”

Ralaks ears twitch, a little surprised his typical soothing techniques aren’t working. He sits up quite quickly, bringing you up with him as he scoots back into frame of his bed. His brows lower when he ponders about what could be keeping you so on edge. He takes note of your flushed appearance and the minute changes in your eyes, they’re glowing a little brighter recently. 

His brows jump when the realisation dawns on him. 

Could it be? He knows it’s close but is it really already affecting you? How is that possible? And does that mean it will be even more severe this time around? 

He had every intention to stay but perhaps it’ll be more difficult than he expected. He should really tell you, but he knows exactly how that would play out. You would get your way as per usual, it was hard for him to deny you of anything you wanted. A quick swish of your tail and it was yours. Ralak took pride in caring and providing for you. But not for this. This was just plain dangerous. And therefore he couldn’t allow you to figure it out. It’s ultimately safer that he keeps it to himself, at least until you’ve adjusted to him a little more. Your intimate moments together are very few in number after all. 

“Why is that, tanhì?” He asks in a low, steady tone, fixing his mask of indifference tightly to his face. 

You may be a slow learner, but you weren’t slow. You could sense that he wasn’t being all that transparent with you. 

“I don’t know. Something feels off about you.” You say in an almost accusatory tone, finally sitting up to look him in the eye. He’s pale in the face and his breath becomes raggedy. “Tell me, Ralak.” 

You watch as his pupils constrict, leaving nothing but a black dot in an open sea of blue. Within a matter of seconds, they deepen in colour and his eyelids flutter shut. He clears his throat, and waits a few seconds to open his eyes. They’re back to normal but you could’ve sworn they looked different. Just like they did a few nights ago. 

“What just happened to your—” Your heart begins to race as you utter the words, only to be cut off by Ralaks hasty voice. 

“Inland. Tomorrow morning. Overnight hunting trip.” He grinds them out as if it physically hurts to say the words. Anything to keep you from figuring it out. 

What? Is he — lying to you? 

This isn’t like him. He avoided trips inland at all costs. Anything to stay with his tanhí. He’d even go as far as faking an illness, despite rarely getting ill, to get out of accompanying Tonowari. Especially for overnight trips. 

“And why did you not tell me earlier?” You manage to squeak out a closing throat, backing away to create a little distance.

He shakes his head as he blinks rapidly, staying put to allow as much space as you need. “I was hoping I did not need to go.” He utters, dropping his head to lock his gaze on your twiddling thumbs. His eyes trail up your dark blue frame, taking note of how your body is already almost trembling —already responding to him— all out of your control. He bows his head, hiding his face. “But it seems that I cannot get out of this one. I am sorry, my paysyul.” 

For a fleeting moment, you really thought this was the beginning of something bad. Something deceitful. But, his words instantly bring you comfort, slowing your leaping heart and putting your mind at ease. 

But the funny thing is that there was no lie. 

There was really an overnight trip inland with Tonowari. One that Ralak arranged himself. Tonowari was especially taken aback by Ralaks suggestion of a hunting trip and immediately queried if he was alright, putting a firm hand on his forehead to determine if he had some sort of fever. But once Ralak explained himself, Tonowari was smiling and laughing, smacking a few blows on his back as a form of approval, teasing him yet again about ‘the love story between an Akula and an ilu’. 

Your sigh brings Ralak out of his deep thought, chin leaving his chest to witness you sliding back into bed, turning on your side and backing up onto him. A smirk pulls at the his lips as he joins you, enveloping you in his warmth once more. A wave of relief washes over him as he rests his chin on the crown of your head. He’s thankful that you didn’t press any further. Otherwise, he would’ve had to reveal his best kept secret. 

His upcoming rut. 

—— 

The harsh thump of Ralaks heart rouses him to the sight of his mate clung to his chest. He admires your beauty, allowing his eyes to fall on your chest, watching closely as you breathe slowly. He gently pulls back the thin sheeting covering your body, exposing your puffy nipples to the cool morning air. When they stiffen into peaks, saliva pools in his mouth. At this point he would have looked away because of basic na’vi decency, but this morning is different. 

He allows himself to stare. To take in every detail on your chest. To sear it into his memory so he can visualise you just like this as he relieves himself. Exposed before his eyes, supple skin glistening as the rays of sunlight reflect against your freckles, exposed, stiffened nipples, that act as the perfect bait to lure in a hungry predator. 

Predator.

That’s what he’ll be in a matter of minutes. Nothing but a slave to his own urges and instincts. Ravenous. Insatiable. Voracious. With not even a sliver of self composure left to hold onto an ounce of rationality. He can already feel it creeping up on him, the hunger deep in his core turning him into the beast that he appears to be on the outside. It’s always been like this. A little too much. Too overwhelming. 

Too aggressive. 

And as the years passed it only worsened. Six unmated years. With no one but himself to make it through the tortuous few days. He just knows that he would be too rough with you. It’s his biggest fear, after all. To have no self control. To hurt the one thing he loves more than Eywa’s gift of life itself. He would sacrifice his own (life) if it meant to save yours.

He was hoping to endure it. Bite his tongue through it and be by your side. Perhaps take a long bath in the lake and crawl into bed after you’ve gone to sleep and relieve himself as quietly as he can. But now that it’s here in full bloom, he’s already having a hard time containing his urge to spread your legs and use you as his own personal fucktoy. 

But you’re more than that to him. 

And this is why he’s choosing to leave before you wake. Before he can no longer contain himself to just staring at your bare chest. Before he pulls the sheet down even further and parts your legs—already trembling from his leaking pheromones—and has a taste of his sweet, sweet tanhí. Rather, he uses his last shred of self composure to plant a firm kiss on your forehead before quickly gathering his gear and heading out the door. 

Unbeknownst to him, you were awake the entire time. 

You could feel his eyes bore into your tiny frame as the crisp morning air grazed past your nipples, just like you could feel the roughness of his kiss right above your brow. You wanted to open your eyes but the way his pheromones waft up your nose had you in a foggy trance. Your eyes burned under your eyelids and your body felt so heavy and hot. 

You couldn’t help but think, is this his rut?

To be influenced by his cycle? You had felt it before. His first rut in the flashback, but it was nothing like this. Sure, it had you shivering and a little on edge but this was to another level. You could barely open your eyes, much less get out of bed. This entire time your body has been sending warning signals that its mate was peaking in his cycle — restlessness, clinginess, the nesting. You had unknowingly gathered enough fruits and grains to last you a few days. Even in this murky state of mind you finally manage to link the pieces of the puzzle together. 

Listening to his footsteps as he walks out the marui, you muster up as much strength as you can to open your eyes. It’s blurry and honestly all just one blob. You could only make out a few colours trailing behind this gentle giant—green, blue and orange. All of which mix together and move like the aurora in the night sky. If one could see what a pheromone looks like, this would be it. When you finally get enough strength to part your chapped lips to mutter his name, the colours disappear as the marui flap closes behind him. 

You really thought that once he left and the room aired out, that the influence of his pheromones on your body would lift as well. But you were wrong. Instead, the heaviness of your body grew tenfold, making it hard to breathe. It’s as if your lungs were filled to the brim with cold water, yet they burned as you squirmed around to fill them with air. The fire in your lungs quickly spread to your extremities, leaving your entire being in a sweltering inferno. 

This feeling is familiar, yet foreign all at once. A desire so extreme it burns from within. The desire to be connected with your mate on all levels known to the na’vi. To satiate the itch of your empty, fertile womb by filling it with his seed. 

Why did you have to get your heat now?

You call for Ralak a few times in your dazed state, only for you to be reminded by nothing but the crash of the waves that he’s gone. Soon the heavy rumble of the waves is drowned out by your whimpers and whines as you call for your mate to no avail. All you can manage to do in your feverish haze is kick off whatever cloth is stuck to your body, curl into a ball and rock to ease the unbearable sensation between your legs.

All until you hear a familiar, husky voice. 

“I was doing some sessions with Ronal and—”

“R-Ralak?” You call out in relief, hoping your prayers have finally been answered. You roll onto your side and squint at the figure in the door frame. 

“Uh. Not quite.” He quickly mutters under his breath, moving his forearm to shield his nose from your strong pheromones wafting his way. “Eywa—” He mumbles the great mothers name like a curse as he looks around the marui for your mate. “Where is Tak?” 

Tak?

The more you squint your eyes, the more you’re able to make out who this figure standing in your doorway is. Your blurred vision clears just enough to reveal the unforgettable, brawny features of no other than Ka’ani. 

“Ka’ani?” You say the name slowly, unsure if you should believe your eyes. 

“Hah. What do you know…” Ka’ani scoffs, moving his arm from his face to lean in to get a better look at your condition. You’re panting yet shivering, glazed in your own sweat and slick. He smirks a little as he pulls back, spitting out the words, “…bitch in heat.” 

“What are you... d-doing here? You should leave!” You try to shout, although it comes out more as a hoarse cry. 

“Why should I? It looks like you need a hand.” Ka’ani jesters, physically extending his hand towards you as he wiggles his thickset fingers. 

“Haa. I really don’t.” You pant, hugging your knees to your chest even tighter.

“You’re sitting in a puddle of your own sweat.” Ka’ani’s voice is harsh, yet laced with concern. “And whatever else is coming out of you.” His jaw clenches and unclenches as he looks away from you, seemingly out of — respect? He catches sight of the full bucket of fresh water at your bedside, along with empty drinking bowls.

Has she not been tended to all day? Not a sip to drink? Ka’ani thinks to himself, concerned as to why Tak’s mate would be alone, uncared for and in heat of all things. 

You finally muster up the energy to tug the sodden sheet over your naked body and scoot back further to the frame of the bed. “Ralak said he will be back soon. You should leave if y-you want to live.” You lie, feeling a little threatened that a male na’vi has barged into your marui while you’re in heat. 

“Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second, y/n. None of this makes sense.” Ka’ani speaks, taking a few steps towards you. 

You shuffle even further back only for your back to make contact with the bed frame. A rush of fear surges through you. The type of fear that has your heart twisting behind your ribs. You cross your legs over one another, bunching up the sheet between them and beg with trembling lungs, “P-Please, Ka’ani. Don’t.” 

Ka’ani stops dead in his tracks, seemingly offended by your assumption that he’d be approaching you to do something that the great mother herself would look down upon. Sure, he tracked your scent last time, but he was here atone exactly for that. 

“Syor [relax]. I would never do such a thing.” He says through gritted teeth, storming towards the bedside and quickly pouring you a drink. “No matter how strong your scent is. Although, you don’t smell all that great now that you’re mated.” He chuckles lightly as he hands you the drink. Your eyes jump between him and the cup in his hand before you struggle to sit up. His hand instinctively reaches out to assist you, but you bat it away and continue to pull yourself up. 

“Just — let me help you.” He snaps, supporting your back when you finally give in. “Drink.” He commands, plunking the cup in your hand, taking a step back and crossing his arms.  

You gulp down the water greedily, finally quenching your thirst and hoping it will provide some level of relief to your febrile condition. You hum to yourself as the water makes its way down your throat, but groan when you feel no better. Meanwhile, Ka’ani takes in your state, feeling a twinge in his heart for you when he sees how you’ve been suffering. You look more than uncomfortable. You look like you’re in pain.

“You’ll be alright, y/n. Just tell me where he went and I’ll go fetch him.” He speaks in a more gentle tone, taking the empty cup from your hand.

“I-I don’t — haah. He said he went… He went inland to hunt.” You blubber out, feeling your body heat to a dangerous degree. It has you shaking as you ease yourself back into a more comfortable position. 

Ka’ani shakes his head a bit, “Inland to hunt? Really? When his mate is in heat? Tak would never. The only time he’d ever do that is if he is also… in rut.” Ka’ani stalls on the last few words that slip off his tongue, tasting them in his mouth as the realization sets in. Ka’ani quickly fills the cup, sets it next to you and bolts to the door. Before he ducks under the flap of your Marui, he looks over his shoulder and reassures you.

“Sit tight, forest girl. I know exactly where he is.”

— —

It’s been a few hours since coming to his usual spot — the waterfall with the coldest water known to the reef people. It is Ralaks most private and intimate place aside from his humble abode. A place where only a select few people know about. He’s most drawn to the low temperature of the water, making it a perfect environment to endure the heat of his rut in. 

Despite doing this for the past few years, each cycle gets a little more intense. And this one is certainly no exception. 

Ralak sits underneath the overhang, right in the dip of the plunge pool, and allows the water to beat on his back. He’s maintained this position for the past few hours, only releasing himself when the pressure in his core grows too much. A pressure so immense it would have his body acting on its own accord — a wandering hand finding its way to his swollen cock. 

Truth be told, he hated the feeling. 

He hated feeling so out of control. To be nothing but a slave to his own primal impulses. He’d fight it as much as he could, just like he is now, until the sensation is just too intense to ignore. Until he’s grunting and squirming with a body so heated it has him grinding his teeth. 

He quickly stands up, tilting his head back and covering his face from the stream of the water with his hands. At this point his cock is so swollen that it’s outright painful, throbbing and pulsing from the lack of attention. He thinks of you — your thin tail and tiny stature. The way you lay in bed this morning before he left. Naked and exposed before his eyes. Eywa, how he wishes you were here. How he could finally spend his rut with his mate, but he just knows it would be too much for you to handle. 

The thoughts of you make this no easier, sending his hips thrusting into the air — the running water stimulating his thudding cockhead. He groans from the immense pleasure a little water brings him. He’s neglected himself so badly to the point that he feels like this could really make him cum. But how many times has he cum by now? 

Once? Twice? Thrice? 

He lost count after the fifth time, not that he was keeping track anyways. If anything he was downright denying himself the pleasure, and convincing himself that he remained in control. But fuck, the image of your delicate body —the possibility that he could break you if he weren’t careful— pushes him over the edge. Before he can stop himself, his hot cum is spilling from his slit all over the length of his cock and he’s unable to keep his noises at a minimum. 

“Mmmph.” His deep growl rumbles, a hand grabbing a firm hold of his jumping cock. 

He squeezes what’s left out of his slit, finally looking down to see the state of himself. It’s red and raw — spikes fully erect and balls drawn so close to his body they’re practically hiding behind his thick knot. He lets out a loud sigh. 

Relief. 

Finally, he leans back against the rocky wall and slides down into the plunge pool, immersing himself chest deep into the water. He lightly treads back to the bank and makes himself comfortable — allowing his head to rest and body to relax. He takes a few deep breaths and tunes into the burble of the waterfall. 

All until he hears the click of a — 

Ka’ani?

“Tik-Tak.” Ka’ani clicks melodically, cautiously approaching the giant submerged in the waterfall. Ralak doesn’t budge. He remains fixed in position, eyes shut, head and elbows resting on the edge of the river. His chest heaves harshly as he attempts to remain in this less than tranquil state. “Never thought I’d see the day Ralak leaves his mate in heat. To be soaking in a waterfall of all things.” 

Perhaps Ralak heard wrong. Leaving his mate in heat? Ralak would know if his mate were in heat. He would sense it. Whatever rubbish he’s spewing out, Ralak doesn’t have the time, nor patience, for it. 

“Skxawng, what are you on about? Leave me be.” Ralak huffs, wiping the sweat from his face with a quick hand movement.

“Just as I thought. You’re all hot and bothered too, aren’t you?” Ka’ani chuckles. 

“Leave.” Ralak says angrily, his purplish-blue eyes finally snapping up to meet Ka’ani’s. “I have just calmed.”

Ka’ani’s brows knit together, offended and a little confused with himself for being upset from the way Ralak is shooing him away. 

“Oh c’mon brother. All I’ve been told today is to leave!” Ka’ani’s hands fly up as he takes a step forward. “First your mate, and now you. Am I really that unwanted?”

Now he’s got Ralaks attention. 

Ralak gets a whiff of your sweet, sweet pheromones on him. As if he’s been around his tanhì. Scenting his tanhì. Touching his tanhì. His primal urges devour him once more, eating away at him until nothing but a possessive beast remains. One of pure territorial instinct. 

“What did you do?” Ralak growls through a clenched jaw as he jumps out the water and approaches Ka’ani. “Scenting my mate again?” His voice booms as it increases in volume, yet lowers in depth. “Answer me. Did you touch her?!” 

“No!” Ka’ani blurts out, now taking a few steps back with his hands splayed out in front of him. “Is that what you both really think of me? This is the last I ever do some—”

Ralak remains silent, taking quick, calculated strides directly towards Ka’ani, who is now backing up into a tree. Once his back hits the scaly bark, Ralaks' balled fist slams into the trunk, barely an inch away from Ka’ani’s skull. 

“Alright! Alright. I know what I did before. I-I’m sorry. I came looking for you to apologise for that but I found her in heat. Okay? I came here as soon as I realized.” 

Unsure of whether or not to believe a word coming from this skxawng’s mouth, Ralak steps away from his prey, bloody knuckled and full of uncertainty. But the one thing he is certain about is the fact that he wants no other na’vi to find you if you really are in heat. With a huff of defeat, he pushes past Ka’ani and bolts for the shore. 

——

The trek back to the marui is twice as quick. Your pheromones are thick and potent, affecting him even a few feet away from the marui door. And when he steps through the marui door, he’s completely inundated with the thick fog of your pheromones. He feels lost in himself, struggling not to succumb to his instincts. Struggling to regain control.

“Ma’ L-Lak?” You mewl shakily.

You can smell him, just like he can smell you. It only drives you further into your heat, your trembling body now shaking a little more. Sensing that your mate is in close proximity, your scent glands release more of your aphrodisiac to lure him in. In turn, this has its effects on your body — sending you into a submissive state where you feel too heavy to even lift a finger. You lay there, legs splayed out and glossy fingered. 

You watch through blurred vision as the tall and thick silhouette quickly makes its way towards you. Ralak grabs and firmly holds your legs back as he leans in close, making the confirmation that his mate is indeed in heat. He lingers a little longer than he can control, taking everything in him to pull away and calm down — panting and out of breath. 

“It is true.” He huffs, towering over your tiny, shivering frame. “In heat.” The two words drip off his tongue, much like the thick nectar dripping from your slit.

“Lak. Oh — lak. ’ts you.” You cry out in relief, clawing at his thigh to bring him back to you, “‘m so happy it’s you ‘nd not someone else.” His teeth grit as your hand grazes his thigh, but he remains fixed in place, unsure of his ability to keep his composure if he allows himself to give in to your touches. 

What is he supposed to do now? 

He didn’t think this far into his plan… for once in his life. Typically he’s quite calculated and certain of his next move but now — now he’s not sure how he’s going to deal with this. He just knew that he couldn’t leave you alone. Not for another man to find and claim you in the way that only he should. But he has to remain himself. For you. He swallows down his uncertainty before speaking. 

“I should have stayed.” He looks down at the flushed, puffy flesh between your legs with a rapacious glint in his eye. “I am sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Just p-please. It’s to-o much. T-Too hot. It aches, karyu.” Ralak winces when you groan the last few words, it’s almost painful to resist you at this point. You go to claw at this thigh once more, only for him to shift away. “No, don’t do that. Not right now. N-Need you so ba—”

“My rut came. This morning.” He’s quick to cut you off with a strained, yet monotonous voice, unable to peel his eyes away from your swollen cunt. 

“I-I know.” You pant, earning a twitch of Ralaks brows. “‘nd t-that’s good. Ngh—that’s really good,  I-I can help you too.” You mumble, sticking your hand between your legs to fondle with yourself. With the way he grimaces one side of his face, it seems as if he wants to look away, but can’t. 

“No, tanhì. We spoke of this.” His accent is thick as he struggles to string the words together, “No control. Trying hard…” he inhales quickly, eyes plastered to the sight in front of him, “…not to lose it.”

At this point the haze of your heat has you lethargically shaking your head from side to side, mumbling whatever frustrated-fueled words that first come to you “…haven’t cum yet…”, you squirm around to find a position that allows your wandering fingers better access to your hole, “…need to cum.” You slur the words as you barely slip two fingers inside you and you quietly sob when they provide very little release. 

“Ralak!” You cry loudly enough to at last lure his gaze up to yours, the night sea finally meeting the roaring flame. Your voice quiets down into a soft whimper, “Please. Just t-try. Please.” 

A moment of silence passes where you and Ralak stare at one another, hearts pounding and chests heaving, understanding exactly how the other feels. The burning desire to come together. The resistance, yet the lack of control. The eternal flame within. The heat. 

Ralak breaks eye contact to glance at your slender fingers working as hard as they can. He breathes a heavy sigh, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving you when he sees just how raw you are from being in heat all alone. He’s responsible for you even being in this bad of a state, isn’t he? Leaving you before sunrise with nothing but a kiss on the head. If anything that only made it more intense for you. He wants to — no, needs to care for you. It’s what every part of himself is urging him to do. 

“The thought of another finding you… like this.” Ralak rasps as he closes in on you, “so vulnerable… it makes me — haah.” He cuts himself off with a shaky sigh and a clench to his jaw. Beads of sweat ball on his temples, slowly rolling down his angular jaw to eventually meet and drip from his chin onto your stomach. He looms over you, his hair flowing forward when he suddenly grabs and tugs at your wrist in one swift move, yanking your fingers out of you. 

“Ss-ah!” You hiss with a wince, heart skipping a beat when you realise that he’s barely there anymore. “I-It makes you, what?” You ask quietly — nervously, even. 

A bestial growl begins to rumble in his chest, causing a shiver to ripple through you—hardening your nipples into peaks within seconds. Jawbone fluttering from his reluctance to answer, he harshly cups your pussy with his hand, causing you to gasp. His sharp, intimidating stare locks with yours, brows tensing as he allows two, thickset fingers to slip down to your slickened opening. His growl fades into a single, drawn out word. 

“Nìfmokx. [jealous]” 

His admission slips past his lips just as his fingers sink into your aching core, leaving your mouth agape and hot tears spilling over your cheeks. Jealousy isn’t an emotion Ralak is used to feeling. Much less something he would subject you to experience with him. But you could see the raw emotion in his eyes, as they flicker from a dark blue to something even deeper. It’s the way his stare bores into your innermost being as he fills you up with his digits alone, telling you that you were his, and his only. 

He hooks his fingers right into your gummy walls, holding his position as he moves his hand in an up and down motion at full tilt. The tips of his fingers repeatedly slam into your swelling sweet spot, coaxing out broken, filthy noises from your throat. He hums with pride, yet his face remains stone cold, minus the occasional twitch of his jawbone. He’s trying so hard to keep at a steady pace, and not to be too rough with your fragility. 

“Oh f-fuck.” You curse under your breath, both hands grabbing a firm hold of his forearm. You’ve been unintentionally edging yourself all day that you’re already almost there. And no matter how hard you squeeze and claw at his now-veiny arm, he remains unmoving. 

“Go on, then.” He huffs impatiently as he looks down at you, feeling your walls clamp down on his fingers. Your heels sink into the bed when you push your hips into the air, fingernails digging into his skin as you near your first release. You begin to whimper, bucking your hips to chase the feeling of relief. It’s right there. It’s so close; and you just need to allow it to wash through you. You tense up so badly your whole body shakes, sending your teeth chattering and your bottom lip quivering. You swear you can see the stars from the night sky litter your vision and feel your heavy lids flutter shut.

“Look at me.” Ralak demands in a sharp, gruff tone. Your glossy eyes shoot back up to his, and you start to sputter out whatever gibberish comes from your mouth — a few curses mixed with his name and your fathers’ mother-tongue. He continues to glare down at you with a rigid face, tensing his jaw as he wills himself to be gentle and patient with you. “Good. Now cum, little one.” 

Your pathetic noises suddenly fade into a sweet, little cry. A cry of relief when your frustration washes away as you finally come undone on his fingers. The alleviation is so intense that it’s almost consuming; “T-Thank—” you collapse back down onto the bed, “—you. Thank you—haah, thank you karyu.” You pant repeatedly, his forearm ripping from your grip when he unexpectedly wrenches his fingers out of you. You squirm from the sudden emptiness, “Wait—” 

“Do not thank.” He spits the accented words as he stumbles back to create some distance between the two of you. He pants as he attempts to recollect himself, his face of stone finally screwing into something of a grimace. “So…if another na’vi found you, would you thank him too? Hm?”

“Lak. I… N-No.” You stutter, unsure of what to even say. 

“You are mine. My mate…” he growls through thinned lips, “My duty. Understand?” 

“Yes.” You nod quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up. It arouses you to see him so jealous. So possessive. So assertive. 

Ralak slams his eyes shut and gulps so hard it’s audible —visible even. You could see the bump in the column of his throat quickly undulate, his chest heaving harshly and his shoulders dramatically rising and falling with each breath he struggles to take. And for a while, there’s nothing but silence and his heavy breathing that you feel the overwhelming need to break it. 

“Ralak.” 

Your trembling, tiny voice snapping his head back up to you, once tightly closed eyes now flying open to reveal the most beautiful shade of mauve. They pierce into you like a spear through an unsuspecting prey, full of nothing but pure, unadulterated greed. 

You never thought you’d see them again except in that vision. You get lost in them for a little, studying how the gold ring around his blown pupils still remains even in a sea of indigo. 

You sense that he’s in the thick of his rut now and you need to relieve him soon, like he did for you. Or only Eywa knows what will happen. You allow yourself to finally take in the man before you in full, eyes trailing down his sweaty, muscular physique — perfectly carved v-lines and six fingered tattoo — until they land on his aching cock. 

Oh, fuck. Is he bigger? You think, admiring his mushroomy head and erect spikes. It’s oozing and dripping, unable to keep still from how hard it’s pulsing. It’s at least an inch bigger than usual. 

You look away to study his facial expression and by the way he’s looking at you, you can tell he’s waiting for your command, trying his hardest to prevent himself from pouncing on you and fucking you senseless right here and now. You’ve never seen him this way before. Straining so hard to keep himself in one position and struggling to keep his hands to himself. 

“Ralak… More.” You spread your legs as wide as they can go, holding them apart by the bend of your knees, exposing yourself completely. His heavy lidded eyes widen almost as much as your legs, pointed ears flicking upwards in excitement when he sees you assume such a vulnerable and submissive position. 

“Y/n.” He groans, voice thick with arousal and want and maybe a little desperation as he takes in the sweet sight of your still-pulsing and swollen clit poking out between your folds. “I am… losing control.”

Hearing your name fall from his lips in this way — this tone, instantaneously reignites the flame in your core. In seconds your slit is practically dripping, forming a pool of your slick underneath you. “Good.” You pant as you stare up into his slit-like pupils. You swallow quickly before mustering up the courage to invite the beast in. “Now…remind me who I belong to.”

How could he resist now? 

With the way you’re talking and your pheromones so pungent that they fill his lungs to the brim with no space for any other option but to fall into the thick of his rut. Before you can formulate another thought in your foggy state, Ralak has your legs pinned back and is diving nose first into your cunt. 

He wastes no time to have his fill of you, lapping up your juices so desperately your body moves from the force of his licks. He has been wanting to taste you ever since you made a mess on his fingers, fuck — ever since he got a whiff of your scent from outside his marui door, but denied himself the pleasure in the case he couldn’t stop himself from going any further. But now, all restraint and denial is now left out at that very door. 

The flat of his tongue trails up your inner thigh and then back to your folds, tasting a mixture of the sweetness of your slick and the saltiness of your sweat. He groans when his tongue finally grazes past your clit, feeling it throb against his taste buds. He lingers there for a while, swirling and sucking on you until he unlatches to come up for a quick breath of air. 

“Fucking ftxìlor [delicious].” He gasps out a curse, shoving your legs even further back to have seconds of his meal. 

It becomes evident that he’s doing this for himself. Because if he were doing this solely for you, he would have made you cum by now. He’s eating you out as if he’s been starved for weeks, sucking and popping off your clit just to lap up the sweet, sticky nectar seeping from your hole just to coat his tongue. 

He’s nowhere near as quiet as he usually is, grunting and groaning as he swallows your juices. His fingernails dig into your thighs as he tries to keep himself from being too rough with your tiny, dainty body. But, his attempts prove to be futile once you feel your hips lift off the ground from his grip tightening around your thighs. You stare at the sight of your mate between your legs, crinkling his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut as he can’t stop himself from indulging in his urges. 

“Fuck me!” You let out a frustrated moan, your heat having you so on edge you need to cum again. 

His eyes fly open, and within moments he’s tucked under your hips, pelvises flush together as he rests his throbbing, neglected cock between your folds. His tip touches your belly button with ease, beads of precum oozing out of his slit one after the next. 

“This is what you want, yes?” He bucks his hips into you, the tip of his cock smearing his slick all over your deep blue skin. 

“Fuck, yes.” You whisper shakily, chin meeting your chest to look at the masterpiece he’s painting on you. “I want my mates cock.”

He only responds with a rough growl, flipping you over and pushing you onto your stomach.

“Oh shit.” You mutter under your breath, a little afraid of what you’ve gotten yourself into. But you trust Ralak. 

You know that even in rut he would never hurt you. Not intentionally, at least. Of course this is not to say that he would be gentle —you expect that anything but.

With a firm hand to your upper back, his body is pressed against yours and his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He breathes in deeply through his nose, holding it in his lungs, and then letting out a hot, shaky breath against your skin, finally allowing himself to really take in your scent. 

He almost becomes drunk off it— at least it feels that way for him. Your scent has him feeling like he’s downed two full bottles of fermented fruit with no chasers in between and he simply can’t get enough of it. 

Hand moving swiftly from your back to your head, he pins your face to the bed as he trails his tongue along your jawbone to the nape of your neck. He lingers a little longer than he can help, suckling on and grazing his pointed canines against the skin. It sends shivers down your spine until your tail curls into the air and back arches in complete submission. You push back into him, feeling his hardened length pressed between the swell of your ass and base of your tail. 

Fuck, you just want it inside you already. 

“Lifting your tail for me, hm?” He huffs, puckering his lips against your skin and suckling tenderly. You can feel the emptiness creep back in, and that maddening itch deep in your womb. You moan softly, like a low hum under your breath, which only riles him up more. He feels like he wants to make you his all over again.

To mate with you. 

To mark you as his in every way so that no other man would even dare look your way. Without warning, Ralak pushes up off you, his sinewy arms caging you in with one hand binding your wrists and the other keeping your head pinned to the bed. His legs hold yours down, his knees locking your ankles in place. 

“You belong to me.” He growls next to your ear, his hand abruptly leaving your head to reach for the base of his skull for his kuru. With a quick tug, he brings it over his shoulder and pops it into his mouth to hold with his teeth. He reaches for your kuru that lies innocently in the dip of your back, and brings it towards his mouth.  

A wave of anxiety washes over you when the image of Ka’ani finding you earlier in your own mess flashes before you. You can’t help but wonder if he would see that if he made tsaheylu right now. Imagine how he’d react when he realizes Ka’ani saw you naked and covered in slick? Your body squirmed at the mere thought, only making Ralak tighten his grip on you. 

“Wait!” Is all you could blubber out before you feel the connection —the bond. Your eyes bulge when you feel him surge through you, two minds becoming one. It takes you by surprise, he’s never one to hastily or unexpectedly make tsaheylu with you. But tonight he makes the bond as if you were a tsurak to be tamed. 

What he sees next drives him further into his territorial urges — your interaction with Ka’ani. The way Ka’ani barged into his home. How he saw your naked, vulnerable body. The fear that you felt when another man invaded your space. When he helped you. Innocently touched you. 

“He touched you.” He says between pants, a mixture of emotions washing over him all at once. But the sharp pang of your heat transferring through tsaheylu has him entirely succumbing to his own urges and carnal instincts. 

He’s simply not there. 

His hips start bucking uncontrollably and his cock is poking and prodding at your puffy folds. The crown of his cock jabs at your clit a few times before finally parting your folds and with a quick snap of his hips he’s probing your entrance. 

It stings when his swollen cockhead breaks past the resistance of your tightness, and he can’t help but lay hold of your hip and hiss from how tiny you feel. This is the first he’s ever had his cock stuffed inside a pussy during his rut. The feeling is all-consuming and he unapologetically yearns for more.  

Hips snapping back, he pops his cockhead out of you only to shove it back in again. And again. And again until he’s repeatedly using your tight, little hole as nothing more than a fucktoy for his own self pleasure. 

He leans back to take in the hazy sight, admiring the way your hole stretches perfectly to accommodate the sheer thickness of his cock. And when he sees the mushroomy part of his head slowly emerge he can’t help the way his hips stutter just to sink it back inside you. 

It’s torturous, not having all of him inside you when that’s what your body is pining for most. He’s so much bigger than normal and you know that this is an itch that only he can scratch. “God—” You whine the foreign word, “—just fuck me already!” 

“Agh. Quiet.” He lets out an irritated grunt, both hands flying to your hips to shove you down onto his cock — a loud, audible smack permeating the air when your sticky pelvises collide. 

It almost overpowers the hoarse yet piercing cry that escapes your quivering lips. You’re so tender that the sudden stretch is too intense and with no time to adjust to his size you find yourself shuddering like you did after he took your innocence —your virginity. 

His head dips back in ecstasy just when his tip kisses your cervix, his eyes screwed shut as he tries not to spray his seed inside your womb right now. His fingers sink into your skin, surely leaving bruises behind that will last for weeks. 

“Hngh — woman.” He groans longingly, dropping his head forward and opening his ineberated eyes to witness how your cunt is sucking in every single inch of his cock with glee. 

He grinds himself inside you, tugging at your hips and pushing against the resistance as if he were trying to stuff more of his cock inside you. Your high-pitched shrill fades out into a pathetic little whimper, your wobbly elbows and knees struggling to keep you up.

It’s all too much and your fucked out mind goes blank. You can’t even process how your body is submitting to its owner and his rough touches, opening itself up to be bred already. You sense what’s coming next. Your back bows, elbows and knees burying into the softness of the bed as you try to ground yourself for Ralak to use you for his own relief. 

He does exactly that— hunching over you and shuffling his knees closer so he can gain more leverage to fuck into your slippery cunt. He puts all his weight on you, his fingernails almost piercing your skin when he begins rutting into you like his life depends on it. 

He sets a merciless pace right off the bat, pounding into you as if he were angry with you. He huffs and puffs from trying to catch his breath but fails because he can’t stop himself from humping at you. His body won’t let him, not until he’s ensured you're full with his seed and will bear his child. 

Hands quickly leaving your hips, he grabs your wrists, binding them together once more and the other grips your kuru and yanks it back. Your neck is exposed and your mouth hangs agape as you’re given no other choice but to take the jackhammering of your life. He’s never fucked you so hard or fast and perhaps it’s the haze of your heat but you just want more of him. 

“F-Fuck. FuckFuckFuckmeFuckme— yes!” You beg deliriously, pushing yourself back onto him. You can feel the way his cock is bulging from your lower stomach, but you couldn’t care less because you just want it even deeper inside you. Fuck, it hurts even but it feels so good that you can’t stop begging for more. “Deeper — oh, yesyesyes!” 

Ralaks groans become drawn out and he’s burying his hot face into the crook of your neck as his pulsing tip bullies its way past your cervix. It’s like white hot pleasure surging through your entire being and it has you so lightheaded you may actually pass out before he’s finished with you. 

His cock heats up inside your cunt, becoming so veiny you could practically feel each vein press against your gummy, slimy walls. He’s now panting open mouthed against your throat, his tongue darting out to lick your skin. He shoves your head down so he can access the back of your neck—a hot spot for your pheromones— and grazes his canines against you. Every fiber of his being is urging him to sink them into your skin and see if you taste as good as you smell. His fangs throb in his mouth at the mere thought, his hot saliva dripping off their length and down your neck. 

You’re so overwhelmed and overstimulated that you can’t form a coherent thought much less process the fact that you’re quickly nearing your climax. It’s as if you’ve surrendered all control over your body to him and he’s dictating what happens next. Your pussy walls tighten around him so much it aches and he outright whimpers. 

“Sst-ah.” He pulls away from your neck and slams his eyes shut, grimacing from the way your cunt is gripping his cock. At this point you’re so on edge that you’re just pinching him, locking him inside you and almost cutting off his blood supply. It’s more than painful for him, and he becomes peeved that you won’t ease up. 

Irritated, he aggressively slams himself into you so that you stop with your pathetic little pinching, but all that does is tip you over the edge. Next thing you know your cunt is helplessly fluttering around his cock and your pussy juices are trickling down your thighs.

“Mmm-fuck I’m cumming!” You moan the words so quickly they jumble together, “Cu-cumming! Cumming!”  

You throbbing around him has his eyes rolling into the back of his head but the more your body convulses underneath him the more he grows frustrated with you. How could such a little thing put on such a big performance? Why won’t you just stay still?

So he thrusts. And thrusts. And thrusts. 

Taming you in the only way his body knows how. Fucking into you without mercy or sympathy. He lets out a hiss, the first he’s ever directed your way, and tightens his grip. “Keep…” He pulls out of you until only the tip is left inside, “...still.” Ralak’s deep voice rumbles next to your ear as he slams every inch cock into your cunt, the mere force of his thrust almost knocking you onto your stomach. You let out a broken whimper, coming down from your high and already feeling the coil in your stomach wind and heat up again. 

“Haa—‘nna…make you swell.” He groans the fragmented sentence like a dying man, grinding so deeply inside you that his swollen balls rub against your puffed up clit. Your bruised cervix feels so good against his cock as he uses it to massage the most sensitive part of his tip. 

Experiencing nothing but absolute rapture, Ralaks head slumps into the crook of your neck, where he’s flooded by your scent. He only grinds harder. And harder, until he’s panting like a viperwolf against your skin.

“Fuck — please…” You beg through a shaky whisper, trying to free your hands from his undying grip, “I j-ust c-came.” 

He’s just so fucking big and deep that he’s touching parts of you that have never touched before, and he’s only getting more aggressive the more you push away his advances. Right now, you’re just a squirming, noisy bitch in heat that needs to be put in her place. To surrender and submit. And the pheromones wafting up his nostrils only drive him further into his bestial urges to claim you as his.

His teeth and gums throb in his mouth once more when the urge to mark you as his becomes indubitable. Much like the urge to keep you still enough to make you into a vessel for his seed. He indulges himself, yanking your head back to expose the bend of your shoulder. He hovers open mouthed over your flawless skin and gives you a kitten lick before ruthlessly marking you. 

Your eyes bulge and pupils constrict into nothing but dots when you feel his lengthy fangs plunge into your flesh. The wail evading your throat is deafening and only gets higher when you feel your shoulder set ablaze. His jaw locks into place and he holds you still as he incessantly claims you as his in more ways than just marking. Your eyes start to water and your body stiffens when you feel it. 

He’s bulging inside you. 

Stretching you out until your shoulder isn’t the only part of you on fire. You lash around, clawing at whatever’s in your way until your nails are dull but the more you move the more it burns. “Y-You’re getting bigger inside me!” You release a high pitched squeal, your elbows and knees finally collapsing under you. Now all his weight is on top of you, pinning you flat to the bed with nowhere for you to go. He begins groaning low and deep, drawing it out until it turns into a depraved growl. It feels as if he’s swelling inside you, as if he were doubling in size. As if he were — oh fuck. 

“You’re — you’re knotting me, lak!” You yell when you come to the realisation. It feels like there’s two of him inside you, stretching you to unfathomable lengths. Despite your continuous attempts to get him to let up, he continues to bulge inside you. “You’re knotting me.” You repeat the words in a weakened, croaky voice of defeat, finally giving in and accepting your fate. 

Riding out his high, his hips stutter out of his control — a familiar sensation now flooding your core. A rush of warmth inside you. It’s his hot seed pumping inside you, his cock thumping with each spurt. He groans and moans until you’re so overloaded with his cum it begins to drip down your thighs and mix with yours. 

He unlatches from your shoulder, lapping at the wound to prevent it from bleeding too badly. He plants a few rough kisses on the double crescent shaped mark and works them up to the lobe of your ear. He’s panting and sweating and he can feel the fog lifting now that he’s had his release. “‘m sorry.” He mumbles between wet kisses, now trailing them back down to the fresh wound to lap at it some more. “‘m sorry.”

“Ralak, I-I” You stutter, overloaded with all these new sensations. It’s burning worse than a hellfire wasp sting but at the same time it’s everything your body hungers for. “Haah.. it-it hurts” You whimper quietly, looking behind you to see the most inebriated eyes you’ve ever seen on this man’s face stare back at you. He releases his pheromones to help your body calm down and feel less pain, ultimately scenting you all together.  

“Mawey.” Ralak huffs, trying his hardest to stay still now that he’s quickly coming to the realisation that he’s knotted and marked you in one go. “Doing… so well, tahnì.” He tries to praise you but truthfully he’s still in and out of it, dazing off when he feels the occasional throb of your walls. 

“Am I? Am I helping you too, lak?” You ask in a surprisingly optimistic tone, proud that you were able to do what you were told was unmanageable. He musters out a nod, grunting as he finishes emptying himself in your womb. 

Feeling some level of sense and rationality, you ask him a question that’s been on your mind. “I’m going to get pregnant, aren’t I?”

“Mm.” He hums, nodding his head as he nuzzles himself into the dip of your shoulder, inhaling your seeping scent. 

“Is that what you w-want?” Your breath hitches as you flinch from his cheek resting on your shoulder.

“Mm.” Another grunt, followed by an unexpected, fervid thrust — his body answering your question on his behalf by ensuring every last drop of his essence is inside your fertile womb. 

You focus on steadying your breathing now that you’ve gotten your answer. 

“Irayo, muntxate [thank you, wife].” He says weakly, finally rolling you both onto your sides for some much needed rest. You chuckle. A weak one, but a chuckle nonetheless, and repeat his own words back to him.

“Do not thank.” You say with a smile, getting yourself as comfortable as you can for the long night ahead. 

—— 

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

[purple-writer8]

Heather - ACOTAR

Azriel x Winter Court Reader

“But I watch your eyes as she walks by. What a sight for sore eyes, brighter than the blue sky… she’s got you mesmerized. While I die.”

warnings: unrequited love, pining, evil thoughts, intrusive thoughts, lesser fae thinks shes not enough, hating on girl, self doubt, oblivious az

1.2k words

Masterlist :)

Crushing on the shadowsinger was a bad idea, you knew that since the moment you joined the Inner Circle centuries ago. It was a family, and familiar dynamics could very well be affected by your stupid little crush, but that didn’t stop your heart from beating for him.

You were a master of lies, Azriel’s second in command as Spymaster— you were good at being a chameleon— at lying. So you’ve spent your entire life in the Inner Circle, lying to everyone, hiding your feelings for Azriel because surely you were not worthy enough for the shadowsinger. 

He was one of the strongest warriors in Prythian, the only current shadowsinger, an Ilyrian. You… you were just a sneaky thief turned spy. A lesser fae from the Winter Court, with eyes so white, you were terrifying to your enemies. Fingertips so cold, that with enough conviction, whatever you touched turned into frost. 

You weren’t enough for Azriel, or anyone really. The High Lord had found you three hundred centuries ago, you had somehow snuck into Hewn City, and then you had stolen heaps of artifacts and sold them in the Winter Court for profit. You were stealthy and quick, something he had appreciated when Cassian and Azriel finally brought you to him.

Rhysand gave you two choices: to be handed over to Kallias as a criminal, or stay in his court and serve him— because he was sure you would excel as a spy. In exchange, you got a family, gold, clothes, and a warm bed. It was a no-brainer for you.

Azriel and you were a dream team and with time, your feelings for the shadowsinger went from admiration to adoration. Who wouldn’t adore him? He was perfection, he was everything, and he was the love of your life— you weren’t his, though. 

You had never expressed your feelings because, frankly, you were not sure that you could handle rejection. So you pined and loved him in silence, hoping that one day a miracle dawned on him, and he would somehow fall for you— a frosty lesser fae. You knew you two were not mates, but cauldron, you could wish and yearn. 

It was more than wishful dreaming, though sometimes you thought that just maybe— maybe he reciprocated your feelings. He was so kind to you, so doting, so careful.

Though, that all stopped when Elain Archeron dropped into all of your lives. You liked Feyre, and loved Nesta— but Elain, you hated her. The middle Archeron was perfection, everything you were not. She was soft, kind, beautiful, High Fae, and… Azriel liked her.

You knew it was bad that you hated her for being of his interest, but you had never once claimed to be a good person. Two years into her arrival and you could not stand the likes of her. 

You were sitting in the River House, playing board games with the Inner Circle, Nesta, and Lucien. Much to your delight, Elain hadn’t joined. It was the beginning of winter in the Night Court, and though you were made of ice— you weren’t immune to the cold. You shivered as you laid down one of your cards, and it caused Cassian to laugh at you.

“You turned my room into ice last winter solstice, and now you shiver?” He teased you, making you roll your white eyes at him. “Should’ve brought a coat,” Feyre taunted you, and you nodded. “Guys, I really thought it wasn’t as cold,” you chuckled, rubbing your cold as ice hands together to get some warmth, which was to no avail because there was no warmth inside you. Frost appeared in your hands at this action, causing you to groan. 

 Your heart stopped, though, when you felt a warm sweater wrapping around your shoulders. Your eyes flickered to Azriel, who gave you a small smile, “thank you,” you said softly.

 “It looks better on you than it does me,” the shadowsinger shrugged, his shadows coiling around your frozen hands, trying to warm you up. You smiled, about to answer, but his eyes snapped away from you, as did his shadows. Your eyes followed his gaze, meeting with Elain as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Your heart dropped, she was a sight for sore eyes, a sight for Azriel’s eyes. 

 She had him mesmerized, and you felt like you wanted to die. Inching away from Azriel, you continued your game, dropping his sweater unto the couch behind you. You were an ice fae, you could manage. 

When dinner came around, you were quiet all through the affair. You seethed in silence as you watched him drape the very same sweater he had given you, over Elain’s shoulders. The cold pulsed through your veins, and soon your utensils were turning into ice as you watched the scene unfold.

Elain told some story about her up-and-coming garden, and you got the urge to go and freeze her flowers to death. Obviously you did not. She was an angel, a good person. 

You kind of wished she were dead. You reprimanded your mind for being so evil. How could anyone ever love you? You were terrible… and not even half as pretty as Elain. Your thoughts were dark, and your heart made of stone-cold ice. Love was not something you would ever get. 

After dinner, you seethed outside. The snow that fell over you felt like fire on your skin, and you could feel your fingertips freezing as they created small snowflakes. “Come inside, it’s so cold outside,” that husky voice you worshiped spoke from the from door, causing you to turn to him.

His shadows rushed to you, swirling around your body to shield you from the snow. You turned away from Azriel, not wanting him to see you in your essence. Your veins shone black underneath your pale skin, your eyes glowing white, while ice slipped from your fingers and wrapped itself around you. 

You heard his footsteps crunching in the snow, then large wings wrapped around you in a protective manner as he towered over you. “Don’t look at me,” you mumbled, your eyes casting downward, not wanting him to see your eyes.

“Why?” He asked softly, scarred thumb wiping away frost that had gathered on your cheek. Then it clasped around your chin, tilting it upward so you looked up at him. 

His hazel eyes skimmed over your face slowly, “what’s wrong?” He asked softly, making you tilt your face away from his grasp. “Don’t.” You stated. You wished he knew, wish that you had been obvious enough, because you were so tired of pining for someone who did not love you back. 

“What?” He asked, a puzzled look happening upon his chiseled and devastatingly beautiful face. “You gave her your sweater,” you did not care how preposterous you were being, you couldn’t hold back. You had enough of this. 

"What? It’s just a sweater, does it matter?” Azriel asked, his shadows coiling around his ear to whisper in his ear. Jealous girl, jealous fae. 

 “You like her better.” The jealousy was pouring out of you, manifesting in ice that crawled all over your body. 

 “I can’t keep wishing I was Elain.” 

-

Part Two

Author’s Note:

IK the elain/azriel x pining reader is done a lot butttttt i love this song and i wanted to write my take on the triangle with heather as inspiration!

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe

[pocketjoong]

❥𓂃𓏧WHAT IS A SOULMATE?

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS): You and Seonghwa go on a trip across Europe and you use this as an excuse to make a little birthday video for him. But on the day of his birthday, Seonghwa feels nothing but grief as he watches the video you made for him.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) idol!Seonghwa x fem!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): fluff. angst. meet-cute. nsfw.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) NSFW! MINORS DNI. oral. fingering. unprotected sex (it’s a big no guys, please use protection and stay safe). pet names (mc is called dove). mentions of food. allusions to and mentions of a serious accident. angst. fluff.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 4.3k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (NOTES) @pyeonghongrie-main :) Here's the promised reupload hehehe

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London

Outside the confines of your hotel room, silence blankets the city much like the fog that hangs overhead. The first light of dawn is yet to break through the ink-black sky as the metropolis cradles its inhabitants in the silence of the night. This part of the city is still asleep, each soul embraced by the arms of Morpheus, awaiting daybreak to rouse them from their slumber.

Your gaze fixates on the horizon from between the sheer curtains. A pang of anticipation stirs within you, for out of all the alluring sights of nature, sunrise has always been your favourite. After all, regardless of wherever you are in the world, the sunrise is the only constant in the transient nature of life.

Today, however, as the dark black of the night fades to inky blue and splashes of pinks and purples bloom in the east, the only sight you focus on are his eyes. Seonghwa’s eyes are brighter than any galaxy and softer than the cherry blossoms that have begun blossoming on the tree just beyond the terrace. In that moment, you are happy to forego the sight of the beautiful sunrise to watch the coffee and hazel in his eyes melt to form the most gorgeous shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

It won’t be an exaggeration to say that sometimes, you feel like all of your life—each second, each breath, and each step—amounts to Seonghwa. Every decision you have ever made has been a stepping stone in your journey to meet him that one day six years ago when he was only a trainee.

Close to dawn, you had been wandering through the streets of Seoul to find a spark of inspiration for your first-ever project as a photography major. You knew  you wanted to play with the idea of light and dark meeting together to form the most beautiful of sights, and what was a better time to do so than twilight?

So there you were, braving the winter chill for a decent grade while your friends were sleeping soundly, snuggled up in their warm beds.

But it seemed that fate had other plans for you that morning. You took a sip of the coffee you’d bought from the only cafe open at this ungodly hour, forgetting for a moment that it was piping hot. With a wince, you glared at the beige paper cup as if the liquid energy had personally done something to spite you.

A snicker caught your attention, and you turned around to narrow your eyes at the person, only to freeze in your tracks. Wearing a brown, fuzzy coat coupled with dark skinny jeans, the male looked like an angel sent from heaven. The thought that he was a hallucination of your sleep-deprived and cold body crossed your mind, but you discarded the thought when he realised that you’d heard him, and he scrambled to apologise for laughing.

You didn’t know then, but your life was for him. And, it won’t be an exaggeration to say that your life is all him. As winter melted into spring and spring made way for summer, you fell in love with the colour brown: the lush cocoa of Seonghwa’s eyes, sweeter than any hot chocolate you could find, and the tan of his skin, reminiscent of the buttery sweetness of roasted chestnuts. As the weather became humid and the days turned longer, you didn’t even register the beginnings of love taking root in your heart.

It began slowly, like the dripping of water from a tap. Drop by drop, your heart filled with adoration for him. Starting with an appreciation for the awe with which he experienced the world as if doing so for the first time. Then, it became more serious: you found yourself yearning to be around him, to listen to him talk about anything and everything, to be the only one he’d think of as being worthy of his heart.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, you fell for his voice, a deep baritone with the consistency of honey that you couldn’t get enough of. And the best part? You got to hear it every day before sunrise, for that was his designated time for you in his busy schedule as a trainee and then later as an idol. Dawn was yours, had always been yours, and would always be yours as long as Seonghwa was beside you.

And so, without your knowledge, you fell in love with him bit by bit. You fell as if falling under a spell you couldn’t find a counter for. Not that you wanted to anyway, not when he was there to catch you.

A year later when spring arrived, love and hope sprouted in your heart when Seonghwa’s lips pressed against yours for the first time under the cherry blossoms. He etched himself into the deepest crevices of your soul and your heart. His touch was like that of the sun against your skin after a dark night, igniting your soul in a way that reminded you of fireworks. Under the light of dawn, as he kissed you, you learned a truth. Like the sunrise, Seonghwa is the only constant in your life.

“What are you thinking about?” His soft whisper pulls you out of your reminiscing, and you find yourself gazing into his wide eyes that are brimming with affection and curiosity.

Even after years of being with Seonghwa, the way he looks at you as if you are the one who hung the moon in the sky always floors you. Your skin tingles at the warmth and adoration in his gaze.

“You,” lost in way his thumb grazes against your waist, the word slips out of your lips without a second thought. You almost curse at yourself for being so taken with him when you see a devilish smirk pull at his lips.

“Is that so, my dove?” Chuckling, he lets himself get closer to you, if that’s even possible, considering how you’re basically pressed against him. His hands rise to cup your face, drawing you to his lips.

You lose yourself in the warmth of his mouth. His kisses are softer at first, but soon, his lips are moving insistently against yours. His teeth sink gently into your bottom lip, and he swallows the moan that leaves you almost hungrily. Seonghwa’s hand slides up the side of your body to slide your nightgown off you, exposing you to the chilly morning air.

He pulls back from you momentarily, the loss making you whine, but the protest dies in your throat when he gazes at you with nothing but love and adoration. In what little light filters through the sheer curtains, he looks ethereal with his glowing bronze skin. His dark hair is messy, and yet he manages to look as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a manhwa. As if knowing what’s going through your head, a soft smile pulls at his lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he breathes, voice thick with sleep and desire.

“Like what?” You ask, your own hands finding purchase against his shoulders.

“Like I’m the damn sunrise.”

“You’re more breathtaking than any sunrise I’ve ever seen, Hwa,” you cradle his cheek in your palm, words ringing with sincerity as you gaze at your boyfriend.

Seonghwa ducks down at your words, hiding his face in your neck as you chuckle at the way he reacts to your compliment. Your amusement doesn’t last long, however, when he leans down further to lave his tongue against the marks his teeth had left against the column of your neck the night before. His teeth sink into your skin, cutting you off mid-laughter, while his palms come to cup your exposed breasts, and you find yourself arching into his touch. 

You watch Seonghwa descend the length of your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips can reach. His hands slither downwards, fingers digging into your thighs to spread your legs open for him. Bringing his mouth to your core, he smirks when you let out a broken moan, bucking into his mouth. Seoghwa keeps his eyes on you as he devours you.

“Hwa—” you choke back a moan, reaching for him with a trembling hand. You pull him to your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Want you. Please.”

“My beautiful dove.” Seonghwa breathes reverently. His hands are gentle against your waist, cradling you close to him while his lips trace their way up your jaw to meet yours in a sloppy kiss. 

As the sun rises over the Thames River, he ravishes you with a gentleness that feels like the first touch of warmth of the morning light.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Madrid

“Are you recording me?” Seonghwa laughs, walking backwards on the sidewalk as you fumble with the camera—it’s heavier than what you’re used to—but you don’t mind because you’re more concerned about the quality of the video than anything else.

You can’t help but grin at the sight in front of you: Seonghwa in a beret and a long, dark coat that he has paired with jeans contrasts so well with the potted geraniums in front of the restaurant you had stopped to get breakfast at. The flowers herald the happiness blossoming in your chest at the sight of your lover glowing like the sun while surrounded by the the tell-tale signs of the approaching spring.

Seonghwa jokes that these flowers are blooming because it is his first time visiting Europe with you. You laugh off his silly comment, but in your heart of hearts, you can’t help but agree with him. It’s almost as if nature wants you to document the most beautiful sights while you record Seonghwa in the cities you are visiting.

Before you can answer him, something catches his eyes, and before you know it, he is dragging you to a toy store he has spotted on the other side of the road. His smile as he eagerly scours the store for something to buy reminds you of sunlight upon the tides, bright and blinding as the sun itself on the waves that lap gently at the shore.

Seonghwa makes his way to the sunglasses, trying on the goofiest ones, making you giggle. Encouraged by your laughter, he continues to make a fool of himself, pulling funny expressions for the camera and not caring if people are giving him funny looks. At one point, he tries the poison green alien sunglasses, and despite you laughing at how atrocious the design is, you can’t help but think how easily he can pull off even the most ridiculous of accessories with grace.

Behind him, you spot something that makes you gasp, and you rush to the shelves to grab one of the Toothless plushies. Turning around with purpose, you’re caught off guard by how close Seonghwa is, but you don’t let it faze you.

“Look, Hwa! I found you on the shelf,” you giggle at him, holding the plushie up so that it lines up with his face.

He rolls his eyes fondly, used to such jokes by the rest of ATEEZ and his fans. Despite that, he takes the plushie from your hands and puts it on his head, allowing you to capture him with ease. His touch is careful as he holds the plushie, similar to how he handles everything he lays his hands on. Delicate and light, he touches everything he comes across with care, and that’s one of the reasons you find him endearing—for he’s one of the few people who truly take the time to appreciate the beauty the world has to offer.

“If I’m Toothless, doesn’t that mean you’re my Light Fury?” You watch the way his eyes scan the shelves for something.

“I guess,” you shrug, chuckling as you help him in his search for a plushie of the said dragon.

“Do you think we should buy these?” Seonghwa asks, interrupting your search, and you turn to find him holding up the two plushies. He glances at the two stuffed toys—Toothless and the Light Fury—with his eyes furrowed as he weighs the pros and cons of buying both.

“You have multitudes of these back home, Hwa.” You remind him, in fact, he has so many plushies and figurines that he had to store some in your apartment because his manager had threatened that he would throw them out if he saw one more of the HTTYD-themed merch.

“But—”

“Hwa.”

“Fine, break my heart, why don’t you?” And with a pout, he places them back on the shelf reluctantly. You know he’s joking because when you gesture towards the plushies later on, he shakes his head with a smile.

Throughout the day, you explore the city with him, telling him everything you had learned about the places from the little tourist booklet you had snagged from the hotel that morning. He listens to you earnestly, watching you talk with a smile as admiration settles under his skin.

Later in the night, you find yourself in a cafe. Taking a deep breath, you inhale the scent of coffee that permeates your immediate surroundings. Since the cafe is basically empty at this time of the night, a sense of tranquillity surrounds you, much like the warm coat Seonghwa has draped over you. You watch late stragglers making their way home from their jobs through the window you’re seated against, hands curled against a warm cup of hazelnut latte.

“Dove,” Seonghwa’s quiet voice comes from next to you, causing you to snuggle into his shoulder, humming for him to continue. “Don’t fall asleep. We have to walk back to the hotel.”

“Shall we leave, then?” Stifling a yawn, you ask, causing him to nod.

He leads you out of the cafe, keeping his hand on your lower back as you walk through the sparsely populated streets. The very next moment, however, it begins to rain out of nowhere, and before you know it, you are being drenched in the downpour.

Seonghwa laughs in surprise but turns his face upwards to allow the raindrops to kiss his cheeks. Even though the world is blurred around you and your vision is warped by the drops in your eyes, you can still see him clearly. He basks in the rain, lets himself get drenched by the droplets cascading down his face, neck, and shoulders. The rain is so heavy that the raindrops make streams as they make their way down his body.

Watching him like this, you find yourself reaching out for him. As if on the same wavelength as you, Seonghwa takes your hand in his, lips curling up in a smile when you entangle your fingers with his. Reaching out, he cups your face gently, and it seems as if the world stops around you, your senses failing to register anything beyond his touch. Seonghwa trails his thumb along your lips, wiping the raindrops that have settled across your skin.

Drenched in the downpour with him, it’s easy to think of Seonghwa as the rain and yourself as the earth that craves rain after a dry spell.

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Seoul

The wallpaper drips with grief, mimicking the gloom that has taken root in his heart and doesn’t seem to want to leave. The glow of the streetlights filters through the windows and is the only source of light in his dark room. In the centre of the whirlpool of dread and darkness lies Seonghwa, curled up against the messy sheets he can’t bother to straighten.

The silence is uncanny. He’s not used to it—for years, he has shared a room with Hongjoong, and even though, more often than not, the younger male wasn’t actually there because he preferred the studio or the living room couch to the bedroom, the mere idea of sharing a room with someone always made him feel at ease. Hongjoong has been Seonghwa’s anchor in the years he roomed with him, but now alone in his room, the walls seem to press in around him like waves trying to drown him, leaving him breathless.

If Hongjoong is his anchor, you are his beacon, his guiding light, his polestar. And tonight, as his ship is battered by the biggest storm he’s ever faced, you aren’t here either. Desperately, he searches for something to ground him, but too many days and nights filled with sorrow and false optimism have built up and around him, crushing him with a weight he can’t handle anymore. When love wasn’t enough to save you, how can it be enough to help him stay afloat in the rough seas?

Outside of his room, spring touches everything with its delicate hands. For Seonghwa, however, winter still lingers, and the beautiful weather outside just irks him further. He hasn’t been in love for the last week, and even nature cannot revive him this time around. Without love in his heart, the only thing he feels is despair.

Even now, he can’t forget the way red painted his hands as you lay in his arms. Sometimes, when he squeezes his eyes shut hard enough, he can see your smile. In the very same moment, his heart opens and breaks when the image of you in his arms dances across his vision, and he dies again and again, bleeds until there’s only a shell left behind.

The beeping of his digital clock startles him. The digits read 00:00, distorted from the tears that line his lashes but never seem to fall. For a long time, he had thought today would make the pain bearable, but it persists, lingering in his heart and his room like stubborn rain clouds that linger even after the storm has passed. It is possible that you may not return to him, but he tries to remain optimistic. If he doesn’t believe you to be strong enough to fight for him, for your love, then who will? 

His phone dings, and he looks at the device for a moment. Each beep of his phone has, till now, started him into a sitting position, and every time, it has not what he expected. But foolishly, he still hopes for a miracle.

His phone dinging again with the custom notification he had set for you has Seonghwa scrambling to check his phone. It’s a scheduled email, but your name lighting up the screen renders him breathless. At the sight of your name, the storm raging around him quietens down, leaving him in calm seas. There’s a video attached with the email, and he clicks it open.

[Exterior. Mid-morning. Shots of the streets of London from a car. In the foreground, the text reads Happy Birthday, Seonghwa! A female’s voice is heard speaking in the voiceover.]

Y/N: What’s a soulmate?

[The camera pans and focuses on Seonghwa as he looks out of the window, pointing at all the things he remembers from the few times he has been there with ATEEZ for concerts.]

SH: And that’s the cafe Jongho liked a lot. He said the coffee there was amazing. We should definitely visit it after we’ve settled in hotel room, you look like you could do with some caffeine in your system.

Y/N: [laughing] Not everyone is used to sleeping in aeroplanes.

SH: [shaking his head, he sniffs as if wounded by your comments] Well, if you toured with me, you’d be used to it. You’re the only one who keeps declining when I ask you to come with me! My poor self has to live without you for months just because you won’t agree.

Y/N: Your idea of bringing me along includes you stuffing me into your suitcase. Sorry if I don’t want to be thrown around with the other luggage.

SH: [snorting] It’s your fault for being so small.

Y/N: [sighing] Whatever, Hwa.

[Midday. The video cuts to a shot of Seonghwa walking along the Thames river. He has his arms wrapped around himself. The sky is covered with fluffy clouds, and one can tell that spring is fast approaching with the way little green buds are seen on the trees in the background.]

Y/N: It’s a… Well, it’s like a best friend, but more.

SH: It’s so cold!

Y/N: Should we go and get something to warm us up from the cafe you pointed out earlier? I think it’s close to where we are right now.

[The video cuts to the two of you inside the cafe. The camera is placed on one side, allowing it to capture both Seonghwa and you. You’re laughing at Seonghwa, who took a sip from your iced americano and immediately made a face at the taste. The video skips a bit and Seonghwa can be seen humming along to the music from the speakers while you watch him, enraptured by his vocals.]

Y/N: It’s the one person in the world who knows you better than anyone else.

[The video cuts again. This time, Seonghwa is in a hotel room, standing against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower and posing goofily while you are laughing in the background. He waddles over to the camera, forcing you to put it on the table as he twirls you around, dancing to a song he’s humming.]

Y/N: It’s someone who makes you a better person.

[The video cuts to a closeup of Seonghwa’s head in your lap as you sit on the couch. He’s sleeping soundly while you run your fingers through his soft hair. His lips quirk upwards in a smile, causing you to halt your motions, but a whine from him has you resuming your actions.]

Y/N: [soft whisper] Did I wake you up?

SH: [hums and shakes his head] Not really… [yawns] I wasn’t fully asleep.

[There’s silence for a while as Seonghwa shifts around to get comfortable.]

SH: I love you.

Y/N: That was so random, Hwa.

SH: Hey! You’re supposed to say you love me too!

Y/N: [snorting] I love you, you overgrown child.

SH: I’ll have you know that’s Wooyoung.

Y/N: Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll bite your arm off or something.

SH: [laughing hard]

Y/N: Actually, they don’t make you a better person, you do that yourself… because they inspire you.

[The video cuts to Seonghwa amidst the geraniums in Madrid before he drags you to the MINISO. His shenanigans from the store can be seen, with him wearing goofy sunglasses and playing with the Night Fury plushie.]

Y/N: A soulmate is someone who you can carry with you forever.

[Seonghwa can be seen busking with a guy playing the guitar. He sings Angel Baby by Troye Sivan, smiling wide when you start swaying one of your hands in beat with the music, causing people to follow your actions. When he’s done, people come up to him, telling him that he’s an amazing singer, and he thanks everyone with a bashful smile while watching you look at him with a look of pride on your face.]

Y/N: It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you… Believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would. 

[Seonghwa excuses himself from the crowd and makes his way towards you, wrapping his arms around your frame and sways the two of you as the busker starts crooning a song in Danish.]

SH: Thank you for always believing in me, dove. Especially when I didn’t believe in myself.

Y/N: [smiling] I love you, and I’ll cheer you on, especially during the darkest days.

Y/N: And no matter what happens, you will always love them. 

[The camera pans to you in your editing studio, and you wave at the camera with a smile on your face.]

Y/N: It’s quite late [glancing at the clock on your desk], 3 a.m. to be precise, and I’m working on your birthday video. [Laughs] I hope you like this little video I put together with clips from our trip to Europe. Give me a call once you’re done watching this. I love you so much, Hwa! Happy Birthday, my star!

Y/N: Nothing can ever change that.

Seonghwa wipes his tears, sniffing as he gets up from the bed. With a meticulousness characteristic of him, he goes through the motions of dressing up to pay you a visit. That’s the only thing that seems to make sense, so with bleary eyes and heavy feet, he walks through the deserted streets of Seoul.

The staff members at the hospital allow him to see you, used to his untimely visits. The nurse watching over you gives him a sad smile and leaves him alone with you when he enters your room. He notes that the pallor that had settled beneath your skin is now fading, albeit slowly. 

Maybe you’re getting better? But you still haven’t woken up, and seeing your face, he finds himself falling, falling through the memories of the day of the accident. His eyes close of their own accord, and he sighs, trying to get those images out of his mind. Unable to stop his thoughts, he relives the day all over again.

Logically, he knows the accident isn’t his fault but of the person who was behind the wheel.

Or maybe it was, the voice in his mind tells him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can’t forgive himself for the events that led up to the accident. If he hadn’t called you to pick him up from the company that night when it was raining, you’d be safe in his arms, celebrating his birthday with him.

No, it wasn’t. Seonghwa desperately wants to believe his own words. But there’s still that small voice of doubt that rears its ugly head, and before he knows it, fresh tears are rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Seonghwa is too emotionally exhausted and too choked to speak any louder. “My dove, I’m so sorry for this whole mess. I’m sorry. Please wake up soon. I can’t do this alone—I can’t live without you. Please. I love you.”

[wandasaura]

— SWEET FESTIVE LOVE

summary — so much has been taken from your girlfriends, so bringing a taste of the holidays into your shared apartment gives back some of the magic they lost out on for so long

warning(s) — just a sweet morning with your girlfriends, the faintest most nondescript mention of wanda/natasha’s childhoods

It was easier said than done; escaping from bed without waking the two Avengers you slept between, but eventually by some kind of miracle, you managed to untangle yourself from their warm bodies and the heavy blankets you had been practically cocooned beneath without too much trouble, and once your bare feet hit the cold hardwood, chills immediately spreading up your bones at the fluctuation of temperature, you were free to escape into the living room where Halloween decorations taunted you on every surface.

The first thing you did was switch the overhead lights on and start a pot of coffee in the kitchen — more for Natasha than yourself. You wouldn’t have much time before they noticed you were missing from bed and came to find you with worried and panicked frowns on their sleepy faces, but coffee was as good of a peace offering as any for your scarlet headed girlfriend. Wanda would just laugh when she eventually found you, she was always the last to jump to conclusions when it came to your spontaneous disappearances.

With coffee brewing and dawn approaching, the fresh-feeling yelled-toned sunlight that peaked through the windows created a gentle golden hue within the eerily quiet apartment, you set off on your original mission, the entire reason you wrangled yourself out of bed so early; setting up for Christmas.

You’d sat with the idea for weeks before you brought it up to your girlfriends, knowing Wanda came from a Jewish family, and Natasha had been cheated of a childhood entirely, you didn’t want to overstep on your first holiday season together, still in the stage of navigating new traditions and celebrations, but the witch had assured you that she didn’t mind the decorations and traditional festive traditions you wanted to bring into the apartment. She was secure in her upbringing (the little she got to have before everything was ripped away at the very least), and she enjoyed the cheesiness of a jolly sleigh riding home intruder and gingerbread men. Natasha had been otherwise indifferent when the conversation turned to her, not the most forthcoming when it came to reliving the Ohio mission, but you caught the slight curl to her pink lips when you started rambling about your family's traditions. After that, you’d slowly started to accumulate different decorations that you thought encapsulated theirs and your personalities perfectly. You shied away from the brighter reds and greens that overpopulated stores, sticking with cooler tones and golds that were more their laidback energy.

You started the process by dismantling all of the fall decorations you’d placed out in September, piling them all on the couch to be put away later on when you had more of an idea as to where all the Christmas decor would be going. You replaced styrofoam pumpkins and scarecrows with porcelain pine trees and snowmen, sprinkling fake snow and vines of artificial holly across the mantle where you’d be handing the matching stockings you had custom made.

You cleared the windowsill in the center of the front wall, stacking the picture frames on the arm of the couch before you went back to decorating, spreading a navy blue table runner across the white trim to add contrast to the primarily red and green decorations. You’d gotten a lot accomplished by time you heard panicked feet shuffling down the stairs, fumbling over the placement of palm sized glass dreidels when Natasha’s presence became known.

“There you are!” She gasped, tugging her fingers through her slept on red curls, keeping them out of her face as the panic turned into annoyance. “Halloween was yesterday, Y/N.” She emphasized her displeasure with a grumpy huff, staring straight at your collection of nesting dolls that were sitting where her beloved jack-o-lantern resided just last night.

“Oh don’t be such a scrooge.” Wanda called from the top of the stairs, amusement clear in her tone as she figured what you were up to, clearly not as worried as Natasha had been. She came down the stairs with less of a rush, busy tying her hair up into a ponytail before she paused at the bottom of the steps when her eyes drifted over to where you were standing. “Dove.” Her tone drips with fondness and appreciation as she takes note of the silver menorah in the center of the windowsill, the blossoming sunlight reflecting off of the glass dreidels that were scattered around as well, casting small shadows of rainbow light against the opposite wall.

“I know you don’t really celebrate Chanukah, but I wanted you to feel represented too. I hope I got it right.” You fiddle with your fingers nervously, “I looked up so many menorahs. I made sure the shamash.. is that what it’s called?…I made sure the shamash was a different height, and that the eight branches were level. So many I looked at weren’t.”

Wanda’s gaze was practically bleeding with adoration as she crossed the living room to hold your face tenderly in her hands, “Thank you.” She kissed your lips earnestly, brushing her fingers over your cheeks delicately before she flickered her gaze to the little details you paid close attention to. She spotted a gold Star of David sitting next to a suction cup hook, not yet hung up wherever you intended to place it, but her heart swelled at the intentions.

“You’re welcome.” You giggled shyly, leaning in to kiss her sweetly as she embraced you in a true and tight embrace. “Now! Since you both decided to wake up, the tree needs to be set up, and I wasn’t tall enough to hang that sign or the mistletoe!” You called out smugly, staring directly at Natasha who just groaned defeatedly, but you knew she didn’t mind, she was just too proud to admit how nice it was to see the apartment so lively and normal. This was all she’d ever wanted her life to amount to.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 6

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Series Masterlist

—

You’re surrounded in warmth.

The storm outside is gone, the blue wash of dawn filtering through the nearly transparent curtains and your eyes flutter open, focusing on nothing. A tickle of breath skims across the nape of your neck, the weighted drape of an arm curled over your side and you are limp and boneless.

Sated, relaxed.

Tucked away safely in the solidly soft embrace of his body, you fall back asleep.

–

When you wake again hours later, it’s much brighter outside and the warmth is gone.

Reaching your hand back, you find nothing but wrinkled sheets and an empty space, cool to the touch. You skim your hand over it anyway, as if the imprint of his body would still be found if you search long enough, but it isn’t and needing a confirmation of the night before, you reach down underneath the blankets and let your fingers run a path up the inside of your thigh. Smooth, velvety skin and then – the barest trace of tightness across the surface; dried and flaky, smeared there and left.

At least the two of you had the wherewithal to do that, even in your sleep soaked need.

The clean, masculine scent pressed into his pillow brings to life the ache between your thighs and shifting, you note how different it feels between them. Still slick, worked open and used. A pleasant reminder lingering there, your eyes close as you let yourself lie suspended awhile longer in the memory.

His panting breath filling your mouth, the stretch of every push inside. A phantom fullness felt in your core, his beard brushing against your lips. The husky rasp of his voice, the tightness of his grip. The gleam of his eyes in the dark.

Thinking about how he pulled himself back the last time he kissed you, you stay tucked away in the safety of his bed until it seems too late to stay asleep. Not wanting to leave it for fear of finding a different man than the one who held you last night, you eventually force yourself up and fishing your underwear and shorts out from the bedding, go to find him.

Out on the deck, the outline of his body is highlighted in the sun with his green and red flannel taut around his shoulders, his broad back facing you and when you walk out to join him, he turns at your hesitant, creeping steps.

A shyness you’ve never felt with him has you averting your eyes, and coming closer, you keep your arms tucked tight around your torso.

“Good morning.” His greeting is a quiet one, fitting for the peacefulness of a morning after a storm.

Lifting the corner of your mouth, your gaze flits over to him. “Hi.”

There is mutual silence; the restlessness of his body giving him away: the drum of his fingers on the wooden railing, the white knuckled grip he shifts into as he fiddles with it and thinks. He peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, and you look over at the garden.

The leaves of the plants are sodden and limp, dripping with moisture but still very much alive.

“How are you feelin’?” he asks, keeping his eyes downcast on his hands.

“Sore,” you admit, looking over at him. Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth for a moment, a frown forms deeply between his brows, his jaw shifting under his beard. “But I mean, it’s okay. It’s not bad or anything.”

He lets out a huff of laughter, laced with self disgust.

“I was too –” he starts and stops himself, his finger digging into a dry crevice in the wood as he searches for the right words. “It’s been a long time since –”

He stops again, and taking a breath, he steels himself and pulls himself upright, facing you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so rough. I shouldn’t have even–”

Your hand rests on his automatically, your chest tightening at your fear playing out in real time. The action stops him as he looks at your hand on his and then at you, expressive earnestness spilling from his endless, brown depths. You know what he is trying to say, even if he can’t seem to get the words out.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. Your thumb sweeps a path across the back of his hand, and his eyes drop down to watch the movement. “I wanted you to.”

He shakes his head, disappointment flashing across his face. “I know you did, but I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You didn’t want to?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you hold your breath, waiting for an answer he gives you right away.

His face is stern when his head pulls up to meet your eyes. “You know I did.”

The lowness in his reply and the blunt confirmation of what he’s wanted swirls inside you, heady and rich. The open acknowledgement of it frees your hesitancy, even just a little, and something inside you preens at the speed of his reply.

“Then it’s okay,” you say quietly.

His eyes search yours for a moment, and you let him look.

Please, you think. Please don’t say it was a mistake. Please agree to more. Please. Please.

Weighted air fills the space between you, his eyes leaving your face to scan the yard as he buys himself time. You let him think, your fingertip tracing the line of a vein on the back of his hand, following the path of it to his wrist and his eyes drop down to watch your careful exploration. Afraid to push him too fast, you don’t want to break this tentative truce; this liminal space where he’s neither going back on his actions nor forward. Your touch stays on him as a silent offer, just like the one you gave him last night.

Nothing and then, he lifts his thumb to brush against yours, the corner of his mouth lifting only just.

He nods and you let a slow breath out, his hand lifting off the railing to take yours. You let him take it, threading your fingers together.

“You want some breakfast?” he asks, leading you into the cabin and you smile, following.

“Sure.”

–

His hands deftly pulling the soaking clothes from the line, he wonders how it’s possible to want you even more now that he’s had a taste.

Shouldn’t the pull lessen? Shouldn’t his thirst be quenched? Shouldn’t he be able to stop thinking about how good you feel now that it’s not a mystery anymore?

He grimaces at the memory of what you said. Sore. He was way too rough last night. Too eager, too hungry, too unable to stop himself from taking what you were offering. Stripped bare having just come out of that dream, he could say he didn’t know what he was doing, but he knows that’s not the truth - he knew.

The comfort of your body was too much to resist, his hands searching for your soft warmth and the taste of your mouth, and when you didn’t even try to stop him, he told himself it was okay to finally take.

When he woke before you this morning, he watched the slow rise and fall of your breathing under his arm, and studied the swirls of hair just behind your ear. Your back was bare against his chest, a sensation long lost to the days of before and that’s what finally pulled him from you: a tightness along his sternum; the velvet skin of your spine fitting just right over it.

Glancing over at you, he watches as you kneel over the barrier of the garden, checking on your plants. Yours, because even though they technically belong to both of you, you were the one who nurtured them to life. Through careful attention and delicate touches, through a gentle coaxing out of the confines of their small, stunted beginnings to give them space to stretch their roots and grow as they soak up the sun.

The sun, a joy he had forgotten about.

You use your knuckle to swipe a stray lock of hair out of your eyes, and his gaze trails down the length of your body: the delicate line of your neck, the swell of your breasts under your shirt, the plump curve of your bottom sitting on your ankles. If he tries hard enough, he can feel your smooth skin under his palms and pulling himself away from the memory of his dark bedroom, he goes back to what he was doing.

One by one, he takes each piece of clothing off the line and wrings it out, his forearms straining as he works the fabric into a tight spiral. Water pours from each one onto the grass below, splashing onto his boots and when you come over to join him, his doubts from earlier fade as he pushes down the sudden urge to drop the cloth in his hands and reach for you.

“Oops,” you laugh, looking at the heavy clothes. “I guess I forgot to bring these in yesterday.”

“Good thing they didn’t tear off the line,” he says. “Find my shirt up in a tree or somethin’, with that wind last night.”

He wants to tease you for how shameless you are when you watch him wring out another shirt, but wasn’t he just doing the same himself? A silent acknowledgement runs through his mind: this is how it could be, if he lets it.

“God, wasn’t it bad?” you say, bending down to pick up a large stick. “These things are everywhere.”

“Yea, I was gonna gather them up in a bit, stick 'em somewhere for later maybe.”

His old backyard in Texas flashes quickly through his mind; the square patch of grass, the domestic act of taking pride in his property as he cleaned up the morning after a storm. He hasn’t stayed anywhere long enough to care about doing something like that since then, and he’s surprised he even remembers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad not to be sleeping outside,” you say and he looks sideways at you with a smirk, glad when you match it. “I mean, for a couple of reasons.”

He hums, his grin stretching and you bite your lip and tap the back of his thigh with the stick.

“Hey now,” he laughs. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Sure you didn’t.” You hit him lightly again, poking him with the edge of it and he gives you a look.

“You better watch it, honey. Don’t dish out what you can’t take.”

“You think I can’t take you?” you tease back, swatting him this time on the small of his back and he stops what he’s doing, turning towards you. Anticipation swirls in his gut when you grin, somehow light for how present it is when you take a small step back for every one of his forwards.

“Oh I know you can,” he says lowly, the words heavy with implication.

Caught unawares by his statement, he uses your pause to his advantage and reaches for the stick, swiping it from your hand to toss it carelessly behind him into the grass.

Your eyes brighten with excitement, your foot taking another step back and when you turn to run from him, he’s ready for it. One lunge forward and he’s snagged you around the waist with his arm, tugging you back against his body and he smiles at the laugh you let out that pierces the air. The sound breaks out into the sky, brighter than the sun above and then he’s tackling your squirming body to the damp ground, pinning you down.

“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he says, breathless as you try to fight him off and his hands wrap around your flailing wrists, pressing them into the grass above your head.

You say nothing, stilling underneath him with a smile. These playful touches so far have been like arcs of tension filled energy, bursting and catching against each other as he tries to find the edges of this new boundary. He’s still within it, but the longer he looks at you, your face shifts into something else. Your chest heaves underneath him, and he twitches in his pants, the tight drum of fabric pressing against your stomach.

“I do want it,” you urge beneath him.

He knows you do: can see it in your hooded eyes, in the way they keep dropping to his belt buckle. They roam greedily over him, your mouth parted as you take him in and though he wants nothing more than to break these newfound, uncharted boundaries and take care of you like he always does, he can’t.

Slow. He needs to go slow. It’s only been hours, and the sound of your voice saying “sore” echoes in his mind. Reaching into the depths of his memory, he recalls long ago dates with lingering touches, knees pressed together beneath bar tops, teasing words murmured into ears full of promises that would be fulfilled later.

Later, when the need became too unbearable to hold back.

Later, when his fingers and mouth would find an eager, wet warmth.

Later, knowing that when he eventually got there, they would be ready to take what he needed to give.

Later.

There hasn’t been a later for a long time. Later is a thing of the past, now when every day is lived one day at a time and just like you’re teaching him the power of later with this garden, he needs to relearn it for himself. Reach deep inside for those long neglected reflexes, brush them off and polish them through practice - starting right now.

He bends forward, until his mouth is resting just above yours and he can feel the absence of your breath, as if you’re holding it.

“That so?” he hums, watching your eyes flutter shut.

Light plays across your face, sliding over the soft, familiar features and he drinks you in, finally allowed to look as much as he wants. He feels the tension held in your limbs as you try to stay still underneath him, his hands tightening subtly around your wrists while he watches your pulse thrum beneath the skin of your throat. His mouth waters in memory of the salt taste of that exact spot.

Your lips part slightly, and he knows if he shifts forward just a bit more, he would be able to touch them with his own…but he doesn’t.

Instead, he brushes them along the curve of your cheek, leaning forward to whisper directly into your ear.

“Later, honey,” he murmurs, savoring a sweet little inhale from you. “We’ve got chores to do.”

–

It’s criminal, how good he looks doing yard work.

Almost as good as he looks holding his rifle or his bow, but not as good as he looks when he makes a kill just for you.

You had thought there was something wrong with you the first time he did it – the way your breath quickened with arousal, your belly pulling tight with need. You had blamed it on adrenaline in the moment, but hours later when your body was still thrumming with it every time you called the image back, you knew it wasn’t just that.

You had quickly reasoned that it was due to many things: the implication of his protection, a confirmation of the lengths he was willing to go for you. A fierce protector in this terrifying, brutal world, with his competency never more present than when taking out a threat, you knew he didn’t do it out of love for you, but your body attributed his actions to something akin to it.

You want him the same way now, watching him gather sticks in the yard.

He’s stripped his flannel, draping it over the railing of the deck. His arms are tanned and thick, his body so blatantly masculine in its broad muscles and width, and he’s holding a bundle of broken, wet pieces of wood as he bends to pick up each one. He dumps them in the corner of the lot, the pile growing bigger with each round and then he’s adding larger branches, ones that got knocked from the trees during the storm.

A slick ache beats between your legs, remembering the weight and heat of him as he straddled your body, the solid thickness of him on top of you in the grass earlier and you keep watching.

He wipes his hands on the back of his jeans, his ever present knife hanging on his belt just to the side of his ass and when he turns, you quickly go back to what you were doing.

Enough. He said later.

–

Dinner is a quiet thing, the protector you were ruminating about earlier gone and replaced by a version of himself that seems looser, without the tight winding tension that’s usually present in his form. There is still some there though, and though he gave a promise of more to come later, there has been a piece of you all day that has waited for him to change his mind. To pull back, to give into the doubts he clearly had before.

You’ve been watching for signs: for him to fall silent, to get that far away look he has on his face sometimes when he ticks his jaw and thinks, to pull away when you come near him - but he hasn’t.

At least, not for today.

When you come in from outside just before bed and he’s settled in his own room without you, your self doubt creeps back – just as slowly as you creep across the hallway, to his room.

“Hey, can I come in?”

He’s sitting up in bed, warm light spilling from his lantern and he quickly sets his book face down on his lap, like he was waiting for you.

“Sure, yea. Of course.”

He shifts on the bed to make room, shadows pooling and sliding over his bare chest as he reaches over to turn the light off and you stretch out next to him, rolling onto your side to face him.

“You didn’t need to turn the light off. You can keep reading, if you want.”

“I don’t want,” he says lowly, scooting closer to you. His hand settles on your hip, tugging you closer.

“Oh yea?” you tease, smiling in the dark. “What do you want?”

His hold slides up the side of your body, a rumble of satisfaction rolling through his chest and then he’s even closer, his hand cupping your jaw to pull you close.

“This,” he breathes, kissing you.

His mouth finds a rhythm with yours immediately, and for all that was frantic the night before, it’s matched by tenderness tonight. Still just as hungry and demanding, his mouth insists you open for him; the sheets rustling as you slide and shift against them.

Delving his tongue deep, he explores the way yours brushes and slides against his. His mouth is just as competent as his hands are, just as sure in its intent.

When you sigh into his kiss, he breathes it in.

When you ask for more, he relents.

He helps you out of your pajamas and then peels his own bottoms off, tossing both sets onto the floor below and then he’s reaching for you again, his slow, careful movements giving way to hunger as he guides you onto your back. You make room for him between your thighs, letting the weight of him settle there.

“I wanted to do so much last night.” His voice is low and full of want, sending shivers across your skin in the dark. “Wanted to taste you, or fuck you with my fingers. Should've got you ready.”

“Do it,” you moan, your thighs involuntarily dropping open wider and he grinds himself between them, his hips a sure, steady roll.

“Yea, honey?” he asks, his breath humid as it blows across your parted lips. “You want my mouth?”

“Please. Please.”

It’s something you’ve been dreaming about for months, never confident that it would ever come true and your eagerness is reflected in the slight whine in your answer, in the way you arch into his hands when he lowers to pull the peak of your breast into his mouth. He sucks on it for a moment, giving another long, lingering kiss to the underside. Another one scrapes across your belly, one pressed into the hollow of your hip, and he works his way down, his shoulders forcing your thighs open wider.

His mouth finds you in the dark, the edges of his shadowed form between your knees making you wetter under his touch and when his tongue dips into you, your fingers curl into a fist, grasping his sheets.

You suck in air, your back automatically arching at the sensation of his wet, scorching mouth and he gives you a longer lick, a more intent one that slides up to your clit. He circles it, dragging the tip of his tongue over the peak several times and then he swirls it around to taste it, letting out a deep groan. He presses his face closer, his whiskered cheeks brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, and his mouth opens wider as he gives you an open mouthed, messy kiss. His tongue slips inside you with a thick push, your hips rolling against it.

When he finds the pearl of your clit with a light suck, you start to beg. “Joel, please. Please.”

The sound encourages him, his large hands wrapping around the top of your thighs to spread you wider for his mouth and your fingers curl into his hair, the silken locks slipping in your hold. Rolling your hips up, he flattens one hand wide across your belly to keep you in place and then he’s sucking on your clit again, just enough to make your whole body focus on that singular, bright sensation. A flash of heat ripples through you, your core clenching around nothing and then his tongue is there; his groan of relief a deep rumble into the heart of you.

You let yourself get lost in it – pleasure soaking you underneath his mouth and spreading with heat through your limbs. He’s good at it, just as competent and sure as he is with everything else and your thighs tense the longer he laves, your moans growing higher in their pitch.

The slick heat of his mouth pulls and draws and takes, ignoring the way you pull back in order to push his face deeper with a low, long groan and then you’re pushing lightly on the firm round of his shoulder, your body pitching forward into ascent. Starlight bursts across the inside of your eyelids when you breathlessly tell him that you’re coming, and he keeps going, his tongue working faster.

His finesse slips, his careful, practiced touches and licks given with intent slipping into something more base, something that pours from the inside out, just like the deep, satisfied groan he lets out when he tastes your release. He eats you like he can’t stop, his hips shifting to grind into the mattress and then it’s too much all at once, your hand reaching down to push him away.

“Stop,” you plead, breathless and desperate and the need that he pulled out of you with his mouth has you shifting and sitting up, guiding him onto his back. His chin glistens in the dark, his whiskers dark and damp and his mouth tastes like you when you lean down to kiss him. He sees your need and matches it, cinching up to kiss you harder and his own grasp on your hips turns demanding and rough as he helps you settle into place on his lap and then just like last night, he’s lining himself up and pushing himself inside, only this time you’re so unbearably wet that you take him effortlessly.

“Oh fuck, honey. Fuck.”

His head drops back onto his pillow, his lips parted as he lays back and his hold slides up your arms to skate down over the delicate line of your collarbones and then he’s palming the weight of your breasts in his hands. They grasp and touch, his thumbs dragging across the peaks and you think about how he’s handled so much with these hands.

These brutal, deadly, efficient hands. These capable hands, now skillful and careful and deliberate in their touch with a lightness you didn’t know they were capable of. He uses them just as deftly on your body, sliding them down to curl around the meat of your hips to encourage you to ride him faster and his thumb seeks out your clit, nestled just above where you’re stretched open for him.

‘Yes,” he groans, his drawl slipping deeper. His words are soaked in rough pleasure, husky and low. “Come on, pretty girl. Come on.”

His breath comes fast and heavy, his plush lips open and inviting as you lean forward to drape yourself over his chest, seeking out his embrace with a kiss. He wraps his arms around you, one hand splaying across your tailbone to keep you in place and the other around the nape of your neck, and then he’s fucking up into you, his feet planted on the mattress for purchase.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it,” you breathe into his ear, repeating his own words to him from earlier and his response a wordless growl as he clenches his jaw and his grip tightens ever harder, his hips moving faster.

This Joel you know. This Joel you’ve seen: the one who delivers brutal blows with singular focus, taking out any and all threats with a fierceness you’ve craved. The same look of intensity is on his face now only softened with lust — but it’s the same black pitch to his eyes, the same intent.

“Take what you want,” you tell him, your lips catching on his just for a moment. “Take it.”

He does — immediately rolling over and taking you with him with a grunt and then he lets himself go, his groans crawling out of his throat with a delicious strain. His filling strokes speed up, his hips fitting tightly into the cradle of your thighs, and you know you’re going to be sore again tomorrow, but you don’t care – you don’t care, every thought being fucked right out of your head.

“You feel so good, honey. So good. You’re gonna make me come.”

You tighten around him in wordless encouragement, the scent of his skin and the heaviness of his body and his warm, gusting breath and low groans enveloping you, forcing you higher beneath him. It’s all consuming like it was last night, and his hand comes up to wrap around the back of your knee, tugging it higher.

“Joel,” you cry out, the depth he’s reaching pushing you over the edge and then he’s pumping into you one, two, three times more before pulling out with an abrupt jerk of his hips, spilling in hot spurts across the sheets.

There is a beat of silence, each of you breathing heavily and his skin sticks to you, tacky in the places where it meets. He shifts, his muscles relaxing.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, a low chuckle rolling through his chest into yours and you smile, reaching up to push a lock of hair away from his brow.

“What?”

He drapes himself on top of you, letting his weight push you into the mattress and he drops his head to fit into the crook of your neck, his mouth seeking out the curve of your jaw. Your hands linger on his biceps, thick and strong under your palms and you drag your nails over the back of them, content under the heat of his body.

“We gotta sleep in a wet spot,” he mumbles into your neck, and you laugh underneath him, feeling him grin against your skin.

“Hang on.” He pushes up with a groan, the same he makes when he’s been kneeling for too long, and getting off you, leaves.

The room loses its heat without him, your bare skin exposed to the air, and you wait until he gets back with a towel, scooting over so he can lay it down. He crawls back into bed, the two of you settling into a comfortable position.

With you next to him, his eyes are already sliding shut, a low, contented hum leaving his throat as you drag the tips of your fingers along his skin in a soothing pattern, lulling him to sleep.

His chest rises slow and steady beneath your touch, and the edge of your lips curl up at his grumbling about the wet spot. This, from a man who has spent countless nights in some of the most uncomfortable sleeping spots imaginable.

Comfort something that hasn’t been a guarantee for years, he’s been quick to acclimate to it. Not all things have come as easy: he still scans the yard endlessly, still checks the traps every day, still makes note of the rations and only just allowed himself the comfort of another human being, but a soft, warm, dry bed – that was something he took to instantly.

Your nail traces a line up the sternum of his chest, your palm sliding over the firm round of his shoulder and tucking your face into the crook of his neck and fitting your leg between his, you start to fall asleep — but not before you feel the weight of his cheek, his head tilting to rest it against your hair.

—

a/n: I lost track of the amount of times I asked @mourningbirds1 for help on this one — I love you my dear; only you know how much. Thank you ❤️

[mrs-nanami]

Women have many belongings. It used to vex Nanami. But it doesn’t anymore.

The first thing to migrate to his home, was your face lotion. He has a face lotion, a perfectly serviceable one, but you insisted on bringing your own. Your routine was important to you, you had told him, and Nanami understood. Routines, rules, structure – these are all things he has always respected, found meaning in. And so, in his bathroom, his drugstore razor, toothbrush, and facewash sat together, lined up like toy soldiers, right next to a luxurious indigo jar of face cream.

The rest of your routine follows shortly: the lilac bottle of mist that smells like aloe, the golden serum that smells like summertime, and the periwinkle tube of your green tea face wash. Your bergamot and sandalwood soap linger on his pillow, and when he can’t smell you on his sheets anymore, longing sits heavy and sticky in his throat.

Your clothes are next. Amidst his practical navy, gray, and blacks, appear pops of warm lilac, royal blue, and torched orange. He doesn’t mind it in the least – it would be entirely unreasonable for him to demand that you stop bringing such colorful clothes in his home, especially when he never really wants you to leave.

When the two of you finally just bite the bullet and put your name on the lease, Nanami imagines that his life will certainly become more colorful. But he doesn’t have the first idea of how many more things will be in his house.

All his life, Nanami has lived quietly, abstemiously. He is a jujutsu sorcerer – while his non-sorcerer peers were learning trigonometry, he was learning how to kill curses and how to die as a soldier dies: with resolve and bravery, to the bitterest end. His life has been fat trimmed from steak, practical solid color towels, plastic storage bins with plenty of clearing near the edge, never packed to capacity. A man who walks on the very edge of life and death doesn’t require more than the necessities. The very few things he indulges in are sensible: good whiskey, grade A rice, custom leather shoes (no broguing) built to take a beating.

You bring in your life to his, and it is completely different. You’re striped linens, fresh flowers, scented candles on every corner. Baby blue drinking glasses shaped like beer cans, artisanal ceramicware made by friends locally. Your life is marked by comfort, simple pleasure, and (dare he say it) the sweetest, most innocent frivolity. He supposes it’s really what he loves most about you, honestly. He’s always tended drawn closer to brighter, bolder personalities: earnest and warm, like Haibara and Itadori, not bombastic and irreverent, like Gojo or Tsukumo. You belong in the same shades of sunlight as Haibara and Itadori, but…tender. Like the dream-like throw of warm, rose tipped dawn that thaws the chill of his lonely apartment.

Now, in the mornings, he doesn’t wake to the desolate silence of a man alone. He wakes to the sound of your fluffy slippers in the kitchen, the smell of dark roast coffee, the sight of your toiletries sitting side by side in the bathroom, cozy and couple-like.

Somewhere between your checker print tea kettle, and the warmth of your body on the sheets, Nanami falls so in love with you that he looks back on his life and wonders how he ever lived, starved of the sun that is you, for so long.

[billthedrake]

NIGHT SHIFT

It was twilight more than actual dawn, but as I heard the sound of the metal clink in Dad's uniform belt, I roused in my bed and saw his beefy build standing by my dresser. Carefully, he removed his service weapon and placed it next to my baseball card collection and my trophies, then did the same with his utility belt.

My eyes took a second to adjust, but I could start to make out his handsome features. Roman nose, round cheeks, thinning hair kept military buzzed.

"Heya kiddo," he whispered when he finally saw me watching, sitting up in bed. Already he was unbuttoning and untucking his uniform shirt, the kevlar vest making his barrel chest even more pronounced beneath.

"Hey Dad," I said. I tried to be quiet, too, but my voice was groggy and my greeting came out louder than I intended.

Not that I probably needed to worry. It's crazy and would be impossible to explain to any outsider. But this was an open secret in our family. Mom knew, my little brothers knew and even if no one talked about it, there was a strange acceptance. Maybe because my parents fought less now. Maybe because I was the star baseball player who was pretty much tapped to get a top pick in the upcoming draft, straight out of high school. I was definitely the Golden Boy. I wouldn't say I was spoiled, because I worked my ass off for my success, but I got a lot of special treatment.

It was a ritual I was getting used to, the way Dad neatly hung up his uniform, putting it in my closet, next to my Sunday best blue blazer and pressed khakis. He wore Jockey style briefs that clung to his meaty ass and heavy genitals. My morning wood was reliable but even if it wasn't I'd have gotten rock hard just watching him.

Finally Dad turned toward the bed with a relaxed smile, taking two steps to approach, then hooked his thumbs in the elastic and slid off his underwear. My father wasn't erect yet, but his dong was getting firmer as he lifted up the bed sheet and crawled in next to me.

"Sorry to wake you, Nolan," he said as he scooted up against me, his strong hands latching on to my sides. "But you do feel nice, buddy...."

"You too, Dad," I said. My dick pressed into the softness of his belly. My father wasn't overweight but he had some love handles on his otherwise hard, regulation-fit body. I loved every bit of him and the way he felt next to me. My hands were matching his move, running along the hard lats and over his meaty ass cheeks.

"This is what I look forward to after a hard shift," he said.

"Tough night?" I asked.

"Yah," he said. Dad didn't talk about the stress of his job in detail, but I liked that he could confide in me. When I was a kid he'd always hide that part of his life from me.

Our lips met. Softly at first but I nudged his mouth with my tongue, and Dad opened up to accept it. He moaned into my mouth as he pawed me more greedily, his hands' urgency a contrast to our restrained kiss.

My own hands were feeling him up excitedly, eventually one moving down to cup his crotch. My dad was rock hard now.

"HMMM," he hissed as we broke the kiss. "You got me hard, buddy."

"I can tell," I said. The daylight was a little brighter in the room now, and I could make out my father's masculine, soulful face up closer. His body felt warm and the scent of him filled my nostrils. My fingers caressed his rigid prick, which jerked in my hand some. "What are you in the mood for, sir?"

With me and Dad it was 50/50. Not only the sex acts we did but who guided how we would mate. After a big game or when we got some extended dad-son time, I generally got to pick. But when Dad was coming off of a night shift, I liked to indulge him.

"Hard to choose," he said. His hand was now moving to feel up my son bone.

"I know what you mean," I said.

He gave a slight, serious smile. It was weird that I was waking up but Dad was tired but fully awake, having been up for a good sixteen or seventeen hours. "I guess I'm trying to say, I want both... you know, flip."

We actually hadn't done that. If I hadn't watched my share of porn, I might not even know what that term meant. But the second he said it, the idea sounded perfect.

Dad must have read the approval on my face because already he was reaching over me, toward the lube I had out on the night stand. This was another thing I no longer bothered to hide. Over the course of the last nine months, we'd gone from only fooling around outside of the house to only doing it when we knew we were alone to.... this. I heard the squirt of the liquid in Dad's palm as I felt up his soft furry torso. Then Dad pumped out more for good measure.

I grinned at him as he now reached between my legs. I had a good jock's body, strong and athletic but over the last few months I'd really gotten more into lifting and my body had responded well. Dad told me he was in love with all of me, not just my muscles, but I still enjoyed the confidence my new build had given me. And Dad's eyes seemed more appreciative.

The fingers felt silky and warm as he fingered me open.

I could hear footsteps in the hall. People were starting to wake up. Dad paused a second and arched his eyebrow. The first time this had happened we were terrified of being discovered. Now my father pulled his big mitt back, wiping some of the excess lube onto my hard prick before slicking up his own.

"Lift your legs, Nolan," he instructed. No longer whispering but talking at full voice.

I was so excited to do so, pulling my legs back in the air, only to have my state trooper father guide them to a resting place on his shoulder. I pulled the extra pillow and Dad did the rest to help me lift my hips to place it beneath me. The angle was perfect, and I clenched my core once I felt Dad's wet meaty prick nudge my folds.

We used to have to go real slow through this part. Dad took my cherry right after my 18th birthday, and for months entry felt cherry-tight. But the last month, we'd both hit a groove. I was still tight, as was my father, but he was able to work himself inside me without too much difficulty.

He was doing it now, his eyes on me, excited to be inside his son once more.

"I love your cock, Dad," I hissed.

He nodded. I didn't know if that was a nod to say he knew how much I loved his dick or a nod to indicate he loved my ass equally. Probably both. "You know, kiddo... you're gonna have to tell me if this is ever too much."

I shook my head no. "You always know how to fuck me, Dad. Always have."

He grunted. "I don't mean physically, Nolan. I mean the other stuff. Everything else."

The words made my cock thrwap on my belly. If Dad hadn't suggested the flip fuck, I would have been stroking my tool already. "Not to take away from the sex, sir... but the other stuff is the best part."

That got a big smile from him. He thrust in, completely, all the way. "That it is, buddy." Then another thrust. The emotional talk had keyed me up to take this, to want this.

"Fuck me, sir. Fuck your boy."

Dad's nostrils flared as he threw more strength into his fuck, still slow but very firm. "Oh kiddo..."

The only thing that spoiled an otherwise perfect moment was the nagging realization I'd be moving within two months. Out of my childhood home, away from Mom and my little brothers. Away from Dad. "You get so worked up after a long night," I observed, now running my hands along his furry chest. It was true, but my words were meant to egg him on, too.

"Cause I think about you all fucking shift, Nolan... you and your hot fucking ass."

His hips were faster now, his whole body moving in a steady athletic pump. It was exquisite. I didn't even mind having my legs pushed back as he leaned in some. "You and your amazing baseball jock body," he added.

"I'm gonna get bigger," I hissed.

Dad's body jerked to a stop, and I thought for a second he was cumming. But he bit lip and slowly slid out of me, pulling my ankles off his meaty delts and letting my legs down. His prick was super slick, from his frothy precum as much as from the lube, and I watched how it was immobile like a tire iron as he scooted up and straddled my waist.

Already he was half twisting, half leaning back to grip my slick cock and guide it into place.

"There," he hissed as he made contact. A second later he was already sitting down on me.

"Oh fuck, Dad," I grunted. "You feel so incredible."

Dad had a determined look as he made himself relax so he could work more of my dick into him. After about thirty seconds, though he'd worked his way down most of me. He paused, then started riding his hips up and down. "Your daddy's so horny, Nolan," he grunted. The bed was squeaking and our voices were louder. There's no way somebody wasn't hearing us fuck.

"Me too, sir," I growled, my hands gripping his hard, hairy thighs. Imagining fucking him in his uniform one shift. We'd done that once, and the memory still got me going.

"You're always horny, stud. Daddy's sex-addict boy."

"You know it," I said, now thrusting up into him as much as he was riding me. It all felt too good. "I don't know if I can last long... if you wanna flip some more."

"Let it go, son. Let that cum go right up my fucking ass."

It did. The orgasm was pretty intense so I had a good feeling Dad's guts were getting pretty sauced.

"Hell yeah," he hissed, riding me and milking me with his state trooper ass. He wasn't making a move to jerk off but instead leaned all the way back onto my crotch to ensure my dick and my load were buried as deep as possible inside him. He held there just a second then slowly rose off.

He leaned in to kiss me hungrily, then just as impetuously pulled back, nudging my legs up. "Pretty please, Nolan," he asked.

I wanted to give him this. The release, and the pleasure to match what he'd just given me. He knew it was going to be intense for me, so he didn't hold back. Sliding back inside my ass, he pumped me gently a couple of times, then just started moving faster to get off. I had a pretty good idea of the button to push.

"This is incest, Dad," I hissed. I didn't drop the word much, in part because it was so powerful.

"Shit," Dad hissed with an urgency that let me know it was working. He was almost cumming.

"Real incest," I repeated. "Deep incest."

Dad was whimpering now, in full orgasm, his face scrunching up and his body jerking as he pumped a bunch of his fatherly sperm into me.

He was a little sweaty and a lot tired when he dismounted. "That was incredible, Nolan," he said, reaching down to ruffle my hair and give me a more relaxed kiss. "Thanks."

I grinned. "Keeps getting better, huh?"

Dad looked back at me with a dreamy expression, his body now lying beside mine, his hands on my waist. "Somehow... yeah, it does."

I felt him up too. "I should probably get ready for school," I said, regret in my voice.

"Definitely," Dad said. "Another kiss."

We didn't rush this one, but I finally got the will power to pull back. "All right," I said.

"I'll text you later," he said. His voice definitely sleepy now. I watched him pull the covers up over his burly, hairy body and turn away from the light of the bedroom window.

I slid out of bed and reached over to pull the blinds down. I slid on some sweats and padded out of the room, shutting the door softly behind me.

[dystopianam]

Masterpost: All the Lighting Mods for The Sims 2 ✨

I'm making this post both because I like to group things under one post and because I need it as a link to add to my tracker, but still I think it will be useful for many!

Look here for other masterposts!

Lighting Mods

# Gunmod's Radiance Light System 2.4 by dDefinder on ModTheSims - A realistic, extremely dramatic, sometimes very dark lighting mod that increases the intensity of colors, lights and shadows and adds sunrise and sunset to the game (they don't exist in the vanilla game)

#Gunmod's Radiance Light System 2.5 edited by @dreadpirate - An updated version of the aforementioned lighting, with much more compatibility with many shaders and less blue nights! Every Season it have they own lighting color: Summer is vibrant, autumn has warm colors, winter has cold colors, and spring has a little yellowish "filter".

#Maxis Match Lighting Mod by Dreadpirate - The environment is more saturated and bright, removes the dull gray tint that vanilla game has. Everything is smoother and more uniform. The shadows are calm, exactly like the ones in the vanilla game. Each season has its own lighting, the nights are black instead of blue and it has many compatibility with many shaders. This one also has sunrise and sunset.

#Cinema Secret by Dreadpirate (@veronavillequiltingbee) - A perfect mix between the Gunmod Radiance and the Maxis Match Lighting mod. It use elements of both, such as the shadows and calm colors of the MM Lighting Mods but the intensity of the lights of the Gunmod Radiance (especially noticeable when using neon lights). It has many compatibility with many shaders, the nights are black instead of blue, it has sunrise and sunset and every season has its own lighting.

#SpookyMuffin Lighting Mod - Recommended by a user in the comments! I don't know how to talk about this Lighting Mod because I've never used it, but the post on the site explains what it consists of!

#The Sims 2 Beta Lighting - By opening the link you will see a YouTube video by @boringbones that will explain how to have The Sims 2 Beta lighting! (The download can be accessed from his Discord link in the video description)

#5:55 Lighting by Bugjartimedecayoff - An edit of Radiance 2.4, with much brighter outdoor lighting at night (very similar to Maxis' default night lighting) and soft peach-tinted dusk & dawn lights.

#Rae-diance Lighting by Raemia - Another edit of Radiance 2.4, with the differences being brighter nighttime lighting & brighter unlit rooms, plus reduced room-saturation.

#Original Vanilla Lighting Backup Here!

Lighting Mods for the Neighborhood

#Neighborhood Lighting Remedy by Criquette - This lighting mod is ONLY for the neighborhood and you can use it together with any of the three lighting mods mentioned above. Fixes the direction of the lights and shadows to be consistent with that of the lot imposters and makes it more consistent with lot mode.

#Accurate Neighborhood Terrain Lighting by @simnopke - This lightind mod is like the above one. It is only for the neighborhood and can be used in conjunction with a DP & dDefinder lighting mod but NOT in conjunction with Criquette's NH Lighting Remedy.

EDIT: simnopke said: "My Accurate Nhood Terrain Lighting mod does something different than Criquette's Nhood Lighting Remedy and can be used with it. Moreover, my mod has two versions intended for use with Criquette's mod."

Lighting Mods for the CAS (Create a Sim)

#Minimalistic CAS Lighting Mod Replacement with Custom Light by Dreadpirate - This lighting mod is CAS ONLY and can be used together with a dDefinder or DP lighting mod and a lightind mod for the neighborhood. Using similar lighting to the MM Lighting Mod, it makes the CAS more saturated and smooth. You have to change a value in a lights file within the game install path but it's worth it!

One small problem I've noticed is that when used with lighting mods other than the MM Lighting mod it often doesn't work well even if the value is correctly changed. For example, when I changed the lighting mod and switched from MM to Cinema Secret, it triggered the super lighted sims bug in CAS which I didn't have before. But then again, this could be just my problem. There is fix by Lazy Duchess for this bug but you need to be very careful. Sometimes it conflicts with some shaders (as in my case) and unleashes an absurd pink soup even in bodyshop even if bodyshop shouldn't have anything to do with it. But AS ALWAYS, maybe it's only a problem of mine because I'm very unlucky.

EXTRA SHADERS BUT NOT REQUIRED

#Better Nightlife by @criquette-was-here - Even if it does not change anything graphically with colors, lights and shadows like a lighting MOD it adds shaders that allow the deco hoods to light up during the night. So for example, by downloading hood decos compatible with this shader you can have street lamps that light up on the street (in the neighborhood), buildings lit up at night, lit bridges etch.

#Blue Snow No More by Dreadpirate - This shader removes the blue tint that snow creates even if you use lighting mods that make the night black instead of blue. Many DP lighting mods (Like MM Lighting Mod) have this shader already included, so you don't need to download it, this is an individual shader if you don't use their lighting mods. To be honest, neither the shader INSIDE the lighting mod nor the shader by itself has never worked for me, but I think there is a problem in my download folder at this point or I am very unlucky.

#Overly Bright CAS Fix by @lazyduchess - As I have already explained before, this mod fixes the bug of super enlightened sims in CAS. Sometimes it can conflict with something (which I don't quite understand with what) and trigger an absurd pink soup, so if you suddenly start to notice more pink soup than usual try to remove it and see how it goes.

Maybe it just conflicts with some lighting mod or some shader. In my case it could be the DP's lighting mod for the CAS.

#Moi Shader Roof by niol on ModThe Sims - This shader fixes the lighting of roofs which sometimes appear much darker than their texture. Many lighting mods from DP have this shader included OR are compatible with this shader. So check the descriptions under their lighting mods before downloading it.

#Brighter Roofs...But Not Too Bright! by Deastrumquodvicis on ModTheSims - Same as the previous shader, but makes the roofs less bright than they show with the aforementioned shader. This shader uses Moi's shader as a base, so you can NOT use both. Use only one. Many lighting mods from DP have this shader included OR are compatible with this shader. So check the descriptions under their lighting mods before downloading it.

#Moi's Neighbourhood Water Global Mod by niol on ModTheSims - This mod changes the water color of the neighborhood. Nothing more nothing less. Many DP mods are compatible with this shader.

#Pond & Sea Water Overhaul by Voeille on ModTheSims - This mod changes the water of the sea and ponds and makes it more realistic using The Sims 2 Castaway water shaders. Many DP mods are compatible with this shader but for some shaders like Better Nightlife it needs a little more attention. For example, if you use Better Nightlife you will need to use the version of these shaders provided by the Better Nightlife link to be compatible. So you have to delete these for use their shaders if you want both.

You can't use this together Moi's Water.

#A World Lit by Fire by hat_play_sims on dreamwidth - This mod itself doesn't change shaders dramatically, but it change the color of some lights and make them more sensate. I'll explain: many maxis lights that are powered by candles or should give off a warm light regardless, give off a cool, white light instead. Have you ever seen a candle emitting white light? No! This mod fixes all lights in the game and makes lights that need to be warm... warm. Perfect for history-themed saves or for the ones like me, completely obsessed with candlelight in this game. Many DP mods are compatible with this shader. It's immensely beautiful when used with the dramacity of the Radiance System but works quite well with other lighting mods as well.

[romancemedia]

Anime Romances + Sweet Tender Hug

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Coming Home (Part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Part one

Warnings: Mention of infidelity??

⧪

Holy fuck, indeed.

Azriel stared at you. 

You stared at him. 

Your mind was reeling, thoughts hammering you all at once of those deep eyes lined by dark lashes that you’d stared into so many times. His full lips that were currently parted just slightly in shock. 

He gave you another once-over, eyes slowly climbing down your body and back up to your face. You needed to gather your thoughts, to stop gawking and say something to break the ice. But then it was broken for you – for both of you – by a different voice calling out from behind Azriel. You both jumped like you’d been doing something forbidden. 

“Az?” The voice was a soft, melodic trill, not one you recognised. “Who’s at the door?”

It was then that a figure emerged behind him – the beauty you could only assume was Feyre, going by Rhys’s detailed descriptions in the letters he’d written to you. Her grey-blue eyes were bright, inquisitive as she peered at you over Azriel’s shoulder. 

It was breaking from Az’s intense stare and looking at Feyre that allowed you to breathe enough air into your lungs to finally speak. It was a wonder you hadn’t collapsed beneath the tension already.

“Feyre. Hi.” You said, smiling warmly. “I’m Y/N…”

Realisation dawned on her face. She blinked, and then she was pushing past Azriel, widening the gap in the door for you.

“Holy shit.” She breathed. “I–Rhys isn’t here. He’ll be back soon. We didn’t know you were coming…”

“Honestly? Neither did I until a couple of days ago.” You laughed. “Bit of a last minute thing…” You hoped you weren’t overstepping the mark, weren’t being rude by just turning up unannounced.

But the warmth in Feyre’s smile suggested the opposite. She stood aside. “Come in. Like, I said…Rhys will be back soon. We were just digging the fancy wine out, right, Az?” 

With the most minute pause, you realised Azriel hadn't once taken his eyes off you during your short conversation with Feyre. Your gaze met his smouldering one, and he swallowed again.

“Right.” Is all he said.

If Feyre noticed the tension between the two of you – if she knew anything about it – she didn’t give anything away. She merely took your bag from your shoulder and linked an arm through yours, pulling you past Azriel.

His eyes burned holes into your back with every step he followed.

⧪

It was soon after that, when you were seated by the fire, a wine glass in hand, that the front door burst open again. 

That was when the chaos had started. Beginning with an emotional reunion with Rhys, who had hugged you so tightly he’d lifted you from the floor and given you a firm scolding about disappearing for a century and not visiting once. Which, he’d had a point. Then it was Cassian, spinning you around so hard that the wine sloshed around in your stomach. You couldn’t stop yourself barking a laugh though, even when he fell straight back into that annoying big brother mode you’d missed so much and touched the back of your neck with his ice-cold hands. 

“Punishment.” He’d grinned at you wickedly. “For leaving us.” 

Rhys had snorted from beside him. “And for not telling us you were coming back.” But there was nothing in his gaze besides pure, unadulterated bliss, the violet irises gleaming brighter than you’d ever seen. He looked…well. Healthy. Happy. And with him being your only other surviving blood relative besides Mor, and her side of the family, you couldn’t help being over the moon that he’d found his lifeline. Found his mate. 

Just the way he gazed at Feyre from across the room told you how solid they were. You had much to thank her for. 

When Mor had seen you, she’d shrieked loud enough to bring the Town House down. She didn’t try to hide her happy tears as she squeezed you tightly. Even Amren had offered a rare hug, and a remark – what you assumed to be a compliment – about how the last century had done you wonders. That you were glowing.

Reunions aside, you’d been offered quick introductions to the two other females that had trailed in behind Cassian and Mor. You and Nesta – two huge personalities – had spent a short time sizing each other up, before you’d both come to the conclusion that neither of you were a threat to the other. It didn’t surprise you in the slightest that Cassian had bagged himself a mate like her – someone he’d truly met his match in. The thought made you smile.

And lastly, you’d met Elain – a female clearly of few words, who’d offered you a quiet hello, a polite dip of her chin, and then had settled into the chair closest to where Azriel hovered tentatively by the fireplace. 

It didn’t take you long at all to notice the stark change in dynamics. How different things were a century ago, when you’d left. 

The room was loud and full of high spirits, plenty of wine being passed around, plenty of laughter and playful banter. In that respect, it didn’t feel any different to how it had been before you’d left. There was always endearing sniping back and forth, playful bickering, Cassian seeing how far he could push Amren before she threatened to rip his heart out. Rhys regaled you with many different stories he’d collected over the years, and you got to know Feyre, sat next to her on the sofa with the wine warming your bellies.

It wasn’t unusual that Azriel was quiet, brooding. But you didn’t miss that the gazes that had once lingered on Mor were now directed at Elain. The way he pursed his lips like he was trying to hold himself back from saying something, clenched his fists at his side as though it was an effort to stop himself from striding over to her.

It surprised you – not that Elain wasn’t devastatingly beautiful. But you hadn’t imagined anything or anyone would ever come along that was enough to slice through Az’s feelings for Mor. Mor, of course, had confided in you before about her preference for females, but it was a secret between the two of you, one that she would reveal to everyone when she was ready. And until then, you’d thought Azriel would spend his every waking day pining for her.

But it was Elain he stared at now. Intensely. He didn’t look as though he was even listening to the conversations around him. 

You decided to block it out; it was your first time back in a century, and you weren’t going to ruin it by your forlorn feelings about the Shadowsinger. Weren’t going to acknowledge that it still stung, even after all this time, to see that heated gaze directed at someone else. 

So you threw yourself into the festivities, drinking and eating and talking and laughing. At some point, you and Nesta had begun to click with one another, your senses of humour widely similar. The alcohol helped, of course.

It was hours later, when Cassian had dozed off with Nesta on the sofa, Feyre and Rhys had retired to bed, Amren and Mor had headed out for a last-minute trip to Rita’s (which you politely declined), and the room had quickly thinned out, that you decided to take some time to yourself. You assumed Azriel and Elain had gone to bed also, given that their quiet presences were suddenly no longer around you.

A sad part of you hoped they hadn’t gone to bed together.

You finished one last glass of wine and draped a blanket over your shoulders, before making your way to the sliding back doors that opened out onto a sweet little garden. You used to do this a lot, often curling up on one of the outdoor armchairs with a book while the stars watched over you.

You leaned against the back porch railing, your face tilted up to the sky, and you breathed. Gulped in great, greedy breaths that didn’t seem to calm your racing heart one bit. 

Being back home after so long was wonderful – and overwhelming. Seeing old faces and new. Grasping what had changed and what hadn’t.

Your feelings for Azriel clearly hadn’t. 

But that was something you’d shelve to confront another time. Right then, with the cold night air, the distant sounds of Velaris never sleeping, and the pure love of being home…it was a tonic. One you hadn’t realised you needed quite so badly–

“Hello.” 

You damn near jumped out of your skin at the sudden, deep voice. The sound of it stretched out to you, whispering over your skin like shadows, and you slowly turned to find Azriel in the doorway.

You swallowed, not yet reacclimated to the dark, stunning sight of him, his shadows swirling like smoke around him. Your heart and stomach both flipped, just like they always used to around him.

You cleared your throat, realising you were staring. “...Hi.”

A soft, somewhat tentative smile pulled at his lips, then. He looked…nervous. Unsure. So unlike him. He stepped outside, pulling the doors shut behind him. And then turned to face you.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. He was nervous, you realised. “I’m sorry I didn’t have much to say earlier. I was shocked…”

You trilled a soft laugh. “Yeah…I think everyone was.” 

That smile of his…it was devastating. It was no wonder that you’d fallen so hard for him before. This was what you’d run so far from. Tried to forget.

There was a slight pause, and then he slowly walked to where you leaned against the railing. He mimicked your positioning, folding his arms atop of it and staring out, into the dark of night.

It was so similar to when you’d last been alone with him – that damned Starfall night that you’d fucked everything up, gotten it so wrong – that you felt your cheeks heat. 

“How are you?” Az asked quietly, those eyes of deep, molten honey still staring ahead. 

“...Fine.” You nodded slowly. “And you?” 

“I’m fine, too.” 

Good. That was good. But as you glanced at him again, noticing the tension in his shoulders, you didn’t think he’d come out here to make small talk. You wondered if he might bring up the embarrassing kiss you’d attempted – fuck, you hoped not – but as you opened your mouth to say something, anything, he turned to you. 

“I can’t believe you disappeared on us for one hundred years.” He said, and you thought there was a flash of something lighter in his voice, his eyes – amusement, maybe?

“I mean…” You cleared your throat. “Technically, it was ninety-nine and a half years…”

His gaze narrowed playfully. “Oh, you haven’t changed a bit.” 

There was a fondness to his voice that you recognised; a way in which he always used to talk to you, like he found you and your escapades endearing. You had to will your heart to beat at a steady rhythm, to not speed up and take off. 

Not easy, though, when the only person you had ever been in love with stood before you, a smirk teasing his lips. 

He was most certainly amused by you. Always had been.

“Okay, then. Semantics.” He chuckled softly. “And what exactly have you done these past ninety-nine and a half years?” 

“A great many things.” You rested your elbow on the railing, supporting your head as you stared up at him. “I travelled. Saw the other courts. Explored Prythian. I even explored the mortal lands for a while. Tried my hand at different things.”

He mirrored your stance exactly. He didn’t seem to care that it inched your faces closer, just slightly. “What kinds of things?” 

“Different musical instruments. Dancing. Baking – not so good at that one.” You let out a soft laugh. “I helped out on farms and in shops…climbed mountains and hills…tried different foods...even trained some young girls in weaponry for a while. But healing…that was my favourite. I always came back to healing. I worked in a clinic for a while and loved every day of it. I’m both Human and Fae trained.” You smiled fondly at the memory, at the human healer who had grown to like you and had imparted her knowledge on you. “I drifted through different communities, saw different things. Made friends all over the place…”

Az nodded slowly. He chewed at his bottom lip – a habit you didn’t remember him having before. “So you found a calling, something you enjoy doing…and you found friends.” He knocked his elbow against yours. “Did you find love?”

The smile slowly faded from your lips, your gaze dropping to your hands. It wasn’t a subject you were sure you wanted to broach…not that you had a problem sharing such things with Azriel. You just didn’t want to get too near to your feelings for him. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

“I…thought I’d found love…at one time.” You admitted, shrugging.

“…but?”

“But would you believe me if I told you he was human?” You lifted your gaze to his. His eyebrows rose. “Turns out human males aren’t quite so fond of fidelity as Fae males are.”

Nobody may have ever come as close to your heart as Azriel had — or ever would — but you’d be lying if you said that the betrayal in the only relationship you’d ever had didn’t bother you. Exploring the mortal lands had been somewhat risky — people took one look at your ears, your ethereal Fae beauty, and ran in the other direction. Lucas had been the only human who didn’t hesitate to welcome you. He’d been kind. Interesting.

“…he was unfaithful?” Azriel asked you quietly.

“Yeah.” You nodded, pursing your lips. “Yes. He was. He was the blacksmith in a small village I stopped in…had his own forge right across the square from the healer’s clinic I was training at. At first, he was kind…he didn’t care that I was Fae. He would walk me back to the inn I stayed at every night and I…I enjoyed his company. Things got serious between us over a couple of years and I was actually considering staying in the village permanently. Staying with him.”

“But?”

You met Az’s eyes dead-on. “But then one night, I walked in on him fucking a pretty village girl on a table in his forge. I didn’t quite feel like sticking around after that.”

Azriel’s jaw shifted, clenching. He swallowed — hard. “Tell me where the village is and he’ll regret it.”

“He’s not worth the effort.” You laughed softly. 

“You are, though.”

You stared at him. And he stared at you. And it was…it was so like how he used to be with you, like you’d never been away…it really was no wonder that he’d gripped your heart as firmly as he had. That you’d never been able to shake him off, even with a whole century apart.

The tension could be cut with a knife. Almost finding it too much, you cleared your throat, dropping your stare again. 

“Elain seems nice…” You murmured. You didn’t know why you’d said it; immediately wanted to kick yourself. 

“She is.” Az nodded, and then paused. “...She also has a mate.”

That was surprising enough to make you blink, your head quickly jerking up. You hadn’t thought…with the way Azriel stared at Elain — and how she stared at him — you hadn’t considered that there may be an obstacle between their affections for each other. And you certainly hadn’t scented a mating bond.

“Lucien Vanserra.” Az said, answering the question you hadn’t verbalised. “It’s…complicated. A long story.”

Well. You hadn’t expected that. It had been years since you’d run into any of the Vanserras, but you’d always thought Lucien a loyal and noble male. You weren’t sure what could possibly be so complicated.

Or maybe you were.

Maybe the answer was standing right in front of you.

You so badly wanted to ask every heated question that entered your head. Did Azriel love Elain? Did she love him? Had anything ever happened between them? Was that why Lucien wasn’t here, with his mate?

Before you could even muster the courage, a distant sound reached out through the house. The sounds of Mor stumbling back through the front door, laughing loudly, of Amren reprimanding her, was like a blade cutting through the tension. Like you and Az were doused in ice-cold water. 

The bubble that the two of you had been in out here, on the porch, burst. Az quickly pulled away from you, straightening himself up and clearing his throat. The tension returned to his body as he inclined his chin at you politely. It was almost like…almost like he didn’t want anyone finding the two of you alone together. 

“I should head to bed.” He announced quietly, just as clattering sounds echoed out from the kitchen. 

You tried to mask your disappointment, simply nodding. “Goodnight, then.”

Az strode back over to the glass doors, a picture of pure, elegant darkness. 

You knew there would never be anyone but him. Coming back here…talking to him like you used to…it only confirmed it. You heaved a soft sigh. 

And then Azriel turned back to you in the open doorway — spoke once more. 

“It’s good to have you back, Trouble.”

tags: @safetypinxtales @historygeekqueen @smartiepants217 @mulansaucey

[sionnaach]

“What is happening?”

Nico slinks up beside Percy, who is sitting with Annabeth and watching a group of campers dancing out on the open grass.

There's country music playing from somewhere. What is going on.

“Line dancing.” Percy informs him with a grin, still watching the crowd. “Will was teaching the younger Apollo kids. Now half the camp is involved.”

Half the camp might be an overstatement, but the number is slowly growing as more campers wander over to see what’s going on.

“What.”

Nico cranes his neck. Sure enough, a familiar head of blonde curls is standing nearly a head above the rest of the campers (Will had another growth spurt that summer and finally broke six foot. He also was not about to let Nico forget it), as the head medic (and now dance instructor, apparently) guides the small gathering through a set of simple, repetitive steps.

He throws in a couple of high energy jumping, spinning movements with a laugh that earn him a slap on the arm from Kayla, who had been trying her best to follow her older brother until that moment.

Nico is in disbelief as it dawns on him; Will can dance. Talented a healer Will may be, the son of Apollo is famously, catastrophically - and those are his own words - lacking in the department of his father’s creative talents. Nico has watched Will trip over the ground, his own feet, and honest to Gods thin air more times than he can count and yet here, as the music changes to something a bit more upbeat, Nico realises that Will is showing off, with a series of complicated movements that only a few other kids, who have evidently done this before, can keep up with. Even Nico, with all his battle training, has trouble following.

Will looks up and catches his eye. Nico didn't think the smile on his tanned, freckle-covered face could get any brighter, but it does. Will waves to them, says something to Kayla, then jogs over.

“Hey!” Will passes a glance over Percy and Annabeth, but when his blue eyes meet Nico's, they don't stray. Nor does the bright, eager smile on his face.

Nico can hear the muffled laughter from his friends.

His ears are burning.

“Would y'all like to join in rather than just standin’ around?” Will asks, a little breathless. His eyes never leave Nico, even though the question is clearly directed at all of them.

Nico feels a little breathless, too.

“Nico would!” Percy says with far too much enthusiasm, and shoves Nico’s leg, right in the joint of his knee, sending him stumbling directly into Will’s arms as Will reaches out to steady him.

“Woah, careful.” Will grips his arms, voice low as he helps Nico to right himself while his heart does a series of complicated movements of its own.

Nico can feel goosebumps where Will is touching him, and he jumps back like he had been electrocuted. He turns to Percy with a near-murderous glare. Percy smiles serenely back.

“I don’t dance.” Nico answers flatly, directed more at the son of Poseidon, but behind him, he hears Will scoff.

“Bullshit, di Angelo. I’ve seen you sword fighting.”

“Yeah, Nico. And what is sword fighting, if not an elaborate dance between two - or more, in this case - people?” Percy adds helpfully, elbow on his knee and chin resting in his hand. He has the audacity to waggle his eyebrows at him.

“Exactly. Thank you, Percy.” Will is grinning, blissfully ignorant to the blatant ribbing occurring before him. Percy waves his hand and ducks his head with a smug smile.

“I think it would be fun.” Annabeth adds innocently, and Nico gives her a look of utter betrayal. He was expecting this from Percy, but has been hoping that Annabeth would have some sympathy towards him. She meets his eyes with a smile, before looking to her boyfriend. “We’ll join in a bit, Will. You two get started.”

Will shoots her a pair of finger guns, because of course he does. “I’m holdin' you to that.”

(“Will we?” Percy asks her, once they’re out of earshot

Annabeth grins. “No.”)

Still glaring daggers at his friends for their treachery, Nico feels a brush against his arm, and he looks down to see Will’s hand retreating. Looking up, the head of the Apollo cabin is watching him with a soft, hopeful expression.

“Coming?”

Nico groans internally. Damn Will and his stupid puppy eyes and damn him and his Stupid, Enormous Crush. He looks up at the sky, and sends a quick prayer to his father and any other god who might be listening to smite him now before he makes an even bigger fool of himself, because he just can’t say no to this boy, can he?

He sighs and resigns himself to his fate when nothing happens.

“Fine.”

With a smile that is nearly blinding, Will reaches back out to grab Nico’s arm, and all but drags him towards the crowd.

[calirph]

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐒 & 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒.

First part of these quotes have been taken from the clips and trailers of bridgerton season three while the other part are taken from books with similar protagonists as penelope as well energy, meaning, some of this quotes are a bit suggestive and spicy on the realm of regency/period drama so beware. Change names, pronouns, and locations as you see fit.

I cannot live at home any longer.

I must take a husband.

Does my lady have a suitor in mind?

Brother, under what foreign sun did you apparently get so sturdy?

It seems as though every Bridgerton was born to attract notice.

For some of us the notice is very slight.

If a husband is what you seek, let me help you. Are we not friends?

I should like to see your skills as they are first.

How delightful to see you all.

I would not be angry if you found me to be a lost cause.

You must not say such things.

She's not seeking a husband in you, I hope.

No, I'm merely helping her find one.

Since when are you worried about Penelope?

That diamonds are not the only gems that sparkle.

Lord Debling. He is eager to take a wife this season.

You have done very well, Penelope. What more could you want?

Mother, do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?

It is rare, but you must follow your heart.

What is the primary force that guides us along our paths? Is it our minds or our hearts?

Do you not need a chaperone?

I am in my third year on the marriage mart with no prospects to show for it. What would you call that?

Something wrong, Pen? Between us, I mean.

If you are going to make me say it out loud...I miss you.

You miss me, but you would never court me, is that correct?

I... -I overheard you...at my Mama's ball last season… telling everyone how you would never, ever court Penelope Featherington.

Perhaps we should go where there's somewhere more private.

Of course, you would never court me.

I am the laughingstock of the ton, even when I change my entire wardrobe.

Your eyes…A most remarkable shade of blue. And yet somehow, they shine even brighter when you are kind.

I'd m-- I might say something like that if you were a suitor.

Well, that was rather direct.

Brother, I should like a moment alone.

Oh. Dear, is Francesca quite well?

Well, she simply needed a moment. As do I.

I should like to use that moment to dance with my beautiful wife.

Please. Enjoy yourselves.

What is the delay?

You deserve better than a man who requires reforming.

It was much less frustrating being the pursued rather than the pursuer.

Kisses should not leave you satisfied. They should leave you wanting.

I've spent twenty-eight years doing what everyone around me expected me to do...being what everyone around me has expected me to be. And it's horrid to be someone else's vision of yourself.

Shall I tell you what I would do if I discovered I'd been a royal ass and had lost the only woman I'd ever really wanted?

You just impugned the honor of my future marchioness. Choose your seconds. I will see you at dawn.

If you intend to keep me from her, you had better have an army at your side.

What if I want the rogue, Gabriel?

Take me to bed, Gabriel. Give me a taste of scandal.

I think it's time to try riding astride.

If I am an empress, he is the only man worthy of being my emperor.

She must be a very talented courtesan.

How very fascinating. I’ve never met a courtesan, you know.

My choices are rather limited.

Shall we seal it with a kiss, then?

You see, when I agree to something, I do it wholeheartedly. That was not the kiss for which you came, little mouse.

The same cage as hers merely a different gilt.

For your beauty has quite ruined me for all others.

This gown is sinful.

So passionate, So eager. Open for me.

You know, Empress, men do not appreciate laughter at this particular moment. It's devastating to the self-confidence.

I agreed to remain, my lord. Not to remain silent.

Look at me, Empress. I want to see you come undone. I want to watch you go over the edge with me.

I'm not lovely.

There is nothing plain about you.

You're enjoying my discomfort.

How am I different?

Selene is not the happiest of stories. After all, she is doomed to love a mortal in eternal sleep.

You are my gift. I shall unwrap you.

Are you aching for me here?

You know exactly what you want, despite never having had it before.

That is the thing about monsters, Pettypeace. They are monsters because they can delude people into believing they aren’t.

She is not plain. She is extraordinary.

You are clearly suffering a visual disorder of some kind. Perhaps you and Jane should wear matching spectacles.

Sentimental novels are my favorite, though I’m not supposed to say so.

[wonder-mei]

Letting Life Lead Part 2 (MK1 Bi-han)

Reminder: this is not lore accurate to the Mortal Kombat universe. I write because they're hot. I also do not have a beta reader or I read my fanfic from top to bottom to see any errors. I'm lazy okay.

I forgot to include an idea in the previous fan fic so here’s a sequel. Consume it well.

—

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Ever since she was a teen, many of her friends and girls around her age got into relationships with people they were interested in. Some until it led to marriage and some broke up. And from that she learned; not everyone can have happily ever after with their first love or when someone thinks their partner is the one. 

But there is one conversation her friends always frown upon. Arranged marriage. They said it is too out of time and unethical because of how it won’t give that person no choice to defy. When the rumour of her getting arranged with the oldest son of the Lin Kuei clan grandmaster. Her friends sent her condolences which she understands because everyone describes Bi-han is as cold as his cryo power and very stern to be the best for his clan. 

And they were all wrong. Very wrong about him. 

The wife of Bi-han turns her head towards the door slides and her husband enters with his arms on his back hiding something. “Welcome home” she greets with a smile and drops the brush she has been using for hours on the wooden table in their room “What’s that?” 

Bi-han approaches her and places a box wrapped in cloth on the table. She curiously unfolds then opens the box and reveals her favorite sweets inside. She smiles cheekily at Bi-han “Your Po Po won’t like this” even with that word she eats them anyway.

Just this evening before the maids cook lunch she requested for her favorite sweet but out of nowhere Bi-han’s grandmother came into the kitchen “You cannot eat that food! They are unhealthy”

She then came into their bedroom with a frown in her face “What’s wrong?” Bi-han asked but she didn't answer,one of her quirk when she is upset. Bi-han sighs leaving his wife alone to soothe her emotion off alone as she is comfortable to do it on her own alone. He went to the maids asking what happened to his wife and it was his grandmother once again being strict with her wife. 

Now Bi-han can now be at ease seeing his wife eating the food she craves today. He caresses her head as she eats. He then holds the paper she wrote a poem on, a talent of hers. She writes her thoughts and nature as her hobby. It reads;

The sun arise at dawn,

And the moon moves away for it to shine,

Even the sun is brighter than the moon,

The moon is still there for the sun,

Even it is not a star,

Giving light to earth,

The moon will be by the sun’s side,

Nonetheless and forever.

Bi-han smiles as he reads the poem. He stands up to put it on the wall with the other poems. His wall used to be blank and nothingness and now the walls are covered with poetry she had written. Even the poem she dislikes, he still stick them on the wall saying ‘Still written with your heart’

After she finished eating. They both sleep for the night together. And the morning came, they both ate breakfast together. The grandmother came in to join too. “Young lady, I told you to wear Beizi! It is the clan’s tradition for the women to wear Beizi everyday” she nags pointing at her Aoqun attire.

Bi-han sighs, gripping his fists under the table. His wife is pouting again at the nagging “I told her to wear Aoqun today”, he said with a gruff. The grandmother scowls in annoyance. His grandson is backing up his wife again as he always does. The old lady left the couple alone. The wife hugs his arm as a Thank You. Bi-han knows she is fond of wearing Beizi as her daily attire every day. Bi-han would occasionally back up his wife in whatever situations. 

“You have been married to her for 6 months and she is still not pregnant. It seems like she is useless!”

“It is my decision to not have a child now”

“Why is she not wearing blue? She is your wife and it’s symbolized she is your property”

“I told her to wear that”

“A married woman shouldn’t walk around the village!”

“I made her to walk outside”

“She still acts like a child! She’s very childish”

“I will teach her”

But he didn’t. He let her be herself. Bi-han understands that she is his wife but she is still young and has a lot of experiences to discover for her curiosity. She can still hangout with her friends or play with the clan’s kids. Even though she was given a lot of freedom, she still respected him as her husband and set her own limit for his comfort. 

What are the odds, a man as cold as Bi-han is the greatest husband every woman wishes for. Her friends are jealous that her husband worships her like a deity and loves her as her own. From fear to adoration the women view Bi-han but he won’t even take a glance at them. He already has his wife who sees good in him just from the first glance they shared. No judgement in her eyes,only acceptance.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

P.S: i don't know how to write poem so i'm sorry if it's bad lol