#this is much longer than i expected it to be

[babacontainsmultitudes]

🤔 Admittedly I was a little disappointed by the reveal (but certainly not surprised the foreshadowing was heavy in this episode lol), but not actually against how Beth (and Will) seem to be playing with it thus far- which is to say that I do think it has a lot of potential, and I suspect there's more to what we're seeing).

;) Big ol' ramble below

Mostly the theory has turned me off until now (at least insofar as I've witnessed it transpire in the fandom at large) because it struck me as so painfully ironic to see Trudy, a 1950s housewife, struggle to exist under the system that she's in, fail to fit the mold assigned to her, and be denied her personhood very literally for it (this being ironic insofar as how it mimics how she would have been treated back then). This and because frankly I just think she's a lot less interesting if she's fully a robot LOL, but I'll hopefully get to that in a bit.

Not that the hints at her mechanical nature and the relevance of Tucker's background were lost on me; I can appreciate why those would contribute to a plausible, fun and I think still mostly harmless theory (now fact). However, minus one or two specific posts I've seen on the matter (namely a recent one suggesting that if Trudy is a robot Beth is probably taking inspiration from The Stepford Wives, :( sorry person who made that post I couldn't find it I wanted to credit yoouuu), I've seen the theory just about exclusively presented in a manner that, rather than explore the metaphorical and political significance of Trudy being partially or fully mechanical, at best disregards the parts of her narrative that are at their core about sexism (among other related things), and at worst negates them entirely (i.e. Trudy only thinking and acting how she does because she's a robot malfunctioning and not because the world itself is causing harm and she rightfully wants something more than the role she was forced into, Trudy not even having any real thoughts and feelings of her own, etc.). I just think it kind of sucks to shove all those important things about her aside and say "actually, there's no person suffering here, she's just a robot" and perhaps worse yet to imply that she does have thoughts and feelings but because they result in Weird™ behavior it must be a problem with her code and not at all relate to what women were subjugated to during this point in American history.

CONVERSELY I don't think Trudy being a robot (or at least partially one) at least from what Beth and Will have presented us thus far, inherently suffers from any of these issues? First and foremost because Trudy definitely appears to possess sentience, thoughts, and emotions of her own, matters which immediately complicate her degree of personhood and don't inherently box her behavior in as a bug in her programming rather than an issue with the world she's been put in, quite the opposite in fact! I think they have a very solid groundwork laid out here to make a strong statement with Trudy's narrative (and perhaps ask the question of what is really malfunctioning here), all the more so since [I pull out a Rebecca Swallows-style conspiracy board] I don't think she's entirely robotic in nature? Actually you should just read Mack's tags in this post cause he has great thoughts on the matter (of which those are just some of them), but if I can direct your attention to one thing in particular, it would be Beth's fact (I *believe* from episode 2) about Trudy never graduating high school because of her essay where she suggested that "perhaps women could one day domesticate themselves", a statement that could of course be interpreted a number of ways but ultimately threatened the patriarchal status quo enough (in suggesting women's independence) to cost Trudy her diploma. Taken on its own this fact appears to contradict the theory that Trudy has always been robotic in nature, because it doesn't really make sense that Trudy would have been set up to go through high school (or school at all really) when Tucker's intention was/is for her to be the perfect housewife. You may then suggest that Trudy's memories of this are fabricated and not actually her lived experiences, in which case firstly perhaps you should reread my earlier point on the robot theory being used to actively negate and otherwise disregard the portions of Trudy's narrative that pertain to sexism and feminism, and secondly it really doesn't make any sense to me that Tucker would implant those kind of memories into Trudy's brain? To be completely honest if she's been a robot from the very beginning (rather than someone who became a cyborg, which is what I'm trying to suggest here), then I don't see why Tucker would program her with actual sentience in the first place (suspending my disbelief here with regards to the possibility of programming sentience to begin with). It seems much more likely to me then that Trudy was not always a robot, and instead altered by Tucker to force her into a role of subordination and remedy her """imperfections""". This option is significantly more interesting to me one, because it implies that Trudy has actually lived a life up until the present, full of its own complexities and strife (and dreams, and real actual memories worth exploring, etc.), and hence is not by any means "just a robot", and second because it amplifies the hypothetical statement being made on the lives of the real living women of the era and how they were treated and seen as being "in need of fixing" for not conforming to gender roles or otherwise acting "out of line" with what was expected of them.

OKAY THIS GOT OUT OF HAND SO I'M CUTTING MYSELF OFF HERE but I wanted to my share my current thoughts what with this ending and where I'm at so hopefully that was at least interesting to whoever has chosen to read through this one okay thank you byyyyyyyyye~

[heich0e]

iwaizumi got a lower back tattoo on his 21st birthday.

if you showed one hundred people in the street a photo of 30-year-old hajime, and then surveyed them as to whether or not they think he has a lower back tattoo, it's unlikely more than one of them would say yes—and even the one who did probably just misheard the question. it's as unbelievable a thought as any, and still somehow it's true.

he was 21, legally drunk for the first time in america, and hanamaki and matsukawa had finally come to california to visit him to mark the occasion. it was kind of a stupid trip, they realized afterwards, because issei and hiro were still only 20 and couldn't even go out to the bars near UC irvine that all of iwa's college friends were inviting him out to for the first time.

but he didn't mind.

he bought them beer and sugary canned cocktails from the convenience store near campus using the birthday money his nanay sent him, silently repenting in his mind as the store clerk in the polyester vest rang the expensive purchase through. then they all got drunk in iwa's tiny student apartment while they played video games, called oikawa, and eventually wandered out into the warm california night in search of food.

the details beyond that are fuzzy, but the lines inked into the little space at the bottom of hajime's spine are not—even after nine whole years.

most people have no idea about the tattoo—and hajime has gone to great lengths to keep it that way. he wears a compression t-shirt at the gym so there's no risk of it riding up and accidentally revealing it. he orders patches to conceal it on the rare occasion he goes to onsens. he never showers with the athletes at work, always either opting to shower at home, shower after the team, or use the staff facilities when available.

but in spite of all of that, he's not embarrassed of it.

he doesn't even really regret it.

it's just not anybody else's business.

the ink on his skin is a secret kept between him, matsukawa, hanamaki, the guy who tattooed him, and oikawa who was screaming on facetime in the background while it happened.

and now you, too.

your hand snakes up the back of hajime's sweatshirt as he stands at the stove preparing breakfast, cool fingertips tracing the curls of ink even without seeing them—having long mapped them to memory. hajime suppresses a shiver, not expecting the contact, as you crowd yourself closer to his back and lean your weight against him.

"i was trying not to wake you," he says quietly, the hand not holding the chopsticks he's flipping his omelette with reaching behind him in search of you.

"you didn't," you murmur into his back, catching his seeking hand in yours and twining your fingers together. "smelled food."

hajime laughs to himself, his eyes crinkling. he squeezes your fingers tightly as his heart thuds in his chest.

underneath his sweatshirt, your nails rake lightly against his skin.

"shouldn't i be making your breakfast?"

hajime transfers his omelette to the plate waiting beside the stove, flicking off the burner and then turning to face you. he wraps his arms around you and holds you properly now, your face burrowing into the collar of his hoodie the way you always do, his nose brushing your temple.

"wanted to let you sleep a bit longer," hajime grunts out, his cheeks burning a bit hot—still shy, sometimes, even after so much time has passed. "thought you might be tired after..."

you snort, your head popping up to look at him. "after you fucked me within an inch of my life into the wee hours of the morning?"

the fire burning under hajime's skin grows even hotter. he splutters a little, and struggles to meet your gaze.

"i'm not tired," you whisper, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. the incorrigible one he fell in love with. "we were celebrating, after all."

hajime's eyes are burning a little bit, to complement the stinging in his cheeks. you lift your hand up to his face so you can feel the heat of his skin, and he rests his own hand—larger, more calloused than your own—to rest overtop of it. he looks at you, and sees happiness reflected back at him in your gaze. so fathomless he thinks he could drown in it.

hajime turns his face into your touch, and his eyes flutter closed as he noses against your palm.

he presses a kiss there. soft. adoring.

then another, just slightly higher, to the ring he put on your finger the night before.

he peeks at you again, that same heat in his cheeks, though not nearly as unbearable.

he's got another secret he doesn't regret now, one just as permanent as the ink in his skin, but this one won't stay hidden long. eventually he'll call his parents, and his nanay will probably get teary. then he'll tell his friends, who will put his mother's tears to shame. he'll leave the tattoo artist out of it this time, though—wherever that guy is now.

"happy birthday, hajime," you whisper to him with a smile he can't help but return.

he might keep this secret between the two of you today, though. just for a little while longer.

it'll be his gift to himself.

[stefisdoingthings]

aaughh!!! now wolfwood will trade the donut for a kiss or something

[foreingersgod]

Wait up for you . EE

pairings: emily engstler x reader

synopsis: she’s an early bird, you’re a night owl…but she also refuses to sleep until you agree to go to bed with her

A/N: this sounded a lot better in my head, but i fear it came out terrible lol, also this was a request that i lost somewhere in the inbox so apologies if that was you!!

“how many more pages left?” emily asked, voice muffled by her pillow. she was laid flat on her stomach, eyes fighting to stay open as her fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt.

it was well into the early hours of the morning by now-moonlight creeping into your shared bedroom, crickets chirping loudly outside. it was your favorite time of day, when the world had gone silent and it was just you (and your lovely girlfriend) with no interruptions. life was always busy for the two of you, with work and your education and with emily’s career, and it left you with little time to have a few hours of peace. so tonight, after working a double and taking your last final for the semester, you allowed yourself some time to unwind and read.

emily had been out with her team for the majority of the night, eventually coming home to see you tucked under the duvet of your bed and propped up against the headboard. you were quite the night owl, she knew, always expecting you to be busy with something when she got home. whether that be reading, watching a new show, or doing some random craft you’d seen on tiktok that you convinced yourself you could nail first try. it made her smile as she walked through the door, watching your eyes flicker across the pages rapidly. but whilst she loved your wakeful nature, she often found it difficult to keep up with.

emily was almost the exact opposite of you, in a way, going to bed earlier than most and getting up hours before you for practice. she was the sun and you were the moon. she didn’t mind that you stayed up late except for the fact the she truly couldn’t sleep without you. ever since moving in together, she found it harder and harder to go to bed alone. she craved the weight of your head on her chest, the silent snores that would occasionally fall from your lips throughout the night. so she’d wait up every night for you, finding something to keep herself busy until you were ready to finally fall asleep.

“i don’t know, babe” you hummed, trying to focus on the paragraph you were on. you were hoping to finish your book by tonight, but your particularly needy girlfriend was making it near impossible with her small interruptions “maybe like 35…40?”

“40?!” emily groaned, turning her head away from you and letting about a dramatic sigh. she didn’t know how much longer she could stand.

“emily, you can go to bed!” you laughed and set the book down on your lap, reaching over to gently caress her arm “you’ve had a long night, you need some rest”

“i can’t believe you just said that” she joked, rolling over onto her back, a calloused hand coming up to rub her jaw. she looked up at you with half lidded eyes and a lopsided grin on her face “i wanna wait up for you, you know that”

you bit back a smile. your heart swelled knowing that she loved you this much. but it also made you feel so unbelievably guilty some nights, that she was missing sleep just because of you. on several occasions you would beg her to go to sleep in fear that she would wake up cranky and exhausted and barely make it through the day, but she was more than insistent on waiting.

“i know,” you sighed “i just don’t want you to be tired s’all”

she rolled her eyes, scooting down the bed to wrap a strong arm around your torso. her head came to rest against your hip as she kissed the exposed skin of your thigh.

“i’d rather be tired every single day than go to bed without you”

you chuckled under your breathe, shaking your head slightly. she was impossible to resist. emily squeezed you tightly as she felt your stomach expand in laughter, fingers sneaking their way under your shirt to brush against your smooth skin.

“you’re so cute, em”

“cute enough for you to finish the book tomorrow and go to bed with me?” she tilted her head up, hopeful for your compliance. her lips formed a small pout which earned a playfully disappointed look from you.

“you’re so lucky i love you” you put the bookmark back into its spot in your book, placing it somewhere on your cluttered night stand. emily instantly moved off of your lap to lay back on her side of the bed, arms opening wide for you to slide into.

you accepted her embrace as you finally settled into bed, allowing emily’s large body to envelop your own. she pulled the blanket up over your shoulders once you were comfortable, making sure you were tucked in just the way you liked. your head found solace underneath her chin, chest pressed against hers. it was like the muscle memory, the way the two of you blended into each other as the night grew darker. her body relaxed as your weight pressed into her, hearing your heart beat slow.

“mmm, i love you too” she placed a chaste kiss to the top of your head. now satisfied, she let her eyes close completely. she’d wait for hours just to have these moments with you “g’night, baby”

“goodnight, em” you muttered before finally drifting off to sleep.

[targaryen-dynasty]

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS.

Modern!Daemon Targaryen x au pair/cam girl!Reader

"You didn’t expect your host dad to be back so early, yet things take an interesting turn when he catches you in a compromising situation. What’s better than losing your virginity to a man that knows just what he’s doing?"

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; non/dub-con, semi public sex?, p in v, fingering, praise kink, loss of virginity, oral fixation, rough sex, unprotected sex, female Reader, modern AU

WORDS: 3.4 K

NOTES: This is an older story, slightly edited bcs I didn't want to change too much. Consider it as my gift for reaching 3K followers! You know me: a celebration will follow from 15th of July until the 26th!

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The luxurious apartment is quiet, safe for the soft giggles and moans coming from your bedroom, the door slightly ajar since you’ve anticipated being alone for a little longer. It’s what catches Daemon’s attention as he steps into the dark hallway with all lights turned off and both his sons put to bed. 

Curiosity is what gets the best of him as he approaches the door silently, peering inside of your room with a raised eyebrow. His jaw immediately sets as soon as he notices what exactly you’re up to, knowing all too well despite your back facing the door. 

The black office chair you sit in almost covers your frame completely, directed towards your desk with your laptop opened and Daemon and your large bed merely seeing the back of the chair. 

As a man with ample experience up his sleeve, Daemon can easily gauge what you’re doing. Both your feet are propped up at the edge of the chair, legs spread and bent at the knees, and your forearm slides up and down in a slow but steady rhythm. And if that’s not making it obvious enough already, the faint squelching sounds of your fingers slipping in and out of your cunt are a dead giveaway. 

His desire to respect your privacy is big, but he can’t seem to bring himself to shut the door, leave you alone and act as if nothing has happened. Something dark is stirring deep inside of him, surging to the surface and not allowing him to act rational. He knows what every other host would do, but he’s not like everyone else – even you’ve noticed that very early on in the job – and especially not when he’s handed the one thing he’s wanted for so, so long on a silver platter. You. 

“Do you like watching me?” you hum, far too occupied by the little messages popping up on the screen in front of you. The quiet sigh Daemon makes as he fears that you’ve caught him red-handed goes completely unnoticed by you, and his racing heart quickly calms the moment you slightly lean forward to squint at the screen of your laptop and read the chat. But he’s not sure if it’s his luck or not, because your next words feel as though the air is forced from his lungs, heat spreading in his loins that makes him palm his half-hard cock, lightly stroking it through the fabric of his slacks. 

Tipping your head back against the chair, you release another quiet moan. “I wish you could fuck me right now, hmm, take my virginity.”

The urge to groan is adamant, lingering at the back of his throat, and he takes that as his cue to interrupt, although a part of him also is curious to see how much farther you would go. His strides are leisure as he steps into the room, moving to peek over your shoulder. 

“Now that’s quite an invitation,” he remarks, his voice low and deep. “Do you put on a show like this often, little mouse?”

There is a slight stutter in your arm as you hear his voice behind you, and with merely your pelvic region up to your neck being in view, you allow your facial expression to slip. Though the movements of your hand stop, you let it stay in the exact position – perhaps a part of you wanted to be caught by him all along. 

The neckline of the tank top you wear is pulled down enough for both your perky breasts to spill over the fabric – the damn top you wear almost every evening, prancing around the apartment, entertaining the boys and practically begging for him to devour you wholly – and when heat blossoms in your cheeks, it also runs down to your cleavage. As you try to shut the laptop, Daemon is one step ahead of you, gripping it to keep it open. 

“M… Mister T–” His name dies on your tongue with the realization of your viewers still present and the stream not being muted. “I didn’t expect… I didn’t think you’d be home so–”

He interrupts you with a raised index finger, his darkened eyes shamelessly raking over your exposed body. Even your own eyes trail down to the slight dickprint in the front of his dark slacks, leaving little to the imagination. Your mouth runs dry as you try to make the size out of the outline. 

“Oh, don’t mind me, keep going,” he says, a wicked smile on his lips. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your show. Your audience is waiting, and it seems as if they’re quite enjoying the show you’re putting on for them…or perhaps I should join?”

“Join?” your voice comes out in a squeak, liquid fire spreading through your veins from embarrassment. “I… I don’t think that… the stream… my followers–”

Daemon chuckles. “Oh, come on now, I’m just offering help,” he says in a nonchalant way. “Your viewers would appreciate the extra entertainment, I’m sure. And I know I would as well.”

The feeling of his presence is so adamant as he leans closer towards you — the heat of his body and smell of his scent almost enough to distract you. You can feel your body react, your heart racing in your chest. Your eyes dart to the screen of your laptop, where the chat is bombarded with comments, most of them begging for you to agree while others even offer extra money for him to join. Even if they can’t really see him, they can hear him perfectly clearly and that seems to be enough for them. 

“You’re impossible,” you mutter. 

He grabs the chair and turns it around so you’re facing him now. With his hands gripping the armrest on either side of the chair, you’re trapped by him. “Just look at them,” he remarks, nodding towards the screen. You turn your head to the side, eyes meeting the screen again. “Seems like you have some eager viewers, little mouse. They’re practically begging for it, and you should give them what they want.”

You can feel your resolve crumble with every word that leaves his lips, your cunt throbbing at the mere thought. “But… But I have never…” you trail off, fixing your gaze with his. 

“Oh, I know,” he says. “But don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you. Just get on the bed for me, sweetheart.” With his hands leaving the chair, you find yourself able to breathe again, the tension in your body calming slightly. 

Nodding like an utterly obedient thing, you swallow hard, a mixture of excitement and trepidation swirling within you. You follow his instructions, rising from your chair to walk past him towards the bed. His purple eyes all but burn into your body on your way, making you shiver. 

For Daemon, there is no greater pleasure than seeing somebody as obedient as you. Watching you walk past him makes him feel a twitch in his groin, his hard cock straining against the confines of his slacks.

While you crawl onto the bed, Daemon pulls the office chair to the side to clear the view for your audience, a smug smirk adorning his face. He stalks towards the bed, movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. He brings his hand to your face and cups it, his thumb running over your lips. 

You lean into his touch, eagerly opening your mouth to allow him to push his digit inside. You shouldn’t be doing this, but you have always felt drawn to the forbidden. It’s his charisma and the dominance he radiates that has lured you in ever since your first interview, and on top of that, he’s so damn easy on the eyes, you would be stupid to turn him down. 

And what’s better than losing your virginity to a man that has ample experience up his sleeve? One that clearly knows what he’s doing? 

“Now, let’s give them a show they’ll never forget, shall we?” he asks. 

You nod your head while coyly sucking his thumb, finding a weird satisfaction in it that makes you feel completely safe around and guarded by him. Despite you kneeling on the bed, he’s still so much taller than you, looming over your frame to the point you have to crane your neck slightly to maintain the eye contact he has initiated. 

“Such a good girl already,” the older man taunts, fumbling with his slacks. “I’m certain you’ll be a natural.”

It’s astonishing how easily he opens the buttons and zipper of his slacks and pushes them down to his knees only using one hand, and when his briefs follow, your teeth sink into his thumb. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, one that only seems to feed into his amusement, but he’s just so big, standing to full attention already with no ministrations on your part, a slight curve and beads of precome glistening at the tip of his cock. He’s both thick and long, and you’re sure your fingers wouldn’t even meet around its girth if you’d wrap it around. 

“This… It’s not going to fit,” you whisper with a muffled voice, staring up at him with doe-like eyes.

“Oh, little mouse, I’ll make it fit.”

At the sight of him taking himself in his hand and spreading the precome over the tip of his cock, thumb teasing the slit, you moan wantonly around his digit, just like before when you’d fucked yourself with your fingers. 

“On your back, and spread these legs for me,” he demands, pulling his thumb from your lips. It makes you pout, and you lick your lips, chasing the feeling of his thumb pressing down on them. 

Following his instructions, you shift your body and lean back until your head meets the plushy pillows, and spread your legs to give him the perfect view of your cunt, folds swollen and glistening with a desperate need.

Daemon has rid himself off his slacks and briefs, so he’s almost naked – safe for the black shirt he wears. Instead of moving, he stays exactly where he is, striking eyes solely fixed on what lays between your legs as if he’s never seen a naked woman before. 

His gaze is almost too much for you to bear, especially with his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and you’re tempted to squeeze your thighs together and pull your tank top back up – the only thing stopping you is the uncertainty on how he’d react if you did so, and you’re not keen on playing with fire right now. 

Time seems to move slower with the way his gaze all but devours you and the anticipation putting your body on fire, yet the moment also brings a sense of hurry with it. It’s evident that Daemon is desperate to be buried inside of you, because he’s not really taking his time to prepare you for him, simply assuming your fingers have done enough for it already. 

The moment he climbs on the bed, making himself at home between your parted legs, it feels as though the breath is knocked out of your lungs. The anticipation is killing you, you long for something you haven’t felt before; the painful stretch of a cock filling you. Of his cock filling you. 

He smiles at you in an irritatingly smug way, definitely knowing how his presence is making you feel. “Just relax,” Daemons rasps, hand clasping around the base of his cock as he drags it through your folds and aligns it with your entrance. “Can you do that for me, darling?”

Sheepishly biting your bottom lip, you nod. The friction causes you to arch your back slightly, pushing your hips toward him impatiently. It’s a difficult task to tear your eyes off of his hard cock, one that you do not manage.

You press your eyes shut to prepare you for the stinging pain as the tip barely prods against your entrance, but it’s his tsking that has you open them again. 

“Nah, eyes on me.”

And just like you’ve done the whole time, you follow his lead, keeping your eyes locked with his as he pushes just the tip inside – ignoring the desire to press them shut to cope with the intrusion. With the way your walls already suck just the tip of him inside, clenching tightly around it, it costs him much more restraint to not force himself into you with one thrust, split you open and pound you into oblivion than he likes to admit. 

Yet he’s kind enough to keep his word and his urges at bay, granting you a little time to adjust to his girth. The stretch is painful indeed, and every ridge and vein of him drags along your fluttering walls as you struggle to take him. He fills you up with a slow push and a strained groan slipping past his lips which drowns out your quiet whimpers.

It feels different than all the times you have used one of your toys on yourself, and your walls all but wail around him, clenching and squeezing around him in an attempt to try to accommodate him. 

“‘Tis too much… It–” you whimper, interrupted when he eventually bottoms out completely, and it feels as though he’s all the way up in your belly. Your hands fly to his shoulders for leverage as he forces you to take his lenght and accept his girth, nails already digging crescent shaped marks into his skin despite the layer of his shirt between you. 

“Ah, there we go,” he groans, and by the way his shoulders tense under your fingers, you know it isn’t easy for him to keep his hips still. 

He’s so deep, you feel the pressure inside of your belly, the tip bullying your sweet spot without him really moving. It feels like he’s splitting you in two, and you know you’ll be feeling him for days – but it’s an ache you welcome.

“You want me to continue? To fuck you?” he asks, a mischievous grin on his lips. 

Having lost your voice for the time your body needs to adjust to him, you all too eagerly nod your head, your eyes never once leaving his. He does not mind you not using your words, clearly sensing what’s going on inside of you at this moment. 

“Then beg me for it, sweetheart.”

Your mouth falls open at that, glossy eyes flickering between his to search them for the jest. “What?”

“You’ve heard that right. Beg for me to fuck you.”

It’s the single rut of his hips that almost pulls his cock out of you completely and sheathes it right back inside that has you whining and begging for him in seconds, the dire need to be claimed by him consuming your mind. 

“Gods, please… please,” you whine. “Please fuck me. I… I need it… need you.”

Just your whiney voice and the tight squeeze of your cunt around him almost have him coming on spot. How could he ever say no to you? Not when you beg so sweetly for him to fuck you, and look at him with these big, innocent eyes. 

“My my, aren’t you a good girl?” he purrs, the praise surging straight to your brain. 

Daemon wastes no more time, and plunges his cock into you, starting slow and careful. You can only assume that it’s the complete opposite of how he’s usually fucking, but you knows you’ll probably get there at some point. If not tonight, certainly sometime over the course of your stay, since you still have a few more months. Or perhaps he’ll even agree to extend your stay after this?

He leans down to prop himself up on one elbow, his broad chest flush against yours. Tonight isn’t about fucking, it’s about forming and bending you to his needs. You wouldn’t accept his advances again if your first time is painful. 

You can’t help yourself but to cry out in pleasure as he shoves his cock into you over and over, hitting all the right spots within you with little effort, your mind going hazy with pleasure. 

With each thrust you approach your orgasm faster and faster, the all familiar coil in your belly threatening to snap at any given moment, and his pelvis and the coarse hairs at the base of his cock rutting against your overstimulated clit with each steady grind don’t really help to delay it either. 

“Sir, please… I’m close,” you whimper, biting your bottom lip.

A satisfied smirk lingers on his lips as he looks at you, eyes dark blown with lust. “Then go on, sweet thing,” he rasps. “Go on and come for me.”

It’s like his words ignited something inside of you that causes you to topple over the edge almost in time with his command, the force of it reducing you to nothing more than a whimpering mess that seems to spur him on even more.

“There she is,” he groans, and cups your cheek with his free hand, squishing your face slightly as he presses it against his chest, clearly using you like a ragdoll while you drown in the comforting scent of his perfume mixed with sweat. But he doesn’t stop his movements, if anything he increases the pace of his hips. Not too much, but just enough for you to notice, and have that uncomfortable feeling of being overstimulated creeping up on you. 

Daemon gets back on his knees and clasps both his hands around your thighs. 

“No…, I can’t,” you whimper, pleading eyes searching his dark ones for mercy, but it doesn’t come. Instead, all you’re receiving is a grunted ‘you can’ as he drapes your legs over his shoulders. The change in angle has another orgasm washing over you almost immediately, your back arching off the mattress. 

A groan escapes his parted lips as your convulsing walls milk him yet again. “Yes, fuck, just… just like that. Such a good girl for me,” he stutters, though it’s obvious he’s talking more to himself than to you. 

His weight disappears from your body not long after the aftershocks rocked you, kneeling upright to pound into you. By now it is more than obvious that he has abandoned his decency and the wish to give you a pleasant first time, his hips working tirelessly to milk every last drop of pleasure out of your body. He fucks you fast and hard, and all you can do is whimper and moan thank you’s and yesses over and over again while he uses your body to get himself off. 

Soon Daemon’s rhythm falters, but he still manages to pull out of you and jerk himself off, tip of his cock pointing towards your stomach as he comes with a loud groan. His throbbing cock spills his seed onto your flushed skin and the top you wear, essentially marking you as his and staking his claim to you.  

While you’re completely blissed out by experiencing two orgasms in such a short time, you can’t stop watching how he comes undone in front of you, coating you in his spend.  

As soon as he’s done, Daemon gets on his feet and puts his briefs and sweats back on, tucking himself back into them. He stands and takes a few seconds to examine his work, especially the blissed out expression on your face and the way his seed covers your torso from your navel all the way up to your breasts. 

He smiles at you, running a hand through his disheveled hair, before he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it into your direction. “There you go. Told you I’d make it fit.” 

He exits your room so fast and leaves the cleaning up to you, you don’t even get the chance to admire his bare chest or him in general. 

But you have no time to think about what has happened as the quiet pings! of your chat make you remember your still running stream. Barely able to pull his shirt over your head before you scurry off the bed, tumbling towards the laptop with trembling legs and a very prominent aching between your legs.

Squinting at the screen, you notice that the number of viewers is as high as never before, just like the amount of tokens they’ve sent you. Your lips curve into a wide grin, and you shut the laptop and fall into your chair, hoping it’s not the first and last time you experience such bliss by the hands of your host.  

[felassan]

From Game Informer:

Solas plays an important role in the game as a central figure and significant character, but the game is not about Solas, hence the title change

Rather than focusing on a specific individual, the focus and centerpiece of the game is Rook's team, stopping the end of the world with this group of specialists

"I think you could argue [these companions] are the best the franchise has ever seen". We will have the opportunity to interact with them in a way that both shapes their story and also influences the main story, including having the opportunity to impact their fate

"Arguably, this game has kind of, in a way, been called Dreadwolf to some degree since its earlier days"

Excerpt:

"When I ask about Solas' role in the story after I learn his namesake is no longer in the game title, Darrah says Veilguard is still taking the Elven God's narrative in a good direction. He adds, "It allows us to, hopefully, give a good conclusion to all the varied attitudes toward Solas that are going to be coming from people who love Solas, who agree with Solas, who hate Solas, people who want to kick Solas off of a building – I think that we give you the opportunity to bring that to a close, but then tell a greater story about The Veilguard and about the world as a whole." Talking to Epler, I learn more about how Solas isn't exactly the big bad I expected before seeing the opening hours of Veilguard. There's a lot more nuance to everyone's favorite bald elf.  "The most interesting villains to myself, and honestly most people, are not just straight up, 'I want to end the world.' To them, they are the heroes of the story, and Solas is no exception," Epler tells me. "Solas always feels that he is a tragic hero but a hero nonetheless, so he's coming into this believing firmly that what he did, that which you stopped him from doing, was the right thing – that you made a mistake. But now he's trapped and can't reach out and actively affect [Thedas], so he needs to work with you. "That allows us to provide a lot of nuance to that relationship," Epler says."

Solas is literally trapped in the Fade after the game's prologue. Rook and co stop his attempt to destroy the Veil. Rook passes out and wakes up in a dream-like landscape to Solas' voice. He explains that he was trying to move Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain to a new prison because the old one wasn't containing them properly anymore. The two blighted gods are now free and roaming Thedas. Rook has to stop them, but it seems that they will have to work with Solas ("or at least listen to his guidance and advice") to do so

Excerpt:

""So one of the principles we took to when we were building the story of The Veilguard early on was we wanted the beginning of the game to feel like the final chapter of an earlier story and you're coming in right at the end, you're coming in as if you've been chasing Solas – the [Solas at the end of Dragon Age: Inquisition's Trespasser DLC] who said he was going to end the world and tear down the Veil," Epler adds.  Epler says players will see early on (and as the narrative develops across Veilguard) that Solas sees much of himself in you, the player-controlled Rook, especially "the parts that maybe he doesn't like to face." As a result, there's an interesting push and pull between Solas and Rook. He says players can define the relationship between these two characters with their choices in dialogue.  "You can continue to be suspicious and hostile towards him, or you can start to see him and find that common ground, that connection between the two of you, and really develop a different relationship over the course of the story," Epler says."

[source]

[imjustreadinglmao]

BLUE PART II

Paring: Azriel x reader, Lucien x platonic!reader

Series summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

Warnings: unrequited love, death, detailed descriptions of fights and blood, angst, characters being idiots

A/N: my last azrielxreader post won’t appear in the tags so reblogs are very much appreciated.

Word count: 3.3k

It’s a beautiful, crisp spring morning. The sun is shining, birds are singing, and the wind carries the lovely scent of freshly baked pies. I sigh at the prospect of leaving this peaceful place and trading it for the Autumn Court.

As I push the heavy oak doors of the River House open, I can feel anxiety coursing through my veins. After fleeing Autumn seventy-three years ago, I didn’t expect to return there so soon, even if only temporarily. It was difficult for me to leave. I couldn’t risk telling anyone about my plans, so I never had the chance to say goodbye.

Knowing my father, he had probably been more concerned about how me leaving would affect his standing with the High Lord and the other noble families. But my mother and sister… I would give a lot to see them again.

All those years, I have missed the familiarity of my home court, the traditions, and the celebrations I cherished so much as a child.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I step into the foyer. Rhysand, Amren, Azriel, and Lucien are already there, waiting for me.

Except for Lucien and me, who are wearing traditional Autumn Court attire, everyone else is dressed in midnight black.

Lucien looks up as I enter, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You look… convincing,” he says.

I let out a breathy laugh at that. The last time he saw me in Autumn colors was at a ball my family hosted, which ended with me puking my guts out, most of it landing on Lucien’s shoes.

Judging by the face he is making, he hasn’t forgotten either.

Azriel, standing beside him, nods in agreement. “It suits you,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary.

His shadows peek over his shoulder as if they want to take a look too.

I try to ignore the flutter of emotions his words stir within me. Instead, I focus on the mission ahead, on the role I must play. The safety of Prythian depends on our success, and I can’t afford to let myself get distracted.

Rhysand steps forward, a mischievous smile on his face. “I have to say, you both pull off Autumn Court fashion far better than I expected. Maybe we should visit the Autumn Court more often.”

Amren, her eyes assessing our disguises, retorts, “If you spent as much time on strategy as you do on fashion critiques, we’d have won the war by now.”

I have to cover my mouth to not laugh out loud and accidentally anger the century-old creature that’s lurking beneath that Fae body.

Rhys just rolls his eyes, clearly undeterred by her sharp tone. “I’ll have you know that looking good is part of the strategy.”

With one last look at me, he stretches out his hand and asks, “Ready?”

I nod, take his hand, and let him winnow me away.

———————————————————

Arriving at the southern border of the Autumn Court, I am immediately struck by the beauty of the landscape. The trees here are taller than I remember, their leaves a riot of red, orange, and gold, perpetually caught in the peak of autumn. The air carries the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the smoke of distant fires burning in hearths.

As we step onto the moss-covered ground, bittersweet memories flood my mind. I find myself thinking of the simpler days of my youth, the carefree ones.

I feel dark talons gently scraping at the shields in my mind and lwt Rhys in. So lost in the beautiful nature, I barely realize him wishing us good luck and winnowing back to Velaris.

Right after Rhys leaves, Azriel begins to scout the area for any magical traps or shields set by Koschei, leaving us to wait for his return. As the minutes stretch into an hour, my anxiety starts to build.

I pace restlessly, my mind conjuring all sorts of terrible scenarios.

Lucien tries to reassure me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” Lucien says softly. “Azriel knows what he’s doing.”

But his words do little to calm me.

“How can you be so sure? He could be injured… or worse. We don’t know what Koschei is capable of!” I snap.

I begin to ramble, listing every possible way Azriel could have gotten hurt. “What if he’s caught in a trap? What if there’s a magical barrier he can’t break?”

Just thinking about him being in trouble makes me want to vomit. “That’s it. He’s taken long enough. I’m going to find him and—”

Amren steps in, her voice cutting through my panic. “Enough. Get your shit together. We don’t have time for this.”

Her bluntness shocks me into silence, and I sulk, feeling chastised.

But Amren isn’t finished. “Oh, quit acting like a child. Maybe if you told him about your feelings and the mating bond, you wouldn’t be so anxious, girl.”

My mouth drops open and I look to Lucien, his face also morphed into shock. When I look back to Amren, she just lifts an eyebrow.

“How do you know about the bond?”

Amren lets out a long sigh. “Only someone stupid wouldn’t have picked up on that. And Azriel being the stupidest of all.”

She rolls her eyes and starts picking at her nails. “We all suspected it. For a while we thought it snapped for Azriel too. The way he followed you around like a love sick fool, we were sure of it. But I guess it didn’t.”

I don’t say anything else after that, my mind not coming up with a response.

——————————————————

Another hour passes, and my worry only deepens. I can’t stop imagining Azriel injured or trapped, his shadows unable to find a way back to us. Every rustle of the leaves makes me jump, hoping it’s him returning.

Lucien tries to keep me distracted, but my thoughts are a whirl of dread. He tells me stories of his own missions, but I can’t focus on his words. My mind is entirely on Azriel.

Finally, just as the sun reaches its peak, Azriel returns. He looks slightly worse for wear, his clothes torn in some places and his face smeared with dirt, but otherwise unharmed. He notices the tension immediately, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“What happened?” Azriel asks, looking between us.

I step toward him, my relief overwhelming. “Are you okay? What took you so long?”

Azriel nods, his expression serious. “There were more traps than I anticipated. It took a while to disable them all, but the path should be clear now.”

Amren crosses her arms. “Good. We don’t have time for any more delays.”

Lucien places a hand on my shoulder again, this time with a reassuring squeeze. “See? I told you he’d be fine.”

I manage a weak smile, still shaken by the fear that gripped me. Azriel’s eyes soften as he looks at me.

“We should move quickly,” Azriel says, breaking the moment. “It won’t be long till they notice that their shields and traps were destroyed. Amren and I will accompany you to the Forrest House, then we’ll separate and follow the original plan. It’s too dangerous otherwise. We can’t risk you.”

Lucien nods and gestures for me to go first. “Let’s get moving then. The sooner we’re done here, the better.”

We begin to move deeper into the forest, leading to Beron’s residence. The beauty of the surroundings contrasts sharply with the danger I know lurks nearby.

As we walk, I steal glances at Azriel, wondering how he can be so calm and collected all the time.

Gods, I nearly lost my mind over him doing his job. I am a hypocrite for snapping at him the other day. Yes, I am mad at him for courting Elain, but I also can’t expect him to be loyal to me when he doesn’t even know that we’re mates.

How different things would be if it had just snapped for him the second it did for me...

It happened three years ago. Unbeknownst to us, we were just celebrating the last winter solstice without Rhys when it snapped into place.

One moment I was admiring him from afar, the next I was connected to him for the rest of my immortal life.

He had still been in love with Mor back then, so I chose not to say anything. A huge mistake, because soon after, Elain came into the picture.

Truthfully, I never thought they were anything more than friends until I overheard Rhysand ordering Azriel to stay away from her. It wasn’t until then that I realized I had lost him forever. He wasn’t going to stay away from her, so I accepted my fate and kept silent.

———————————————————

After five hours of hiking through bushes, stepping in rabbit holes, and nearly getting killed by a boar, I can feel the exhaustion creeping into my bones.

“Can we please take a break? My legs are going to fall off,” I ask.

Amren smirks, not breaking her stride. “And here I thought you were tougher than this.”

Only Rhysand’s plea to behave and work together holds me back from strangling her. Gods, she really is a cranky hag.

Lucien chuckles softly and turns to me. “We’re only a few minutes away. Hang in there.”

I groan but press on. As we finally crest a hill, the sight of Beron’s castle comes into view, exactly as I remembered it. The imposing structure looms against the deep orange sky, its dark stone walls lined with creeping ivy. Tall, narrow windows glint in the dawning light.

“It’s just like I remember,” I whisper, a mixture of awe and dread washing over me.

Lucien glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Let’s get ready. We need to find a way to get in there.” He points to the entrance of the castle, where nobles are lined up to enter the masquerade ball hosted by the High Lord himself.

We slip through the dense forest that surrounds the castle, our movements silent and precise. Azriel scouts ahead, his shadows cloaking him in near invisibility. After what feels like an eternity, we find a secluded spot to prepare for our infiltration.

“Here,” Amren hands both Lucien and me a stack of clothes. “These are your disguises. You will pose as Lord and Lady Hawthorn. The late Lord Hawthorn died three months ago. You are recently married with no offspring or heir yet. This is your first outing as Lord and Lady. Some might recognize your name, though they should not look twice your way. Be discreet and don’t draw attention.”

“What about the real Lord and Lady Hawthorn? What if they decide to turn up and out us as imposters?” I ask.

Azriel shifts on his feet and answers a bit sheepishly, “Don’t worry, they have already been dealt with.”

My brows furrow in confusion. “What do you—” realization dawns over me. “Oh… oh, okay. I guess that makes this a lot easier.”

I grab the clothes Amren gave me and head for the nearest bush to change. When I look back, Azriel has his head tilted sideways and smiles at me.

The dress I change into is a deep burgundy, adorned with delicate golden embroidery.

The fabric is soft and luxurious and fits me like a second skin. The mask is made of similar fabric, with intricate golden lace around the edge of it.

As I step out from behind the bush, my eyes find Azriel’s immediately.

His eyes, usually so guarded, widen slightly as they take in my appearance, his gaze lingering on the details of my dress and the way it clings to my form.

“You look… stunning,” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere.

I feel a blush rise to my cheeks and look away, focusing on Lucien. Lucien is similarly attired, his outfit complementing mine with its dark tones and subtle elegance.

He grins at me. “Shall we, Lady Hawthorn?”

I bark out a laugh. “We shall, Lord Hawthorn.”

———————————————————

Getting inside the Forrest House was easier than expected. We just walked right up to the entrance, stated our names, handed them our fake invites, and were ushered in.

As we step into the grand ballroom, the sheer opulence of the scene takes my breath away.

Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a warm glow over the sea of elegantly dressed nobles. Musicians play softly in one corner, their melodies mingling with the murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses.

At the far end of the room, atop a raised dais, sits Beron, his cold gaze sweeping over the crowd. To his right stands Eris. Our eyes meet briefly, and I give a subtle nod, which he returns.

Lucien and I mingle with the guests, keeping our eyes and ears open, waiting for Eris to give us our signal.

As Beron rises from his throne, a hush falls over the grand ballroom. The guests turn their attention to him. He begins to address the crowd, his voice echoing through the vast space.

“Welcome, esteemed guests, to this celebration of our enduring legacy and power,” Beron proclaims, his tone laced with self-satisfaction.

Just as he is about to continue, the heavy doors of the ballroom burst open. A squadron of Eris’s soldiers rushes in, their armor clanking loudly. The crowd parts like a tide, murmurs of confusion and fear rippling through the room.

Beron’s confident façade falters, replaced by one of anger and panic. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice rising in pitch as he glares at the soldiers.

Eris steps forward, his demeanor calm and resolute. “Father,” he begins, his voice carrying a chilling edge, “it is time. Your reign has been marked by tyranny and cruelty, and I will no longer stand by and watch my people suffer under your rule.”

Beron’s eyes narrow, a sneer curling his lips. “You think you can overthrow me, Eris? It takes more than a few soldiers to claim this throne.”

Eris begins to smile. “Oh, I know. A noble to swear me in and an heir to secure the lineage, right? Well, here they are.” He gestures to Lucien and me.

My eyes widen as I whisper-shout in Lucien’s ear, “He cannot be serious? THIS is his plan?!”

Lucien replies, equally as quiet. “I have learned a long time ago not to question my brother’s way of handling things.”

“You are truly deluded, Eris.” Beron laughs, a harsh, mocking sound. “They won’t accept a random noble as your heir.”

Eris stands his ground, his gaze unwavering. “But they will. Take off your masks,” he says to Lucien and me.

And so we do. Nobles everywhere are gawking at us. Some eyes fixed on me, most on Lucien.

Beron steps down from the dais. “What a surprise. The lost son finally returns home.” He turns his gaze to me. “And you, you’re Lord Yarrow’s daughter, no?”

I don’t answer. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could. I’m rooted in place, not taking my eyes off Beron.

Beron turns to Eris again. “Well, it seems you really are full of surprises. But you’re forgetting one important thing. You would have to kilI me to claim the throne. And you’ve always been weak, Eris. You’re not strong enough, but you shall try.”

In that moment, I realize what Eris was doing. He was provoking his father into accepting his challenge, and Beron just did exactly that.

“I’ve had a long time to prepare.”

And with that, all hell breaks loose.

———————————————————

Chaos erupts as Beron and Eris clash, their swords flashing in the bright light of the ballroom. Beron's strikes are powerful, but Eris is swift and precise, his fire magic flaring up with every swing.

Lucien and I are quickly surrounded by Beron's soldiers. The nobles' screams fill the air as they flee the room in terror. I manage to grab a blade as the first soldier aims right for my neck.

My heart races as I parry another soldier's blow, my muscles straining with each clash of steel. Lucien fights beside me, his own fire magic scorching the air around us, incinerating our enemies with fiery blasts.

The ballroom is a whirlwind of chaos.

As we cut through the soldiers, our eyes are locked on the fight between Eris and Beron. We try to reach them, but more and more of Beron’s soldiers are streaming in.

Eris and his father fight with brutal intensity, their swords ringing out as they meet. Eris dodges and strikes with a precision that keeps Beron on his toes, but his experience gives him the upper hand, forcing Eris back step by step.

Just as Lucien and I are within seconds of reaching Eris and Beron, the ballroom doors burst open again. Five of Koschei's soldiers, dark magic radiating from them, storm in. They immediately begin slaughtering nobles, women, and children alike. Their dark magic tears through Eris's soldiers as if they were paper.

Lucien and I have no choice but to turn away from Eris and Beron and face Koschei’s magic wielders.

I take several hits to the gut, and a sword slices across my cheek, but I fight on, managing to take down one of the dark soldiers. Lucien, with his fire magic, kills two more, but before the third soldier is turned into ash, he drives a sword straight through Lucien’s chest.

Lucien collapses to his knees, blood pouring from the wound. I rush to his side, my heart pounding in my chest. Lucien's eyes flutter, and he tries to speak, but I stop him. "Save your energy," I beg.

He begins to close his eyes, the loss of blood making him weaker and weaker. "Lucien, stay with me!" I cry, trying to stem the flow of blood with my hands.

I have to get him to a healer fast; otherwise, he will bleed out. So I do the only thing I can think of.

Desperate, I tug on the bond with Azriel, praying that he will sense my distress.

A moment later, Azriel bursts into the room, Amren in tow. Azriel’s eyes widen with panic as he spots me and Lucien. He rushes to us, dropping to his knees beside Lucien.

"Azriel, you have to winnow him back to Velaris," I plead. "Find Madja , now!"

Azriel looks torn. "I can't leave you," he says, his voice tight with fear. “I— not like this. Not with you being my—”

"Amren is here, I’ll be fine," I insist, glancing at Amren, who is finishing off the last two of Koschei’s soldiers. "Please, Azriel! I can’t watch him die. I am begging you, just go, please!"

Azriel nods reluctantly, wrapping his arms around Lucien. With a final, desperate look at me, he winnows away, leaving me behind in the chaos.

With Azriel and Lucien gone, I feel a pang of anxiety, but I have no time to dwell on it. I turn back to the fight, watching as Eris and the High Lord continue their deadly duel.

Around me, the battle rages on. I join Amren, who is ruthlessly dispatching the remaining dark soldiers with a ferocity that belies her small stature.

Together, we fight our way through the chaos, our movements synchronized from years of fighting side by side.

We are fighting for what feels like hours. My arms ache from dealing blow after blow, and my eyes are getting blurry from the lack of sleep.

I steal a glance at Eris and Beron, watching as they exchange hits. Eris manages to land a few blows, but Beron shrugs them off.

The two of them are evenly matched, but the High Lord’s power coursing through Beron's veins gives him a slight edge.

Suddenly, Beron lunges forward, his sword aimed at Eris's heart. Eris barely manages to block the strike, their blades locking together. Fire erupts between them, and for a moment, it looks like Eris might be overpowered.

But Eris digs deep, summoning a burst of strength. He pushes Beron back, their swords disengaging with a loud clang. Eris's flames burn brighter, and he steps forward, pressing the attack.

The next moment, everything is quiet. No swords clashing, no screaming, just utter quiet.

As the flames subside, there, in the middle of the ballroom, not moving, is Beron.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court is dead.

[livingformintyoongi]

can i request yoongi fucking his gf in his hoodie. first he will cuddle with her in the kitchen while leaving kisses on her neck and then he will slowly become horny and at one point he will say 'I want to fuck you while you are wearing my hoodie' (you can choose for yourself whether rough or soft sex, also let it be in the first person, but if it can't, it's fine, thank you in advance, sorry for my eng )

— myg’s butterfly 🦋

Hoodie

a/n: First of all, sorry for taking so long, it took me so long to start the request because I wasn't sure how to start it :( I hope it went as you expected. Second, I totally loved the idea, it was so cute and so similar to the kind of relationship my oc and Yoongi have that it was just perfect AH-. I decided to go more for something a bit soft and with a joke or two in between, hope you don't mind. I tried to do it with first person, but no matter how hard I tried I just couldn't end up liking how it turned out, sorry :c. And third, don't worry about your English! It was perfectly understood ^^. wc: 3.1k warnings: MDNI, unprotected sex, hair pulling, kitchen sex, (very) slight dry humping, fingering, breeding. taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss

"What are you doing?" whispered Yoongi, hugging your waist from behind. His large, soft hands moved lazily underneath the hoodie you were wearing, allowing himself to caress your bare waist. He smiled as he felt you shiver at the cool touch of his fingers.

"I was craving something yummy and it was too late to order anything, so I decided to, you know, do it by myself," you chuckled as you felt your boyfriend's nose brush against your neck, by this point it was almost an impulse to lean against him every time he did that, "Did you finish the song?"

"I'm still not entirely sold on it, I thought I'd better take a break to see if it would spark something new" he kissed your shoulder softly, pulling you even closer to his body. You felt so warm against him, he loved that feeling, loved how you could make him feel with your simple presence. 

"That's actually a great idea, try to rest that poor brain of yours, I'm more than sure it must be tired from so much you make it think about work" you turned off the stove, turning around so you could hug his waist. You watched as Yoongi lowered his gaze to the hoodie you were wearing. His eyebrows rose as soon as he met your gaze again.

"Isn't that mine?" he asked teasingly, pulling you closer to him around the waist. Now both of your noses were rubbing together, neither could look into anything but the other's eyes. He closed his as he felt your arms go from around his waist to hugging his neck, the soft brush of your nose against his making him sigh.

"Yoonie, it's time for you to understand that there is no longer something 'yours' or 'mine', but something 'ours', your stuff belongs to me, and my stuff belongs to you" you laughed, leaving a kiss on his nose. 

"I see, I guess I forgot that little detail" he rolled his eyes, the smile on his lips still shining brightly, how was it possible that this beautiful man was in your kitchen, hugging you tightly, looking at you as if you were the best thing in this world? Even you didn't quite understand, but you would never complain about it. 

"Don't worry, that's what I'm here for" you winked playfully at him, running your hands through his dark hair. It still felt a little damp from the shower he had taken a few hours ago. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to finish this" you pointed to the food behind you, you hadn't started long ago, so you still had a lot left to do before you could serve the food. 

"Oh right, you were cooking" he mumbled, still keeping his grip on you, "you can cook with me on your back".

"Was that a question or a statement?" you shook your head, turning around, still not being let go by Yoongi. You felt his chin rest on your shoulder, his gaze fixed on the vegetables resting on the pan.

"It's a statement, I don't plan to let go of you." 

You couldn't help but smile big hearing him say that. Yoongi was not a cold person to you, in fact, he was quite sweet. He was always attentive to everything you did and said, he kissed your knuckles every time there was a red light at the traffic light, he caressed your thigh every time you watched something on TV, sometimes he even gave you chaste kisses in public. However, he was rarely this cloyingly sweet, he had to be too drunk or sleepy to cling to you in this way, so of course you were going to let him regale you in this way without saying anything to him.

You had Yoongi on your back for at least ten minutes and, although at first it seemed normal for him to give you the occasional kiss on your neck, by this point you were beginning to doubt his intentions, why on earth would he be practically biting and sucking on your neck while pressing himself against you? That's not just a simple token of affection anymore.

"Uhm, Yoongi, what are you doing?" you asked in the middle of a gasp, feeling his teeth clench the sensitive skin of your neck, sending an electric current around your entire body. He knew what he was doing, and he knew even better the effect it would have on you.

"Giving my girlfriend affection, isn't it obvious?" he replied teasingly, still torturing your neck which, after all the time he spent biting and sucking, was starting to get redder and redder. 

"I know you well enough to know you're not doing this just because you want to give me affection" you bit the inside of your lip as you felt his hand wrap around one of your breasts. You were used to not wearing a bra at home, it was so much more comfortable and hurt so much less, but sometimes you forgot how much Yoongi took advantage of that to tease you like this.

"Is it wrong that I want to fuck my beautiful girlfriend while she's wearing my hoodie?" he whispered against the shell of your ear, barely biting down on a patch of skin, tugging on it gently. 

"I mean, it's not bad, but I'm busy and..." you had to bite your tongue to keep from moaning as you felt his cock slap against your thigh. Yes, he was excited and it was very hard not to notice, and it was starting to get even harder not to want to help him with that little - big - problem he was starting to have.

"It can wait a little longer, besides it's almost ready, isn't it? We won't be long, I promise" he went back to lazily massaging your breasts, his mouth still moving from one shoulder to the other, leaving little marks here and there, smiling every time he saw one pop up.

You were beginning to entertain the idea of accepting his idea. He wasn't so wrong, in fact you were nowhere near the end of cooking, a few more minutes of waiting wouldn't hurt anyone, would it?

"I hope you're telling the truth when you say it'll be quick" you muttered, turning off the stove with slightly shaking hands. No matter how long you had been by his side, the effect he had on you never changed, and you doubted it would in the future.

You squealed as you felt Yoongi's hands wrap around your waist tightly, lifting you off the floor and taking you straight to your kitchen counter, "Hey! You know I don't like doing it here, you'll mess up my-" you didn't get to finish and his lips were already on yours, his hands firmly but gently firming your neck so he could pull you even closer to him. You felt his tongue brush against your inner lip and, almost a second later, you allowed him free access to your mouth. His free hand lingered on your hip, giving it casual squeezes every so often, burying his short nails in the black fabric of his hoodie that perfectly covered that part of your body.

You moaned against his lips as you felt that same hand force you to crawl across the countertop until you bumped roughly against his own hips, generating friction between the two of you. He gladly swallowed every gasp you let out as the clash between the two of you grew louder and more precise.

"Yoongi" you gasped against his lips, clinging to his shoulders as if your life depended on it. His lips trailed down to your jaw, leaving a trail of small but sticky kisses all along your neck and shoulders. His hands fiddled with the soft fabric of the hoodie you were wearing, internally debating whether or not it was worth taking it off. He looked up. Your lips moist and swollen from the kissing session they had just had, your pupils were so dilated he could barely make out your irises, your freckled cheeks slightly flushed, spreading that color all the way to the tips of your ears, how could he resist that sight? How could he resist you?

"Fuck, you're so beautiful" he murmured, leaning back on the countertop, your hips still completely glued to his. "So fucking beautiful, I can't even take in the fact that you're mine."

You were a little groggy from the heat of the moment, so it took a little while for your brain to fully assimilate what he had just said. You felt the heat rise in your face, spreading quickly to your neck and ears. If you felt hot before, now you were boiling hot.

Yoongi wasn't too aware of your face, his eyes were fixed on how smooth the skin of your bare thighs looked. He licked his lips and lifted the hoodie up to above your hips, smiling at the sight of the underwear you were wearing. 

"Really, you wore one with hearts on it?" he chuckled, settling between your legs. His laughter became much louder after he felt you close your legs tightly around his head in protest.

"Shut the fuck up, it's just underwear, besides, it's not like I can guess when you're in the mood to fuck or not enough to put something nice on underneath, you know?" you rested one of your hands on her hair, tangling your fingers in it.

"I didn't say it was anything bad, don't get defensive either, honey" he murmured, smirking arrogantly at the sight of your already damp underwear, "I guess I wasn't the only one waiting for this, huh? Just look at this, so wet just from some light kissing and rubbing?" he moved his face closer to your center, brushing his fingers against your clit. He raised his eyebrows at the way you squirmed almost immediately at his touch. "We seem to be sensitive today."

You pursed your lips at his remark, you didn't like at all to accept the fact that you were much more sensitive than usual, but you couldn't deny it either, it was too obvious a thing to do. 

Both you and Yoongi moaned the moment he put his tongue on you, licking your wetness over your underwear. You clung to his locks of hair, letting your head fall back. The contact may not have been direct, but that didn't detract from how fucking good it felt to have his tongue on your clothed pussy. 

"Shit" you moaned haltingly, watching as Yoongi gave little cat licks around your hole only to return to your clit, suck on it, and repeat all over again. You wrapped your legs around his neck, wanting and needing to hold him closer.

"You taste so sweet" he sighed against the damp fabric, teasing your core even more because of the warm air crashing against your center. He pushed aside your underwear, bringing his fingers closer just so he could spread it wide open. Your clit was already quite swollen and your pussy looked so shiny, so tight. He could see from where he stood how it shrank into nothingness. He swallowed saliva as he imagined it would be his cock that you would be squeezing like that very soon. 

He straightened in place, looking intently at your figure. Mostly was wrapped in his hoodie, but there was something about the way it fit you that turned him on in such a way that his cock was barely resisting the pressure of his pants. 

He leaned over your body, one of his hands stopped on your hip and the other between your legs. Two of his fingers entered your pussy, stretching and ramming it as he pleased. You brought his face close to yours, kissing it carelessly. You moaned as you tasted your taste on his tongue, his teeth clashing with yours and his hands moving in a rhythm that made you shudder with each thrust. You loved it when your boyfriend was this excited.

"Yoongi, I need- Oh, god" you closed your eyes tightly as you felt his long fingers crash hard against your G-spot. You weren't even sure how you didn't cry out at the contact, "Could you put it in, like, now?".

He laughed softly, hitting your sensitive spot a couple more times, smiling as he listened to your moans covered in groans and gasps, "So desperate..." he pulled down the hoodie you were wearing a little, just enough to bring part of your breasts into view. He reached down to your chest, leaving a rather noticeable mark on the spot and, only then, pulled his fingers out from inside you. "Here, suck" you looked down, noticing how Yoongi extended the fingers he just pulled out from inside you in the direction of your mouth. He stared at you with those deep, dark eyes that he knew you could never refuse anything. 

Yoongi smirked at the sight of you as you slipped his fingers into your mouth, licking them animatedly. You held his wrist with one of your hands, hoping that would somehow make your job a little easier. He wouldn't let you stop until all your essence was gone from his fingers and, only then, would he fuck you. You knew his ways well.

"Ah, you are so obedient" he smiled with his eyes fixed on your lips wrapping his fingers. His free hand rested on your head, gently patting it. Almost instantly he tangled his fingers in your hair and tugged on it, pulling your mouth away from his fingers. He unbuttoned his pants, his gaze fixed on how your lips were held ajar. How he loved how beautifully delicious your lips looked. 

It didn't take him long to get his cock free, just as it didn't take him long to line it up with your entrance and tease it with little thrusts against your hole, barely pressing your clit with his head. He let out a chuckle as he noticed your frown.

"Stop teasing, you promised it would be quick." 

"You're right, sorry, sorry" he laughed softly, leaving a gentle kiss against your lips as he lined his cock back up with your entrance, "Do you feel ready?".

"Yes" you answered much faster than you'd like to admit, but by this point it didn't even matter anymore. You were desperate, but so was he, so what did it matter? 

"Good" he murmured, thrusting his cock inside you in one thrust. You had to hold your breath to keep from screaming. "Fuck, babe, you're so tight" he took a breath of air, holding onto your waist to keep a little control of his movements. 

"Yoongi" you gasped, clinging to his shoulders, hiding your face in his neck. You felt so full with him inside you, you could feel him everywhere, with every fiber of your being. 

He licked his lips, clinging to your waist as he began his onslaught. Normally he would start at a much faster pace, but this time you felt so tight that he didn't think he would be able to move without cumming in the attempt. 

You took advantage of your position to kiss and mark the exposed skin left by Yoongi's shirt, leaving hickeys and nibbles along his shoulders. Yoongi, for his part, was beginning to quicken his pace, each thrust feeling deeper than the last, harder than the last. It was almost impossible to hold back your screams.

"It feels good, so good" you whispered between gasps, resting your head on the countertop, closing your eyes to feel his movements more intensely. Slowly the knot in your lower belly was starting to become more noticeable, and your body, responding to that intense feeling, started to move against Yoongi's, needing to reach that long awaited release that made you see stars every single time.

"I know, fuck, I know" he rested his forehead against your shoulder, grinding his hips against yours in desperation. He was in the same situation as you, and that he was moving you against him at the same time he was ramming your pussy didn't help his situation much. He bit his lower lip lightly, bringing one of his hands to your womanhood, using his fingers to tease your clit.

Your whole body trembled against the countertop at his touch, the knot getting tighter and tighter, preventing you from thinking clearly. It didn't help much that Yoongi had found your G-spot again, using that to his advantage to bring you even closer to your climax.

"Yoongi, I don't... I can't... it's too much" you struggled a bit to formulate the sentence properly, each word ending up coming out as a moan, but Yoongi seemed to have understood you, or so you thought as he leaned against your chest, kissing you deeply while grinding his hips against yours desperately. 

Almost instantly you shuddered against his body, feeling a rush of excitement run through you as the knot in your stomach unraveled and your longed-for release had finally arrived. 

Yoongi soon followed, thrusting hard and long as he let his seed fill your insides. 

You both stood for a moment in silence. Yoongi's face remained hidden in your neck, kissing your skin from time to time; you, for your part, kept looking up at your kitchen ceiling, trying to regulate your breathing. It wasn't until you both calmed down that one of you opened your mouth to break the silence.

"You're going to clean my kitchen, and you're going to do it as soon as I can feel my legs again" you muttered, trying to sound as serious as possible. You were sure it didn't work after you heard him laugh over your shoulder.

"It's okay, I'll clean up" he mumbled with a smile, lifting his face to come face to face with you. "One last kiss before I have to clean up this mess?".

You smiled at his request, cupping his cheeks in your hands so you could pull him close to you and leave a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. "Better?"

"Much better" he nodded with his gummy smile, kissing your cheek sonorously. "Now, Miss Y/L/N, I need to get this over with before my girlfriend catches me."

You rolled your eyes in amusement, watching as Yoongi emerged from inside you, arranging both of your clothes and helping you down from the counter, "I'll wait for you in bed, I found a movie I'm sure you'll love."

"I'll be there" he whispered with a smile, giving you one last kiss before focusing entirely on cleaning your kitchen.

Masterlist.

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode VI 

Labor of Love - Part III

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 insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20) featuring Metkayina!Zu’té (29)

Warnings: zero smut, explicit childbirth, water birth, difficult labour, contractions, amniotic fluid, breastfeeding, family fluff, expletives, this is a bit angsty but there’s a happy ending

Word Count: 7.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: the following depicts a very detailed, difficult, and medically inaccurate birth. This is graphic. I am quite literally going to simulate a birthing experience in your pov and I strongly suggest opting out now if anything pregnancy or birth related could make you uncomfortable. Finally, this is most definitely not medical advice, nor should this be used as a reference for what to expect during birth. This is a fanfiction about blue aliens, after all. With that being said, let’s welcome Ralak into fatherhood!! Enjoy 😊

Synopsis: Things were moving too fast until they weren't moving fast enough. The time has come and you're starting to doubt your capabilities. But thankfully your mate is here to guide you through this.

<- Previous

“Okay, Toto. Just do it. Go in there.” Zu’té sounds breathless as he speaks to himself, turning around to face the door. He hears your whimper and his jaw tightens. “Shit. Okay. Right.” Just as he raises his hand to pull back the curtain, he hears a winded voice.  “Brother.”

Zu’té spins around to face the voice of an angel—Ralak.

“Oh, thank Eywa. Thank you great mother. Thank you.” Zu’té chants in relief despites being one of the least spiritual persons someone can meet. He knew deep down that Eywa answered his call. 

Zu’té makes eye contact with the dishevelled and worn out giant. His attention is immediately drawn to the lengthy gash on his shoulder that seems to have been stitched up in a haste. 

“Ay’ana.” Ralak growls when he sees him staring.

The colour drains from Zu’té ‘s face, but before he can respond, Ralak’s ears perk up when they hear what seems to be a low whimpering. It sounds as if you're straining and struggling to breathe. His eyes dart behind Zu’té and then quickly snap back to his brother, filled with panic. 

Zu’té just barely shakes his head, urging himself to focus on the most important thing right now. 

“Your mate is in labour, tak.”

Ralak’s eyes widen at the confirmation. He knew it. He felt it back inland. 

Without another passing second, Ralak pushes past Zu’té and enters his marui. You hear the faint flap of the door and try to shift yourself in order to keep some level of decency.  

“I said to leave.” You’re breathless, gripping relentlessly onto the wooden stilt.

Ralak’s frozen in place, taking in the sight of you labouring by yourself. One that no matter how painful, is a sight he has always longed to see. A sense of pride fills his chest, his mate is showing such great strength that it’s admirable. Bringing life to his child is something he will eternally be grateful for. 

But then he sees your fingernails. How they've gone dull from all your gripping and scraping, and his sense of pride quickly mixes with shame. Shame that he has left you alone in this. 

Your laboured breathing is audible, practically wheezing as you struggle to breathe through the last lap of this contraction. You keep holding your breath and it’s more than evident from the red tinge in your face. Breathing is no longer the thing that you’re most focused on anymore, it’s the pressure between your legs.

He doesn't want to startle you but he can’t just watch you suffer any longer. He approaches you cautiously, examining you in attempts to discern how far into your labour you are. 

You're glazed in a layer of sweat, glimmering in the faint light of the first sliver of sun. Your shoulders rise and fall rapidly as you pant faster than a viperwolf pup, and your belly is low and firm as it tightens from the contraction. 

Ears laid flat to your skull and brows tightened, you curl over and clutch your stomach. He releases his clenched jaw and lessens the distance between the two of you. He gently places his hands on your lower back, pressing into you with the ball of his palm. 

The warmth alone provides a bit of relief for you, allowing you to momentarily catch your breath.

“Zu’té.” You hiss under your breath, surprised he’s even come in, much less laid a hand on you.

You let go of the marui stilt to swat away his hand with a loud smack. The reminder of you labouring in the presence of another man that isn’t him makes him wince. 

“Muntxate [wife].” Ralak husks quietly, using his thumbs to rub circles into your back. Your ears lift from your skull and perk up when you realise it’s your mate, back home from the excursion.

Tears overflow and spill down your cheeks. Tears of pain. Tears of exhaustion. Tears of relief. 

“Ralak.” You let out a nasally sob, unable to look at him just yet due to the contraction still rippling through you. You speak between your moans, voice cracking.

“You’re back. You’re here. It’s happening, lak. He’s coming. And I—I thought you’d miss it. I thought you weren’t coming back. I thought… I thought—”

“Alright, alright. I am right here with you, tanhì. Mawey, mawey [calm, calm].” He hums steadily, already reaching behind him for his kuru. “How long have you been in labour?”

“D-Don’t know.” Your breath catches in your throat and your knees begin to tremble. “Too l-long.” 

Ralak’s heart throbs in his chest at the thought of you enduring this on your own for that long. The contraction is finally subsiding, and you're eager to find relief in your mate. You exhale shakily and grip his wrist as you try to straighten your spine. 

“Easy.” Ralak is quick to help you to your feet, holding you by your hip and arm. “Can you stand?”

You nod your head as you slump back into him regardless. “It’s happening, ‘lak.” You wheeze, resting your head on his chest. Despite the slight sting, Ralak smiles, joyful to know his son will soon be born. 

“It is, my tanhì.” Ralak hums, swaying side to side with you against his body as he brings his glowing tendrils towards the end of your braid. He’s spent but he knows the exhaustion he feels is nothing in comparison to yours. “I am so sorry I have left you alone in this.” 

“‘ts not your fault, my love.” You murmur, lulling your head against his chest. “...not your fault.”

Though your contraction has passed, the pressure in your pelvis has a steady, constant groan vibrating in your throat. It’s a feeling that won’t let up, and the further you progress the more intense it gets. It feels like your body’s at its limit, unable to accommodate your babe any longer. 

“Mmmn—tsaheylu, please.” Your plea is drawn out and low, unaware that he’s already one step ahead of you. 

When he makes the bond, the pressure is instantly lightened but is quickly replaced with a sharp pain in your shoulder and back. He sucks in a sharp breath and grimaces from the sudden pain and pressure that flows into him.

You gasp and clutch your left shoulder, whipping your head around to look behind you. Immediately, you catch sight of his wound. 

Fresh blood spurts out between the ragged stitches and globbed over herbal concoction, dribbling down his chest and back in thin streams. 

“Shit.” You curse, ripping your queue away from him, abruptly severing the bond—causing the pressure to come back tenfold. “Fuck—you’re injured.” 

“I am fine.” Ralak insists, reaching for your kuru again.

“Tsaheylu will infect it.” You insist, keeping your kuru away from him. 

“Ke tare [it doesn’t matter].” He says sharply, catching his tone and softening it. “Allow me, please.” 

Ralak reaches for your kuru again, eager to make it up to you—to take the pain for whatever time you have left. But you shake your head firmly. 

The fact that making tsaheylu caused it to rupture and bleed, a gash that size will surely worsen with the influence of your labour. Ralak respects your wish, although he’s in disagreement with it. He’d never make the bond without your consent and he feels as if he’s already missed too much of your labour to continue the argument. 

“…what happened?” You ask shakily, terrified to know the answer. “Wh-What did they do to you?” You feel yourself begin to tear up.

Seeing him so hurt always made your heart heavy. 

Your question catches him off guard, bringing him back to the moment he saw his own karyu. He swallows, having trouble keeping his calm and figuring out what to say. He has no intention of keeping it from you, but truthfully it isn’t the right time to speak of such matters. Not when you’re nearing the peak of the birth of your firstborn.

“Not now. You are labouring.” Ralak says sternly yet gently, reshifting his focus and concern back to you. 

And if it weren’t for the unbearable heavy sensation in between your legs you would’ve protested. You nod lazily as your breath hitches repeatedly, your hand finding its way to the lowest part of your abdomen to press into it. Your lengthy groans start up again, you can feel your entire body begin to tense up.

“Another? So soon?” Ralak’s voice falters, concern now evident in his tone. He steadies himself behind you, pressing his hands into your lower back once more. 

“Pressure. ���ts too much.” You pant, leaning forward and using your free hand on the marui stilt for support. 

“Pressure?” Ralak tries his best to understand what you mean. Thinking that he’s pressing too hard into your back, he eases up and apologises. You shake your head and quickly replace your hand onto the lowest part of your abdomen with his. 

“Pressure!” You yelp the word like a plea for help, hoping he’ll get it without you needing to explain. Talking is becoming more difficult with each passing contraction. When he does finally understand, his eyes widen and brow bones jump. 

“Ah—he is moving down, tanhì.” Ralak tries to speak calmly, sliding his other hand over your stomach. His fingers smooth over your skin, taking in its heat and supple texture. He then feels it tighten even more, contracting right under the pads of his digits.

“Tewti [whoa].” 

It’s the first he’s ever felt a contraction, despite being a mandated witness to numerous first breath rituals in the clan. He begins counting under his breath, trying to gauge your progression by determining how long they’re lasting. But before he can get into the double digits your low grumble turns into a high pitched cry. 

Ralaks ears immediately go flat, hearing a cry like that rip from your throat makes his heart tighten in his chest. He shuffles closer to you upon realising that you're curling over from the pain. Moving quickly, he supports your body weight with one hand to your belly and another over your chest. 

“Ralak!” You cry out, “Please! Do something!”

With that, Ralak’s hands slip back down to your lower abdomen, cupping your belly and gently pull upward. This always helped if the baby was sitting too low, relieving some of the heaviness and pressure on your bladder.

Instantaneously, the pressure relieves. Your cry dissipates into a loud sigh, your downturned lips flipping up into a small smile of relief. 

“Thank you—” Pop. “—ugh” Gush. 

You’re silent, but your face screws into a grimace as the pain rushes back in with a vengeance. You look down in a painful daze, feeling the trickle of liquid down your thighs and legs. Through blurred vision, you watch as a pool forms at your feet, as well as Ralaks. 

“Shit.” Ralak mutters under his breath, recognizing what’s just happened. 

His head whips around to the sound of the flap of the marui door. He looks behind him, met with the panicked, bulging eyes of Zu’té, who’s staring intently at the scene unfolding before him. He's just worked up enough courage to enter the room.

Zu’té finally makes eye contact with Ralak, and Ralak nudges his chin in the direction of the village, mouthing—‘Get a healer’. Zu’té nods and takes off at full tilt. 

“…fuck‘m sorry. My waters...” You mumble, fingers digging into his arms in attempts to keep you standing, to no avail. 

Your knees buckle beneath you, and you lose all ability to keep yourself on your feet. Ralak supports you, moving down with you rather than trying to keep you standing. He slowly and gently lowers you to the floor, away from the growing puddle. 

“What for? Your water breaking? No need to be.” Ralak chuckles breathily, trying to make it obvious that it’s no big deal—he’s unbothered by it.  

“Me-messed you up.” You grunt, breath straining as you lean all your weight back into him. 

“You did no such thing.” He reassures you through a quick breath, adjusting you into a more comfortable position.

You lay on top of him, shifting onto your side and off the sharp throb in your lower back. You clutch his bicep with one hand and keep the other snug under your bump. 

He’s more so in an awkward position than not, his back now against the base of the bed and his right leg propped up to keep you from rolling back. He has no issue staying put in this position if it means some sort of relief for you. 

But your groans only deepen, lengthening and ending with small grunts.

“You alright, mama?” He checks in on you through a whisper, knowing that things move quickly once the water breaks.

You nod your head, trying to be strong, but he can see right through it. And you know it. You sputter out a sob and shake your head, finally admitting the truth—finally facing reality.

“I know, I know, tìyawn. Almost there.”

Even without tsaheylu, he is able to tell how long you have left just based on your sounds and body language. With each little grunt he notices that your face shifts to a brighter shade of pink.

He takes note of your tail, and how it’s now tightly coiled, tucked to the base of your tailbone—out the way. Your shoulders are bowed and your stomach sits low, hard as a rock. 

“Oh!—Eywa, ple-ase.” You mumble a plea, eyes squeezing shut when you come to the height of your contraction. “Mmm’fuck—fuck.” 

“A little longer.” He places a firm, comforting kiss on the temple of your head. “It will soon be over.” 

You feel Ralak’s hand firmly patting your lower back, attempting to put the fire out. But now the pressure’s released, the pain is only more intense—spreading and morphing into a new feeling altogether. 

“Ralak—Ralak!” You panic, your head rolling side to side as you strive against this new sensation. 

“Right here with you.” He hums, pressing hard into your lower back with the ball of his palm. “What do you need?” 

You begin frantically tugging at your soaked loincloth, trying your hardest to get it off of you. Ralak quickly takes over, untethering the knot and slipping it off you.

“Need to—aahaa! I think he’s—haah—he’s—he’s coming!” You yell, unable to fight the new feeling. An urge you’ve never felt before. The urge to push. “Ralak—I’m scared!” 

“Listen to your body.” Your mate encourages you with a steady and calm voice. 

His gaze snaps down to witness your leg rising into the air and your hand hooking under the back of your knee. His hand cups over yours, helping you support the weight of your suspended leg. 

Ralak manoeuvres himself in a way that allows him to support you and see what’s happening. He gently tugs your leg back a little further, having a proper look. He can see just how swollen and tender the flesh between your legs is—ripe and ready. It’s time. 

“Muntxate [wife]. Bear down if you need to.” 

“I—I—urgh!” You cry out, finally giving into the urge to push, allowing your body to bear down in the way it’s been trying to. Holding your breath, you tuck your chin to your chest and sink your fingernails into Ralak’s bicep, pushing as best as you can in this position. 

“Good, good. Good push, tanhì.” His voice is hushed but steady as he watches in awe as your body flourishes. “Syeha si [breathe].”

As the urge subsides, you release your breath and gasp for air a few times. If he’s really coming, you don’t want it to be here. You had both discussed doing this in the comfort of your own lake. The lake in the cave, where your relationship with him had blossomed to begin with. 

“Not here.” You say out of breath, legs shaking terribly.

Ralak leans in closer to you, listening carefully to decipher your murmurs. You keep your eyes closed shut, unable to open them anyway. They feel as heavy as you do, weighed down with exhaustion and agony.

But as you feel your stomach tighten and the urge rush back in, you realise that time lessening. “Water—get me in the water, please!”

Ralak hesitates, scanning your body to see if moving you in this state is the right thing to do. He watches as you tense up in agony as you contract, and quickly the realisation dawns upon him, too. At this rate, the babe will be here at any moment.

And if your wishes are to give birth in the water, now is the time to fulfil them.

Ralak scoops you up into his firm clutch, rises to his feet, and rushes out the door. Taking his time down the steps, your grip around his neck tightens just as a groan rumbles in your chest. Your legs squirm in his grasp as they try to snap open. 

“Hurry! He’s coming!” You grunt, burying your face into the crease of his peck, biting down to fight the feeling. 

Ralak glances down at you a few times, brows gathered from the worry that plagues his heart. He’s holding you tight, so as not to let the wiggle of your body loosen his grip.

“Here.” He huffs out, nearing the entrance of the cave. 

Immediately immersing himself hip-deep into the water, he moves hastily, submerging you as he makes his way over to the ledge and helps you into position.

The ledge makes a smaller, more shallow pool in the lake, perfect for you to sit in with your back supported by the bank. 

Water is up to your chest, slushing and splashing against your neck as you desperately readjust yourself to get comfortable. Your head is perched on the bank of the lake, hands spread across to hold onto the rocky surface. Your toes grip the floor, rooting yourself to the ground to keep you stable, knees bobbing at the water's surface. 

“Fuck! Ralak!” You cry out, feeling your body act on its own accord.  

Ralak is already in front of you, one hand on your bump as the other slips between your thighs to feel your progression. All while he’s looking down at you with nothing but concern etched into his features, unsure of what more he can do for you without tsaheylu.

He witnesses your face turn red as you hold your breath again, using as much force as you can to push him out. 

Ralaks hand moves from your bump to cup your cheek, his fingernails raking away the streaks of sweaty hair plastered to your face and tucking them behind your ear. 

“Syeha si, tanhì [breathe].” He reminds you gently, exaggerating a breathing pattern you had rehearsed a few weeks ago, and you try to match his rhythm. 

But you’re stuttering and sobbing, unable to establish a pattern and push at the same time. Your back is on fire and it feels as if the baby isn’t moving any further down. 

The contraction finally ends with a loud wheeze and your head slumps back into the rocky bank. You shake your head as you struggle to open your heavy lidded eyes. 

Your vision is blurry and spotty. You glance down in a haze and lock eyes for a moment with the worried giant before you, and then you feel yet another contraction wash over you. They are on top of one another—back to back—with little to no break between them. 

“Fuck. Please. Please. Plea—” You weep weakly, eyes slamming shut as your chin makes contact with your chest, cutting off your pleas with a lengthy, guttural grunt. You push with what you have left, giving yourself a throbbing headache as a result. 

“Pushing so, so well.” Ralak praises you with a hushed voice, feeling something press against his fingers. 

As you strain, you feel the delirium set in. The panic of not knowing if you’re capable of doing this. Every inch of you more than ached, yet some parts of you have even gone numb from how long this has been going on.

You can barely get a proper breath in much less breathe the way you should when you’re pushing. You feel like your body may give out at any moment. 

“Keep going, y/n.” He encourages you, seeing your exhaustion and feeling you stop. 

“Ralak…lak.” You let out a sob and try to relax your body, but end up collapsing back into the rocky surface again. “‘m tired, lak.” You mumble shakily between laboured pants, “...want him out.” 

“I hear you.” Ralak tries to reassure you, now supporting both your trembling legs as they threaten to give out. “He will soon be out, tanhì. But you have to keep going.”

“No—oh, no, no.” You cry, tensing up from another agonising contraction. You didn’t think they could get any more painful. “No more. No more, please.”

“Come now, big push for me.” Ralak instructs softly, repositioning himself to help deliver his son. 

“Ugh—!” You scream, giving all you have left into this push. Beads of sweat roll down your temples at a concerning speed, and your face shifts to an even more vibrant shade of red. “Please! Please get him out of me!” 

“He’s coming out, tìyawn. Keep pushing, almost there. Almost there.” Ralaks voice is low and laced with panic, despite his greatest efforts to keep calm and collected.

This cycle repeats for some time, instilling worry into both you and Ralak. You’re having a difficult time, and it’s taxing on your body to keep this going.

Truthfully he can tell that you’re really struggling, and he’s getting a little more worried as time passes. But then he feels the baby press against his fingers and hope fills him once more. 

“That’s it. Push just like that, y/n.” 

“Fuck—” And just as last time, you collapse back into the bank, depleted with nothing left to give. You begin to think that maybe everything you’ve been hearing was right. 

Maybe you can’t do this. 

“I…I can’t.” You sputter defeated, letting your legs go limp either side of you.

“Mawey [calm]. You can. Your body is made for this.” He reaffirms for not only you but also himself, he’s too afraid to lose you. No, he can’t lose you, too. He’s experienced too much loss. 

“’s not comin’.” You shake your head lethargically, feeling faint. “He’s stuck.”

Hearing that makes his heart sink. Ronal’s words echo in his mind, putting him in a frantic state. He quickly composes himself, probing the tender flesh to help stretch it out. He feels something slimy and silken, and his ears perk up.

He’s right there. So close. 

“He’s not. I feel him, he is right there.” Ralak tries to keep calm for you, attempting to reassure you as he quickly thinks about the next best move.

Zu’té isn’t back with the healer and there's not much else he can do. He looks down at you, taking in just how uncomfortable you look as he tries to imagine just how much pain you’re in. With a position like this, no wonder your back hurts. His eyes widen. 

No wonder your progression has stalled. 

“Move with me. Easy.” Ralak croons, carefully tucking his arm under your back to sit you up slowly. He throws your limp arms around his neck, and brings you to your knees and then your feet—supporting your weight as you get there. 

“Lak, Lak!” You grimace and whimper as you try to work with your mate—your body is already so sore and weak that any movement is torturous. 

“Need to get you off your back.” Ralak huffs, holding you in position until you’ve adjusted. You hold on to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you settle into a squat. “A few more pushes, mama.”  

“Haa—no, no.” You squeal in desperation, feeling his head descend even further down now that gravity has come into play.

Then your belly stiffens. 

You bite the flesh of your cheek until you taste blood and bury your face into the dip of his collarbone—refusing the urge to push. But the instinct overrides you completely, leaving you in a panicked and delirious state. 

“Take h-him out! Make the cut!”

“No, no cut. No cut.” Ralak utters a throaty whisper, pushing down into your lower back. “Bear down, muntxate [wife].” 

“Ple—ase.” Your broken plea comes out as a low grunt as you shake your head frantically, driving your dulled nails into your mate. “It hurts, it hurts!” 

“I know, ma’ y/n. But you must bear down, please.” His voice trembles, filled with worry, but his words are firm—non-negotiable. You continue to shake your head, fighting with what you have left, your laboured breathing deepening as you run out of strength to resist. 

Ralak’s worry quickly turns into pure panic. Panic that you’ve really given up. Panic that you really may not make it out of this. That…he’ll lose you. He knows what he must do, despite it being against your wishes.

He gives your kuru a quick stroke, his way of warning you. It sends a shiver through you, but the pain is so excruciating that you can’t resist this, too. 

Ralak quickly makes tsaheylu, bringing a brief moment of pure, instant relief, just enough to bring you out of your delirium. His wound reopens, burning and weeping. But not even that could prepare him for your pain. 

It feels like each vertebrae in his spine instantaneously shifts out of place. It is excruciating. And strange—that urge to push. He can feel it too. It’s like an itch deep under your skin. Irresistible and uncontrollable. 

“Push!” Ralak groans loudly, prompting you to bear down with whatever strength you can muster up.

You scream at the top of your lungs, achieving a frequency and volume so high it can be heard from the village. Ralak’s fingers quickly probe the tenderness between your legs to check your progress once more. Finally, he feels the baby’s head begin to emerge. 

“Perfect push, tanhì. Keep going, keep going.” Now he’s winded, flustered and speaking breathily. 

Your scream is cut off by your vulgar tongue, “Fuck! Fuck—it burns!” You cry out, feeling a bolt of white hot fire split you in two, making you jerk back. “It’s burning!” You sob, trying to wiggle away from the flame. 

“He’s crowning. His head, shit—” He huffs, realising that the babe is coming too quickly, not giving you enough time to adjust, “Stop pushing.” His fingers probe the taut skin in attempts to prevent you from possibly tearing, “Breathe him out. Just as we practised.”

Your fingers dig even deeper into him as your head snaps up to shoot him a deadly glare. Wasn’t he just demanding that you push? To ‘listen to your body’?

You take deep, intentional breaths, eyes flicking down to search the cloudy water as you try your hardest to resist. He can feel your frustration through tshayelu, he can hear your thoughts. 

“Syeha si, syeha si [Breathe, breathe]. Let yourself adjust. Let your body push for you.” Ralak tries to explain, using the bond to his advantage and using the bond to his advantage. 

‘I can’t do it.’ You think to him, unsure if you’re even doing it right.

“You can. You are. Just like that.” Ralak works with you, probing the tender skin once more as he feels the head emerge. “A little longer.”

But yet, you feel yourself giving in. 

“Can't. Help. It.” You whimper, your breath stuttering as it catches in your throat. Tears roll relentlessly down your cheeks. You need him out. 

Now. 

You drop to your knees and tuck your chin to your chest. “Haah!” Your breath finally releases, and a guttural, lengthy grunt follows after. 

Ralak feels you push — hard. He readies himself, steadying his stance as he traces his fingers around the circumference of his unborn’s head to help guide him out. 

He is, too, looking down into the murky water, trying his best to see what’s going on. All he can do is rely on his sense of touch and the feeling through the bond to help him. 

“Ngh—ugh!” You feel a pop between your legs and the pressure minutely releases. 

Just then Ralak feels the rest of your baby’s head emerge. He can feel the curls of his silken hair, and how they’re laid flat to his skull. Ralak nearly breaks down right there, but fights the array of emotions bombarding him all at once to recenter his focus back on you. 

“His head is out.” He croaks, supporting the babe's head with the palm of his hand. “Hair like yours.” 

Ralak gently unlatches your grip on his shoulder and guides your hand under the water and towards his. Aside from wanting you to feel what he’s feeling, he’s hoping that this will give you the strength to keep going.

You feel the sliminess first, and then the soft, velvety texture of your son's head. You weep, slumping your head into Ralak's chest as you focus on gathering as much energy during the small break from the contractions. 

It’s incredible to know that your body created this life. 

“Oh god…it’s him.” You barely whisper.

“You are so strong, you know that? Mighty.” Ralak hums, cupping the back of your head with his hand. You lift your head to look at him and he rests his forehead against yours, searching your eyes with his. “One more push for me, okay?” 

You nod your head, bottom lip curled over to touch your chin. His hand slips from your neck to your cheek, his thumb wiping away one tear of a thousand. The tightening of your stomach has you tensing up, gripping onto him for support. You groan and moan until the contraction reaches its peak, where you begin to grunt and push against the budding pressure.  

He steadies himself once more, quickly slipping his hand off your cheek back into the water. He holds your son's head with one hand, and hooks the fingers of his other hand under his son's left shoulder. It pops out with the help of his gentle tug, and you bear down even harder. 

“A little more.” He encourages you, waiting patiently to feel his son's right shoulder emerge. He feels the bridge of his shoulder and Ralak jumps into action, carefully guiding his son's shoulder out. “Perfect, there it is.” Ralak mumbles quickly, hyperfocused on ensuring a safe delivery. 

You whimper when the burning sensation comes back, shoving your forehead into his chest. It’s hard to breathe. Every fibre in your being has you wanting to hold your breath for more leverage to get him out. Your noises fade to little choked muffles, quick and uneven. 

“Breathe.” Ralak chokes out, feeling your burning lungs through tsaheylu. He immediately establishes a somewhat steady breathing pattern for you to sync into.

“Pwah!” You let out a shaky, harsh breath of air, panting as you try to sync with him. “Urgh—ah!” you groan as you push, surprised by how long this torturous contraction is lasting. 

“Please get him out of me, please, please.” You whisper into his chest.

“Shoulders are out, tanhì” Ralak huffs next to your ear, tenderly rubbing his cheek against your temple. 

“Catch him, Lak.” You wheeze, your legs shaking uncontrollably from carrying your weight for such a long time. He wants so badly to do the rest for you, now really sensing your weariness through the bond. But he couldn’t, all he could do was support you through every second of this. 

“I have him, muntxate [wife].” He whispers, lips pressed to your ear. “Last push.”

A hoarse, empty cry evades your trembling lips as you bear down a final time. Suddenly the pressure releases entirely, and you feel your son slip out of you and into Ralaks hands. You let out a loud moan of relief, immediately pulling away from Ralak’s chest to look down into the water. 

“He’s out. He’s here, tanhì. You did it, mama. You did it.” Ralaks cracked voice is full of relief. “He—he is so small.”

You fall back onto your behind, breaking tsaheylu with your mate. Your eyes search for your newborn but you can’t make anything out of the murkiness of the water.

You look up to witness tears fill Ralak’s eyes for the first time as he holds the baby underneath the water. Your back hits the rocky bank of the lake in solace knowing your son is in safe hands. 

Then Ralak grits his teeth and lets go.

“Lak. Ralak.” Your panicked, hoarse voice calls for him, but you’re too weak to get up. “Ho-Hold him, Ralak.” 

Ralak looks like he’s fighting his own instinct to scoop up his young and cradle him in his chest. And that’s because he is. It’s taking everything in him not to do just that, but he knows that this is the way. The right way. 

“Mawey [calm]. First breath.” Ralak gently reminds you of the Metkayina ritual. He knows he must do this, especially in the absence of the Tsahik. “Let him swim.” 

You watch intently as the water slowly clears, revealing the wiggle of your newborn's body. “Help him.” You plead with trembling lungs, having a hard time watching this unfold. 

Ralak stays close to his newborn, ready to jump into action in an instant. But the babe rises to the top all on his own—swimming directly from the womb. You burst into tears, chest swelling with pride and every emotion under the moon.

Nonetheless, Ralak taps his bum softly, his other hand hovering underneath his son's feet in the case he needs to intervene. This is the first moment where your son has made you both proud.

Your son breaks the water with his face, chubby cheeks and puckered lips. You hear the sound of his little, first breath — pwah. His eyes open as he looks around, catching sight of his father scooping him into his arms. 

“You did it, my little one.” Ralak whispers with a crack in his voice, shifting his gaze over to you. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.” He repeats in absolute shock and awe, and this time you know he’s talking to you, too. 

Ralak holds his son close to his chest and away from his weeping wound, using his body heat to keep him warm as he makes his way over to you. The babe wails when he catches your scent, squirming in his fathers arms as if he were trying to get to you on his own terms. 

“She is right here, son.” He whispers, bouncing him a bit as he places him in your arms, helping you hold him for the first time. ���Hold his head.”

Your arms feel like jelly and they won’t stop shaking, but you’re eager to hold your newborn. Ralak tucks himself closely at your side, keeping a precautionary hand under your arm. Immediately, he calms, gurgling and cooing as he listens to the familiar and comforting thump of your heart. It’s all he’s heard in the past ten months. 

Teary eyed, you look down through blurred vision, taking in the sight of your son. Every feature. Every stripe. Every freckle. His dark turquoise skin, golden eyes, pointed pink ears. A tail like his father, but five fingered, like his mother. He is the perfect mix, the perfect balance. 

“You’re perfect.” You whisper, admiring his little coos and floppy, soft ears that lay flat against him. His head turns towards your bosom, puckered lips brushing against your top in search of your nipple. “Hungry? Hm?” You hum shakily. 

Ralak is quick to help you, helping you position him just right. Your son shakes his head as he tries to latch for the first time, and both you and Ralak watch quietly with wobbly smiles plastered on your faces.

With two fingers, Ralak presses down onto your breast, angling your nipple in a way that makes it easier for you and him. You can’t help the grimace on your face when he does latch and suckle, but it quickly turns into a smile as you watch him feed for the first time. 

“Rak’äni.” Ralak proudly announces the name of his first born son.

You look up at him, witnessing a tear or two roll down his cheek. You’d never seen this giant cry like this before. The past two days have been too much.

“Rak’äni.” You repeat with a smile, Ralaks eyes finally meeting yours. He leans in and meets your lips with his, kissing you tenderly. He lingers there forehead to forehead as he pulls away, allowing himself to be vulnerable—to soak in his emotions. 

“I love you. I see you, y/n. For life. And beyond.” Ralak sheds a few more tears as he speaks the words.

“Nìt’iluke [neverendingly; forever].” You say wearily, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open. 

Snap. 

Ralak hears the sound of a branch breaking underneath the weight of a person's foot. Ralak looks behind him, hand under the water clutching the dagger on his hip, ready to protect his family. He sees the silhouette of a woman standing at the opening of the cave, basket on her hip as the last rays of sun shine through her. 

The first eclipse is starting.

Is that how long this has gone on for?

His heart skips a beat as his eyes narrow to see who it is…to see if it’s how he suspects it may be. Did she really follow us?

He then sees a taller figure emerge behind her, then another, and another…and another. And soon he counts seven heads in total and it dawns on him.

It’s your family—and his.

“We have visitors, little one.” Ralak coos quietly at his baby, his thumb just barely gliding over his cheek. “Are you alright, mama?” His voice sounds muffled and distant, as if he were at the other side of the lake. “The healer is here.” 

“Tired...Hurts.” You mumble, letting your eyes fall shut.

You feel Ralak’s gentle touch as he tucks himself behind you, supporting you with his body. His arm is under yours, keeping the babe safely above water as he feeds. You can fully relax your body now, sinking into your mate’s pillowy chest. 

“Rest.” Ralak whispers. “I have you.”

“You won’t believe, brother. The tshahik is also in labour. And I couldn’t find you…I heard y/n scream and—oh…” Zu’té lowers his voice to a whisper, catching sight of the freshly born babe in your arms. “Tak. He’s here.” His voice falters even more as he nears his blood.

His only family outside of Ralak. He’s awestruck, taking in all the different features of a new kind as he feeds. The babe's skin resembles the depth of his mother, but the tone of his father. Stripes like an omaticaya. Tail like a Metkayina. Five-fingered.

Truthfully, the length of his stare has Ralak feeling a little uneasy and a bit protective. 

“Toto.” Ralak hasn’t called him that in years, “Meet your nephew—Rak’äni.” 

“Rak’äni.” Zu’té repeats through a whisper, keeping his distance from the babe. “Fyole [beyond perfection].” 

Ralak relaxes, smiling proudly. “He is.” 

Zu’té fumbles with a small satchel on his hip, taking something out of it in a haste. He hands Ralak something small, something delicate. It's weaved to perfection, with colours of the sunset.

"For him." Zu’té says in a hushed voice, unfolding the garment to show his brother. It's a hat, an entirely new concept to the Metkayina. Ralak looks at him, a little confused, eyes bouncing between the strangely shaped item and his brother. "For the child's head."

Ralak smiles, his furrowed brows relaxing when he understands. Zu’té raises his brows and gently nudges it closer to the babe in your arms. Ralak nods, watching as Zu’té slips it on his head as gently as he can.

"Toto, that is very kind—"

"Don't flatter yourself." Zu’té cuts his brother short, pulling back to see the finished result of his hard work. It fits perfectly. "I had plenty of time."

Zu’té steps back, giving you two some space.

A sudden splash of the water makes Ralak jolt in his skin, but he calms down once he realises that it’s the healer situating herself next to you so she can tend to you. He isn’t all here right now, either.

“You did well, sa’nu.” You recognize her voice and strain to open your eyes, vaguely seeing her features.

She was at all your lessons with Ronal. The only one who didn’t look at you like some sort of alien. The only one who treated you with respect.

“All on your own. You need to be strong for a little while longer, alright? This may hurt.”

She begins gently massaging your abdomen under the water—a step that is empirical for healing. You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut, shoving your head back into Ralak, who is visibly trying to withhold his look of displeasure.

“I get that look quite a bit. It’ll be over soon, sempu.”

You look down with foggy vision and see the hat on your baby's head. Immediately, you know who made it. You turn your head, looking directly at Zu’té and smile, mouthing 'thank you'. Zu’té returns the smile with a slight nod, remaining silent.

A high-pitched, excited voice has both you and Ralak turning your heads to see your little sister. 

“Woah! Mama, look!” Tuk exclaims, tugging Neytiri by the hand to get a closer look. 

“Shh, Tuk. He is asleep.” Neytiri hushes her youngest, nuzzling her into her side. The others stay quiet as they approach, crouching down at the bank of the lake to look at their new family member. 

“I am so proud of you, my daughter. He looks like you.” Neytiri whispers, raking her fingers through your knotted hair.

You exhale a shaky breath and smile weakly, leaning into your mothers comforting touch.

Jake looks down at the suckling babe in your arm, eyes burning as they gloss over with tears. “You did it, babygirl.” 

Hearing your fathers words after so many years of feeling like a failure, you can’t help the sob you sputter out. 

“D-Daddy.” You cry shakily, breath hitching. “It was s-so h-hard.” 

“I know, baby. I know. But you did it. ” He coos at his own baby, rubbing your shoulder as he looks over to Ralak. “You both did.” He smiles with his son-in-law, cupping the back of his head with his other hand. 

Neteyam and Lo’ak wait patiently at the back, not wanting to crowd you. Neteyam is particularly worried for you, he’s been beating himself up for not checking on you when he knew deep in his gut that he should have.

Lo’ak is… nervous, despite his big talk about being the best uncle. Your parents pull back, allowing some space for you, Ralak and the healer. 

“Guys.” You sniffle, craning your neck to look at them. “C-Come see your nephew.” 

They approach cautiously and kneel down next to you and Ralak. Neteyam smiles, golden eyes quivering as he takes in his features. 

“It’s uncle teytey.” Neteyam takes his nephew's tiny hand, his thumb grazing over his five fingers. Then Neteyam looks at you, his expression going from bright to glum. “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you.”

You shake your head and smile, barely keeping your eyes open. “Don’t be.” 

“Y/n. I—” To your surprise, Lo’ak is speechless. “He is beautiful.” 

“Thank you, uncle Lo’ Lo’.” You smile with another sniffle, using that god-damned nickname he wouldn’t let up on.

Lo'ak returns the smile, hearing it fall from your quivering lips makes his heart full. You finally lean back against Ralak's chest, allowing your eyes to close, heavy and swollen from all your shed tears of joy and pain.

You feel the healer’s hands leave your stomach and make their way to your chest where she ensures the babe has latched properly. “Perfect latch. You are a natural, y/n.”

You smile wobbly at her words, feeling extra proud of yourself. 

“I will leave the medicines here, ensure she takes them on time.” She’s speaking to Ralak, who is also in a daze, gazing down at his son. “I will come and check on her tonight. Until then, she needs to rest. No heavy lifting.”

Ralak finally averts his attention to the healer, a smile on his lips as he nods. He’d never let you lift a finger, anyways.   

“Ralak, your wound is open.” Neytiri speaks with concern in her voice. 

The healer looks down to see his mangled laceration. “Eywa…Now, this will hurt.” Her eyes go wide and she immediately gets her things to sew him back up. Neteyam and Lo’ak look at the bleeding gash with wide eyes. Jake grimaces. 

“D-Does that hurt?” Tuk asks shyly, peeking out from behind Neytiri to see. 

Ralak shakes his head with a smile, too overjoyed with the safe delivery of his first born son to even notice anymore.

“No pain. Only happiness.” Ralak says softly, accent heavy on his tongue as he looks back down at his now stirring babe. 

[j0hnj4ej3n]

nct dream’s reaction to your feet hurting from wearing high heels

Word count:  1.9k

Warnings: mentions feet (LOL), pain, blisters & lots of fluff 

Notes: hi loveys! it’s been awhile :( i know i said i’ll post the jaemin au soon but it’s taking longer than i expected to craft it. so i was inspired by this mark’s bubble & fancall + my own experience after a new pair of high heels obliterated my feet when i wore it for a wedding reception. i hope you all enjoy this! sending lots of love <3

𔘓Mark:

Your friend’s wedding reception is finally over. A night of celebration, of watching your friend so happy in her wedding gown and so excited to finally be married to the love of her life. A whole night of eating, casual drinking and dancing on the dance floor. But now that Mark and you are walking home from the car near midnight, the ache in your feet and the blisters on the heels of your feet can no longer be ignored. Mark stayed away from drinks all night knowing he had to drive home, he’s holding your hand and the two of you are walking in what seems like blissful silence. But he quickly notices the way you stagger slightly, you try not to let the pain show on your face, knowing you’ll be home soon anyway. “You okay?” Mark asks softly. You quickly nod, offering a thin-lipped smile. “Just my heels…” Mark glances down, noticing the redness on the skin, around the rim of your black high heels. His eyebrows arch in concern, eyes darting up at you and then down at his own feet. He slides his feet out of his dress shoes, then squats down to gently hold your ankle, tugging your feet out of your high heels. “Mark. Baby, what are you doing?” Mark helps you put on his shoes, clearly a few sizes too big for you. He hooks his fingers at the counters of your high heels before standing up straight again and holding your hand. His own feet were clad only in his navy Polo Ralph socks. “Better?” He asks with a sweet smile on his face, and you can’t help but chuckle as you smile back, nodding as you two make the rest of the way home like this. Your hand in his, as he walks almost barefoot, your high heels in his other hand.

𔘓Renjun:

You were starting to have trouble walking because of blisters forming on the heel of your right feet because of your high heels. Renjun and you are on a date and you really wanted to wear this pair of white heels you saved for this specific dress you’re wearing today. Even though you weren’t a tall girlie, you never really wore high heels, always preferring sneakers for comfort. But you haven’t dressed up properly in a while and you wanted to today. Renjun was holding your hand, clutching tightly onto you when you wobble due to the pain. He looks at you as you regain your balance. “Your feet are hurting, aren’t they?” He asks, a small frown on his face from worry. You shake your head, “Just not used to walking too long in heels.” Renjun glances down at your feet, seeing how red your skin has turned. He sighs as he shakes his head, leading you by the hand to sit on a nearby bench. As you finally sit down, you let out a soft sigh of relief as Renjun squats in front of you. He pulls out two, moomin band-aids from his back pocket. “I warned you about wearing these heels, love…” Renjun nags as he pulls your foot gently out of your shoes to place the band-aid over your blister, doing the same with the other. “But I wanted to look pretty for today,” you mutter as you let him take care of you. “You’re always pretty.” Renjun mumbles back as he finishes putting the band-aids on you, looking up as he smiles. “All done, does it help at all?” You nod as you slip your feet back into your high heels, the pain much less noticeable. “Thanks, love.” The two of you go on your way, with moomin band-aids peeking out from the counter of your shoes.

𔘓Jeno:

You hiss, gripping onto Jeno’s forearm as you stumble slightly. Jeno looks back at you, reaching to hold your waist, stabilising you. “What’s wrong, baby?” “My high heels are killing me…” You’re at your wits end with this. You’ve been wearing your heels all night, you even prepared band-aids but they’ve rolled up from all the walking and now you’re left with blisters forming and a constant ache at the bottom of your feet. There’s still some distance to the car, Jeno bites his lower lip, thinking. You hold onto him still, trying to adjust your feet, as if it would help lessen the pain. Jeno suddenly grabs your hand, gently peeling them off his forearm. You look up at him curiously. “Jeno, what are you- aaAA!” Jeno bends down and throws you over his shoulder, holding your dress firmly against your thighs as he chuckles at your surprised scream. “LEE JENO! oh my- put me down!” He continues walking with you over his shoulder, his hand gripping on the back of your thigh protectively, “Almost there, baby.” It’s pretty late at night but there’s still enough people around to make you feel embarrassed about this all. When the two of you finally reach the car, Jeno puts you down. You’re standing up again, back pressed softly against the car. You’re covering your face, out of both embarrassment and shyness. “What?” Jeno asks, chuckling as he unlocks the car with his key. “That was so embarrassing…” you mumble as you put your hands down and away from your face. Jeno smiles as he ruffles your hair, opening the passenger seat door. “Get in, princess. Let’s go home and soak your feet in some warm water, hm?”

𔘓Haechan:

“Would it kill you to walk slower?” You whine as you’re literally being dragged by Haechan as you struggle to keep up with his pace in your high heels. Haechan stops in his tracks, “I told you not to wear those. Your feet always end up hurting.” Haechan playfully complains. You pout slightly, bantering. “But it makes me look sexy…” you mutter. Haechan chuckles, “Not so sexy when you can’t even keep up with me.” Haechan laughs when you look at him disapprovingly, crossing your arms. He shakes his head, pulling out a drawstring pouch from his bag. He opens it and pulls out a pair of your sneakers, with clean socks stuffed below the tongue. You look at him with a shocked expression, eyebrows arched in both confusion and also endearment. Haechan chuckles at your expression, squatting down to help you change out of your uncomfortable high heels. “What’s with that face? Why? Are you touched?” He teases. You let out a huff, hesitating as you watch him slide your foot into your sneaker. “Kind of…” He keeps your high heels into the drawstring pouch before stuffing it back into his bag. “I know beauty is pain. But I brought them in case the pain got a little too much…” He says as he looks at you, smiling. You can’t help but reach out to pinch his cheek lightly. “See how much i love you now?” Haechan says teasingly as you two continue walking, now much more comfortably as you’re able to keep up with him.

𔘓Jaemin:

Jaemin came to pick you up after work. It was an important day and you had a presentation that you’re been stressing over all week. So Jaemin and you decided to celebrate by eating dinner together. Dinner was great, but now that you two are walking back home from the train station, your feet are starting to ache from wearing your high heels all day. You’re walking a lot more slowly as your arm is hooked around Jaemin’s. He notices your discomfort before you even say anything. “Are your feet hurting, honey?” He asks in a soft voice. You look at him, nodding slowly. “But it’s fine, we’ll be home soon anyway.” Jaemin frowns, stopping in his tracks as he holds your hand now. “It’s still quite a walk…” He says, expression softening in worry before he perks up slightly. He lets go of your hand, moving to stand, hunched in front of you. He claps once before turning his head slightly to smile at you. “Get on!” You chuckle, “Huh?” “Get on my back.” “What? No, I’m heavy…” Jaemin clicks his teeth, shaking his hips playfully (this man loves to shake ass). “Hurry!” “Ok, ok, fine.” You finally give in as you hop onto his back, giggling as he hooks his arms firmly under the back of your thighs. “Let’s go!” He exclaims as he begins to playfully run towards the direction of home, with you squealing as you cling tightly onto him.

𔘓Chenle:

You rarely wore high heels, because they were painful to walk in. So you had no idea what came over you when you put them on today. Chenle and you barely even got to the restaurant when you tapped out, complaining about how the heels are already blistering your skin. The two of you still had time to spare before your dinner reservation so Chenle asked you to stay in the car as he ran to a shop nearby to get you some comfortable shoes. You tell him it’s fine and to just get some band-aids instead. You see Chenle jogging back towards the car, a big smile on his face and a big paper bag in hand. When he opens the door, he laughs as he gets in. “I got us matching sneakers.” He states as he pulls a shoe box out of the paper bag. Chenle has you change out of your high heels. “Aren’t they expensive?” You ask as you take note of the brand. Chenle shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter, we haven’t gotten a matching item in a while. Does the shoe fit? Can’t remember if I got your size right.” You nod, smiling at him. “It fits, it’s comfy too.” Chenle chuckles. “Definitely better than your heels…” You gaze at him sweetly, before leaning over to plant a soft peck on his cheek. “Thanks, baby.” Chenle freezes slightly, his ears and then his cheek turning red. “It’s fine… let’s go.” He exits the car first, walking over to your side as he opens the door. His hand stretched out for you to take.

𔘓Jisung:

It’s after the dinner and dance event at the place you intern. The other intern, Jisung and you were walking to the train station to head back home since the both of you only live a couple stops away from each other. You two were talking about the events of the night and how your week was when you staggered slightly, the ache in your feet making you almost lose your balance. Jisung’s arm stretches out almost instinctively, hovering at the small of your back but not quite touching. “Be careful, are you okay?” Jisung asks, looking at your face, examining if something’s wrong. At first he thinks it’s the drinks, he only had a glass of champagne but he remembers you having seconds over the dinner. You shake your head, smiling at him. “It’s my high heels… I’ve just been wearing them all day, that’s why.” Jisung nods, chuckling, “Ah… that’s why you look a little taller today.” He playfully teases. “Hey!” You shove him slightly, causing you to stumble slightly again. “Woah, woah, okay…” Jisung holds onto your arm gently. He glances at you then at your high heels, a slight blush grows on his cheeks. “H-here…” he pulls your arm slowly, hooking it around his forearm, “you can hold on to me.” Jisung says, not looking at you anymore as he gulps. You gaze at him, before cracking a slight smile, chuckling. “Thanks, Ji…” you hold on a little more firmly against his forearm as he tugs you slightly closer to him.

[luvvsim]

happiness is a butterfly.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆

in which your relationship with heeseung has been falling apart,, and he realizes far too late. (drabble).

⊹ ࣪ ˖ lee heeseung x fem reader ⊹ ࣪ ˖

warnings | angst,, argument, literally zero comfort im so srry guys, idk what else :c not edited, (⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

(a/n) why have i been writing so much angst like hello… anyways last week of school FINALLY then i have a week and a bit off until summer classes start :c </3

1.2k ⋆ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the city lights of seoul cast a dim glow through the curtains, giving the living room a soft, melancholic hue. you sit on the edge of the couch, your fingers gripping the cushion fabric tightly as you watch heeseung pace back and forth. the tension in the room is unavoidable, a storm brewing between you both that you can no longer hold back.

“i just don’t understand why you can’t see it from my perspective, y/n” heeseung’s voice breaks through the silence, his frustration evident. his normally warm eyes filled with love are now filled with a mix of anger and hurt, emotions that you rarely see in him.

you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “it’s not that i don’t see it, hee. it’s just that you never listen to me either. it’s always about your schedule, your fans, your career. what about us? what about me? it’s unfair…”

he stops pacing and turns to face you, his brows furrowed in confusion and disbelief. “are you fucking serious? you think i don’t care about us? everything i do, i do it for us, for our future.”

“do you?” you ask, your voice trembling at the visible anger in his voice. “because it feels like i’m always the one compromising. i’m always the one waiting, always the one understanding. when do you make time for me? you can’t expect me to just sit here silently and take all this.”

heeseung runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you know he does when he’s stressed. “you knew what you were getting into when we started this, i warned you. you knew my life would be demanding and time consuming.”

“i didn’t know it would be this hard,” you whisper, tears welling up in your eyes. “i didn’t know i would feel so lonely even when i’m right here with you.”

the room falls silent, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air. heeseung looks at you, his hard glare softening as he takes in your expression.

he takes a step closer. “i never wanted you to feel lonely honey, i thought… i thought we were okay.” he says placing his hand on your cheek as you softly take it off, heeseung noticing the gesture as he looks down in shame.

you wipe away a tear, your voice breaking. “we’re not okay, heeseung. we haven’t been for a while, and you know it. i’ve tried to be strong, to support you, but it’s exhausting. i miss you even when you’re right here, i miss the old you, not the heeseung who acts like spending time with me is an obligation.”

heeseung kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. his touch is warm, familiar, but it doesn’t bring the comfort it used to. “i miss you too baby, i promise I’m still the same heeseung” he says as his voice breaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m so sorry baby, you know i love you.”

you look into his eyes, searching for the sincerity in his words. you see it there, but it’s not enough to mend the damage that has been done in your heart. “missing each other isn’t enough, heeseung. we need more than that. we need to actually be there for each other.”

he squeezes your hands gently, his eyes pleading. “tell me what to do. tell me how to fix this. i don’t want to lose you, i’m not letting you go.” tears brimming in his eyes, desperate.

you sigh, pulling your hands away. “i don’t know if it’s something you can fix hee, i think… i think we need time apart to figure out what we really want and need.”

heeseung’s face falls, the colour draining from his cheeks. “t-time apart? you’re breaking up with me?”

“no,” you say quickly, your heart aching at the sight of his heart broken expression. “i just… i need space to think. we both do. maybe then we can come back and make this work, all we do is argue, heeseung.”

he stands up slowly, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “if that’s what you want.”

“it’s not what i want,” you say, your voice cracking. “but it’s what we need. i love you, heeseung, but love isn’t enough right now.”

he nods, swallowing hard. “i get it. i don’t like it, but i get it.”

you stand as well, wrapping your arms around yourself as if you’re trying to hold yourself together. “i’m sorry it’s come to this.”

heeseung steps forward, hesitating before pulling you into a tight embrace. you cling to him, burying your face in his chest as the tears you’ve been holding back finally fall. he rests his chin on top of your head, his own tears rolling down his cheeks, dampening your hair.

“me too, honey” he whispers. “i’m so sorry.”

you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, holding each other as if it’s the last time as the dim lights of seoul shine down on you. in some ways, it feels like it is the last time you’ll be in each others embrace. when you finally pull away, the distance between you feels even bigger.

heeseung walks you to the door, holding his tears back as his hand lingers on the doorknob. “take care of yourself, okay?”

“you too,” you reply, giving him a small, sad smile. “i hope we can fix this, hee.”

“me too,” he says again, his voice barely audible.

you step outside, before you could walk away you feel a grip on your wrist.

“i love you, i always will.” heeseung whispers.

you give him a broken smile as you pull your arm out of his grasp.

“i love you too..”

you reply as you finally leave the apartment along with the love of your life. the cool night air hitting your tear-streaked face. as you walk away, you can’t help but glance back, seeing heeseung standing in the doorway, watching you go. the sight breaks your heart all over again, you want to run back to him, to be with him forever, but you force yourself to keep walking.

back in the apartment, heeseung closes the door and leans against it, sliding down to the floor. the silence is deafening, the absence of your presence a constant reminder of what he’s lost. he covers his face with his hands, finally letting the sobs he’s been holding back escape.

the record player continues to spin, a melody echoing off the walls of the empty room;

"happiness is a butterfly

try to catch it like every night

it escapes from my hands into moonlight"

his body shakes with his sobs as the song plays on, your favourite song. heeseung realizes that happiness, like a butterfly, is fragile and fleeting. and in that moment, he vows to do whatever it takes to catch it again, to hold onto the love that he wholeheartedly knows he can’t live without.

© luvvsim

[trillscienceofficer]

I would like to clarify that when I say that Seven's situation on Voyager is fucked up (like in this post I wrote yesterday) I don't mean that Janeway should've listened to her demands and let her go in “The Gift”, or that Janeway and the Doctor had no right to start removing her implants (leaving them would've killed her after all). What I mean is that the fucked-upness is in the whole situation that made Seven's reclamation from the Borg possible but also put her in an environment (the USS Voyager) where survival is guaranteed by the close collaboration of everyone on board, which also means concessions of personal freedom and privacy. Other crewmembers entered this pact voluntarily (we can discuss some other time what choice did the Maquis actually have other than join the crew), but Seven unequivocally did not. Yet it's the only way she could've been reclaimed because we know, and the show drives this point home multiple times, that she was so young when she was assimilated that Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One alone would always choose the Borg. She knew of no other alternative.

I don't think letting Seven go back to the Borg in “The Gift” would've been an actually ethical choice, even if it's true that that was what she wanted. She was undoubtedly a prisoner, but I think that we forget (well, I do sometimes at least) that Seven, outside of any metaphor, can be very dangerous. She is strong and quick, she has Borg weaponry and technology at her disposal, she is relentless when pursuing her goal, and even as a drone she knows how Voyager works inside and out. Janeway took the gamble of disconnecting her from the Collective in “Scorpion, part 2” because they were expecting her to try and assimilate Voyager on her own, which she promptly tried to do as soon as the Species 8472 was no longer the main threat. So imho the ethical question posed by “The Gift” is, what do you do when an extremely dangerous individual asks you to be freed so she can rejoin the genocidal alien army of brainwashed zombies that terrorizes the galaxy? They will likely pursue you afterwards, but even if by some lucky chance they don't, you'll still have given back both a weapon and cannon fodder to the genocidal alien army. In addition to that, there's the concrete possibility that your prisoner might one day start living a different life once the brainwashing loses its hold on her.

So no, I really don't think that Janeway made a bad or even questionable choice in “The Gift”, even if it's painful to see Seven struggle against it. The complication has only just started at that point, imho. The fucked-upness comes from her having to “become an individual” in a highly-regulated and closely-surveilled community, one she could've never chosen on her own. On one hand this allows Seven to develop skills she completely lacked in a somewhat safe environment, but on the other hand it limits quite severely what she can or can't do. And while at first she rails against those limitations (she spends the entirety of season 4 doing just that), with time she starts understanding the value of living on Voyager. She manages to resist the Borg Queen's threats in “Dark Frontier” because she has learned compassion in the meantime, eventually choosing voluntarily to return to Voyager. It's a turning point that definitely does a lot to compensate for her lack of agency in “The Gift”. She thinks of Voyager as her new collective, which is equally a testament of how far she's come as much as it is a worrying admission that her new group identity is not that far off the Borg, in her mind.

By season 7 Seven is outright grateful for everything Janeway has done for her, but it still doesn't make her arc learning to ‘fit in’ any less of an exercise in shaping herself into the mold she was given as her only possible future. Is it better than being a murderous, mind-controlled zombie? Yes, it absolutely still is. Seven's independent thoughts and actions now matter, even when they clash with the rules, which is just not comparable with being a Borg drone in any way. Yet it's easy to see why her role on Voyager is also stifling, and that again she can't choose differently because she knows of no other alternative, and none are available to her anyway.

The fucked-upness also comes from extra-diegetical, production reasons, of course. The stupid ideas about what a woman is and what Seven should do to really be one (does she even want to be one?), the fact that a medical practitioner could control so closely how she presents and what she eats, the lack of actual clothes in order to make her a sexy babe for the 90s Trek target audience (“males aged 16-40”), the lack of locks on Cargo Bay 2 where she regenerates, and many other aspects that I'm sure I'm forgetting now... Ignorant, ‘default’ assumptions on how things ‘are’ that the show simply refuses to acknowledge. I know they only seem so obvious now because more than twenty years have passed since Star Trek: Voyager was on the air and the culture (in the US) has changed so much since then. This, I agree, is the kind of fucked up that I could easily do without and Seven's story would be better for it.

So in conclusion, when I say that Seven's situation is fucked up it's not so much because I think Kathryn Janeway should have chosen differently when it came to her; it's more that Seven's arc on Voyager is very complicated, for the most part, by design. Even if I think Janeway could've handled some things in a different way, in most cases it makes sense for her character to have taken those decisions regarding Seven, and I don't always think it would've made for a better story if she hadn't. Obviously I wish the production-level assumptions weren't there, and I think part of what Star Trek: Picard did right in its first season was flipping a lot of those assumptions on their head in just a handful of episodes where Seven appears.

Personally I find it valuable to keep in mind that Seven's storyline on Voyager can be complicated and fucked up without necessarily wanting to make it ‘better’. It still is interesting and effective because it's far from perfect, because everyone tried the best they could given the very difficult circumstances, because we've never seen the whole crew, much less the Captain, outside of survival mode. Yet Seven is also a survivor of almost unimaginable violence and coercion and it makes sense, I think, that her presence regularly poses ethical challenges to what other characters and even the audience might consider ‘right choices’ or ‘right behavior’. Survivors in real life, I think, often challenge our societies (none of them perfect, and where many also live in survival mode) in precisely the same way.

[agtartzz]

NEW ANIMATIC ALERT!!!!!!! So this is a little animatic project that follows a different AU separate from the storyline I've been following with the other four (or an AU within an AU, rather.) This one took a lot longer than expected so I truly appreciate you all for being so patient and supportive. THIS ONE WAS A DOOZY I HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY IT AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED SUFFERING THROUGH IT

[wendytestabrat]

ya'll underestimate how good of a liar kyle can be

[piichuu]

♡ THE MOON AND THE STARS - KAGEYAMA TOBIO

WARNINGS: not proofread, messy writing, fluff, gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 359

JUNE DRABBLES

it’s turned into night when you step outside your home to lay in the grass and look up towards the night sky. the day has been long, filled with a bunch of work and waiting for your boyfriend to finally arrive home, but he still hasn’t. so what’s any better than stargazing on your own as you cannot fall asleep?

“what are you doing out here? it’s getting cold,” the familiar voice of kageyama tobio, your boyfriend, reaches you from a little further away. his figure soon stands above you, looking down with a raised eyebrow. “are you trying to catch a cold?”

you meet his eyes before reaching for his hand, wanting to pull him down on the ground with you. “i can’t sleep, come on, it’s calming,” you mumble, trying to convince him with pleading eyes. “and why are you so late?”

he sighs but gives in and lies down beside you on the grass. “training took longer than expected. but we shouldn’t be out here too long, i’m tired,” tobio mutters.

you move slightly closer to him and lay your head on his chest. “i missed you,” you speak while looking up towards him. he cannot hide the growing smile over his face when hearing that and puts his hand on your back, gently stroking it. “missed you too, guess your day was long too?”

tobio continues to look up towards the dark sky, only with a few stars making it a little brighter while you talk. “it was, but it was more paperwork, not really moving around as much as you do all the time. i honestly don’t know how you can still do it without every bone in your body hurting.”

hearing that causes him to chuckle lightly which is slightly uncommon, at least with others. “it takes a lot of training, but i’m happy i can still do it. but paperwork is difficult too and i’m proud of you,” he admits, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “but we really should go inside now, you’re cold.”

“are you saying that just because you’re embarrassed of complimenting me?” “shut up.”

[yukoii1]

↳ summary, you try on his gauntlets.

¡ a.n guys, it’s been awhile since I updated and i’m so sorry for leaving you guys for so long :<. but good news is..i’m officially an auntie D: (a senior) but bad news is, updates might take longer than usual but I still hope you guys enjoy!.

you were currently hanging out with katsuki in his room today considering it was a free day from work study's enjoying each other company, he was laid with you as you were laid with him playing with small strands of his hair till he had randomly gotten up. you pouted jokingly from the lost of warmth gaining a groan and flick to the forehead, "i'll be back you damn cry baby." he would say with a small grin walking out his room.

you rolled your eyes sitting there waiting patiently for your boyfriend to come back, your eyes going from your phone to roam around the room landing on the two gauntlets that were sitting by his closet taking a double take. you had an idea. you looked at the door then at the gauntlets before throwing your phone down on the bed getting up to walk over to them. you kneeled down a bit to pick on of them not expecting them to be this heavy..but luckily you weren't weak so you were able to to pick them up with ease. when you slid them on, they felt weird— maybe because they were a little too big or because you're not used to wearing gauntlets on your wrists. you smiled looking into the mirror moving your hands side to side to get a good look. they don't look too bad!.

as you were too busy admiring the huge things on you, you didn't realize he had came back, standing there by his door with a raised brow but it changed to a grin. he had to give it to you, you look hot with his stuff on. "I leave for five minutes and you’re trying on my stuff?." he snorted, quickly turning around with wide eyes seeing him walk closer to you, "kat—!." he was so quiet you didn't realize he had came in.

katsuki rolled his eyes, pulling you closer to him by your pants to get a close look at his gauntlets, "relax dummy, i'm not mad. plus you have them on wrong." you raised a brow as he used his hand to bring your arm up going to push the hook down feeling it tightened around your wrist to keep it secure, you came to realization, "no wonder they felt weird." you moved your arm up and down feeling a difference from before, rolling his eyes. "you idiot, you didn't know this whole time?." you went to make your argument but shut your mouth not finding one, instead huffing.

"well in my defense I didn't know they had to be pulled down." you stuck your tongue out with your arms crossed hearing him scoff, "yeah, whatever you say...but I have to give it to you." he shrugged pulling you much closer, being chest to chest with him as he looked at you. "you look pretty damn hot with my stuff on." he mumbled leaning to hover his lips over yours, grinning. "then maybe you should let me wear your hero costume?." you tilted your head giggling hearing him groan, "i'll think about it." he would love to see that, you wearing his costume one day?.

yeah he would love to see that.