#I can understand being uncomfortable with that

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode V

Something is Brewing

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)

Warnings: explicit pregnancy smut, pregnancy fluff, pregnancy angst [for the plot], pregnancy [this chapter is entirely about pregnancy if you haven't caught my drift, just giving you guys a proper warning], age gap, mood swings, cravings, nausea, vomiting, reader is very clumsy, intimate/invasive medical treatment, rut cycle, sexual tension, pregnant sex, p in v, titty fucking, cum eating (m and f), oral sex (m and f), masturbation, exhibitionism (kinda, not really), lactation kink

Word Count: 17.5k (this takes the cake, i apologize)

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Thank you all for being so patient with me as usual. I had planned to post this chapter earlier, but with the help of @zestys-stuff, we made a last minute change to the chapter. This will definitely cause some changes in the next chapter, so I’m going to work on that right away. I won’t lie, I’m really nervous to publish this one. It's been a while and I’ve ventured into some new territory where I’ve introduced a couple of new themes and -drumroll- a new character. There are parts of this chapter that can possibly cause discomfort (technically, all of this could), so I urge you guys to proceed with caution and click off if you do feel uncomfortable in any way. Aside from that, it’s good to be back (again, lol) and I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: A timeline of your pregnancy with Ralak’s child, shown through a series of flashbacks of your most prominent milestones—some of which foreshadow something bigger to come…

<- Previous -> Next

Pregnancy is tough. 

A beautiful blessing, but tough nonetheless. With its own set of hardships, uniquely tailored to your own being. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. A sore back, chest, ankles…the list is seemingly endless. The shift in moods, the fatigue. Adjusting to an entire new being growing inside you—one that sucks the nutrients straight from your bones and blood—has your body overcompensating.  

At first it was a dream. 

No life-changing symptoms. It was smooth sailing for the first few weeks. Life went on as usual. If anything, others were more reactive to your pregnancy than you were. Your skimwing became aggressive towards Ralak, snapping at him and whipping her tail, treating him as a threat rather than a companion. He was more than understanding, as it’s common for the protective instinct to kick in when the tsurak senses their rider is with child.  

More importantly, it was an urge that Ralak shared with the beast.

—

You watch as your tendrils intertwine with your skimwing, and how they come together with a rough tug. You let out a rugged breath and the beast beneath you starts to writhe. Ralak instinctively grasps at the harness to steady you and— 

Slash. 

Your trsuak whips her spiked tail at your mate, who blocks it with his strake.

“Shit.” You gasp, tugging at the leather strap and patting her neck to subdue her. “I thought I was in control. Are you alright?”

Ralak nods, his hair now soaked and plastered to his chest. He simply chuckles, respectfully and cautiously approaching the beast with an open hand. Despite this, your tsurak continues to thrash, repeatedly snapping her snout open and shut. Ralak clicks melodically a few times, and her pupils blow and constrict as she calms down. He strokes her snout with one hand, and lays his other on your thigh, gripping it lightly.

“She senses that you are with child.” 

“She does?”

“Yes. That is why she protects you. I understand the feeling.” His accent is thick on his tongue. 

——

Then the nausea came. It was… unbearable. Insufferable. It was almost frightful, actually. Not being able to stomach anything really brought down a sense of dread upon your shoulders. Most days, you found yourself worried about the budding life inside you more than yourself. 

Was he getting enough? Would he develop properly if you went another day without eating? 

Ralak was more worried about you, of course. Going to great lengths to find something you could stomach. Spoon feeding you as you laid down all day from the gut churning nausea. Washing the sick out of your hair when you missed the bucket at your bedside. Detangling and braiding it for you to keep it clean and out of your face. Releasing his pheromones—your only relief—just to put you to sleep at night. 

—

t.w. nausea, vomiting.

In the crisp night, a wave of nausea washes over you, waking you from your sleep. Typically, this is the only time you have a break from the nausea—your slumber. That, and the first ten minutes after throwing up.

You quickly hurl over, grabbing and heaving into your bedside bucket, something that's rightfully earned its spot at your side. Ralak jolts awake, sitting up behind you to gather your hair into his fist, rubbing your back as you retch. 

“Alrigght.” He hums lengthily. “Get it up.”

Finally, you stop. You gasp and pant for air, sitting up only to collapse back into him. “I h-hate this–haah.”

“I do, too.” He grits, reaching over you for the rag at your bedside, and wiping your mouth.

He hates seeing you so sick. He’s tried it all, and though he’s found a few foods that you can stomach, nothing seems stops the nausea. Well, that’s not entirely true.

Ralak relaxes his body, focusing on opening his scent glands to release his his pheromones. They slowly become stronger, calming you down and dulling the waves of nausea. He pulls you close to his warm body, reaching behind him for his kuru. 

“Tsaheylu.” He whispers yearningly, making the bond slowly. He sets a steady breathing pattern, slipping his hand over your tiny bump to caress it. The sickening feeling eases up enough for you to drift back to sleep, Ralak along with you.

——

Thankfully, Eywa lifted you of your säspxin [sickness] when you were about to come upon your third month of pregnancy. Cravings increased ten-fold almost instantly. On the occasion where you couldn’t keep it down—when the desperation was too much—you’d volunteer Ralak to eat it for you so that you could satisfy the craving vicariously through him.

—

“Eywa, that’s so good. One more bite.”

“Tanhí. Enough now.” He grumbles, feeling overly stuffed and almost queasy. 

You glance down at the purple hue of your connected kurus.

“Please...” Your eyes burn as they threaten to well with tears, and your bottom lip quivers, “…last one, promise.”

Ralak sighs, shoveling in another bite of boiled squid, chewing it slowly so you can savor the taste. You keep your eyes closed as he eats, tongue swirling in your mouth to swish your pooling saliva in your cheeks. And when he swallows, you swallow too, gulping down your spit. 

“Thank you.” You say shyly as you open your eyes, feeling bad for making him overeat now that you can really feel his fullness. 

It is my pleasure. Never feel bad. His accented voice tickles your brain. A smile spreads across your face, just as one does on his. 

——

And when you could keep it down, they were delightful when satiated. Keyword being satiated. It posed an issue when they were what Ralak called, ‘forest food’, or on a more rare occasion—‘sky people food’. Those were the insatiable ones. The ones he couldn’t just whip up for you. The times he'd come to you with his ears laid flat to his skull, admitting his defeat. Those were the moments where you felt something stronger than just disappointment. 

It left you gutted. 

—

You can’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. They’re hot and leave a sticky film on your skin, clumping your eyelashes together. It’s stupid. They’re stupid. Stupid tears, from a stupid cause. All because you want your grandmother’s stupid soup. Another thing the blessing of pregnancy has bestowed on you—big, intense feelings. 

As you soak in your bath, Ralak cooks dinner and you just know that whatever is in the pot is something that will make your stomach churn. You bury your face in the palms of your hands, trying to keep your snotty sobs to a minimum. It’s ridiculous, sobbing over something like this. It’s shameful, even. How can you be so ungrateful when this man goes to such lengths to care for you?

“Tanhì!” You hear his rough voice echo from the pod. 

You quickly wipe your face clean, and scramble for your loincloth and top, slipping them back onto your body. Finally, you fix your hair and force a smile to your face. As you get up to the marui, you’re met with the sight of Ralak stirring the soup pot over the firepit. Then the smell hits you. Typically the first thing to set off your nausea to begin with. It smells like—

Grandmother’s soup.

You stare at your mate wide eyed, taking a deep breath to savour it in your lungs. Outside of Ralak’s scent, nothing has smelled this good in months. And you swear you can already taste it on your tongue, the savoury flavour with the sweet aftertaste. 

“I asked your mother. Hope that is okay.” Ralak speaks casually as he serves you a bowl.

As you let out a harsh breath, your eyes burn as the tears come back with a vengeance. You sniffle once, twice—thrice, whimpering quietly as they roll down your cheeks. Ralak looks up at you, concern and honestly a smidge of confusion fixed to his face. Putting the bowl down, he stands and comes over to you, enveloping you in his arms. 

“I do not like to see you cry.” He hums, kissing the crown of your head. “Is it the smell? I will make you something different.” 

“N-No, no. It’s… it smells great. I’m sorry. I—I” You sputter, burying your face into his chest. 

“Then what is it, tìyawn [love]? What do you need?” Ralak cups your face and gently tilts your head upwards so he can look you in the eyes. “Tell me and it is yours.” 

“Thank you.” You croak, feeling your bottom lip curl over and kiss your chin. Now his facial expression is just pure confusion. He tuts in a comforting manner, pulling you back in close to his chest as he waits for you to settle, rocking side to side. 

“Alright, my little one. Shh–shh.”

——

Soon after, that soup pot made quite an appearance. It became your favourite dish, your favourite craving. Ralak made it just like grandmother, for the most part. There were a few omaticayan herbs missing, but outside of that it tasted like…home. At that point, you felt like you had this pregnancy thing down pat and could return to a semi-normal life. 

Everything was relatively the same, except a few obvious things—your growing bump and lack of heats. That was also a blessing, not having to go through a torturous heat every month. Though, you couldn’t say that for Ralak. 

As you neared the end of your third month of pregnancy, his pheromones grew stronger, wafting by you at random times of the day. At first you thought he was just doing it for you. Or, perhaps it was your heightened sense of smell. 

But the day came when his scent was so potent, it was as if it had stained your lips. There wasn’t a moment where you couldn’t smell the scent of your mate under your nose. That was the night you realised it was out of his control. That it was his rut coming. That was the night you confronted him at the bonfire. 

The night he looked at you like you were something to eat. 

— 

Right…there.

You catch the flicker of his eyes just before he lowers his head, shifting to that deep shade of blue. He keeps stealing a glance or two. Maybe even three, or more. It’s hard to keep count when he’s looking at you like this.

is piercing eyes, sultry and alluring, tempting you to crawl through these roaring flames just to get to him quicker. His demeanour. His stance and posture. His domineering leer. Whatever he—or his body—is doing, is working. 

He sits on the boulder, elbow perched on one thick thigh and a hand propped on the other. His hair covers his chestpiece, curled ends barely brushing against his defined ribcage. His bioluminescent freckles dance under the moonlight, his turquoise skin almost golden from the cast of the fire. It’s all so intimidating. He’s exuding dominance, practically looming over you despite him being seated. But there’s something about his aura, something darker.

“I can feel it, you know.” You speak casually, uncrossing your legs.

Ralak’s eyes snap up, boring into yours. He cocks a brow, keeping his eyes locked on you as you stand and walk towards him.

“Your rut. It’s close, isn’t it?”

This would be your first, real rut with him. Without the influence of your own heat. Ralak huffs a sigh, his eyes falling to the small bump that’s in his direct line of sight. Ralak watches as it seemingly grows bigger the closer you get. 

“You are showing.” His hands gently rest on your lower abdomen. Holding his shoulders, you slowly straddle him. 

“Answer me.” You whisper as you cup his face, tilting it upwards to make him look at you. “I want to be with you… and before you say it—” Ralak grits his teeth as he turns his head away, out of your hands.

“No.” 

“Ralak. I am your mate.” You retaliate through tight lips. You knew this would pose an issue. 

“Y/n.” He growls, turning his head to look you in the eyes. “You know my rut. Must I remind you that you are with child? It is final.” 

“I do know, and that’s why I won’t let you go through that alone, ever again.” Though your voice is stern, he can hear the tenderness in it. That this comes from a place of concern and love.

“I will not be in control.” Ralak admits as he shakes his head firmly, flicking his gaze back down to your belly. 

“Look…I made a plan.” You basically confess that you’ve been conjuring up ideas on how to endure this together all day. Although his eyes and hands remain fixed on your tummy, Ralaks ears perk up. He’s listening. 

“How do you feel about…being tied up?” 

Now you’ve got his attention, eyes snapping up to meet yours. The idea of being tied up isn’t entirely foreign to him. It’s something that his people use as a punishment for those who do wrong. He’s not opposed to it. Having a rut so intense is probably something to be punished for, anyways. 

“Hands behind your back…bound to the marui stilt. I will be the one in control. I will take care of you.”

You take his hands from your stomach and tuck them behind his back, your face now millimeters from his. Ralak fights the urge to kiss you. To free his hands from his back to grab your hips and shove your further down onto his growing bulge.

“...feed you…water you…bathe you.” Your voice falters as you swallow your spit. “...fuck you.” 

“...that so?” He whispers against your lips, heart thudding wildly behind his ribcage. 

You look in his eyes, and see that they tremble with constraint. He can’t hide it, the look on his face gives it away. He’s really struggling to think straight. To keep his answer as a firm no. And it doesn’t help that he’s on the cusp of his rut. He yearns to accept. Every fibre of his being wants this–wants you. You see it in his eyes, as they flicker like the flame behind you.

He just needs a little push. 

“We’ll take it slow…gently.” You roll your hips into him and feel his cock straining against his tewng. You lean in close, lips brushing against his as you speak into his mouth. “And, if anything happens… we’ll stop. No knotting.” 

His ears twitch. He’s considering it. Really, actually considering this. But how could he? How could he expect this of you in your state? He squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated and conflicted. And aroused. So fucking aroused that when he feels your lips drag against his cheek, your tongue tasting the lobe of his ear…your breathy whisper, “Pänutìng [Promise].”, he lets out a heated, shaky breath of defeat. Of surrender. 

That seals the deal.

—

Not now. Not yet. Ralak thinks to himself, fighting his urges.

The urge to mate—to pin you down and drive himself inside you. He must remain in control. For you. For your unborn. He sits on the floor, slumped against the stilt of the marui, bowed shoulders and a heavy, hung head. His skin, flushed, and eyes swollen—glowing a vibrant mauve. His hair haphazardly sticks to his sweltering skin as his hands lethargically twiddle with the braided twine behind his back. 

Groggy, you strain to open your eyes and quickly scan your surroundings. Ralaks pheromones cloud the room, engulfing you with their overpowering scent. As you sit up, the bed creaks and Ralak lifts his head, allowing it to flump limply back into the stilt. Extra lidded eyes and tensed brows, he breathes through his mouth. He wills himself to speak, but he’s heavy and sluggish as if he were three bottles deep.

“Ralak.” Your voice is wary and full of concern. Your eyes continue to trail down his body, landing on the undeniable, taut bulge in his loincloth. His cock strains against the fabric, precum completely soaking it through. “How long have you been like this?” 

“Few hours.” He croaks out a dry throat. 

“And you didn’t wake me?” You hastily make your way behind him, slipping to your knees to take the twine from him. 

Fuck. There it is. Your scent...driving him over the edge. Wafting past his nose and making him woozy in the head. 

“Tie me.” He demands. For a moment, you’re frozen in place by his tone, unable to move your hands and fingers. “Quickly.” 

The edginess in his voice startles you, causing you to fumble with the twine. You take a breath and begin tying the knot as he taught you, weaving the twine with itself, tugging at the ends to close it.

“Tighter.” He snaps at you, making your ears lay flat. You pull the ends even tauter, witnessing the twine pinch the thin skin on his wrists. 

“Shit—sorry. Didthat hurt?” You go to loosen the knot, but he pulls at the restraints, making it even tighter.  

“Leave it.” He grumbles, tugging yet again, ensuring it’s unyielding.

Because the closer you get, the harder he finds it to resist. He needs to know that he can’t get out—that he can’t hurt you—before he loses it completely. And with that delicious scent seeping from your neck, he feels himself slipping under. 

“Are you sure? I can tie you after you drink some water and have a—” 

“No...haah—now.” He growls, dropping his head causing the rest of his hair to flow forward and cover his face. “…need you now.” 

Blood rushes to your cheeks, heating them up and flushing them over. You can even feel your heart pumping it harder–faster. It’s hot in here, but even hotter now that you feel yourself heating up too. It’s his rut, influencing you like some sort of drug. You can barely control your breathing, much less think straight. But you told him that you’d be the one in control, the one to care for him. 

“Mawey, ma’ muntxatan [Calm, my husband].” You whisper close to his ear, giving the knot a final tug. “What kind of mate would I be if I did not care for you first? Hm?”  

You shuffle to your feet, and walk away, newly widened hips swaying side to side with temptation. He’s taking in the show through the cracks of space between his clumped together strands of hair, unable to look away no matter how hard he tries. Knowing this, you bend over, lifting your tail to expose your clothed mound to him. You swear you can hear a hiss seep from his lips, and that brings a smile to yours. 

Teasing him is one of your favourite things to do. 

You scoop up some water into the cup, and bring it over to him. Using two fingers to his chin, you tilt his head back, revealing the famine in his inebriated eyes. They’re glossy with need and desperation, begging you to take his ache away. 

“Alright, alright.” You coo softly, sinking back to your knees. “I’m going to make it go away. Now, drink for me.” You bring the cup to his lips, tilting it carefully as he gulps it down thirstily. A few drops dribble down his chin and onto his already glistening chest, rolling down his unflexed stomach. 

Tossing the empty cup to the side, you bend forward and lick the beads of water up his stomach, to his throat, to his lips. His arms jerk reflexively, wanting to cup your face as your lips lock with his.

Throwing a leg over his lap, you straddle him, pressing against the bulge in his sticky tewng. You cup his face instead, deepening the kiss to have a taste of the potent desperation on his tongue.

When you pull away, your noses brush against one another and you feel woozy in the head. His rut is beginning to affect you now. Which isn’t all a bad thing if you want to be able to keep up with him for the next couple days.  

Your hand smoothes over his jawbone to the nape of his neck, where you gently grip the base of his kuru. His ears immediately lay flat to his head, reddening at just the tips. Running your hand along its length, you bring the end of his kuru in front of him. 

“Going to make the bond.” You warn him breathily, bringing forth your queue as well. 

At this point, Ralak is huffing for air and sweating profusely. It looks as if he’s nearing his peak already. This only reaffirms that you’re making the right decision by making tsaheylu—you need the direct influence of his tìsom [heat]. 

When the tendrils intertwine, you come together with a sharp tug and gasp. Instantaneously, you sink into a hazy state, heating up from within. Your breath syncs with his, and suddenly you’re panting too. 

“Ralak.” You moan softly, grinding into him for a bit of friction.

You can’t stop your hips from snapping, and your loincloth is almost completely soaked. He throws his head back into the wooden stilt, looking at you through lidded eyes as he lets loose subtle groans. He looks more than hungry. He looks starved. 

With trembling hands, you search for the knot of his loincloth at the base of his tail. After a bit of scuffling, you untether it and shimmy his tewng down his hips and off of him. Up springs his aching cock, veiny and swollen. It’s so obviously neglected, glossy and sticky with his slick, so uncomfortably hard that it’s already pulsing as it stands firmly pressed against your clothed cunt. 

“Fuck. It’s… even bigger.” You’re taken aback, unsure of how exactly you managed to take this inside you last time he was in rut. Then you notice the red tinge of colour on his cockhead, especially where his ridges stand erect. “D-Does that hurt, karyu?” Bump in the way, you shift your hips back to reveal what exactly you’re talking about. “Need your numeyu to take away the pain?” 

The giant remains silent, but his cock jumps in response, oozing out another large bead of precum. Using your pointer finger, you trace the length of his cock, swollen balls to his pointed tip, collecting that fresh bead of slick on the pad of your digit. He watches intently as you pop your finger into your mouth and suckle, swallowing his semi-sweet essence. His brows knit tightly together. 

You know this is nothing short of torture to him. And though you have every intention to take the ache away… when would you get another opportunity like this? Where this giant is tied down and unable to resist the pleasure you bring him. Where you’re completely… in control. Fuck, you’ve never felt like this before. It's exhilarating. It’s a feeling of power. Of dominance.

A smirk pulls at your lips.   

You begin to pull yourself to your knees, brushing your swollen breasts against his lips. His tongue darts out, eager for a taste. Looking down, you cup one breast with your hand, and guide your stiff nipple into his mouth. His lips pucker over it, closing once they make contact for a vacuum seal.

Your breath hitches when you feel his tongue tickle the sensitive tip of your nipple. His teeth graze against them as he tries to do this handsfree, and you let out a low hiss. Soon his movements grow erratic, being bound to the marui stilt is starting to frustrate him. 

“Ah-ah. What do you need, karyu? Just tell me.” Your voice is feigned with innocence. He breathes heavy against your chest, keeping quiet as his focus is purely on getting his fill. “You won’t get anything from them.” You tsk, tugging away little by little, until eventually you pop off his mouth. 

You continue to rise to your feet, dragging his lips along your swelling tummy, until he’s eye level to the band of your tewng. You can feel his eyes pierce into you, his stare is anything but discreet. It’s intimidating. Your hand flies to the back of your loincloth, fiddling with the knot to untie it. 

“Is it this?”

The cloth drops to your ankles, exposing your flushed cunt to him. It’s pink and hot to the touch, undeniably aroused. Your scent grows stronger with each passing second, filling his lungs. It’s driving him insane—being able to see and smell, but not touch. His rut is only making him more irritable. He just needs to fuck into something and spill himself inside. 

His eyes glisten over an even brighter shade of purple, locking onto their meal. He wets his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue as you take a step closer. You cup his jawbone, tilting it upwards to look down at him. The sight is… intoxicating. His lidded eyes, blown pupils that are threatening to roll to the back of his head. Tensed brow bones and damped, slightly parted lips—not a drop of composure left in his features. 

That new feeling rushes through you again, making you take two more steps forward. Your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his nose, officially branding it with your scent. He leans into you, closing his eyes and straining his neck to indulge himself. 

Your thumb smoothes over his jaw before your hand slips to the back of his head. You fist his hair and yank his head back, sending his eyes flying open. With your free hand, you spread your pussy lips, exposing your swollen clit. It’s sticky and in need of attention, throbbing occasionally as you tug your hood back. 

“Now, suck.” You demand breathily, slowly guiding him by the head to bring his lips to your clit.

You clench around nothing when you feel his heated, slippery lips pucker over the stiffened nub, sucking gently. Sharp eyes bore into yours before they roll back, leaving nothing but the whites exposed. Lids finally fluttering closed, he sucks a little harder, tips of his canines accidentally nipping your supple skin.  

“Ss—fuck.” You hiss, hips snapping back with force, popping off his mouth with a sharp sting. Frantic fingers rub away the tingling sensation as you grit your teeth. You shuffle your feet to ground yourself as you tighten your grip on his hair and hold his head still. 

“I know you’re in rut, but be good to your muntxate [wife].” You warn through your teeth before shoving his face back into your cunt.

This time he feasts with greed, groaning like a starved man. Eating, like a starved man. He’s slurping and sucking, lapping up your slick as it coats his tongue and lips, enjoying every second of your reign.

“Oh—oh shit. Fuck. Right there—” You moan breathlessly, free hand flying to his head to fist his hair, using it as leverage to keep him just where he is.

Before you know it your hips are moving on their own, humping at his face as you hold him tightly with both hands. With each thrust you shove him further back into the stilt, until the back of your hand is repeatedly hitting its surface. 

Until you’re hunched over him, looking him deep in the eyes as you grind into whatever part of him your clit is rubbing against. He expertly holds his breath as he allows you full control to fuck his face as if you were the one in heat.

Because with each roll of your hips he feels it too.

He feels the jolt of pleasure that shoots through you when his tongue hits your clit in that special spot. When the tips of his canines graze your swollen folds. The feeling is all consuming and he’s whining into your cunt from the over—and under—stimulation. His cock shifts to a shade of purple, jumping each time you thrust into his mouth. 

‘Sorry, Ralak. ‘m sorry.’ You think to him through tsaheylu, feeling the burn in your own lungs now. 

“Haa—ah, fuck. Thrust. Fuck. Thrust. F-Fuck! I’m gonna cum—in your—ngh!” Your voice quavers as you come suddenly undone in his mouth, holding him firm and still as you rock your body into him. 

His eyes slam shut and his brows knit tightly together as he grunts repeatedly into your cunt. He tugs harshly at his restraints and his heels dig into the woven floor. Yet still, you hold onto him even tighter until your pussy stops fluttering. 

With a loud, shaky gasp, you yank him away, letting go of his hair to grab the marui stilt to stop your trembling legs from giving out beneath you. Ralak wheezes loudly, shoulders heaving harshly as he frantically pants for air. His face is bright pink, flushed and glazed in a layer of sweat. He opens his eyes but they’re so heavy that you can barely see the colour in them. 

“Rutxe [please].” Ralak begs through a desperate groan, flicking his stare downwards. And when you look, you’re met with the sight of his still-throbbing cock, covered in his sticky, thick cum. Shiney beads still ooze out and dribble down his length and onto his swollen, firm balls. 

His first word was a plea of help. 

Your heart aches in your chest. How could you let yourself go so far with your little bit of power? To be so selfish. And here he was, in so much discomfort and yet you put your needs first. Leaving him so neglected to the point his body makes the release for him. Is this how he felt after he unleashed six pent up years on you in a couple days? 

Pent up years of suffering. 

“Shh. You’re okay, my love. You’re okay.” You whisper as you slowly squat down. “I got you. I’m going to make it…” you hold eye contact with him as you lower yourself onto his cock, aligning his tip with your sopping entrance, “…all better now.” 

You wince when his cock slowly penetrates you, mewling a little higher with every inch you manage to take. The stretch is almost unbearable. This is the first rut you’ve spent with him without being in heat. 

No foggy haze to dull the ache. 

No emptiness to be filled. 

And it doesn’t help that your womb is already so full. 

Your mewl quickly turns into a whimper when your bodies become flush to one another. Ralaks head slumps back into the marui stilt and he heaves a loud, lengthy moan of relief from being buried deep inside your warm cunt. You feel so good around him, making his cock heat up and twitch inside of you. 

Snaking your arms around his neck, you hold onto him as you frantically try to adjust to his size. It’s dawning on you exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into, and that you’ve seriously underestimated his rut. A sense of uncertainty begins to tighten your stomach but it quickly dissipates when you hear Ralak’s second plea. 

“Rutxe, ma’ tanhì..” Ralak mutters with a pained, gravelly voice. 

Without another word, you move your hips up and down, dragging his length along your gummy, slick walls. Your movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, you’re not used to doing most of the work much less all of it. With his hands tied behind his back, you can already feel the burn in your thighs and the throb in the tips of your toes. 

Regardless, you keep moving your hips. 

Bouncing up and down on his cock, pressing your forehead into his in a poor attempt to steady your position. That little sting slowly morphs into something of pleasure the more your hips meet his with a slap. And soon all you can hear is smack, after smack, after smack. The noises that split his lips tell you all you need to know. He’s feeling good and that’s all that matters. 

But exhaustion hits you quickly—unexpectedly. His cock is buried to the hilt inside you, and the more tired your legs get, the deeper it drills inside you, pressing harshly into your cervix. Your legs are trembling uncontrollably and you can barely catch your breath, leaving you no choice but to lazily rock back and forth on his cock. 

Ralak lets out a grunt and bucks his hips. 

“Haah!” You yelp.

Ralaks ears lay flat, lips pursed tightly into a thin line. He can’t hold back his frustration any longer. He’s growing impatient. If he didn’t get his real release soon he may really lose it. He’s grunting through his nose and tugging at his restraints, bruising his wrists. You feel him shift his hips up and shove his cock as far as he can inside you. 

“Ngh! I-It won’t go any deeper!” Your voice strains as you try to lift yourself up. But he just keeps pushing until his feet are grounded. And then his hips drop, pulling his cock half way out of you. 

Thrust.

Ralak slams his cock back inside you, drilling deeper than he was before. Your mouth falls open as all the air is forcefully expelled from your lungs. As you suck in a gasp of air he thrusts inside you again. And again. And again. Until he’s rutting into you in a feverish frenzy, chasing his climax as if it were prey. His thrusts turn relentless, leaving you breathless with each buck of his hips. 

“Fuck—fuck—fu—” Your voice bounces with his thrusts. 

You look down, met with eyes that are empty yet heavy with appetite. He’s in the thick of it and he’s no longer all there. He’s purely instinct now and the only thing holding him back from pinning you down and having his way with you is the twine wrapped around his wrists. 

You can’t lie and say that you aren’t enjoying the look on his face and the break from the burn in your thighs. Stars sprinkle your vision as you’re overwhelmed with the immense pleasure he’s slamming into you. He’s fucking you into submission and you’re mind is borderline blank. His groans are primal and guttural, and they grow louder with each hysteric thrust. 

“Want to knot.” He huffs suddenly—desperately. You can feel his thick knot poke and prod at your entrance, his thrusts now sloppy and erratic. 

“Fuck, I—” You know you shouldn’t, no matter how hazy his rut is making you feel. “W-We can’t. I’m still ea—rly.” But he’s too busy watching himself fuck you in a daze, drenched with sweat. “Ralak…” You grab his face, tilting his chin upwards so he looks you in the face. His gaze is hollow yet his features are tense. “…are y–ou hear–ing me, la–k?”

“Need to breed.” He growls as he fights against his restraints. He doesn’t ease up on his tussle with the twine, sweating and panting as he desperately tries to force his knot inside you. 

“Shit.” You mutter, coming to the quick realisation that he can’t stop himself. “Wait, wait, wait—” 

Your hands fall from his face to his stomach, pushing down in a panicky attempt to lift yourself off him. But his rut is making you sluggish and weak, so you make the quick decision to sever the bond with a rough yank. 

Snap. 

“Oh, fuck.” You curse under your breath. 

The twine breaks, and his arms fly forward, hands making impact with your hips, fingernails digging into the thin skin. His grip is unyielding as he holds you down firmly on his cock. You feel him throb inside you as he attempts to plug you full with his knot. 

“Lak! Ralak, h-hold on!” As much as you actually want to, you can barely take what’s inside you as it is.

“Submit.” He rasps, top lip curled tight to his teeth, baring his canines. 

“I—I’m pregnant.” You whisper quickly, voice hoarse and strained. 

Immediately, his movements cease and his eyes flick down to your tiny bump, then widen when he finally realises. In one swift, sudden move, he lifts you off him and uses your swollen pussy lips to hug his cock and finish himself off. He rocks you back and forth like a rag doll at the mercy of undying grip, growling and grunting. 

His head drops forward when he outright howls. You look down and witness his mushroomy head pulsating feverishly, spurting out his load in thick ropes, all over his stomach and chest. All whilst his engorged, throbbing knot pulses against your slit as he cums, earning some well deserved comfort and warmth.

Ralak sputters as he tries to catch his breath, hands still glued to your hips. The fog still clouds his mind but it’s less blinding now. He’s just about capable of acknowledging what just happened. To acknowledge that this was risky, and could’ve ended badly. That, if you hadn’t said something to him, he would have knotted you without mercy.

An uncomfortable silence passes between you, where you’re both breathing heavily and staring at one another. You both share the same thought—the same realisation. His rut is too aggressive for you to handle right now. 

“I must go.” Ralak looks away as he breaks the silence, wanting to take advantage of his release before the pressure builds yet again. He’s clear headed enough to leave without turning back and pouncing on you. 

“No, don’t… we can try again.” You say softly, hand cupping his jawbone, turning him to face you. You feel terrible that he may have to spend this rut alone, that you couldn’t fulfil your promise—your duty as his mate. 

“I almost knotted you, y/n.” His eyes gloss over with guilt, his hands finally peeling away your bruised hips. 

“But… you didn’t. You stopped yourself—” 

“And if I do not leave now… I will.” Ralak growls inches away from your face.

You’re a little taken aback by his bluntness, but you know it’s the truth. And it’s final. No matter what you say. No matter how it makes the flesh between your legs throb a little more. You nod, keeping yourself quiet. 

“I will see you in a couple days. I love you both.” Your lips meet briefly before he carries you to bed and readies himself to leave. You watch in silence, murmuring an “I love you, too” under your breath when he exits the marui.  

—

As time passed you grew more angsty, unable to keep in one spot or focus on a single task. All that ran on your mind was Ralak and how he was probably suffering all alone. All because you failed to do your duty as his mate. The guilt was almost sickening, having you dry heaving into your bedside bucket a few times for the rest of the day. 

Until later that night. 

You rub in the thick, oily concoction on your belly, getting ready for bed. The sound of the marui door flapping open startles you, making you jump in your skin and clutch your stomach. You’re not expecting Ralaks return so soon. 

A silhouette stands tall at the door, his bioluminescent star pattern unmistakable. 

“Ralak? Oh, Ralak. Eywa. You’re back. I should have made dinner. I thought you'd be gone for a while longer. You must be so hungry. You—” You speak urgently, eyes flicking down to his tewng, which is seemingly damp, “—was it too much? …are you alright? Let me help you, lak.”

“Tanhì.” Ralaks cuts you short, voice trembling slightly, yet full of relief. “It is done.” 

“…what?” The question is breathy. 

“My rut.” Ralak says as he makes his way towards you, scooping up a glob of your special concoction. He sits next to you, and begins massaging it into your back. “You have fixed me.” 

You come to the realization that he's talking about his rut finishing earlier than usual—like that of an average na'vi.

“You were never broken, my love.” You moan softly, closing your eyes to enjoy the massage.

Ralak then rests his chin on your shoulder, smoothing his hands down your back and around your abdomen—rubbing what's left on his hands onto your swelling belly. His touch prickles your skin, sending the tip of your tail swishing. 

“I live for you.” He mutters with a thick accent, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I will die for you.”

Your heart skips a beat when you hear his words, he must have really been suffering for the past six years. You feel your face heat up, and you try to fight the smile balling your cheeks. You opt to drop your head and hide your face instead, resting a hand on his thigh. 

“Well. We won’t have you doing that.” You giggle, rubbing his upper thigh as you turn your head to glance at him. “…the last part, that is.” 

But he just looks at you, face still as stone. He speaks sternly.

“I will.” He speaks sternly.

You swallow your spit, tempted to drop your head again as you take in the gravity of his two words. You nod, searching his eyes with yours as you close the space between you. You hover open mouthed against his lips. 

“Me too.”

——

Time waits for no one. 

At least that’s how it felt. You had ballooned overnight, round and a little heavier as you embarked on your sixth month of pregnancy. His kicks grew stronger and more uncomfortable. But it was Ralaks favourite thing to feel before bed.

You found yourself spending most of your days bouncing between your marui and your family’s marui—paying your family visits more often. They grew fond of the idea that there would be an addition to the family and it became a regular thing for you to seek refuge there when Ralak was roped in for his ‘duties’. Which seemed to increase in number the further along you progressed. 

Ralak had his daily duties—tending to the ilus, a few lessons, fishing... These were just the simpler tasks that you could say you knew for certain he did. But there were his ‘fkxaranga’ [stressful] duties’, as you liked to call them.

The ones where Tonowari would summon him with nothing else but a simple nudge or glance. The duties that were spontaneous. That stole precious hours of his time. Duties that left Ralak spent and on edge, reaching for his top shelf when he came home. Those were the ones you dreaded the most. 

The ones like last night. 

——

With a huff, Ralak chucks his gear onto the floor and roughly unclips his chest piece. His pointed tools are covered in some sort of thick, iridescent muck, shifting from green to orange as they rock side to side on the floor. It’s something you’ve been seeing recently with no idea as to what it is. 

Ralak grunts, bringing your attention to his lips, which are slightly downturned. The more you take in the sight before you the more it occurs to you how exhausted this man is. His eyes are hollow, ears droopy, tail dragging heavily behind him. His muscles are seized up despite the bow of his shoulders—he looks as if he could use a massage. 

“Manga [Hey, you].” You get up to meet him at the door, taking the chest piece out of his hands to hang up on the wooden stand. “Tonowari is working your tail off. Do I need to have a word with that man?” 

He only works up a grumble as you lead him over to the bed. “That bad? What is he making you do? Hunt akulas? Eywa.”  

Ralak sits down, face sinking into his hands before two fingers slip down to pinch the bridge of his nose. You climb up and settle behind him, huffing and puffing along the way. Your hands smooth over his back, thumbs pressing firmly into his muscles, kneading the flesh until you feel him loosen up. 

Though the question sounded rhetorical, he knew it wasn’t. He knows you’re awaiting a response, the silence is loud and clear. You always want to know more about his day, fine details and all. And he’s usually reluctant to speak of it, but insisting it’s nothing for you to worry your head over. But recently, your inquisitivity is… well founded. And he knows it.

“Not quite.” He mumbles wearily into his palm, ears laid flat to his skull–although it wasn’t uncommon for him to encounter an akula or two whilst fulfilling the olo’eyktan’s orders. 

You open your mouth to question him further, but you can tell that he’s more than tired. And it didn’t help that you were constantly needing his help, especially now that you’re growing heavier.

Going down the stairs is a struggle considering you can no longer see your own feet or keep your balance. You had been waking him up almost twice a night to help you down the marui stairs just to pee. He’d always be happy to help, though. He understands that this is what comes with the changes that are happening to your body that’s giving life to his child. 

“Rest. Please.” You say softly, tugging at him to lie down in bed with you. 

To your surprise, he actually lays down, assuming his typical position before dozing off for the night—on his back with a hand on your belly. You expected him to resist a little, insisting something or another.

He really, really must be tired. Your heart fills with something heavy. Something that makes you almost feel sick. Your brows pinch as you look beside you to see his tensed face relax into something of tranquility. 

And a smile pulls at your lips when his eyes fall shut. 

Dinner’s over the firepit—his favourite stew with extra mushrooms. The sound of it bubbling becomes louder as it thickens. With a quick, final stir, you take it off the fire and cover it to let it sit. You hope that this will help lift his mood when he wakes. You look over to him as he lays stockstill with softened features, breathing tidally. 

Holding onto a supporting beam of the marui, you bring yourself to your feet and waddle your way over to him. You extend a hand to wake him for dinner but you hesitate. He needs this. And that’s when you make the decision to allow him however long it takes to rest. Even if it means that you speak to Tonowari yourself. 

Night falls and the temperature falls with it. The glowing firepit keeps the stew and marui warm for the time being as you prepare for bed. You draw the curtains and glance over to your mate, who still remains in a deep sleep, tucked cozily under the blanket you covered him with. You drape the shawl he wove you over your shoulders, and make your way to the door. 

A silent yawn splits your lips just before you lift away the flap. Your eyelids are heavy and the drowsiness is weighing on you tenfold. You have one last step of your nightly routine before you can crawl into bed next to your husband. And that's emptying the bladder that your son uses as a footrest. Plus, if you didn’t do it now, it would just be an additional trip in the middle of the night. 

As you make your way to the door, the need to go becomes urgent. Perhaps it was all the water you thirstily chugged whilst eating, or maybe it's just the fact that you're already on your way there. Either way, you can’t seem to get there quick enough. Your movements turn hasty the second you get to the top step, hands clutching on the only thing available—your bulging belly. You’re looking down despite the fact that you can’t even see your feet.

Leaning forward slightly, you try to shift your stomach to the side to see your next step. You step down and feel your bare foot make contact with the slippery wood. Your toes press into its surface to ground you as you take your next step. You wobble when you get to the last step, and sigh in relief when you feel the cold, wet sand spill between your toes. 

After wasting no time and doing what you came to do, you quickly make your way back to the marui. The tips of your ears and tails are just going numb from how cold it is and the night dew is beginning to form. You get to the bottom step, fixing your shawl so that it’s out the way. You make your way up the first, second and third step, but when you get to the fourth your shawl falls forward. 

And so do you. 

A blood curdling shriek rips from your throat when you feel your feet give out beneath you. Your hands splay out to grab onto whatever’s around you to break your fall but before you know it you're tumbling back down the stairs at a frightening rate. You keep on your side as best you can, landing into the sand with a muffled thump. 

“Fuck. Shit—oh, great mother—” You mutter as you hyperventilate, clutching your stomach as you wait for your son to kick—to show you some sign of life. Your eyes well with tears as you rub your bump vigorously. Your heart is slamming violenting against your rib cage, so hard you can hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Please, please, please.” 

…but nothing. 

“Y/n?!” You hear Ralaks worried voice boom behind you, then his hurried footsteps down the stairs. 

Maybe it’s his fathers voice, but your unborn son gives you one of the biggest kicks yet. You sob out a laugh, rubbing your stomach as relief flows through your body. You take a few deep breaths through your mouth to calm down, feeling another reassuring kick. 

“Y/n. Y/n.” Ralak chants your name, eyes rapidly darting side to side to assess you as he kneels beside you. Concern’s etched deeply into his features as he lifts your arms and legs, searching for injuries. 

“I’m alright. I’m alright.” You repeat urgently, but he continues to look, even taking off your shawl. His eyes are wide and he seems to be in some level of shock, especially after coming straight out of a deep sleep. “Ralak. Really. I’m fine. We’re okay.” 

Ralaks features soften at your two final words. His stare falls to your swollen belly, hands taking the place of yours as he waits. After a few seconds of stillness, his eyes snap up to yours—refilling with worry. He begins to shake his head, and you reassure him with a hand to his face. 

“Talk to him.” You whisper with trembling lungs. Ralak looks back down to your stomach.

“Maitan [My son].” Your mate says in a low, steady voice, ensuring not to allow even a hint of fright slip through. Just then, he feels a little nudge against the palm of his hand. Ralaks gaze snaps up to you and his expression relaxes, hands rubbing your belly gently. “How did this happen, tanhì?”

“I…needed to pee.” You say shamefully, avoiding eye contact. “…and I tripped going up the steps.” You glance up at him to see what you perceive to be a face of disappointment. “I’m sorry. I know, I’m so stupid.” 

“No. Do not say that.” He interjects, tensing his jaw. “...you are heavy with child—why did you not wake me?” 

“You were so, so tired. You needed to rest, and I did not want to disturb you.” You turn to your side to get up, wincing when a sharp pain shoots down your back. 

“Careful.” He clears his throat, stopping you from trying to get up on your own. He watches your contorted face relax, but the heart wrenching guilt just gets worse. “You should have. Wake me for anything.” He says sternly, snaking his arms underneath you to lift you up. “Everything.”

“You really don’t have to—” Ralak continues, scooping you in his arms and holding you close to his chest. “I can walk. I’m all right, Ralak.”

You try to reassure him, shuffling in his arms to get down. But he only muffles out a sigh, glancing down at you with downturned brows and droopy ears. He then walks away from the marui stairs, to the direction of the water. 

“Where are we going?” You ask quickly when you realise that you’re walking away from home. Ralak clicks for his tsurak, taking his time as he mounts it with you tucked to his chest. “Ralak.” 

“To tsahìk.” He states, making the bond with his beast.

“Ronal?” You sound almost panicked as the idea of everyone knowing you fell up the stairs clouds your mind. It’s almost mortifying to think about. “We don’t need to do that, it’s really late too, and—”

Commanding his beast to go, you both take off at full speed. It doesn’t take long to arrive at the tsahìk’s healing pod. Many healers gather at the door when they hear the sound of Ralak’s low pitched call. And they rush out to meet him as he carries you towards them in a hurried manner. They usher you in, hushed murmurs growing louder and clearer as they bring you to Ronal. 

You didn’t even notice the burning pain in your lower back until you were about half way here. 

The Tsahìk stands upon your entrance, her crystal blue eyes widening when she sees Ralak with you in his arms. You wince as he lays you down where the healers instruct him to. She strides over to a woven basket filled with an array of herbs and needle-like wooden sticks, and quickly props it on her hip—just out of the way of her own bump. She settles herself beside you, feeling your stomach as she channels Eywa. 

Ronal throws a look to Ralak, whose hands are on his hips as he waits patiently for the verdict. 

“She fell.” He says, only for Ronal to cock an eyebrow. “Stairs.” He finishes. Then both her eyebrows raise, and she reaches for a jar of a ground up, purplish herb. She pours half of it into a wooden bowl, and activates it with a few drops of water from the spirit tree. 

“Baby is strong. Very strong.” The Tsahìk announces, and both you and Ralak heave a loud sigh of relief. “But—” Ronal props your legs up on the makeshift table, spreading them slightly. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you look over to Ralak. “You are still at risk.”

Ralak moves closer to you, taking your hand in his to keep you calm. You both watch as Ronal rolls the fabric tightly into a small cylindrical shape. You swallow your spit when you realise exactly where that’s going. 

“This ensures he stays. It will also help with the pain.” She states, glancing at Ralak to see the glare he’s trying to hold back. She shakes her head slightly and hands you the precautionary apparatus. “Insert. Rest…and remove at sunrise.” Ronal continues, drawing back the curtain to give you some privacy. 

“Sunrise?” You whisper to yourself as you watch her step out.

Your eyes dart up to Ralak who is clearly concerned, staring down at you with worry in his eyes. Embarrassment heats up your cheeks and your nerves fray. Why are you so shy all of a sudden? He’s your mate. Your husband. 

You sit up a bit more and try to see over your stomach to get the task done with shaky hands. You fumble and struggle with the flimsy cloth, blindly doing your best. But each time you lean forward the pain in your back burns hotter.

Ralak’s supporting you with a hand on your upper back, patiently waiting for you, noticing your trembling fingers and little grunts. He uses his free hand to cup yours, stilling your hurried movements.

“Mawey [calm]. Breathe.” He hums, gently taking it from you and helping you lay down. 

You look him in the eyes as he inserts it carefully, wincing when the concoction stings a bit. Ralak gives your hand a light squeeze, speaking as if he had access to your thoughts. You nod, trying to smile through the burning sensation, but he picks up on your discomfort. 

“What is it? Is it your back?" His voice quavers with worry.

“No… just burns a little.” You say quietly. You watch his jaw flutter and his shoulders droop as he huffs out a sigh. “Not to worry. It’s going away now.” 

As he’s about to speak, the curtain is drawn to the side and Ronal comes in and stands at the arched entrance, hand on her hip. Ralak averts his attention to her, his eyes glancing down at her unborn moving in her belly. Although you were both six months pregnant, you were noticeably bigger than her. 

“A word.” Her serious tone of voice brings him out of deep thought, and her nudging head tells him that it’s something urgent. 

Ralak looks at you, not wanting to leave you alone but you smile and reassure him with a light nod. He clenches his jaw but you give him a gentle push towards Ronal. He squeezes your hand before letting go and leans in to plant a firm kiss on your forehead. You watch as he leaves, laying back and taking in the ripples in the curtain as you strain to hear their hushed conversation. 

“Ronal. Oe irayo si ngaru. [Thank you]” Ralak begins, bowing before the shorter na’vi.

“I worry for your mate.” Ronal cuts to the chase, using her hand to guide him further away from the curtain. 

“For what reason?” He asks, keeping his head hung to hear what she has to say. They walk until they’re nearly at the entrance of the healing pod. 

“Your son is fast growing.” She speaks calmly but quickly.

Ralak is a little puzzled, although he doesn’t show it. Is that such a bad thing? He continues to look down at her with the same expression, listening intently to what the tsahìk speaks of.

“Her body will struggle. Birth will be hard. Very long and painful.” Now Ralak is having a hard time keeping his emotions concealed as they chisel themselves into his features. Yet he remains silent. “You must warn her about mun’i [the cut].”

“Pxasìk [no way/fuck that]” Ralak curses through a hiss in his native tongue as he stands at full height, figuratively and literally taken aback. How dare she call that upon his mate? Ronal returns a low hiss as Ralak moves away from her, staring down at her with a mixture of emotions. 

Concern. Surprise. Fear. 

Mun’i [the cut] is rare and risky. Only three have been performed since the birth of this clan, all done in desperation when hope was gone. The last one was performed by Ronal's mother herself. It is an extremely invasive procedure where the mother is cut and the infant is removed. It’s only done in dire situations, where the mother is incapable of giving birth to their young naturally, and risks dying in the process.

Ralak can’t help but feel a burning anger amongst the sea of emotions flooding him at once. How could she suggest such a thing to him? Something so dangerous and grave? All because you will give birth to ‘a different kind’. He’s more than confident that you’re capable of this, despite the murmurs circulating the clan. 

He has always been aware of Ronal's perception of you, and her opinion about the mating. It was no secret, though she never outwardly told Ralak as he is like a son to her. She often insisted that you two were not compatible in more ways than one, and always saw you as the forest girl who needed special training. But to know that Ronal doubts your capabilities to give life ignites a flame in his chest. 

One that he must quickly put out. 

“Ralak!” 

He hears you call out for him, prompting him to quell the flame and shoot Ronal a glare of displeasure. “She is stronger than you know.” Ralak speaks through his teeth before turning his heel to tend to you. 

Heart pounding, he makes his way through the curtain to be met with the joyous sight of you cradling your stomach with a smile plastered to your face. That only further calms the flicker of the flame in his chest, making a smile tug at his lips. He sees you glance up at him, pearly teeth glistening in the luminosity of the night. 

“Sorry if I startled you, it’s just—he’s kicking so hard. Come, come feel!” You blubber excitedly, reaching out for his hand to place it on your belly. He slowly takes a knee, staying still as stone to soak up each movement. “He is so strong, Ralak. Like you.” You whisper, looking down at your mate doting on your bump. 

Though he should be proud of your words, he can’t help but feel a little nervous by them. If this child is really like him, then what Ronal said may have some truth to it. Yet he smiles, smoothing his thumb over your protruding belly button. 

“He is strong like his sa’nu [mummy].” He says softly, perhaps in attempts to reassure himself and calm his own nerves. Your smile only grows and you place your hand on top of his. 

“What did Ronal say?” Ralaks eyes snap up to yours, wide and almost panicked, wiping the smile off your face instantly. “Oh, no. Is it bad? Is something wrong?” 

“No, no. She says…” He drops his head, watching his unborn move as he contemplates telling you. You need rest, and this would further stress your mind and body. Ralak urges himself to smile—to create a new mask—one of feigned happiness. “…you must rest. Wait until sunrise.” 

“Oh, okay.” You exhale a sigh of relief, “Good. I—I can do that.” 

—— 

After such an eventful night, sleep found you easily. Ralak carried you up the marui stairs, tucked you into bed and watched as your eyes fluttered shut. And even so, he remained at your side for some time, ensuring you were deep in sleep before embarking on his new task. 

It began with a ‘quick’ trip inland for the right kind of wood. The kind that holds up well against the elements and the saltiness of the water. The kind that doesn’t have a slip to it when it's been wet for more than a few hours. It took a few trips to get it all back to the beach but it was more of an irritable task than a difficult one.

Ralak tried to keep as quiet as possible, spending the rest of the night—until sunrise—cutting and carving the wood, binding them together with twine, sap and wooden pins. And by the time the first few rays of sunlight beamed in, he was engraving his finishing touches. 

—

Ralak chucks down the tool and it lands into the sand with a muffled thud. Using the back of his strake to wipe his forehead clean of sweat, he looks up at his work for a final time—railings for the marui stairs. Then the bright ray of sun shines before his eyes, standing between his two new creations. 

You.

You’re surprised to see him out this early, still in his gear from last night. The realisation dawns on you that he’s been up all night, doing this. You can actually feel your chest warm up as your heart pumps the blood through your veins at an insane rate. It rushes to your cheeks, making them hot and flushed. 

“Is this what you’ve been doing all night?” You ask the question under your breath, dragging a hand along the railing. It’s smooth under the pads of your fingers, and warm to the touch, as if they’ve just been filed down. You notice a small carving on the side of the railing—your son’s initial.

R. 

“Mm.” He grunts, not that he could have slept anyways. He glances at the initial that you’re staring at. “I should have done it long ago.” The shame in his voice is loud and clear. You look down at your feet, unsure of what to say, noticing that he’s redone the steps too. 

“Ralak—”

“You must still wake me. Understand?” He cuts you off, already knowing what you’re about to say. 

You take a step down, holding tightly onto the railing with one hand and the other tucked under your bump. He rushes up the stairs and supports you by the arm. You lean into him for a hug, nuzzling your face into his chest. “… thank you, my love.” 

“Kea tìkin [no need (for thanks)].” He presses his lips onto the crown of your head, words muffled by your hair. His hand slips down your arm and rests on your lower back. “Still feeling pain?” 

“No. I feel good. Like new.” You smile, watching his features soften and his lips pull into a subtle smile. “Your son, too. He kicked me all night.” 

“Is that so, young one?” He leans down to speak to your belly as you watch intently, “you must be gentle with your sa’nu [mummy].” 

As he looks back up to you, your eyes follow his every move. And suddenly it’s just the two of you, before the orange glow of the sunrise, sharing this intimate gaze with one another. 

“Ralak… I see you.” You say softly, witnessing his pupils blow until there’s nothing but thin rings of blue.

He swallows, you see the lump in his throat undulate, and the balls of his cheeks stain a light pink. He blinks a few times, leaning in until his lips brush against yours. He lingers there for a bit, jaw fluttering as he grits his teeth a few times. He can’t help but feel a pang in his chest. 

How could he keep this from you?

“Oel ngat kame, ma’ muntxate.” He husks the words before locking his lips with yours.

But as he pulls away, you see the glint in his eye. When he sees your lowered brows and inquisitive eyes, he attempts to fix his mask of indifference—no, happiness. But you see right through it—

The glint of guilt. 

“What is it?” You ask, reaching behind him for his kuru. It’s your way of saying, 'no secrets'. He’s quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. Unsure of how to say what he should say. You urge him with a light tug to his queue, creating a little more distance between you to look him dead in the eye. “Ralak.”

“Ronal doubts…you.” He says plainly, trying hard to rid himself of the thought of childbirth taking you away from him.

“I don’t understand. What—what does that mean?” You ask, confused and worried. 

“I should have told you about it when you asked.” Ralak says, shaking his head. “But…you were already under so much stress. In pain. Our son—” 

“Ralak. Tell me about what?” You whisper quietly—quickly. Ralak looks at you, allowing a few seconds of silence to pass before he speaks. 

“Mun’i [the cut].” Ralak’s voice cracks with pain as the dreaded thought floods his mind. 

Ralak goes on to explain mun'i, giving you a brief lesson on its history and typical…outcome. He explains why Ronal urged him to warn you about it. And exactly what he told her in return. That he is confident that you are more capable of doing this. 

It ends with a comforting embrace and the both of you coming to the conclusion that a conservation with Jake is needed. If the cut were to happen, the sky people’s medical advancements would be…useful. 

——

Since then, Ralak adapted a very strict agenda when it came to the preparation of the birth. In some ways, it reminded you of the beginning of your relationship with him as teacher and student. Karyu and Numeyu. A revision of previous lessons, such as breathing lessons. 

—

“Deeper breaths, tanhì. Slow.” Ralak instructs you with his hand on your round belly. 

“It’s hard…” your voice is strained, “when his feet are in my lungs.” 

Ralak chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Right. Do your best.” 

You attempt to follow his demonstration a fifth time, inhaling deeply through your nose, holding it, and then slowly letting it out through your mouth. “Light headed now.”

“You did well.” Ralak praises you, snaking an arm around you as he lowers you onto your back. “You all right?” 

“Just fine.” You mutter, grateful for the new position. 

Ralak looks at you for a while, taking in a sight that may be similar to the one of you giving birth—giving life. The reality that you will soon be a family quickly dawns on him. The reality that… Ronal's words still weigh heavy on his heart.

“And when you bear down…” Ralak pulls your leg back, your knee now grazing against your cheek as they flush with embarrassment. “…shallow, fast breaths. Do not hold it.” 

He then demonstrates, emphasising the sound of the breathing technique to ensure you’re doing it properly.

'…hee—hee—hoo…'

You mimic his sounds, looking down to see nothing but your protruding bump. It may be strange to some that Ralak is teaching you a lesson on something such as childbirth. But with his mother-figure being the tsahìk, there were just certain things he grew to have knowledge of. 

“Ronal says there are times where it is best to allow your body to take over. Focus on breathing him out. Let your body do the work for you…” You nod slowly as you practice deep breathing in this new position, “…she will show you some positions in your lesson tomorrow.” 

"What?" Your ears perk up. For some reason one on one interactions with Ronal always make you nervous. 

“The other expecting women of the clan will be there.” 

Your ears relax, and you feel a little more at ease knowing you won’t be alone, even if it’s a sea of gossiping women. At least they were more discreet about it. 

——

As you neared the final months of your pregnancy, Ralak was called out more frequently. The aches and pains that came along with being so big were just as frequent, it seemed. They’d hit you at the strangest times, during your sleep or whilst on your tsurak.

But when the pain spread to your abdomen is when Ralak urged you to take things easy. But they didn’t stop him from going anywhere. No matter how badly he wanted to stay home and tend to you. It was more complicated than that. Something that you were blissfully unaware of. Something he wanted to keep that way until it was the right time to tell you. 

—

“Must you go?” You ask hopefully, tugging at his bicep. “You just got back.” 

“Tono will have my head, tahnì.” He states, buckling his chest gear yet another time for today. 

“It’s not fair. Not even the warriors back at home tree were called out so much. Especially if their mate was this far along.” You huff, letting go off his bicep to clutch your protruding belly. He cups a hand over yours, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Ah. I know, I know. I want to stay, I do—” He’s cut off by your sudden gasp, and your face screwing with discomfort. “Are you alright?” His voice turns fills with concern, head tilting even more so that he can look you in the face. It felt as if your back set ablaze and your stomach hardened into rock. It eases up within a few seconds and you take a quick breath before answering. 

“Yeah, I think so.” You feel around your bump, taking note of how it’s softened and back to normal. “…that’s the second one today.” 

“Hm. It is. See Ronal while I am gone.” Ralak insists, tucking a couple loose braids behind your ear. You nod in response, gritting your teeth from the reminder that he’s leaving again. “I will speak with Tonowari today.” 

He’s quick to kiss you, lingering longer than he should. You savor his tender touch, breathing him in until you’ve gotten your fill to last you until he’s back. He pulls away, a grimace fixed to his face as it’s almost painful to do. He rubs your belly a final time, clicking for his beast. Reluctantly, he leaves, and so do you.

—

‘Practice Contractions.’

Ronal’s diagnosis of your pains. 

You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept. Mom calls them something different, but it all means the same thing at the end of the day. The body’s way of preparing to give birth. The constriction of your stomach, accompanied by intense pain, at random times with no rhythm. 

It’s normal, and expected. Ronal was particularly pleased to see your body do this early in your pregnancy. It typically occurs a couple weeks prior to birth, and both of you weren’t due for another month. 

They’re nothing to worry about, but she advises to rest if they get too intense. You waddle home with your tail dragging behind you, unhappy to see no sign of your mates return. 

—

“You are late.” Tonowari speaks monotonously, back turned to Ralak as he keeps his eyes on his task—forging a new tool. Ralak has to swallow his frustration and maintain his confidence. 

“It will happen soon.” He responds in a similar tone, his eyes following as the olo’eyktan stands. “I must be with her.”

“I understand. I do. But—” Tonowari finishes up the last touches, giving the tool its final inspection. “This is your duty, son.”

“She, is my duty.” Ralak snaps, his frustration slipping through. 

Feeling challenged, Tonowari turns to face him, now eye level with Ralak as he slowly nears his subordinate—chest to chest. But with a pregnant mate of his own, and the fact that Ralak is like his own son, Tonowari huffs a sigh and gives this a pass.  

“This is for her, too. For the people of the clan. You know what we are about to face. You will do this.” The olo’eyktan states sternly. “When the horn sounds… you come. And that…” he shoves the tool into Ralak’s chest, “…is an order.” 

Holding the tool against his own chest, Ralak looks away from Tonowari, grinding his back teeth hard enough to file them flat. He breathes heavily, attempting to recenter himself and stamp out the flame flickering in his chest. Tonowari gives him space, going ahead and mounting his skimwing, readying himself to embark on their journey. Whilst Ralak is left behind to let out a sluggish, shaky breath, closing his eyes when it dawns on him...

…what he must do, where he must go and who he must see. 

All before coming home this evening. 

—

“Zu’té.”

Ralak calls his name outside of the secluded, dim marui pod. It’s familiar, yet so unknown. It’s an eerie feeling to be standing here. It’s as if no one’s home. Not a single flame burning, nor the residual heat of a smothered fire pit. But Ralak can sense his presence. It’s thick. Aggressive. Just as it’s always been. It’s only intensified since the incident. 

The silence is deafening now. A message loud enough to have Ralak reconsidering his actions—rethinking his feelings. No part of him really desired to ask anything of this man, much less this. But in the case Tonowari really doesn’t budge with his decision, it is something he must do. No matter how many years have passed. Ralak has moved on…come to terms with what’s happened, and is in a much better place in his life now. Because of you.

You.

He’s doing this for you. Or is he? The fact he’s fathered a child has a major influence on his decision to be standing here to begin with… perhaps it’s something within him driven by nature—by instinct. The further you’ve progressed, the more he’s thought about rekindling this relationship. But he always brushed off these passing thoughts, until they were no longer just thoughts that passed. They became thoughts that lingered and kept him awake some nights. 

Showing their faces the most when Tonowari reminds him of the imminent danger the clan may face.

They reminded him of the good times when they were children. Teasing the ilus when no one was looking, sneaking off to the reef where the adults went to hunt just to see what it was like. But it also reminded him of the more unfortunate moments they shared. Those that will forever leave a scar on their souls, branded by pain and suffering. Since then, Ralak took an oath to never allow his own family to suffer the way he did. 

If this is what he must do, he’ll do it.

“I am in need of a favour.” Ralak finally admits, witnessing a tall, thick silhouette emerge from the marui. 

At this angle, its darkness looms over Ralak ominously. Green glowing eyes peer down at Ralak as the figure's hands cross defensively over his chest. He steps out of the darkness, revealing his inked face and intricately up-kept hair. He looks as if he’s been disturbed or rudely interrupted, evident in the way his eyes pierce fearlessly into Ralak. But Ralak simply returns the leer. 

“Zu’té.” Ralak speaks his name again, a little more sternly this time.

“Brother. To what do I owe this visit?” His tone is sarcastic with undertones of hostility. 

Ralak sighs, turning his head away from his older brother, fixating his gaze elsewhere. His jawbone flutters as he struggles to figure out what words to string together next. This isn’t easy for him—being here with his tail tucked between his legs. 

“It is no way easy for me to ask you of this…I know we have not spoken for some time.”

“Really? You think so? I would say it has been a little more than ‘some time’, no?” Zu’té’s irritation is shining through now.

“Agreed.” Ralak speaks sharply, dropping his head, gaze piercing into his own feet. He swallows and sighs once more, finally lifting his head to look his brother in the face. "I need your help, brother."

“Hm.” Zu’té scoffs, meeting his stare flagrantly. “Let me get this right. You come here, wake me out my sleep, speak to me like this for the first time in over forty-eight seasons…and demand my help?”  

“You are the only one I trust with this.” Ralak grinds out the words, they are hard to admit. 

This quietens Zu’té, causing his features to soften and his fixed stare to falter. To hear this after twelve years, straight from his brother’s mouth has him a little taken aback. There’s only one thing that it could mean—that could bring the golden child before him, begging for a favour. 

War. 

“What does our ‘mighty’ olo’eyktan have you up to now, baby brother?” Zu’té’s tone is especially sardonic when speaking of their father-figure. 

“Plenty.” Ralak chuckles quietly, shaking his head in amusement. His curved lips fade into a thin line, returning his grim expression when he’s reminded yet again of his exact reason for being here. “Look…” Ralak exhales, “...it is nowhere likeable for me to show my face like this. Trust me, I have thought of every possible solution. But…" he shakes his head, hesitant to share what he must say next. "My mate...she is pregnant."

Zu’té’ sighs when he realizes the gravity of the situation, eyes narrowing as they look behind Ralak to scan his surroundings. He’s far from all of the neighbouring marui pods, being the last pod along the mangroves. But if someone were nearby, they could eavesdrop with ease.

Zu’té lightly nudges his head, giving Ralak the silent signal to enter his marui. Ralak moves slowly, a little surprised by his change in...heart. Annoyed with Ralak's sluggish movement, Zu’té rolls his eyes.

“What? You expect an invitation?" Zu’té asks the rhetorical question loud and clear, watching in awe as his not-so-little brother stands almost eye to eye with him. "...you've grown."

"Surprised?" Ralak mutters, ears spasming from his brother's comment—shuffling past him.

"Don't get smart with me, little brother." Zu’té snaps with his ears pinned to his skull, automatically slipping back into disciplining his younger brother like he once used to. Ralak fights the smirk pulling at his lips, making his way further into the neat, well-decorated marui.

——

Ralak came home that night, as he does most nights nowadays with a heavy tail and tensed muscles. That night he broke the news that he had no luck with Tonowari. That he remained tied to his duties as a warrior, teacher, hunter and evidently more…that you had no knowledge of. 

But he made it clear that none of them came before you—his most important duty of all. He promised not only to your father, but also to you, to put you first, no matter what. That he will do whatever he needs to ensure your safety is never compromised. Even if it means putting his pride aside, and asking for help, as he did that night. 

The desire to prepare for your son's arrival grew with each passing day, making you nest like an expecting ikran. You smoked enough meat to last for the next couple months, and gathered as many herbs and fruits that you could manage.

Weaving has been one of your more frequent tasks, making a couple slings and a few more blankets. Ralak was quick to build the cot when he got into a nesting frenzy, too.

But regardless of what your next task was, it was always a little bit harder…a little bit more tiring. Until you were so round and heavy that most of them became unachievable. Your size started to affect you in more ways than just physical. It started to affect you mentally, too. Playing tricks on your mind, making you think negatively about yourself.

And Ralak picked up on that very quickly. 

——

As you wait for his return, you give the marui another deep clean. You take small breaks often, sitting down whenever you become short of breath.

Whilst you sweep the patio, you see your mate trudge up the stairs, ears pinned back and exhaustion wrinkled into his forehead. Ralak sees you and wastes no time to take the broom from you and pull you into his chest. 

He holds you in silence. Comfortable silence. Savouring how you feel against his body. The thud of your heartbeat, the warmth of your skin. You’re his safe place. His home. As he is yours. His embrace is what you look forward to the most after a long day apart. 

Perhaps this is what you both need. A moment of peace and quiet, where your focus is purely on the person in front of you. A break from the mayhem that life can entail, from the pull and push of the rough tides. Serenity. All to be interrupted by Ralak pulling away, holding you by the arms to create some distance between you two. 

Furrowed brows and beaded eyes stare back at you when you look at him. He’s staring at you, but not at you. His eyes pierce into your chest, and then peel away to flick down at his stomach. A smile creeps on his face, and a huff of air through his nostrils as he chuckles softly. His gaze finally meets yours, and he lets go of your arms.

“Your milk is in.” He almost whispers, his fingertips grazing against your stomach. 

“What?” You breathe, caught off guard to say the least. Your head snaps down, eyes searching every inch of your shawl to find two large, growing wet spots on it. “O-Oh.” You stutter, looking back up at him, catching sight of the glistening liquid on his stomach. “Oh.” 

Your cheeks grow hot when blood rushes to them from embarrassment. Just another thing pregnancy has bestowed upon you. “Sorry, Lak.” You turn to reach for the nearby cloth that hangs by the window. 

“What for?” He asks innocently—a little confused. 

He watches as you wipe him down in an almost frantic manner. He stills your movements by grasping your wrists, causing you to drop the cloth. He brings your hands to his lips.

“Mawey [Calm]. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He speaks into the palm of your hands. You hear his words, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Hey.” 

He lets go, and cups your cheek, urging you to look at him. When you finally do, he’s smiling down at you, allowing his hand to slip down to the bow of your shoulder—his fingers hooking underneath the hem of your shawl. “Let me clean you up, hm?” 

“Oh—okay.” You stutter shyly, feeling his fingers slip under the woven fabric to slip it off your shoulders. “W-Wait.”

And when the material hits the floor, a shiver shakes your spine. Your breasts are exposed to the cool air, sticky nipples hardened into peaks for him to see. They’ve darkened in colour, and are even a little more puffy too.

Honestly, you weren’t the biggest fan of them anymore. You wore thicker tops or shawls to conceal them, just as you did your stomach with your new…stripes. But Ralak loves them, always stealing a glance at every given chance. 

But to know that they’re full with milk makes him feel…on edge. 

His eyes bore into them, unapologetically taking in every detail. His smile falls into a slight smirk, which then droops into a thin line. His jaw flutters as he grits his teeth, biting back his urges. 

“Don’t stare.” You whisper shyly, covering your chest with one arm and your belly with the other. He looks at you, and reaches for your arms, peeling them away from your body. 

“Beautiful.” He states as a fact, intertwining his fingers with yours. “So beautiful, carrying my child.” 

“‘m really not.” You mumble, looking away in shame. You feel his hand move to your face, two fingers tugging at your jaw to have you look up at him. When you finally give in to his nudges, you see the look on his face. It was as if you had deeply and personally offended him.

“You are.” He insists softly. 

You simply shake your head, arms instinctively wrapping around your chest and belly once more. “I don’t feel it. I don’t even know how you can look at me and say that.” 

Ralak almost feels angered by your words. It hurts him to hear you speak of yourself in such a way, especially when it’s far from the truth. If anything, he’s even more attracted to you. Knowing that this is what your body is going through to bring his child into the world has made him even more appreciative of you. 

“Never say such things.” He husks firmly, removing your hands from your body and keeping them in his grasp. “Do not hide.” 

“You have barely touched me.” You retaliate, voice cracking with hurt. 

“Not for that reason.” He’s quick to cut you short, making sure you know that the last thing stopping him from pouncing on you every chance he gets is the way you look. Absolutely not. 

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, then—”

Frustrated, Ralak shoves your hand onto his loincloth, pressing it firmly against the bulge that strains against the material. “You feel that?” 

You do, you feel every inch of it, hard and warm against your palm. Your face heats up even more, cheeks staining a bright red. Your breath turns raggedy as you struggle to find the words to say. 

“Hm?” He grunts as he presses himself even harder against the palm of your hand. 

“Y-Yes.” You stutter. Ralak turns you around, pressing himself into you from behind. His heated lips are flush against your ear, hot breath prickling your skin. 

“This is what you do to me.” Ralak husks into the shell of your ear, grinding his bulge into the swell of your ass. “Day after day.” He groans almost painfully, filled with all sorts of emotions. He holds you firm against his body, grazing his bottom teeth against the lobe of your ear. “All it takes is a single glance.” His words have your clit pulsing under your tewng and your thighs rubbing against one another. “The sight of you…of your swollen breasts… your swollen womb…” he hisses, on edge and high strung as he caresses your belly, “…it makes me lose myself.” 

“Fuck.” You breathe, reaching behind you to tug his loincloth down in a frantic manner. You feel his lips nibble and nip at the skin behind your ear, making their way down the back of your neck. You can’t help but moan from the feeling, your already stiff nipples tingling from his gentle touches. 

You feel his hands wander over your stomach and under your tewng, his fingers fondling your folds as he gently parts them. He grunts against your neck, inhaling your scent deep in his lungs as his hips stutter into you. Your stickiness coats his fingers as they slip and slide over your hardened nub. 

You tug even harder at his loincloth, struggling to get the annoying thing off him. You let out a frustrated grunt, and he lets loose an amused chuckle, peppering soft kisses down to the bow of your shoulder.

“What is it? Need me to take you right here?” He husks low, voice muffled by his continuous kisses. “…where someone may see?” 

Right, you’re on the patio. 

Out in the open, under the light of the moon. Ralaks marui pod is far from the village on a cul de sac. The only thing further than here is sand, open water and a couple smaller islands off in the distance. However, there' is's always the slim chance of a na’vi or two going for a late night swim or on a romantic adventure far from the village.

But you simply didn’t care. 

If anything it only riles you up more—the riskiness of it all, the thought of being caught. The need to be sneaky and quiet, when all you want to do is moan his name until your voice goes dim. It seems that Ralak feels similarly as you feel him throb against you, excited to take you where you stand. 

“I don’t mind.” You huff shakily, finally tugging the cloth down enough for his cock to spring out. “Do you?” 

You feel him smile against your shoulder when you grip it in your hand, smooth teeth bumping into your skin as his free hand cups your full breast. 

“Not at all, my tanhì.” He breathes, gently kneading the soft flesh, feeling the trickle of your milk flow over the back of his hand. 

“Good.” Your lungs tremble beneath his touch, hand desperately stroking his length. Yet he remains gentle with his touches, pinning your clit between his two fingers as he rubs you slowly. “Then hurry…I need you inside.” 

Ralak quickly moves his kisses back up your neck, and you feel the tip of his tongue tickle the lobe of your ear before he suckles on it lightly. Tingles ripple up your spine, sending your head into a shiver as you lean into his mouth. His fingers dip into your soaking core just as he rolls your tender nipple between his other two digits. 

It’s all too much. All-consuming. Making you gasp for air in lungs that won’t seem to fill. Fog clouds your head. How did you get here? How did this happen? Fuck, it doesn’t matter. Not when you feel like this.

You’re already so sensitive as it is, so tender and delicate, like silk under his fingers. He pushes his two fingers even deeper inside your aching pussy, curling them and earning a whimper from your lips and quiver of your tail.

“Not too loud, oeyä sevin muntxate [my pretty/beautiful wife]”. Ralak whispers the hushed praise, knowing it’s what you need to hear. 

You’re so much warmer around his fingers than usual, so much softer. Wetter. With each curl of his digits comes out a squelch as he works you open for his cock that he’s been dying to plunge inside you. 

You wrap your leg around his, perching your heel on the side of thigh as you lean all your weight back into him. He steadies his knees, supporting you with ease. Your head slumps back into his shoulder, opening up your neck to his hot breaths, an arm reaching behind you to fist his hair. 

His brows are tense and his breath is heavy. He’s overcome with arousal and he can’t keep his composure as your scent grows stronger now your throat is directly under his nose. Truthfully it’s been too long, he knows that. He knows he’s been too protective, too cautious. Depriving you and him of the touch that’s necessary between a mated pair. 

His fingers slip out of you, now expertly unravelling the loose knot just barely keeping your tewng on you. As it drops to the floor his fingers are back where they were, rubbing sloppy circles into your clit before spreading your pussylips apart. His hips stutter as he attempts to align the crown of his cock with your slit and finally buck forward when he senses your little, exposed hole. 

His cock sinks inside you at an achingly slow pace—inch by inch. You let loose a lengthy moan when you feel him fill you completely, no longer caring if anyone hears you. 

“Hnng—I missed you.” The gruff words slip out as he bottoms out inside your cunt. He has longed to feel your gummy walls squeeze oh-so tightly around his cock. “You alright?” He checks on you in a daze, voice thick with want—with the desire to pummel your little pussy until your voice is hoarse. But the last thing he wants is to hurt his heavily pregnant mate. 

“Mhm, ple-ase.” You purr with need, closing your eyes and relaxing completely into him. Trusting someone this much feels too good. Ralak moves slowly, pumping his cock in and out of you in a languid haze, tickling your sensitive clit with just the tips of his fingers. 

“Tanhì—haah—you are squeezing me so tight.” Ralak moans as his strokes grow with intent. His hips roll deep, shoving and forcing his cock inside your sensitive cunt until his swollen balls kiss your clit. 

He’s unapologetically coaxing out the orgasm you’ve been denied for so long with only a few lazy thrusts. And he knows it. He can feel it from the way you clench around him. From the way your thighs tremble a little more after each deep stroke…from the sweet, filthy noises that shamelessly drip from your lips. 

“Oh my—Ralak! I-I’m gonna—” You sputter the words between choked sounds, eyes welling with tears from the burn between your legs. 

“I know, I know.” He huffs, dragging his hot tongue along the length of your throat. The truth is, he’s close too. But he can’t allow himself to finish inside you. He can’t risk letting himself go and pounding recklessly into your poor, tender pussy. He’s already had a long day. “Let it out, tìyawn [love].”

Its almost cathartic. 

Weeks of pent up frustration released in a few minutes, leaving you near convulsing in his grip. You can’t stop the flutter of your pussy walls if you try, it’s out of your control, much like the surge of white fire going right through you. Your legs fight to stay open and you hold onto your mate to keep you standing. Gurgled noises spill from your lips as your body shudders under him. His hips still, keeping his cock buried to the hilt inside your quivering cunt as he holds you tight, supporting you until you finish riding out your high. 

“Good girl. Good girl.” He praises you in a hushed, shaky voice, extremely wound up from feeling you flourish so beautifully under his touch. It's a miracle that he didn't empty himself inside you right then and there. 

“But you—but you haven’t—” You sputter, collapsing into him as your legs give out. 

“I know. It is alright..” He hums, carefully leading you inside the marui to lay you on the bed. 

“Thought you were c-cleaning me u-up. Not mak-king m-more of a mess.” Your breath is relentlessly hitching as you watch him hastily remove his tewng that’s been digging into his thighs. A reminder of exactly how quickly things happened. 

“You are right.” Ralak tsks, cocking a brow as he stares down at you with a predatory leer. “I did say that, didn’t I?” 

Ralak situates himself between your legs, crouching over you, ensuring there’s plenty of space between him and your stomach. His cock presses between your sticky folds as his lips press against your clammy neck. He tastes the faint saltiness of the thin film of sweat on your skin as he drags his lips down your chest—between your breasts. 

“Lak…” You whisper, back bowing against the bed. 

You’re way too sensitive right now, like an exposed nerve. His eyes snap up and lock with yours, responding to you moaning his name. His tongue darts out, sampling a taste of the spilled milk on your breast. Then his eyes slam shut, tensed brows and scrunched nose telling you that he’s unsure of the flavour in his mouth. 

Eyes widening, you’re taken aback by his actions, feelings of shyness and embarrassment creeping back in. Fisting his hair, you pull gently at his head to pry him off your chest, only for him to resist your tugs. 

“You shouldn’t have done—why’d you do—” You struggle to find the right words at this moment, flustered and nervous that he’d do that. 

But what leaves you even more speechless is when he opens his eyes to reveal dots for pupils, a look you only see when he’s high strung. And then he eagerly takes your nipple into his mouth, latching on and ensuring the suction is airtight. The tip of his tongue flicks at your hardened nipple a few times before he gently suckles at your breast.

A tingling sensation radiates your chest and you feel it in the pit of your stomach. Your breath catches in your throat, a little surprised by his lewd behaviour. And soon, all you can hear are the repeated, muffled gulps of your warm milk flowing down his throat.

“W-What are yo-ou d-doing, my love?” You mewl, squirming underneath him from the strange feeling. He unlatches harshly with an audible pop, leaving your pointed nipple misshapened and exposed. 

“Cleaning you.” He huffs quickly as he catches his breath, diving back in to lap up the milk leaking from your other neglected breast. Your head throws back in what is undeniably pleasure now, legs tightening around his waist. You look down in a daze, watching him feast greedily, feeling his hips begin to stammer against you. 

“Fuck—I didn’t know this i-is what you meant.” You’re finally calming down from your orgasm now, already feeling your body gearing up to have another. His desperation is pungent. Evident in the way his cock grinds between your soft, slippery folds, scenting your cunt with it. 

He pulls off you with yet another pop, his tongue swiping his bottom lip so not to let the bead of milk dripping off of it go to waste. He’s huffing and puffing against you, trailing his wet kisses down your curved stomach as he tucks your legs back. You feel his hot breath against your thighs and your legs tremble in anticipation. 

“Kalin, kalin [sweet, sweet].” He mumbles, kissing your pulsing clit. “Oeyä kalin [My sweet].” 

“Oh shit.” You let loose the breathy curse when you feel his lips pucker around your over sensitive nub, and squeal when he begins to suck on it too. Your hands fly to his head, grasping at his hair to shove his face further into your cunt. He devours you with exhilaration, lapping at your leaking slit to savour your sweetness. 

His cock is aching now. He’s so hard it’s painful. He can’t stop throbbing and his cock strains so hard it’s swollen. He wants to shove himself back inside you— your warmth—and hump at you until his marked you with his essence. 

He can’t help but touch himself as he pleasures you. Stroking his cock with every lick of your pussy. Thrusting into his hand when he feels you throb against his tongue. He’s groaning and grunting into your cunt, urgently chasing his own release as he sucks on you for his own pleasure. 

Too busy to realise that you’ve been begging him to slow down a bit. That you’re too sensitive. That you feel like you may explode if he continues. 

“Ralak! I just came! F-Fuck—” You yank his head away, hurriedly rubbing at your sore pussy.

Ralak pants for air, pulling back into a standing position to reveal that he’s been fucking his hand this entire time. It’s glossy with his precum as it dribbles down his strake. He’s frantically stroking himself, staring brazenly down at your pussy—taking in how it’s flushed and swollen, glistening with his spit and your slick. It’s a delicious sight, tempting him to go in for another taste. 

He’s close and you can tell, his hips are stuttering erratically and he’s groaning like a dying man. You sit up slowly, bringing yourself to your knees as you shuffle your way closer to him. Your chest is level to his cock and you cup your full breasts with both hands, pushing them together only inches away from him. 

He seems a little confused, unsure of what your next move may be. Fuck, you aren’t even sure of what your next move is. But you’re going with your instinct, pinching your nipples until they begin to leak milk. His brows jump, the sight of that sends his hips stammering into his hand. With each huff and thrust sends his cock a little closer to you, until his swollen cockhead is poking at your breasts. 

You shuffle a little closer, moaning softly from watching him get off like this. Then you feel his sticky cock slip in between your breasts, and his hand falls to your shoulders. 

Now he’s fucking your tits in a frenzy, his leaking tip prodding at your lips. You stick your tongue out for a taste, allowing his cockhead to slip and slide against it. He’s groaning and moaning, eyes fixed in the sight beneath him. The pressure from his fat cock between your breasts only makes you leak even more, and that’s when he loses it completely.

“Oh, fuck.” He growls, thrusting hard enough to shove his cockhead into your mouth. You feel him throb violently against your tongue, his thick, hot load coating your cheeks until they're full to the brim. He pulls out as soon as he realises what he’s down, immediately reaching for your bedside bucket to spit in. 

But you shake your head, glossy eyes staring up at him as you swallow his cum with a singular, loud gulp. His eyes bulge, his hands flying to cup your cheeks as he quickly searches your eyes. You simply smile, using a thumb to swipe the single bead of cum on your chin and pop it into your mouth. 

Features softening, he returns the smile, chest heaving wildly as it swells with pride. 

——

#ralak #ralak smut #avatar smut #awow smut #metkayina #metkayina smut #metkayina oc #oc smut #avatar oc smut #awow oc smut #sully reader #sully reader x oc #oc x sully reader #oc x sully reader smut #na'vi smut #na'vi x reader #na'vi x sully reader #na'vi avatar #smut #metkayina x omaticaya #metkayina x omaticaya smut #metkayina x fem reader #ralak x y/n #ralak x reader #ralak x you #pregnancy smut #na'vi pregnancy #na'vi pregnant #ralak pregnant #avatar pregnancy

[jess-the-vampire]

In the background Hunter could hear the protests of the quickly arrested cult members, shouting in anger as he grabbed hold of their "resurrected savoir". He held the small grimwalker in his arms, knowing he was probably cold and terrified from all the commotion.

"Guess we didn't make it in time", he turned to see luz, out of breath, placing herself next to him. "No, No, i think we made it in time just fine, he's not hurt at least", the little boy was still crying as he attempted to soothe him with some rocking motions. He had little experience with this, but it did seem to be working, as the baby snuggled just a little closer to him.

"Hunter, you know what I meant, now that he's here he needs someone to look after him so those belos freaks don't try and get their wriggly hands on him again", She then began to eye him questionably as he held the baby closer, catching onto his thought process before he could even pitch the idea.

"Hunter....you sure this is a good idea for you of all people to-? I mean, if it makes you a bit uncomfortable I'm sure me and amity could-"

"I'm the only other one out there who understands, and we have a room he can stay in, it's no big deal, If he's with one of us he'll be in good hands"

She still didn't seem entirely sure, and maybe to an extent he wasn't either.

But he also couldn't bare to let it happen again, not to another one, and it wouldn't if he was there.

He gave her a cheeky smile instead, "Besides, he's super cute, and he already likes me". The woman snorted, but even she couldn't protest to that, "Ok, i give you that, but if we're doing this don't expect me to not be the nosiest aunt in the world and make sure you aren't falling apart".

He poked her, "I expect nothing less".

The small baby had fallen asleep, finally at some peace since he popped from the ground, Hunter following the others out of the cave as he kept him close.

There was bound to be more commotion to follow as word got around on the isles that some witches attempted to resurrect a man long gone and feared among the isles, and the result was being taken in by the former right hand man.

But right now, hunter wanted nothing more then to make sure the lil guy felt safe and sound.

After all, it's what he would've wanted all those years ago.

#my art #the owl house #toh #toh hunter #hunter toh #the golden guard #golden guard #hunter wittebane #hunter noceda #hunter clawthorne #hunter deamonne #emperor belos #philip wittebane

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐍

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: one too many times luffy has allowed himself to hit the sea, sinking beneath her waves, completely at ease with the trusted fact that you would save him. this time, though, you've had enough.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: luffy x mermaid!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.9k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: continuation of this fic, a liiiiitle bit of angst, fluff, feminine terms used, requested

Your chest heaved as you glared through slitted eyes, targeting your limp and drenched captain who lay beside you. Your tail scraped uncomfortably against the wood of the deck, water dripping off your nose, cheeks, and shoulders.

"Why," you seethed, "On this wide blue sea did you even conceive that jumping after the bitch was a good plan?"

He sputtered up some water, laughing dopily as his eyes met yours. "I thought I could catch 'im. 'Sides, you saved me, didn't ya?"

Fists coiling on the ground, you gritted your teeth and thought to lash out your nails at him. "I am not your lifeguard, Luffy. Did you even consider that it hurts me when you put yourself in danger like that?" You thought back to the battle, growing blind to the awkward presence of the crew. "I was stuck fighting two of those pirates! What if I hadn't made it in time?"

"But... you did," he shrugged, not understanding one bit. He trusted you, and why shouldn't he? You're his mermaid, his favorite mermaid in the whole world ("You only know one mermaid, Luffy." "And I don't wanna know another!")

Ticking your teeth, you couldn’t stand to just lay there any longer. "Zoro, take me away."

After huffing to himself, Zoro lowered himself at your side, hooking your arms round his neck and scooping you up into his broad arms. Luffy's eyes narrowed, but he remained unable to lift his head more than a few inches, forced to watch his first mate carry you to your room.

He cast a look around, befuddled. "What did I do wrong?"

Nami sighed with a shake of her head. "Idiot."

All afternoon he replayed what had happened, muttering to himself all that could have gone wrong, anything to pinpoint why you were so worried. Did you not trust yourself? Or perhaps... no... it couldn't be that.

Luffy searched you out, brows met in a stiff crease. You sat perched atop the barrel dragged up against the window of the girl's cabin, soft melodies slipping from your lips, your legs wrapped up in your arms. Luffy could listen to you all day long and never tire of the beautiful tones of your voice.

You caught him leaning on the doorframe, snapping your mouth shut mid-song. Pressing your cheek to your knees, you turned away from him. "Go away."

Instead, Luffy came closer, taking a seat on your bed with crossed legs. "Why're you still mad at me?"

"Because," you hissed, trailing off less convicted, "you scared me today."

He blinked, shifting around. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me anymore. I wanted to talk to you all afternoon but you'd locked the door."

Finally lifting your head, eyes softening, you relented, "I'm not mad anymore. Just please don't do that again, not on purpose."

Soft smile splitting his face, he nodded firmly. "Promise." He scooted over to allow you room next to him, leaning back on his palms as you lay on your side and propped your head on his knee. "Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away."

"Will you ever go back?" His question had you rolling over to stare up at him. "To your home. The reef."

"Oh." Throat dry, you couldn't draw your gaze away from his, forced to face his curiously tilted head. "I suppose so. Someday. I am a princess after all. It'd be... wrong to abandon my kingdom."

"Right." Luffy nodded, eyes unfocused. "And... what if you didn't?"

It was a question you'd been wondering about a lot lately, particularly when you spent time with Luffy. "My parents would choose a new heir. One of the young warriors probably... But I couldn't ask that of them. Besides, being the queen of my reef is my destiny. What would I do instead?"

Luffy fought internally, words prying their way up, up, up, and out, until he snapped his head away and stared at the wall. "You could go back and be queen there... or you could stay, and be queen here, with me."

Internally, you were screaming. Eyes wide, you slowly rose to sit beside him, a hungry look on your face. Your lips parted in surprise, revealing the two shiny fangs Luffy often found himself mesmerized by, wondering what they would feel like if he...

"Your queen?" You asked breathlessly. "You'd want me to be Queen of the Pirates?"

He nodded, halfway into a soft reply when you flung yourself at him, nosing at his neck and clutching at his sides till he was giggling beneath you. "That--That tickles!"

Laughing along with him, you grazed a fang over his chin, looming over him with eyes alit by unfurling joy. "The reef can find a new queen."

Luffy beamed up at you, his hands finding your waist, laughter rolling off his tongue even as you swiftly narrowed your expression. "So long as you don't scare me like that again! I'll only save you if you need it!"

He hissed out one last giggle through his teeth before tugging you down into a tight embrace. "Okay, okay. I promised, all right?"

Curling around him, you nearly jittered from the mere happiness swirling inside you. "All right."

Your parents would fight this, for certain. Their princess, their heir running off with a pirate was one thing, but claiming to never return for her birthright was entirely different. Something entirely more scandalous.

And you really couldn't care less. Let them try to take you away, you thought, feeling Luffy's heartbeat beneath your palm. You were a daughter of the sea, and he felt strangely like sunlight incarnate.

A king and his queen, to be known 'round the seas.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@100520s

#one piece x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #luffy x yn #monkey d luffy x you #monkey d luffy x y/n

[pickingupmymercedes]

Boy from Stevenage - Lewis Hamilton

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none, tooth rooting fluff, Lewis being vulnerable

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Felt like fluff was due, so totally self-indulgent nonsense I wrote after hearing bits of his speach for his GQ Awards.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

You leaned against the doorway as Lewis moved restlessly across the room, his brow furrowed with concentration. A braid kept falling into his face, and he kept tucking it behind his ear. He muttered to the reflection in the mirror, his expression serious as he practiced his speech for the GQ Awards ceremony, rehearsing it with the same intensity he would study race tracks.

A smile tugged at your lips. It was endearing, this nervous energy that usually only manifested before a race, and that so few got to see, filling the master bathroom of his NYC apartment. Tonight, however, the only race was against his stubborn desire to perfectly deliver his message.

When he finally sighed in frustration, you decided to fully enter the room. He caught your reflection in the mirror, and his face softened, the tension momentarily lessened.

"Hey," you tilted your head, offering a small smile.

He straightened, taking a deep breath. "Hi. How long have you been there?"

You shrugged, reaching for the fingers that gripped the marble. "A minute or two. Just… watching the master at work."

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "More like a nervous wreck."

He gestured vaguely to the crumpled paper clutched in his hand. "Do you think it's alright? I don't want to sound… pompous."

You reached out for him, turning his face to look him in the eye, your fingers smoothing the worry lines on his brow with your thumb. "Lewis," you started, your voice soft. "Nobody's going to think you're pompous. They're going to be captivated."

His eyes, the warm brown that stole your breath every time, met yours with a glint of nervousness. "You really think so?"

A soft smile and chuckle spread through your features. It was a challenge, putting your admiration for him into words. You weren’t one for grand gestures or over-the-top declarations. It was in the quiet moments, the shared understanding, the unspoken language that existed only between the two of you that you showed him how much he meant to you.

"They'll all be in love with you," you finally said, a loving spark in your eyes. "Just like I am."

He chuckled, a hint of relief washing over him. "Smooth, (Y/N)."

You took his hand, gently pulling him away from the mirror. "Come on," you said, urging him towards the plush armchair in the bedroom nestled by the window. "Let's forget about speeches for a while."

He followed willingly, sinking into the chair with a sigh as he dragged you down with him. You settled on his lap, pulling your legs comfortably on top of his on the stool. The city lights became a shimmering backdrop to your comfortable silence.

"I’m really proud of you," your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers danced on his chest and he looked out the window.

His hand automatically sought yours. You squeezed gently. "More than you can imagine," you admitted.

"Sometimes it all feels a bit overwhelming," he confessed, his voice raw. "The platform, the attention, the expectation to be a voice for everything."

"You don't have to be a voice for everything, though," you countered, your voice firm as he locked his gaze on your intertwined fingers. "But what you do choose to speak up about… that's what makes me so proud."

He looked at you, his eyes searching your face. "Even the stuff that makes some people uncomfortable?"

You let out a proud smile and a knowing giggle. "Especially those. You use your platform to speak when others won’t."

He squeezed your hand, gratitude evident in his tone and his eyes. "Maybe you should be writing the speeches after all."

You laughed, a soft sound that filled the room. "You just need to be reminded that you're Lewis Hamilton, not a nervous rookie on his first podium."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, his arms embracing you as he turned his head, placing a soft kiss on your temple. "Thank you, love. But we really need to get going," he whispered, just before he picked you up and put you back down on the armchair, heading back to the bathroom.

As Lewis got in the shower, you couldn't help but steal a glance at the crumpled speech in his hand. You knew he wasn't one to brag about his achievements, but a part of you yearned to understand the weight of the words he was struggling with.

Carefully, you reached out and picked up the paper. It was filled with Lewis's handwriting, edits scrawled across some lines. You scanned the opening, your heart swelling. It wasn't about self-praise or glorifying his victories. It was a heartfelt dedication to the countless individuals who had supported him on his journey, from his early days karting in Stevenage until now.

He spoke of his family, the unwavering pillar behind him, their sacrifices paving the way for his dreams. He mentioned his mentors and heroes, those who had nurtured his talent and those who had inspired him to push to be his best. He even acknowledged his rivals, the competitors that had honed his skills and fueled his relentless pursuit of excellence.

But then, there was a section that was heavily underlined, a paragraph riddled with question marks and crossed-out phrases. It was about the kids that he hoped to have inspired.

He wrote about the grounding effect they had on his own path. He spoke of how he, too, was an impressionable young boy, wishing for something greater.

You knew sometimes Lewis struggled to express his emotions openly, yet here he was, trying to articulate the depth of what it meant to him to be put on the same pedestal as his heroes.

It was the written proof of how much this award, how much this entire platform, meant to him – a chance to not just be Lewis Hamilton, the champion, but Lewis, the boy who had aimed for the stars and received the moon as a gift.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. You pictured the faces in the opulent ballroom, expecting a typical self-congratulatory speech from the motorsport legend. The surprise on their faces when Lewis poured his heart out, his voice thick with a vulnerability they wouldn't have anticipated, would be priceless.

He may be a titan on the racetrack, but here, in the quiet intimacy of the apartment, he was simply Lewis, the man who might fumble with expressing his emotions but whose actions spoke volumes.

As you two rode in the backseat towards the gala, the city lights morphing into a mesmerizing dance of colors, you snuggled closer to Lewis, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm.

"Hey," you whispered, tracing a finger across the back of his hand.

He jolted out of his thoughts, his eyes looking for yours. "Hmm?"

"You know," you began, searching for the right words, "you don't need to win over that entire room tonight. You just need to make that brave boy from Stevenage proud."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #lh #lh44 #lewis #lewis x reader #lewis imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton x you

[readychilledwine]

✨️ACOTAR Hands Handcanons✨️

Warnings - sexual references

A/N - "But liz! Where is Az?" I didn't include Azriel because I don't think some people understand how brutally scarred his hands are. A lot of people headcanon him wear rings and watches to distract from his scarring, but his scarring would be so brutal from his hands being set on fire with oil that wearing jewelry for him would be nearly impossible and more than likely very uncomfortable both physically and in the sense that jewelry will draw attention to his hands, something we know canon Azriel hates. If it is wanted, I will do a reblog with Azzy's hands, but they will be accurate, not pretty.

Also, if you're a hand whore like I am, you have to go look at this post from the lovely @thehighladywrites about asking for hand pics 🥵🥵 it's one of my favorites.

✨️ Acotar Body Headcanons Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

Rhys

Rhys is a firm believer in hands speaking of how well you care for yourself, so the man have perfect hands.

Rhys keeps his nails neat and trimmed, his cuticles cut, and his nail bed moisturized.

Rhys has fine hand creams imported from across the seas. It's made with water from some river you don't remember the name of. It matches his skincare line. Very spoiled Illyrian baby.

Rhys does have calloused hands, but they are not rough and dry. The calloused mainly rest towards the top of his palm near where his fingers begin. It's one small sigh of his skill with blades.

Rhys like to accessorize, but not too much, a few unique rings and a bracelet

Cassian

We're just here to make sure @sarawritestories can't sleep without dreaming of Cassian.

These are some of my favorite hands in all of Hollywood. Say hello to the hands of Alexander Skarsgård. His hands are massive.

Cassian does have rougher hands, but he can not help it. He's tried Rhysie little princess routine, but it doesn't work. That is more than likely due to the fact that he's constantly training and teaching someone.

You truly do not mind, though. Cassian's callouses and small scars in his hands remind you that you are safe. That no one will ever harm you as long as he is around.

One of Cassian's favorite acts of service you provide for him is little at home hand care sessions. You will soak his hands in warm water and then wash and care for them. You trim his nails, apply cuticle oils, and then use a very expensive lotion that helps keep his hands softer.

Cassian's hands are constantly on you. His favorite placement is when he gets to cup under your breasts. Preferably below your shirt. And he doesn't care who sees him doing it. His second favorite placement is your hips or ass.

Cassian does not accessorize since he rarely does not have his hand siphons on. The only jewelry on his hands is his wedding band

Lucien

Soft, warm, and gentle. Lucien's hands are a personification of the male himself.

They are not too large, but they're definitely big, and Lucien has strong hands.

Lucien tries his very best to keep his hands very soft he is constantly greeting and meeting new fae as an emissary, so he ensures his hands are covered while training.

Lucien also knows you appreciate how soft his hands are. He loves watching as you lean into his touch. He loves watching you shiver when he runs them along your body.

Lucien will wear jewelry for special occasions. Otherwise, he tends to avoid it. You never know when he will need to fish with his hair and bare hands to impress you. He had a reputation to maintain there.

Eris

Eris is constantly wearing rings and fine jewelry. His hands are part of his mask of cruelty only you and a few others get to see beyond.

Eris hates his hands. He hates how they've been used to cause pain. He hates how they remind him of his father's, he hates the small scars on them.

It almost confuses him when his hands bring you pleasure. When he watches as you fall apart under his touch.

He has started to care for them more now that he has you. His beautiful wonderful you.

You have noticed the rough skin getting softer. How his nail beds seem healthier. You catch him one night with his expensive hand creme and cuticle oils and your heart melts.

Soon, the jewelry becomes a little less and less, but you told him it would be a lie of you ever said you didn't love the way rings sat on his slender hands.

Nesta

Nail, simple, and with a touch of sparkle.

Nesta keeps her hands very pretty and very soft.

Her nails are also always professionally done on Rhysand's dime.

Nesta goes to the salon once a month. She gets the works. The expensive manicures. Rhys owes her, and she wants pretty hands.

Her grandmother and mama told her hands can make or break a marriage, and this is something she can not shake.

She loves clean, simple polish. Neutral colors or a French tip, that's all. For special occasions, she will do an iridescent polish.

As Lady Death, she tries not to wear too much jewelry, but she does have two favorite rings she wears. One from you, one from Cassian.

Elain

I am a garden hobby girl, so this one was fun.

Elain keeps her nails very short. She is constantly struggling with dirt under and around her nails, so she figures keeping them short is best.

Elain has surprisingly rough hands. A garden is a lot of manual labor, and she refuses to wear gloves, so she constantly dealing with little cuts and callouses.

You bought Elain a nail brush and special soaps meant to help her keep her nails clean so it doesn't interfere with her love of baking or... other activities involving you.

Elain's hands are very small, but they fit perfectly into yours.

Feyre

This is the hands I identified most with.

Feyre's hands are constantly covered in paint now that the lands are in a time of peace.

She's been known to wipe her palette knife off on the back of her hand or dab a paint brush on them if she picks up too much color. Or use them to swatch shades as she's mixing.

It is messy, but you adore it. You love helping her peel off the bigger chunks and helping her scrub them clean.

Underneath that paint, her hands can be a little dry, so you two have been caught many times sneaking into Rhysand's room to steal his hand creme.

Feyre keeps her nails a medium length. She will paint them for fun every so often, but she sees no point since they are typically covered in her medium of choice.

Mor

The baddie of the group.

Mor keeps her hands ready to greet royalty. They are so soft, so well kept, and constantly being pampered.

Mor used hand creme at least once and hour.

She keeps her nails longer, minus two on each hand. Iykyk.

Her nails have to be red. She will not paint them any color but her power color.

She is constantly wearing a ton of rings and jewelry as well.

I personally see Mor as a gold tone girlie.

The only ring she consistently wears is her wedding ring. Otherwise, all her other jewelry is subject to change.

Amren

Nails sharp enough to rip your eye out. Sorry, Lucien.

Amren sees her hands as weapons and her nails as weapons as well. But like all powerful weapons, they need to hidden.

She hides them using fae beauty standards. Manicures, jewelry, nail polish. Amren fully believes she's fooling other fae with those daggers attached to five small fingers but she isn't.

Amren does not do two curtesy nails. Amren is a starfish. You should be spoiling her. Not the other way around.

Finding out she could do jewels on her manicure was a life changing moment for her.

She practically purrs when she gets a fresh set now.

You swear she is secretly a fire drake with the amount of jewelry she has for her hands and on her nails.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites

#elizabeths.updates #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #cassian acotar #cassian of illyria #lucien vanserra acotar #lucien vandaddy #lucien acotar #eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar #eris vandaddy #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #elain archeron acotar #elain acheron #elain acotar #feyre acotar #feyre archeron #mor acotar #morrigan #amren #amren acotar #acotar headcanons

[creativewritersposts]

introverted - Luke Hughes

summary; Luke Hughes x reader

You know him for years over the internet. But when you meet him in person, he acts awkward and uncomfortable. It's a big step for an introverted guy. Can you handle it?

warning(s); FLUFF!!, mentions of insecurity, maybe grammar errors

author's note; hi you wonderful people out there! Hope you're all okay✨

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

Luke Hughes is everything.

He's awkward, he's a good player and wraps every girl around his finger even when he looks like a zombie, because he stayed awake too long last night to watch the new movie.

"-so he told me I'm boring-", you spill him the tea on FaceTime, talking about the boy you really liked and ghosted you. "He's wrong", Luke smiles in his camera, looking comfortable. It's something you learned about Luke- he's very shy and uncomfortable when he doesn't know people. It's weird how you became friends, - somehow. You're living one continent apart but your connection went good and never had problems to talk with each other. "well I have something to talk about", Luke speaks out and looks away from his display, you nod. "I booked you a ticket. I know you're having your summer vacation next week and being alone at home so you can join us in Michigan", his shy side shows again.

"MICHIGAN?", you squeak under panic. "yeah", he chuckles and looks insecure, thinking if it was the best idea. "Like Michigan with your parents, siblings?", you follow up. "Yeah", he smiles. "i told you not to pay things for me!", you warn him, "take it as an early birthday present ", he argues back. "my birthday is in december!", you roll your eyes, "ok, see you in Michigan!".

Here you are, with all your bags at the airport, searching for Luke. Or a nice sandwich, you're hungry. "Hey!", Luke waves awkwardly at you, coming closer, until he gives you the hand. "Luke", you raise your eyebrows, "we're friends for three years now, gimme a hug!", you hug him because he could say something against it. "I'm sorry but Jack is the driver", he warns you, talking a bag over his shoulder. Jack leans on the car door with sunglasses on, "hi", he hugs you without asking, driving to the lake house. "Mom cooked a lot of food, hope you're hungry", Jack eyes meeting yours, Luke just smiles. "sure, can I sit next to Luke?", you ask Jack. You're here because you want to spend time with him. "I'll not interrupt you lovebirds", he laughs and walks in front of you both. "Are you ok with sitting next to me?", Luke leans over to your ear, whispering these words. "sure, Lucky Luke", you smile at him. His cheeks are blushing. After meeting the whole family you ate dinner, but Luke looks very uncomfortable next to you. Barely talking. He avoids you for three days now, you try to get along with the family but you want to talk to him. You're here because of him.

"Luke?", you ask him, when you finally found a moment in piece with him. "hm?", he smiles.

"Do you want me to leave?", you speak out your worries. "no!", he shakes his head, "I am just very shy, ok? I need my time to feel comfortable", his ears getting red. Your body feels like under electricity, you're more extroverted and never thought he feels that way. "Sure, don't worry", you smile respectfully and leave the room. "Ohh trouble in paradise?", Jack asks you with his girlfriend under his left arm sleeping. "No, it's just too much", you sit down on a camping chair. "did he say something silly? He talked about meeting you nonstop in New Jersey", he focuses on your emotions. "He avoids me for three days and i asked him if i should leave. He told me he's shy and feels uncomfortable", you blame yourself. "sounds like Lukey", he nods understandable. "It's not your fault. After a few days he's the most annoying person ever, trust me", he huffs playfully with a small grin. "what can I do?", you ask him for advice. "He loves movie nights. Ask him to do that?", he thinks about his little weird ass brother.

"I don't want him to feel uncomfortable!", you worry. Jack nods and lays his girlfriends head on the lounger without waking her up.

"Luke!", Jack steps into the house, standing in front of his younger, taller brother. "you told me about this new movie, can you remember?", you join with them. "Yeah, it's a sequel from Harry Potter ", he nods friendly. "your best friend has no plans this night so you can watch it with her", he points with his finger at you, to stop miscommunication. "uhm-", Luke's voice cracks. "If you say no I'll watch it with her", he looms. "you have a girlfriend!?", you think out loud, both turn their bodies in your direction, "I can handle two women", Jack gets sassy. "okay, after dinner", Luke plays with his fingers.

Time flew away. Now you're sitting in Luke's bed, you can smell his cologne and waiting with snacks. "ok I'm ready", Luke comes in and smiles softly, but very nervous. "What are you wearing?", he blushes again, "a pyjama", you laugh. "uhm.. without bra?", he mudders. "Who knows", you mock him. You're laying both in his bed, you can feel how your eyes feel heavy, you yawn after a while. "Can i lay down on your chest?", you ask. His bed is like wood under your body, it's definitely not comfortable. "Sure", he's distracted with watching the movie, petting your hair without thinking much until he hears your softly snores. "sleep well", he kisses your cheek, wrapping his arm around you in the comfortable way and sleeps in, too.

The next morning you wake up from voices around you, "mom take a picture!", jack stresses. "Jack stop being so annoying in the morning!", she tells him, "they're kinda cute together", he whispers. And you close your eyes again.

#nhl blurb #nhl x reader #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #luke hughes #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #lh43

[cheeseburgersinparadise]

Why is death feederism ok? It is objectively self harm, as one is doing something that will result in them hurting themselves and eventually dying (as fetishized). I just can’t understand it… I am someone in this space that likes being stuffed and full, and doesn’t mind a little biy of wg… but I just don’t understand why gaining until death is encouraged so much when it’s so extreme and life ruining.

Like if there was a feeder and feedee couple that were into it… what would happen if the feeder had issues and couldn’t help the feedee that is reliant on their feeder? What happens if they break up and the feedee is dependent enough where they need family or something to help?? I mean it’s just… they could literally die if they were so dependent and forced to live on their own.. encouraging people to ruin their lives because it makes their private part excited is encouraging self harm.

This is my opinion and I seriously want to know what you have to say… I brought this up to someone else and their response was to block me and say “I think death feeding women think more critically about the fetish🤔” without response. And just so you know this isn’t fatphobic, i never once said I find fat people gross or anything, I just find the idea of fetishizing self harm gross. It’s fetishizing being disabled and or dead.

TW for death feedism, kink talk, self harm/suicide

so general disclaimer - I am not a death feedist and so I don’t know that I’m a good representative to speak on this topic but I’ll share some brief thoughts.

I think it’s okay to look at extreme fetishes and feel uncomfortable with them, so I’m not going to try and tell you that you can’t feel the way you do. I was very critical of people who practiced this fetish in ways I personally didn’t like and this community helped me realize it’s not my business to do that. There is no moral superiority in kink.

The thing is though - in order to be sex positive and an ally to our fellow feedists (yes, even the ones we disagree with or don’t like how they practice the fetish) we have to respect their bodily autonomy and allow them to make whatever decisions they think is best for them. It’s not our job nor our place to tell folks what they can and can’t do.

I would maybe agree that it’s a slippery slope and in a very extreme case, you could argue that this line of thinking would allow us to excuse a suicide fetish, for example (unsure if that’s a real thing). But there ARE disability fetishes and a fetish isn’t inherently bad as long as there are informed consenting parties and you are practicing RACK.

I don’t know if that line of thinking is even worth arguing because it could only serve to slip the other way up the slope back to overt purity culture. I want to validate your thoughts and questions because its important to critically analyze things and i want to believe you are coming from a place of good faith (and I have it in me to try and discuss this).

Regarding the statement of “death feedists think more critically about the fetish” could be true, as realizing you’re a death feedist DOES require reflection and understanding of yourself and of fatphobia in general. I haven’t had at length discussions with folks about this but the death feedists on my dash that post about fat lib seem to know their shit.

At the end of the day, why death feedists enjoy that aspect of the fetish is not for me to debate with or without them present. It’s not for me to tell them what they can and can’t do with their bodies. That aspect of the fetish isn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to tell others what they should get off to. I also think death feedists are a smaller portion of the community and it’s easy to block the tags they use if you don’t want to see their content. I know a few death feedists and I like them (at least their online persona) and they are probably more equipped to discuss this if they want to. So please feel free to add some comments if you’d like, death feedist friends.

My advice is practice radical acceptance. It feels uncomfortable but I think ultimately it makes you a better person when dealing with things you think are weird or gross or bad.

#chzburger answers #death feedism #death feedist #tw suicide

[newtonsheffield]

So I found this recently on Instagram, and the first thought I had was you. Afterall only you could do this justice. Over to you master❤️🫶🏻🫂

Oh my god, imagine Anthony storming into her office and being absolutely thunderstruck by the woman sat behind the desk looking up at him with one eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

Anthony was a little taken aback, truthfully. Usually he carried a little more sway in places like this. “I’m Anthony Bridgerton.”

“Ah.” Her lips parted a little with the noise as though she’d half been expecting him. “Then let me thank you in person for your very generous donation. Usually people just… wait for the fruit basket at home.”

Anthony shifted a little uncomfortably, “I’m here about the painting actually. My brother… brought the wrong one. I’d be more than happy to donate something, charity is very important, but… that piece I’m afraid is… not for sale.”

The woman, Kate Sharma, the brass desk plate read, leaned back in her chair, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders and adjusted her glasses. “I thought it might be a mistake. Which is why I confirmed with…” she looked down at some paperwork, “Gregory, three times. But he insisted.”

Anthony’s jaw clenched. “Gregory is… not an appreciator of art. He wouldn’t know a Monet from a Picasso.”

Kate but back a smile, “Bless. I do have your Monet though.”

Anthony cleared his throat, “Well, you understand of course, so if you could in fact send back my Monet I’d be happy to arrange another piece for your auction.”

She leaned back in her chair again, surprise written on her beautiful face. “No.”

Anthony, who’d already turned to leave, nearly fell over. “No?!”

“No.” She confirmed. “I have a signature from you on this piece of paper,” she waved it at him, “Allowing me to auction it.”

“I… didn’t check the title of the piece!”

She clicked her tongue sympathetically, “Your sloppy paperwork really isn’t my problem, Mr Bridgerton. After all, you might have been condescending but Charity is very important.”

“Do you have any idea how much that’s worth?!” He spluttered.

“I do.” She nodded, “It’s sort of what I do.”

“So you’re just… keeping my painting?!”

“No, I’m keeping our painting.” She waved the deed again. “Because of this.”

Anthony stared at her in shock, “I- Never in my life-”

“You do strike me as someone who’s used to getting what they want, Anthony.” She tapped her pen on the desk. “If you tell me why it’s so important to you, you can have it back.”

Anthony froze. He couldn’t tell her that. He wouldn’t. She didn’t have a right to know anything about his father. Instead Anthony leaned forward, pressing his palms against the desk. Dropping his voice. “Come on, Kate. Surely we can discuss this over dinner.”

She blinked at him, a laugh falling from her lips. “We can if you want to hear the same answer over wine.” She stood, she was taller than he expected and looked him straight in the eye as she stepped around him and patted his chest. “I’m sure a man like you has a huge cheque book he’s just waiting to whip out. So… I’ll see you on the 17th and you can do some charity work, if you want your painting back.”

And she strode from the room leaving him there. Gasping.

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

[just-zy]

Lost a letter (I)

pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem Reader!

summary: You have a hard time trying to swoon Wednesday, but having her roommate be your friend? It doesn't always end well.. Maybe..

A/N: hello! been awhile, hasn't it? here's a little something, I've been having writers block for so freaking long, I have this pending Vada fic rotting in my drafts cuz ion kno how to finish it 😭, but I'll find the time to finish it sooner.. eventually.. Anyways! Hopefully you guys enjoy this for the meantime. (Werewolf Reader!)

Warnings!: cursing, I don't know, my writing, lemme know if I have a bunch that needs to be put on warning!

part 2 || Masterlist

It was a random Tuesday afternoon, nothing too serious. Well for Wednesday Addams, it wasn't. Considering it was her writing time, she had no care of her surroundings, no care for the world at the moment, no care at all. Unlike you, you were sprawling, whining, and succumbing into the sheets of your mattress as if it was eating you alive. Enid being with you in your room, wasn't much of a help to your problem.

"Enid! You can't just tell her that I wanna take her out on a date! That's Wednesday Addams, that'd be a total turn off for her.." I fuss with her about that fact. She knows I'm right.

Enid looks at me like I was some kind of stray, "But isn't that what you wanna do? Wednesday likes straightforward people more." The blonde shrugs with a smile. A smug one. "I wouldn't even dare say a word to her, Sinclair." I grumbled in the sheets I was in, gosh I was so done with being in love.

"You know, you have a chance with her. She likes you." I heard shuffling and thought nothing of it, I scoffed at the thought.

Feeling the bottom of my bed dip, I peaked out of the covers and saw Enid smiling at me with a raised brow. "You do know I bite, right?"

She rolls her eyes at me and begins shaking my covered foot. "Why not make a letter? Get your feelings out before asking her on a date! Seems good, no?", looking at me with such hope. I had no heart to say no.

★

"Who... can tell me, how plants convert light energy into chemical energy?"

I wasn't much of a botany student, I didn't like botany, but I do have knowledge about this class. It didn't come off as hard for me as I thought it was. So, I raised my right hand, I did expect a few to try and answer as well, although it was just us three. Wednesday, Bianca, and Me.

"Oh! Yes! Y/N, can you tell me how?"

"Uh– well, through the process of photosynthesis. Photosynthesis is a critical process that sustains plant life and provides the foundation for the energy supply of nearly all living organisms on Earth.."

As I finished my answer, I heard a few whispers. I wasn't much of a talker, much more looked like I was a student in Nevermore considering I was a loner, so it was understandable. And, uncomfortable.

"Thank you for that, Miss Y/L/N."

Though, I couldn't help but avert my attention to my peripheral vision, Wednesday's desk was just right next to me. She was looking at me.

It might've caused me to shudder, just a bit.

★

"Botany class was something.." I said, chewing on the food I was eating.

Enid sat in front of me as we ate dinner. We were currently in the Quad, she insisted I tell her how I felt about what happened at Thornhills class earlier, even though she was present in the class.

"She was looking at you! I saw that!" She presses and starts eyeing me up and down. "Enid. You were asleep, how could you have seen that?" Chuckling at the thought of Enid just peaking at us and pretending to be asleep.

"I- uh- I felt it! I just know it. Honestly, you don't take my conclusions seriously!" She huffs and starts to chomp on her food so aggressively.

"But in all seriousness.. How's the letter going?" She leans to me a little closer, whispering as if what we talked about was something illegal.

"I– I don't know. I mean, I finished it last night, what about it?" I asked skeptically, I didn't exactly like where this question was headed.

"Give it to her!"

"Are you crazy?! You said nothing about giving it to her–!" I shrieked and felt my cheeks get warmer. I knew this girl was trouble. "But it is for her, right?.." She began straightening herself up,

"Enid. Sinclair. I swear to God you won't be able to see the light of day tomorrow if you satisfy that want of yours–"

"I'm sorry! She needs to know!"

She bolted out of her seat right before me!

Being both werewolves had its perks, we were faster, and stronger, compared to mortal strength.

But that doesn't change the fact that Enid's a werewolf as well! Idiot! Run faster!

"Sinclair!"

I didn't care how loud I was, I needed to get to my dorm first before she could. I was able to catch up to her on the hallways, thanks to the adrenaline, though it didn't help that she was a tad closer to getting inside before me.

My dorm was in sight, I pumped my legs faster and grabbed the back of her vest and she slipped to her bum. "Goddamnit Y/N! That hurt!" She stays in place and looks at me so hard I could feel my face grimacing.

I turned away from her and before I could run up to my room first, I felt her seize the opportunity by grabbing onto my left foot, making me fall forward and my face flat onto the wooden floor.

"Oh, fuck! I'm sorry!"

She apologizes and leaves me here? How sweet. I knew I lost, I couldn't move my body considering the painful aching on my face. I whined and winced at the pain.

She had a spare key, which was unfortunate. Although I didn't have a roommate, it was pretty lonely sometimes. Sometimes.

I heard shuffling, lots of shuffling. Does she not see the letter that was unluckily displayed on my desk.

Quietly but quickly standing up, I didn't even care how I felt my uniform started wrinkling. I went inside and saw her standing in the middle of the room, eyeing me menacingly. "Where is it, Y/L/N."

I thought about either telling her where it was or if I'd find it for myself... I fled to my desk where my letter was. Where the letter was supposed to be. Where it's placed. Which wasn't there.

"It's not here."

"I thought we've established that already.." I glanced at her, seeing her arms crossed.

"No– It's supposed to be here! I made sure I kept it here."

Oh no.

...

I've looked everywhere and decided to finally give up and wait until tomorrow. I'm sprawled onto my sheets thinking and recalling where I had last placed that damn letter, I didn't know where it could've went or how it could've been taken. Even Enid was worried about its whereabouts, I let out every emotion I felt for Wednesday on that individual letter. What would happen if someone took it and shared it publicly? I had my initials on that letter, and as well as Wednesday's!

Fuck my life. I should have never made that stupid letter.

I felt my eyelids drop slowly, maybe, tomorrow I'd finally grasp and tear that shit apart.

I'll find it before it finds Wednesday Addams.

★

A/N: bumbumbummm wadya think? I've decided to make this a series 🙀 I guess only a two parts series kinda thing... (I lost motivation and wanted to give u guys something before I lose my mind completely.)

#wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #enid sinclair #masterlist #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna marie ortega #wednesday x fem!reader

[suhmingo]

I, uh, don’t know how to actually preface this. It’s really just a mini rant/pseudo-analysis of chapter 167. Which was pretty crazy. But, I loved this chapter, and yes I’m typing this with two hands.

But first let me try and do some housekeeping.

It’s perfectly fine to have an emotional, even visceral reaction to 167. That’s the point

If you feel grossed out, betrayed, unnerved, dumbstruck, or any form of bamboozled by today’s chapter then good! That means the emotional weight of the scene is working, and that you are a proper, feeling human. The

The whole point of fiction is to explore themes that would be difficult, even dangerous to experience from a place of safety. To me that’s, like the entire reason I ever wanted to become a writer, one of the most unsung broke boy jobs in the history of the world. My desire for Denji to get better in a world that is dead set on making him fail is the entire reason I have an emotional investment in the first place. Stories are inherently about conflict and the struggle with resolving conflict, that should make you uncomfortable.

Say what you want about Chainsaw Man. I can take it, I’m a big boy. But one thing that it has always had since Chapter one is a well-defined through line about the complexity of our innate desire to find some type of love fighting against the pain-wrought pathway that it leads us down. In a good story, every chapter should have some way of showing the highs and lows of that theme, and I’m pretty confident when I say that 167 perfectly shows us that.

It’s bad. Don’t let people who brag about their trauma tolerance tell you otherwise. You are well within your right to feel. But I think it would behoove people to 1. Realize that this is fiction, and its effects, though evocatory, are ultimately abstract, and 2. Realize that exploring dark themes allows people, especially a 16-25 (Or whatever the target audience for CSM is) to grapple with and think on human concepts as all encompassing as love.

From a writing standpoint, one chapter has escalated the tension of the entire story more than anything that has happened in Part 2 so far. It’s admittedly a bit early to call it peak. But looking at it as a simple story beat, that’s a fantastic chapter as far as the medium goes.

Listen, the whole point of stories since, like, Mesopotamian times was the tension between wanting a character to achieve happiness vs the hardships and trauma that life happens in life. They’re supposed to put you in a sensitive state emulative of a tense environment. I’d argue that the prevalence of escapist fiction and fandom has changed how we emotionally digest fiction. But that’s a whole nother essay.

The events of 167 aren’t some horny non-sequitur. Everything that happened is entirely a logical, if graven, extension of how we know characters.

Denji is at the lowest point we have ever seen him at. He was literally dismembered and put back together less than 10 chapters ago. The last chapter literally had him groveling on his knees at a cauldron’s brew of his own weakness, immaturity, stupidity, and horniness. I think we can all understand why he would not be in a good mental state to just lose himself in the moment. You can’t even blame Denji in this situation. He was in an entirely vulnerable state that was exploited entirely by

Yoru. Who is the literal embodiment of war. If you think that someone who represents the human fear of war is going to play fair. Turn on the news for five minutes. Yoru is a character we are not supposed to like. She’s fun, because she’s a work of fiction, but she’s arguably less trustworthy than Fami. She’s a violent, exploitative being who possesses a dead teenager. There is no “too far” for her if it’s the fastest way on the road to conquest. Reminder that before she caught feelings, her plan was literally just to castrate Denji because she thought that would further her goals. The fact that it turned into kissing was actually sparing a worse fate. IMO that savior was all in the actions of Asa.

Asa. I genuinely believe that, subconsciously, Asa wanted to kiss Chainsaw Man. Not like how it happened. Never like how it happened, but her desire for Denji/Chainsaw Man's affection has always been evident. She gets irreparably upset when she’s stood up, she makes cringe poetry for Chainsaw Man, and her entire goal as of now is in some misguided desire to make him happy. I also don’t think Asa is actually demisexual, or averse to sex. She is afraid of intimacy, which stops her from ever acting on her urges. Notice that both times Yoru has kissed Denji, it was after the idea of sex and intimacy was explicitly brought to the conversation. To me that screams that Yoru is spurred on by her host’s innate desires. Hell, it’s been shown that in the same way that Yoru has made Asa more proactive of a human being, Asa has made her feel emotions. I don’t think it's a coincidence that Yoru is blushing while kissing Denji. None of that was part of her plan. That’s Asa’s emotional influence getting the better of her in what I predict to be a fantastic role reversal of their initial contract.

This is thematically in line with how Chainsaw Man presents love and sets up deeper themes.



Remember way back in Part One when Denji was just an initial horndog and everybody kinda hated him? I hated Denji back then! When I first heard of Chainsaw Man I genuinely thought it was going to be a mommy-kink fuelled power fantasy. But I was wrong. Wonderfully wrong. Fujimoto used the allure of that idea in Makima to present a story about how dangerous and manipulative the very idea of grooming is, and how damaging that can be to a person. The same way Denji’s desire to get the approval of Makima was poisonous to him is mirrored in his desire for vapid, instantly gratifying sex is being portrayed here. I genuinely think this chapter is going to age like fine wine, and I am absolutely willing to take egg on my face if I’m wrong.

#chainsaw man #csm 167

[xannorexxia]

Bro, this fetish blog fucking reblogged my post on some weirdo shit bro. If shit like this makes you uncomfortable block them!!

I understand that it’s a free world and anyone can do and say what they want, but if you fetishize a mental disorder, you are a disgusting person and you need to leave my post out of it. It makes me so fucking mad

I’m sitting here hurting myself because of over sexualization and being treated like shit, and being not well mentally, and you’re saying “ya you go girl” cause you find it sexy?? No bro, jump off a fucking bridge

#4nerex1a #⭐️ve #light as a feather #3dtumblr #th1n$pø #th1nsp1ration #thin$po #3ating d1sorder #3d diet #3d f4st #low cal restriction #low cal diet #ed for me not for thee #@tw edd #ed but not ed sheeran #tw ed but not sheeran #34t1ng d1s0rd3r #tw 3d vent #@n@ diary #@na motivation #@nor3×14 #@na vent #@na rules #@n@ buddy #@nor3xia #@na buddy #@n@ tips #ana buddie #thinspø #tw skipping meals

[anistarrose]

I want to talk about the way aromantic experiences can be represented in very meaningful and validating ways without characters being written as intentionally aro, and also I want to talk about aro-spec Magnus Burnsides headcanons. Luckily, I can do both those things in one post!

During the events of the podcast, Magnus is disinterested in and often straight-up uncomfortable with romance, because of the fate that befell his last relationship, with Julia. I've seen a reading (that I don't think is objectively wrong, though I do not personally share it) that interprets this trait of his as some kind of "sacrifice" he's making on Julia's behalf, being a choice to stay out of other relationships to carry on her memory better. It's a reading that seems pretty reasonable at first glance, but not especially aromantic.

(Because if anything, it almost seems at risk of turning into something like "there is no sacrifice more tragic than not having a romantic partner," right? Or worse, "this is a trauma response that needs to be healed for Magnus to have a happy ending, because being able to enjoy romance is vital to his happiness and self-fulfillment." Both of which are... varying levels of uncomfortable, to me as an aro person. Like, I'm not in the business of telling people how to interpret fictional characters, but I personally can't engage with these without a bad feeling in my stomach.)

However! Back to the various potential readings of Magnus's character! It's worth noting that so much of Magnus's arc revolves around unpacking his trauma, from the destruction of Raven's Roost and Julia's death — and that healing process doesn't change how he feels about romance! The Eleventh Hour is the turning point when he starts to seriously re-evaluate what the trauma and loss made him want, versus what Julia would want for him, and what would let him live in the moment instead of in the past... yet in the Heart Attack segment of Wonderland? Magnus still expresses disinterest in dating.

In Arms Outstretched, then Story and Song, he further internalizes and chooses to let himself be saved and ask for help, instead of punishing himself with martyrdom — and no romantic relationships come up in the epilogue! When he passes away after a long, happy life, it's Carey, — his best friend! — who holds his hand while they wait for the end!

Magnus's reasons for not wanting another relationship are obviously complex — not just a conclusion about himself that he came to lightly, regardless of whether he's on the aromantic spectrum, not on it at all, or deliberately not choosing a label. What makes his arc so unique and special to me, in contrast with almost every other story about traumatized characters finding a happy ending, is that his happy ending isn't contingent on romance! Whenever he says that he's that not into dating, no one doubts him or tries to undermine him (other than Lydia, who's literally trying to feed on his suffering), and to me, an aro listener...

Well, the way the narrative takes Magnus's wants and lack thereof seriously is just so refreshing.

Ninety percent of characters in fiction who repeatedly stress that they don't want romance or marriage are only shown doing so to set up for the narrative later proving them wrong. It's to contrast with that later point in the story where they "find the right person," or "understand when they're older." Or "stop being so cold," or "stop acting like they're too fucked-up and 'damaged'." Or "overcome their trauma."

It has an air of "wow, isn't this character so ridiculous, for thinking they won't change their mind later?" Or occasionally, "isn't it so tragic, that they can't envision themselves being loved?"

For protagonist-y characters, for heroic characters like Magnus — for any type of character in which "happily ever after" is considered a plausible, fair-game, genre-acceptable outcome — we see the genre conventions also dictate that "settling down in a romance" and the "happy ending" are intertwined. I've seen TAZ posts from back in the era of The Suffering Game/The Stolen Century airing, expressing sentiments like "Magnus not finding someone to love again would be so tragic and mean-spirited, I hate grim and edgy endings like that." While I can appreciate people trying to subvert tropes like "you can only have one 'true love' in all your life," the incredibly non-subversive and ultra-amatonormative belief that "romance is a prerequisite for a happy ending, or even healing arc" is such a deeply unfortunate one to tag on.

I am aromantic. I don't want a romantic relationship. And I find joy in that! I refuse to accept that I need to be "fixed" or "healed" to live a long, happy life, because I'm not broken! What brings me the most joy beyond just living as an aro is seeing stories actually acknowledge that people can find this happiness without romance — like how Magnus's story does! Like how casually and matter-of-factly it subverts expectations — how Magnus says he doesn't want another relationship, and no one comes along to prove him wrong! He doesn't "find the right person" because at this particular phase of his life, and of how he wants to live, there isn't one in a romantic context!

He heals from his trauma enough to find all kinds of joy — doing things he loves, surrounded by people he loves — and not because of, or in service of pursuing, a romantic relationship!

I almost never see fantasy stories where one of the heroes gets to have an arc like that. An arc where they get to live out an ending that I would want. A happy ending that would be happy for me! For people like me!

Magnus Burnsides gives me so much Aromantic Hope. That this is a kind of happy ending that I am not the only one to idealize, and that I could attain, no matter what horrors are being thrown at me in the present. Magnus dies peacefully, after years of assuming that he wouldn't, and he does so surrounded by his dearest friends and family. Who are all so proud of the life that he lived. Magnus was true to himself, to what he felt would bring him healing and fulfillment — instead of what cliché and expectation dictated to him — and he was completely at peace in the end. Ready to rush in one final time.

I immensely doubt that Travis intended for Magnus's to be an aromantic story in those words, if at all. But Magnus's story resonates so, so much with so many common aromantic experiences. And that means so much to me. I'm so grateful for that. In this day and age, in this world, I needed that.

I needed to have a good long cry about Magnus Burnsides. Aromantic icon, intentional or not.

...

...Of course, because this is tumblr, I want to make a clarification. This isn't some kind of claim like "shipping Magnus with people other than Julia is problematic." It is, however, a thesis statement that "no such ship becoming canon makes Magnus's arc so much more unique." It's an explanation giving full context to how I'm biased, not objective, but willing to argue that it makes his arc so much more meaningful, too.

And most of all, it's a desire to shine a light on a side of Magnus's character and growth that I think goes underdiscussed. Especially underdiscussed through an aro-spec lens. And speaking of which:

Sure I said I don't think Magnus was intended as an aro-spec character, or that he can only be interpreted as such — but if you made it this far, you know I think this ruff boi's just chock full of aro-spec subtext! So just for fun — and because the world is always deserving of more aro-spec headcanons — let's end this post playing with some different readings of him as aro-spec!

Gray-Aro or Demiromantic Magnus who rarely falls for people to begin with. Why would it be some tragic heroic sacrifice to remain "chaste" and wait for Julia, when not being into romance is just Magnus's default state of being? He's so confused about why people think he's making some tragic sacrifice! So confused, guys! I even wrote a fic about the gray-aro HC a few months ago (link)!

Gray-Aro or Demi Magnus who thought he was just aromantic, no attraction whatsoever, for over a century — until he met Julia, and fell for her (perhaps very, very slowly). But that doesn't change those years gaining perspective as a platonically, familialy loving aro who values those bonds immensely, and always wanted them to remain a prominent part of his life.

Losing Julia devastates him, of course it does — but especially once he remembers the Stolen Century, he knows he has a long-term support system no matter what, and it won't revolve around chasing that unlikely possibility of feeling romantic love again. Why would it? Why would he need to chase something so fickle just to heal?

Aromantic Magnus who feels no romantic attraction, but in the era of Raven's Roost, doesn't not want a romantic relationship. Except, he doesn't after all. Except wait, he kinda does, it's just complicated. Maybe something queerplatonic? Well, he really likes the idea of a wedding, and that's not necessarily mutually exclusive, but there's no guarantee his partner would feel that way too, and...

There's just these expectations that go with dating or marriage, of partners expecting him to love them in such a specific way that he knows he can't... and then he meets Julia, who's a romance-seeking aromantic too, with heavily overlapping feelings. Bonding over their similarities leads to dating, and eventually marrying, over a deep platonic love that may or may not still involve cuddles or kisses, or a desire to start a family. They don't panic too much over the labels — they're just so delighted to be with someone on the same wavelength!

When Julia dies, so much goes through Magnus's head. After a while, he can't help but start thinking again about how rare it is for people to want the same things out of a relationship that he does. Or to consider the way he feels for them to be enough. But as time passes, Magnus comes to terms with it more and more. He's happy to wait for Julia again. After all, he's longing, but not lonely. Mourning, but not incomplete.

Aromantic Magnus who is aromantic specifically because of his trauma, but no less aromantic for it. He just can't bear the thought of getting into a relationship again. Ironically, there's a point in time where he thought of himself as a romantic — back while he and Julia were courting each other — that now feels simultaneously so close and so distant. Magnus who has so much to grieve, and grieves this romantic side of him too — at first. Who thinks that there's only two options, for a folk hero in a story like his — settling down to live happily ever after, or dying in battle. And if there's nothing more upsetting, more uncomfortable, than getting married again — then living happily ever after has got to be off the table, right?

Magnus who slowly realizes that doesn't have to be the case. That no, barring seeing Julia again, he certainly doesn't have reason to believe that even time will change this new, alienating part of him — but maybe, it's not so alien after all. Maybe he knows people who won't even question it. Maybe he doesn't have to change it or overcome it to be happy again.

Why is romance some singular thing he has to chase, in order to settle down peacefully again? Why can't he do it with his friends? With his dogs?

And last, Questioning Magnus who might be aro, who might not be aro, and is maybe most likely to be something in between. But it's hard to tell; he's honestly not sure if he'll ever crack it, and.. ultimately, he's okay with that. Because all that matters to him is knowing he doesn't need a relationship to be complete, to take full advantage of his well-earned happy ending — and he's got a great grasp on that one, surrounded by people who never make him doubt it.

Aromantic Magnus Burnsides. Aro-Spec Magnus Burnsides. My aromantically beloved. Thanks, bud, for all the hope when I needed it.

#taz #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #magnus burnsides #aspec taz #taz meta #long post

[chickensoupbmc]

Transmasc Michael+Transfem Jeremy (they're best friends)

Them!!!! (Michael is doing her eyelinerr 😛😛😛💥💥💥💥💥)

(⚠️yap alert under the cut⚠️)

THIS!!!! BWBDGDHDGRBF YES!!! OKAy so I think about this headcanon a lot and in my mind how i basically think it would be is that Michael came out in middle school and Jeremy/ Emmie came out maybe near the beginning of senior year in hs

I think when Michael came out in middle school Jeremy was like "why would you do that though?? That does not make sense to me like why would you want to do that" and Michael was nervous Jeremy was transphobic at the time but Jeremy literally just could not understand why a 'girl' would ever want to be a boy. Eventually Michael stopped worrying about that because Jeremy was very supportive of him, he just genuinely couldn't exactly understand it

I think that after the SQUIP and stuff when Jeremy stops suppressing who he wants to be and whatever he starts to realize he wants to present a lot girlier than he does currently. He eventually comes to realize maybe he sorta wants to be a girl. And that scares him. I think at first he doesn't believe he could be trans. He'll overthink a shit ton with stupid stuff like "well I never acted like a GIRL as a kid, it's not like I know I'm supposed to be a girl, its just that I wish I could be!! That's not trans is it?" or "maybe im still just frazzled over everything that's happened lately, maybe I'm just confused or misinterpreting myself" and just stuff like that.

I think he'll EVENTUALLY bring it up to Michael and Michael's like no that's trans as hell dude. And they work it out together. I think Michael would be super excited over the idea of maybe Jeremy being trans too. He'd put in a lot of effort to try and support her (?) as much as possible.

Once Jeremy's sure that's who she is and that she feels happier thinking of herself that way, then she'll pick a new name. I headcanon she goes by the name Emmie because I've seen some other people in the fandom use that for her (ne0-gal comes to mind, + I've seen 1 or 2 others) and I just think it's cute. + Emmie is like Jeremy but like without the Jer and spelt funky. It makes sense to me okay I swear.

I think she'll start with little things in her transition (like growing out her hair, painting her nails, maybe subtle jewelry, and she might wear girly outfits at home / Michael's house, but not in public yet), since she'd be way too scared to just jump into anything. But I think in college she'll be a lot more out with it and stuff. 😛😛😛😛 okay guys that's all I'm gonna yap for now but I swear I think about this all the time

(I use the pronouns a character went by at the TIME when I am talking about them in a certain point in the past because it makes more sense to me ((and I myself am trans so I am not doing that with any sort of malice)) but if that makes people uncomfortable I can go back and edit this !!)

#bmc #be more chill #silly #bmc fanart #fanart #digital art #jeremy heere #emmie heere #michael mell #bmc broadway #ricky’s giddy drawings #jeremy heere is an egg #transfem jeremy heere #transmasc michael mell #trans #transgender #pride #t4t #rrhshsgdgfgfgfgchfhfhfh #i love them #transfem #transmasc #yapping #yapfest

[bucksboobs]

So, I have a doubt ( I am a straight women ,27 and Indian ) is it a crime that White man is attracted to white man in US bcoz I have seen a lot discourse that u only ship bucktommy bcoz they are two white man , So if they are both white they can't have feelings for each other , I am genuinely curious bcoz I don't know the dynamics in US or races in that country .

If you are uncomfortable to answer this I can understand

Thank you

and I just want to say I also really would like to Ravi to be main in S8 and rooting for Ravi begins and Tommy begins and Haters gonna hate no matter what the ethnicity /race/gender if that isn't your ship

Ok so if I understand this ask correctly you’re asking why people say “you only ship them because they’re two white men” as a negative for BuckTommy and the answer is essentially that due to racial dynamics in the US, Eddie is considered not “really” white because he’s Latino (more accurately he’s Mexican, Latino is a cultural group the same way Dravidian is, for example) and Latinos experience a lot of discrimination in the US. So the implication is supposed to be that someone is being racist for shipping Buck and Tommy over Buck and Eddie

See, on Tumblr, there’s some people that think you can’t just dislike a ship, it has to be proven as immoral for other people to like it at all, so they pick the opposing ship apart to “prove” it’s “problematic.” Hence why last week someone tried to lie about the only BuckTommy scene in the episode to try to say that Tommy responded to Buck’s attempt at connection by “bringing up Daddy kink out of the blue” (if you watch the scene, Buck says “I guess we both have daddy issues” and the flirting continues from there) or trying to say that Tommy calling Buck “Evan” is proof he doesn’t respect Buck/is just like Buck’s parents/etc or that calling him “kid” makes him a predator. (All real things I read in the tags of that post btw)

Of course what makes this funny to me is that I have actually been in a fandom where two men were shipped together primarily because they were white men in close proximity to one another, to the detriment of the canon relationship between the white man and the Latino lead: Teen Wolf. I am very aware of what happens when a barely-supported-by-canon ship between two white men takes over the fandom and starts pushing out fans of color and letting racism against the other characters run rampant. This is not that. People ship Buck and Tommy because they are dating.

#disk horse #BuckTommy

[vermilionsun]

(Feel free to ignore this request if you’re not comfortable writing it)

may I ask for some headcannons for Ais and Vere (separately please) whose s/o suffers from depression? Thank you 💙

Sure thing! Disclaimer! They/them for s/o because we love inclusivity!

TW! Depression (obvi) I tried to make the headcanons as general and "light" as possible, since everyone experiences depression differently

If anyone wants more angst or heavier/darker themes, send a req

And always remember; Seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness.

Vere

✦ Unlike with most things, Vere isn’t here to play around. Due to his apathetic exterior and ribald attitude, most people tend to underestimate his ability to care about anyone other than himself, yet that's far from the truth. In reality, Vere is fiercely loyal to those he cares about and will go to great lengths to protect them, even if it means putting himself in harm's way a̶n̶d̶ r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ i̶n̶t̶o̶ t̶h̶e̶ S̶e̶n̶o̶b̶i̶u̶m̶'s̶ c̶o̶l̶l̶a̶r̶.

✦ He is there, okay? Even if he has to remind his beloved every other minute, he will.

✦ He will become their biggest supporter and advocate, their cheerleader in times of need, the person who will always be there to lift them up when they are feeling down.

✦ He is there to listen, to offer aid, and to provide a comforting presence and a fluffy tail during difficult times.

✦ Encourages them to seek a professional therapist or psychiatrist if needed and haven't already received such help. He will find the best resources and support available in all of Eridia. Plus, he offers to accompany them to their appointments.

✦ If he feels something's wrong with his s/o while other people are around, he will find a discreet way to ask them if they are okay or need to talk later in private. His s/o's well-being is his top priority.

✦ In addition, he always makes sure to check in with his s/o regularly to see how they are feeling. This includes visiting during work hours, bringing them their favorite snacks, and being available to listen whenever they need to talk—even if he has to sneak away.

✦ He'd get meals for his s/o when they are feeling down or stressed, run errands, or simply spend quality time together.

✦ He believes in showing his love and support through actions, not just words, and that small gestures of love can make a big difference. He always goes the extra mile through various small gestures or grand displays of affection—a surprise date night, a gift, a sketch of them, a handwritten love letter.

✦ Of course, if his s/o feels overwhelmed, he will respect their space and give them the time they need to themselves.

Ais

✩ He will prioritize his s/o’s well-being and make sure they know they are not alone in their struggles.

✩ He isn’t the type to push his s/o to talk about their feelings, but he’s there to will offer a listening ear without judgment, a shoulder to cry on, and a comforting hug when needed.

✩ This man is the  E P I T O M E  of patience.

✩ He will encourage his s/o to go outside, and find excuses to take them out with him.

✩ Otherwise, if they were staying home for extended periods of time, he’d make sure to distract them with activities they enjoy.

✩ Did I mention he's the word "comfort" personified?

✩ If there are other people around, he'd keep an eye on them and see how they're feeling. If he notices that they're getting overwhelmed or uncomfortable, he'll get them alone or somewhere less busy.

✩ He'd be more protective, a̶s̶ i̶f̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶'s̶ p̶o̶s̶s̶i̶b̶l̶e̶, making sure they have everything they need and checking in on their well-being.

✩ He'd encourage them to look for a therapist or counselor who specializes in depression to help them better understand and cope with it. He'd be there every step of the way.

✩ He'd always remind them that it's okay to not be okay sometimes, that they are not alone in their struggles, and that he will always be there to support them through all of it; there to listen, there to support, and there to love them.

#verewrites #red spring studios #ais #vere #headcannons #ts vere #ts ais #touchstarved game #touchstarved headcanons #touchstarved #ais headcanons #vere touchstarved #ts

[scoobydoodean]

BOBBY He's gonna find out, you know. One way or another, someone'll tell him, or he'll figure it out on his own. He's not dumb. He should it hear it from us. DEAN Can we just leave it alone for the moment, please? BOBBY Okay. But you better prep for the B side, 'cause when Sam realizes we're shining him, it ain't gonna be cute.

I must have seen this and the scene where Cas scolds Dean for putting Sam's soul back in giffed 10 times at least while looking for 6.12 gifsets in various archives and I think it's obvious why, given how rancid soulless Sam disk horse can get. It suits a narrative certain fans want to sell to take this out of context and make it look like Dean is being controlling—is babying Sam, trying to keep something from Sam that Sam deserves to know—and Sam is going to be rightfully mad at Dean treating him like a kid. That's such a narrow view that omits so much obvious context and Bobby ends up being completely wrong about Sam's reaction.

For one, Bobby says all this because he's struggling with being around Sam after soulless Sam tried to murder him the previous episode. Bobby's motivation for saying this is that he wishes he could clear the air. Unable to do so, he isn't sure how to explain why he doesn't really want to be in the same room with Sam (and boy is that a reversal from 6.06 where Bobby did not understand Dean's discomfort with soulless Sam and told him to stop being a baby).

For another, Dean's pleading "Can we just leave it alone for the moment, please?" really reveals his motivations for hiding the truth aren't about Sam as much as they're about DEAN needing space to process what soulless Sam did to him. What soulless Sam did to Dean and the way he behaved around him was fucking creepy. Telling Sam everything that happened while he was soulless won't just reveal information to Sam about himself—it requires Dean to reveal painful, personal details of some extremely uncomfortable experiences of his own that he doesn't really want to talk about. As a victim of that behavior, Dean deserves space to work through it. And the way he words it here, it's a request for TIME before they tell Sam the truth, so that Dean can BREATHE and PROCESS.

Bobby is right that Sam figures out he was soulless pretty quickly, but after figuring out Dean didn't tell him the truth, Sam isn't full of anger. He immediately understands Dean's hesitation to tell him the truth and understands it isn't about him.

It's about Dean not wanting to talk about the parts of Sam's soulless escapades where Dean was his victim.

SAM: Dean... DEAN: Yeah? SAM: I am so...so sorry. I can't even begin to say. DEAN: For what? SAM: You know what. DEAN: Did Bobby... SAM: Cas. DEAN: Cas. Friggin' child. SAM: You should have told me, Dean. DEAN: You weren't supposed to know. SAM: What I did? To Bobby? To you? Of course I should know.

Sam says "You should have told me," but notably, it isn't in an angry, accusatory tone. He's gentle. His focus is actually on DEAN and BOBBY and how Sam should know what he did so he can adjust his behavior accordingly for THEIR comfort.

Unlike the fans who love to harp on this moment as some proof of SAM being victimized by Dean (which bothers me for several reasons) Sam understands Dean's hesitancy wasn't just about keeping Sam safe, but was also about Dean being HURT by soulless Sam and deserving to have space to process that—the same way Bobby takes his space by deciding not to go on the hunt when Sam wants to join them.

Arguably, nobody should have been pushing for Dean to be the one to tell Sam everything to begin with. It's really for the best that Cas was able to share the details of what happened with Sam (however unwitting he was when doing so) because I don't know that Dean could have really talked about it. The moment in the car before Sam figures out how much time he's missing is bad enough:

SAM: So you never even tried, huh? DEAN: Tried? SAM: To go live a life...after. You do remember you promised that, right? DEAN: Yeah, I remember. SAM: So, why didn't you try? DEAN: What makes you think I didn't? SAM: 'Cause look at you. Look at this. You're exactly the same. DEAN: Yeah, you're probably right. A long pause. DEAN: I was with them for a year—Lisa and Ben. SAM: A year? DEAN nods. SAM: So then what? DEAN: Didn't work out. DEAN turns up the music.

Absolutely brutal. Sam's assumption that Dean didn't try stings all on its own, but it's especially hurtful (without Sam knowing that obviously) given soulless Sam was part of guilting Dean into leaving them in 6.02, and his actions with the vampire in 6.05 were what put such an upsetting end to Dean and Lisa's attempts at long distance. Regardless of whether you as a viewer thought Lisa and Dean could make things work in the absence of Sam's actions, that relationship ended in a particularly painful way riddled with fear and guilt because of Sam's actions in 6.05, instead of being allowed to end in a more amicable manner that could have provided more closure and mutual understanding. Dean can't say "Lisa and I had a terrible breakup because you let me get turned into a vampire on purpose and then I hurt Ben and I could have killed them and it was all because you didn't care about me or them and I was just a disposable piece of meat to you and now you're accusing me of not even trying to have a home like I wanted for so long because I'm a failure and that hurts like hell." All he can do is turn up the music.

#pk rewatches spn number ? #deanlisa #soulless sam #the flannel business #6.12 #season 6