Hello There

When he finished the bottle, he was woozy enough to crawl back into bed with you and snuggle behind you. His eyes finally closed when the first rays of sunshine beamed through the marui pod, shining on your face – waking you up.

----

The heavy, quick thump of your heart pounds in your ears, drowning out the waves that crash onto the shore outside your marui. Whilst the first rays of sunlight shine on your face, heating it up and making your eyelids flutter. Smacking your dry tongue against the roof of your mouth, the need for water becomes exigent.

You try to swallow whatever saliva you could pool in your cheeks, but it’s not nearly enough to clear the dryness of your throat. Looking to your left, you see Ralak sleeping soundly, head propped up on his makeshift bedhead with a hand resting on your inner thigh. He fell asleep mid-checking on you, wooziness of the fermented fruit getting the best of him.

As you sit up slowly, the soreness of your pelvis becomes undeniable. You take your time scooting back, leaning into the headboard as you catch your breath. Everything feels delayed, like pandora is spinning at an even slower pace. And that’s when the headache hits. Like you had just gotten in the middle of herd of stampeding 'angtsìk (hammerhead titanotheres).

You groan, ball of your palm rubbing a tight circle into your pulsing temple. A gust of wind blows the flap of your marui open, prickling your skin from the coolness of it. You feel your nipples harden into peaks on your chest, a hand quickly moving to cover them.

Oh.

Ralak had taken your iknimaya top off sometime during your sleep and hung it by the entrance of your marui to dry. It’s blood red leaves make a rustling noise as the draught of wind breezes through them, little rays of sunlight shining through the slivers of space.

Gently removing his hand from your thigh, you get out of the bed and make your way over to the swaying top. There’s a wobble in your step, dizziness swirling in your head making it hard to walk straight. When you finally get your hands on the top, you contemplate whether you should even put it on or not.

“As much as I love seeing you with nothing on...” A raspy voice startles you as two large hands slide down the sides of your waist, “...I love the way you look in that.” Ralak nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, rubbing his nose into the suppleness of your skin. “So, take care of it.” He mumbles, pressing his warm body against you. “And if you are cold... come back to bed.”

Is this my Ralak? You think, turning around to confirm if this talkative man is indeed your mate.

And that’s when you see that inebriated stare – the same gaze he had during his flashback a little over a week ago. Except, this time there’s a smug look to his face, corner of his lip curling upwards into a smirk. When you inspect a little further, you see the darkness under his eyes and the dampness of his hair.

“Lak. How long did you sleep? Are you–” You lean in to get a whiff of him, only to regret it a second later. “Eywa.” You mumble, looking at the shelf behind him to see the empty bottle of pxir. “Did you finish that last night? By yourself?”

“Mmm. Perhaps.” He hums, curving his back to snuzzle into your neck once more, snaking his arms around your waist to pull you in close.

“I see. So, it takes a bottle of pxir to get you to talk, hm? What else does a bottle of pxir do to you?” You tease, hand smoothing over his morning bulge, hard as rock and sheathed.

“Ah, tanhì. I am not that drunk.” He reaches behind you to retrieve the top. “...I would not do that before you are healed.” He pulls away from you, “I hurt you last night.” His voice falters as he slips the top over your head, securing the back with a quick knot.

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, purse your lips and shake your head. “Is that why you couldn’t sleep? Kept drinking? Ralak. I’m fine. Really.” You cup his cheek, trying to show him the sincerity in your eyes.

“I gave your father my word.” He utters, breaking eye contact.

Brows pinching in confusion, you tilt your head to try look him in the eye. “Your word?”

He finally lifts his gaze to meet yours. “To never let anything happen to you.”

For a moment, you feel those butterflies in your stomach, fluttering away like they did the first day you laid eyes on this man. It’s sweet. Seeing such a big, strong man feel this way over a little blood. Because that’s what it was – just a little blood. Surely, other na’vi experience something similar during their first time, too. You move your hand to cover your mouth, feeling a scoff making its way up your throat.

“Pfft. So that’s what you two were talking about?” You ask with raised brows, and when they pinch together you let out a chuckle. “You were trying to fuck me, not kill me Lak.” You jester, but he didn’t find it as funny as you did, glaring down at you with a deadpan expression.

“Look, I wanted it. I still want it.” You grip his jawbone, pulling him in to look at you in the eye. “And I feel fine now.” You tell a white lie, hoping to make this gentle giant feel better.

He shakes his head, letting out a long sigh. “No. You do not. You still smell... wounded.” He utters the last word with a wince. “And I have been checking.”

Nothing gets past this man. Not when he has mastered the ability to tune into his body and all his senses. You gnaw on your bottom lip, little pointed canines nicking the thin flesh. The metallic taste of blood floods your tongue, setting off a spark in your brain. You scan his bare, sinewy torso and catch sight of his shoulder. Taking a quick breath in, you understand what he means by a ‘wounded’ scent.

“Well, I hurt you too. So, we’re even. Okay?” You insist, hand grazing over the scabbed-up bite mark on his shoulder.

He cocks his brow and scoffs, quickly glancing at the dark red indentations before looking back down at you like you just told the joke of the century. “That little scratch?”

Your drop your hand from his jaw and straighten your smile, mirroring his blank expression from earlier. Ralak and his word infamous word ‘scratch’. And most importantly, why didn’t he find your actual joke funny? Maybe you should make the best of this situation, then. Your eyes become beady, peering at him with limited vision.

“Fine. You hurt me.” You state, shrugging your shoulders a bit. His brows exchange a peck, ears twitching and jaw clenching. Hearing the confirmatory words made his heart sink. “But there is one thing you can do to make it up to me.”

You walk behind him towards the shelf of different sized and coloured bottles – some dusty, some not – and grab the fullest one. When you spin around, he has the guiltiest expression on his face, prepared to do anything to remedy the situation. It almost makes you want to stop with your little scheme and cradle him close into your bosom until he knows it’s okay. But not after his little scoff.

“My tattoo.” You sing, voiced feigned with innocence. 

He exhales a sigh, smile slowly creeping up on his face once he’s figured you out. “Alright, little one.” He chuckles, stretching over you to grab the drinking bowl from the top shelf – far out your reach. He plunks it into your hand and takes the bottle from your grasp, popping it open with his back-teeth. With a few glugs your cup is full, prompting him to nudge it to your lips.

“You drink. I get everything ready.” He says before turning his heel to walk out of the marui pod. As he’s lifting the flap to the door, he projects his voice, “It will help with your head.”

It feels like an eternity since Ralak left, leaving you with nothing but you and this drink. You rotate the cup, whirling the iridescent colours of the pxir. It smells much better than the bottle you shared last night, and tastes better too.

It’s sweeter, with a slight bitter aftertaste. You knock it back as if it were a medicinal concoction that your grandmother gave to you, wincing as the burn trails down your throat. You let out an ah and lay back into the cot, waiting for Ralak’s return. It’s been almost an hour now, and yet –

Still no Ralak.

You get up with a huff, pacing around the marui as you fidget with your thumbs. The nerves are setting in knowing that you’re about to get your first tattoo. But what makes it worse is where you’re getting this damn tattoo. Anxious – and thirsty – you pour yourself another cup, downing it in one go. Then another. And another.

At this point, it’s got no aftertaste at all. Just pure sweetness.

Once you swallow and go to put the cup down for good, you see Ralak standing by the marui door, hands above his head holding onto the stilt. It’s as if he were there watching you, waiting patiently for you to become aware his presence.

Unclothed and exposed right in front of your eyes.

The same drunken eyes peer back at you, ocean blue with a glint of gold, slightly lidded and glazed with something deeper than just lust. He stares at you longingly, wet hair plastered to his chest, right between his erect nipples. The more your gaze trails down his body, the more you realise how strong this man really is.

Each dip and ridge of his muscular physique is on full display, crossed ribs protruding from the stretched position he’s assuming. It’s like he’s posing like this just to... tease you. Because when you wonder down a little further, counting the stripes of that tattoo, he clears his throat. Loud. As if to say, ‘eyes up here’. 

No sort of grating noise could avert your gaze from this. His cock.

Its thick. Veiny. So heavy that it hangs down, resting against his thigh. His balls stay firm underneath it, sides of them barely peeking out around his girth. His head is barely sheathed, just the tip poking out – glistening with a tiny bead of precum. You swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth, reminding yourself to breathe.

“See something you like?” His voice is deep and gruff, hands falling from the stilt to his sides.

“Mmm. Perhaps.” You repeat his words from earlier in a similar tone of voice.

“Ah.” He says with a slight smirk, bending down to reach for the small woven basket. “Is that so?”

“Mhm.” You hum, smile growing wider as he approaches you.

At this point, you’re all woozy in the head – bubbly yet heavy. Your shoulders bow, weight of your body increasing as the minutes pass. And soon your eyes are so lidded that you can barely see the man in front of you. Letting out a slow breath, you blink lethargically, leaning in to see what’s in the basket.

“Been a good girl for me, I see.” Ralak husks, observing your less than sober state.

“Only because you took so long.” You retort, hand darting to grab onto his bicep for support.

Hand missing his arm entirely, you lose your balance and start stumbling towards the basket. He catches you, body slumping into his as he steadies you. He takes a quick glance over to the half empty bottle on the shelf, before looking back down at you with wide eyes and a growing smirk.

“Well, my little rou tanhi [drunk freckle/star]. I had to hunt for squid, didn’t I?” He says, dipping his hand into the basket to retrieve the squids’ ink sac. 

“That’s – that’s what you’re putting inside my skin?” You hiccup, examining the black, blubbery sac. It looks like a vein, with a more bulbous end.

Ralak nods as he moves quickly, setting up the area as best and clean as he can. He pulls out two low stools from the corner of his marui. Laying a thin cloth over one stool, he carefully places the delicate ink sac on it, reaching back into the basket to retrieve the other items.

Sitting on the other stool, he pulls out a bowl, blackened by the ink from his own tattoo, and a wooden tool. It’s lengthy, with the bone-white tooth of a skimwing lodged into it. Their teeth are needle-like, piercing the skin with ease and precision. Using the tooth, he pierces the ink sac and pours all the contents into the stained bowl.

“Where?” Ralak asks nonchalantly, taking out a similar tool, without the pointed end.

You close the distance between you two, resting a hand on his shoulder and pushing your crotch into his face. His head snaps up, eyes directly in front of... you. Your exposed skin. Your soft folds, touching one another to hide your clit. His eyes widen a bit, gaze coming to a standstill to take it all in.

“See something you like?” You giggle, breaking him out of his trance.

He swallows thickly, eyelids fluttering as he tries to peel his eyes away from such a... delectable sight. They trail up your body, lingering at your crimson-coloured top, before landing on your downward gaze. He cocks a brow inquisitively, quickly glancing back down to your bare pelvis before locking eyes with you once more.

Ralak places a gentle hand on your lower abdomen, “Here?”

You smile, nodding your head slowly. “Just like yours.” You say quietly, hand momentarily lifting from his shoulder to tie his hair into a loose, messy bun. “Exactly... like yours.”

It’s the way you said the words that sent a shiver down his spine. He tries to fight the curl of his lips, denying himself the pleasure from you wanting a tattoo just like his. There’s something about you with a matching tattoo that makes him feel loved, special – horny.

“Are you sure, tanhì?” He asks through a low, steady voice, peering up at you achingly.

“Yes. It is special to me.” You gulp, nodding slightly. “To us. To mark the beginning of our life together.”

He gives you a firm nod, dropping his head to smile his growing, beaming smile. Hand falling from your abdomen, he fetches a small cloth and a jelly-like substance from the basket. Your stomach tenses when he smears the cold substance on your skin, rubbing it in until it evaporates.

 After cleaning the area, he readies himself with the pointed tool, dipping the needle-like tooth into the bowl of ink. Barely grazing the skin, he traces out the design of the tattoo on your skin, providing himself with a pattern to tattoo with precision. That alone hurt.

“Wait. I-I need more.” You say quickly, voice laced with anxiety.

Ralak takes a glimpse at the nearly empty bottle on the shelf and continues with his task. “Give it more time.” He mutters, dipping the pointed-tip of the tooth into the ink, positioning it carefully over the pattern.

Tip of the needle hovering a millimetre away from your deep blue skin, he waits patiently for your body to tell him to start. After a few moments, he senses you relaxing, taking it at his cue to start the process. With the end of the blunt tool, he taps the end of the pointed tool, penetrating your top of skin with the tooth.

Ralak’s gazes snaps up to yours as soon as he removes the needle, “hurts?”

The sting is barely noticeable, feeling more like heat than pain. You shake your head with a wobbly smile and tighten your grip on his shoulder. He continues with the tattoo, piercing your skin continuously until your little nails sink so deep into his skin it draws a little blood.

“Sorry.” You utter out a strained apology, realizing you’ve practically mutilated both shoulders now.

He lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head a bit as he pricks you once more, gently blowing on your reddened skin. The cool air helps a bit, but at this point, it’s welted and raised – stained with a sheer layer of blood. He’s only just finished one of the 6 stripes on the left side of your navel, and the first eclipse is already starting. Resting your free hand on your hip, you take a few deliberate breaths, doing your best to slow your galloping heart.

It’s such an intimate, overwhelming experience.

“A break? With some more pxir, yes?” He suggests, already putting down the tattooing tool.

“Yes... please.” You groan with trembling lungs, legs going all wobbly from how long you’ve been standing.

You go to lay down on the cot, spreading your legs just enough for him to see. He tries his best not to look, immediately dropping his head and fixating his gaze onto his darkened fingertips. But with a little, filthy moan of ‘pain’, his gaze flies up, landing right where you want it to.

Legs spreading a little more, he becomes mesmerized by the little show you’re putting on for him. He stares through lidded eyes that become glossy with greed and desire. Like he wants to pin them down and devour you on the spot. He huffs out a sigh, reluctantly slamming his eyes shut, denying himself the pleasure.

“Tanhì. Do not tempt me. You now have two wounds to heal from.” Ralak utters the words in a low voice.

Oh, right. Choosing to have your tattoo in this particular spot would definitely make things... a bit more painful. You close your legs, accepting your failed attempt to seduce your mate and lie back into the soft pillow. The ceiling is spinning, but not nearly as fast as it should be for this tortuous process to be over with.

Rolling your head to the side, you look at Ralak, whose eyes are still closed. “Lak.” You whisper, prompting him to look at you. “I could use more pxir now.”

Ralak stands up and walks over to the shelf and retrieves the bottle. He pours the rest of it into two cups, one for him and one for you. Handing you your drink, he sits next to you on the bed, resting his hand on your inner thigh. You sit up and take the cup, chugging it before he can even put his to his lips.

“Another.” You mumble, handing him back the empty cup.

“Easy, my paysyul.” He chuckles, pouring you another drink.

----

It’s been a week since you got your first tattoo, which took two days to complete, leaving you dumbfounded at how Ralak was able to tattoo himself. Since, you’ve not only added three beads to your songchord, but also a piece of the cork from the bottle you shared after your... eventful first time together.

You had pretty much healed three days after your iknimaya night, but your tattoo remains irritated. Nothing you couldn’t handle, just a little inflammation with an itch you couldn’t quite scratch. Not when Ralak’s watching, at least. He’d be quick to shoot you a scowl, instilling some level of obedience in your little, defiant body.

Despite his continuous repudiation of your attempts to become intimate, he would do his nightly... examinations. Insisting that you still smelled ‘wounded’, he’d spread your legs during your slumber and ‘check on you’. Or maybe it was more so to check you out. To see your plump folds and the way your little nub peeks out between them.

Sometimes he’d let his gaze linger a little too long to be considered an act of benevolence. But rather, an act of greed and lust. But he just couldn’t help it, you look so... perfect. So untouched. Soft and supple. Like silk under his calloused touch. It’s maddening, taking everything in him to look away and close your legs.

Truth be told, he was unsure of what he was really looking for, all he was going from was your scent. He knew it was radiating from this specific area, and truly didn’t want to take any chances and accept your advances if you weren’t fully healed and ready. At that point, you had just accepted the way things were and let him get along with whatever he needed to do to feel better.

And you’d pretend to be asleep, enjoying whatever little touch you could get from him.  

Other than that, Ralak has been nothing but sweet and patient with you, as he usually is. Bringing you breakfast in bed was one of his favourite things to do, other than cooking the meal itself. Meticulously diced fruits and freshly caught fish, plated perfectly, and presented by the chef himself – in all his naked glory.

That was another thing.

After mating, Ralak seemed to have lost his tewng [loincloth] altogether. Always walking around with nothing but maybe his cumberband or chest piece. At first, it was fun and tempting, putting a shy smirk on your face whenever you’d see his heavy cock laying freely between his thighs. But now, it’s just downright torment – teasing at its finest.

No matter how many times you ‘accidentally’ flashed him, bent over a little too much, or just straight up went naked too, he would continue with the task at hand, completely unbothered. You could look, but you couldn’t touch. Until you grew so fed up when you saw him in the most torturous pose of them all.

Until tonight.

----

Ralak sits comfortably on his knees in the soft, wet sand, sharpening the point of his spear. He’s so focused on his task that he doesn’t even realize your stare, nor the little strand of curly hair in the centre of his forehead. Even kneeling, this giant remains... a giant. Thick and burly, muscular physique defined from the way the last rays of sunshine on his skin.

His freckles twinkle, darker blue swirled and striped patterns moving with how his muscles tighten and untighten as he presses the waterstone against the blade. Every now and then he would dip the stone into the water to rewet it.

You watch him intently, counting the number of times he rewets the waterstone. How many times he swipes the blade. How many abs pop out as he leans further back to get a better look at the entire length of the spear. How many stripes in that tattoo that started it all. All of which, turn out the be the same number.

Six.

And once you got to the sixth stripe, your eyes trail down its length, catching sight of the singular dot right at the base of his cock. Swallowing the excessive saliva pooling in your mouth, your lidded gaze pierces into him, taking in every small detail of his cock. Barely sheathed. Thick. Slightly veiny and darker towards the glossy tip.

Then, he chucks the spears over his shoulder as if they were little twigs back from hometree, making a clunking noise so loud you couldn’t help but avert your piercing gaze upwards. You bite your lip from the motion, so touch deprived you begin to fantasize about being his little vultsyìp [stick; branch] again, draped over on his shoulder as he carries you back up to the marui.

Yet he remains focused on anything but you, trying his upmost best to maintain what sliver of composure you allow him to have left. The restraint is visibly plastered on his face – gathered brows and a tensed jaw. You slide a hand behind your back, untying the knot of your loincloth, allowing it to drop to your feet.

“Mind having a look? It’s a little itchy.” You ask, voice feigned with innocence.

His concerned gaze snaps up to your tattoo, eyes darting in all directions to scan the inking properly. After seeing that it’s just fine, his features soften upon realizing what you were actually doing. “Looks fine.” He mutters, eyelids fluttering a few times, landing his gaze upon yours.

And when you meet his ocean blue eyes, you swear they lustre over with something of wanton – of greed. Silently telling you how badly he wants to pin you down into the sand and slide himself inside you. To fill up your little body with every single inch of himself, until you’re moaning nothing but his name. You can feel the flutter of your stomach – excitement from thinking your attempt at seducing this overly-patient giant was finally a success.

Then he looks away.

As if he didn’t just fuck you with his eyes. As if he didn’t just worsen the sexual tension that’s been brewing between you two for over the past week, and honestly – few months. Eywa, that makes you frustrated. Fuck – no, it makes you angry. So upset to the point you huff out a ‘hmmph’ and walk away to prepare yourself for an early bed.

“Tanhì!” Ralak shouts after you, shuffling to his feet with the spears still on his shoulder. “Y/n!”

You ignore his calls, storming up to the marui pod. You sit on the end of the bed, face buried in your hands as you try to calm down. But the more you sit here, the bigger the flame grows in your chest. It’s obvious that you’re ready to try again, yet he’s blatantly ignoring your advances. At this point, you may have to try and pleasure yourself.

Keyword being ‘try’.

You’d never been able to make yourself feel all that great, let alone cum. But at this rate it seems like you have no other choice. That’s it. You’ll make yourself cum. No need for him, right? Right. You knew Ralak wouldn’t follow you when you’re this upset. He’d let you come to him when ‘you’re ready’, rather than invading your personal space.

You hype yourself up, lying flat on your back and closing your eyes. You allow for your wandering hands to barely graze your body, hardening your nipples into peaks almost instantly. Parting the red leaves of your top, you expose your breasts, thumbs giving them both a flick.

Listen to your body. Ralak’s voice echoes in your mind – an intrusive memory resurfacing all on its own.

Rather than scaring you, his voice arouses you, back bowing against the bed in response. A hand slips down your stomach, finding comfort between your thighs. You squeeze your hand with your thighs, fingers pressing into the softness of your folds. You let out a breathy, soft moan, tips of your digits now parting your pussy lips.

The cool air hits your exposed bundle of nerves, having you clench around nothingness. Pressing the pads of four fingers onto your sensitive nub, you rub slow, loose circles into it. Little shocks travel through you in jolts, spasming your thigh muscles. It feels like too much, but not enough all together.

You grunt, level of frustration doubling by the second. Dipping into your core, you slicken your fingertips, gliding them back up to your clit. You try tighter, faster circles, and apply a little less pressure this time. And fuck, did that make a difference. The wetness of your fingers had them gliding effortlessly over that little nub, making it stiffen beneath your fingertips.

Head sinking into the softness of his makeshift pillows, your mouth hangs agape, breathy moans losing their softness and turning into little mewls and whines. Your hips lift off the bed, chasing your building orgasm. You try to zero in on the feeling, but it feels so weird, but oh-so fucking good at the same time. It’s almost like the flame in your chest spread throughout your body – heat pooling in your core.

“What are you doing?” A thick, accented voice pierces the air, gruff and monotonous.

You’re too into the moment to stop – to even bat an eye. You can hear your mate’s voice, but what you’re doing feels so good that you can’t even tell if it’s just another intrusive thought or if its real. You feel your toes curl, hand working even faster as your stomach muscles tense up. You’re so, so close.

And Ralak could tell.

He stands there, beads of water from the ocean rolling off his body, dripping through the cracks of the woven marui floor. Hair plastered to his chest; he stares at the sight unfolding in front of him through lidded eyes. He grits his teeth to hold his tongue, but he couldn’t deny the way seeing you do this to yourself makes him feel.

Aroused. Frustrated. Jealous. Possessive.

“I said. What are you doing?” Ralak growls low in his chest, thick fingers gripping your wrist to put a stop to your frantic movements.

“No. Don’t.” You huff out, fighting his grasp to pick up the pace of your fingers. “Trying to – fuck. Trying to c-cum!”

“I can see that. But why?” He asks through another growl, letting go of your wrist.

“’c-cause – ‘cause you’ve given me no other choice! You won’t even – haah ah – you won’t even touch me, Lak!” You whine loudly, desperately trying to re-establish the perfect movements and pace you had before.

Ralak does nothing but stand stock-still for a few moments, watching his numeyu [student] work hard to make herself cum for the first time. Pride swells his chest, seeing you so close – yet so far away. And for a second, a pang of pity clenches his heart, brows creasing as he watches you squirm about. Has he really been that distant? Distant enough to make you resort to self-pleasure when you have a perfectly capable mate right here?

“Touch you, hm?” He hums lowly, resting his hand on your sweaty thigh, “like this?”

“N-No. Y-You know what I want.” You barely sputter out, shaking your head side to side.

“Say it. Say the words.” He growls, fingertips sinking into your skin.

“Oh. Please, Lak. Please touch me. It’s been too long!” A frustrated, desperate groan falls from your lips, legs snapping wide open.

His eyes widen at the sight of you so vulnerable and exposed; puffy, glistening clit on full display. Gaze flying up to yours, he sees the utter state of desperation plastered all over your face. You already look so fucked out, brows pinched, and lips parted – eyes so lidded he can barely see the glint of gold in them.

“Here?” He breathes, sliding his hand up your thigh and barely brushing his three fingers against your sticky clit.

“Mmm – please.” You pant, grabbing his wrist to position his hand properly. “Right h-here.”

“Ah.” Ralak finally takes a seat on the edge of the cot, eyes fixed on your carnal expression. He presses right into the bundle of nerves, sending a jolt through your legs. “And what next, my numeyu?”

Grip tightening around his wrist, you move his hand erratically, hips moving along with it. You hear the click of his tongue and look up to see the slight shake of his head and curl of his lips. That same smug face he makes when you’re not quite getting something right.

“Karyu. [teacher]” You moan softly, doe eyes peering up into his, lashes fluttering as you blink repeatedly.

His brows jump at the word. It’s been a while since he’s heard it fall from your lips. Your flushed, swollen lips. He looks back up to your little fucked out eyes, glossy with tears and want. He hates to see you cry but for some reason the tears you’re fighting back are only making him hornier. Is that how bad you want his cock? Bad enough to cry about it? His hung cock springs from his thigh, jumping up to slap his stomach.

“Must your karyu teach you how to cum again?” Ralak growls, sliding a finger down to your slickened entrance. “Hm? Were our lessons not enough?” All you can do is mewl and claw at his wrist, lolling your head from side to side. “Answer me.” He says roughly, prodding at your hole with very tip of his digit.

“Yes! Fuck – yes. Please, t-teach me.” You beg breathily, rolling your hips down onto his single digit. Having one last, quick glance between your legs, he clenches his jaw as he slides his finger inside you. And when it comes to a hilt, a moan of relief evades your agape mouth, head sinking back into the soft pillow.

For a fleeting moment, he remains completely still, ensuring that you’re alright. Ralak stares at you, eyes darting in all directions to detect even a hint of pain etched into your features. A brow jumps when he realises that all you’re feeling is pure ecstasy. Taking this as his cue to continue, he pulls his finger back a bit, lining it up with the gummy part of your heat.

“If you want to cum...” He roughly curls his finger, applying a blissful pressure to your sweet spot, earning him a sudden whine from your lips, “...you touch right here. Understood?”

“Mhm. Mhm.” You frantically nod as you hum the words, feeling an itchy feeling brew in your core. You need to scratch it. So. Fucking. Bad. And his finger just isn’t enough. “Mh – more!”

“More?” He smirks, swiping his thumb over your clit. “Like that?” His voice is gruff, and anything but innocent. Like he takes joy in seeing you in such a desperate, needy state. “Or is it her –”

“For the love of Eywa, Ralak. Just fuck me, please!” You cry out, tears now rolling down your cheeks. If he didn’t take care of you now, you’d just lose it. He lets loose a loud chuckle, predatory gaze boring into your innocence. As if your little pleas and begs were entertaining him – getting him off.

“Take all three, then I think about it.” He teases with a cocked brow, pulling out of you tenderly to realign two digits at your opening.

“Y-Yes – Just, hurry Lak.” You whine, tugging at his wrist to sink his fingers inside you. “Oh, shit.” You exhale a sigh of relief. The stretch is divine, filling you up and just barely scratching that itch. To have his two thick fingers buried inside you is like ice on a burn, soothing all your pent-up frustration.

Ralak groans at the way you’re squeezing his digits, pussy so soaked they slip in and out with ease. As badly as he wants to let you know you’re being such a good girl for him, he decides to hold his praise for the bigger stretch. His last finger. Waiting patiently for your body to tell him you’re ready, he uses his free hand to massage your clit.

He fingers you roughly, pussy walls clenching and unclenching around him, telling him to go even deeper inside. Your whole-body squirms around, hips stuttering from your unadulterated desperation. The little, sweet cries and mewls escaping your lips are like music to his ears, sinking him deeper into his state of arousal.

Ralak situates himself between your legs, preparing you for the next stetch. Last time, you took it well, and perhaps if you hadn’t used your mate’s word against him, you would have had more time to adjust to all his fingers. The desperation you feel now is nearly as intense as your iknimaya tonight, but you find the strength to bite your tongue and allow Ralak to take over completely.

With your body now in a state of pure submission, Ralak leans in to kiss you, slowly sliding his last finger inside you. Your moan of pleasure is muffled by his soft lips, last knuckles meeting the softness of your plump pussy lips. He pulls away from you, moving his wet kisses up to your ear.

“That’s my good girl.” He whispers in a gruff voice, bottom lip brushing against the lobe of your ear. Angling his wrist to prod right into your sweet spot, he pumps all three fingers in and out of you.

“Feels... s-so – so good.” You pant quietly, rolling your hips into him. He can feel your body opening even more for him, sweet nectar dripping down to his wrists. After two more pumps of his fingers, you push him away from you, causing him to settle into the dips of his feet.

Both of you pant for air, chests heaving wildly, fully exposed and on edge. You can see the way his cock twitches to be sunk inside something – anything. It’s throbbing and so hard it must be painful, bead after bead of precum just oozing from his slit. It’s almost as if he enjoyed depriving himself of the pleasure of your tight cunt around his cock.

But tonight, there’s a glint in his eye.

A predatory, rapacious one. And when you exchange glares, there’s a silent understanding between the two of you. The understanding that you both want it just as bad as the other. The understanding that his patience has been stretched thin – so thin that all he needs is a little push.

“My body is ready, Ralak. I want you inside me, please.” You beg pathetically, looking him deep in his eyes.

Your sensitive pussy walls ache to know what it feels like to tighten around him, all gummy and slimy from the slick your body won’t stop producing. It’s like it’s in overdrive, sensing how big your mate is, and doing what it needs to accommodate his sheer size. Your legs spread wider, glistening pussy on full display – acting as bait to lure him in.

Ralak repositions himself closer between your legs, staring intently at the soft flesh, flushed red with arousal. Gaze darting up to yours, he sees your eyes gloss over with want, more tears of desperation threatening to roll down your heated cheeks.

He can tell you were ready, body completely submitting itself to him and his touches. He’s never seen you this needy, not even in heat. This past week has been tortuous for the two of you, waiting patiently for you to heal fully before touching you in the way you want.

“You must tell me if it hurts. Please tanhì.” He says low in his chest, rubbing his crown of his cock between your slickened folds.

“I will. Please.” A breathy whine parts your lips, hips shimmying down towards his. Left leg loosely resting on his thigh, you hold your right leg back, knee brushing against your shoulder.

He looks as if he were in pain, grimacing from the anticipation of possibly hurting you again. He ensures to take his time, aware of how well-endowed he is beneath his loincloth. He begins rubbing soft, loose circles in your swollen, sticky clit. It’s all red and puffy, making wet, sloppy noises with each stroke with his tip. He lingers there for as long as he can, playing in your wetness in hopes it’ll make it less painful for you.

Now with your verbal consent, he leans in, supporting his body weight with his hands nestled by your sides. His hips snap, throbbing, veiny cock sliding over your tender clit. You feel his warm, swollen tip poke into your lower stomach, pearls of precum leaking into the dip of your navel. He pulls back, trying to line his cock up with your entrance once more, hips stammering to sink himself inside you.

Fat tip bucking against your tight hole, it slides between your pussy lips and over the bundle of shot nerves again. You can’t help but moan, the sensation of his warm cock rubbing against you only makes the need to be fucked grow stronger. His breaths turn raggedy, huffing and puffing hot air as he snaps his hips back a final time. You reach down with a trembling hand and grip his girth, positioning him at your entrance.

“Relax for me, tanhì.” He grunts, shuffling his left knee closer towards you. “Let me in.” He feels you loosen up, releasing the breath you weren’t aware that you were holding. “A little more. There you go.” He hums, point of his tip now slowly breaking the resistance.

He pushes gently. Carefully. Slowly. Your chins meet your chests, both watching as his tip pops inside you. You take a sharp, shaky breath, feeling the immense pressure of something so thick bury itself into your tight opening. Eyes flicking up to yours, he searches your face for any kind of discomfort.

“Oh Lak. ‘ts s-so big.” You whimper under your breath, hand flying up to grip his forearm. “D-deeper.”

Inebriated eyes struggle to widen at your words, just like he struggles to fight against his urges to slam the rest of his cock inside you. He takes a deep breath, mesmerized by the way your cunt sucks him in another two inches. You’re so tight that he can’t help but grimace, brows tightening from the way you’re pinching him.

He stops, wanting to let you adjust to what’s inside you so far, only for you to wrap your slender, soft tail around his thigh. You know that it drives him crazy, it’s one of his favourite parts of you. A gruff grunt vibrates in his throat, hips bucking on their own to sink another couple inches inside your wet, tight cunt.

“Deeper. Deeper.” You blubber, grip on his forearm tightening as he obliges. You want all of him, every, single, fucking inch of him to stuff you until you feel queasy. Until he couldn’t push anymore. Until he can’t do anything but grind himself inside you. “Deeper!” You cry out a pathetic whine, just as his mushroomy head presses intp your cervix.

Ralak continues to push against the resistance, biting down on his bottom lip from the way you squeeze him so tightly. He bottoms out in your slippery pussy, his tattoo finally kissing yours. They align so perfectly, each line pressed against one another with precision.

He’s so deep inside you, that it feels like he’s in your tummy, knocking the air out of your lungs. Your mouth hangs open, tongue relaxed against your bottom lip as saliva dribbles down your chin. Brows kissing in fervour, you stare into his eyes while you relish in the sensation of your mate all the way inside you for the first time. He watches as the colour in your face turns almost purple, nails sinking so deep into his skin that they draw a little blood.

“Breathe for me, tanhì.” He huffs, easing up on his pushes. With his reminder, you gasp for air, salty tears flowing onto your tongue. “You are doing so well. You know that?”

“Oh – Ralak.” You let out a sweet, little cry, nipples hardening into stiff peaks from his extra hoarse voice. You couldn’t stop the tears; they always came when you feel too much of anything. And right now, you were feeling so full, so good. Even the stretch feels good, the sting and hint of pain from his cock burrowing all the way inside you.

He could feel the blood slowly trickle down his forearm, but the way your tight walls are nipping at him is much worse. The scent of his blood mixes in the air with the scent of your arousal, sending his nostrils fluttering in fear that he’s hurt you again.

“Feeling pain?” He asks, breaking eye contact briefly to check if you’re bleeding again. An expression of relief washes over him when he realizes that you’re not – it’s all just him. All he can see is the supple skin pulled taut around his cock, doing its best to stretch wide enough for him.

“No.” You lie, afraid it’ll be a repeat of last time. The pain is more like a burn, but the way the ridge of his cockhead pushes up into your gummy walls masks it just right.

“Tanhì.” He rasps, glancing at your disconnected kurus laying on your stomach, silently asking to make tsaheylu – for the truth.

“I – I mean, a little.” You confess, holding both your kurus in next to each other. “Just... stings. Feel me.” You breathe, urge to bond so consuming that your tendrils dance wildly as you move them closer together. Tsaheylu is made hastily, kurus tugging together with a quick, sharp movement. You stare into each other’s lidless eyes, pupils blown to full capacity.

Ralak’s ears tuck next to his skull, brows pinching and lips parting. In an instant, he can feel everything you’re feeling, and for a few moments its just overwhelming. He feels the slight burn between your legs and pants a few times, breath syncing with yours.

“See? You feel…good. Really good.” You moan lowly, finally relaxing your stomach muscles.

“Good.” He gulps, corners of his lips curling upwards. He stays as still as he can, waiting for your body’s command to move. “You feel… tight.”

There’s a moment of silence where you both take in how one another feels. How you can feel each vein of his cock. The way his mushroomy head throbs against your cervix. How warm and soft you feel around his length, sucking him in with greed.

It almost feels like it did when you mated – blown pupils and heightened senses. It’s just another way of connecting with each other. Ralak drops his head, gaze landing on your tattoo, distorted from the way your belly bulges from his cock.

“Oh shit.” He curses under his breath, voice laced with panic. He begins pulling out, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. “That must hurt.” He says, putting all his weight on one hand to caress the bump protruding from your abdomen with the other.

You look down to see his fingers graze over the bulge, shock raising your brows. “I- It doesn’t. I’m fine.”

His hand continues to stroke the bump, fantasizing about how one day this bump would be by something else entirely – his baby growing in your womb. He tries his hardest to fight the arousal brewing in his core, the type that makes his hips snap forward all on their own. All so he can see that bulge protrude even more.

Ralaks’ breathing is so heavy and hard that it’s audible – a low, continuous growl rumbling deep in his chest. Hand slowly sliding down your tattoo, he presses the ball of his palm into your pelvis as his thumb caresses your puffy clit. It makes you squirm a little, walls relaxing and contracting around his cock. He can tell that your body is ready for him, pussy producing so much slick it’s dripping onto his swollen balls.

“Please….” You moan softly, trying to grind into him. “Need you so bad, Lak.”

“Tell me what you need, my little paysyul.” He groans, inching closer to your face, hand moving from your clit to cup your breast. 

“Need you… need you to fuck m-me.” Your breath hitches at the last word, body shuddering from the way his slickened, calloused thumb grazes over your nipple.

“Fuck you, hm?” His accented voice is thick with want – with rapacity. He thrusts into you suddenly, knocking the air out your lungs. “Like that?”

“Mmnfuck! Ye-s.” You inhale shakily, nodding reassuringly as you claw at his face to pull him closer to you. He quickly props himself up on both his elbows, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

Ralak clenches and unclenches his jaw, ears twitching in synchrony, as he tries to resist scratching the itch to pound into you like his own little personal fucktoy. No matter how badly he wants to. To pump you full of his seed. To breed you. To knot you.

He sighs, momentarily closing his eyes to regain his composure. It’s already here, the animalistic instinct to turn you into a vessel to carry his offspring. It’s so close. Creeping up on him like a menace.

His rut.

Though it’s not due for another week, the way you’re staring up at him, eyes glazed over with need, begging him to fill you up didn’t help. Yet, he bites his lip through it, determined to make your real first time a special one. An enjoyable experience. So much so, that he forgets it’s his first time too.

Gently, Ralak. He reminds himself, rocking into you languidly, back muscles rippling with every thrust. Glancing down, he witnesses the bulge move as he rolls his hips into you. Sticky pelvises connected by strings of slick as he pulls out, he grunts quietly, feeling ashamed by how aroused watching you stretch to these lengths makes him feel.

He leans into you, peppering wet kisses down your jaw line, working his way up to the lobe of your ear. “Being such a good girl for me, hm? For your mate.”

You can feel the way his cock moves inside you, so deep and thick that every part of you is being stimulated all at once. You can’t even think straight, not with the way he’s grunting and whispering sweet praises into your ear. You hold on tightly to your mate, wrapping your arms around his neck as he moves at a steady pace.

That hint of pain quickly subsides, morphing into waves of pleasure so intense that it’s etched into your features. Your little mewls and whines turn into soft moans, breathy and shaky from the way he fucks right into your gummy sweet spot. You tighten your hold around his waist with your legs, encouraging him to fasten his pace and deepen his strokes.

“Please. More! Need more of you!” You cry out, nails scraping down his back to pull him in closer. 

“Patience, tanhì.” He huffs, moving his kisses down to your neck, suckling on your supple skin – leaving little bruise like marks behind. “So tiny” A kiss right on the column of your throat, “So tight.” A gentle roll of his hips as he pulls back to look you in the eyes. “My sevin [pretty].”

“Ralak.” You moan softly as you lift your hips up into him, feeling absolutely nothing but absolute and utter bliss at this point. “Please.”

He rolls his hips into you once more, slowly, and tenderly, ridge of his cockhead gliding past your swelling sweet spot. “My mate.” He groans, pulling back just to push himself inside you at a torturously slow pace. “All mine, yes?”

“Yes. Yes. All yours, ma’ lak.” You breathe, snaking your arms around his neck to tug him into you. “F-Faster.” You ask coyly, trying to keep your legs as wide open as you possibly can.

Ralak moves a little faster, but not nearly as fast as you need. He’s so big – so thick that it doesn’t matter the angle, some part of his cock is stimulating every part of you. Looking down, you see himself only halfway buried inside you, refusing to let your tattoos touch anymore.

Beady, displeased eyes snap back up to meet his, “I want to feel all of you.”

Ralak almost laughs, but instead cocks his brow and smirks. He leans down to play in the dip of your collarbone with his tongue, moving quickly to pepper a few kisses on the curve of your shoulder. “You like pain that much?”

For second, you really think about it. His cock is so deep that you feel like you can barely take a full breath. Not to mention the bulge from him being inside you alone. Yet you want all of it. Perhaps you do like pain. But with the way he’s touching you it’s hard to think clearly whatsoever. All that’s running through your head is Ralak pinning you into a mating press and pounding you the way you want.

“I like Ralak. And if Ralak means pain...” You wrap your arms and legs tightly around him, using all your weight and strength to roll him on to his back and situate yourself comfortably on top of him. “...then yes, I like pain.”  

“Is that right?” He huffs as his back slams into the ground, hands instinctively flying to grip the softness of your hips.

“Yes.” You let out a shaky confirmation, bringing your knees to your chest so you’re squatting over him. Sinking all the way down onto his cock, he watches as you suck in every single inch of him with ease. You’re tight – really tight – but you were practically made for him. He exhales a chuckle, finding it interesting how such a little thing could take his cock so well.

“What?” You snap, hands pressing into his firm chest as you reposition yourself on top of him.

“Who knew someone as small as you...” He slides his hands from your hips to your waist, “... would be made for someone like me.”

You gasp as he completely bottoms out inside you, lungs filling with the scent of his arousal, “Someone s-so big?”

He chuckles, calloused thumbs grazing over your raised tattoo, entranced how you can make such an inking like his look so good. There’s just something about the way it trails down to the most sensitive, vulnerable area of your body that drives him crazy.

“I can see why you couldn’t stop staring at mine.” He husks, hand sliding over the stripes to feel their raised texture.

The sensation makes your hips snap back, tattoo still a little sore and itchy. But the way his cock tilts right into your walls washes away the sting with a wave of pleasure. And soon your hips are stuttering all on their own, chasing that budding heat in your core. Every time you move back it feels like a jolt of white-hot pleasure, and when you move forward it’s like –

Satiation.

A feeling of fullness and satisfaction, so intense you feel like you’re about to explode. The sensation is a new one altogether, something you’ve never felt before. It’s so much – so overwhelming you could just scream. It’s like a pressure in your chest, like a heated pot with an airtight lid, about to pop and release.

Your body chases it, grinding back and forth into him at an unrelenting tempo. And the sounds that are coming from your mouth are just straight up vulgar. At this rate, you’re using him for your own pleasure, frenzied movements only increasing in speed and force. He’s so deep the bump protruding from your abdomen has completely deformed your tattoo, pushing against his thumbs.

He presses into it, feeling the crown of his cock through your soft skin. You’re arching your back, angling the tip of his cock to pummel into you even more, fingernails digging deep into his chest for some sort of leverage. You lift your hips up and slam into him repeatedly until the sound of smacking flesh overpowers your filthy noises.

“E-Easy tanhì.” His gruff voice breaks from your erratic movements. “Slow down. You are going to hurt yourself.” He grunts as he grabs your hips to slow you down, feeling his own climax quickly approaching.

“Quiet.” You shush him, weakly smacking away one of his hands to prevent him from ruining this for you. “Fuck. This feels too good. So fucking good. I-I feel like I’m –” You cut yourself off with a quick gasp for air.

Ralak looks up at you with lust in his eyes, pride bubbling in his chest from how you’re working for your climax all on your own. And from the way you’re clamping down around him, he can sense that you’re close. Maybe he could just give into you. Just this once.

“There you go. Just like that.” He encourages you, sliding his thumb between your folds to play with your sticky clit.

“Ugh! Lak.” You moan his name as you release the breath you’ve been holding. Eyes slamming shut, you shift your focus on the unfurling coil in your core. It feels like your nerves are shot, body teeming with pleasure.

Ralak stays still, allowing his little tanhì to do all the work. He can’t peel his eyes away from such a sight. The sight of his mate using him for her own pleasure. It almost sends him over the edge, urge to fuck up into you becoming an itch he must scratch.

“Y-You like how I feel around you. Don’t you?” You breathe, corner of your lips pulling up into a smug little smirk. The question snaps his gaze up to yours, blue eyes locking onto your flushed face. How was it possible? For your face to be more arousing to him than the sight of him inside you. For you, it’s the way he’s staring at you, as if you were the topping on the finest matkayinan dessert.

“Yeah? Haah, ah – say it. Tell your numeyu.” You pant shakily.

Ralak’s jaw twitches, chest rising and falling from how hard he’s breathing. He looks like he’s biting on his tongue – literally and figuratively. To hold back even just an ounce of self-control. So not to admit how good it feels when you squeeze him with your innocence.

It’s so pure. Untouched. Unfucked.

“I love it.” He growls through a clenched jaw.

“Oh, fuck.” You let loose a sudden scream, your hand flying to cover your agape mouth. Then there’s –

Silence. You hold your breath, feeling your eyes burn as they gloss over. All you can hear is the sound of your slick smearing all over his pelvic bone as you grind into him, and his intense breathing. Until you feel like you’re about to burst. Your hand falls from your mouth, leaving it wide open.

“Ralak.” You moan his name, although it sounds more like a desperate cry for help.

Rather than answering, he picks up the speed of his thumb, swiping over your swollen clit at a merciless pace.

“Ralak.” Another little cry falls from your flushed lips to let him know you’re close even though he can feel everything through tsaheylu. “Ra –” You cut yourself off with a quick snap of your hips, jamming his head right against your swollen g-spot. “–lak!”

“Ralak!” You cry out for the last time, frenzied movements turning into quick, rough grinding. You gush all over your mate, force of your orgasm so strong that you push him out of you, painting his stomach in your pussy juices as if he were a blank canvas. Your legs shake uncontrollably, all strength of your body washing away to leave you weak and wobbly. Pushing down onto his chest, you do your best to hold your shuddering body up.

“Fuck. Good girl. Good girl.” He curses a well-deserved praise, accent extra thick over such a novel word to him.

“I-I just made mys-self cum, Lak.” You groan breathlessly, feeling the walls of your cunt pulsate around him as confirmation.  

“I can see that tanhì” He chuckles breathily, chin meeting his chest to look at the little puddle of cum you’ve made on him. You look down to see what he’s talking about, blurred vision making it so that you can only see the intense glisten of his skin. You slide one hand down from his chest onto his stomach, feeling a warm, watery liquid glazed over his cyan skin.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorr – ”

“Shh. Again. Do that for your karyu again.” He hums, rolling his hips to grind his cock between your slippery pussy lips.

“Oh – Lak, I – I really don’t know if I can.” You say with trembling lungs, feeling so spent that you’re light in the head.

Ralak clicks his tongue, swiftly moving his hands under your thighs to lift you up. “You can. Hips up.” With one quick movement, he positions the tip of his cock at your tight opening and lets go of your thighs. Due to the heaviness of your body, you slam down onto lap, taking every inch of his cock all at once.

“Oh, great mother!” You cry out her name as a curse, crown of his cock threatening to pierce through your cervix. It hurt so good that you can’t help but grind further into it his relentless pushes. Fuck, maybe you do like pain. White hot pleasure surges through you, but morphs into something totally different when you feel his fingers wrap around and sink into your hips.

He repositions himself, heels of his feet sinking so deep into the cot that there will be dents for weeks. You bob and sway as he wiggles into place, all-consuming eyes boring into yours of delirium. They had a glint of... intent.

Intent to make you cum again.

And again. And – honestly, as many orgasms as he could squeeze out of your little body. And before you can even process all of what’s going on, Ralak begins pounding into you. Wet, squelching noises and sounds of skin smacking against skin become louder than the filthy moans he’s expertly working out of you.

“This is what you want, yes?” He grunts, pulling out just to slam himself back into you a little deeper. “All of me?”

“Lak!” You barely get out, a hand against his tattoo to push him back. “W-Wait, it’s too much –”

“Answer me.” He growls, angling his pelvis to fuck right into your most sensitive spot.

“Oh – fuck! Y-Yes!” You let loose a sudden, hoarse cry of defeat, taking his hammering with no where to run.

He can’t stop the buck of his hips. It’s just the way your heat sucks his in his twitching cock, milking his sticky precum into your empty womb. And that belly bulge – that damn bulge makes it twice as hard to fight to urge to fill you up until it’s even more swollen. He watches as it moves, ramming so hard into you it protrudes a little more with each thrust.

“Then cum for me.”  He demands of you, eyes locked on the way your breasts bounce under your crimson top from the sheer force of his thrusts.

“Please! Please –” You beg, unsure what even for. You could already feel yet another orgasm approaching, and it’s not yours. It’s like a heat is transferring through his queue to yours, and down your spine in shocks. You try to close your legs in anticipation of it pooling in your core, setting off your own orgasm.

“Tell me what you need.” He growls, thrusts becoming shorter and deeper, bulge at the base of his cock growing by the second.

He’s on the brink of cumming, and you could feel it.

“I-Inside.” You blubber, head dipping back from the overstimulation as he gets himself off with your tight cunt. He tsks, thrusting up into you hard. “Ugh! I need your cum inside me!”

“Shit.” He growls deeply, manhandling your hips to keep your squirming body down on his cock. You feel it throb inside you, filling up your empty womb right before your pussy walls flutter around him. Your brain short circuits, body convulsing violently before slumping down into his. He holds you tight, giving your sopping cunt a few more deep thrusts, knot prodding at your entrance.

“W-What’s t-that?” You blubber breathlessly into his ear, feeling your eyelids grow heavier.

“Knot.” He barely grunts an answer, thick, sticky seed dripping down the growing, throbbing bulge as it has no where else to go. His fingers dig into your skin, deeper and deeper as he squeezes his eyes shut – resisting the urge to sink his knot inside you too. That would hurt. Too much.

He hums out his orgasm, rocking into you a few times to ensure you’re as full as can be. Well, you feel that way. You’re so full of not only his cock but also his huge load, you can practically feel it slushing around inside you. You groan when the sensation makes you a little queasy.

Ralak feels your discomfort, tenderly pulling out of you. That alone took a while, each inch coming out of you slowly and gently. “You okay?” He huffs, just as his cockhead pops out of you, allowing his warm cum to seep out of you and down your thighs. You nod into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes and letting your body rest on top of him.

“You took me so well.” He coos at you, supporting the back of your head with one hand and the swell of your ass with the other. “You know that?”

“Mhm. L-ak.” His name comes out broken as he shuffles to his feet with you in his firm hold. “I see you, ma’ ‘lak.” You mumble, letting your eyes flutter shut.

“I see you, my little tanhì.” He utters the words in a hoarse voice, making his way to the cave to take care of you.

----

Now that you’re all healed and settled in to your new forever home, Ralak urges you to pay your family a visit. It took quite a bit of convincing, and honestly a little bit of bribing, but it worked and here you are – standing in your own family marui. Kiri, Tuk, and Neytiri were out with Ronal and Tsireya, leaving the boys behind.

Just your luck.

“C’mon, let’s see it.” Jake crosses his arms and takes a step back.

“Yeah, y/n. It’s been over a week since we’ve seen you. I haven’t even seen your tattoo yet.” Lo’ak chimes in, leaning against the stilt of his family marui. Neteyam stands tall, keeping to himself as he listens intently to the conversation.

“Guys.” You chuckle nervously, fidgeting with the cork on your songchord.

“Why so nervous, baby girl? Somewhere where we can’t see or somethin’?” Jake jesters, uncrossing his arms to walk behind you, inspecting your back.

“Uh – uhm.” You stumble with your words, looking at Neteyam for some sort of rescue. Rather, he cocks a brow in agreeance with his family. He wants to know too. You look at Lo’ak, who’s now making his way towards you too. It feels like they’re all closing in on you, teaming up on you to give you no other choice.

“Fine. If you guys want to see it that bad.” You shrug, hooking your thumbs under the band of your tewng and tug it down until the six lines begin to show.

The men’s eyes snap down and widen once they all realise what you’re doing. They begin retreating to the back of the marui, hands splayed in front of their faces to shield them from the unfolding sight.

“Alright. Alright!” Jake shouts, waving his hands for you to stop.

“Yep. Nevermind. Message received.” Lo’ak mutters, making his way through the back door of the marui. Before you can even look Neteyam’s way, he’s right behind his baby brother, shaking his head and escaping this whole ordeal.

----------

THE END :)

I hope you guys enjoyed this (slow burn) Ralak series. I just want to give a special thank you to @zestys-stuff for allowing me to bring this man to life in a fic. This collaboration has been unreal and so much fun and honestly, I look forward to doing more collabs with you in the future (cus I know you got more delicious OC’s hidden up your sleeve). You’re so fucking talented and I literally cannot get over it.  

Now, now. Ralak is not gone forever. I’ll be doing special episodes of him (and reader) going forward, and you can expect the first special episode very soon – “Ralak’s First Rut”. It’s a bit of a mind fuck (literally) so bear with me! Anyways.

‘nuff love,

“Cry about it.” you muttered, moving aside to let him in.

Hannibal stepped in, eyeing the neatly folded pile of “acceptable clothing” sitting on the armrest of the couch: a plain black t-shirt and some soft linen pants. His designated “housewear,” handpicked by you.

You tugged at your hoodie collar. “And before you ask, no, I will not dress up for dinner.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Hannibal murmured, eyes trailing over your form with quiet appreciation. “You look quite delectable as you are.”

The moment you saw his fingers twitch toward your cheek, still clad in his buttoned cuffs, you physically backed away and held up your hands like a traffic cop. “Touch me while you're wearing that wool blend, and I swear to God, Hannibal, I will go full exorcist mode.”

Hannibal stared at you. You stared right back. A beat passed. With a long-suffering sigh that was one part indulgence and two parts deep, dramatic tragedy, Hannibal began to unbutton his shirt. “I imagine Dante faced fewer trials descending into Hell.”

“Dante didn’t have sensory issues and a partner with tactile defensiveness.” you replied, flopping backward onto the couch and digging for the remote. “He also probably didn’t have to deal with a boyfriend whose suits have pocket squares.”

“You wound me.”

“You’ll live. Now hurry up and change. I want to cuddle and I can feel that collar from across the room like it's made of broken glass.”

Hannibal disappeared into the bedroom. He emerged minutes later looking like a disturbingly handsome college professor on sabbatical. His hair still perfectly in place, but his clothing now reduced to a plain shirt and drawstring pants. You squinted at him.

“Are those from the pile?”

“Yes.”

“Did you actually wash them in fragrance-free detergent?”

“Yes.”

“No cologne?”

Hannibal tilted his head. “I sacrificed Creed Bois du Portugal for you.”

“Okay, now you’re just showing off.” You grinned and patted the space next to you. “Come. I need my cuddly cannibal.”

He sat beside you, gingerly at first, as though the couch offended his sensibilities. But then you threw your legs across his lap and buried your face into his now soft shoulder, and everything quieted. Hannibal exhaled, his arms wrapping around you, no longer restricted by wool or tailoring.

“You are intolerable.”

“I’m perfect,” you corrected. “And so are hoodies.”

BONUS SCENE:

“Will you please, please, just wear the slacks?” Hannibal hissed. You stared at him, cradling your coffee like a judge. “We’re having diplomats over.”

“I don’t care if we’re having dinner with the Pope. I’m wearing this.” You gestured to your ensemble: a new hoodie with a cartoon raccoon wielding a sword, and gym shorts that were probably illegal in several upscale neighborhoods.

“They’ll talk.”

“Good. Let them. And when they ask you why your beautiful, brilliant boyfriend is dressed like an angry barista with trauma, you can say: ‘He doesn’t like the texture of stiff collars yet he’s still the smartest person in the room.’”

Hannibal opened his mouth. Closed it. Slowly nodded. Then poured you a second cup of coffee and whispered, “I adore you.”

series: kinda

leather & lace.

001, 002, 003 & 004.

man’s best friend.

001 & 002.

shy!thomas hewitt x waitress!reader.

001 & 002.

genderbent!thomas hewitt.

001 & 002.

x pastors!daughter.

001 & 002.

reader’s child mistaking you for a victim.

001 & 002.

alphabet’s

nsfw & sfw.

blurbs/hc:

boobs or ass kinda guy?

turning you into a spoiled princess.

obsessed with you being pregnant.

asshole!thomas hewitt.

touchy!reader x touchstarved!thomas hewitt.

loner!thomas hewitt x popular!reader.

having your first kiss stolen by another.

trying to outrun thomas.

scarred by the birth of your child.

finding the perfect ring.

your child confusing monty as their father.

asking thomas for a baby.

your antisocial son.

meeting thomas’s teenage son.

wearing a babydoll nightgown.

thomas watching tapes from readers past.

your child being a troublemaker.

first time with thomas.

trying to comfort his pregnant wife.

drunk thomas’s late night adventures.

thomas fighting your child for your attention.

gifting you back your stolen bracelet.

meeting thomas for the first time.

thomas dealing with his stubborn wife.

leaving your lavish lifestyle for him.

luda mae meeting her grandbaby for the first time.

thomas keeping photo’s of you.

thomas fixing his wrongs 18+.

thomas’s old friend stopping by for a visit.

the meanings behind thomas’s hugs.

thomas being scared of thunder.

secret!metalhead!thomas x metalhead!reader.

watching you feed your baby.

holding you after a frustrating day.

obsessed with thomas’s thighs.

having a baby with a cleft lip.

frankenstein’s bride.

removing his mask for sex.

losing his wife after childbirth.

being thomas’s wife.

dropping hints for him to propose.

domestic life with thomas.

babying thomas.

having thomas’s big baby.

belly kink.

thomas running away with you.

solving an agreement with your boobs.

taking you and your child as his own.

having thomas over for the holidays.

househusband!thomas x breadwinner!reader.

wedding day.

random burst of aggressive loving.

thomas picking out your lingerie.

becoming obsessed with your scent.

sharing candy with thomas.

helping you after you started your period.

everyday life after you had your baby.

thomas becoming clingy.

viral kissing trend.

krampus!thomas.

!readers: ( some are just a one hit wonder for now )

foreign!reader.

fem!dom!reader.

insane!reader.

clumsy!reader.

sick!reader.

yandere!reader.

chubby!reader.

vampire!reader.

doctor!reader.

baker!reader.

writer!reader.

smart!reader.

witchy!reader.

more tcm characters:

older!boyfriend!hoyt

001 , 002 & 003.

taking a spicy photo for nubbins sawyer.

morgan hardesty x hewitt!reader.

radio host!reader x bubba sawyer.

reoccurring !readers: some new, some old.

bunny!reader. lamb!reader. mommy!reader.

→ Certain areas of the house are off limits to you. The basement serves as a sanctuary for Thomas's work, and he is adamant that you are shielded from the horrors that happen inside. However, he still insists on your presence nearby, perched on the steps that lead down to the space or listening to the radio in the dining room upstairs. Your proximity seems to offer him a sense of security and focus, enabling him to delve into his his task with unwavering concentration and produce some of his best work.

→ Thomas finds solace in words of affirmation and constantly seeks reassurance from you. Despite the intimacy you share and the countless times you've assured him otherwise, he harbours an unshakeable fear that if he loosens his grip even for a moment, you might slip away from him. This nagging insecurity gnaws at him, overshadowing moments of connection, leaving him perpetually haunted by the possibility of losing you.

→ Physical gestures become one your languages of reassurance. You hold his hand tightly, intertwining your fingers as a silent promise that you're there for him. Running your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you becomes a comforting ritual, soothing both him and you. Your touch on his chest, just over his heart, keeps his anxieties at bay.

→ Words also become a source of comfort for Thomas. You express your pride in him, highlighting his strengths and the ways he makes your life better. You tell him how happy you are to have him by your side, emphasizing that he's not just your protector but also your partner. Sometimes, the simplest affirmations have the greatest impact on Thomas. Hearing you call him "yours" fills him with a sense of belonging and purpose, and when you tell him that he's been good, he can't help but prove just how good he can be by filling you with his fingers, tongue or cock.

→ Thomas feels most valued when you grant him your undivided attention and allow him to reciprocate. He revels in spending hours between your legs, skilfully coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your willing body until you're left a whimpering, trembling mess beneath him. Despite his efforts to maintain control in your relationship, you always seem to hold the upper hand, which is why he finds solace in reducing you to a thoroughly fucked-out state on his bed. In those moments, with your mind blissfully empty and your body consumed by a primal hunger for his touch, he feels a sense of power and satisfaction unlike any other.

→ Despite this, the mounting tensions within the household, particularly with Charlie, often leave Thomas grappling with pent-up aggression. As the demands on his time intensify, with Charlie clamouring for more of Thomas's attention and you taking on additional shifts at the community centre to assist his mother, Thomas finds it increasingly challenging to maintain his composure.

→ You've become attuned to the subtle shifts in his demeanour, recognizing the tell-tale signs when he's received a stern tongue lashing from his uncle or had a particularly taxing session in the basement. Thomas' simmering rage begins to permeate his interactions with you. His touch, once tender and reassuring, now carries an undercurrent of tension. The few words he mutters in your presence are laced with frustration and discontent, rather than devotion.

→ Despite your best efforts to sooth him, there are moments when Thomas's volatile emotions threaten to overwhelm him. In those instances, you find yourself walking on eggshells, navigating the precarious balance between offering solace and inadvertently stoking the flames of his anger. You are never fearful of Thomas, but these are the times when you remove yourself from his presence when possible. That is, until you learn that the best way to calm him during these storms is with your body.

→ Thomas's heavy-handed nature becomes even more pronounced during these moments of heightened emotion. He handles you with a forcefulness that borders on brutality, moulding and contorting your body into painful positions that elicit tears of discomfort. While he typically refrains from spanking you unless requested, in these instances, his large hand comes crashing down upon your flesh with punishing force, leaving behind welts and bruises that you carry for days. Unlike his usual attentiveness to your pleasure, Thomas's focus shifts solely towards finding an outlet for his frustration, using your body as a means to an end in his quest for release. He bites, scratches, and fucks every inch of you with an almost desperate intensity, seeking solace in the physical connection between you.

→ Yet, there are fleeting moments of clarity when the clouds in his eyes dissipate, and the gentle giant you know and love re-emerges. It's in these moments of vulnerability that you offer him comfort, reassuring him that he can take what he needs from you, and that you will still love him.

→ After the intensity of the moment subsides, Thomas retreats into the solitude of the basement, locking himself away as a form of self-imposed punishment for his mistreatment of you. Despite your efforts to coax him out, reassuring him of your well-being and offering comfort, he remains secluded until he feels ready to face you once more. When Thomas finally does emerge, you're quick to envelop him in the warmth of your affection and reassurance. With a soft kiss to his leather-clad cheek, you convey your unwavering support and understanding, letting him know that you harbour no resentment towards him.

→ In the aftermath of the encounter, Thomas's protective instincts kick into overdrive as he tends to any wounds that adorn your body, his touch gentle yet purposeful. It's in these moments that his true nature shines through—he may be heavy-handed and prone to bouts of aggression, but above all else, he possesses a deep-seated desire to care for and protect you, to make amends for any harm he may have caused.

RZ!Michael Myers

→ Michael's possessive nature over you begins with an intense and inexplicable fixation. From the moment his eyes land on you, something primal within him snaps, and he becomes singularly obsessed with making you his own.

→ He can't quite explain what draws him to the Red Rabbit Lounge that evening, but as he leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath after a harrowing escape from Smith's Grove, he is immediately captivated when you emerge from the back door. Unlike others who shrink away from him in fear, you meet his gaze with a calm demeanour, lighting your cigarette and casually pointing out his papier-mâché mask. Your nonchalant remark about liking the orange because it reminds you of your favourite holiday only adds to the intrigue, sparking something deep within Michael's psyche.

→ Following that initial encounter, Michael becomes an omnipresent presence in your life, a shadow that lingers at the edges of your awareness. You sense him in the periphery of your vision, catch glimpses of his shadow darting past windows, and hear the faintest rustle of his breath in the stillness of the night. He becomes your unseen companion, meticulously observing your every move. He studies your routines and habits, committing them to memory with an almost obsessive attention to detail. Always one step ahead, he waits patiently until the opportune moment presents itself to make his presence truly known.

→ Michael finds immense pleasure in the exhilarating pursuit of you, convinced that you share in his enjoyment of the chase. He keenly observes the subtle signs of your awareness, noticing the wry smirk that graces your lips when you sense his presence nearby. In those moments, he imagines feeling the same giddiness that surges through you when he lightly brushes your hair, a fleeting touch that leaves you yearning for more, even as it vanishes before you can turn around. The first time you called out to him, he battled against every instinct urging him to step out from the shadows and claim you as his own. Despite the overwhelming desire possess you, he restrains himself, savouring the anticipation of the inevitable moment when he would finally make his move.

→ In Michael's twisted psyche, you are more than just a person; you are a coveted prize that he will protect at all costs. He perceives himself as the sole rightful owner of your being, and he harbours an intense fixation on claiming you as his own.

→ As the regular patrons of the lounge mysteriously vanish one by one, leaving a bewildered community in their wake, Michael remains a silent observer, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon you. He knows all too well the allure of your presence, the captivating dance you perform for these men, reminiscent of the performances his late mother once gave. Yet, while others may see you as an entertainer, Michael sees something far deeper—a connection, a possession, a symbol of his ultimate dominance that he must preserve.

→ From the shadows, he watches as you bare your body to these patrons. To Michael, it doesn't matter whether you are aware of his claim over you; what matters is that he sees you as his, and he will go to any lengths to ensure that no one dares to challenge him. In his mind, you are his alone, and he will stop at nothing to secure what he believes is rightfully his.

→ When Michael finally decides to collect his prize, it's in the eerie stillness of the night. He patiently waits in the shadows of your home, a silent sentinel standing rigidly in the corner of your bedroom as he observes your every move. You can feel his presence, an unspoken acknowledgment that he has come to stake his claim on his property.

→ As you undress, acutely aware of his watchful gaze, a shiver runs down your spine. There's a palpable tension in the air, a sense of anticipation mingled with apprehension. Yet, despite the unease that courses through you, there's also a strange allure, a primal instinct drawing you inexorably towards him. When you finally coax him from the shadows, he engulfs you in his arms with a ferocity that takes your breath away. The force of his embrace is suffocating, his touch demanding as he grasps and claws at every part of your body. In that moment, there's no denying the intensity of his desire, the need to make you his own consuming him entirely.

→ Michael is not gentle with you; he doesn't hold back his deep urges to possess you completely. He revels in your whimpers and the screams of his name as he stretches you open and takes what he deems rightfully his. His touch is rough, unyielding, as if trying to merge your bodies into one. Each movement is driven by a fierce need to mark you, to ensure you understand that you belong to him and no one else. Every night with Michael is filled with a mix of pain and pleasure. His eyes intense and unwavering, remain locked on you, drinking in every reaction, every cry. To him, this is the final step in owning you, the ultimate act of protecting what is his.

→  Removing the mask takes time. It's one evening, after the intensity of your shared orgasms have ebbed, and Michael lies heavy on top of you. Your fingers tentatively trace the edges of the white rubber mask, sensing his body tense beneath your touch. His hand instinctively reaches out, grasping your wrist to halt your movement, but your lips find solace in the warmth of his knuckles as you plant a gentle kiss, your breath whispering a desire to see him. For a fleeting moment, there's resistance, a hesitancy borne from years of concealing his true self, before he lets you unmask him. His long hair cascades over your face as the mask falls away, revealing the man beneath. In that vulnerable moment, you stroke his sweat-glistened cheek, your fingers tracing the contours of his features as you call him "handsome", perhaps the first time he's heard the word since his mother.

→ Despite Michael's disapproval of your continued work at the lounge, you are unwilling to relinquish your independence completely. He grumbles and fumes when things don't go his way, but deep down, he appreciates your defiance, feels a strange allure in your willingness to challenge him. Although his overly protective nature remains, he secretly enjoys the way you push back against his control, finding a strange sense of satisfaction in the game of give and take between you. A hand on his chest or a kiss along his strong jawline is all it takes for him to soften, his resolve melting under the warmth of your affection. You eventually compromise, only working certain shifts and allowing him to escort you home. As if you really have a choice on the matter. Michael finds your attempts at negotiation endearing.

→ If anyone dares to come between Michael and what is his, he reacts with violent outbursts of rage. His attacks are brutal and merciless, driven by a primal need to assert his dominance and protect you. Unfortunately, you are also not exempt from his aggression, and when he catches sight of you one night, engaged in conversation with a stranger outside the back of the lounge during your smoke break, he snaps. In a frenzy of fury, he swiftly disposes of the man, his actions marked by a sickening crunch of bones as his body is hurled against the brick wall. Then, turning his attention to you, Michael's muscles coil with tension and his chest heaves with barely-contained anger. Gripping your arms so fiercely that bruises bloom in their wake, he shoves you against the wall, once, then again, as if attempting to jolt some some sense into you.

→ With swift determination, Michael hoists you over his shoulder and retreats into the shadows, his purposeful strides carrying you home. But the journey doesn't lead to the bedroom; instead, he deposits you onto the stairs with a roughness that steals your breath. There, in the dim light, he strips away the remnants of your clothing, his actions forceful and unyielding. Again and again, he fucks into you with a ferocity that leaves you screaming his name, your pleas mingling with the echoes of both passion and pain. In those moments, as his protectiveness gives way to possession and consumes you, you find yourself uttering the words he craves to hear—that you are his, and his alone.

Tap, tap, tap.

You type away important information pertaining to Mr. Thompson as per his psychiatrist's orders. Finishing a sentence, you take a moment to massage your temples with your fingers as you look over the patient's chart. Being a nurse for Smith's Grove Sanitarium wasn't your initial choice, but it was one that paid decently enough to keep the lights on at home and had great benefits. The doctors treated you and the others as inferiors and the patients could really make or break the day, but you persevered.

You recognized some here were just deeply troubled and needed someone to listen to them properly. And while a few of the psychiatrists and therapists try, most are here for the money or recognition of working here. The man you work under is one of those. Dr. Daniel Jackson is one of the most egotistical men you've met, convinced that he could crack open Myers despite the many years Loomis put into trying just that. There is a rumor floating around the possibility of Dr. Loomis wanting to stop his work, and you just know Dr. Jackson is chomping at the bit to take over the Myers case.

You glance over at the time and quickly finish up your charting, putting in Mr. Thompson was medication compliant, no longer feeling SI yet still experiences HI and AVH, but is seeing improvements with the new medications given to him. You save everything and click out of his file, pushing away from the nurses station. 

It was nearly time to see Michael Myers. You quickly grab a large Rubbermaid tub with the supplies needed for paper mache and drop them off in the usual room Loomis uses to speak with Michael.

It was a few years ago he was added to your rotation. You were a little apprehensive at first, given what happened to a nurse who worked with him before your time here. Outside of him making his masks, he just…lives in his own world. Yet when you took over part of his care he seems to have perked up a little. His change was subtle–almost discernable–but still present when you enter the room. He perks up when you enter his room, he shows you the new masks he makes, and sometimes has you make a mask with him. He seems to respond to you–not always verbally but something about you breaks through his dissociation. And despite the warnings around him, you've developed a bond with Michael. You've tried to explain some of what Michael shows you to Loomis, yet he never believes you.

A part of you feels it teeters on the unprofessional side, but the other part believes you two share a connection. You're not sure how deep it is and you know you shouldn't indulge in any feelings you may feel fester inside you when you're with Michael… but you can't help but be softer with him. Feel something for him you probably shouldn't feel, especially on those late lonely nights you seem to frequently hace larely. You definitely shouldn't think about his towering height over you and how his subtle actions towards you and you only really do it for you, but you do. You shove those thoughts and feelings away, yet they are always present.

You meet up with Ismael, giving him a friendly smile until you spot a new guard with him. 

“Hey, Ismael, new hire?”

“Yep.Noel Kluggs. Showing him the ropes.” Your friend nods and the three of you start walking down the hall to Michael’s cell.

“So who are you and why does this place have such a hot ass nurse here?” Noel comments with a sleazy grin, making your steps fumble as you look at him with clear disgust on your face.

“Hey, man, not cool.” You’re grateful for Ismael’s quick scolding even if you could easily stand up for yourself against someone like him. “Don’t talk about her like that.” 

“He’ll be quick to learn to not fuck with me.” You chuckle, which makes Ismael laugh at your comment while Noel looks confused. He doesn’t make any comments further but he does try to put on a ‘macho man’ show towards Ismael.

Ismael opens Michael’s cell and greets him like usual. You were about to say hello like usual but the new guy started making a scene. You roll your eyes and you were about to tell him to knock it off when he goes and touches one of Michael’s. Ismael shouts at him while you reach out and smack the man’s hand.

“Don’t touch his masks.” Ismael warns.

“What the fuck, did you just slap me?” Noel growls and takes a step towards you but the sound of metal scraping stills the three of you. Michael had stood up abruptly and turned to face all of you–everyone’s breaths catch in their throats. You could see Myers’ chest heaving as he loomed over everyone else. You could barely see his face with his mask and hair in the way but you can just barely see his dark eyes focused on Noel, his large hands clenching into tight fists. 

“Hey, Mikey… It's alright. We're sorry. He's new.” Ismael speaks softly as he looks up at Michael. He clasped the cuffs around Myers's wrists, the chain dangling between his arms. “I'm sorry about the chains, but we are taking you to see Dr. Loomis.”

“What the fuck are you sorry for? You like this guy?” Noel looks genuinely baffled as he looks between the two of you and Michael.

“It's called having basic decency, Mr. Kluggs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have Mr. Myers here handled. You can wait for us outside.” You let out a little ‘hmph’ and focus on the tallest in the tiny cell. You can see how much he is on edge right now with how tense his posture is. “You ready to go, Michael?”

“I am not leaving you alone with this freak.”

“Wait outside, Noel. Michael wouldn't  hurt me.”

“What the-”

“Listen to her.” Ismael grunts, grabbing Noel by the shoulder and guiding him out. He gives you a worried look but obliges. The door isn't closed, but it is still almost daunting being alone with him.

“I'm sorry about what just happened, Michael. He's new and just trying to prove himself.” You murmur as you step up close to him. You never thought much of your height compared to others but whenever you stood near Michael he made you feel so small and you have to cool off any sort of reaction his height brings you. It may be foolish to be so up close to him, but he's never given you a reason not to trust him. “Ready to go? We can make new masks before you and Dr. Loomis have your session.” 

Michael’s body seems to slowly relax back into his typical slouched posture. You barely hear the soft grunt from him as he shuffles forward, his eyes now locked on you.

Your smile gently and without touching him, you lead him out of the room. Ismael and Noel looked shocked at the hulking man following you so easily with no restraint and quickly scrambled to stand next to him. Nothing is said until the four of you reach the all too familiar, large room. Michael takes his seat at the table and you gently pat his shoulder and take your spot near him.

“Need anything else, nurse?” Ismael asks as he looks between you and Michael. 

“No. Thank you for your help.” 

You hear the dual footsteps grow further away until the door opens and closes. You know both of the guards are still outside, but now it is just you and Michael.

You don't say anything as you pop off the lid and set out the sheets of newspaper and various colors of construction paper. You get the necessary ingredients out and mix them for you both. While you can’t heat up the flour and water, it still works for crafts. 

“Do you want me to make one with you?” 

He lets out a soft noise and pushes some of the paper to you. He immediately starts tearing paper and getting to work and making something. You were slower as paper mache was a new medium to you but Michael’s hands worked fast, the chains connected to his cuffs tinking and shifting with each movement. You ‘tsk’ softly but know the guards wouldn't ever take off his restraints outside his room. You glance up from your own work to observe him.

“How are you doing today, Michael?”

His hands slowly stop his work as he peers up at you through his long hair. He doesn’t say anything and you don't expect him to, but his little responses tell you everything. He gives you a slight shrug and resumes making his mask.

“My neighbors are still being jerks.” You start to talk about your life as you normally do. It seems to be one of the few things that brings Michael out and in the present. “Last night they were so loud in their backyard. I don't know how two people can make so much noise but they do. I've tried telling them I work mostly in the mornings so I need sleep but they don't care.”

Michael grunts as he smooths out some of the wet paper of his mask.

“I made a delicious batch of cookies though, which was great since I usually suck at baking. I'll talk to Dr. Loomis and see if I can’t bring you some tomorrow.” 

Again you are met with silence from him but he stops his task for just a moment to briefly look at your face. He stares for a long time before going back to his mask. You don't say anything more as you focus a little too hard on finishing your own art project. 

Your mask is a little chopped and not the greatest made thing when you finish. It's lumpy under the red and yellow paper you placed on top of the newspaper yet it still has some charm. You let out a little huff at the sight of the mask Myers made with black as the primary shade with specs of red and blue placed on various places where the cheeks and forehead would be. It looks more smoothed out and less chunky than yours. 

“You are too good at that.” You grin as he looks at your face and the mask you made. He slowly slides the mask he made over to you. “For me?”

He grunts again and returns his hands back to in front of him. 

“Then, I will give you the one I made. I'll take them to my desk to dry while Dr. Loomis talks with you.” You carefully lift the mask he made into your hands and look it over with a smile. “Thank you.”

Michael leans forward a little, tilting his head back a little so you see more of his eyes and the current mask he is wearing. You blink as he stares and your smile waivers just a little at the intensity. You catch his hand twitching against the table and he moves as close as he can to you. Your breath catches in your throat but you don’t show any fear. It may be foolish not to be scared of a patient known for his random bouts of violence. It may be stupid, too, to reach over and gently place your hand over his.

“You've done good today, Michael.” You nearly whisper and you can feel the nearly indiscernible twitch of his fingers. His hand–much larger than yours–turns and he grips yours firmly. It makes you wince and almost instantly you felt his hand loosen its grasp on yours. You smile softly and squeeze his hand gently and he returns the gesture. You feel him start to pull you close and you swallow thickly.

 Before anything else could happen the door opens and in walks Dr. Loomis. You are quick to remove yourself from Michael’s personal space, your heart racing at almost getting caught being so close to a patient. You let out a shaky sigh, giving Michael a reassuring look, before looking at Loomis.

“Ah, making masks again, are we?” The older man asks with a raised brow. 

“As always, Dr. Loomis. I'll get the table cleaned up.” You murmur politely, all while Myers still stares at you. You gather up the supplies, place them in the clear tote, and click the lid back in place. You place the masks on top of the box and carefully lift it into your arms before grabbing the small bowl with the water mixture. “I shall stop by your room afterwards, Mr. Myers.” 

You can feel Dr. Loomis's stare on both you and Michael as you leave. Ismael thankfully opens the door for you and Noel doesn't say anything. You let out a sigh as you walk to your desk. You set down the container and place the masks down at your desk before taking a seat. You feel almost warm, or lighter, at the subtle progress Michael has made.

You stare at your hand as you recall Michael’s behavior, when Dr. Jackson appears with a stupid smirk on his face.

“Have you heard the news?”

You don't reply to him and just give him a hard look as you stand up. 

“Dr. Loomis is closing his work on that freak, Myers. He's going to hand the case to me.” His words make you freeze.

“What?”

“He doesn't think he can learn more or help Myers at this point, so he is giving him to me. And the first thing I implement is removing you from his case.”

“You can't be serious? Michael has shown improvements after he was added to my rotation.”

“Only that you have seen.”

“Ismael has seen it too.”

“Ismael barely knows his right from his left.” Dr. Jackson waves you off. “I don't need you or him meddling with what the patient needs.” 

“Unbelievable.”

“Believe it, sweetheart.” He grins and waves as he quickly takes his leave before you can say anything else. You stared at his retreating figure in disbelief. You feel the cold realization that he is limiting your time with Michael and the fact that Loomis won't be his primary psychologist  anymore. Change can be life altering for the patients and you worry about Michael’s reaction. 

You get through small tasks until the hour is up and Michael would be escorted back to his room, bringing the mask you made along with you. When you approached the room you saw Loomis leave with an almost troubled look before he spots you. Michael is led out by Ismael and Noel and you could see just how tense he is.

Dr. Loomis calls your last name. “May I speak with you?”

“Of course.” You swallow thickly as Michael is led back to his room. 

“I have decided to stop working with Michael Myers and have handed my case on him off to Dr. Daniel Jackson.”

“I've heard. He is removing me from Michael’s care team.” Your voice is tense. “I don't think that is a good decision, especially if you're no longer in charge.”

“While I respect your dedication to Michael’s care, I think Dr. Jackson's choice is a valid one. You are in too deep. I've seen the way you've treat him-”

“He responds to me, Dr. Loomis!” You exclaim, cutting him off. You felt your frustration boiling over at how stubborn this man is. “He doesn't speak but he responds with action.”

“And I have yet to witness that.” Dr. Loomis's face turns stern as he looks you over. “I advise you to drop this matter or I will highly recommend to the charge nurse you will need to take some time off and a suggestion that you take courses around the ethics of healthcare as a nurse.” 

“Dr. Loomis-”

“I will not hear anything else from you. And I will also advise you not to see Michael out of your own volition either. If Dr. Jackson wants you away from him, then you stay away. Now…Have a good night.” Dr. Loomis gives you a tense nod before walking off, not giving you a chance to speak. 

You stand for a few moments in shock. Your frustration and also the sudden sadness you feel brings tears to your eyes, but you try not to cry. Michael has been doing so well. Even if it's small actions, he's been coming out of his dissociation. Your heart clenches at the thought of him as you start to head to your desk, grabbing the mask you made before heading to his cell. 

Losing both Loomis and you will certainly shake Michael in some sort of way, and you worry for him. You worry about the care Dr. Jackson will place on him too. You worry Michael is either going to regress back completely into his dissociative shell, or become violent. Your stomach churns at all the possibilities. 

You're grateful to see Ismael when you arrive back at Michael's cell. He has a sympathetic look on his face. “Heard the news. I thought you'd want to say goodbye to him.” 

“I just hope he'll take the news well.” You murmured before Ismael opened the door for you. You take a deep breath and step inside, Ismael cracking the door so you have some semblance of privacy. You look at Michael as he sits at his desk, slouched and tense.

When your footsteps sound in the cramped room his head perks a little. 

“Hello, Michael.” Your voice is a little above a whisper as you greet him. You get yourself to where you are close behind him. You'd stand to his side if there was enough room in his tiny cell.

You're surprised to see him slowly turn in his chair and peer up at you from his spot. Even sitting, he is a hulking man.

“Dr. Jackson and Dr. Loomis told me what's happening.” Your chest feels tighter at what you're about to tell him. Your instincts tell you not to, but you can’t help but squat down and offer your hand to him. You half-expect him not to move, but you give him a small, sad smile when he places his large hand on yours. “And…Dr. Jackson wants to remove me from your care team.”

You feel his grip tighten on your hand as you let out a trembling breath. You don't see his face past his mask but his eyes seem to search your face.

“I tried reasoning with both him and Dr. Loomis, but they feel I am impeding your care. Loomis threatened to have me put on leave. I shouldn't be telling you any of this, but I would hate for you to not know why I won't be present any more.” You feel your eyes sting and the tears you were so desperately trying to hold back fall. You ‘tsk’ at yourself and hastily wipe them away with your free hand. Screw being professional. “It wasn't out of choice. If I wasn't risking my job or license I would choose to stay as your nurse.”

Michael pulls you closer to him, making you stumble and your knees hit the floor. He grunts and his hand is almost painfully tight around yours. His breathing seems to have deepened all while he stares directly at your face.

“I'm truly sorry.” You stand up slowly and try to take steps back but his harsh grip keeps you near. You almost worry–for just a second–but he drops your hand. You can barely force yourself to move away. You know if Loomis or Jackson catches you in here the consequences will be worse.

You leave his cell with a sad look and don't say anything to Ismael. You just head back to your desk at the nurses station to finish the rest of your rounds. Your mood stayed somber and it didn't help that Dr. Jackson would walk past you with a gloating smile.

—

You planned to turn in early when you got home but trashy television was a great distraction. You mess with the bandaids now adorning two of your fingers when you accidentally sliced yourself when you were cooking, the credits playing on the tv screen. You let out a soft sigh and decide to turn off your show and get up from the couch.

You groan as you stand up and stretch. You turn off your lights and pad your way to your bedroom, cursing softly at how the now stretched hems of your sweats catch under your heels. Your bed is a welcoming sight after the day you hand. You close your squeaky door and promptly flop on to your bed. You struggle for a second to get under your plethora of blankets but soon find yourself in a comfortable cocoon of warmth.

You let out a soft sigh as you press your face into your pillow. You close your eyes and try to take deep, slow breaths. You've always struggled falling asleep yet tonight you find yourself drifting off easily.

You're not sure what caused you to stir awake. Was it that your doors squeaked when it opened? Was it the heavy breathing you heard when you arose from your slumber? Or was it the sensation of being watched?

Your brain barely comprehends it as you wake up and sit up. You shiver when your plush blankets fall off you, making the cold air envelop your once warm skin. You rub one of your eyes with the heel of your palm and groggily look over to your door. 

Your heart drops into your stomach as your eyes lock on to the masked figure wearing stained, brown coveralls. Your eyes flicker down to his clenched hand and you spot the bloodied knife, and you whimper, scooting back against your wall. The man doesn't move or say anything. He just stares. You stay still as if any sudden movement was going to trigger something, your eyes locked on his form as your muscles tighten in case you need to fight or flee. 

The man tilts his head and underneath the neck part of his mask you spot messy, blonde hair peeking out. Your eyes widen as you realize the sheer height and you suddenly recognize the figure.

“Michael?” You whisper, voice unsteady. You can hardly believe yourself but everything about this man points to your former patient. Even the way he tilts his head to the side reminds you of him. “Michael, what are you doing here?”

You don't expect a verbal reply despite your question as you stare at him. You can see his chest rise and fall with a deep breath before he steps closer to your bed. What could you really say or do in this scenario? You and him have a good history, but now that he is apparently does that really matter?

Michael starts to step closer to your bed and you don’t make any more sounds or attempt to move. You swallow thickly when he reaches the side of the bed you’re on. You crane your head up while he looks down at you with a tilt of his head. His hand–not the one gripping the kitchen knife–slowly reaches out and grips your wrist. He lifts your arm and stares at your hand, his thumb sliding up from your wrist to tap against one of the bandaid’s around your pointer finger.

“Accidentally cut myself cooking. I was a little… distracted after everything today.” You murmur and cringe a little at reminding him of early.

Michael grunts and shifts his hand quickly, sliding his palm against yours and intertwining yours and his fingers. You swear your heart is about to slam out of your chest from your nerves. What was he thinking? What does he plan to do? Those are questions that everyone at the Sanitarium asked and you find yourself asking those same questions at this moment. The tall man looks over at your nightstand and sets his knife down slowly.

Your eyes train in on the open wounds on his hand and you look up at him in surprise. They look like scratches and you fear the worst at the thought of where they came from. The blood on his overalls implies what answer you’d get from him if he were to speak. 

“Are…Are you alright, Michael?” You’re hesitant to ask but you do so anyways as you look over his hand holding yours.

“Mmm…” Was all he replied with before his other hand moves around your hand and grasps the back of your head. He grips your hair and tilts your head back a little too roughly but it's clear he is holding his strength back. Something about him towering over you with his hands on you both terrifies you yet sends shocks of arousal through you. You want to push those feelings and thoughts away like you did back in the Sanitarium but they persist. 

You shouldn’t still be thinking like this about him. He is dangerous…but he has never been threatening with you. He's been soft, you think.

“Michael…” You whimper his name and his hand’s grip tightens.

“You.” 

Just one, singular word is all he said before he makes you lay back down on your bed, ripping your blankets away from your body. You let out a soft noise of surprise and before you know it, Michael is shoving his mask up above his nose and sloppily pressing his lips against yours. He still grips your hand tight and presses it against the bed as he crawls on top of you, his leg sliding between yours.

He bites your lips rough and his kiss is uncoordinated, but god is it hot. You're half-tempted to try and push him off. He's your former patient after all and it's all sorts of wrong. And yet, you find your free hand coming up to grip his shoulder. He barely lets up for air before his mouth is attacking yours again. He removes his hand from under your head to grip your jaw, pulling it enough to force your mouth open so his tongue can slip inside. Your mind is overcome with the roaring flames of growing passion that any previous hesitations or guilt have left you.

Michael lets up his kiss to your lips and instead attacks your neck. You whimper out as he roughly bites and sucks at your skin, his hand on your jaw keeping your throat exposed for him. You can feel the old, rubbery mask press against your skin as he bites and sucks at the same spot again and again, likely trying to leave a mark.

“Why are you doing this?” You manage to whisper out to him. You weren't complaining but you were confused in the midst of this shared heat. Michael grunts and slowly pushes himself up. He can’t see you with how his mask is pushed up but you watch him lick at his lips.

“You.” He repeats in his deep, almost hoarse, voice. He presses his knee against your core and you gasp. “Family…wife.”

You don't get a chance to reply, his mouth is back on yours in an instant.

“You are nice.” He grunts against your lips before he bites your bottom one again. You're certain it will be swollen in the morning. “Mine.”

You should feel excited he is speaking and acknowledging you directly, yet all you can focus on is your own growing need as he presses his knee against your pussy through your sweats once more. You let out a breathless moan at the sensation and you feel his hand–fingers still intertwined with yours–squeeze your hand in response and his other squeeze your jaw.

You're completely at his mercy and it thrills you. You can't help but roll your hips to try and get more friction where you need it most. Michael grunts again and pulls his mask up enough to where you can see your eyes. He isn't gentle about getting your clothes off. He nearly rips them from your body and tosses them onto the floor until you're completely exposed to him. His face is blank but his eyes roam over your body possessively.

“We shouldn't be doing this.” You murmur and his eyes snap up to meet yours. You feel his grip on you tighten before you continue to speak. “But, I'm no longer your nurse and clearly you aren't a patient anymore…”

That seems to please Michael. He leans down and nips at your chest before he licks at one of your hard nipples, sucking it into his mouth hungrily. You let out a sharp moan as you feel his teeth bite around the areola as he sucks and licks at the hardened bud. His hand leaves your jaw and he roughly grabs and kneads at your breast, all while keeping his other hand connected with yours. You squirm and roll your hips again, grinding your now bare pussy against his leg. He lets off your breast with a slight pop before he attacks the other one just the same. Your nipples feel tender and are deeper in color, covered in his saliva with his bite marks around each, once he is done with them. 

Michael sits up and his hands finally move to grip your legs. His movements are fast as he lays down on his stomach with his head between your thighs, putting your legs over his broad shoulders. You can feel his hot breath on your wet folds and it makes your face flare with heat. 

“You don't have-” Your words are cut off by a moan when he licks at your folds. Your noises are soft as his tongue laps up your wetness eagerly. No part of your cunt is left untouched and when he swipes over your clit? You're crying out and arching off your bed. You hear him grunt and his lips suction around your swollen bundle of nerves and focus all his attention and effort into licking and sucking your clit. You choke on a moan as jolts of pleasure and arousal shoot through you. One of his hands leaves your thigh and he maneuvers it underneath himself.

You cry out when two of his thick fingers slide inside you, your slick wetness making it easy for him to start pumping them in and out. He doesn’t start out slow and gentle. His pace is rough as he works you open.

“Curl your fingers a little…Just-Just like that.” You sighed before sharply gasping when he’s brushing against that spongey, sweet spot inside you. Feeling your legs twitch and try to close in around his head and with all the noises you were making has Michael doubling his efforts. You curse and babble and feel the telltale signs of your orgasm rapidly building to the precipice. Your hands move on their own as you attempt to push him off your sensitive pussy but he growls in response, using his free hand to bat away yours. You don’t even get a chance to react to his actions as you tumble over the edge of pleasure faster than you have in a while. Your release hits your hard and fast, and you can practically hear the increased wetness as he still fingers you.

You cry when Michael jerks away and pulls his fingers from your pulsing heat. You lift your head off your pillow and look at him looking at your pussy. His hands move and his thumbs part your folds as he watches your cunt clench around nothing. You feel his hot breath against your flesh and you hear him let out a mix of a grunt and exhale as you come down from your quick high. Slowly he sits up and falls forward, catching himself with his hands as he looks down at you. He pulls down his mask while you reach up with shaky hands.

You cup his face over the mask before dragging your fingers down his neck. You pull at the overalls and he lets you. You can still hear his heavy breaths behind the latex of his mask and you feel your arousal rekindled at the thought of his mouth smeared with your release underneath that mask. Michael sits up a little with you as you push down the coveralls off his shoulders to his waist, leaving just his white shirt covering his chest. Pushing them down a little more, you can clearly see the tent in the dark boxers he has on. 

“Want me to pull those down too?”

He grunts once more and he rolls his hips against your touch. You bite your bottom lip to hide your smile as you pull down the fabric constraining his length. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock. Michael, for a lack of a better word, is hung. You take a moment to look over what’s going inside you, admiring the deep red tip glistening with his precum. Your gaze trails over a prominent vein along his shaft before looking over the pubic hair at its base. You place your hands under the hem of the white shirt and trail it upwards his stomach. You can feel his thick happy trail leading up to his belly button as you caress over his hot flesh.

“You’re so warm.” You whisper as you pull off his shirt. He goes back to hovering over you with one hand bracing himself by your head and the other gripping your hip firmly. You can feel him tensing under your touch and his length twitches and drips a few small drops of his pre-cum onto your stomach. You can tell he is getting impatient–you’ve seen it plenty of times from him towards the guards and Dr. Loomis. “Do you want to fuck me now?”

The low groan from him tells you his answer.

Michael shifts his hips and he presses his cock against your folds. He grinds against you with a deep sigh and you whimper each time he rubs against your swollen clit. You reach down and gently grasp his flushed cock, guiding him to your entrance. Immediately he pushes his hips forward and you whimper when the thick head of his cock pops inside you.

Much like with his fingers, Michael sinks inside you to the hilt in one thrust. You cry out at the stretch and he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust to his size. He’s already rocking into you with steady movements and you can hear his breaths coming out harshly beneath his mask. You grab at his arms as you try to focus on the pleasure rather than the pain you feel. You watch as he tilts his head down and you just know he is watching himself disappear into your tight heat.

“M-Michael…” You breathe out his name as you try to adjust your legs around his waist. He grunts loudly and tightens his hold on your hip while moving his hand from beside your head to around your throat. His pace starts to quicken as he drives into you again and again until he is practically snapping his hips against you. He leans forward and drapes himself over your body, practically drowning you underneath his impressive frame.

Michael’s mask presses against the side of your head and you can hear his heavy breaths and grunts so much clearer. His hand still grips at your throat enough to make you light-headed in the midst of your pleasure. You shift your hips and the new angle as you squirming against him. He lets go of your hip and slides his arm under your lower back, palming at your ass and keeping your hips angled how you want them. His cock rubs perfectly against that spot as he continues roughly grinding into your heat. Your noises grow louder and you can tell that please him greatly. 

“Mine.” His voice is hoarse and muffled against your ear. You grab at what you can, your fingers digging into his skin. His pace is starting to falter and shifts into sloppier movements while you feel the familiar heat growing in your lower belly. Your walls start to clench and tighten around his cock while your breath catches each time he is fully inside you. With the added squeezing from his large hand along with your sensitivity from your previous release you’re at the edge once more.

“I’m s’close again.” You rasped out, gasping slightly for air. You feel his hand lighten up for a moment before squeezing again, making your head spin once more as tingles start to travel up your legs. He’s recklessly rutting into you, his grunts and your moans filling your room. 

“Breeding you…family.” He mutters and you barely catch what he says.

You can’t speak. The words are trapped in your throat as you let out hoarse cries of pleasure. In your hazy arousal, you haven’t thought about the fact that he has no condom on or how you’ve been spacing getting your refill for the pill. You feel too good to tell him to pull out…not that you think he would listen to you. In a different setting you would have insisted on some form of birth control, but you didn't and you still don't.

The coiling tension in your lower belly finally breaks and you dissolve into pure pleasure beneath Michaels. You let out a strangled moan as your walls pulse around his cock, pulling him deeper inside you. 

You hear a tense groan from him and his hand briefly tightens around your throat. Michael’s hips stutter until he gives you one final, powerful thrust, emptying himself inside you. His dick throbs with each spurt as he fills you full of his cum. You can’t help but moan at the feeling, your walls milking every last drop he gives you. Sweat sticks to both of you as he keeps himself pressed against and in you.

Michael lets go of your throat and pulls his mask up again. His mouth is back on your neck, biting and sucking repeatedly in several spots. He still slowly grinds his hips even as he's softening inside you. You let your legs fall from around his waist as he stills his movements with a soft breath. Giving your skin one last lick, Michael pushes himself up and off your body after fixing his mask. You could faintly see his eyes trail down from your face to where you both were connected.

You were expecting him to pull out. Instead, he removes his arm from underneath you to brace himself as his other hand caresses over your lower belly. Your face flushes at his action and you are reminded he came inside you. That you and him just had sex and you don't feel regretful at all about it. All your schooling and training about ethics in healthcare have gone out the window. 

You let out a soft, content sigh and caress his chest and shoulders. “Are you going to stay the night?” 

A soft noise comes from him before he lays back down on top of you, pushing his arms under you before rolling you both on your sides. You can feel his coveralls and boxers are still bunched at his thighs but he doesn’t seem to care. Neither do you at this point. You feel boneless and so full right now as he holds you tightly against his frame.

You can’t help but nuzzle against his chest as you relax, trying not to think of all the possible outcomes from what just happened. You don’t think about Michael being out of the Sanitarium and the implications that brings. You try to forget the knife sitting on your nightstand or the few words Michael whispered to you in the heat of the moment. 

Instead, you kiss his collarbone and feel him tense against you, his fingers digging into the skin on your back. He shifts his hold and keeps your head pressed against his chest. You can feel his release start to leak around where you both are still connected.

“Mine.” He mutters once more and you feel his touch drag from your back and slip between you both, resting against your stomach once more. “Ours.” 

You sit curled on the furs behind him, knees drawn to your chest, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders. 

The firelight paints his armour in gold and shadow, makes him look like something carved from a legend.

You feel safe here with him.

Still, something inside you aches.

“Kwei,” you say quietly.

He turns and looks at you. The blades are set aside immediately, forgotten, as his attention settles fully on you.

“Yes, heart of mine?”

You hesitate. Your fingers twist into the edge of the fur, worrying it. 

You have faced monsters, foreign skies, blood and fear. This feels harder.

“I miss my name.”

The words sound small once spoken, almost foolish. You brace yourself, already preparing to explain, to soften it, to take it back.

Kwei freezes.

“My clan-name for you?” he asks carefully.

You shake your head. 

“No. I love the names you gave me. I love what they mean. I just… I miss hearing the one my mother gave me. The one that meant I was hers. That I was human.”

His mandibles click softly, a sound you have learned means thought, not displeasure. He comes to you then, lowering himself so you are eye to eye.

“You have never told me this,” he says.

“I did not know how. I did not want to seem ungrateful. Or weak.”

At that, something shifts behind his eyes. A kind of pain.

“You crossed the stars for me. You learned my language. You bled for me. You took my world into your lungs and learned to breathe it. And still you feared asking for your own name.”

He reaches out then, one clawed finger lifting your chin with reverent care.

“What is it?” he asks.

You tell him.

It sounds strange in his mouth when he repeats it. 

The shape of the sounds does not come easily to him, but he tries again. And again. 

Each time closer, more careful, until the syllables settle properly.

Your chest tightens.

He places a hand over his heart. 

“This name belongs to you. It is not erased because you are mine.”

Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them. 

“Sometimes it feels like I had to leave pieces of myself behind to be here.”

“Then I have failed you. Because a true bond does not consume. It carries.”

He pulls you into his chest, wrapping you in warmth and solid presence. His armour is cool beneath your cheek, his heartbeat steady beneath it. One hand rests at the back of your head, thumb brushing your hair in slow, careful strokes.

“I will speak your name. In private. In honour. I will remember who you were before me, and who you choose to be with me.”

You cling to him, breathing him in, the ache easing into something more peaceful.

"Thank you, Kwei."

He murmurs your human name again, close to your ear, like a vow only the two of you share.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel whole not only as a mate of a Yautja but as a human.

~Masterlist~

Will stared at you for a moment, torn between amusement and pity. The behavioral analysis part of his brain—the part that wouldn’t shut off even when he wanted it to—was already cataloguing details: your shivering, your defensive posture, the way your eyes darted toward the woods as if calculating an escape route. You were skittish but not dangerous. Just desperate.

He sighed again, this time with resignation. “Okay. Look, if you’re going to keep going through my trash, at least don’t scatter it everywhere. The dogs get curious.”

“...You’re not gonna call animal control?”

“Are you an animal?”

You thought about that for a long moment. “...Half?”

That earned you a faint smile. “Then no animal control is needed.”

You frowned, tail swishing behind you, but there was no malice in it—just confusion. “You’re weirdly chill about this.”

“Trust me,” Will said, stepping closer, “you’re not even in the top five strangest things I’ve found in my yard.”

Your nose twitched. “That’s not comforting.”

“Didn’t mean it to be.” He motioned toward the porch. “C’mon. I’ve got leftovers that aren’t covered in coffee grounds.”

You hesitated, torn between instinct and curiosity. The man didn’t look dangerous—just tired, kind-eyed, with a quiet patience that didn’t match his intimidating frame. “You’re not gonna trap me, right?”

“If I wanted to trap you,” Will said dryly, “I’d have done it when you were cursing at the garbage can.”

That made you bristle, but hunger won out. You followed him up the steps, tail flicking cautiously. Winston barked once, then wagged his tail when Will gave him the okay.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of coffee and dog. Will reheated a plate of pasta while you perched awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen counter, sniffing everything. You looked more like a startled woodland creature than a person, but there was something endearing about it—especially when you tried to politely use a fork and ended up with a face covered in pasta sauce.

Will bit back a laugh, lips twitching as he handed you a napkin. “You’ve got…” He gestured vaguely at his own chin. “Everywhere, actually.”

You froze mid-chew, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, and blinked at him with wide, mortified eyes. A soft noise—half hiss, half embarrassed squeak—escaped your throat before you swiped at your face with the napkin in frantic, uncoordinated motions. The fur at your ears bristled in agitation.

Will leaned against the counter, arms folded. “You don’t have to eat like you’re going to lose the plate in a second.”

You swallowed quickly. “Sorry. Force of habit.” You avoided his gaze, ears lowering slightly. “People don’t usually offer food. I’m more used to fighting raccoons for leftovers.”

That did it. Will’s heart twisted weirdly. “You shouldn’t have to fight raccoons. They’re bastards.”

A small, shy laugh escaped you—unexpected and warm. You set down the fork and licked a bit of sauce from your thumb, pretending not to notice him watching. “So…” you said, voice hesitant. “You’re okay with this? Me? In your kitchen?”

Will shrugged, like this was an entirely normal midnight encounter. “I’ve had stranger company. At least you don’t talk to imaginary friends or quote Dante while bleeding on my carpet.”

“...What?”

“Long story.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to be impressed or concerned. Then, your tail gave a slow, uncertain curl around the leg of the chair—a small tell of comfort. Will noticed but didn’t comment.

“You don’t have to go back out tonight. I have a couch. Blankets. No raccoons.”

You froze, tail twitching uncertainly. “You’d let me stay?”

He shrugged. “Seems fair. You clean up after yourself, you get food and a roof. You make messes, Winston growls.” Winston wagged his tail lazily in his sleep, clearly not a threat.

thomas has learned how to keep his head down and ignore all the stares and whispers he hears from the men and women that worked around him. it was always the same and quite frankly it was kinda boring already. it also helped that ever since he has gotten his little wife in his life, none of their words mattered.

with you around, thomas’s life has gotten more meaning. in the mornings he had gotten you into a routine of waking up early with him. you’d be so sleepy at first, which often left thomas carrying you around until your awake enough—peppering your face with soft kisses until you smiled.

he got ready quickly so he could have breakfast with you, it was mostly why he sorta kinda forced you awake so early. he just wanted to spend some time with you before he had to leave for his long shift.

“oh tommy don’t forget your lunch!” you cheered, skipping over to the front door—paper bag in hand. thomas happily accepted his lunch, bending down a bit to receive the seemingly endless amount of kisses.

when lunchtime rolled around thomas walked over to his little corner and as always kept to himself. but just because he kept to himself that didn’t mean he didn’t overhear everyone’s conversation.

“jeez, pasta again” the man across sighed “i mean don’t get me wrong the missus makes a mean pasta but i’ve had it for two days already” he continued to complain as he started to eat his cold food.

thomas couldn’t help but huff, he didn’t care if you made him eat the same thing for the rest of his life. to know that you cared enough to pack him lunch was enough to keep him happy.

that huff however didn’t go unnoticed by the group of men across from him. they quickly turned their attention to thomas, watching as he started to removed the contents of his bag.

“hey hewitt” thomas tensed, freezing in place as he slowly looked over at them.

“your momma packed your lunch?” he said with a smirk. the people of fuller knew thomas was married, they just rarely saw you so they just assumed you didn’t necessarily exist.

thomas just shook his head at the man’s question, his left hand held up as he showed off his wedding ring. “no shit” he chuckled. thomas nearly vomited from anxiety as he watched the group of men move to sit at his table.

“what did your old woman pack you?” thomas shifted uncomfortably at the question. mostly because he wasn’t used to them talking to him but also because he wasn’t the biggest fan of anyone referring to you as anything but his wife.

“come on, lets see it” he urged. thomas slowly began to resume the unpacking of his lunch. he first took out a hefty sandwich, cut perfectly into two with all of tommy’s favorite fixings.

next was a small bag of fruits and yes the strawberries were cut into little hearts.

but that wasn’t all, of course it wasn’t, you had to make sure your husband was full enough until he got home for dinner.

thomas then pulled out a tupperware filled with leftover steak and potatoes from last night’s dinner. as for his drinks tommy pulled out two can’s of soda followed by a few bottles of water to ensure he stayed hydrated during the day.

thomas wasn’t necessarily aware of the small note that slipped out of the bag but the men did and one snatched it up before tommy could.

no dessert today because it’s waiting for you in bed ;)

the man’s face turned red and he whistled as he handed the note to thomas. it took tommy a while to understand what it meant since he was slowly but surely learning everything he’s missed from school but when it finally clicked in his brain he blushed.

like full face and neck was bright red as he rushed to tuck the note in his pocket. “well i’d be damned hewitt” they chuckled, more curious about you than ever.

ever since that day they sat with thomas, ready to see what you packed him for lunch but more importantly the notes you wrote for him.

one day thomas forgot his lunch and of course you weren’t going to be okay with the knowledge that your husband didn’t have lunch. so you got into the car and drove right to the slaughterhouse.

the security was nonexistent so you just waltzed inside the factory. the men all stopped and stared at you as you quite literally looked out of place. from your soft features to your lace like dresses it was obvious you didn’t belong in a place like this.

but that didn’t bother you, you just wondered mindlessly until you found your husband. luckily it didn’t take long since there was no missing thomas—he definitely stood out among the crowd.

thomas swore he knew you were there before he saw you. maybe it was how his stomach began to flutter in excitement or the fact that the stale air seemed to have a hint of a sweet scent to it.

“you forgot your lunch!” you said with a frown. thomas didn’t waste a second before wiping his hands clean of as much blood as he could before he grabbed the bag. he leaned down a bit, making sure nothing dirty touched your pretty clothing, so he could kiss your forehead as a thank you.

the employee and even the boss couldn’t help but watch the whole scene in front of them. shocked to see that his wife was someone as sweet looking as you—it also didn’t help that all they could think about was all of those not so sneakily written notes.

yeah, they were a bit jealous of thomas after that.