june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be
anyone else thinking about effie spending 24 years watching haymitch completely fall apart. effie, who met haymitch by accident, who knows exactly what kind of person he is, who sees him every year on his birthday for 24 years and each year he’s drunker, each year he’s angrier, each year he’s faster to give up. and then they get katniss and peeta. peeta, who is kind and open and understanding, who refuses to give up on haymitch. and katniss, who is so much like haymitch at 16 that it hurts. and over the few days they’re together, effie watches haymitch come back to life. watches him try. watches him have hope. and then they get to keep not one but both of those kids. they get to come home. and then, less then a year later, effie pulls haymitch’s name at the reaping.
SotR is a realisation. A realisation that the rebellion didn’t start with Katniss. That all the people we see supporting her or helping her have all been wanting to fight but they’ve been failing. That there weren’t merely “rumours” of a revolution but there were many active plans playing out and failing.
It’s a reminder that the perfect Hunger Games we saw in the first hg book was an illusion because we had Katniss as our narrator. We didn’t have Haymitch, hell, we didn’t even have someone like Peeta because these people played the games. Katniss didn’t.
Katniss was introduced to us as a mad, simple, naive girl who literally only survived because of others. She didn’t know how much her taking Prim’s place mattered because she didn’t realise what it meant to everyone who came before her. To everyone who had heard rumours of how the last District 12 victor actually fought his games. No, Katniss had just kept her head down, hunting and providing for her family.
See, she grew up way before the Games got to her. She’d already lived through her dad’s death and watched it destroy her once lively mom. Haymitch didn’t have to go through that. Lucy Gray didn’t have to go through that. They were both angry, yes, but at the Capitol. Katniss? She was first and foremost angry at her mom. At her dad. She knew who was to blame but she had too much to do and deal with to think about that. She was already jaded in a way that the Games couldn’t touch.
Peeta? He was Haymitch. He knew what he was getting into and realised he was just on a chess board with no control. So, he adapted. He played the knight, the rook, the king, the pawn. Katniss? She just… did. Changing directions, not playing the piece she was assigned because she didn’t realise that’s what was going on. Remember her surprise at the crown twisting into two after the Games?? She was so oblivious. Until Catching Fire where everything caught up to her. Where everything so many other people had been waiting and working for caught up to her.
SotR is a history book. Rewritten and edited and published as a piece of fact. SotR is a mirror and it’s a reflection of what actually happens vs what ends up being shown. SotR is the playbook of those in control of any and every kind of media that we come in touch with. SotR is a wake up call and I truly don’t know how many will see it as such.
⋆˚࿔ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 | t. te tsika’u arvak’itan
⋆˚࿔ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : tonowari te tsika’u arvak’itan ✘ metkayina!female!reader
⋆˚࿔ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1k+
⋆˚࿔ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 : smut with no true sense of plot ( 18+) ノ cunnilingus ノ the man is pussy whipped I suppose ノ established couple / marriage ノ mentions of multiple orgasms ノ overstimulation ノ he's a good man, savannah, a devoted man ノ praise kink ノ penetration ノ body worship ノ tonowari is a soft dom ノ he thanks Eywa mid-act and I need a moment ノ nipple play ノ he is a very verbal man ノ tsaheylu ノ mention of his pretty fucking lashes because it is criminal not to ノ just love, folks
translations : yawnetu / beloved, tìyawn / love, öeya / my, paysyul / waterlily, irayo, nawma sa’nok / thank you, great mother, öeya tsyeym / my treasure, oel ngati kameie / I see you, nga yawne lu oer / I love you, literate ‘you are beloved to me’
𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 : @itskekeelise’s post which post quite literally ignited the match in my brain and started all of this — i hope you enjoy it, because none of this would exist without that spark!!
⋆ author's note : this was supposed to be a neat little 2-3 paragraph addition to a reblog and then my hands just. kept going. my brain had things to say and apparently my heart did too because here we are, several paragraphs deep and completely unashamed about it "))
and i genuinely had so much fun writing for him😭 writing him had my insides doing things i will NOT be elaborating on ( ovulation !!! ). i hope you all enjoy it as much as i loved creating it — and if you did, comments and reblogs mean the world and are always always appreciated!! <333
You see the akula-tooth necklace around his firm neck, a mark of who he is, what he leads? When he’s set and ready to go down on you, he definitely removes it — the only adornment he needs there is the length of your legs tightening around his neck as he delves his tongue into you—
Actually — scratch that.
He’s discarding every single adornment and piece. Everything that proclaims his status, his rank, his identity as anything other than simply yours.
One by one, each piece joins the growing pile until he is before you only in his own teal complexion, only the desire whirling his blue depths, only the pulsating of his scrumptious arousal that provokes your insides. This is the stripping that matters. Not of cloth or accessory, but of station. Of everything that makes him untouchable so he can be rigorously, tangibly touched by you.
And when he finally kneels between your thighs — when those broad palms grip your eager hips, his mouth hovers over your sopping cunt, and your legs entwine around his neck like the most precious necklace ever crafted —
This is the adornment Tonowari chooses.
Your thighs tauten around him once again after the fourth orgasm, toes curling further into the hardened meat of his upper back. All while his tongue switches between delving through your squelching velvet — skimming every delicate ridge and pliant hollow, and flattening languidly over your swollen pearl.
Tonowari is torn between savoring the gift and taking more than grace allows.
Your digits comb into his luscious locks — sometimes yanking, directing, or occasionally grasping in attempts to soothe your poor nerves. Either or, it doesn’t conceal his husk moans, pounding right through the middle of you. Your scent saturates his senses until there’s nothing else; only you, flooding his taste buds, drowning his thoughts, rewriting his existence.
If your cunt was creating drenches bigger than Pandora’s oceans, you could only imagine how his poor cock has to be suffering — swollen and throbbing, leaking a stream with each salacious moan your vocals produced. But he never minded it. Honestly, never even acknowledged it — it’s always been this way since the beginning of your marriage . It wasn’t neglect, he always reassured you, but nature; your pleasure was his satisfaction, and he’d suffer a thousand blazing erections, endure the ache until he was shaking with it, if it meant fulfilling what he was made for: you first, always you, only you.
“Oeyä Y/N… Such grace and beauty the Great Mother bestows upon my hands. Have I not been favored, paysyul? Hmm?” he murmurs, prominent nose nuzzling so sweetly across your mound. Your heart’s pulse stumbles for a second, this riot of sensations he conjures nearly unfathomable once his praises pour hot through you.
Grand words suited Tonowari — of course they did, those great speeches and clear commands. Even before the People named your husband Olo’eyktan, the simplest thing he uttered carried rich depth. He never spoke without purpose, and it was no different in your sex life; he was so verbal, so praising, so damn loving.
“Eywa is very generous, for she gives me this sight… she gives me you. How could I be anything but grateful, ma yawntu?” Your thighs cinch around him in response, whining at the firm open-mouthed kiss he gives your thrumming nub; once, twice, three times.
Ever so slightly, he shakily exhales and his tail gives anticipating strikes against the ground, enamored with the fullness of your bloom before sucking your puffy folds entirely between his ravenous lips. Oh, your back bows so prettily it offered him a splendid moonlit view of your puckered breasts, the muscles along your inked stomach clenching below his palms as they traveled up to knead your firm peaks.
“Irayo, Nawma Sa'nok….”
His forehead nudges your inner thigh, rubbing the supple flesh, inhaling you so deeply while whispering his overwhelmed devotion to Eywa for the privilege of tasting you. Thanking the Great Mother for creating something this divine, this consuming, this … his. Because truly, even after all this time, he still wonders if Eywa has ever blessed a man more richly than this?
Your chin dips down to look at him, palms lovingly cradling the back of his head when he dives back in, this time more relishing, twirling your sensitive areolas between his fingers. The sharp coiling in your belly becomes even morecompelling when his tongue gently transverses your sweet-coated folds, descending towards your oozing entrance.
But he’s determined to guide you towards the edge, and that just leads him to lap vigorously. Sucking and licking like it’s the sweetest nectar in this world.
“M-Ma Tonowari ….I—I am very close—” Your features gather into the beautifullest strain, hips writhing with no sense of rhythm against your mate’s face. His hums reverberate against your clit, hands leaving your tits to palm you by the ass much closer, fingertips digging into your round globes.
Your hand wounds around his forearm while the other finds their way down to his nape, nails sinking greedily into the solid skin. He doesn’t mind one bit, he never does — if anything, he embraces the sting it creates, releasing a low chuckle. “That is it, öeya tsyeym … very well.”
A helpless ‘ohhh’ prolongs from your throat, his ears fluttering even higher when your lashes flutter down to meet his gaze, those stunning eyes; dewey, shimmering blues within the prettiest frame of curled lashes fit enough to ruinyour heart. Your tewng in these cases, long forgotten somewhere behind him.
They swarm every bit of your expressions, at the effects of your swelling orgasm. His tongue glides and strokes while consuming your nectar; grandoise, virtuous this is — something beyond hunger and indulgence. His entire nature in pleasuring you sends you spiraling into euphoric bliss, sends him spiraling into iridescent specks of light.
“Great Mother, hear how breathtaking my mate is…”
Your hands scramble over him, fingers twisted painfully in his locks. Finally, that searing pleasure twisting deep within your belly unravels with a throaty sob, eyes screwed shut and gemmed with tears while it rackets your every limb with its fervency.
“You are radiant when you let go, my love. Breathe, ma Y/N. Breathe. I have you…”
You gift him your release, and he wastes no time in taking you as communion. No droplet going to waste, letting your essence soak his tongue, become one with his taste buds, filling his vast chest — claiming him more thoroughly than any ceremonial regalia ever could.
Slowly pushing himself from his crouched position, his mouth pays tribute to your being as he goes — your bejeweled ankle, the gentle bend of your knee, your hipbone, the heart of your breast, your shoulder blade, the flat of your nose, your dampened forehead.
Meanwhile, your thighs immediately go from being secure around his shoulders to your heels prodding his lower back, your arms embracing his shoulders when his massive figure silhouettes your own.
He gently nudges your flushed cheek with his nose, digits outlining your figure while kissing you, slowly, deeply.
“You did so well… so good, so perfect, ma yawne.” he gruffs out between pecks, lingering longer than the last.
You give him a dazed smile, still melted in the afterglow, but you know this isn’t the end. Not as his tongue wedges between your barely parted lips, the remnants of you dissolving within your palate. And certainly not when his boastful friend announces itself against your navel.
“Well, hello there…” you croon softly, palm dragging across the tanhì-bright specks shimmer along his thick girth. You wisp out a giggle when he instantly ruts into your touch. mushing his forehead into your cheek. His groan rumbles along your jaw, his ears folding down the more you rub his engorged tip in fast, almost painful strokes. “Ma Tonowari, you are trembling…”
Your bottom lip curls between your teeth, gnawing the flesh while eyeing your husband’s handsome face — tribal markings upon his forehead drawing into a deeper crease, jaw falling open with a low groan.
“Yawntu—” his hand sears from hip to sternum in one smooth motion, granting a firm squeeze to your stiff nipple, and he’s nosing your temple — savoring the homely fragrance of you — the fragrance that has belonged to you after all this time. It rouses the great bellows of his heart with affection, his eyes squeezing shut. “I still hunger for more of you. Tell me I may have you closer.”
You didn’t need to be told twice, canting your chin up to kiss him — hungry and approving; your palm leads him to your awaiting entrance, and at long last, he plunges home.
Your snug heat clasps his entire cock, tugging him closer until he’s nudged against something delicate and feverish found in the cradle of your body.
Finding some coherent thread within your misted pleasure, your hand skims over his kuru, drawing it gently over his shoulder. Yours is already nestled in his palm, dusk-rose filaments unfurling with restless hunger, seeking for their counterpart; coiling, entwining, merging until there is no divide — like a bolt of lightning — or like Tonowari himself — splitting thought from your cranium down to the curl of your toes.
You can’t distinguish anymore — can’t tell where your ecstasy flourishes and his prospers, can’t separate the giver from the receiver because you are both. You feel the devastating tightness of your own cunt wrapped hot and squelching around him, feel yourself quivering and clamping, and at the same instant you feel what he feels: the exquisite stretch of being filled so completely, the fullness that borders on too much, the way your dribbling heat swallows every thick inch of him.
His ears pin down so tightly — so overpowered by sensations — groaning as you dig your heels to the indents of his lower back and return his thrust with one of your own.
Beautiful. How painstakingly exquisite and grand Tonowari is. Your hand cups his face, each deep cadence of his hips pulling a wondrous breath from you. “Your heart is with mine, öeya yawne…” You exhale, boring your radiant gaze into his until everything feels like it’ll combust. “Oel ngati kameie.”
He’s spearing through your tender cunt so sharply it thrusts you up the threaded ground — luring whine after whine from the pit of your throat as you loll your head back.
Before your stuttering touch can fall from his cheek and your awareness goes languid and boneless in the pleasure, Tonowari seizes you hand in his much massive one and brings the jumble of twined fingers to his chest, right over his heart’s thrum: profound and ardent.
“And my soul breathes for you.” He brackets his heavy arm around your waist until your ribcage aches so sweetly, shoves his forehead against yours, kisses your pert clit with his pelvis deliciously — he’s trying to press you into his very marrow, like he could fuse his being with yours if he just clutches hard enough, tight enough.
The desperation rushes through the bond and crashes into your skull until your eyes become overtaken, rolling back like a tide —you’re suffocating in how much your mate needs you. This frantic brink of desire that has your plush cunt bearing down the spasming length of his cock.
He tightens your fingers over his pulse, “Oel ngati kameie, ma Y/N…” He kisses you again and again until he cannot distinguish breath from breath, heart from heart, or the drought of one another’s cascading ecstasy. A man beholding the adornment Eywa placed upon his soul. “Nga yawne lu oer…”
so sorry this took me FOREVER and a day to get to, but don't mind if i copy and paste the entire fic start to finish it was SOOOOOOO good!
You see the akula-tooth necklace around his firm neck, a mark of who he is, what he leads? When he’s set and ready to go down on you, he definitely removes it — the only adornment he needs there is the length of your legs tightening around his neck as he delves his tongue into you—
Actually — scratch that.
He’s discarding every single adornment and piece. Everything that proclaims his status, his rank, his identity as anything other than simply yours.
literally starting off on a high, i LOVE how you come out of the gate building up the status and appearances that tonowari maintains for the people, but as mates when we're alone, he is ours. and the way you did it is just so frekaing PERFECT, how it's like he's taking off a mask, anything that stops him from truly being ours.
One by one, each piece joins the growing pile until he is before you only in his own teal complexion, only the desire whirling his blue depths, only the pulsating of his scrumptious arousal that provokes your insides. This is the stripping that matters. Not of cloth or accessory, but of station. Of everything that makes him untouchable so he can be rigorously, tangibly touched by you.
And when he finally kneels between your thighs — when those broad palms grip your eager hips, his mouth hovers over your sopping cunt, and your legs entwine around his neck like the most precious necklace ever crafted —
This is the adornment Tonowari chooses.
GIRL. this part literally had me screaming and the story barely unfolded. the sheer desire and WANT that is coursing through these words is absolutely killing me, like you're drawing out the smut but it's soooo good and i could not put this DOWN at all, i read this like four times alone!
Your thighs tauten around him once again after the fourth orgasm, toes curling further into the hardened meat of his upper back. All while his tongue switches between delving through your squelching velvet — skimming every delicate ridge and pliant hollow, and flattening languidly over your swollen pearl.
Tonowari is torn between savoring the gift and taking more than grace allows.
Your digits comb into his luscious locks — sometimes yanking, directing, or occasionally grasping in attempts to soothe your poor nerves. Either or, it doesn’t conceal his husk moans, pounding right through the middle of you. Your scent saturates his senses until there’s nothing else; only you, flooding his taste buds, drowning his thoughts, rewriting his existence.
If your cunt was creating drenches bigger than Pandora’s oceans, you could only imagine how his poor cock has to be suffering — swollen and throbbing, leaking a stream with each salacious moan your vocals produced. But he never minded it. Honestly, never even acknowledged it — it’s always been this way since the beginning of your marriage . It wasn’t neglect, he always reassured you, but nature; your pleasure was his satisfaction, and he’d suffer a thousand blazing erections, endure the ache until he was shaking with it, if it meant fulfilling what he was made for: you first, always you, only you.
i genuinely am left speechless because this is straight POETRY. the way you work words into conveying just the right emotions, so subtle but rushing forward between reader and tonowari in this very moment, and throughout the rest of the fic, it's just so beautiful to witness. i can honestly FEEL the salty air on my skin from the sea breeze, i can just SEE being there in our marui and it's just a wonderful sight.
“Oeyä Y/N… Such grace and beauty the Great Mother bestows upon my hands. Have I not been favored, paysyul? Hmm?” he murmurs, prominent nose nuzzling so sweetly across your mound. Your heart’s pulse stumbles for a second, this riot of sensations he conjures nearly unfathomable once his praises pour hot through you.
Grand words suited Tonowari — of course they did, those great speeches and clear commands. Even before the People named your husband Olo’eyktan, the simplest thing he uttered carried rich depth. He never spoke without purpose, and it was no different in your sex life; he was so verbal, so praising, so damn loving.
“Eywa is very generous, for she gives me this sight… she gives me you. How could I be anything but grateful, ma yawntu?” Your thighs cinch around him in response, whining at the firm open-mouthed kiss he gives your thrumming nub; once, twice, three times.
Ever so slightly, he shakily exhales and his tail gives anticipating strikes against the ground, enamored with the fullness of your bloom before sucking your puffy folds entirely between his ravenous lips. Oh, your back bows so prettily it offered him a splendid moonlit view of your puckered breasts, the muscles along your inked stomach clenching below his palms as they traveled up to knead your firm peaks.
“Irayo, Nawma Sa'nok….”
His forehead nudges your inner thigh, rubbing the supple flesh, inhaling you so deeply while whispering his overwhelmed devotion to Eywa for the privilege of tasting you. Thanking the Great Mother for creating something this divine, this consuming, this … his. Because truly, even after all this time, he still wonders if Eywa has ever blessed a man more richly than this?
THE PRAYER SCENE. THIS is truly and utterly canon. he wouldn't act like any other way than this. it's like you were sat in the deep dark corner of my mind and just starting working at my inner thoughts, because it's like you took my mess of a post and turned it into something akin to the Library of Alexandria here. the praise, the worship, the true DEVOTION that tonowari gives to us, to our body, it's just...i literally can't. i have no words. STUNNING.
Your chin dips down to look at him, palms lovingly cradling the back of his head when he dives back in, this time more relishing, twirling your sensitive areolas between his fingers. The sharp coiling in your belly becomes even morecompelling when his tongue gently transverses your sweet-coated folds, descending towards your oozing entrance.
But he’s determined to guide you towards the edge, and that just leads him to lap vigorously. Sucking and licking like it’s the sweetest nectar in this world.
“M-Ma Tonowari ….I—I am very close—” Your features gather into the beautifullest strain, hips writhing with no sense of rhythm against your mate’s face. His hums reverberate against your clit, hands leaving your tits to palm you by the ass much closer, fingertips digging into your round globes.
Your hand wounds around his forearm while the other finds their way down to his nape, nails sinking greedily into the solid skin. He doesn’t mind one bit, he never does — if anything, he embraces the sting it creates, releasing a low chuckle. “That is it, öeya tsyeym … very well.”
A helpless ‘ohhh’ prolongs from your throat, his ears fluttering even higher when your lashes flutter down to meet his gaze, those stunning eyes; dewey, shimmering blues within the prettiest frame of curled lashes fit enough to ruinyour heart. Your tewng in these cases, long forgotten somewhere behind him.
They swarm every bit of your expressions, at the effects of your swelling orgasm. His tongue glides and strokes while consuming your nectar; grandoise, virtuous this is — something beyond hunger and indulgence. His entire nature in pleasuring you sends you spiraling into euphoric bliss, sends him spiraling into iridescent specks of light.
“Great Mother, hear how breathtaking my mate is…”
Your hands scramble over him, fingers twisted painfully in his locks. Finally, that searing pleasure twisting deep within your belly unravels with a throaty sob, eyes screwed shut and gemmed with tears while it rackets your every limb with its fervency.
“You are radiant when you let go, my love. Breathe, ma Y/N. Breathe. I have you…”
You gift him your release, and he wastes no time in taking you as communion. No droplet going to waste, letting your essence soak his tongue, become one with his taste buds, filling his vast chest — claiming him more thoroughly than any ceremonial regalia ever could.
i think i'm running out of compliments to give you honestly because i can see the love and dedication and thought you put behind each word, each thought, each action, every description, i just NEED that. i want to just kiss you right now this is beautifully done.
Slowly pushing himself from his crouched position, his mouth pays tribute to your being as he goes — your bejeweled ankle, the gentle bend of your knee, your hipbone, the heart of your breast, your shoulder blade, the flat of your nose, your dampened forehead.
Meanwhile, your thighs immediately go from being secure around his shoulders to your heels prodding his lower back, your arms embracing his shoulders when his massive figure silhouettes your own.
He gently nudges your flushed cheek with his nose, digits outlining your figure while kissing you, slowly, deeply.
“You did so well… so good, so perfect, ma yawne.” he gruffs out between pecks, lingering longer than the last.
You give him a dazed smile, still melted in the afterglow, but you know this isn’t the end. Not as his tongue wedges between your barely parted lips, the remnants of you dissolving within your palate. And certainly not when his boastful friend announces itself against your navel.
“Well, hello there…” you croon softly, palm dragging across the tanhì-bright specks shimmer along his thick girth. You wisp out a giggle when he instantly ruts into your touch. mushing his forehead into your cheek. His groan rumbles along your jaw, his ears folding down the more you rub his engorged tip in fast, almost painful strokes. “Ma Tonowari, you are trembling…”
Your bottom lip curls between your teeth, gnawing the flesh while eyeing your husband’s handsome face — tribal markings upon his forehead drawing into a deeper crease, jaw falling open with a low groan.
“Yawntu—” his hand sears from hip to sternum in one smooth motion, granting a firm squeeze to your stiff nipple, and he’s nosing your temple — savoring the homely fragrance of you — the fragrance that has belonged to you after all this time. It rouses the great bellows of his heart with affection, his eyes squeezing shut. “I still hunger for more of you. Tell me I may have you closer.”
You didn’t need to be told twice, canting your chin up to kiss him — hungry and approving; your palm leads him to your awaiting entrance, and at long last, he plunges home.
Your snug heat clasps his entire cock, tugging him closer until he’s nudged against something delicate and feverish found in the cradle of your body.
Finding some coherent thread within your misted pleasure, your hand skims over his kuru, drawing it gently over his shoulder. Yours is already nestled in his palm, dusk-rose filaments unfurling with restless hunger, seeking for their counterpart; coiling, entwining, merging until there is no divide — like a bolt of lightning — or like Tonowari himself — splitting thought from your cranium down to the curl of your toes.
You can’t distinguish anymore — can’t tell where your ecstasy flourishes and his prospers, can’t separate the giver from the receiver because you are both. You feel the devastating tightness of your own cunt wrapped hot and squelching around him, feel yourself quivering and clamping, and at the same instant you feel what he feels: the exquisite stretch of being filled so completely, the fullness that borders on too much, the way your dribbling heat swallows every thick inch of him.
His ears pin down so tightly — so overpowered by sensations — groaning as you dig your heels to the indents of his lower back and return his thrust with one of your own.
Beautiful. How painstakingly exquisite and grand Tonowari is. Your hand cups his face, each deep cadence of his hips pulling a wondrous breath from you. “Your heart is with mine, öeya yawne…” You exhale, boring your radiant gaze into his until everything feels like it’ll combust. “Oel ngati kameie.”
He’s spearing through your tender cunt so sharply it thrusts you up the threaded ground — luring whine after whine from the pit of your throat as you loll your head back.
Before your stuttering touch can fall from his cheek and your awareness goes languid and boneless in the pleasure, Tonowari seizes you hand in his much massive one and brings the jumble of twined fingers to his chest, right over his heart’s thrum: profound and ardent.
“And my soul breathes for you.” He brackets his heavy arm around your waist until your ribcage aches so sweetly, shoves his forehead against yours, kisses your pert clit with his pelvis deliciously — he’s trying to press you into his very marrow, like he could fuse his being with yours if he just clutches hard enough, tight enough.
The desperation rushes through the bond and crashes into your skull until your eyes become overtaken, rolling back like a tide —you’re suffocating in how much your mate needs you. This frantic brink of desire that has your plush cunt bearing down the spasming length of his cock.
He tightens your fingers over his pulse, “Oel ngati kameie, ma Y/N…” He kisses you again and again until he cannot distinguish breath from breath, heart from heart, or the drought of one another’s cascading ecstasy. A man beholding the adornment Eywa placed upon his soul. “Nga yawne lu oer…”
this ending is truly a masterpiece. from the climaxes, to the desire between both parties, the pleasure, the experience, to the true LOVE that you've written so expertly between mates, it's just something so touching that, and i can say with confidence, is truly a testament to the love and care you've shown this work. from top to bottom, it is truly a work of art that you have gifted us. i deeply love how reader aspires to bring her mate pleasure, not this being one sided, which shows the depth to which you've clearly thought about everything that's gone into this. and i just want to say, i am SO honored to have been the catalyst for you to create this beautiful masterpiece, and for tumblr to witness it freely, i am in awe of you. and i am in awe of the treasure that you have gifted us all. i don't even know how i'm going to live normally any more because i've been so touched by the work that you've so graciously done. so thank you, thank you, thank you for bringing this to life. no one could have done it like you did.
OKAY I AM GOING TO CRY ACTUALLY. THANK YOU TRULY — for reading, for feeling it, and for the beautiful words you left behind. the Library of Alexandria comparison is going to live rent free in my chest for a very long time and i need you to know that 😭
and listen — tiny peek behind the curtain here — i have been procrastinating writing for a while because i have this thing where i NEED description and imagery to write well. it flows so naturally when i already have the picture painted in my head, and when i don’t, i just feel like i’m straining against myself and producing something that isn’t really me — if that makes sense
your post did something to my brain that i genuinely could not ignore — it all started building up— and suddenly everything just… poured the frick out. and then to hear it came full circle right back to YOU and hit the way it did?? i am so unbelievably happy 😭
this week has been genuinely turmoil-inducing and rough, and your words landed exactly when i needed them most 😭 your reblog made everything feel so much lighter. it reminded me why i love writing and why i want to keep going — and you didn’t even know you were giving me that. so thank you for that too. you are truly such a beautiful and encouraging soul — once again, thank you, thank you so much ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ 🫂🫂🫂
