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[goosewriting]

4. Taking a break from cooking/baking

✧ masterlist: 50 kisses ✧

prompt: A sits on the kitchen counter. B takes a short break from cooking/baking to kiss them

fandom: Palia relationship: Reth x gn!reader | established relationship category: 🌸 fluff   warnings: mentions of food word count: ~250 A/N: a short one today :') but i promise i'm still as obsessed with him as on day one <3

Like many times before, Reth came over to your house for date night. He brought all the ingredients, promising to make you a feast. You offered to help several times but he’d refuse, telling you to just sit back and relax.

After the dish is in the oven, Reth turns around and wipes his hand off on his apron.

“We’re on the home stretch now,” he says with a satisfied sigh. “Just gotta wait for it to finish baking.”

“I’m starving,” you whine, hopping onto the kitchen counter.

“I know, I know,” he says. “It took longer than intended. Sorry about that.” Reth looks over the mess he made in the kitchen, and your eyes follow. “While we wait, I guess I could clean up a little.”

“You did all the cooking, I’ll clean up later, don’t worry about it.”

He looks back at you with a hum, slightly narrowing his eyes. Shedding his apron, he leaves it on the back of a chair and approaches you to stand between your legs.

“You’re supposed to be taking a break. That’s why I’m here,” he says, hands coming to rest on your thighs. “I’ll clean up.” Leaning in, he places a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Sorry for the wait. I’ll make it up to you.” He angles his head to capture your lips with his, kissing you tenderly.

You pull back only enough to speak into his lips, unable to bite back a smile, “I guess that works for me.”

🐥 taglist: @reckoning-star, @hardkiddonut, @asras-sweetheart, @braveangel777, @chiccynug

banners by pixopix

[n3ptoonz]

Can you please write Liu Kang, Kenshi, Bi Han and Johnny reacting to their fem! inexperienced lover cumming and it was during a make out session and they are really embarrassed. Like it really happens y’all.

oh my 😲 i imagine this will quite...hit home...no judgement here my darling!!

how liu kang, kenshi, bi-han, and johnny react to f!reader getting a lil excited during a make out sesh🫨

warnings: suggestive, fluff elements, i'm not even a finger girly but y'all done made me cool with it DAMN YOU!! (only w fictional characters 😹)

part two

When you came while making out with...

Liu Kang, he noticed from how quickly you backed away and checked your underwear. He had just came home and needed to feel you in his embrace. The embarrassment rising to your face was the first thing he wanted to help you with. He didn't understand at first what was going on, so when you immediately covered your face and turned your back to him, he lightly chuckled and reassured you there was nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, he found it quite adorable and would be honored to take care of that with you.

Kenshi, he pulled you closer. You were grinding in his lap with nothing but one of his shirts and a pair of lingerie panties you bought for a moment like this. You whispered his name against his lips, whining from embarrassment. Your sounds of protests made him pull back and rest his forehead against yours. "Nothing to be ashamed of, my love." he said. He leaned your head against his shoulder as he dipped his surprisingly smooth, tatted hands between your legs, lightly brushing against the wet folds that awaited his touch--causing you to whine again. "Next, my fingers." he whispered, his smirk loud and clear.

Bi-Han, his ego reached a new peak. He didn't even allow any time for embarrassment on your end. He deepened the kiss further, this time with more aggression with a hint of possessiveness. Only the ice man himself could have this type of effect on you, and he reveled in that entirely. Now you were picked up in his arms with your back against the wall and soaking, feeling him purposely press his erection in between your thighs and groan against your lips. "How cute, you were so eager for my touch after a long day, weren't you?" he teased, not at all moved by the pre-fucked out look on your face. Well, for now at least.

Johnny, he pulled back in shock. The kind of shock that would lead him to mention this for weeks to come. You thought he was a cocky motherfucker before? May the Elder Gods save you, because now even with the embarrassed look on your face, he was a smug little shit. "Aw, pretty girl, does my presence get you that excited?" he said, grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him. Even while he was teasing and playful, he reassured you that he found it to be cute, and going on about how honored he was that he found a new way to make a woman cum. His woman. If he had this effect on you now, what would happen if he actually tried? You were to find out soon enough.

[n3ptoonz]

Hey, I was wondering if we could maybe get a part two of the cvmming while kissing them req? I just read it and really liked it, and I was wondering how the others would react, please and thank you😊

well, yes!😁 if you are new here they're referring to part one with bi han, kenshi, liu kang, and johnny!

how kung lao, raiden, rain, and shang tsung react to f!reader getting a lil excited during a make out sesh💋

do i even need to say the warnings, y'all know what's up 😎

When you came while making out with...

Kung Lao, similarly to Johnny his ego BOOSTED. There was already tension building all day due to sparring and training, so he just couldn't help but pull you into the changing room afterwards. He noticed the familiar whine escaping your lips before the feeling the slight wetness on his thigh (he's notorious for putting his leg between yours). "Someone's excited." he whispered and slipped his hands under your shirt to pull you closer, sitting you down on the closest surface.

Raiden, he was quite surprised. He never thought he could have that much of an effect on anybody. He's the last person to have an ego, but i that didn't negate the fact that he was feeling himself when you broke the kiss and gasped at the sudden dopamine running through your veins straight to your pants. When you looked up at him embarrassed he held your face in both of his hands with a smile of reassurance. "The feeling is mutual, my love."

Rain, he didn't give a damn in the hottest way possible. He had a long day in his lab and just wanted to cool off with your lips on his. He approached you quite assertively too, which got you so excited so quickly. He had you secured in his arms, kissing you slow but with slight possession. Upon noticing how you grabbed at his biceps like you do in the bedroom, he didn't dare part ways, but took the incentive to pick you up and give you something to cum for.

Shang Tsung, he also didn't give a damn. The second that sweet sound escaped you, he pulled back and smiled wickedly. "Such a pretty and fragile thing you are..." he purred. When you looked embarrassed he tsk'd and backed you into a wall, tipping your chin up to look at him. It'd been a long day of planning the downfall of all powerful gods with you by his side, he couldn't be more proud. And he intended to show it.

[goodboykang]

boyfriend!kung lao headcanons

kung lao x fem!reader (movie version)

your favorite cocky shaolin monk as your boyfriend ♡

sfw + nsfw

sfw . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

he loves hearing you laugh. not because he’s soft. because he’s convinced he’s the funniest man alive, and every laugh is just proof.

he physically cannot let you win an argument. even when he agrees with you. (especially when he agrees with you.)

if someone compliments him in front of you, he immediately looks at you like a dog waiting for praise. “did you hear that?” “yes.” “interesting.” “what?” “nothing.” “you want me to compliment you too.” “i didn’t say that.”

if you’re having a bad day, he gets weirdly attentive. he does not know how to comfort people normally, so suddenly you’re being handed food, blankets, tea, random flowers he definitely stole from somewhere. he never acknowledges what he’s doing — “the flowers were in my way.”

he acts like he hates physical affection in public. but five minutes later he’s got an arm draped around your shoulders, your hand trapped in his lap, and his chin resting on your head. if you point out the hypocrisy, he just says, “this isn’t affection. this is security.”

he secretly memorizes tiny details about you and pretends he doesn’t. your favorite snack, your favorite color, the exact expression you make before you start complaining about something. he notices everything.

he gets jealous of the dumbest things imaginable. not jealous in a scary way, jealous in an unbelievably pathetic way.

you spend ten minutes petting a cat? suddenly he’s staring at it like it’s a rival.

you mention a nice conversation you had with someone? “and what was so interesting about that?”

if you ever dare to call another man handsome he acts normal for approximately three seconds. then: “really?” “what?” “nothing. just surprised.” “why?” “no reason.” there is a reason.

he has genuinely threatened to fight liu kang “for your honor” multiple times even though liu kang literally just smiled at you politely.

the worst part? he genuinely thinks he’s being subtle. he’s not. everybody knows. even the person he’s jealous of knows.

if somebody flirts with you, kung lao spends the next three hours pretending it doesn’t bother him. which somehow involves bringing it up every five minutes.

he keeps score of everything. everything. who won the last spar. who picked dinner last. who said “i love you” first after an argument.

he uses his hat to impress you constantly. constantly. like every day.

you’ve seen every trick but he still expects applause. if you don’t react: “you didn’t even look.” “i’ve seen that one.” “no. this was a different spin.”

he absolutely practices dramatic entrances before seeing you. not consciously. but if he spots you first. suddenly his posture improves. hair gets adjusted. walk gets smoother. voice gets deeper.

but the second you’re actually paying attention to him he forgets every cool thing he was about to say.

forehead kisses are extremely rare, and extremely dangerous. with kung lao, they are the emotional equivalent of getting hit by a truck, because they usually happen when you’re upset. or sick. or exhausted.

he’ll brush your hair back, press the softest kiss to your forehead, then immediately ruin the moment. “you looked awful.” “thanks.” “you’re welcome.”

he genuinely believes that being your boyfriend grants him special rights. your food? shared. your blanket? shared. your attention? his.

if you’re sitting somewhere, he automatically assumes there’s space for him too. doesn’t matter if there isn’t. that’s your problem.

if anyone asks why you’re dating him, he answers before you can. “she has excellent taste.”

deep down, though? he’s never completely sure how he got so lucky.

some nights he’ll just look at you when you aren’t paying attention, quiet for once. like he’s trying to figure out how someone chose him.

then the second you catch him staring: “what?” “you were looking at me.” “no i wasn’t.” “kung lao.” “you have no proof.”

nsfw (18+) . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

he fucks like he fights: flashy, competitive, and convinced he’s the best you’ll ever have (and annoyingly, he usually proves it).

turns everything into a competition. “bet i can make you cum in under two minutes.” “bet you can’t stay quiet while i eat you out.”

will straight-up say things like “i trained all day just so i could fuck you properly tonight” with zero shame.

gives the messiest, most enthusiastic head. moans into your pussy like it’s his favorite meal, sucks on your clit like he’s trying to physically pull orgasms out of you, and won’t stop until his face is shiny with your cum.

he always makes sure you cum first. multiple times if he can manage it. his pride is tied to your pleasure.

he loves making you cum while he’s still fully dressed in his monk robes and hat, just to remind you how easily he can wreck you.

makes you ride his muscular thigh until you’re soaked and shaking, then makes you clean up your own mess with your tongue while he praises you.

before he slides his cock in, he rubs the head against your clit every time to make you whimper.

he loves fisting your hair and yanking your head back so he can bite your throat while thrusting deep. light choking too… his hand wrapped around your neck while he stares into your eyes, daring you to keep eye contact as you cum.

after a real argument he’ll storm in, pin you against the wall, and fuck you so hard the furniture shakes. lots of growling “you drive me fucking insane” while slamming into you.

he turns any bath into a slippery, loud mess. sits you on his lap facing him, water sloshing everywhere while he guides your hips and sucks marks into your wet skin.

100% has a breeding kink, and it gets nastier when he’s close — “gonna fill this tight cunt until it overflows… fuck, imagine how pretty you’d look carrying my child.”

he cums inside you almost every time and gets visibly turned on watching it drip out. will push it back in with two thick fingers while telling you how perfect you look “stuffed full of me.”

he gets hard again stupidly fast. you think you’re done after two rounds? he’s already half-hard against your thigh asking if you’re “really tapping out already.”

kung lao doesn’t just fuck you — he claims you, worships you, teases you, ruins you, and then puts you back together like it’s his sacred duty.

tag list: @d1vinestxr27 @adriicecream @orcynix @reedles05 @shieldagent2025 @firemeetfire @supportstudies @heavensentlys @poseidons-goddess @fenris-wolff @arialing @luvitria @smilefortae @chronicallyonline95 @snowballmp4 @prettyjeans @rwdkllz @dark-silhouette

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Kaboom goes the dynamite (Humans are not invincible. I don't care what the Majiri say) Fandom: Palia Characters: Reth, Hassian, Nai'o A/N: How are we feeling about the Royal Highlands, guys? Idk about y'all, but after the *ahem* 'explosive incident' near the end, I found the villager's reactions to be a bit....lackluster? We basically got the Letha treatment but survived it (sorry, hodari pls don't kill me). I also think it's impossible for the player to scrape by a whole bomb without any physical injuries so...yeah, s6 doesn't want to give us the townsfolk going through the six stages of grief so I'm just going to do it.

Reth:

Pretending everything's fine when it most certainly isn't is Reth's patented song and dance.

It's a skill, really. A craft. One of the few things life in the grimmelkin cartel did right for him. He has perfected the refined art of 'fake it until you make it'.

Smile when people expect a buffer. Joke when the air gets too heavy. Keep moving. Keep working. Your face is your greatest asset, pretty boy. Use it. Keep your hands busy and your mouth busier, because if you stop long enough to think about all the things that could go wrong, then the world will remember to come collect.

Reth's lived with that mindset for so long, he just can't kick it even if times are different. Slipping on the mask has become that old friend who stops into town for a visit whenever shit hits the fan. Always right when you least expect it to.

Reth just thought - selfishly - that he'd have more time before the next visit. To enjoy the peace that he hadn't quite settled into yet.

---

Ashura's inn was running on the warm side today. Loud in the comfortable way, not the 'there are six voices in my ear and they all sound miles off' kind of way.

The smell of stew and fresh bread clung to the air, and Reth was leaning over the chef’s counter with a knife in one hand, a cutting board under the other, and just enough attention to work on his mincing technique while ruminating over the same thoughts that invade his mind every day.

Tish was doing better. She'd just stopped in to grab 'brain fuel' for her and Jel to munch while getting creative. His debt to the cartel was paid. Had been, for months now. Although he still felt the kick to check if Zeki dropped off any packages for him to deliver. Reth's eye always strayed to the usual drop point when on break. Although his nerves hadn't yet conjured an illusion of some new contract to bind him.

Reth runs through his mental checks. He slept about four hours the night before. Which was good by his standards. Sifuu hadn't started another bar fight, thank dragon. Last week Tish had to replace three stools.

Ashura even mentioned giving him a small raise the other night. Never said why, but Reth could piece it together. A hint about 'getting him signed up a bank account so he could save for the future' here, another about keeping a bit of spending money to 'take his partner in crime on a date' there.

Speaking of, he got to see you earlier in the morning. Apparently you were off to the Royal Highlands on some special Order business with Subira. Reth was still waiting for her to put him in cuffs for his work with Zeki, but he was happy you were starting to get some answers about the whole 'humans popping up out of nowhere' business. Even if he barely understood most of it. Maybe with his newfound freedom, he could help out somehow and repay a bit of what you've done for him.

That is if he could convince Jina to teach him about humanity. There aren't many books in the library. He checked.

All Reth cared about was your happiness on that front, and you looked thrilled to explore the Royal Highlands. So he packed up a portion of hearty vegetable soup with a sliced baguette, kissed your cheek, and sent you off with the comfort of knowing you still hadn't realized how much of a mistake he was.

Everything was good. Pushing up sundrops, really.

The worst of life, the ugly, grinding, humiliating worst of it, was supposed to be over.

So why is there this...foreboding gloom hanging over his head? Why can't he just be happy?

He still didn’t know what to do.

Freedom felt too much like standing in an empty room and waiting for the door to open again.

“Reth, can I get one chappa masala to go?” someone called from nearby the hearth, and he lifted his head with practiced ease, ready with some lazy reply. The usual two-finger salute before getting a fresh order slip.

It was in that moment that time seemed to slow down. They say that seconds can feel like years when tragedy strikes, and he believed it. Felt it back when his parents never came home, when Tish's condition worsened, when he sat to let these dragon forsaken runes be carved into his skin with nothing to dull the pain.

Just because Reth's used to it, doesn't mean he's prepared. Never.

Shouting burst outside the inn's open doors, followed by heavy footfalls running up the outer stairway. The sudden scrape of urgency breaking through the heavy evening.

Reth frowned, knife pausing in his grip.

Through the swinging doorway came Subira’s commanding voice, sharp with alarm.

“Chayne—!? Chayne, I need you!”

Her panic cut through the inn like a blade.

Reth straightened to attention, stew forgotten despite needing a stir.

Across the room, Ashura was already moving, foregoing the steps down from his podium with one hop and rushing out with the kind of speed that showed he was still a trained solider even in his silver years. Reth caught the expression on his face for only a second — focused, grim, assertive — and then the inner doors banged behind him.

“What should I — ?” Reth started, but the offer died in his throat.

He should stay. He knew that. The inn was his post right now with Ashura gone. His job. His responsibility. He had a dozen plates halfway done, patrons still seated, and every sensible part of him knew he ought to keep his head down and his hands busy.

Instead he moved, leaping over the counter with one arm.

Because Subira sounded scared for the first time since she arrived in Kilma and he knew. Deep down, Reth could only think of one thing that might shake the Watcher and force her back from the Highlands investigation prematurely.

Because Chayne was not in the tavern taking his usual nighttime tea, which meant he'd been stalled by something far worse than a stubbed toe.

Because somewhere in the back of Reth’s mind, the part of him that spent too many years always braced for impact already started to say 'I told you so'.

The new breed of bad was here and peace was just an illusion.

The thing that strikes when you get comfortable.

He stepped out onto the porch just in time to see Chayne hurrying across the road, robes swaying in his wake, expression intent and troubled. Reth’s stomach dropped before he even looked past him.

Subira stood near the path, breathless, dirtied, and tense from the temples down, and in her arms —

For one endless second, Reth’s mind refused to understand what he was seeing. His gut was right.

You.

Limp in her arms. Face pale beneath the dirt and surface bruising. Your body draped in a way that made something cold and violent lurch through his chest.

Not dead. Not yet. He knew that because he would have known if you were already gone, wouldn’t he? He had to know that on sight at least. He had to be right.

But you looked so broken. Not at all like the sweet cheek he kissed just that morning, flushed under his attention and giving him the buzzy feeling that made each day something worth tackling.

Rather than those butterflies, all Reth feels right now are parasites eating at his stomach. He'll never be able to smell stew again.

Subira was saying something rushed before Chayne gestured down the road. She gave a curt nod before taking off in the direction of the healer's pavilion with you stolen away with her. Reth watches your head bob over her forearm and waits for your eyes to open. She disappears before they can.

Ashura’s voice cut in low and steady. Someone else was speaking too, maybe, but Reth couldn’t make sense of it. The sounds came at him from far away, like he’d slipped beneath the surface of a Lake Kilma and was hearing life through dense water.

He stayed rooted on the porch.

Couldn’t move.

Couldn’t make his legs work.

It was absurd, really. He carried trays full of hot food through crowded rooms, ducked knives and egos and the occasional exploding temper, survived enough terrible days to know how to keep a face on. He should be useful. He should be doing something.

Instead he was standing there like an idiot.

Dragon, why was he such an idiot.

His fingers twitched in the air, grasping at nothing.

No.

Not now. Not ever, really.

Not after everything.

Not after the cartel.

Not after Tish.

Not after all the nights he’d lain awake with the kind of dread that never really leaves, only changes shape. Not after resigning to be nothing, just to get a cruel taste of what freedom looks like. It had your face, your scent, your voice, your laugh, your touch, your...

Not after he had started, impossibly, to think maybe he could have a life that was just his life, and not a countdown to pay his due.

His gaze stayed fixed on the spot Subira once stood. You were here and not here. A body. A breathing thing. A person. The sight of you struck him in some old, buried place where hope and fear were tangled together so tightly he couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

This was it, wasn’t it?

This was the price.

Every small joy, every stolen laugh, every half-remembered moment of feeling safe in with your hand in his, of hearing you tease him through the storage room door, of seeing your face across the counter and thinking, against all reason, that maybe he could keep this. Maybe he could keep you.

He hadn't deserved any of it.

That thought came suddenly, sharp as a hook beneath the ribs.

All the things you had given him. All the new chances. The security. The patience. The way you looked at him like he was not a problem to solve or a burden to bear, but a person. He had not earned it. Not properly. Not nearly enough. He had not said the things he should have said. He had not thanked you enough. Hadn’t told you how often he thought of you when the night got too quiet, or how much lighter the world felt when you walked into the inn, or how he had started measuring days by the possibility of seeing you again.

Reth thought there would be time.

He thought he could be clever about it. Play it cool. Let things develop in their own time.

Dragon, there's never time. What made him think there would be now, when the universe was set to punish him for the sin of getting used to happiness.

His chest tightened so suddenly it hurt.

No, he thought again, but this time it was smaller. More frightened. Childish, almost. Like the voice in his head belonged to someone much more lanky, reading a report from the coastguard about a ship lost to the tides.

He didn't remember taking a still breath.

He didn't remember when his hands started shaking. Only that the air felt thicker.

“Reth.”

A rich, commanding voice, snapped straight through the haze.

Reth blinked hard, and the scene shifted into focus by degrees. Ashura was in front of him now, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other steadying him before he could even realize he was unsteady. His brow was furrowed with concern, the kind that came from someone who already made a dozen hard decisions before noon and still had room left to worry about other people.

“Hey,” Ashura said, low and even. “Listen to me.”

Reth stared at him, empty-headed.

Ashura’s grip tightened gently. “You need to hold down the inn for me, alright? I have to get Chayne what he needs but I'll be right back. Chayne will take care of them, okay? Just breathe and wait for me here.”

Your name carried weight across every syllable as Ashura spoke. If anyone knew the sinking feeling of half your heart being torn out, it was Kilma's gentlest innkeeper.

Reth swallowed, throat thick, grating, and useless. He could hear nothing clearly except the pounding of his own pulse.

Ashura said something else then, an apology maybe, or an explanation, but it washed over him without meaning. Reth barely registered the words. What he registered was the pressure of Ashura’s hands on his shoulders, the certainty in his voice, the fact that someone was still telling him what to do because he had not yet fallen apart enough to be spared responsibility.

Hold down the inn.

Yes. Right. Of course.

Useful. Be useful. Keep moving.

It was the only thing he knew how to reach for.

“Yeah,” he said, and the word came out thin. Crooked. “Yeah. Fine. Go. You can count on me."

Ashura searched Reth's face for one more second, as if he might object, and then nodded sharply. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

He let go and was gone almost immediately, already turning toward Chayne’s house at a speed Reth was sure would aggravate Ashura's bad knee later on. He'd only gather enough to care later, when this was over. It had to be over at some point.

Reth stood there a moment longer, staring after him, not because he was calm but because he had nothing left to do with his body. His hands felt far away. His legs felt borrowed. Everything inside him had gone still in the way a room goes still after lightning strikes nearby.

Then the world lurched back into motion.

Inside the inn, a chair scraped. Someone asked a question. A murmur of concern spread through the room, but Reth could not hear the words. He turned mechanically, like a puppet being tugged by a string, and went back in on legs that didn’t quite belong to him.

The smell of burning stew hit him again, warm and unbearable. He jumped the counter to turn off the burner.

His cutting board sat where he’d left it. The knife, too. The vegetables. The dirty bar rag hung on its hook. Ordinary things. Things that had no right continuing to exist while the rest of his world split open.

Reth put his hands on the counter and stared down at them.

He was still shaking.

He tightened his jaw.

Nope. Not here. Not now.

He picked up the knife and pulled out strip chaapa. Got to cubing it and grabbed an order ticket. Because what else was there? Because if he stopped, the image of you in Subira’s arms would keep replaying itself, over and over, and the breaking sound in his chest would turn into something messier and harder to hide.

A customer spoke to him and he answered automatically. Somebody asked if the tea was ready and he nodded. Another voice. Another plate. Another task. Another attempt to drag the world back into a shape that made sense.

But inside, he was still on the porch.

Still watching. Thinking.

I'm such an idiot.

I knew better.

I should've asked Jina sooner, should've asked Subira for details, should've begged them to stay - made an excuse. Been there.

Please.

Dragon, Pheonix, whoever you are ... if you're there.

Please.

Don't take them from me.

The word lodged in him like a splinter. Please let them live. Please let Chayne be able to fix this. Please let there be something in this world stronger than all the bad things waiting their turn.

Please don't let him lose the one person who's become the center of his life without him noticing until it was already too late.

And if there were gods—if there were any kind of listening power at all, any mercy tucked away behind the stars—then now. Now would be a very good time to prove it.

Because Reth could not do this again.

Could not stand by another bedside and wait for a voice to say there was nothing more to be done.

Could not hold himself together with jokes and flour and duty while the person he loved slipped out of reach.

Could not.

He pressed his fingers into the counter until his knuckles ached and kept his face angled just so, because the customers still needed feeding and the inn still needed him and if he looked too closely at anyone he was certain he would break. Their lingering eyes suggest they expect him to, and he won't slip.

But inside, where no one could see him, he was already broken.

Hassian:

Hassian considered himself one who exists with peace. In harmony with the world he inhabits. Yet that does not mean he is comfortable enough to take tranquility for granted. To exist in peace.

No.

Hassian is intimately aware that every day is different from the last, and that one's life can be ripped mercilessly out from its roots if there are roots lain down to do so.

While it is by the dragon's grace that he has comforts to lose, it is also by his cruelest will that those we cherish can be stolen for no reason other than circumstance.

It is not fear that claims Hassian. Not even grief. Of that he holds nestled between his seventh and eighth ribs, an urge to persist. It is not blood or hunger or the ache of long winters spent whittling in his grove and longer hunts as the game thins. Those were familiar changes.

Honest uprootings. The world had always been full of sharp edges, and he learned young how to move between them.

But peace?

Peace felt like standing on unfamiliar ground and being told not to brace for it to crumble. Hassian could not find it in himself to slip into peace.

Until now.

For a few hours, he had everything he would ever need in the palm of his hand. Every root lain in his garden, tucked safe under the ground, making their beds in Kilma’s soil as they should have twenty years ago.

Taylin. Mama. By some miracle, the Dragon returned her to Sifuu and him. Rather she was never claimed in the first place. For twenty years, she was just out of reach.

Yet he did not care to let that thought sink. None of it mattered.

Not when she was here with them now.

Alive.

Breathing.

Resting in the healer's pavillion after Chayne’s careful hands cleaned the worst of her wounds, after the impossible had become real and the ground cracked open just enough to let life sprout new roots. Sifuu hadn't let go of Taylin once she returned to herself, and Ulfie — who had been a stranger only yesterday and now felt like a new root in Hassian's family — stayed close too, quiet and watchful in a way Hassian recognized. Tau curled at the boys feet and waited his turn for pets.

The five of them sat together in that passing moment, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, Hassian's heart was not divided by loss.

It's become whole.

Even the open room seemed different for it. Smaller, perhaps. Warmer. Medicinal herbs never had such a welcoming aroma. Or maybe that appreciation was only the shape of his own disbelief.

There was so much to catch up on.

So much to learn.

So much to unlearn, too, from all the years he spent carrying the weight of a mama-shaped absence and calling it strength. And yet there was something gentle in it, too. Taylin looking at him like she was memorizing his face. Taking in all he'd become, yet still seeing the image of her little boy who'd look at the stars with hope.

Sifuu sat beside her, steady as stone. Barely holding back from sharing every little detail of their lives these years and straining not to ask Tailyn for her story. Not yet.

For a short while, the world felt almost complete. Only missing one piece to make the picture whole.

Just think of the human and they shall always come, just as Hassian's grown used to.

So he waits.

He waits.

He takes in these otherwise perfect, terribly short, hours.

He waits and he trusts you'll seek him out once your work is through.

Tau's head lifts at the sound of rushed footfalls, and Hassian can't help the twitch of his lip. Like clockwork. They're a bit frantic and lighter than your usual stride but it has been an eventful day. No one is entirely predictable, as you've proven time and time again.

He waits a little more.

And by dragon, if Hassian could take back the summons, the thought of you, then he'd do anything to make it so.

At first, he thought it was only another fevered trick of exhaustion.

You were with him only hours before, standing at his hip with that certainty of yours that guides a hunt to finish, alive and smiling and warm with a heart on your sleeve that makes him feel as though the world had one less thing to question. Even if you were full of them every day.

Your eyes, glazed with tears of happiness for his family reunited, and a brush to his arm brace as if to say 'Go. I've got it from here. Be with them'. He wouldn't have left you alone in the middle of unfamiliar territory under any other circumstance.

Yet even then, he should have lingered just a moment beyond that silent exchange. To ensure the security of whatever task you'd throw yourself into without him. Based on the trials set to gain access to that ancient mansion, he saw first hand that it would be neither simple or safe.

Yet you always pull a miracle. His mama come home is a prime example.

No matter what trouble you got yourself mixed up in - of which, Hassian is certain there are many he's unaware - you always find him later on, come the end of each day.

Later.

A word that only seemed solid enough to trust because of you.

When Subira came rushing into the infirmary, Hassian's first thought was annoyance at the interruption. With the way Tau perked, Hassian was certain it would be you rushing up the path. Emotions may have rattled the hunter's instincts, but his pluumehound's senses were never wrong.

His second thought was a vague, dreadful understanding that something was terribly wrong. Watchers are trained to maintain their calm under distress and yet one well-ordained is missing her footing.

His third thought, broaching reflexes dulled by everything that had already happened that day, stalled to static at the body clutched in her arms.

To the battered, limp shape of you.

For one long second Hassian's mind refused to name what he saw.

Then his gaze drifted to the hollow lavender tint under your eyes, a shade he knew did not belong on human skin, and so he tried to look away. Yet every inch of flesh was caked in dirt, soot, and splotches of maroon that he once again could not dare to name.

Is it true that humans bleed the same as Majiri? Of course they do.

So why, like a child who once thought the stars held all answers, could he not grasp the metal stench clinging to you.

Subira’s urgency murdered the peace Hassian no longer found himself in. Chayne had already stood, already crossed the threshold, already commanding with the wisdom of someone who had no room for panic because panic would help no one. Sifuu let go of Taylin's hand for the first time. The empty cot beside them was cleared.

Your head rolled to face him as Subira laid your body down. He expected your eyes to sliver open, your hand to reach for him from where it draped useless off the bedside.

Hassian felt Tau's muzzle nudge into his open palm, and it was enough for him to let go of pointless expectation. Peace wasn't even with him anymore. It abandoned them all.

Then, he moved.

Every little detail he allowed to exist without thought now assaulted him. He remembers the truth behind herbal scents in the air and clean cloth cut to strips, the meaning behind each creak under his feet, the harsh, terrible fact that these cots meant for healing can also hold bodies too broken to merely be resting.

A house of hope, can just as easily become a house of woe. One cannot exist without the other.

Balance of scales, the realist in him thought.

He got his mama back, and in the same day he would lose you.

His life had been perfect for a few short hours. That's more then most get. He could ask the dragon to take him instead, but it would do no good.

Nature does not bargain.

It demands its due.

It takes and takes and takes until one dared to think they've been spared. It takes them too. No one escapes in the end.

And now there was only this.

Your blood. Your bruises. He wraps your fingers in gauze and lets his fingers stray to your wrist. A pulse, but weak. Not the thrum of a hummingbird he was so used to counting when your skin was offered to him willingly.

Your spirit fading, with him hopeless to stop it. Hassian knew before Chayne spoke the words.

Hassian could feel the old instinct rising in him, the one that had kept him alive in the wilds, the one that had taught him to track the signs of danger before it struck. But danger this time was not something he could hunt. Could not shoot. Could not chase through the trees or stand between with bow in hand.

"Tell me what to do, Chayne. Anything. Anything at all, and it is yours."

The look in his Shepp's eye conveyed the answer Hassian knew to be true. 'There is nothing we can do, but wait' yet for all the patience he had when stalking prey, Hassian could not muster a drop of it.

Chayne must sense that he needs an order. A direction. He gives an order for materials from his house.

Hassian obeys.

Chayne asks him to escort Ulfie to Tamala's in Upper Bahari. The child shouldn't be alone right now. Hassian obeys, he barely spares her a look once the boy is indoors.

Change your bandages. He obeys. Deliver tonics for other patients. He obeys.

Anything to stay moving. Anything to keep from looking too closely at the shape of your face. Anything to keep from admitting that the feeling in his chest was not anger, though it was close to it, and not fear, though fear had its claws deep in him.

It was the awful, naked knowledge that he had just gotten you.

Just gotten this life.

Just begun to imagine a future where there would be more of you in it. Where he had a hearth to call his own and a family to sit around it.

And how each day that passes, the chance of that future fades with you.

No.

The thought came with violence Hassian rarely embodied.

No.

His jaw tightened hard enough to ache.

Please.

He had not meant to think the word, or to beg. Begging never helped when Taylin disappered. No one answered -- that's wrong. Twenty years it took but someone finally answered. It wasn't a god either. It was you.

So if he was going to beg, and plead, and cry. Let his voice break through, raw and unguarded, leaving him more exposed than any would could. If he was going to submit himself to prayer.

Then Hassian would pray to you. To reach wherever your spirit walks.

Please do not leave me.

Please do not become another absence.

Please do not become another loss I must learn to survive.

I can't live without my heart, and it beats with you.

Hassian holds your hand in his until the sun rises, and until it sets. Willing his words to reach you as he reads from books and recites poems he once thought would never reach your ears. Yet unless Chayne needs him to or his mothers voices carry enough for talk, he remains where your spirit can feel him calling.

Because if there was any strength in him at all, it would be used now in service of keeping you away from the stars. Your story is not ready to be written among them. Not yet. Not without him.

Nai'o

By the time Nai’o made it home, it was well past two in the morning.

The Elderwoods was left behind him, the long dark roads and leaning signposts finally left in the care of the moon. He checked them all. Tightened what needed tightening. Marked what needed marking. The kind of work that made his shoulders ache and his eyes blur a little by the end of it, but which still left him feeling useful, and being useful had always been the easiest way for him to sleep soundly.

The barn smelled like hay and work and the faint comfort of home. He cleaned up there the way he always did, moving on muscle memory more than thought, and by the time he pushed open the front door of the farmhouse, his body was asking (more like demanding) for sleep.

He expected quiet and toed off his boots carefully after sparing a quick look at Auni’s treehouse.

Maybe Ma’s awake with another book she pretended not to be too invested in. Maybe the soft creak of the old house settling around him as he walked the floor seams. Maybe Pa snoring so loudly upstairs that Nai’o would roll his eyes and smile despite himself.

What Nai’o did not expect was both of his parents sitting in the little living room without any light, locked in quiet conversation until he crossed the threshold. Both Ma and Pa looked right at him and he felt like he was 13, caught sneaking out to throw rocks at Kenyatta’s window all o er again.

Except Nai’o certainly wasn’t 13 anymore and surely hasn’t done anything wrong. Maybe. Not that he knows of?

Ma’s face was carefully composed in the way it only ever was when she was trying very hard not to fall apart. Nai’o can’t remember the last time he saw her like that. Her eyes were rimmed red. Not by much. Just enough to make his stomach drop straight through the floor.

Badruu held his straw hat to his chest, fingers curled around the brim like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

Nai’o stared. His mouth opened, then shut again.

“Aaah,” he said stupidly, because his brain hadn’t yet caught up past getting his boots off. “Hi?”

Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.

Nai’o looked up just in time to see Auni peeking over the banister, then ducking back out of sight.

That was when Nai’o’s heart started to pound.

Auni was usually asleep by now. He didn’t stay in their shared bedroom anymore, complaining that Nai’o snored too loud. If he was awake here and not in his treehouse, it usually meant he was scared or Ma asked him in.

The thought made a cold little knot twist low in his chest.

“Ma?” Nai’o asked carefully, shifting between them. “Pa?”

Delaila inhaled through her nose, slow and steady. Which, for her, meant this was very serious indeed.

“Is everything okay?” Nai’o asked again, though even he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice. “We’re not losing the house, are we?”

His mind immediately went to the worst, but they weren’t behind on payments the last he checked. You helped them meet their quota last month too.

Badruu’s expression only got tighter as he rubbed a soothing hand over Delaila’s back. Why wasn’t anyone talking? What could be worse than losing the house?

Then Auni came tumbling down the stairs in a rush of oversized socks and nerves, nearly missing the last step entirely. He landed in the foyer, blurted your name out in a rush with his hands flying high, “There was an explosion! A bomb! The whole town was freakin' out!” and then froze like he had just run headfirst into a wall.

Nai'o was no better, his mind barely picking the right words out in a fight against exhaustion.

His family knew what you meant to him. They would never make that kind of thing up just to tease him after a long day. Or any day.

Because they loved you too. He knew that as surely as he knew the shape of his own hands. His ma smiled whenever you came by, asked if you'd been eating well up on that hill by yourself. His pa always found some excuse to ask how you were doing, test out a new pun, or send a bit of extra hay for your animals, even when he was busy. Auni thought you were the coolest person in the world and didn't act embarassed to admit it.

And Nai’o...?

Nai’o loved you in the simple, open way that never made much room for pretending otherwise.

You’re family. His future.

You’ve become everything and it almost felt like you’ve always been here. A steady, bright presence in the middle of all the things in his life that could be uncertain. When he saw you, he felt steadier. Better. Like the world was a little less likely to topple over.

The axis was tilting.

His breath left him in one hard, silent rush.

And then the fear became motion.

Nai’o was moving before anybody could catch him.

He was halfway out the door, hopping back into his muddy boots, when his mother called his name, but he didn’t slow down.

He was moving, his exhaustion burned clean away in a single rush of panic so sharp it almost hurt. He didn’t stop to ask for details. Didn’t stop to ask who was with you or whether Chayne had already seen you or what exactly had happened.

You were hurt.

You needed him.

That was all his body understood.

“Nai’o! Dear, hold on just a moment —” his ma started, but he was already at the door.

He heard Pa call after him, something about being careful, something about taking the good lantern, but he was gone before the words could settle. His boots hit the dirt path with a speed that shocked even him, and then he was running through the dark, one thought pounding in time with his steps.

I should have been there.

I should be there.

He’s been out working overtime. Checking the little things people relied on him for because that was what he did best. And while he had been out there, doing his job, doing what he was supposed to do, you were in danger.

That was the part he couldn’t quite fit into his head.

He knew you did important work, even when compared to the other new humans. He knew you were helping the Order, helping the village, doing things that mattered. Your work was so much bigger than him. Not a day passes where Nai'o doesn't wonder what you see in him.

Yet he never thought of that greatness as something to fear. He thought of it as one more reason to admire you. You were brave, and kind, and strong in ways he was still trying to understand.

But now he could feel the shape of that bravery in his chest like a bruise.

Nai'o has seen how people look while they processed loss. When Hodari lost Letha, and his daughter was injured - the two went months without visiting Kilma for anything other than food. When Ashura lost Sabaine, Kilma mourned a good woman. That’s right. Nai’o remembers now. That day was the last time he saw his ma cry so openly.

Nai'o didn't think he would feel that type of loss until his parents met the dragon. He never thought it would be you being carried into the dark like this. Not you, lying still. Not the crying eyes of Kilma meant for you.

Nai’o reached Chayne’s shrine at a speed fast enough that he had to catch himself on the entryway before he stumbled inside.

And there you were.

The world seemed to stop.

For one brief, stupid second, Nai’o forgot how to breathe again even as he gasped to reclaim it.

Ulfie was sitting near your bed, startled by the sound of him coming in too fast and too loud, his face going instantly panic-struck at the sight of Nai’o. Nai’o would apologize later. He would. He’d probably apologize a lot, actually, because the poor kid looked like he might bolt.

But right then, all Nai’o could see was you.

Bandaged. Bruised. Your eyes closed with the same expression you'd take when catching a quick nap on one of the hay bales in the barn.

He wanted them to open. Look at him with that warm expression that told him everything was going to be okay. Open your arms for his daily hug that felt like torture to go without.

His whole body went cold and hot at once.

Dragon, if a hug could heal you, he'd never let you go.

The thing about Nai’o was that he felt everything.

He did not hide it well, and he never really wanted to. When he loved someone, he loved them with his whole chest. When he worried, he shook. When he was happy, everyone heard his hollering. There was no point pretending otherwise.

So when he reached your bedside, all that openness turned into a kind of helpless honesty.

His knees hit the floor before he fully realized he was kneeling.

He took your hand in both of his, like that alone might anchor your spirit here.

His eyes burned terribly. Worse than when Butterball kicked up sand.

Then he blinked hard, but it did not help. Tears spilled anyway, hot and useless and eating at the exhaustion creeping back in the most soul crushing way. He did not care. He could not care. The sight of you like this cracked something clean open in him, and there was no pretending it didn’t hurt like it was his spirit being ripped in two.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, voice shaking around the words. “No, no, no, hey—hey, you’re okay, right? You’re going to be okay.”

He did not know who he was asking.

You. Chayne. The room. The Dragon. Anyone.

His thumb brushed carefully over your hand, as if he could feel for proof there that you were still here. Still warm.

He wanted to say so many things.

That he was sorry he wasn’t there for you.

That he should have come home faster.

That he would have run the whole way back from the Elderwood if he knew.

That he was scared in a way he’s never been scared before, because this wasn’t crops drying out, a broken wheel in the middle of nowhere, or even money running short before the duchess demanded her due payment.

This was you. This was someone he loved lying injured in front of him, and he had no practical skill to fix it.

But he also knew, with the simple certainty of someone who hadn’t yet learned to distrust hope, that you were still here.

And because you were still here, Nai’o could keep believing. Chayne says your spirit is what needs time. That’s fine. He has all of it in the world, just for you.

His tears kept coming, but his voice evens out just enough for him to speak clearly.

“I’m here,” Nai’o whispers, squeezing your hand gently. “I’m here now. I should have been here before, I know, I know, but I’m here now. When you wake up, you can scold me all you want. I'll listen. Promise I will."

His lower lip trembles, and he laughs once in that sad, breathless way people do when they are trying not to cry harder. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he if sleep is what you need then he won’t disturb you.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m right here.” He promises, “When you’re better, we’ll take that trip with Auni into Bahari City. All on me. I was planning to surprise you with it but that’s okay. It would’ve slipped out…you know I can’t keep a secret…”

Behind him, he heard Chayne moving to tend to whomever was in the cot beside you. Heard Ulfie shifting in his seat, before Nai'o felt a small hand pat his shoulder. Heard the quiet, careful sounds of a room full of people doing their best to help.

At some point Kenyatta came in to do her work, but she wasn't shocked to see him sitting there. They shared a weak greeting with each other before she pulled up a stool for him to sit on.

Nai’o felt guilty, relaxing once the pressure was off his knees, but the pinpricks in his calves were the only distraction from how his heart ached.

He only let go of your hand for Kenyatta to check your vitals.

He might not be smartest person in the room. He might not always have the right words. He might be useless to the entire situation — No. He certainly is.

Yet.

Nai’o just needs to be here when you opened your eyes. He can be here for you. He’d sooner abandon his path and sell shoe shines by the sea shore than let you wake up to an empty room.

He’ll make sure you smile and know that everything is going to be okay.

And later, when you were better and he had his voice back and his heart is not rattling around in his ribs like a loose stone, he’ll talk your ears off about how unfair all of this was and how very much he hated seeing you hurt and how he was definitely going to be more annoying about reminding you to be careful from now on. He might've thought you were some type of super human before, but just wait.

He'll hug you longer each day. Take the detour up that hill every night before going home, just to make sure you're safe and taking care of yourself.

Nai’o won't let you forget that he's there, even if he isn't as important to the grand scheme.

But for now, he will hold your hand and wait for you to rest. He won’t go anywhere.

Because you’re family to him in everything but name. That’s only a matter of time to change too.

And family takes care of each other. Through thick and thin.

[itsaboutbaharibee]

Palia Headcanons: Hassian Pt. 3

Summer Edition...

- Walked into a tree the first time he saw his s/o in shorts.

- His partner kinda has to force him to wear sunscreen bc he doesn't like the texture. He'll do it tho at the reward of a smooch ofc. Tho he doesn't really get burnt anyway but still. Still tans quite quickly honestly.

- Worries about Tau and his partner overheating. Tau will just lay in the sun roasting and his partner is just constantly sprinting all over Kilima etc. So he keeps asking if they've drank enough water and that they should rest for a bit.

- Now while he is at least mostly sleeveless and according to him he does not get cold, he absolutely does get warm. He is wearing leather and fur. And his autistic ass is sweating his ass off during summer. His stubborn ass did not even consider switching outfits for summer until his partner went and got him something made by Jel. Took some convincing and his partner showing him their matching fit but he ends up quite appreciating the more breathable wear.

Ty to @squidamalink for pointing out that he's in several layers of leather-

- Adores picnics. Being outdoors and having meal with his beloved. The second it gets warm he's secretly (or not so secretly) so pumped. He enjoys preparing them as well but he also thinks his partner looks quite adorable holding a picnic basket they prepared.

- He uses the warm weather as an excuse to have his partner stay in his grove at night longer. If they fall asleep on his shoulder while sitting around the campfire cuddling thats just a coincidence ofc.

- Tau loves to jump into any body of water during summer and he will purposely get near Hassian or his partner to shake off and get them all wet.

- Lowkey loves roasting stuff over a fireplace. He ends up preparing a bunch of things for it with the help of his partner. He gets Auni and Ulfe to join, and even Najuma joins for a little. His s/o tells everyone ancient human campfire stories and Hassian after a bit even starts telling the kids about the stars. Sometimes Sifuu joins as well and ofc she tells her tales too.

- Likes picking a very pretty spot near the bahari bay beach to watch the sunset with his s/o during beach outings. He's very particular.

- Turns into a blushing mess if asked to put sunscreen on his partners back.

[ryoride]

ꮼ HONEY, BABY, DARLING !

cw: teasing, cunnilingus, squirting, male moaning, pet names, eye contact, aang is devoted to his craft, tugging at his bald head, not proofread.

ⓘ Featuring Aang going down on his girlfriend for the first time.

Aang was in heaven the moment you asked if he wanted to try going down on you—a loud & eager "Yes!" coming from his lips before his brain could process.

Now, he was breathing heavily & sitting close to your glistening cunt with a dopey grin as he watched a small bead of sweat roll down your thigh.

"Aang, quit staring," you hissed, pulling your knees together slightly, attempting to block his view. "It's embarrassing."

"Oh, baby," he hummed, reaching out to rub your knee. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You're just so pretty; I got a little distracted."

Aang slowly leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, sucking softly on the supple skin as he kept his eyes trained perfectly on you.

"That's so unfair," you breathed, reaching out to press a palm to his cheek, guiding his face away from your thigh; the crimson flush dusting your cheeks was amusing to him as he raised a brow. "Please?"

"What's that, darling?" Aang teased, turning his cheek in your hand. "Please, what? Use your words; I'm not a mind reader."

"You're an asshole," you groaned, pinching his cheek before pulling back. "Will you please just eat and stop stalling?"

"Mm. Maybe." Aang's eyes darted between your thighs and back to yours before sighing, "Fine, fine. Rush perfection."

Aang stuck out his tongue, giving a slow, experimental lick, watching the way your eyes flutter & your body tensed up at the contact.

"There we go." He whispered, grasping your hips to pull you closer, quickly licking up & down your slit a few times to see how you'd react.

The sweet gasp that escaped your lips and the feeling of your palm quickly pressing against the back of his head to hold him in place were proof enough that you were enjoying yourself.

"Shit, slow down." You whined, thighs trembling against his head as he sucked your throbbing clit between your lips, eyes perfectly trained on yours.

Aang slowly moved one of his hands up your stomach, grasping your free hand and intertwining your fingers, squeezing softly as he moaned into you.

The vibrations were enough to drive you crazy, a sharp moan escaping your mouth as he flicked it with the tip of his tongue.

"Aang!" You gasped, nails scratching at his scalp, but quickly calmed at the sight of him wincing. "Just... fuck, don't stop."

He rubbed the back of your hand, moaning against you again, before pulling back for just a moment, showing off the juices glistening on his chin, and tensing as your hand pushed him back between your thighs.

"Sorry!" He mused, muffled by your flesh as your hips bucked up against his mouth. Aang pressed a tender kiss to your clit, feeling the little nub twitch helplessly against his lips.

Slowly, almost cruelly so, he rolled the tip of his buttery soft tongue against the hood, sucking it back between his lips with a desperate groan, his hips instinctively rutting against the mattress at the whine you made.

With each roll of your hips against his face, every sob of his name, and the way he could feel your hand squeezing him tight enough to cut off circulation, Aang knew you were about to finish.

"Baby," you cooed, toes curling at the sensations running rampant through your body, "please, just like that."

He softly squeezed your hand in acknowledgment, gasping softly as you screwed your thighs tight around his head, hips furiously rolling against his tongue; he felt the moment white-hot pleasure struck.

The evidence was far too obvious to ignore; it was actively soaking his lower face and neck.

"Well." Aang blinked, watching your mortification as you quickly pulled off of him, trying to cover your face as he licked his lips. "That was unexpected."

"Shut up, asshole. Never mention it again." You hissed pitifully in your palms, glaring at him between the cracks between your fingers.

"Darling." He cooed, quickly wiping his face off so he could comfortably kiss up your stomach, wrapping around your waist. "Won't need to mention it if you let me keep doing it."

[gyalcapone]

22:30

my period came yesterday, needed the comfort, have this

"Babe look, I finished the-" Sokka burst into the room, only to stop short at Aang gesturing for him to keep it down. His eyes immediately find your sleeping form curled into Aang's, with the latter's right hand pressed against your bare stomach.

"Finally fell asleep, then?" Sokka murmurs, slipping his shoes off before padding quietly to stand at the edge of the bed.

Aang nods an affirmative. "About twenty minutes or so."

"So the tea Katara made finally worked?"

"I don't think so, she's had like three cups and was still in pain, she only stopped complaining about it when I put my hand on her stomach."

"Cold or hot?"

"Hot."

Sokka sticks his arm out. "How hot? Lemme feel." The gears have already started turning in his head, a lightbulb switching on, a hamster running on its wheel, a brain blast if you will.

Aang falters, "You sure? She kept asking me to make it warmer and I was worried my fingertips would start smoking."

"Lay it on me," Sokka insists. "I got an idea that might help, but I need to know how much heat she can take."

"Between the two of us? Plenty." Aang grins proudly at his own joke and Sokka has to summon the will of the ocean spirit to keep the ugly laugh in. Plus, he doesn't need to give his boyfriend any satisfaction.

"That was lame."

"You're trying not to laugh though." Aang's eyes twinkle with mirth.

"Am not, now stop stalling." Arms fold across his chest in triumph when the other man's smile falters.

"Sokka, it's too hot for you, it's as hot as how she likes her bathwater."

"You sayin' I can't handle it?"

"You refuse to take showers with her."

"You're wasting time!" Sokka whispers.

Aang sighs, lifting his other hand to press against Sokka's bare chest and Sokka jumps back. "Should've just stuck her in the hearth."

"Quiet! What's your idea anyway?"

"You'll know when it's done." With a kiss to your cheek, and Aang's forehead, Sokka leaves the room after, absentmindedly rubbing his sternum and muttering to himself about hot ladies and hellfire heat.

Twenty-eight days later, Sokka is clipping a belt around your waist and as soon as he powers it on, your posture straightens as the sudden burst of heat warms your core. "That feels s'good," your words slur together, toes straightening out as the pain from your cramps starts to ease. You could cry from sheer relief, but you settle for planting a big, fat kiss on Sokka's lips.

"Thanks handsome! Works like a charm."

Your boyfriend blushes up a storm, ocean colored eyes brightening at the praise while the other one is sitting on the rug pouting up a storm.

"What was wrong with my hand?"

"Aw, sweet boy, I couldn't keep using you as a heating pad forever."

"And why not?" He deflates like a balloon and you're leaning into him to kiss away his frown. He isn't really too broken up, as realistically, he couldn't have his hand up your shirt 24/7, and seeing Sokka invent anything always leaves him feeling awestruck and unwaveringly proud.

"You did good." Aang squeezes his nape and the shorter man beams in pride.

"Heh, don't I always?"

© gyalcapone. 2026

[itsaboutbaharibee]

Palia Headcanons: Reth Part 4.

Summer Edition...

- Passed out once bc he got too hot and steamy while cooking soup during the height off summer. He got scolded so bad once he recovered lol

- Ties his hair up during summer bc he gets so warm. He also thought about shaving his head once or twice but his partner almost cried about it. They had a nightmare about bald Reth a few times after that.

- Does love beach days with his partner and friends. But also gets a tiny bit nervous any time they swim out a bit too far for his taste.

- The one thing that bothers him in the summer is that it makes cuddling harder. Everything is warm and sticky. Like yeah he wishes to glue himself to his partner but not like that-

- Tries to get a nice tan during summer, bc Nai'o can't be the only hot guy with a tan around town. Somehow he ends up with more of a farmers tan than him tho.

- Obviously insists soup is the best source of electrolytes on earth. Hes very consistent in trying to make sure his s/o drinks enough (soup) during summer.

- Auni continously begs him to make ice cream in the summer. Eventually he even gets Ulfe in on it. Tho the flavour are sometimes.... yeah....

- Reth also likes experimenting with different cocktails and iced drinks during summer. His favourite thing to do is try and get as close to old human flavours as he can and test them all out on his partner.

- Shamelessly stares at his partner in swimwear or short clothes. If someone scolds him he goes "What?? Can you blame me??" And gestures wildly at his partner.

- His s/o set the grill on fire one time and Reth physically threw their watering can at the grill. To be fair... it did work and Reth was very proud of himself for saving his partner.

[singse]

"Where's Momo?" Aang asks, coming into the living room in a bit of a panic. It's been over an hour since he's last heard or seen the lemur and that's odd for Momo.

Usually, Momo is either hanging around Appa or trying to steal his hidden stash of lychee nuts. So the quietness has been unnerving and Aang would like it to stop.

You peer up from your book, comfortingly sprawled out on a cloud of pillows on the floor.

"Momo?" You ask before nodding down at the lump in your shirt. "He's been here with me the whole time."

Aang's panic visibly fades, a relieved sigh leaving him. "Thank the spirits," he says. "I was beginning to wonder—" Aang pauses. "Wait, where is he exactly?"

You lift up your shirt to reveal a happily sleeping Momo who is nuzzled between your breasts.

Aang's right eye subconsciously twitches.

That's his spot.

The twitch doesn't evade you, your lips quirking up in a knowing smile as you say, "You can share, Aang."

"They were mine first, though," Aang grumbles, pouting before dramatically falling next to you, cushioned by the pillows. "And he's already had an hour so it's my turn now."

You laugh, amused. "If you say so," you reply before gesturing to Momo. "You gotta move him, though."

Aang snorts, already reaching for Momo.

"Easy as airbending."

That proves to be false when, not even a minute later, a shocked Aang ends up with a scratch on his hand and a still sleeping Momo remains on your chest.

You do feel bad for laughing, if that's any consolation.

[hmgt-writes]

Curious Consequences

After Hodari accidentally drinks one of Tamala’s experimental potions, what starts as a simple mistake turns into a long, overwhelming night of potion-fueled desperation that leaves both of you utterly wrecked by morning. But once the fever finally breaks, the story shifts from raw intensity to something softer, as guilt and exhaustion give way to quiet caretaking, tender reassurance, and the kind of intimacy that comes from choosing to stay and care for each other in the aftermath.

MDNI - SMUT BELOW

Hodari only meant to help you unpack the supplies. Still, he kept telling himself that even as he lifted the wrong vial off your workbench. It was a slender crystal tube, the amber liquid inside catching the afternoon light and glowing like molten honey. He turned it in his calloused hand, peering through the glass, then brought it up to his nose. His brow furrowed. 

"Doesn't smell like much," he muttered, and before you could stop him, tipped it back. His Adam's apple bobbed once, and he swallowed, just a single swallow, barely enough to wet his tongue.

At first, nothing happened. Then it did, like wildfire igniting dry brush. You'd just pressed the last labeled jar into place, your fingertips white with powdered roots, when you heard the soft clink of glass and the dull thunk of a cork rolling across the wooden floorboards. You spun around and saw him standing there, Hodari's broad shoulders rigid, the now-empty vial clutched between two thick fingers. A bead of that golden fluid still clung to the rim.

Your chest tightened. "Oh no."

He blinked, those clear blue eyes untroubled. "What?"

"That was one of Tamala's test samples."

He froze, every muscle in his face locking. "…Of what?"

Heat prickled up your neck. You swallowed. Hodari's voice dropped lower, slow and dangerous, like distant thunder. "Darlin'. What. Was it?"

You dared not meet his gaze. "Something Tamala said was supposed to boost stamina and…response. But it wasn't ready. She told me not to touch it."

He set the vial down on the bench so gently that it might have shattered into flames. "Okay… Okay… By the Flow, it's fine. I feel fine."

For six whole seconds, that was true. Then Hodari let out a low, guttural curse and braced himself against the edge of the table. His hand clenched, leather glove straining over thick knuckles. His breath hitched, coming in rapid, shallow pants. You heard the grind of his teeth. His pupils swelled until only a thin ring of blue remained. A bead of sweat slid from his temple, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone before dropping to the floor with a soft plink. He raked a hand through his dark hair, and the strands sprang up in wild disarray.

When he faced you again, his skin glistened and flushed, every vein on his neck and forearm standing out beneath the surface. It was as if the calm, controlled man you knew had burned away, leaving only raw, desperate need.

"Darlin'..." The word rasped from his throat like gravel.

You straightened, suddenly too warm in the cramped room. "Yeah?"

His gaze locked onto yours, a stubborn weight in it. "I'm gonna need you to leave the room," Hodari muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right now, darlin'. Need you to step on out."

You held your breath. Your fingers hovered an inch above Hodari's forearm, the pads of your fingertips skimming the tight ropes of muscle beneath his mauve skin. You felt each thump of his heart like a small drum against your palm. A sudden crack echoed deep in his chest. He whispered your name again, each syllable raw, as if the sound of you so close, your concern, your warmth, was both a balm and wildfire in his veins. Then, without warning, he surged.

In two bounding strides, Hordari was on top of you like a storm cloud breaking. His big hands closed around your hips, thumbs pressing into your flesh until you felt your pelvis tilt. He pressed you tightly against his chest, forcing the air from your lungs. Before you could take a breath, his mouth crashed onto yours, hot, desperate, and bruising. His stubble grazed your bottom lip as he claimed you, his tongue driving so deep that you could taste salt and iron. He kissed not as a greeting, but as a lifeline.

A startled gasp tore from you when he scooped you up, fingers threading beneath your thighs, and slammed you against the cold plaster wall. The impact sent a shiver of shock through your spine. His forehead pressed into yours, a slick sheen of sweat between you. He groaned in your ear, low and ragged, as his hips ground into yours.

"Feel that?" Hodari asked, voice gone a little hoarse. "Feel what you've done to me?" His eyes stayed fixed on yours, something almost wounded and fiery there. "Feel what you did, darlin'... got me all twisted up inside."

Your pulse hammered in your temples. "I don't want you to stop," you whispered, voice shaking with need.

His chest heaved as something inside him broke. Hordari's hands went feral, ripping at your dress in ragged strips, tearing fabric until it fell to the floor in tatters. His mouth trailed a scorching path down your throat, teeth flicking your collarbone, lips sucking the hollow at the base of your breast. You could smell sweat and wildflower honey on his skin, and taste his musk on your tongue.

He tilted his head, fists clenching the waistband of his trousers. With a single rip, the leather belt fell away. His jeans followed in a frantic tug. The first inch of him slid in, and your back arched, a gasp blossoming in your throat. The second thrust blurred the edges of the room.

There was no gentleness here. Each stroke drove in hard and fast, Hodari's body slamming against yours like breakers on stone. His growls turned to hoarse pleas as you wrapped your legs around his waist, your nails carving shallow tracks across his back. The friction of your joined bodies was a spark, an ember that flared higher with each thrust.

You came with a strangled cry, wet and urgent, your muscles fluttering around him, and still he pounded on, couldn't stop. With a groan that rattled his chest, he hoisted you off the wall, stumble-stepping toward the bed. He laid you down, still buried deep, cock slick with your arousal and his own. For a heartbeat, he stayed still, breathing ragged, sweat tracing rivulets down his arms.

"Not done," Hodari rasped, bracketing your thighs with his big, rough hands. "I'm gonna drag 'em apart." His gaze burned into you. "Need more. Need all of you, darlin'."

His hips sank into you slower this time, measuring bruising strokes that drew a tremulous moan from your throat. He watched himself enter you, eyes dark and hollow, as though each inch claimed unraveled him further.

"Just look at that," Hodari whispered, breath a little shaky. "You take me so damn well, don't you, darlin'?"

Your moans turned to whimpers, rising to meet each drive of his hips. He peppered kisses along your jaw, the dip of your ribs, murmuring low curses and praises. The rhythm between you became a savage hymn sung in gasps and heartbeats.

He didn't pause for your second climax, nor the third that threw your back into a perfect arch. He flipped you onto hands and knees, rear lifting obediently beneath his grip. His broad hands anchored your hips, fingers digging in as his forearms flexed with every rough thrust. He drove into you again and again, possessive and overwhelming, like he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go.

Your name fell from his lips, an invocation, a plea. Your hands scrabbled at the sheets, knuckles digging in as he drove home hard one last time. When he came, it was a guttural roar, his muscles clenching so fiercely you felt every tremor of his release.

But he stayed inside you, curling his body around yours, one arm slung over your waist, the other tangling in your hair. His breath came in heated gusts against your shoulder blade. Then his lips brushed your neck, soft, reverent kisses that tasted of salt and exertion.

"Baby," Hodari murmured, words heavy and unsteady. "I'm real sorry… I just can't stop." His breath hitched in his chest. "Can't stop wantin' you. Tried to be good about it, I did… but I can't."

Every nerve in your body buzzed. You were drenched, every inch of you alive. You nodded, the only answer you could muster.

He shifted, hips rolling in long, languid strokes this time, gentle worship after the storm. His lips followed the curve of your spine, whispering how perfect you were, how you'd undone him utterly.

By the time he came again, you were both tremors and sighs, tangled like driftwood after a high tide. Dawn's pale light crept across the floorboards, illuminating your sweaty, spent forms. Yet he stayed buried inside you, half-dazed, one arm curled beneath your head, the other tracing idle patterns on your side.

"…Tamala's," you croaked at last, breath coming in stuttered bursts. "Gonna getta a letter."

He groaned, burying his face in your hair. "That potion woman's in for a Flowdamn lawsuit."

A shaky laugh fluttered from you. Your body ached in ways you hadn't known possible, but in Hodari's arms, you felt anchored, survivors of a storm, still clinging tight.

You hadn't meant to drift off, but between the haze of ecstasy and the weight of exhaustion, sleep crept in unnoticed. One moment you were arching beneath him, cheeks flushed, sweat beading at your hairline, muscles trembling under the force of his need, and the next the world tapered to darkness. When you surfaced, your limbs felt like lead, the mattress sagging beneath you as if you still floated on that slick, euphoric wave.

But Hodari never stayed still. A low groan rumbled through the room: his hot breath fanning across your spine, ragged with want. Your skin prickled where his fingertips trailed a slow, hungry line up your thigh, the cotton sheet hitching higher. Then came the familiar press of him, hard and insistent, nudging between your legs like sunrise banishing night.

"Hodari…?" you murmured, voice husky, half-caught in sleep's residue.

He shivered against you, glassy-eyed in the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. That fierce, animal gleam was still there, but now it trembled with something softer, raw, desperate longing. 

"I'm sorry, baby. I tried to let you sleep," he rasped, the words rough and honest. His hips eased forward slowly and steadily, nothing hurried about it, just that stubborn need he never could hide.

 "I can't stop wantin' you," Hodari murmured, breath warm against your shoulder. "I'm still burnin' up. Need you again, darlin'. Need you right here with me."

Without a word, you reached down. Silk and salt met under your palm as you guided him home, inch by inch, into your warmth. He groaned deep in his chest, vibrations you felt along your spine, and wrapped his arms around you like you were his anchor in a storm.

"You're so warm… so perfect," Hodari murmured low against your nape, his drawl soft and a little uneven. His tongue ghosted over your shoulder blade, and he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your spine. 

"Feels real good, darlin'," he breathed, hands warm and careful at your sides. "Feels like you were made for me, don't it?"

He moved at first with reverence, each thrust slow, savoring the softness around him. You tasted salt and your own skin, heart pounding in time with his uneven breaths. Between each press of his hips, he whispered thank-yous and apologies, his words hot and urgent against your ear.

Then you tilted your hips, drawing him deeper. His control unraveled instantly. He seized your hips, pulling you flush against him as his rhythm turned fierce and hungry. Each thrust was a drumbeat in your veins, raw and relentless, driving deeper until your thighs quivered beneath the sheets.

"I'm gonna ruin you," Hodari growled, breath comin' hard. "Gonna fill you up so good you forget your own name, darlin'."

You cried out, fingers clawing the fabric, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity, his weight, his scent, the fierce stretch of him carving fire through your core. He was everywhere: chest pressed to your back, breath hot in your ear, each movement sending molten ripples up your spine.

When your release broke over you, it struck like lightning. Muscles clenched around Hodari in spasms as you sobbed aloud, your voice mingling with his guttural praise: "That's it…that's it…I've got you…" Still, he didn't slow. He chased his own climax with the desperation of a man possessed, rutting into you until you lay spent and trembling.

Finally, he shuddered, a strangled moan escaping as he spilled himself deep inside you. His body went still, one arm curled beneath your head, a leg draped over yours, binding you together. The sheets lay damp with sweat, your thighs still quivering, and in the hush that followed, he held you as if he'd never let go.

After a long, stunned silence, you whispered, voice raw: "…Maybe we send Tamala two letters."

He laughed, low, delirious, burying his face in your shoulder. "One for the potion…one for my funeral."

You closed your eyes, too drained to argue, feeling the last sparks of him twitch deep inside you. You knew, even now, that this wouldn't be the final round.

In the smoky half-light between your ragged exhales and the first gray spill at the window's edge, time slipped away. Your limbs draped themselves over Hodari's chest, your cheek pressed into the warmth of his ribcage, each breath a tremor against his skin. The mattress groaned beneath you, springs sighing in sympathy. His fingers, which had roamed you like flames moments before, now lay slack at your hips. His voice, once a tempest of hoarse pleas and velvet groans, had fallen silent, so silent that you convinced yourself the storm had spent itself.

But it hadn't. Even in sleep, Hodari's body remembered. You felt the press of him, a slow, intentional grind as his hips rolled against your backside. That low, guttural breath drifted into your ear like a confession. His voice, raw with need, came next, barely more than a tremor: "…I'm real sorry, baby. I swear I want to stop, but I just can't. Need you again, darlin'. I do."

A soft whimper slipped free before you could will it away. Hodari's hand slid up your side, fingertips trailing over your spine before dipping between your thighs, seeking, testing. You felt the press of him, slick and warm, and a resigned heat bloomed between your legs. His length, already aching, throbbed against your inner thigh.

When you rolled to face him, the moonlight caught the sweat on his forehead, the damp strands of hair curling at his temple. His lips were swollen from your kisses, and his eyes, pupils dilated and dark, held nothing but need. He lifted your hand and pressed it to his heart, chest rising and falling in a frantic rhythm.

"Let me," he breathed, voice cracked and desperate. "I'm askin' for one more time, baby. Just one."

You closed the distance with a slow tug at his collarbone, lips brushing his in a kiss that tasted of want and surrender. "Then don't hold back."

His response was a quiet growl. This time, he moved with a different hunger, deliberate, deep, each inch a calculated ache. He slipped your leg over his hip, lined himself with your center, and entered you inch by inch, a warm, pulsing promise. You felt him stretch you open, felt the slow burn of pleasure and ache commingling in your muscles. Every time he pushed forward, his thumbs pressed into the tender flesh of your hips, anchoring you, while his other hand cradled your jaw.

His groans became a chant. Lips ghosted along your collarbone, down your sternum, until he paused to suck lightly at your pulse point. "Meant to have you," Hodari whispered into your skin, his voice low and rough. "Meant to fill you like this." His breath shuddered. "Flow built you for me, I swear it did, and I need you again."

A shiver ran through you as he rolled his hips, the friction setting fire to every nerve. You arched upward, gathering yourself against him, the slow drag of his skin igniting you from the inside out. With each breathy thrust, he murmured endearments that felt like worship.

When your release came, it unfurled in a spiraling shockwave, warm, fierce, impossible to stifle. You cried into his shoulder, fingers digging into the coarse cotton of the sheets. He held you through it, sinking deeper with each pulse of your climax, never easing his rhythm.

Then came his own undoing. His body tensed as he buried himself inside you, sliding so deep he touched something sacred. His hands gripped your hips, knuckles white; his jaw dropped in a long, guttural moan that shook the bed. And at last, still as stone, he halted, chest heaving against yours.

You felt the tremor in his arms, not of desire but of raw, sudden fear. 

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Hodari whispered, voice brittle with worry. He searched your face like he was trying to read a mine shaft in the dark. 

"Was I too rough?" His big hand hovered uncertainly near your shoulder. "Baby… say somethin'. Please… Just need to hear you're alright."

Gently, you tilted his head with both hands, brushing sweat-matted hair from his brow. His eyes were glassy, haunted by the intensity you'd just shared.

"You didn't hurt me," you whispered, your voice a gentle caress, soft as silk brushing against the skin. "You wrecked me, but even in that destruction, I cherished every moment."

His breath caught in his throat, disbelief dancing in the depths of his eyes as he struggled to process your words. "I lost control," he admitted, a hint of guilt shadowing his features.

"I know," you replied, a calm certainty in your tone that seemed to both surprise and comfort him.

"I didn't stop," he confessed, the weight of his actions hanging heavy in the air between you.

You met his gaze unflinchingly, your heart racing. "I didn't want you to."

For a long moment, he simply stared at you, trying to reconcile your serene acceptance with the chaos he'd unleashed within both of you. It was as if your words had cast aside all doubt, unlocking a chain binding him to his fears. Gently and with great care, he reached out and cupped your face in his hands. Then, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. This time, it was different; no wild hunger or desperate need, only a tenderness that enveloped you like a warm embrace. He pressed his mouth to yours again, breath warm and steady, the rasp of three-day stubble tickling your lips. 

"I'm gonna take care of you now," Hodari murmured, voice husky with promise. You felt the gentle weight of his hand at the small of your back, steady and sure. "I'll kiss every inch of you. Draw you a real hot bath. Wrap you up in my jacket if you can't stand. And I'll hold you close enough you forget I ever scared you."

Your fingers drifted up the sharp line of his jaw, pausing to trace each bristly whisker. "You never scared me," you whispered, the lantern light glinting off his dark eyes.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated, uncertainty flickering there; then he claimed your mouth once more, lips soft and insistent, as if swearing an unbreakable vow. When he withdrew from you, every movement was careful and reverent, as if you might shatter under too rough a touch. You sat up on shaking legs; he snagged the blanket at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around your shoulders, the fibers a reassuring weight against your chilled skin.

He scooped you into his arms, muscles coiling under thin linen, and carried you to the claw-foot tub set beneath the foggy window. Steam curled in lazy spirals toward the low-hanging lantern, turning the amber water below into molten honey. As he knelt, his palms trembled, fingertips brushing over the purple bruise on your rib and the fading marks at the back of your thighs. His other hand moved down to cup your calf, kneading tight fibers until you felt warmth bloom from aching to ease.

"I'm sorry, darlin'," Hodari said quietly against your hair. 

"Hate that I let that potion get ahold of me." His broad hand slid over the back of his neck, eyes lowered. "Don't ever want you thinkin' I'd lose myself with you like that."

You leaned back, letting him tend to each sore spot. The fever that had burned in his veins was gone; only the lingering throb of exertion remained, tethering you to him. He lifted a silver pitcher, dipped a hand into the fragrant water, and poured it over your shoulders in a thin, sparkling ribbon that ran down your collarbones. The lantern's glow caught every droplet as it slid toward the rim of the bath.

With one arm behind your back, he guided you into the warm water, tilting you until the heat lapped at your shoulders and neck. You felt tension peel away with every drop that pooled around you. His free hand ghosted down your thigh, circled your hip, and found the hollow of your ribs, anchoring you with firm, steady strokes. Then he pressed gentle kisses to your temple, once and twice, a silent plea echoing in the warm, steamy room.

"You ain't sayin' much," Hodari murmured, voice rough with worry. "Too sore to talk? Or too angry to look at me?"

Your fingertips drifted back to his forearm, where a thin scar arced beside thick muscle. "Neither," you said, voice hushed.

He exhaled, the sound hoarse as it shook across his broad shoulders. "Don't lie to me, hun."

"I'm not," you assured him, closing your eyes to savor the mingling scents of lavender oil and his own evening musk. "Just exhausted. But not mad. Not scared. I told you, I wanted it."

He sighed so quietly it might have been the wind on the glass. "That wasn't me," Hodari admitted, throat tight. "Not completely. Not the man I wanna be with you; not when I'm thinkin' straight."

A small smile curved your lips. "Then we'll call that the night you lost your mind. We can pin it on Tamala twice."

A low, relieved laugh rumbled against your ear. Hodari tightened his arms, holding you in a gentle cradle. Your legs lay draped over his thighs, and you felt the quiet stir of him beneath the water, half-hard and still tethered to desire. But no one rushed; only the steady drip of condensate from the window, the thump of his heartbeat against your back, the pulse of peace settling between you.

After a moment's hush, he broke the silence. "I was gone, wasn't I?"

You traced the curve of his jaw, mapping each bristle back to the base of his skull. "You were wild," you whispered, "but you weren't gone."

His Adam's apple twitched as he swallowed. When you met his gaze, you saw the question lingering there. "And you're still staying? After everything?"

Deliberately, you push off the tub's curved rim, the slick porcelain gurgling beneath your fingertips, and settle astride him. Your thighs tremble as warm water ripples around you, spilling in slow arcs onto the weathered pine floor, darkening the grain. Tiny beads cling to your collarbone, reflecting the amber lamplight.

Your hands slide to his hips, fingers splayed over the sharp ridge of bone beneath copper-toned skin. He braces you with gentle strength, callused fingers pressing into the hollow at your waist, anchoring you against every slick movement. A stray lock of midnight hair falls across his brow; you tuck it behind his pointed ear, thumb brushing that sensitive patch where a single droplet of water traces his temple like a whispered confession.

"I'm still here," you murmur, voice steady as flint. "Always here."

No tears fell, but his blue eyes gave him away all the same. They shone in the low light, raw with emotion he didn't quite know how to voice. His lips parted on a quiet breath, jaw tightening beneath mauve skin as he tried and failed to hold himself together.

You lean forward and brush your lips against his. Not to kindle desire, but simply to remind him you exist, that you remain. The tang of salt and sweet clove from the bath oil lingers on your tongue. As your mouths part and rejoin, slowly and softly, you feel a subtle shift: the crimson haze of the potion fades, leaving only the two of you, raw and honest.

Hodari returns your kiss with a reverence that hushes your heart. His hands climb your back, fingertips mapping each vertebra as though committing you to memory. He doesn't pull you closer; he holds you as though afraid you might vanish; steam coils between you in lazy spirals.

You guide him in return, sliding down against him inch by tender inch. A low groan rattles in his throat, vibrating through your chest. Neither hunger nor fever drives you now, only the sweet homecoming of two bodies aligned. His palms lie flat against your spine, pressing into every freckle and scar. When his release comes, it's a soft, shuddering sigh rather than thunder, an exhale that carries every unspoken apology, every whispered hope, straight from his heart into yours.

Later, cocooned in the cotton blanket, you curled against his chest. Beneath your cheek, you felt his heartbeat, each thump a lazy echo, like a drumbeat muffled through heavy cloth. You lifted your lips to the hollow above his sternum and murmured, "You really think you scared me?"

His response came out low and gravelly, his voice catching as if he had swallowed some grit. 

"I scared myself," Hodari rasped, taking in a rough breath. "I don't like losing myself like that. Not with you." He furrowed his brow tightly. "You're too important for that."

You traced a finger along the curve of his throat, following the hollow where his pulse flickered beneath warm skin. The salt of him coated your lips as you placed a soft kiss there.

"Then in the morning," you promised, voice barely more than a breath, "you can take your time. Show me what it looks like when you're in control again."

He exhaled sharply, blanket rustling at his shoulder, and a crooked, wicked smile tugged at his mouth. "…Darlin', I was hopin' you'd say that."

Together you drifted into a fragile half-sleep, limbs knotted, bodies slick with last night's fervor. Sweat beaded along his collarbone and your lower back, glinting in the pale morning light that crept through the linen curtains in soft, gold fingers. Already damp curls clung to your forehead, and his chest rose and fell in perfect synchronicity with yours, but Hodari lay still.

You woke first, every inhalation a dull ache deep in your ribcage. Your thighs burned with aftershocks of exertion, your belly pulsed as if bruised by heavy blows, and behind your knees, sinews throbbed with remembered tension. You shifted gingerly, peeling your legs free of his. One by one, you tested each trembling limb. He moaned, a ragged half sound, then burrowed deeper into the blankets as if anchoring himself there.

Hodari lay curled on his side behind you, one arm slung across your waist like a tether. His breathing had steadied, but the flush along his cheekbones hadn't fully faded, mauve skin still warmed from exertion and emotion alike. It dusted his cheekbones and warmed the swells of his clavicle, proof that the potion's heat still pulsed through his veins. Wisps of damp dark hair rested across his forehead, and the sculpted ridges of his muscles, those pillars of strength you knew so well, lay slack and hollowed.

You watched him, memorizing the aftermath. This wasn't the kind of exhaustion you treated with splints or salves. Hodari was built for endurance; for long shifts in the mines, aching muscles, hard labor, and the kind of wear most people complained about long before the day was done. You'd seen him come home filthy, bruised, dead on his feet, only to be back at it the next morning without complaint, but last night had taken something different out of him. Now, in the soft hush of morning, only this quiet unraveling remained.

You tugged at the crumpled undershirt, thin cotton stretched and still warm where his body had lain, and padded into the narrow kitchen. Pale morning light filtered through a high window, glinting off the chipped porcelain sink and revealing faint scuff marks on the slate-gray tile floor. You set the wadded tee on the stool by the counter, then turned on the brass-spout tap and let cold spring water rush in. You lifted the dented steel kettle, filled it three-quarters full, and placed it on the single gas burner, watching the little blue flame flicker to life.

While the kettle heated, you slid open a narrow upper cabinet. Inside sat a cobalt-glazed caddy marked "Mineral Tea" in flowing script, its lid ringed with wear. You scooped out two heaped teaspoons of pale, chalky leaves, tiny fragments that smelled of damp stone, and dropped them into a slender porcelain infuser. The scent of mineral and moss curled up toward you as the kettle began its low whine.

Next, you measured out three handfuls of pearly white rice into a heavy-bottomed pot, ran cold water over it until the grains turned translucent, then set it to simmer on the back burner. On the counter lay a small bowl of sun-dried shiitake: wrinkled discs that smelled of autumn forest. You plunged them into warm water and watched them plump, their woodsy aroma weaving into the rising steam. Last, you reached for the tiny glass vial Tamala had pressed into your hand weeks ago, its contents a pale, crystalline powder meant for emergencies, and carefully tipped a quarter-spoon into the broth, stirring until it dissolved in milky swirls.

By the time you'd assembled the tray, a low wooden board carrying a steaming bowl of rice and broth, the infuser-laden cup of dark tea, you heard the faint creak of the bedroom door. Inside, the afternoon light slanted through threadbare curtains, dust motes drifting like lazy specks of gold. He lay still beneath rumpled blankets, one muscular arm lolling over the edge of the mattress. His shirt was tossed aside, revealing a broad chest rising and falling in ragged breaths; his pillow bore the imprint of his cheek, crusted with a fleck of dried drool.

You set the tray on the scarred nightstand, then leaned over him and brushed your knuckle across his high cheekbone, feeling the rough stubble. 

"Hodari," you whispered, voice soft as moth wings.

A low groan rumbled from his throat. One pale eye cracked open, swelling and red-rimmed. "Did I… die?" he rasped, throat as parched as old parchment.

You suppressed a smile. "Not quite."

He attempted to roll onto his back and winced, pressing a large hand to his flank as if searching for a missing rib. 

"Burnin' stars above," Hodari muttered. "Feels like I've been runnin' drills in a steel harness."

"You ran through me," you teased, sliding onto the bed's edge. "Five times. Possibly six."

He frowned. "Six?"

You lifted the teacup to him. Its porcelain was cool against your palm, the steam warm on his skin. "Drink. You're not even lucid yet."

He cradled the cup in broad, calloused hands, tipping it with precision. His fingertips brushed yours, electric but fleeting. When his gaze met yours again, the usual rough humor wavered, giving way to something softer.

"I lost control," he admitted.

"You did."

"And you let me."

You held his gaze. "I trusted you."

He finished the tea, the sharp mineral tang clearing his fog. You gently coaxed him upright, then slid behind him on the mattress. On the nightstand sat a small tin of salve, its lid stamped with a pine-sprig motif. You warmed it between your palms until the oil melted, then pressed your hands to his back. The scent of lavender and forest pine rose as your thumbs worked into the taut cords of muscle beneath his skin.

"Hold still," you murmured, thumbs kneading a stubborn knot under his right scapula.

"I am holdin' still," he grunted, but a tremor in his breath betrayed him.

"You're flinching like I'm skinning you."

He snorted. "I'm flinchin' because your hands are both a blessin' and a problem, all at once."

You pressed deeper. Hodari exhaled, a low rumble that shook his chest, then let his weight sag forward until his arms found his knees. His ears drooped, his signal of utter exhaustion, one you'd come to read like a book.

"You don't gotta fuss over me, baby," he said, voice thick as syrup.

"I want to."

He turned just enough to catch your reflection in the windowpane. "You already let me."

"And now you're letting me." You leaned close, your breath warm at his ear. "I deserve to take care of you, too."

His head dipped, chin dropping a half-inch toward his chest. "Alright," he whispered, the word floating in the amber light that caught the dust motes between you. 

You worked without speaking after that, fingers pressing into the familiar landscape of his body: a ridge of scar tissue beneath his left shoulder blade, the tight knot under his right shoulder that made him exhale a sharp hiss when your thumbs dug in, the lingering tenderness low at the base of his spine from the strain of the night before. The pine-scented balm warmed beneath your hands, leaving glossy trails across mauve skin and hard muscle, down over the broad planes of his back to where his thighs still bore the faint crescent marks of your fingernails. Under your touch, his body gave way piece by piece, each stubborn line of tension softening like ore surrendering to heat.

He sank back against the indigo sheets, eyelids heavy now, limbs finally giving up the fight. You slid in beside him without a word, fitting yourself beneath the familiar weight of his arm. His heartbeat thudded steady beneath your ear, slower than before, no longer racing itself ragged. His fingers spread across your ribs, rough and warm, as if even half-asleep, he needed to make sure you were still there.

His lips brushed the crown of your head.

"Don't suppose," he murmured, voice thick with sleep, "you'll still be here when I wake up again?"

You tipped your chin up just enough to catch the tired blue of his gaze. "Where else would I be?"

Something in his face eased then. Not dramatic. Just that small, quiet loosening he only ever let you see when the walls were all the way down.

As sleep finally started to pull him under, his hand shifted once against your side; one slow stroke, absent and affectionate, more instinct than thought.

Hodari spent so much of himself holding things together. The mine. The house. Najuma. Every burden he thought was his to shoulder before anyone else could touch it.

But not now. Now, Hodari let his full weight settle into the mattress beside you, let his breathing go deep and even, let himself rest without bracing for the next thing. You stayed tucked against him, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the occasional soft creak of the house settling around you. For once, the strongest thing he'd done all day was let go. And for once, you were there to catch him.

[drfrankensteinsketchupbottle]

Leather or Silk

Palia Jel x GN reader

Jel’s hands are surprisingly gentle as he maneuvers you, tilting your head this way and that, lifting one arm then posing the other. He’s almost completely silent other than the occasional hums of satisfaction or tuts of dislike.

It was easy to slip into this comfortably quiet routine with the designer. After you first arrived you had clicked with him instantly, your friendship blossoming slowly but in such deep and profound ways. Often you'd find him gazing out at the lake late at night and you'd slip a pretty flower or a snack into his hand when you joined him.

Now, months later, you were in and out of his store more often than Tish or Reth as he used you as his personal and private model, your bond tighter than anything you could have imagined.

He shakes his head, soft strands of hair slipping down to cover his face and you reach out to brush them away without even thinking. Both of you pause, his eyes wide behind his pink-tinged glasses. You freeze, face warming as you realize how intimate your movement was, Jel’s ears slowly darkening as well.

The slip of silky fabric falls from his fingers and before you can even apologize, his hand is on the back of your neck and his lips are on yours, stealing the breath out of your chest with the tender kiss.

“I've been wanting to do that since the first stitch I sewed on you.” he breaths out, his face flushed “I'm not quite sure what came over me.” he jerks away, brushing his hand down the front of his vest “I apologize for that.” Jel looks away, shame clear on his face “Hey,” you reach out and grab his hand “Why are you apologizing? Do you regret it?” he presses his palm to his chest in astonishment “Regret it? Absolutely not! I simply shouldn't have pushed myself on you like that, it was inappropriate and ungentlemanly of me.” you let out a choked laugh, moving to cup his cheek “I'd be okay with you being more ungentlemanly again.” his cheeks darken, if it was even possible for him to blush any harder.

You lean up and press your lips to his again and he melts against you, hands pulling you closer, ghosting over your waist then settling on your back, warm and steady.

When you finally part you're both breathless “Does this mean you'll wear my pin?” his words are hesitant and unsure, you just smile and kiss him again “I'll wear it proudly.” you can feel the tension dissolve out of him and he lets out an audible sigh of relief “I don't know what I would do if my muse said no.” Jel drops his head down on your shoulder, his face warm against the bare skin of your neck.

[sinounluheart]

yooo the Olympian reader got me thinking, how would the batboys be w a famous reader, maybe an actor or a singer?

♬ ♪ ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و Material Girl ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

Warnings: None! Fluff. No pronouns used for reader, established relationship. No use of y/n.

Note: WHEN I TELL YOU I USED TO HAVE A BATFAM OC THAT WAS AN ACTOR/SINGER 💥💥 The Brucie Wayne persona needs some help sometimes, okay?

!!------------------------------------!

Bruce Wayne

To everyone outside of the Waynes' inner circle, this couple makes perfect sense. Anyone who knows Bruce, however, is astonished he's managed to bag you. Renowned Gotham sweetheart [name]? There's no way.

He likely meets you at another socialite party, assigned to sit next to you for the night. Naturally, he researches you beforehand, and makes flattering enough conversation for you to say you're quite fond of the elusive Mr. Wayne.

Bruce listens to two types of music on his own: classical jazz reminiscent of his childhood and hard emo music, so if you don't produce either, Bruce only listens to and watches your productions through his children's interests.

They're elated that he's managed to meet you! Dick, Jason, Tim, and Duke grew up watching you through their younger years. Bruce is kinda the awkward dad asking for a photo to send to his kids.

They serve as his wingmen to sweep you off your feet. Your [name]! He cannot fucking mess this up. Mess...what up?

It takes a really long time for Bruce to drop the ditzy, pompous act he feigns for the public. That's when his own infatuation for you really starts. For a socialite...you're not half bad (though you could say the same for him).

Bruce woos you in secret, but the two of you have fun stringing along the press and paparazzi. Some people refer to you as his sugar baby, others as the better parent to his children.

When you announce your relationship to the public, everyone in Gotham is up in cheers. Finally! Gotham's most elegant bachelor has someone worthy on his arm! Likewise, he's a fine man for the heart of Gotham's most beloved talent.

Dick Grayson

Dick has been watching you ever since Bruce first took him in. You starred as a character in a sitcom that quickly became his comfort show amongst the cold, old house that made up Wayne Manor.

He wouldn't call himself your biggest fan or anything crazy like that...but he is a fan. Dick enjoys media a lot more when you're on the face of it, but he doesn't necessarily seek your material out.

That is, until he meets you at a gala, and all of a sudden, he can name every album, tour, and song you've put out in the last decade. Dick goes as far as to ask you to sign his arm like a little kid! If you included your number underneath it...that's no one's business but yours.

Dick turns his charm up to the max, trying to pursue you. Everyone who has his contact is tempted to block him because of how much he runs his mouth, talking about how cool you are and how he can't believe you're even interested in him!

But...Dick's a cool guy, you don't need to know all that.

He likes to help you practice for things in any way he can. Be that in reading lines and acting out scenes together, or being your muse to figure out what to send to your choreographer.

Dick might not indulge in the arts very much himself, but goddamn if he isn't talented in them.

Have him be a backup dancer on a show in Gotham, and he'll be on cloud nine, having the time of his life! Ignore the flood of articles calling him an undeserving nepo baby. What would they know?

Jason Todd

Barely anyone had cable in the apartment complex he used to live in, but one of the older kids found a way to set up a TV near the roof and get a signal working.

One of the channels that they always kept on replayed this talent show where nobodies competed to make it big. You were his age when you won gold on that show, and for a week, it was all Jason could think about.

Now, as an adult, Jason recognizes your face on a billboard. Huh...you really did get far, didn't you? Between his death and well, everything else, he hasn't really cared to catch up on celebrity drama.

But Gotham is a crazy place, and on a night like any other, you're the person he saves from getting mugged. Your cover falls off, and it's exactly out of a scene of a romance novel.

Except Jason has a gun, and he's scrambling on how to tell you that you've been his idol since he was fucking like seven. What the hell?

He's needed somewhere else before you can make conversation, and you're left with your encounter with the infamous Red Hood. Suddenly, he's trending as you advocate for him and the rest of the city's vigilantes.

Bruce...isn't happy, but there isn't much he can do about it without butting his head into the conversation. Jason takes it as a win.

The following month, when the discourse slows down, you get a letter in your room, from the one and only, of course.

'If you're that interested, give me a call. Xoxo, your savior.' It's corny, and stupid, and Jason's red in the face as he leaves it, but it's all worth it when he gets that ping from you.

Tim Drake

Tim met you before you 'got big TM'.

You took piano lessons together, but you were always better at playing than he was. Typical, Tim didn't care much for instruments, but it always ticked him off that he never scored higher than you during performances.

As you grew up, you lost touch, not that either of you were ever that close to begin with. Reconnected at a fundraiser party where you performed. The two of you got to talking again, forced to take photos and answer interview questions due to your shared past.

As an adult...you're not so terrible, he guesses. Pretty hot, too. Ah, shit, is he really crushing on his old childhood friend? Damn.

Tim stumbles a bit in his pursuit of you. Since you already know him, he can't lie his way into your inner circle like he normally would, but at the same time, he wants to show you that he's a changed guy! Not the same little shit he used to be. He's good for it now, trust.

He buys VIP tickets to every concert, even if he can't attend in person, hiring people to hold out large signs in his stead. It's always the booth you can see from the stage. Likewise, he'll buy up all the backstage passes, giving you free time to decompress (and keeping that attention for himself).

You can feel the love from atop his four windowpaneled office above Wayne Enterprise...

When the pin drops and the two of you make it official, the media explodes. Full of 'they were the last ones to know', 'wait, they weren't official?', and the like.

Cassandra Cain

Her siblings go out of their way to recommend some of your older shows to her. TV and movies are difficult for her to watch because the physical acting is always too distracting, so Cass falls in love with you through your voice acting instead.

It's just...so soothing. Quickly, she finds herself hours into your albums and singles alike. Helping her sleep during the early mornings post-patrol and keeping her leveled during those tenser moments.

You're the one who comes up to her, offering flowers and praise after one of her ballet shows. She's shocked to say the least. Who knew big star [name] liked to come to local performances like this?

Cass shyly admits that she's a big fan of yours, and, in hopes of encountering you again, she invites you to a party as a plus-one that Bruce was forcing her to go to anyway. To her surprise, you agree.

It’s…certainly awkward at first, but her determination to make a good impression on you is so endearing that you can’t help but like her off the bat. Besides…a Wayne does look pretty good on your arm. Vice versa.

Cass is entranced by the world of art, being that it’s still so foreign to her. There’s nothing she likes more than sitting down and watching you go through your creative process. Humans are so amazing, living simply to make others feel like this.

You introduce her to the people you know who will help her get farther in her dance career, and with your recommendations, Cass gets audition opportunities she wouldn’t have otherwise.

She's forever grateful that her idol in private becomes one of her heroes in person, now her lover too.

Duke Thomas

As a kid, there was always this one ad Duke would play over and over again. It was a short clip advertising a cyber toy that could transform from a car to a fighter robot. Cooler than the toy itself or the soundtrack was the kid actor playing with it in the commercial.

It was cute! A crush he was able to point out on other posters and billboards throughout Gotham. When his childhood took that unfortunate turn, and Duke was no longer able to sit around and watch TV, he mostly forgot about it.

With Duke's new family, he comes across that old toy discarded by Dick. Casually, he mentions that old infatuation he had with you, and lo and behold, his siblings know exactly who he's fucking talking about. What.

Next thing he knows, he has a date scheduled with you for the following weekend. Fucking rich kids and their networking circles.

You're so different than what he was anticipating, and obviously gorgeous. He's similarly charming towards you for his earnest disposition and his lack of knowledge of your more recent work.

It's a dream come true when the two of you hit it off, making Duke tag along with you to movie permers and casting calls. Most of his glimpse into Gotham's high society is from the begrudging attitude of his family, seeing a less ultra-rich but no less elegant side to things is entertaining.

Duke is even more fond of you for being mostly self-made and hard-working. Honestly, it's a small world the lot of you live in.

[bae-fong]

꩜𖦹༄ avatar aang who cries when you're riding him

aang didn't expect this.

he never expected sexual acts to be so… animalistic, profound, and extremely filthy. missionary was all he knew—then, with your encouragement, he started leaning into different positions like doggy style and the mating press. but this one you were doing right now?

this was his favorite of all.

you with his cock deep inside your tight pussy, your walls warm and tight as you rode him sensually back and forth—taking every agonizing inch of him like the good girl you were.

your face was twisted with pleasure, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you rode him. it was too much, he was too big—aang knew that for a fact. but your little whimpers as you tried your best to take him all made his heart clench.

fuck. you were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

"don't stop, baby," aang rasped, his hands tightening on your hips. "fuck. mph.. just like that."

"aang…?" you whimpered, your hips faltering just slightly.

he paused. oh no. had he hurt you? did he grab your hips too tightly? was he stretching you out too much for you to handle?

"you're…" you swallowed hard, a finger coming up to wipe away a tear that he hadn't even realized had slipped down his cheek. "crying!"

crying? he couldn't believe it. he was the avatar, for fucks sake. and now he was reduced to a crying man, completely undone and helpless over his girlfriend's little pussy.

"sorry—it just… feels too good. you squeezin' me like that… can't help it, sweet girl," he choked out.

"are you hurt?" you asked softly.

"i'm not hurt," he promised, his thumbs rolling soothing circles against the warm skin of your hips to reassure you. "fuck, i'm the exact opposite of hurt. just keep going. please."

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Can you do a dc smau of how the boys (you can choose if it’s the batfam or not!) would react when they find out reader is struggling financially! they notice that she had to sell damn near her whole closet, wore one pair of shoes the whole year, lack of hanging out due to her getting 2 jobs, etc. And honestly.. she doesn’t really want to ask for money since she thinks it’s highly rude and doesn’t want to depend off of her boyfriend’s money (like a gold digger basically)

Dark Times

featuring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Wally West, Roy Harper

warning: fainting, burn out mentioned, the boys being sweet

✧˖° 𝐷𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑦𝑠𝑜𝑛

✧˖° 𝐽𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑇𝑜𝑑𝑑

✧˖° 𝑇𝑖𝑚 𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑘𝑒

✧˖° 𝐵𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒

✧˖° 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑊𝑒𝑠𝑡

✧˖° 𝑅𝑜𝑦 𝐻𝑎𝑟𝑝𝑒𝑟

[singse]

"so...wife did your hair today?" sokka asks, feigning nonchalance as he takes in the intricate braid zuko's hair is in. it's a gorgeous piece of work, decorated with small flowers that match the red and orange of his robes.

"she did," zuko answers easily, his lips curving into a fond smile. "isn't she so talented? i told her not waste her efforts on me but—"

"she glared at you with the wrath of a thousand men?" sokka finished, his own smile soft and any teasing remarks vanishing off his tongue. "well, i'm glad she glared you into submission because it looks really good on you, man."

zuko blinks before his eyes narrow. "if you're making fun of my wife's handiwork—"

sokka snorts. "i don't have a death wish." he pats zuko on the back, grinning. "you do look nice and tell her that i'd love for her to braid my fabulous hair one of these days."

"i don't think so," zuko snipes but he's grinning too, his fingers brushing over the braid with the love and attention it deserves.

[singse]

zuko x f!reader

cw: pregnancy

"Zuko?" You call into the quietness of a late night. "Zuko? ZuZu?" There’s a brief pause. "Sifu Hotman?"

"Don't you dare call me that." Zuko's sleep-rough voice graces your ears, causing you to laugh as you move towards his side of the bed. His arms wrap around you the moment he feels you, your head resting upon his chest. "What is it, my love?"

"I'm hungry," you whisper conspiratorially, tracing shapes against his firm abdomen. "I think it's the baby and she wants firecracker buns."

Zuko huffs, amused. "The baby, huh?" He sounds more awake, a hand stroking soothing patterns up and down your back. "That's strange because I thought babies couldn't eat firecracker buns."

"They can," you say, nodding. "And they can also eat a big slice of the very delicious cake chef Rin baked today for dessert." You sound hopeful and Zuko tilts his head down to look at you, you're already staring at him. You're heartbreakingly adorable; your pretty eyes wide and soft lips pursed into a pout.

Cuteness aggression strikes him hard, robs him of his breath and renders him weak. He was going to get you what you wanted, regardless, but this only kicks him into high gear. Giving into a selfish desire, Zuko leans in to kiss you sweetly, heart swelling at how you melt into him with a happy sound.

After a moment, he's pulling back reluctantly so he can slide out of bed and tug on his robe. You're smiling when he comes in to kiss you once more, murmuring, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't miss me too."

"I already am," you murmur back, your smile softening and Zuko feels like he's the luckiest man to ever exist.