Ready to share the tent... and bed?

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Shapely Alma
https://www.nexusmods.com/monsterhunterwilds/mods/1441

Shapely Jin Dahaad
https://www.nexusmods.com/monsterhunterwilds/mods/1649

Shapely Xu Wu
https://www.nexusmods.com/monsterhunterwilds/mods/674

HL - Guardian Ebony - Hair30
https://www.nexusmods.com/monsterhunterwilds/mods/766

Yamato (Sword and Shield) (DMC 5)
https://www.nexusmods.com/monsterhunterwilds/mods/1635

The rain came down in sheets, the kind that turned the Scarlet Forest’s towering canopy into a sodden, swaying curtain of green. The world beyond their tent was a blur of water and shadow, and the deep, distant cries of unseen beasts wove through the storm.

Pahla slipped inside, rain streaming from her hair and shoulders, shaking like a mutt. The tent barely held, the canvas sagging in places, but it was shelter enough. A single lantern cast a flickering glow over the meagre space — a narrow hammock strung between two poles, and Alma seated beneath it, fussing with a pack that had long since given up keeping dry.

The guild handler looked up, eyes wide, and Pahla caught the swift way she tucked a loose curl behind her ear, her cheeks colouring at once.

“You are soaked,” Alma murmured, voice soft as damp earth.

Pahla grinned, pulling off a drenched glove with her teeth. “So are you, petal.”

Alma ducked her head, a smile ghosting over her lips. “I… I tried to fix the hammock.”

Pahla’s gaze slid to the narrow swing of canvas and rope. Not enough room for one, let alone two. Which made it perfect.

“Well,” Pahla drawled, stepping closer, “you will have to share, then.”

Alma froze, the flush rising high in her face, though her hands gripped the edge of the hammock so tightly her knuckles whitened. She looked up through wet lashes, every line of her posture screaming reluctance, every inch of her gaze begging otherwise.

“I do not mind,” she said, voice barely audible.

Pahla chuckled, leaning in so close Alma’s breath caught. “I know you do not.”

A gust of wind rattled the tent, the rain hammering louder against the canvas. Alma shivered, though it was not from the cold. Pahla reached out, her fingertips brushing Alma’s wrist — a simple touch, innocent if not for the way Alma’s pulse leapt beneath her skin.

“You are trembling,” Pahla murmured.

“I— I am not used to… this.”

“To storms?”

“To… to you.”

Pahla grinned wider, teeth flashing. “I rather like how you say that.”

Alma bit her lip, her lashes lowering. “You always tease.”

“I could stop,” Pahla said, her voice dropping, silk over steel.

Alma’s gaze flickered up to meet hers, and the look there was raw, aching. She licked her lips — a nervous habit Pahla had noticed on day one — and whispered, “Do not.”

The words hit like a strike to the ribs. Pahla swallowed, the familiar urge rising in her throat, fierce and wild. She moved closer, the hammock shifting under her weight as she slipped an arm around Alma’s shoulder, drawing them both into its narrow cradle.

Alma stiffened for a breath, then melted against her, the crown of her damp hair brushing Pahla’s jaw. Their bodies pressed close, the hammock rocking them together with every movement of the storm.

Alma’s hand lifted, tentative, her fingertips tracing the line of Pahla’s collarbone through the damp fabric. A shiver raced through both of them.

“I— I never… with anyone,” Alma whispered, her voice trembling.

Pahla’s smile softened, something gentler there now, though the teasing glint in her eyes never quite faded. She reached up and brushed her thumb along the curve of Alma’s jaw, tipping her face up.

“I know, little bird.”

Their faces so near, their breath mingling. Alma’s lips parted, her eyes searching Pahla’s with that desperate, helpless sort of longing that made Pahla’s chest ache.

“Will you…?” Alma began, the question faltering, unfinished.

Pahla leaned in, her hand cupping Alma’s cheek, her lips brushing so close to hers they shared a single trembling breath. Time hung still — the storm a distant thing, the world narrowed to this fragile, breaking moment.

She could taste the answer in the air between them.

But whether the kiss landed, whether it was given or stolen, claimed or merely promised — the lantern’s light swayed, casting shadows that swallowed the truth.

In the next instant, Pahla’s voice broke the hush, low and ragged.

“Sleep now, petal,” she murmured, her thumb stroking Alma’s cheek. “Before we do something we cannot unmake.”

Alma’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft, shuddering sigh escaping her lips as she pressed herself into Pahla’s hold. The hammock swayed, the storm’s lullaby drowning out whatever might have happened next.

And the night held its secret.