#because the pale tree was protecting them

[xi4oyan]

Hello my dearest writer!

Here is the shortest request ever

JTTW X Dragon! Reader. They are related to the horse of the gang, also the only reason Reader doesn't immediately try to kill the gang on sight... Really, though they mostly stay in dragon form, for a moment they become human to talk better with the gang, and get news from a relative

The One Who Watches from the Skies

It is said the western winds carry the voices of those who have fallen,

and that dragons who rest above the clouds listen to such whispers in silence.

You, creature of skies and depths, had long since ceased to touch the earth.

Your dragon form—scales like wet marble, long cornelian horns, eyes vast as oceans in storm—glided between the clouds with the grace of a forgotten memory. No one expected you to descend. No one expected you to care.

But then… you heard the sound.

Not a scream. Not a cry.

Just… a whinny.

Low, restrained. But yours. Recognizable as blood in the wind.

⭒

It was at the foot of the Black Mountains that you first saw them.

The sky, heavy with dusk, hung low like a threatening ceiling, and the land was dry, cracked, barren of any green to soften it. The group was camped near a thin, tired stream, their voices murmuring. Four figures and a fifth, tied beside a tree: the horse.

You hovered above, invisible to common eyes—but not to spiritual ones. The monk looked skyward, unsettled by something he couldn’t name. Wukong, always alert, felt it first. A shiver rippled under his golden fur. He knew omens when they brushed his spine. He said nothing.

But Yulong lifted his head.

And smiled.

⭒

You descended in the silence that precedes rain.

The air thickened, reverent. Trees bent in your presence.

The campfire extinguished itself.

Your body had moved through the clouds like liquid aurora, but now touched the ground with sacred weight. Your claws pressed into the soil with gentleness, not rage. There was no immediate hatred—but there was gravity.

Memory.

You didn’t speak. Dragons rarely did, not with voice.

But for him, for your brother…

You bent yourself.

The transformation was not grand. It was sorrowful.

Scales melted into water. Antennae fell like strands of old copper. The long fur around your face turned into hair—long, white as fog, sliding down the shoulders of your human form. Your skin was pale, untouched by sunlight. But your eyes remained infinite.

You walked toward the group.

Wukong was the first to move, stepping between you and Tripitaka. His hand touched his staff, but it hesitated. He could sense you could destroy them with a word—and he was right.

Sha Wujing stood still. His eyes tracked you like one staring into a deep, ancient lake, afraid something might stir beneath.

Zhu Bajie took two steps back. It wasn’t cowardice—it was instinct. Pigs are good at sensing when death is watching.

Tripitaka tried to speak, but was silenced by his own fear.

And Yulong...

Yulong stepped forward.

"You came"

"You called me" you answered, your voice low and serene, like thunder between mountains.

He pressed his muzzle to your hand. His eyes were wet—rare for dragons, even transformed. But you understood. He was tired. The years walking beside mortals had weighed on him, even through their laughter.

"I wondered if the heavens still remembered me."

"I remember," you said. "And so does the sea."

You turned to the group.

"What are you doing with him?" you asked—directed at no one, and everyone.

Tripitaka, gathering courage: "He chose us, noble spirit. He guides us."

"You don’t guide a dragon. You ask permission."

Silence.

Wukong finally spoke. "He protects us because he wants to. We didn’t bind him. We didn’t lie."

You looked at him for a long time.

"You are the one who killed the heavens and still bleeds for them."

The monkey’s fists clenched—but he lowered his gaze. "I... am."

You needed no more.

⭒

You remained there, the five of them circled around the fire reborn, with you a shimmering figure beside Yulong. You did not stay long. Your body began to dissolve— not from weakness, but from essence. That human shape was an effort, a gesture. It was not your nature.

"I had to see with my own eyes," you said, looking at your brother. "I heard stories. I saw the skies lie. But the bond is strong."

"I… I’m proud of him," Yulong said. "They are not what they seem."

"Aren’t we all?"

The group didn’t know whether to thank you or fear you.

You didn’t care.

"I’ll stay above," you said. "But if he falls… if he is forgotten… I will return. And then no heaven, no sutra, will save you."

"A fair promise," Wukong murmured, almost smiling.

Yulong lowered his head in quiet acknowledgment.

And then you were gone.

Your body dissolved into mist. A sacred wind stirred the sky. The sound of your wings was like distant temple bells. Rain fell soon after—not as punishment, but as a rare blessing.

⭒

In the weeks that followed, whenever the path grew dangerous and faith wavered, Tripitaka sometimes saw a shadow gliding high above the clouds. And Yulong, in his quietest hours, would always look to the sky before sleep.

He knew.

You were still there.

And because of that—

He kept walking.

[commanders-company]

Reforged

Do you remember me, mother?

Do you remember when the fleet fell, and the jungle roar pierced our minds? Many trembled, many faltered, but I stood resolute. My duty as warden meant I could not let the call take hold; there were far too many lives in my hands for that. I gave words of comfort, brought the lost back home, and gave a quick end to those too far gone. Grueling work, but I did it gladly.

Do you remember the silence? For weeks after, the dream was chaotic, a swirling vortex of panic and confusion. Everyone had questions and no one had answers. And when the jungle dragon was finally slain, what followed felt like a wasteland. Saplings were afraid to peer into the dream. Their elder siblings were disillusioned. I remained. I had to.

Do you remember where I was sent? A sudden urging pushed me and a small company of valiants to Mount Maelstrom, further from the forest than any of us had ever been. The destroyers were on the move, or so the dream said. We marched, your loyal tin soldiers, confident that the dream would keep us safe. But the dream had changed, hadn't it? You were still so weak after the attack. And yet you sent us out.

Do you remember the names of the fallen?

Did you hear their screams?

Do you know how long I burned, buried in the rubble?

I called out, begged for help, screamed in pain. No one came to my rescue. A footnote in the great dream, to be cataloged and forgotten with the rest. But in the midst of my suffering, I was resolute. I believed in you. I had to.

And then another voice came: primal, indistinct, but getting closer. It spoke of fire and ruin. Promised power. The power to save myself.

As I clawed my way out of the melting rock, I confronted the truth: you never saved me. You left me to die.

I have no need of the dream anymore. No need for siblings or titles or anything green. Magma boils in my veins, waiting to be released. Every moment is pain, my skin is reduced to ash, removing every last trace of what I was before. His voice continues in my ear - powerful, wild, driving me toward one goal.

Do you hear me now, mother?

No matter. You will soon.

[breelandwalker]

Pink Moon - April 12 2025

Prepare for the blooming season and make sure you take those allergy meds - it’s time for the Pink Moon!

Pink Moon 🌸

Named for the appearance of spring flowers, in particular the early springtide ground phlox (also known as moss pinks), the Pink Moon often coincides with the first bloom of the season, with trees and fields in flower and a profusion of color returning to the world after the long bleak greyness of winter. Despite the name, the moon itself does not turn pink to match.

This year, the Pink Moon is a micromoon, occurring when the moon is approaching it's apogee, the farthest point in its' orbit from the Earth. The moon may appear slightly smaller or dimmer because of this when it reaches peak illumination at 8:22pm EST this Saturday.

North American indigenous names for this moon include Breaking Ice Moon (Algonquin), Budding Moon of Plants and Shrubs (Tlingit), Moon When The Ducks Come Back (Lakota), Planting Moon (Tunica), and Frog Moon (Cree). Alternate European names for the Pink Moon include Egg Moon and Budding Moon, and some modern pagan traditions call it the Awakening Moon.

The April full moon is also sometimes known as the Paschal Full Moon, being the first full moon after the spring equinox. The Christian Easter holiday, which has a floating date, occurs on the first Sunday after the Paschal Moon.

Farmer’s Proverb: A full Moon in April brings frost. If the full Moon rises pale, expect rain.

What Does It Mean For Witches? 🌸

The Pink Moon is a time for reconnecting with yourself and the world around you. The world is giving a good yawn and stretch after a long winter’s sleep and so can we! Get outside if you can and get some fresh air. Explore your area, especially if there’s something or someplace new you’ve been meaning to try. Revisit old haunts and discover what’s changed since the last time you were out and about.

Take a moment to assess your current goals and mark your progress. Celebrate your growth and learn from your setbacks. Assess your boundaries as well. Are you making enough time for yourself? Are you letting things or tasks or people intrude where they shouldn’t? Is there anywhere that you should be standing firm but aren’t?

Balance dedication to your work with playtime and relaxation. Remember that you are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm. Take time to care for your own needs and address those “I’m Sure It’s Nothing” health concerns you’ve been putting off.

What Witchy Things Can We Do? 🌸

By the time the Pink Moon comes around, there’s either one more cold spell working its’ way through or the first true warmth of spring beginning to appear. If the temperatures are rising to sunny pleasantry in your area, it’s the perfect time to start planting your garden.

Whether you have a few pots on a patio or a fully-planned plot or just some well-beloved houseplants, get your fingers into the dirt and transfer those seeds and sprouts to a nice fertile home. You can work various kinds of magic as you do, for growth, fertility, prosperity, tenacity, resilience, protection, whatever seems needful. (This can also be done separate from planting if you're not growing a garden.) If you grow your own plants for your magical practice, you can also bless them for their intended purposes.

If you don’t garden (and not all of us do) but still want to work some plant magic, you can grab your field guide and pruning scissors and go foraging. You can pair last month's Dig Through The Ditches exercise with some foraging and harvesting of the wild weeds growing in your area.

(This month's episode of Hex Positive addresses this exact topic!)

For a fun and easy full-moon spell, set out some gallon jugs of potable water to make Pink Moon Water. This will be excellent for watering your garden…and yourself! (Rainwater isn’t safe to drink these days, and water collected from wild sources is dicey even if you boil it, but drinking water works just fine.) You can also cast spells for creativity, change, fertility, happiness, adaptability, and growth. Use whatever methods resonate with you and remember that the most important component of any spell is the witch who casts it.

The earth is blooming, so let’s bloom with it!

Happy Pink Moon, witches! 🌕🌸

2025 Witches Calendar

Bree’s Lunar Calendar Series

Bree’s Secular Celebrations Series

Pink Moon Magic: The Thrilling Full Moon of April 2025, The Peculiar Brunette.

Pink Moon: Full Micromoon of April 2025, The Old Farmers Almanac.

Witchcraft Exercise - Dig Through The Ditches, Bree NicGarran.

Wild Weed Harvests, Bree NicGarran.

Easter and the Paschal Full Moon: Determining the Date of Easter, The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

Image Source: NY Post, April 2024.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @gullableh @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hxsxxk-180294 @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103 @dollface-xoxo @read-just-cant-stop @sycamoregirl444 @raikan624 @iwritememesnotprophecies @imissbenswolo-blog @Icolumbia1988

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Tw: cussing, nudity (not described) tension.

Part 13

Words of Command - Part 14

The lounge at Stark Tower feels too big for just the few of you.

Floor-to-ceiling windows throw pale morning light across the sleek furniture. The scent of strong coffee lingers, blending with the faint metallic tang that always seems to cling to the air here—an invisible reminder of Stark tech woven into the very walls.

You sit on the corner of the couch, tucked in, wearing a soft oversized sweater and Pajamas pants that scuff the floor. Your hair’s still a little messy from sleep, your knees drawn up slightly.

Bucky stands not far from you, stiff and alert, arms folded, his metal fingers twitching occasionally with restless energy.

Tony saunters into the room with Bruce trailing behind him, both holding cups of coffee. Tony’s wearing a worn Black Sabbath T-shirt and smirking like he’s been awake for hours purely to cause problems.

Bruce’s approach is softer.

Careful.

Measured.

Tony’s voice slices through the heavy air.

“Well, Thumbelina and her very large attack dog are awake, so—good morning, kiddos.” He lifts his mug. “Hope you’re feeling refreshed and full of questions you’re too shy to ask, because we’re doing this anyway.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose "Doing what excatly, Mr. Stark?" You say already bracing.

Bruce steps in gently. “We’ve… called in some help. Just in case. If either of you want it.” He gestures vaguely toward the elevator. “From S.H.I.E.L.D. — their best psych and neuro specialists.”

Tony cuts back in before you can speak again.

“And before you start hyperventilating, no, nobody’s here to shove him into a straight-jacket or wire him up like a Christmas tree.”

He slurps his coffee obnoxiously.

“They’re on call. Meaning if you, you adorable trauma magnet feel like, they’ll be around. No pressure. Just better to have options, you know?”

You bite your lip, glancing automatically at Bucky.

He’s still a wall behind you. Eyes cold, scanning the room, his jaw locked tight. His flesh hand balls into a tight fist against his thigh. He doesn’t say anything, but he steps half a pace closer to you, silent, protective.

The elevator pings softly.

Two agents step out onto the lounge floor.

Agent McKenzie is tall, fit, her hair pulled into a tight bun. She has the careful neutrality of someone who has seen too much and knows better than to say anything about it.

Beside her, Agent Collins stands awkwardly, shifting his weight like he wants to disappear into the floor.

And rightly so.

You shrink slightly into the couch instinctively.

Bucky notices—of course he notices—and shifts his stance again, moving so he’s more between you and them.

You barely catch the quick whir of his metal fingers flexing.

McKenzie speaks first, voice calm and clipped.

“Miss. Sergeant Barnes.” She nods respectfully to both of you. “We’re here only if you request assistance. You are under no obligation.”

Collins steps forward and his voice is low, earnest.

“I—I want to apologize.”

His hands wring in front of him. “My behavior last night was completely inappropriate. I don't drink and I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t professional, and it won’t happen again. I swear.”

You glance at him, feeling the awkward sincerity roll off him in waves.

Bucky's eyes narrow into dangerous slits "You like fingers?"

Agent Collins, blinks and goes roughly three shades paler "Pardon ?"

Bucky's body shifts again angled, protective, muscle coiled tight. "Touch her again, you won't have any left"

His flesh hand twitches, half a second from reaching for a weapon he doesn’t have.

You feel the chill of it rolling off him—that lethal stillness before violence.

You touch Bucky’s arm lightly, your hand barely covering part of his forearm.

“Soldat,” you murmur, soft but sure.

Instantly, he responds—relaxing slightly, if only for you. His head dips minutely in acknowledgment, dark hair falling across his forehead.

“Doll,” he says quietly back, as if checking you're truly okay.

He doesn’t look at anyone else. Not McKenzie, not Collins.

Just you.

Only you.

McKenzie senses the tension and wisely steps back, subtly steering a frightened looking Collins with a hand on his arm.

“We’ll be in the east conference room if needed. Just call.”

You nod, whispering a polite "thank you," still perched delicately on the edge of the couch.

The elevator pings again as they leave, the sound somehow louder in the quiet they leave behind.

Tony claps his hands once, breaking the heavy moment.

“Well, that could have gone worse! Nobody died, nobody bled. I’m counting it as a win.”

Bruce just sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

You padded barefoot down the wide hallway of Stark Tower’s residential wing, the polished floors cold against your toes.

It was quieter here—thicker somehow. The hum of JARVIS's systems was a faint, living pulse through the walls.

You found Tony exactly where you knew he’d be In his private living room, sprawled over the couch like a king without a kingdom, a half-drained glass of something expensive on the table, and the faint glow of half a dozen holographic screens circling him.

He glanced up as you approached, arching one eyebrow over the top of his glasses.

“Well if it isn’t the Handler of the Year," Tony drawled lazily, lifting his glass in a mocking salute.

Then, softer, "To what do I owe the pleasure Thumbelina."

You folded onto the armchair opposite him, tucking your knees up against your chest.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve.

You bit your lip. Hard.

"I don't want to pressure him," you blurted, voice barely above a whisper. "I mean... he’s trusting me. He’s scared, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. I can’t just... shove him into therapy or surgeries like he’s broken."

Tony set down his glass with a soft clink, swinging his legs off the couch so he could lean forward, elbows on his knees.

“First of all, Dollface,"—he said Bucky's nickname for you with a half-smile, like a shield to hide the real weight behind his words—"we're all broken. Some of us just wear cooler sunglasses while dealing with it.”

You gave a small, helpless laugh, the sound wet with unshed tears.

Tony’s face softened further.

"You’re not wrong, Sunshine," he said seriously. "You’re doing good. Better than most would, honestly."

He dragged one hand through his hair, messing it further. “You’re giving him something no lab coat, no tech, no team of fancy doctors could ever replicate, choice."

You swallowed, nodding.

"I just..." you hesitated, glancing toward the hall where your suite—and Bucky—waited. "The intracranial device Bruce built... it’s working. It’s really working. His vitals are more stable after sessions. It’s like it’s dampening the trauma spikes before they get too high. But I know—if we push too hard—"

You trailed off, twisting your hands together.

Tony leaned back, exhaling through his nose.

"The neural device is a masterpiece," he said, not bragging for once. "Banner did good. You two together? Even better. Science project aside, it’s stabilizing him, but it’s not fixing the wiring. That’s...long-haul territory."

He rapped his knuckles lightly on the table for emphasis.

"Bottom line it could help. A lot. Regain memories. Rebuild pathways. Maybe even speed up how fast he gets back to, y'know, human programming instead of KGB Murderbot 2.0. But..." Tony pointed at you sharply.

"It doesn't replace the human element, your doing your best, but these guys ... there the Pros. And besides the choice is his. Or yours until he’s clear-headed enough to know what he wants."

You looked down at your hands, overwhelmed by the weight of it.

Tony’s voice dropped a little, more gentle than you’d ever heard it.

"You’re doing right by him, Sunshine," he said, teasing but earnest. "You’re giving him a life he wouldn’t have dared hope for. You keep doing that. One tiny step at a time. And just consider the back-up, as excatly what it is ... an option."

You blinked fast against the burning in your eyes.

Tony noticed, of course, because he cared more then he let on, he always had.

With a gruff clearing of his throat, he stood up, smoothing down his rumpled shirt like nothing emotional had happened at all.

"If you need me," he said over his shoulder as he walked off toward the elevators, "I'll be upstairs... pretending not to care but totally ready to knock some sense into Robocop if needed."

You smiled into your sleeve once he was gone.

That evening you padded from your bedroom into the lounge of your suite, cotton pajamas soft and cosy on your body.

Bucky sat rigidly on the wide leather couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring blankly at the floor.

You stopped in the doorway, heart twisting.

Even from here, you could see the tremor in his shoulders, the way his flesh hand clenched and unclenched uselessly in his lap.

The metal one stayed utterly still, gleaming dully under the recessed ceiling lights.

He didn't react when you entered.

But when you spoke—soft, cautious—his head snapped toward you like a trained dog hearing its master’s voice.

“Soldat...you doing ok ?"

His pale blue eyes locked onto yours instantly.

Recognition.

Relief.

Something like apology.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice hoarse, frayed at the edges.

He seemed... smaller, somehow.

Like the room was crushing him.

You crossed the space carefully, crouching low so you were eye-level with him.

"Talk to me?" you murmured, tilting your head.

He gave the barest nod, metal fingers twitching again.

His breathing was too shallow.

Too fast.

"They look wrong," Bucky said quietly, voice low and stilted. "The men. The agents. Same as...before."

He didn’t need to say it.

HYDRA.

You swallowed, nodding.

"Okay," you said softly, reaching out—but stopping short, letting him choose. "Let me help?"

Bucky hesitated.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then his flesh hand lifted in a stiff, almost mechanical movement, palm open, waiting.

You placed your hand against his, feeling the way his fingers closed almost desperately around yours.

You led him gently toward the bathroom.

Stark Tower suites didn’t do small bathtubs this was a sunken pool, deep enough to drown in.

Dim, warm lights cast a golden glow over the room.

The faucet filled the space with the soft rush of water, steam beginning to curl into the air, carrying the faint scent of the lavender bubble bath you added for his modesty.

Bucky hovered at the threshold like he wasn’t sure he deserved to step inside.

You turned back, beckoning him.

"Come on, Soldat," you said softly, using the name he remembered. "It might help you relax ?."

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he obeyed instantly.

Silent.

Trusting.

You found the compact mirror—the one you always have on hand—and placed it carefully on a little stand beside the tub.

Angled perfectly so Bucky could watch you without needing to turn.

Control.

Making sure he knows your giving it not taking it.

“See?” you said gently, tapping the mirror. “You can see me the whole time.”

Bucky nodded once, stiffly, shedding his henley without a word.

Your breath caught.

It was the first time you'd seen the scarring up close— angry welts around where flesh met metal, like the arm had been jammed into him, an afterthought of cruelty rather than a miracle of engineering.

Although there couldn't be a miracle if there wasn't consent.

You knelt beside the bath as he slid into the water, the liquid rippling up around his scarred, battered frame.

He stayed still, breathing deeply, as if forcing his body to loosen muscle by muscle.

Carefully, you dipped a cup into the water and poured it gently over his hair.

You moved slow, delicate, like you might spook him.

“Doll," he murmured, voice so low you barely caught it.

Affection bleeding into the single word.

You smiled at the mirror, knowing he was watching your every move.

The bathroom was warm now, heavy with the sweet, herbal scent of lavender.

The mirror beside the tub glinted softly in the low light, casting a muted reflection of the two of you him in the bath, sitting upright but loose for once, you kneeling beside him, sleeves rolled up, fingers delicate and sure.

Bucky watched you through the mirror like he might forget you were real if he blinked.

You dipped the little cup into the water again, scooping it up carefully, and then—slow, steady—you poured it over his hair.

The water streamed down in thin, shining ribbons over his temples.

He didn't flinch.

Just sat there, jaw tense but not pulling away.

You set the cup aside, reaching for the bottle of shampoo you'd tucked nearby.

"Soldat..." you murmured as you lathered the shampoo between your hands, soft and soothing, "You can tell me if it’s too much. Anytime. Okay?"

A long pause.

Then a nod.

You massaged the shampoo gently into his scalp, fingertips gliding over his wet hair, careful not to tug or scrape.

The lather built slowly, pale bubbles sliding down the back of his neck and shoulders.

Bucky closed his eyes.

"Feels nice," he rasped, voice almost too low to hear.

You smiled a little to yourself, unseen.

Gentle, small strokes.

No sudden movements.

Giving him every second to object.

"You have good hair," you said, tone light, teasing.

His mouth twitched.

Not a smile exactly.

More like... confusion.

He cracked an eye open, looking at you through the mirror.

"No one's ever said that," he muttered after a beat.

"Well, they should have," you said simply, working the soap through the longer strands at the base of his skull.

Your fingers brushed scars at his neck and you felt the whole, solid bulk of him stiffen—

but then he took a slow breath and forced himself to relax again.

Because it was you.

Because you weren't going to hurt him.

You shifted closer without thinking, pressing your knees into the soft rug beside the tub, leaning over him protectively.

It made your frame look even smaller against his broad shoulders, his imposing body—and yet, somehow, it was him who seemed fragile here.

"Hey" you murmured with a smile when his eyes met yours.

"Hey Doll" his lips twitched as he said it, his flesh hand reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear for you.

When you tipped his head back slightly to rinse, he obeyed closing his eyes again.

Water cascaded through his hair again, washing the suds away.

"You’re really good at this," he said hoarsely after a long silence.

You blinked, cheeks warming.

"It's not hard," you said shyly. "You just...you just be ... gentle, and don't pour water straight into people's eyes."

Bucky's reflection caught yours in the mirror.

A crease appeared between his brows—

a soft, bewildered frown.

"Nobody...was ever gentle before," he said, voice a rough scrape of sound.

Your heart cracked right down the center.

You squeezed out the water from his hair carefully, combing it back from his forehead with your fingertips.

"Well they were wrong," you said, fiercely tender.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Just stared.

Like he was trying to memorize you.

Like if he looked hard enough, he might understand what was happening to him—

why he didn't want to leave your side, why he felt something aching inside his ribs when you smiled.

You picked up the brush next.

The bristles slid through his damp hair in slow, steady strokes, each pass smoothing it down.

You worked methodically, murmuring nonsense under your breath

"Almost done... You're doing good, Soldat..."

He tilted his head slightly at that—

not much, just a bare lean of trust toward you.

In the mirror, he watched your hand moving through his hair.

Watched your careful touch.

Watched the way you looked at him, not with fear, not with pity, but with care.

Something in him shuddered—

a ripple under the surface.

He didn’t understand it.

Didn’t understand why your voice steadied the thudding pulse in his ears.

Why your hands didn’t make him flinch.

Didn’t understand why, when you said, "There we go," setting the brush aside and smoothing your palms over his hair like you were grounding him to the earth,

he wanted to turn around,

wanted to pull you close and press his forehead to your belly,

wanted to stay like that forever.

Instead, he said the only thing he could manage:

"Thank you, Doll."

Rough.

Sincere.

Like a prayer.

You cupped his cheek briefly in your hand, thumb brushing his stubbled jaw, your touch feather-light.

"Anytime, Soldat," you whispered back.

He leaned—just slightly—into your palm before catching himself, like it startled him to want the contact.

But you didn't pull away.

You just smiled that soft, achingly sweet smile of yours.

And Bucky—

whatever was left of him—

felt something unfamiliar blooming slowly, painfully in his chest.

Hope.

You begin to stand, ready to grab a towel for him.

"I'll let you finish up while I—"

You don't get to complete your sentence. In one fluid motion, his arms—one warm flesh, one cool metal—reach out and wrap around your waist.

Before you can process what's happening, he's pulling you backward into the tub with him.

Splash

Warm water envelops you as you tumble in. Your surprised squeal echoes around the bathroom as water sloshes over the sides, pooling on the floor.

Your pajamas cling to you instantly, completely soaked.

"Soldat!" you gasp, half-laughing as you find yourself awkwardly positioned in the tub, your back against his chest, his legs on either side of yours.

His arms adjust around you, secure but gentle.

"Don't go yet, Doll."

You can't help it—a bubble of laughter escapes your lips. "What the hell?"

A half-smile forms on his face, a playful glint in his blue eyes that you've only recently begun to see.

The absurdity of the situation—you fully clothed in his bath, both of you soaking wet—only makes you laugh harder.

The remaining tension in his shoulders melts away, and his smile widens slightly—still hesitant, as if he's relearning the expression, but genuine.

"Didn't want you to leave yet," he explains, his voice softer than usual. "Feels... right. Having you close."

"I was just going to get you a towel," you say exasperated, but making no move to get up.

He nods, satisfaction evident in the way his arms settle more comfortably around you. The warm water envelops you both, your pajamas floating slightly around you.

You find yourself relaxing against him, feeling his heartbeat—steady and strong—against your back.

"You okay?" you ask, looking up at him.

Bucky's expression turns thoughtful, brow furrowing slightly as he searches for the right words. "Things are getting clearer," he finally says. "More pieces fitting together. Still gaps, but..."

"Progress?" you finish for him with an encouraging smile.

You sit together in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the occasional drip from the faucet and your synchronized breathing. The warm water creates a cocoon of intimacy around you both.

Your fingers drift to his chest where his dog tags rest against his bare skin.

They catch the light as they rise and fall with his breathing. You hadn't noticed him putting them on.

"Why did you put these on?" you ask softly, lifting the tags slightly so they catch the light. "Last time..."

You don't finish the sentence. You both remember—the tags triggering a violent episode, Bucky's metal arm reducing Tony’s coffee table to splinters.

Bucky's flesh hand comes up to cover yours where you hold the tags.

His touch is more confident than the hesitant way he used to reach for you, as if he's growing more comfortable with contact.

"Wanted to remember," he says, his voice low and close to your ear. "Finding more pieces. Not everything. But more than before."

His metal arm remains secure around your waist, the plates shifting slightly as he adjusts his position, water sloshing around you both.

"Wanna tell me what you remembered ?," you encourage, turning your head slightly to see his face.

Bucky's eyes focus somewhere distant, looking beyond the bathroom walls. "Steve," he says, more certainty in his voice than before. "Smaller then. Before the serum. Gave me something before I shipped out."

You nod encouragingly. "What did he give you?"

Bucky's brow furrows in concentration, but the frustration that usually accompanies these memories is muted. "Picture. Him and me. Said to keep it with the tags."

His breathing remains steady, a sign of progress. "Lost the picture during... after the fall. Steve ... he had the tags."

You watch the play of emotions across his face—recognition now outweighing confusion, determination replacing frustration. The pieces are coming together more smoothly than before.

"Steve ..." you say gently. " ...he just wants to help."

Bucky nods slowly. "I know. He's..." His voice is still small. "My friend."

"Yea, your friend," you confirm with a smile. "Like I'm your friend."

Bucky's eyes meet yours, suddenly intense and focused. "No," he says with unexpected certainty. "Different. Steve is... friend. Brother, maybe." He pauses, struggling to articulate the distinction. "You're... something else."

Your heart beats a little faster at the intensity in his gaze. You continue playing with the dog tags, the chain sliding between your fingers. "What am I then?"

His flesh hand comes up to brush a strand of wet hair from your face, the gesture achingly tender. "Doll," he says, the Brooklyn accent strong in that single word, his voice deeper than usual.

The nickname sends a shiver through you that has nothing to do with the water temperature. It's more than just a word—it's a glimpse of the man he was and is becoming again—charming, protective, affectionate in his own way.

Water has begun to slosh over the sides of the tub from your unexpected entry. The bathroom floor is getting soaked, but Bucky seems more relaxed than you've seen him before, almost content despite the situation.

"We should probably get out before we flood the suite," you suggest with a gentle laugh.

His arms tighten briefly around your waist. "Whatever you say, Doll." The words hold a hint of teasing now, the rigid protocol of the Soldier giving way to something warmer, more human.

"I'm not giving orders," you remind him softly.

"I know," he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Just like having directions sometimes. Old habits."

As you grab towels from the rack, Bucky runs a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face.

"Why do you call me Soldat?" he asks suddenly, the question catching you off guard.

"You asked me too."

Bucky nods slowly, understanding. "But now? You know my name."

"I do," you acknowledge softly.

His expression softens. "Yeah, been thinking about names lately. Who I was. Who I am now."

"And who are you?" you ask gently, stepping closer.

His blue eyes meet yours, clearer and more present than you've ever seen them. "Still figuring that out. But..." he hesitates, searching for words, " don't want to be what they made me."

"No, You're so much more than that."

Bucky's gaze drifts to the dog tags still hanging around his neck. "These say James."

"That's your name. James Buchanan Barnes."

His eyes find yours again. "What do you want to call me?"

The question hangs between you, weighted with meaning beyond just a name. You step closer, gently taking the dog tags in your hand again.

"It's not about me, what feels right to you?" you ask, looking up at him, acutely aware of how small you feel standing before his towering frame.

His flesh hand closes over yours where you hold the tags, warm and steady. "Bucky," he says after a moment. "... it feels like ... it could be me."

You smile up at him. "Bucky it is, then."

"Can I keep calling you Doll ?" he asks hesitantly like hes a man starved and your going to take his steak.

"Yea, of course you can Sol— Bucky" you say with a warm genuine smile.

[cece693]

So, I got this silly idea where Pamela Voorhees manipulates the male reader into being Jason's caretaker, because (bless her soul) she knows she won't be here forever. So, while giving this male reader attention and 'motherly' love, she unknowingly gives Jason a bride. And because the male reader is so preconditioned to tend to another person they're like 'okay. This guy is definitely crazy but also kinda hot...' So yeah, this idea is out there, but I like it. Hope you do too!

NEW CAREGIVER.... (AND LOVER)

pairing: jason voorhees x male reader tags: reader is a runaway, shitty home, what else can I say, Pamela is a scheming lady, but you get Jason, so is that too bad???, nah didn't think so, fluff

The moon was an indifferent coin above the highway the night you ran—bare-footed, half-blind with tears, flinching at every blast of a passing horn. Home had never deserved the name; it was a house of slurred curses and shattered dishes, a place where love arrived in bruises. When you finally collapsed at the treeline of Crystal Lake, you expected the cold or coyotes to finish what your father started.

Instead, you woke beneath a patchwork quilt that smelled of cedar and lavender water. An elderly woman sat knitting beside a pot-bellied stove, her smile warm yet oddly knowing, as though she’d been waiting for you.

“I’m Pamela,” she said, voice soft as cattail down. “Pamela Voorhees. You’re safe here, dear boy.” It took you only a day to discover what here meant—Camp Crystal Lake. Pamela called the place a sanctuary and grave in the same breath, yet with an air of how a person spoke of cathedrals.

Mrs. Voorhees’s hospitality tasted like something you’d forgotten was real. She mended the splits in your soles with neat whip-stitches, pressed warm cornbread into your palms, and brushed the tangles from your hair while you dozed by the window. But comfort was only half her gift; the other half was preparation.

“The forest isn’t cruel,” she instructed. “but it is indifferent. If you wish to protect someone in these woods, you must become its equal.” You learned to tread silently through the forest, to smell rain before clouds formed.

“Some wounds,” she murmured, gaze faraway, “don’t bleed red. Treat them anyway.” You practiced on burlap dolls, then raccoon corpses you found tangled in old fishing net. Your stitches grew beautiful and grotesque all at once.

“He’s a growing boy,” Pamela said, ladling venison stew into a third bowl you placed reverently at the empty seat. You’d glance at the untouched spoon and feel a prickle behind the eyes, as if someone watched from the tree line, salivating at the thyme-tinged broth.

You never dared ask why she trained you with the severity of a drill sergeant, only for whom. However, she simply answered with a wistful pat to your cheek: “In time, you’ll meet my Jason.”

Late spring blurred into summer when things irrevocably changed. Lightning split the August sky when a group of camp counselors returned, laughing with guitars and bottles. Pamela’s knitting paused mid-row. The smile she gave you was sad yet resolute: “Stay inside, dear. Boil water. Fold bandages. Wait for me.” Then she slipped into the trees with a hunting knife and a resolve that glinted like frost on iron.

You did not see her alive again.

When dawn paled the lake, the forest stank of metal and rain-damp carnage. You stumbled upon her body by the generator shack—head missing, cardigan soaked black, her eyes forever spared the horror of what she’d done and what had been done to her. Grief tore every stitch she’d sewn into you. You buried what you could beneath a stand of birches, whispering a prayer you half-remembered from a childhood chapel, though God had never done either of you favors.

The sensible thing would be to leave.

But you stayed.

Grief motivated you to continue with your rituals. Keeping the cottage immaculate, preserving her collection of knitted sweaters, sharpening the kitchen knives every Sunday. Nights, you dreamed of water lapping at rotten docks; of a child’s gurgling sobs just beyond the tree line. Then the gifts began:

A butchered stag laid across the porch like an altar offering.

A jar of marigolds—roots, soil and all—placed beside your pillow.

Heavy boot-prints circling the cabin at night, too large for any man you knew.

The first snow had not yet melted when you finally met him. You heard something massive wading ashore, yet before you could grab the hatchet—you froze.

He wasn't a kid, defenseless and weak as Pamela had hinted at. Instead, he loomed in the doorway: a towering figure in mold-streaked coveralls, burlap sack knotted over his head. One eye—wide, milk-blue, yet oddly innocent—studied you. In his fist dripped a wood axe, but he made no move to raise it.

Instinct overrode terror. “You’re hurt,” you whispered, noticing the gash bisecting his shoulder. You reached for the first-aid kit Pamela insisted stay stocked. He flinched yet allowed it, gaze following your every motion the way a half-feral dog watches the only hand that feeds it.

When you finished bandaging, you pressed a palm to his chest. “Jason?”

The name left your tongue like an invocation. The giant’s breathing hitched; then slowly, he retrieved a tarnished locket from inside his shirt—Pamela’s, the same oval cameo she once pressed into your palm for “safekeeping.” Two photographs faced one another: baby Jason…and now, tucked beside it, you.

Pamela had written your name beneath the picture, shaky but intent.

Everything clicked: the chores, the sewing lessons, the knife work, the rules. She’d been fashioning you into more than a ward. You were the keeper of her legacy, the caretaker—the bride—for the son who lived beyond death.

Jason remained mute, but devotion needs no dialogue. You learned his language in nods and tilts of that burlap-covered head: hunger, pain, agitation when strangers trespassed. He shadowed you while you cooked, his hulking frame squeezed into the doorway like a child desperate not to be left out. When you laid a sweater—Pamela’s favorite blue one—across his shoulders, enormous fingers fumbled with the buttons until you guided them.

Nights grew strangely gentle. He’d sit cross-legged by the hearth while you read aloud from Pamela’s brittle prayer book, big head tilting at the cadence of your voice. One evening flames spat sparks; you startled, and Jason’s arm swept you behind him in reflex as if flesh were expendable, you were not. The gesture shocked warmth into your marrow.

And yes, there were killings. Outsiders who trespassed, teens seeking thrills—they vanished beneath the frozen lake or hung like ornaments from the pines. You cleaned the machetes afterward, murmuring that he’d done “well.” Morality blurred; love is an elegantly cruel tutor.

[dmitriene]

cw: low honor arthur, minor uncomfortable sexual themes, glimpses of smut.

something has happened, arthur morgan knows it, it's not a premonition, it's a remark on the obvious, he sees the way you walk around the camp slightly hunched over, uncertain, hardly speaking to anyone, and when you do, it's short and quiet, just simple yes or no, instead of the long, emotional dialogues that everyone around you is used to, the bright smiles, charming laughter, all this seemed to be erased, hidden deep and away from prying eyes, as if you were compelled to withdraw, curled up into an inaccessible bundle.

something inside him is pinching, gnawing and scratching at the flesh bleeding from within, trying to get out, to tear its way in a surge of emotions that he has tried to bury for so long, which he has felt for only one woman, but now, he wants to share them with you, this desire to comfort, to protect, to hide, an innate sense that something is wrong with you makes him rush about like caged animal, trying to get closer, more carefully, to you and to what happened, nuzzle in with his dirty maw.

arthur shouldn't have been eavesdropping, hiding in the night shadow of the nearby trees, like a real coward, listening shamelessly to how you sit, tenderly, anxiously clasping your hands on your lap, in a circle of girls, sharing a story from your lips with a muted, but such raw pain, merging from your lips more like blood mixed with dirt than honeyed speeches, about the time you visited this man in the city, walked with him hand in hand, trusting and cracking your ribcage open, to find yourself wounded right in the heart, stripped naked, not with admiration in eyes, but with a dirty animal desire to use, and then throw away.

there's a writhing and churning feeling low in his gut, coiling and pulling with a liquid, scalding weight, and he shouldn't feel a glimmer of hope now that he has a chance when you're in this position, at least, not with you, because you're so kind, so wonderful, offering to lend him a hand even when everyone else is just burdening him, reaching out to console him even when he's growling like a beaten dog, sharing your bullets, giving him smiles warmer than the summer sun rays, your presence like a thousand needles covering his entire body, each one punctuating deeply into his veins, pouring out there a craving, a love, for you, beauty and the beast, only he's worse.

he must forget, give up the very idea of ​​talking to you, ask, finally, what happened, hear the whole truth like it is from your lips directly, without eavesdropping, but his thoughts are always occupied only with you, his hands themselves reach for the journal, for the erased pencil, pressing into the paper, filling all the empty space with you, on the countless pages, in the soul, in the mind, and behind closed eyelids, you are everywhere, what he fills his lungs with, breathing in, what blesses his weary, pale colored eyes from early morning, saturates his palms with warmth when your hands touch, and all his scars, all the calluses, everything fades away.

arthur wants to know how the damp heat of your skin smells, how supple you will be under the greedy touch of his digging, squeezing fingers, what sounds you will make, quiet sobs, melodic moans, stuttering gasps of his name, requests for more, for him, for pleasure, how warm your cheeks will be from embarrassment, from emotions, will you giggle, seeing how mottled red his face will become from blush, how much his pupils will dilate, swallowing the blue greenish color of his fluttering eyes, how much his hands will shake, strong, molded from steel muscles, afraid to touch you, breach deeper.

he finds you in the dead of the night, perched on a rock beside a river with feet soaked and bare, drops of water scattered across the surface of your skin like jewels, like tears streaming down your cheeks, followed by sobs bitten against swollen lips, by the rustle of his steps on the stones, making you shudder, jump, but not flee, brave, proud, even though hurting, turning to welcome the unexpected company, the raspy, questioning voice, which wants to console, to pull you into the comfort of an embrace, and you allow it, burying yourself, curling up in his solid chest.

arthur fails to stop himself in time, lifting your chin between his thumb and forefinger, before pressing his lips to yours, awkwardly, slowly, letting you pull away, push, hiss, but you press in and respond, melting under his hand as he reaches out to squeeze your hip, digging into the worn fabric of your pants below, trying to control the surge of arousal, the urge to bite your lips, to push his tongue inside, instead softening to just gentle pressure and languid sighs you share between, before you pull away, and laugh, lay your head on his chest, letting him wipe your tears away, lick them, swallow all the pain.

how long, you ask in a whisper, but he doesn't know, all he knows is that he will not endure rejection, that he will lose the purpose he has already assigned to himself, to be yours, both a bullet and a shield and a lover, and when your gazes lock, something in his makes your eyes open wide, causes you to gasp, reaching your hand up to caress his cheek, his rugged stubble, his high, hectic cheekbones, rising on your toes to press your forehead to his, wiping away the moisture gathered from under his eyes, and nodding, giving yourself to him with a simple yes, one more kiss, as arthur scoops you up, thanking mother luck, grinning sharp into your lips.

the most precious possession, and he would do all in his power to keep it woven through him.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |10|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Ten: Ready or Not

warnings: emotional distress/grief, references to death, abandonment trauma, and - once again - shauna is still very much pregnant.

note(s): i love working on the adult timeline.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The note lay in the center of the empty lean-to, three words scrawled hastily on a torn piece of paper:

I'm sorry.

Misty found it just after dawn when she came to check on you, a gesture born less from concern and more from curiosity. You'd become something of a spectacle over the past few days—the girl who survived the fever only to exile herself from the group, the one who'd broken whatever strange spell had formed between you and Shauna.

"Well, shit," she muttered, picking up the note between her fingers as if it might bite. She glanced around the lean-to, taking inventory of what remained: nothing. Not your knife, not your extra pair of socks, not even the small carved animal Javi had made for you when you were sick.

Gone. All of it. All of you.

For a moment, Misty considered pocketing the note, wondering what kind of drama might unfold if she controlled this particular piece of information. But something in those two simple words—I'm sorry—made her hesitate. This wasn't a game. This was real, and dangerous, and potentially deadly.

"Fuck," she sighed.

------

"What do you mean, gone?" Taissa's voice cut through the morning air, sharp with disbelief. "Gone where?"

Misty held out the note, now slightly crumpled from her tight grip. "Just this. Nothing else."

The small group gathered outside the lean-to stared at the paper as if it might suddenly reveal more information. Nat snatched it first, her eyes scanning the brief message before passing it to Tai.

"How long?" Tai asked, looking to Misty.

Misty shrugged, adjusting her glasses. "No idea. I came to check on her this morning and..." She gestured to the empty space around them. "Poof. Vanished."

"She can't have gotten far," Travis said, already scanning the tree line as if expecting to see you emerge at any moment. "Not in the dark, not alone."

"You don't know her," Nat muttered, kicking at the dirt with the toe of her boot. "She's been hunting with us. She knows the woods."

"Not well enough!" The voice came from behind them, strained and tight with barely contained panic.

They turned to find Shauna standing at the edge of the clearing, one hand braced against a tree trunk for support, the other curved protectively over her swollen belly. Her face was pale, eyes wide with something that went beyond simple worry.

"Not well enough," she repeated, softer now. "She got lost three days ago just trying to find the stream."

No one mentioned that it had been during your fever recovery, that disorientation was to be expected. No one needed to. The implication hung in the air, heavy as storm clouds.

"We need to look for her," Shauna said, already moving toward the tree line. "Now. Before the trail gets cold."

Tai and Nat exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them. It was Tai who stepped forward, placing a gentle but firm hand on Shauna's arm.

"Shauna, you need to stay here."

"Like hell I do," Shauna snapped, trying to pull away. "She's out there alone because of me, because I couldn't—"

"Because you're nine months pregnant," Tai interrupted, her voice leaving no room for argument. "You can barely walk to the stream and back without getting winded. You're not going anywhere."

Shauna's face crumpled, anger giving way to something more vulnerable, more raw. "I can't just sit here while she's out there."

"You can, and you will." Nat stepped up beside Tai, presenting a united front. "We'll find her. You stay here in case she comes back on her own."

It was a hollow reassurance, and they all knew it. If you had wanted to come back, you wouldn't have left in the first place. Wouldn't have packed up every trace of yourself. Wouldn't have written that awful, insufficient note.

Shauna seemed to deflate, the fight leaving her in a long exhale. "At least take Lottie with you. She..." She swallowed hard, the admission clearly difficult. "She knows things sometimes. About where people are."

Tai's expression tightened—she'd never been comfortable with Lottie's uncanny moments of insight—but she nodded. "Fine. Lottie comes too."

As the group dispersed to prepare for the search, Shauna remained rooted to the spot, staring at the empty lean-to as if she could will you back into existence through sheer force of need.

Nat lingered, watching her with a mixture of concern and frustration. "This isn't your fault," she said finally.

Shauna let out a bitter laugh. "Isn't it? I pushed too hard. Wanted too much."

"She was spiraling, Shauna. Whatever was going on in her head after that fever—it wasn't about you. Not really."

"Then why did it feel like she was looking right through me?" Shauna's voice cracked slightly. "Like I was the one thing she couldn't stand to see anymore?"

Nat had no answer for that. She reached out awkwardly, squeezing Shauna's shoulder once before turning to join the others. "We'll find her," she promised over her shoulder, the words hollower with each repetition.

Shauna didn't respond, her attention already drifting back to the note clutched in her hand, to those two words that explained nothing and everything at once.

I'm sorry.

The search party set out just after breakfast, equipped with what little they could spare—water, a few strips of jerky, a compass Nat had managed to keep hidden from the others. Travis took the lead, Nat and Lottie flanking him, with Van and Akilah bringing up the rear.

Tai had wanted to come, but someone needed to stay behind with the younger ones. With Shauna. It was an unspoken agreement among them—don't leave Shauna alone, not now, not with the baby coming any day and her mind fracturing under the weight of this new loss.

"Which way?" Travis asked once they reached the edge of the clearing, looking to Lottie.

The girl closed her eyes, that familiar, unsettling stillness settling over her features. The others waited, shifting uncomfortably, none of them quite believing but none willing to dismiss her either.

"North," Lottie finally said, opening her eyes. "Toward the ridge."

Nat frowned. "That doesn't make sense. The ridge is exposed, dangerous. Why would she go that way?"

"Because she doesn't want to be found," Lottie replied simply, her gaze drifting toward the distant rise of land barely visible above the tree line. "She went where she thought no one would follow."

A heavy silence fell over the group, the implication clear. If you'd gone to the ridge, it wasn't just to get away. It was to ensure you stayed away.

"Let's go," Travis said gruffly, adjusting his grip on the hunting knife strapped to his belt. "We're burning daylight."

As they moved deeper into the forest, following Lottie's lead, Nat found herself thinking about the last conversation she'd had with you—her accusations, your defensive retreat. The way she'd walked away thinking you'd come to your senses eventually.

She should have known better. Should have recognized the look in your eyes for what it was—not just anger or fear, but resolve. The decision already made.

"I told her she was being an asshole," Nat said suddenly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the group.

Travis glanced back at her, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Yesterday. I found her moving her stuff to the lean-to and I told her she was being an asshole to Shauna." Nat kicked at a fallen branch in their path. "Told her she was throwing away the only good thing left out here."

"You couldn't have known," Akilah offered from behind them.

But Nat shook her head. "I pushed her. Just like Shauna did. Just like everyone's been doing since Jackie died. Like she was some fucking science experiment—how much pressure can she take before she breaks?"

"She didn't break," Lottie said, her voice distant, dreamy. "She chose."

None of them had a response to that.

Back at the cabin, Shauna sat motionless on the edge of her mattress, staring at the empty space where yours had been. Hours had passed since the search party left, the sun now high overhead, bathing the interior in harsh light that caught every dust mote, every imperfection.

Her hand moved absently over her belly, feeling the restless shifting of the baby inside. It had been active today, more so than usual, as if sensing her distress.

"She's not coming back, is she?" Shauna asked the empty room, her voice sounding strange in the silence.

Tai, who had been keeping a quiet vigil from the doorway, stepped inside. "We don't know that."

"I do." Shauna's fingers traced the edge of the note she'd read so many times the words had lost their meaning. "She's been trying to leave for weeks. I just didn't want to see it."

Tai moved to sit beside her, the mattress dipping slightly under their combined weight. "People say things they don't mean when they're hurting. Do things they regret."

"This isn't like that." Shauna finally looked up, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. "After the fever broke, something was different. Like she could suddenly see everything clearly, and what she saw..." She swallowed hard. "What she saw was me, suffocating her."

"Shauna—"

"No, it's true. I was so afraid of losing her like I lost Jackie that I held on too tight. And the tighter I held, the more she pulled away."

Tai was quiet for a moment, considering. "Maybe," she finally conceded. "Or maybe the fever fucked with her head more than we realized. People do strange things when they're not thinking clearly."

"She was thinking clearly," Shauna insisted. "For the first time since we got stranded out here, she was seeing things exactly as they are. She was seeing me exactly as I am."

The bitterness in her voice made Tai wince. "And what's that?"

"Desperate. Needy. Trying to replace one dead girl with another."

The harsh assessment hung in the air between them, too raw to immediately address. Tai reached for Shauna's hand, squeezing it once. "That's not fair. To you or to her."

Shauna didn't pull away, but she didn't return the pressure either, her hand limp in Tai's grasp. "Isn't it? Be honest, Tai. You've seen how I've been with her. Ever since Jackie."

Tai sighed, choosing her words carefully. "I've seen two people clinging to each other in a fucked-up situation. I've seen you care for someone who needed it. And yes, maybe sometimes that care was... intense. But it wasn't one-sided, Shauna. She needed you just as much."

"Until she didn't."

The simplicity of the statement made it impossible to argue with. Tai released Shauna's hand, recognizing that there was nothing she could say to ease this particular wound.

"They'll find her," she said instead, the closest thing to comfort she could offer.

Shauna nodded, the gesture automatic, empty. "And then what? Drag her back here against her will? Force her to stay with people she obviously wants to get away from?"

The question had no good answer, and they both knew it.

Outside, the day continued its relentless progression, shadows shifting as the sun moved across the sky. Inside, time seemed suspended, caught in the amber of Shauna's grief.

By mid-afternoon, the search party had reached the base of the ridge, a steep, rocky incline that marked the boundary of their usual hunting territory. They'd found signs of passage—a broken branch here, a disturbed patch of earth there—but nothing conclusive, nothing that couldn't have been caused by wildlife or their own previous excursions.

"We should split up," Travis suggested, surveying the terrain ahead. "Cover more ground."

Nat shook her head firmly. "Bad idea. We get separated out here, we might never find each other again."

"We're running out of time," Travis argued, gesturing to the sun's position. "Another few hours and it'll be dark. We'll have to head back."

The unspoken reality hung between them—if they didn't find you before nightfall, the chances of finding you at all diminished dramatically. One night alone in the wilderness was survivable. Two, maybe, if you were lucky, skilled. Beyond that...

"We keep going," Nat decided, shouldering her pack. "Together. Up the ridge. If Lottie's right, that's where she went."

No one questioned Lottie's guidance, not anymore. Not when they had so little else to go on.

The climb was arduous, the rocky terrain unforgiving. They moved in silence, conserving energy, each lost in their own thoughts. What they would say when they found you. If they found you. How they would convince you to come back, or if they even should.

Halfway up, Van paused, squinting at something ahead. "Wait," she called, pointing to a small outcropping. "Is that...?"

Nat followed her gaze, heart lurching painfully when she spotted it—a scrap of fabric caught on a jagged rock, fluttering in the light breeze.

They scrambled forward, Travis reaching it first. He carefully untangled the fabric—unmistakably a piece of the flannel shirt you'd been wearing when you left.

"Could've ripped it passing by," he said, examining the torn edge. "Doesn't mean she fell."

But they all heard the uncertainty in his voice, saw the way his eyes darted to the steep drop beyond the outcropping. A fall from here wouldn't necessarily be fatal, but it would mean injury, exposure, limited mobility.

It would mean they needed to find you, and fast.

"Spread out," Nat ordered, scanning the area below the outcropping. "Look for any sign of disturbance. Broken branches, disturbed earth, blood."

The last word hung in the air, ugly and unavoidable.

They worked methodically, combing the area foot by foot. The sun continued its westward journey, shadows lengthening, the air growing cooler with the approach of evening.

It was Akilah who found the next clue—a partial bootprint in a patch of soft earth near the base of a large boulder. Small, definitely human, heading not down as they'd feared, but along the ridge, following its natural contour.

"She's still moving," Akilah announced, relief evident in her voice. "And recently too. This hasn't been rained on or disturbed much."

A collective exhale passed through the group, tension easing slightly. You hadn't fallen. You were still on the move. Still alive, at least as of whenever you'd left that print.

"Which way was she heading?" Travis asked, examining the faint impression in the dirt.

Akilah pointed north, toward the far end of the ridge where it gradually descended back into forest. "That way. Away from camp."

Away from them. Away from Shauna.

"We should keep going," Van urged, already moving in the direction Akilah indicated. "We might be close."

But Nat hesitated, looking at the position of the sun, now noticeably lower in the western sky. "We don't have time. It'll be dark in a couple hours, and we're already pushing it to make it back to camp before then."

"So we make camp out here," Travis suggested. "Continue in the morning."

Nat shook her head, hating the decision even as she made it. "We can't. We didn't bring enough supplies for an overnight. And the others will worry if we don't come back."

"We can't just leave her out here!" Van protested, gesturing to the wilderness stretching beyond the ridge. "She's alone, maybe hurt—"

"She chose to be alone," Nat cut in, the words sharper than intended. "And from what we've seen, she's not hurt. She's moving purposefully, away from us."

The truth of it silenced Van's objections. This wasn't a rescue mission anymore. It was a pursuit, and an increasingly futile one.

"We'll come back tomorrow," Nat decided, hating every word. "First light. With more supplies, better prepared."

No one looked happy about the decision, but no one argued further. They marked the spot where they'd found the bootprint, using rocks to create an arrow pointing in the direction they'd need to follow.

As they began the journey back to camp, the mood was somber, heavy with the knowledge that they were leaving one of their own behind in the wilderness. By choice—both yours and theirs.

Lottie, who had been unnervingly quiet throughout most of the search, finally spoke as they descended from the ridge. "She doesn't want to be found," she said, her voice carrying in the still evening air. "Not yet."

"What does that mean?" Nat demanded, rounding on her. "'Not yet'?"

Lottie's eyes were distant, focused on something none of them could see. "It means she's not ready to come back. She's looking for something out there."

"Looking for what?" Travis asked, skepticism clear in his tone.

Lottie shrugged, that maddening half-smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Herself, maybe. Or something she lost. I don't know. But she's not ready to be found."

Nat wanted to shake her, to demand more concrete answers, but she knew it would be useless. Lottie's insights, when they came, were always frustratingly cryptic, impossible to force or direct.

"Well, ready or not, we're finding her tomorrow," Nat said firmly, turning back to the path ahead. "Before something else does."

Twilight was settling over the camp when they returned, empty-handed and exhausted. Shauna was waiting outside the main cabin, her vigil seemingly unbroken since they'd left that morning. At the sight of them—just them, no you—her face crumpled briefly before she schooled it back into a mask of control.

"Nothing?" she asked, though the answer was obvious.

Nat stepped forward, the unofficial bearer of bad news. "We found signs. A piece of her shirt. A bootprint. She was heading north along the ridge."

"Was?" Shauna caught the past tense immediately.

"Is," Nat corrected. "She's still moving, as far as we can tell. We had to turn back before dark, but we'll go out again tomorrow. First light."

Shauna nodded, the gesture mechanical, her eyes fixed on the darkening tree line as if she might catch a glimpse of you emerging from the shadows.

"She left a note," she said suddenly, pulling the crumpled paper from her pocket. "Just 'I'm sorry.' That's all." She looked up at them, her expression raw, vulnerable in a way that made them all uncomfortable. "Sorry for what? For leaving? For... for everything with Jackie? For us?"

None of them had an answer. Travis shifted awkwardly, mumbling something about checking the snares before slipping away. Akilah and Van exchanged glances, then followed his lead, murmuring promises to help with the search tomorrow.

Only Nat remained, watching as Shauna continued to stare at the note as if it might suddenly reveal new information, new meaning.

"She's alive, Shauna," Nat said quietly. "She's moving with purpose. That's what matters right now."

Shauna looked up, something hardening in her expression. "Is it? Is that all that matters?"

Nat hesitated, unsure how to navigate this new territory. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying maybe we should let her go." The words seemed to cost Shauna physically, each one dragged from somewhere deep and painful. "If this is what she wants—to be away from us, from me—then who are we to drag her back?"

"Shauna, she's one person alone in the wilderness. The chances of survival—"

"I know the odds," Shauna cut in. "Probably better than you do. I've been calculating them since the plane went down. Since Jackie died. Since every fucking thing that's happened out here." She pressed a hand to her belly, wincing slightly. "But maybe it's not our choice to make. Maybe it's hers."

Nat stared at her, trying to reconcile this fatalistic acceptance with the desperate, hovering Shauna of the past weeks. "You can't be serious."

"I'm just tired, Nat." Shauna's voice cracked slightly. "Tired of holding on so tight that I break things. Tired of needing people who don't need me back."

There was something alarming in her tone, a defeat that went beyond simple exhaustion. Nat stepped closer, really looking at her for the first time since their return. Shauna's face was pale, drawn, a sheen of sweat visible despite the cool evening air.

"Are you okay?" Nat asked, concern sharpening her voice. "You don't look good."

Shauna let out a short, humorless laugh. "Thanks. Always the charmer."

"I'm serious, Shauna. How long have you been standing out here? Have you eaten anything today?"

"I'm fine." But even as she said it, Shauna swayed slightly, one hand reaching out to steady herself against the cabin wall. "Just tired. And my back's been killing me all day."

Alarm bells went off in Nat's head. "Your back? Where exactly?"

Shauna gestured vaguely to her lower back. "Here. It comes and goes. It's nothing."

But Nat was already moving forward, taking Shauna's arm and guiding her firmly toward the cabin door. "It's not nothing. How long have you been having these pains?"

"I don't know. Since this morning? They've gotten worse, but—" Shauna stopped mid-sentence, her face contorting in a grimace as another wave of pain visibly washed over her.

"Fuck," Nat muttered, supporting more of Shauna's weight as they crossed the threshold into the cabin. "Tai! Van! Anyone!"

Her shout brought a flurry of activity—Tai emerging from the back room, Misty appearing from nowhere as she always seemed to do when there was a crisis.

"What's happening?" Tai demanded, rushing to Shauna's other side.

"I think the baby's coming," Nat said grimly, helping ease Shauna onto her mattress.

"No," Shauna protested weakly. "It's too early. It can't be now. Not when she's still out there. Not when—" Her words cut off in a sharp gasp, hands clutching at her belly.

"Early or not, it's happening," Misty announced, already pushing her sleeves up with an eagerness that would have been disturbing in any other situation. "Someone get clean water. And the medical kit. And any extra blankets or clothing we have."

As the cabin erupted into controlled chaos around her, Shauna stared at the ceiling, tears sliding silently from the corners of her eyes. Not from the pain—though that was substantial, building with each contraction—but from the crushing certainty that you wouldn't be here for this. That you had chosen the vast emptiness of the wilderness over her, over them, over whatever fragile connection had formed between you in the wake of Jackie's death.

"It's too soon," she whispered, though no one was listening anymore, all of them too focused on preparations. "She's supposed to be here. She promised she'd be here for this."

But promises, like everything else out here, had proven as insubstantial as morning mist. As fleeting as your presence in her life—intense and all-consuming one moment, gone the next.

Another contraction gripped her, stronger than the last, forcing all other thoughts from her mind. Distantly, she heard Tai barking orders, felt Misty's hands on her, checking, preparing.

"Breathe, Shauna," someone instructed—Van, maybe, or Akilah. "Just breathe through it."

As if breathing could fix this. As if anything could fix the hollow ache in her chest, the space you'd occupied now gaping and raw. As if bringing new life into this wilderness wasn't the cruelest irony when she couldn't even hold onto the lives already here.

The next contraction hit with stunning force, stealing her breath, arching her back off the mattress.

"Her water broke," Misty announced, the excitement in her voice barely contained. "It's really happening."

Shauna closed her eyes, surrendering to the relentless rhythm of her body's demands. Outside, darkness had fallen completely, the forest reclaiming its territory inch by inch. Somewhere in that darkness, you were out there. Moving away with each step. Lost to her, maybe forever.

And here she was, bringing new life into a world that seemed determined to take everything else away.

"I can't do this," she gasped between contractions, reaching blindly for someone, anyone to anchor her. "Not without her. I can't."

But her body had other ideas, the primal force of birth caring nothing for her heart's desires. Another contraction seized her, more powerful than any before, the pressure building unbearably.

"Yes, you can," Tai's voice reached her through the haze of pain, steady and certain. "You're doing it right now. And we're here with you. All of us."

All except the one person she wanted most. The one who had walked away into the wilderness, leaving nothing but those two inadequate words behind.

I'm sorry.

As the next contraction crashed over her like a wave, Shauna surrendered to the inevitable, to the inescapable forward momentum of life continuing, even in the face of loss. Even in the face of abandonment. Even here, in this desolate corner of nowhere, where nothing had gone as planned from the moment their plane had fallen from the sky.

The baby was coming, ready or not. And you were gone, choice made and path taken.

And Shauna, caught between these two immovable truths, had no choice but to breathe, and push, and somehow find a way to keep living in the space between what was and what might have been.

[marsprincess889]

Intuitive messages

Pick a group

This is for particular collectives and it may or may not be for you. You'll know if it is.

Calm your mind and go with the one that has the strongest but the most effortless pull.

Group 1:

Signs: trees, robin birds, archery, female characters from greek mythology, color red, short hair, dancing to playlists in your room, outdoors, have gone to woods recently or are planning to, plants, black headphones, red scarf or gloves, Pride and Prejudice, Robin Hood, sailing, Inej from Six of Crows(Grishaverse), green and brown, gracefulness, Red(Taylor's Version), USA, Canada. Names Bailey, Martha and Mary. INFP, ISFJ, ENFP, ENFJ, ISFP. Nakshatras: Ardra, Vishakha, Magha, Anuradha.

I had to write this quickly, I have not even chosen the pic for this group yet as I'm writing this.

Bailey, Martha and Mary(and variations of Mary) are the names I got.

Some things about you: you are a lighthearted person, most likely sweet and protective of your loved ones. I think you've recently come to terms with some repressed thoughts, feelings or general parts of yourself that you have been avoiding. It's like it gradually came into your conciousness, slowly then all at once.

"Bury the dirt and move on"

To be honest I'm just getting feelings and images/visuals, like scenes from what is happenning, but I have no idea what this sentence means yet.

Self-worth and wrapping up a cycle are playing into this. They are why this is happenning.

Have you ever felt that feeling when you're angry but you're happy that you're angry? It's like you feel euphoric because you feel like yourself again. And it also feels like aligning, effortless movement and relief. This is what I think you're feeling.

Scenario one: a guy(or a person of any gender, mostly I'm getting a guy) has dissapointed you and even though it hurt, you kind of knew it and now you feel like you can let him go in peace and joy.

Scenario two: family and friends have taken you for granted and now you feel like they're all missing out on you, but you start to feel better about it, even great, and you're doing perfect without them. You think, "their loss". Or, you're about to distance yourself from them to live your life as you want to.

Scenario three: you've experienced devastating pain regarding relationships or a relationship, most likely a friendship or something romantic. You feel sort of numb but slowly and surely you're gaining strength from it. This might have happenned recently or it feels fresh, or it just got reactivated, like, you've remembered what it feels like not long ago, maybe you've just started to proccess it now, maybe you realized something crucial about it recently.

One thing: prepare. Something is going to happen that moves you over to this next stage in your life. It's largely out of your control. It can look like nothing at all on the outside, but you're going to feel different. You will start to feel like you're respecting yourself more.

Images I'm getting that might be symbolic or meaningful for you, interpret them as you want/feel like💕:

At first I got you dancing in the woods with bare trees, with a house or cottage nearby. Do you have short straight black hair? Are you short?😄 do you have pale skin and small black eyes? Do you wear a red scarf, white coat/jacket and black headphones? I'm seeing you making tik toks?? This is the feeling that I talked about, about embracing your repressed feelings or thoughts.

I also got an image of a girl/woman with a different appearance practicing archery with a focused, determined, serious gaze.

Next I saw a ship sailing and a young woman there, looking like she turned a new page in her life, like she's decided on something.

This might be a message on how to handle those emotions, which I think for most of you, is mostly consistent of anger.

Don't let it consume you, but do not ignore it either, no matter how uncomfortanle it seems, no matter how much you think it'll halt your life, it's better to utizile it. It's actually your strength.

You're focused on something, determined and resolute.

Eyes on the horizon, mind hooked on that one thing.

It'll come, it'll go, it'll be_ what I got for your near future(?).

Basically, it is going to happen.

Yes, it's in your mind already, boiling inside or freeing you, it'll be real anyways. I don't know what it is though. Literal explanation would be travel, moving, adventure.

Power and freedom_ keywords for you.

I keep seeing a beautiful but extremely focused and serious gaze. You are not playing around.

I think you have prayed or tried to connect with God/universe/universal love, whatever you think or suspect is there. You've been reminiscing, and you're ready. For what, I still don't know. Something is going to happen that will feel relieving.

Someone here is going to recieve a gift that will make them absolutely ecstatic. Something about gold is connected to this. If not ecstatic, then you will at least be content, because I think it will have meaning for you, for most of you, symbolic. Something about wings is also symbolic.

Group 2:

Signs: gold earrings, white flowers, blonde hair, blue eyes, birds, bear, perfumes, roses, flocks of birds, pomegrantes, getting picked up by parents, nostalgia, boyfriend, UK(esp England), Brighton(in England), songbirds, bird sounds in the morning, swamps, creeks, turquoise. ESFJ, ESFP, ISFJ, ENFP, ISTP, ENFJ. Nakshatras: Chitra, Anuradha, Swati, Mula, Ashwini, Punarvasu.

Disclaimer: if this is not resonating, then you can stop reading, but if it is and you think you can take some constructive criticism, then stay.

I am getting the energy of a young girl or a woman who... basically representns "a spoiled brat" archetype. It might have only been a day or an hour or a small phase in the past, but whatever the situation, this is the energy I'm getting.

Also to note two of the nakshatras I listed above, Chitra and Ashwini: negative manifestation of their energies can lead to that behavior.

Anyways, I'm also getting this feeling of bottled up guilt and sadness about to burst.

If you have been cruel to someone and feel like it's way too late to apologize, then you should go do just that. It's either not late at all or the relief after apologizing will be healing in and of itself.

You have to let something out. Give yourself a break if you're feeling shameful. Shame is possibly the worst feeling to experience along with fear. Guilt however, is healthy, and an indicator that you want to change something in yourself.

I keep getting something about pink roses and straight blonde hair. Someone gave you roses? Then I think something went down, a fight or a misunderstanding and then I see that person with blonde hair in a car, bent over, maybe crying, maybe hiding their face from exhaustion.

You may have felt like people around you judged you too much. The truth is, we all have moments where we, unintentionally, do not see the whole picture and act in a way that is not in alognment with our honest, high truth. You probably regret whatever it was, and a lot of the time, the worst judgement comes from ourselves. I think at this point it does not really matter how or why other people judge you, not as much as how you judge yourself and what you think about it, how you feel about that whole thing.

If you have examined it in your head and heart, then you can be calm and make your decision from that state of relative peace.

One message I'm getting is that you should be mindful of not being ignorant of other people's feelings. Confidence is great, arrogance is not.

You should also be mindful of your tendency to get triggered when other people treat you the same way you treat them. You might get defensive and even insult people. Do you have a hard time accepting criticism? Well, it's not always personal, and you better double check before you critisize others.

Some of you are quite young and delight in laughing at others, gossip and/or bullying. It's time to grow out of that, and to start it by recognizing when you are behaving like that. Then, you should probably think about how much of it you like, how much of it is really you, and whether or not you like that about yourself.

A lot of the time young people(or some grown adults) do not recognize when "humor" or a habit is cruel. Sometimes they think they don't care. I think they will.

Reexamine misunderstandings in your life and start a new chapter with a clean page.

If that situation made you feel laughed at, ostricized and hurt, then you're probably not at all like what I've described above. I'm also getting an energy of a minority in this group_ people who feel bullied, misunderstood and stuck in an environment that shrinks them. Like the people who are the majority here, you might also have been like this in the past, but the past is inside you. For you, this is what I want to say: stay pure, stay yourself, love yourself. Know that your beauty, integrity, honesty, purity and worth are not diminished by their ignorance and cruelty in any way. You'll have a chance to get away, grow into someone you knew you always were and were meant to be.

Heal that wound, you should know how to. If not, give yourself space, it'll appear when it'll appear.

I'm restricted from talking too much about this, there's quite a serious energy around this.

I tried to channel a song for you but I'm getting that the song you should listen to is tge one that makes you think or reflect. It's an old song from a band for most of you. It also probably has a memory attached to it, a significant one.

Group 3:

Signs: a cross, earrings, castles, dirt, pikes, valleys, the word "never", tasting desserts, milk cream, angels, supernatural, fairytales, names Cass(Cassie, Cassandra), Penelope(female names beginning eith "Pe-"), red currants and blaccurants, places of worship(abandoned), 377, 435, fantasy, spirituality, books, knowledge, isolation/have been or felt isolated lately, feeling stuck inside yourself, medieval aesthetic, history lover/buff, UK, Ireland, Iceland, British Isles, France, Sweden, Poland, name Astrid, name Delia. ISFP, INFJ, ISTP, ISFJ, ENFP, INFP. Nakshatras: Ashwini, Bharani, Krittika, Rohini, Mrigashira, Punarvasu, Jyeshta.

This is my quester group, the adventurers, if you will.

There's something you're searching for: an answer, a question, the truth.

A lot of you have an insatiable mind and spirit, especially when it comes to knowledge and wandering, but I think none of you can tolerate dictating and people meddling in that process.

You've been feeling soft lately, more vulnerable but, ironally, stronger.

4 a à,Q (I accidently typed this but felt compelled to leave it, so, yeah)

I feel strongly connected to this group😭🙃🤍🤍

"I'm closer, returning".

I think you who's returning, returning somewhere where you feel home. And I think, it's either a really strong and influencial mental/spiritual shift or an actual physical move/travel.

Even if it seems small, it's going to be significant to you.

I think you have been looking for something that is elusive but existing. You have a lot of neural activity in your brain and emotions, you process a lot and are receptive to a lot. Consequently, you know a lot, even things you can't even explain to yourself, nevermind others. You just want an explanation, especially because whatever dots you're trying to connect are having more and more relevance to your life. Either that or it was relevant before and now it's getting relevant again. It this an idea or a concept? Maybe this is a system of thought, a science, it can even be astrology.

You value bravery, honesty to yourself and integrity. This somehow has relevance to you now, or this message.

"Let the wind take you"

I do not know what this is about😭 you might have noticed that I channel random sentences.

I just heard "pay close attention, focus" and I'm almost certain it was directed at me.

"They just want to learn"

😭 so you just want to learn. I get it, I definitely understand you. So how do you make sense of this world?

This is about you gaining some kind of knowledge that you at first don't know what to do with. It's a gift and a burden, like any knowledge, and it's also relevant to you.

Be careful of people who try to limit you or to get you away from what you want to learn. True wisdom is learned through experience and passivity.

I think you like to think in metaphors, aesthetics, stories, associations and feelings. This is never less valid then what most "logical" people consider true. In fact, such thinking is beautiful and valuable and its worth is beyond what "logical"(I'm putting it in quotes cause people who like to call themselves logical often tend to be close minded) people can fathom.

I do think that you are truly logical yourself, but you know the power of feelings and energetically sensing the vibration of people or things. Vibrations are real. Everything vibrates, everything has its energy. The fact that your receptivity is developed enough to pick up on those seemingly insignificant details is magical. This is more common than people suspect. What they label as "vibes" is more than just a vague description. More than that, you live and breathe through that information, you can't help but see through those lenses.

And so, where is the point in all of that? Beauty, and you know that there does not have to be a point.

But I think you'll be validated by whatever knowledge you're about to come across. Make sure not to be swept off by the excitement of things making sense.

Breathe in, breathe out, you don't have a problem with that.

The thing that I think is really beaitiful about you guys is that you do not get lost in mental definitions and know that real life and its mysticism is where everything happens.

I don't think you're into manifestation culture. If you are, you're not going to be stressed out by it anymore, or you'll abandon it.

But I don't think it matters a lot to you anyways. You are quite independent, so, conventions? You effortlessly avoid them.

"Find the truth, the secret lock".

"The base of what happened it out in the world"

"To look into buildings that are barely standing, you'll have to want to realize the truth".

"Something is approaching, the clock is ticking, time does not wait, you are still searching".

"Away from the crowd but among the people"

So take these sentences or leave them, but a little elaboration on the last one: you might strongly dislike big cities or small spaces there, because I just keep seeing green hills, meadows, grass, beautiful daylight, old churches, ruins of castles and churches. Look into the countries I've listed above in signs.

People in those places where you do not feel overwhelmed are your people.

Or they don't have to be, but that's where the "main story", "the action" is for you.

Sybolism in fairytales or fantasy stories or patterns that you find there might reflect your life.

Blessings to you, have a blessed and safe journey, may you fulfill your quest.

Please, let me know which group you chose and if (and how) it resonated.

[fel-09]

Hello! I have a request! Reader found abandoned wargs puppies (However many you want) and because they are a soft heart took them in and raised them. The wargs grew up to be very strong and loyal. Now Reader does not go anywhere without them, but does put gear (blankets and saddles) to make them look like horses from afar. How do you think Thranduil would react to seeing a *insert race* being protected by large wargs in battle.

The battlefield smelled of blood and iron. Elves moved like silver ghosts, cutting through orcs with the elegance only their kind possessed. Amid the chaos, Thranduil’s gaze flickered over the clashing forces, his mind sharp, calculating.

Then, he saw you.

At first, it seemed as if you rode a great horse, your form moving swiftly through the fray. But something was… wrong. The creature beneath you did not gallop with the elegant gait of a steed. It moved with a predator’s grace, muscles coiled, powerful limbs tearing into the earth.

Then, another followed. And another.

Not horses.

Wargs.

A dozen of them, their dark forms cutting through the battlefield like shadows, moving in perfect sync with your every command. Their massive frames, once hidden beneath simple gear and cloaks, now bared sharp fangs as they tore into orcs with ruthless efficiency.

Wargs, fighting for you.

Thranduil felt a rare flicker of something he could not name. Disbelief? Curiosity? Even admiration, perhaps. Wargs were foul creatures, bred for darkness, yet here they were—shielding you with unwavering loyalty, as if you were their pack leader.

A snarl tore through the air as one of your wargs lunged at an orc, tearing it down before it could strike you. Without hesitation, you leaned down, brushing your fingers against the beast’s head before urging it forward again.

It was a sight both unnatural and mesmerizing.

As the battle ended and the field fell into silence, Thranduil approached, his steps deliberate. The wargs growled low, but did not lunge. Their hackles remained raised, but they did not act without your command.

Your hand brushed over the largest one’s fur, a silent reassurance.

— "They will not harm you."

Thranduil met your gaze, unreadable as ever.

— "No," he murmured, eyes lingering on the beasts at your side. "But I wonder, do they protect you… or do you protect them?"

You smiled—a quiet, knowing thing.

— "There is no difference."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, his gaze swept over the wargs once more, before returning to you.

— "Strange are the bonds that form beyond the will of the world," he finally said. "But I will not stand in the way of what I do not yet understand."

And with that, the King of Mirkwood turned, walking away, while your wargs—your family—stood ever at your side.

Royal Dilemma

The gardens of Mirkwood were a sanctuary of order. Every tree, every bloom stood untouched by chaos, shaped by the patient hand of time and elven care. Here, beneath the dappled sunlight, Thranduil stood in rare solitude, his fingers brushing over the petals of a pale golden blossom.

And then, the peace shattered.

A rustle of paws, a series of quick, excited yelps—before the king could react, he was surrounded.

Small, shaggy bodies weaved around his legs, tails wagging furiously. Warg pups—your warg pups.

Thranduil inhaled slowly, schooling his face into practiced neutrality.

— "No."

One of the pups—larger than the others—tilted its head, tongue lolling. Another nudged his cloak with a wet nose, letting out a sharp, eager bark.

— "I said no."

A third pup, utterly unimpressed with the authority of the Elvenking, promptly flopped onto his boots, rolling onto its back with a dramatic huff.

Thranduil exhaled through his nose.

This was beneath him.

This was absurd.

And yet, when another nipped playfully at the embroidered sleeve of his robe, he found himself sighing in something that was neither frustration nor true reluctance. Slowly—regretfully—he crouched.

The pups swarmed him immediately.

A brush of fur against his palms, warmth pressing into his legs—one even attempted to clamber into his lap before he swiftly, and with dignity, set it back down. They were unbearably persistent, these creatures, their enthusiasm relentless.

With a resigned grace, Thranduil ran his fingers through the thick fur of the nearest one, trying—and failing—to smooth its wild coat. The pup huffed contentedly, leaning into the touch. Another nosed his wrist, demanding the same attention.

A mess.

A disaster.

He was the ruler of Mirkwood, the guardian of an ancient kingdom. And here he was, in the heart of his gardens, utterly surrounded by warg pups.

And yet… when he glanced up and saw you standing at the edge of the grove, watching with barely concealed amusement, he did not immediately rise.

Instead, he met your gaze with something unreadable—something that, perhaps, was not entirely displeased.

— "You will take them back now."

You smiled.

— "Eventually."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. The pups wriggled closer.

The king of Mirkwood sighed.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

The rest of the day was a relentless assault—not from orcs, not from darkness, but from you and your endless amusement.

Every time Thranduil attempted to restore his dignity, you were there, leaning against a tree, arms crossed, a smirk playing on your lips.

— "You know, I never thought I’d live to see the great Elvenking reduced to a royal warg-sitter."

Thranduil straightened his robes, as if that alone could undo the chaos that had unfolded in his once-pristine gardens. The pups, wholly undeterred by his rank, continued their mischief—chewing at the hem of his cloak, pawing at his boots, one even making a determined attempt to climb onto a stone bench as if it were a throne.

He cast you a glare—one that might have struck fear into the hearts of his warriors.

You did not so much as flinch.

— "They are insufferable," he declared, brushing stray fur from his sleeves.

You tilted your head, feigning deep thought.

— "They seem quite taken with you."

A low, impatient sigh.

— "They do not understand the concept of rank."

— "No," you agreed, stepping closer, your grin widening. "They just understand who is kind to them."

He stilled, the words settling in the air between you.

The pups, oblivious to the gravity of the moment, continued their invasion. One flopped dramatically against Thranduil’s leg. Another yawned and sprawled over his foot, utterly at peace.

And you—oh, you were enjoying every second of it.

As the sun dipped behind the treetops, casting long shadows through the garden, you leaned in just enough for your voice to drop into something almost conspiratorial.

— "You know," you mused, barely containing laughter, "if you ever decide to step down as king, I think you’d make an excellent warg herder."

Thranduil closed his eyes for a long, measured moment.

Then, with the patience of a ruler who had weathered wars, betrayals, and now—this—he exhaled.

— "I will remember this insolence," he murmured, but there was no true menace in his voice.

And when you threw your head back in laughter, bright and careless, he found that—for today—he would allow it.

[livesincerely]

“Is that them?” a voice shouts. Eddie glances up from where he’s just finished splinting the last kid’s wrist to find a heavy-set white guy storming towards them, literally spitting with anger. “Are those the shitheads that destroyed my construction site?”

“Sir,” Eddie says, moving to intercept. “Sir, I understand that you’re upset, but you need to stay behind the barriers.”

“You’re damn right, I’m upset!” the man yells. There’s this acrid stink of unbridled rage wafting off of him like the worst kind of body odor, the vein in his forehead throbbing furiously. “You fucking delinquents, do you have any idea what you’ve— Hey! Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

“Sir,” Eddie says again, voice firm. “This is an active emergency incident. You need to step back.”

“Three weeks behind schedule, hundreds of thousands of dollars in the hole,” he says, still screaming at the very top of his lungs. “And you’re treating their fucking booboos? I want them in handcuffs! I want them behind bars!”

“Sir, please calm—“

“Don’t tell me to—!”

The—obvious, inevitable, for fuck’s sake, really?—shove barely even phases him, but the heel of his boot catches on a piece of debris and his back foot goes skidding out from underneath him. His arms fly out as he fights for balance, bracing himself for a hard fall.

Instead, he lands against a firm, familiar chest.

“Do not,” Buck growls in a low, dangerous voice, because of course Buck’s here right as Eddie needs him, always watching his back. “Put your hands on him.”

He can’t quite smell him between the dust in the air and all the blockers he’s slathered on, but it doesn’t take a genius to identify a supremely pissed off alpha. Asshole Civilian must realize it too because his beady eyes go wide, his lips turning pale and thin as all the blood drains from his face.

“I— I was just—“

Buck tips Eddie back onto his feet, strong hands lingering on his hips for a moment as if to make certain he’s steady before pulling away.

“Firefighter Diaz told you to move back behind the barricade,” Buck says, his expression thunderous as he gets right up in the guy’s face. He’s got, maybe, four inches on this guy, but with the way he looms over him, it might as well be four feet. “I strongly suggest that you follow his instructions.”

Any intelligent person would cut their losses, scurrying away with their tail between their legs. But this guy proves himself to be a special type of stupid.

“This is my building,” he protests in a voice like a wet paper towel. “I have a right to expect—“

“Half of your building fell into a sinkhole,” Buck cuts in, thoroughly unimpressed, “and the other half is on fire. The entire area is under the purview of emergency personnel until further notice, and any interference,” he continues, “is considered an obstruction of justice. And attacking a firefighter is felony assault.”

Idiot Asshole Civilian makes a noise that’s somewhere between a gurgle and a wheeze, and somehow manages to pale even further.

“So, you can either calm down and find somewhere out of the way to wait for an update, or I will personally escort you off of the scene and directly into the back of the squad car. Your choice.”

He’s incredibly sexy like this: all protective and righteous on Eddie’s behalf, his cheeks flushed with fury and his lip curling like he’s barely holding back a snarl. If it weren’t for three-alarm fire blazing steadily behind them, he’d climb him like a fucking tree, right there in front of god and everbody.

“Down boy,” Eddie murmurs instead, pressing a hand to his chest, because when Buck starts to snap and snarl, it’s Eddie’s job to tug on his line and haul him back. “I think you’ve more than made your point.”

For a moment, he’s not sure if Buck will let it go. His nostrils flare like a dragon defending its hoard, his eyes flashing from blue to red and back again between one blink and the next.

He grinds out, “Back. Behind. The barricade.”

Then he turns on his heel and stalks away, disappearing into the throngs of first responders.

[trulyumai]

Protector of his Woman

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler x Reader

Synopsis: Leaving the kingdom was a choice, but leaving his wife? Out of the question.

Warnings: Talk of violence/Death.

Enjoy!

“Does thou take me for a fool?” 

The pale flame stood tall, beside him his wife gripped onto the forearm placed in front of her frame. She stood just behind said man, looking away from the escalating scene. Too distracted by the swiveling trees and smell of pine wafting through the air. 

“Of course not, your grace! Its, well, your mother thought it best-”

“My mother disgraces me with such a request, yet is unfit to be present?” 

The golden soldier gulped, a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his brow, illuminating his face with a light sheen. 

“N-no, she traveled to the capital today, y-your grace.” 

The knight squinted. His posture was rigid and offended by the mere man's presence. 

He stood on their porch, by their house and demanded his attention to the capital? 

How offensive, how misinformed how- 

“Husband?” 

The burning flames hushed beneath his palms as the attention diverted from the man, to the small women beside him.

“Wife,”

With half lidded eyes, the man moved a hand towards her backside and rested it upon her lower spine. The aura shifted, the heat died down and the ambiance of nature could once more be heard. (Rather than the sizzling of a flame that grew onto the man's digits.)

“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad visit. It has been a while since our last outing.” He felt the strokes upon his arm, soothingly moving up and down, up and down. 

“Leave us,” Messmer didn’t need to look up once more, as the soldier fled down their stone walkway. 

“She insults us, thou knows of her intentions.” 

His gaze stuck to her lucky honeydew on bread, it stayed there globbing onto each detail. Her eyes were bright today, full of light and love. Yet there was also worry there, and Messmer bit his tongue for placing such a feeling onto her. Her form sagged beside his, most of his arm held her body up, halting it from falling upon the rocks.

“She does,” a pause

“But she’s your mother, to not make an appearance would surely soil your reputation, my love.” 

“Have I not done enough? The bodies that lay upon the mountains, are they not proof of my unwavering loyalty?” His voice raised, startling the shorter woman, moving forward he gestured his hands around their vicinity. 

“All of this, all of it! It's safe because I deemed it so. Not the lord Godwyn, Not the unbeatable Melania. Me. The beholder of flames! Yet thee can be ruined- butchered, for not returning to an unloving kingdom?”

Mouth dry, she tried to speak- to comfort the rising temper of the man but no words budged. His eyes burned bright, they looked right through her. 

“No. I will not be returning, dear wife. For my place is here, by your side, in this house that I built for us,” Cautiously the knight placed himself back in front of her, and to her surprise, bent down on his knees. 

“Messmer! Get up this instant, your knees-”

A big palm covered her lips, its texture rough and calloused. It was so warm compared to the nipping air around them. And although she tried to be mad- she really did, it was hard when such a warmth was comforting to the girl. 

“My wife, I will protect thy until the flames of this land die out, until there's no one left but us to occupy such a fool of a kingdom,” 

“However,” 

The bigger man's hand dropped from her lips, both of his limbs instead wrapped themselves around her being, until his elbows molded together. 

“Do not ask me to leave your side again. Promise me.” 

“Husband… I simply canno-

“Promise me!” The man shouted, his grip tightened fastly around her.

Her nails dug into the man's wrists, and although she wasn’t in pain, his fervent yet fierce attitude scattered her mind. She wasn’t used to such a ferocity of emotion emitting from the man, aimed at her no less.

“I- I promise, I promise my love!” 

As if those were the words he was waiting for all his life, the man crumpled beneath her frame, his head buried between the ripples of her dress, with his nose digging into her stomach. 

She didn't know just how far such a devotion could- would go for the maroon knight. 

For how could she see the future, wrapped in nothing but flame and immorality?

“I  adore you, little wife,” Yellowed iris’ glanced upon her delicate ones. 

A laugh broke out between her lips, enchanting the man entirely.

“And I you, Husband.”

As if starved the man leaned up quickly; hungrily, to lock his lips against hers. Broken skin connected with softened and smooth, Messmer moaned out in content. 

If his wife was to be the end of the world, he would be her weapon. His flames would bathe her with as much loyalty he could give. 

What would he need a broken kingdom for, when such a devoted wife lay in his arms?

[wonnieluv]

Goodness knows, the wicked’s lives are lonely - Sim Jake

Summary: Jake Sim doesn’t know what year it is, he doesn’t know what month it is, he doesn’t know what day it is, and he doesn’t care. Ever since that fateful day in 1692, he stopped caring. Now, it’s 2024 and he’s grown more violent, more vengeful, more cold, more… alone

vampire!Jake x fem!reader

warnings: death, themes of reincarnation, blood, y/n’s life is not easy, suggestive, biting, kissing. lmk if I missed anything

masterlist

The smell of fire was overpowering, screams echoed off of the trees but they were not afraid, no… they were… excited, passionate, enraged.

He remained where he was, hidden in the trees as he watched the people march through the forest, his forest. They carried torches that burned an angry shade of orange against the trees.

The angry crowd halted at a large tree deep in the forest. Not much could be seen from the back of the crowd, but through the smoke, a young girl could be seen climbing a platform. Her tear streaked skin illuminated by the glow to the torches as the crowd shouted curses at her.

“Burn the witch!”

“Kill that spawn of Satan”

As she looked upon the sea of angry faces she once knew. The smiles she used to see now replaced with scowls as their mouths cursed her.

In the midst of her thoughts she failed to feel the toughness of the rope against her neck until it was too late. Harsh hands shoved her off of the platform. Her told hands keeping her from struggling as she was left there to die

“what… have you done”

An angry voice boomed from deep within the woods. He stepped out onto the path. Fangs gritted in a snarl, claw-like hands bared, eyes glowing a bright red due to the reflection of the fire form the torches. His aura was fierce and intimidating as he approached the crowd. He was angry.

Without hesitation he immediately began to kill. Clawing hands clawing the chest of anyone who dared step in his path. Fangs plunging deep into the necks of every person in his sight.

By the time he laid your body on the ground, your head in his lap; tears no longer fell from your eyes. The heat that once warmed his palms as he caressed your cheeks has now almost completely disappeared. Your eyes still wide open as they gazed up at him as his own tears began to wet your pale cheeks.

“I’m so sorry… I didn’t protect you… I couldn’t save you on time my love…”

“Return to me please… Y/N…” He finished with a final kiss to your forehead as he lay you peacefully to rest.

From that moment forward, Sim Jaeyun would proceed to break every single promise he once made you.

He began to feed on humans again as he did before he met you, only this time, he was far more violent, more cruel, more… wicked.

࿎

Within the vampire world, there are councils and laws to regulate how much human blood vampires were allowed to consumed within certain time frames as the consumption of human blood has the ability to increase a vampires powers.

Sim Jaeyun no longer cared for the rules. He fed, and fed, and fed, and fed. He recklessly killed any human he wanted whenever he wanted. He didn’t care. No matter how many he killed, he couldn’t satisfy the need for revenge.

In response the higher powers banished him to an eternal prison deep in the forest where he now resides.

“They say he is bound by a magical barrier and is unable to leave the woods. They say that’s why the woods are off limits because you can no longer be protected if you step into the barrier. They say- what?! I’m not done yet” the older boy sneered at the 4-year-old who eagerly raised a hand.

“W-well what about his family. Does he get to see his mom and dad?” She asks with wide eyes

“Are you serious” the boy scoffs “He’s a monster, a wicked, blood-thirsty monster. He’s better off alone. Anyways as I was saying…”

You had heard many of the tales of the castle nestles deep within the forest. Whether you believed them or not, you were still unsure. All you know, is that the castle exists and anyone who has ever step foot in the forest has not lived to tell the tale.

Now, at the age of 20, you stare out the window at the looming spires you can see just over the tree line from the window of the orphanage you work in. The orphanage you once called home- well, still called home. Your life had been nothing easy.

Since you can remember, you’ve lived within the walls of the orphanage. No family in the town wanted to adopt you, so, you found yourself staring out the window wondering what life was like in the rest of the world. What life would be like when you finally escaped this forsaken town.

Now, as you stumble into adulthood, you’re not sure if you ever will. You were smart enough, forced to quit high school halfway through to help the older women with the young kids at the orphanage.

As December came with the cold whisper of winter, things proceeded to go as they always did. That is, until the prized daughter of the mayor of your town disappeared into the woods one night. The mayor had decided enough was enough.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, we shall sacrifice a loyal town member, a pure member of our community to try and please whatever lays beyond the edges of the forest”

I pity the poor soul who’ll end up being sacrificed due to the madness of this town. You thought as you continued to clean.

What you didn’t expect, was to be the poor soul stood at the edge of the woods while the entire town beckoned her to step in. To walk the old path to the dark castle deep in the forest. But who were you kidding no cared for an unwanted orphan anyways

You held your head high and stepped onto the path. Faint footprints of the forests last victims still visible as you trudge through the cold. You don’t look back, you don’t cry, you just walk.

You keep your eyes ahead of you, bracing for whatever lies ahead of you. Eventually the footprints in the snow disappear. Maybe the last victim didn’t make it this far, or maybe the snow covered them. You opt to believe the second option in naive optimism.

The first gets thicker as you move further into the forest until you make it to the one place you never imagined you’d ever be. The castle.

In that instance you hear rustling behind you. As you turn around, the last thing you see is the movement of black fabric against the wind before the whole world goes dark.

࿎

It’s been 331 years and 90 days since you were taken away from him but who’s counting.

Jake is. Does he know what year it is? No. Does he know what month it is? No. Does he know what the date is? No. All he knows is it’s been

331 years and 90 days since you were taken from him.

331 years and 90 days since he’s vengefully killed every human who put you to death.

331 years and 90 days since he has felt any emotion other than hatred and anger.

You see to him, loving you was the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Having you by his side was more important to him than drinking human blood, than hearing the screams of fear and pain as he drained his victims, than having people cower at the mention of his name.

But you were gone…

And now here he is, banished to these woods where he can only feed on the few foolish humans who attempt to prove he doesn’t exist.

Very few animals live here anymore, he killed them all.

He lounges around the castle until the scent of his next meal hits his nostrils, he rushes to claim his next victim before returning the castle and waits around for the next one.

This has continued for years, probably centuries at this point, but again… who’s counting?

Here he is today, he could sense the presence of a large group of people outside the forest, maybe this time he’ll have a feast on his hands. He smirks at the thought. He decides to take his time with this one. Why not play with his food a little?

Well that was the plan, until he smelled something. A scent he hasn’t smelled in 331 years and 90 days.

it can’t be…

Before he knew it he was standing behind a young girl in a white cloak as she trudged along the path shivering in the cold with nothing but a lantern to light her way.

“Y/N” he whispers to himself

He continued to follow you silently as you continued on your way towards his castle. Your scent was intoxicating. It has taken every last bit of self control for him to not bring you into his arms and turn you for eternity as he should have over 300 years ago. But he resisted as he knew, you aren’t the same person he once loved.

As you reached the bottom of the palace steps, he stepped out of the shadows. He noticed your body trembling as your features have become pale due to the cold of the winter. In a blue of panic and impulse he rushed to you. The next thing he knew, your body had fallen limp in his arms.

He just sat there. On the steps of his castle with your body limp and cold in his arms. The image reminiscent of that day he lost you for what felt like an eternity.

He rushed inside the castle with you in his arms. He laid you gently on the bed in the bedroom he kept as his own (despite the fact that he doesn’t sleep). With panicked eyes and shaky hands he tended to you. Wrapped you warmly in the blankets and even lit a fire in the fireplace while surrounding the bed with candles to keep you warms.

Once he felt he had done enough, he sat on the floor next to the bed and help your hand in his as he stared at you. He wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms and hold you once again, but he knows that wouldn’t be fair to you, so he’ll wait. He’s waited an eternity to see you again, what’s a couple more hours until you wake up?

࿎

Hell. That’s where you’ve deemed you are. In the deep pits of hell. Your body sweating, your head throbbing. The first thing you see when you open your eyes is red. Red walls, red furniture, red blankets.

Where in the 50 shades am I…

You use your hands to help yourself sit up, or… you tried to. As you look to your left hand you see it’s being held… by another hand. When you trace the hand to its owner your met with the pale face and dark eyes of a man you’ve never seen before.

“Oh my god!” You immediately jump back

“No no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you…” he immediately stands up trying to reach out to you

“Don’t touch me!” You continue to back away from him until you reach the other end of the bed. You immediately stand up on wobbly legs

“Please sit back down. I’ll explain everything! your body is still recovering form the cold…” he says in a panicked manner.

You look into his eyes as you try to read him but you can’t. Yet for some reason, your mind is giving you no reason to not trust him and your heart… your heart is urging you to move closer to him.

You only partially listen to your heart as you sit back down on the edge of the bed.

“Who… who are you?” You ask

He sits next to you, leaving a reasonable amount of space before he answers.

“My name is Sim Jaeyun… but you can call me Jake... and I’m the vampire who resides in this forest.” He softly explains

Your breath hitches “so the stories were true…”

“Mmm” he hums in response

“So you’ve killed all those people… all this time… and I’m next…?” You don’t look at him as a tears trickles down your face. You know the answer already but you still asked.

“Yes… I did kill all of those people… but no… I’m not going to kill you” He says as he slightly inches towards you and reaches up to wipe your tears.

You slightly flinch at the contact of his hand on your face before your body subconsciously relaxes into his touch.

“Hey… look at me” he cups your face with both of his hands guiding you to look at him “I won’t kill you. I would never kill you. I can’t lose you… not again…” his voice trails off at the end

“…again…?“ Your head snaps up as you try to search his eyes for an answer

“I’ll explain that in time but… you need some warmer clothes and some food” he points to a bathroom behind you “there’s clothes in there for you. I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen when you’re done” he smiles as he rises from the bed.

You almost want to pull his wrist back, missing to feeling of him being near you but you remind yourself this is a deadly vampire.

I’m the moment your stomach grumbles.

Well if he poisons me at least I’ll die with a full stomach

࿎

After changing into new warm clothes, you make your way to the kitchen. The smell guiding your nose to the spacious kitchen where you see Jake cooking… ramen?

“I didn’t know supernatural beings ate ramen? I thought you were bound to this forest?” You try to suppress a giggle

He whips his head around in surprise not hearing you approach despite his heightened senses.

“Oh! Uhhh… yes… well no… I’m not bound. I can leave the forest I’m just invisible to humans. They can’t see me… I can’t touch them” he scratches the back of his neck. You could’ve sworn that if he had blood running through his veins it would’ve rushed to his cheeks.

“It was the first thing I saw when I went to get food” he said sheepishly “if you don’t like it I can go get something else!” He rushes out.

You just laugh at this point. How are you supposed to believe this is the feared vampire that has terrorized your town for generations. This man who doesn’t look over 23 years old, who’s fumbling over making ramen for you… a monster…? There’s no way.

“W-what’s so funny” he says with a nervous smile

“There is no way in hell that you are the monstrous vampire everyone is afraid of… this has to be a prank” you turn around “okay guys! Jokes up! This was funny-”

You barely finish your sentence before your back comes in contact with the counter behind you. You wince slightly and when your eyes open again Jake’s face is hovering above your own adorning a devilish smirk.

“I wish I could prove you right darling…” he chuckles as you feel his breath fan your face “but unfortunately…” he lowers his head to whisper into your ear “I am the monster”

A shiver runs down your spine as you put your hands on his shoulder to support yourself as his head dips down to your neck.

“And I could kill you too…” your breath hitches as you finally feel the sharpness of his fangs graze your neck as his hand cradles your head to keep it in place “but I’ve waited too long to have you with me again”

He leaves a light kiss on your neck before lifting you up to sit on the counter with him in between your legs “so… you should get used to it my love…”

The next thing you know he’s off of you and back to tending to the ramen you had long forgotten about as you’re sat stunned on the counter.

“Now you should eat and get more of your strength back” he smiles at you as he sets a bowl down for you on the table.

You snap out of your daze and hop off of the counter to sit at the table and eat the ramen. You say nothing as your stomach takes over and you begin to eat. As you’re halfway through the bowl you notice he’s staring at you.

“What?” You say as you swallow the next bite.

He blinks out of his trance and clears his throat “oh… nothing”

You continue to eat as he glances at you. You know he’s trying to not stare at you but you decide to not ask about it quite yet and you focus on eating the delicious ramen in front of you.

࿎

After you’ve eaten Jake guided you back to the bedroom you were in earlier.

“You should sleep for now. You’re probably still recovering from the cold earlier” He goes back to the fireplace to tend to the fire to keep the room warm for you.

“How do you know my name…?” He freezes at your question

“W-well… you told me earlier… remember?” He says as he turns back to the fireplace

“No. I didn’t... also I’m not gonna be able to sleep if you don’t answer some of my questions so… why avoid it”

He sighs turning to you “fine… but please… just… ugh” he groans out “no questions until the end”

You nod. He gestures for you to sit on the bed and you do. He sits down with you taking a deep breath.

“I knew you a long time ago” he starts looking out the window. An unfamiliar light in his eyes.

“How long ago?”

“Over 300 years ago”

Your eyes widen at his answer

࿎

Your heart raced in your chest as you ran through the forest. Your lungs burning. You had stayed out far too late and now it was dark. You had to make it home by morning so your only option was to go through the forest by yourself in the dark.

Not far into your journey, you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. Without looking back you ran with everything you had. Unfortunately the light of the moon shining above you was obstructed by the thick trees and you tripped on a branch you had not seen.

“Well well… look what he have here…” a man chuckled from behind you.

You turn around and begin to back away seeing two men begin to close in

“No please!” You try to beg

“Look at her… she’s so scared. I bet her blood’s delicious” his tongue poking out to lick over the prominent fangs as the two of them immediately rush at you picking you up and pinning you to a tree

“No…” you flinch bracing to feel the pain but the next thing you know, their hands are off of you…

You look up and see another man fighting both of them off.

“Stop hunting in my territory if you know what’s good for you” he seethes

“Next time you won’t be so lucky Sim” one of the two men spat out as they both turn and in the blink of an eye disappear into the forest

The man they called Sim turned to face you. “Are you alright…”

You flinch back as he tries to approach you “please… just let me be on my way”

He says nothing as he scoops you up into his arms “hold on tight m’lady”

You obey as you lock your arms around his neck. You feel a breeze as he rushes through the forest with you in his arms. It’s all so overwhelming so you bury your head in his neck and close your eyes

“We’ve arrived darling…” he gently lets you down. You open your eyes and immediately recognize the entrance to your town.

“How-? I-I… Thank you sir-” You turn to properly thank him but he had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared in the first place.

You searched for weeks for him until one day you stumbled across his hut in the woods.

He did everything in his power to get you to stay away but you were stubborn. You showed up at the same time every Tuesday and Saturday and just like that… his undead heart began to yearn for you.

He had fallen in love with you. He knew he would do everything to keep you by his side. He loved you passionately as if you’d disappear at any moment until one night… you did.

He searched endlessly for you until he found your scent parked with the smell of… smoke?

“They hung you… someone accused you of witchcraft and that was the end of it…” he breathed out

“The day they took you from me… I vowed to never protect a human the way I had protected you…” you could sense the anger in his voice as he continued.

“I-I didn’t know what to do… I was so angry so I just killed. I killed and killed and killed. All of them-” his words were interrupted by a sensation he never thought he’d ever feel again for the rest of his cursed eternal life

Your soft, warm lips on his

But before he could kiss you back you had pulled away.

“Jake…” you look into his eyes with tears in your own as you hold his face in your hands.

You places on of his hands over your own as he looked into your eyes and for the first time in 331 years and 90 days, a tear slid down his cheek.

“Y-you were- are my everything… and they just took you away from me… I didn’t know what to do” you continue to hold his face in your hands as you wipe is tears as they fall.

You maneuver him to lay down on the bed as you lay with him resting your head on his chest. His arms immediately circle your waist.

“I can’t lose you again” he says as he buries his head into your hair.

“You won’t have to… they all probably think I’m dead…” you say with a hint of sadness lacing your tone.

“What to you mean… they would want to know you’re alive” he runs a hand through your hair

You shake your head as tears of your own form in your eyes “I was sacrificed… to you” you look up at him

You see an immediate shift in his features to anger “how dare they… those filthy humans… they should know better that one sacrifice wouldn’t have been enough anyways, I’ll kill them all some day-”

“Hey hey…” you cut him off “maybe it’s for the best…”

“Y/N… how is this for the best… don’t get me wrong, I’ve yearned for the day I could have you here all to myself for all of time but… that’s not fair to you. What about your family… friends…” he caresses you cheek as worry laced his tone.

“I don’t… have any… I’ve been an orphan my whole life Jake… I’ve been… alone my whole life”

He sits in silence. The anger coursing through his veins only gets stronger hearing you recount how lonely your life has been but he decides to say nothing about it this time. Instead… he utters the words he’s never uttered before…

“Let me turn you… my love. Spend an eternity here… with me…” he says with a kiss to your forehead as he gently caresses your waist where his arm lays.

You look at him. You’ve known this man for a matter of hours, he’s given you no reason to trust you because granting you the ability to keep your life… so why… why do you believe every word that comes off of his tongue. Why do you want to say yes and spend the rest of your life by his side cursed with eternity as you live out your days with him in the castle. Why do you want to let him turn you into the monster everyone believes him to be…

Maybe because… he never was a monster to you. Because you knew deep down as you heard the tales, the whispers of his name on the street… that there’s more to Sim Jaeyun. You’d spent your entire life alone… Jake had spent 331 years and 90 days alone. Maybe, just maybe, he’d make you as happy as he did in your supposed past life.

Your heart speaks before your brain has the chance to…

“Please… let me spend the rest of eternity with you.”

He brings you into a passionate kiss. You can feel every emotion flowing from him. The love he holds for you, the yearning he has felt all this time, the pain he’s felt due to you not being here with him, and the desperation to have you as close as possible.

As he turns your bodies to lay you onto your back he breaks the kiss and looks deep into your eyes

“I’ve waited for this day, for centuries… but I cannot undo it once it’s done my love…” he says as he caresses your cheek once again “are you sure you want this?” He asks searching your eyes.

You nod with a soft smile “Yes Jake… I’m sure”

He smiles before giving you a soft peck.

The next sensation you feel is like fire across every part of your body. It burns but it doesn’t hurt. The venom of his fangs sinking deep into your skin as you link your fingers with Jake’s in one hand and grasp onto his hair with the other. The sensation like nothing you could describe. It was uncomfortable yet soothing. It coursed through your veins until you felt across every inch of your body, and then all the sudden… everything went cold.

As Jake detached from your neck, you could see with blurred vision the blood dripping from his fangs before he rolled over to the side and pulled your back to his chest. With one last kiss to the back of your head he whispered

“Sleep for now my love, when you wake… you will be hungry…”

With that you let your eyelids close knowing that when you woke… Jake would be right there beside you, where he would remain for all of eternity.

This was like 10x more suggestive than I wanted to be so sowwy

tags: @chlorophylliaa

[leqonsluv3r]

naughty little bunny

re4!leon kennedy x innocent!fem reader

— a oneshot

warnings: MDNI, 18+, dom!leon, sub!reader, reader is innocent but not stupid, established relationship/dynamic, unprotected sex, leon calls reader bunny, spitting (if you squint), praise, degradation, knife play, reader is female (she/her) pronouns used, spanking, scratching, some aftercare, reader has hair long enough to pull (but no other descriptions).

“she was quiet, like a rabbit. she was methodical with her actions. almost seemingly innocent as she used his knife to hide behind her back. almost as if she was going to stab someone, she heard a noise. a creak in the house. she was tiny, fragile and defenseless except for the knife sheathed behind her frame. she was ready to leap, to pounce until she heard his voice. "bunny..." slow and mercifully calling to her. she was damned.”

— or leon catches reader using his knife and decides to punish her for it

an: this is so long awaited it’s crazy, sorry for the delay my lovelies <3

masterlist taglist

she lays in bed, her body pulled tight under the covers, her body laying in a string of pale skin and tight limbs. she has hickeys over her bare body, her long hair strewn across the pillow. she keeps her eyes closed and opened as she awakes.

another morning of just lying in bed, naked and exhausted as her petite body recovers from leon’s punishment from last night. she smiles weakly at the memory, her body resting against the black sheets.

his touch ghosting over her skin from the night before. he left early in the morning as he always does. it makes her sad but she knows better, he works and does the things he does so she’ll never live like she did before.

he does it for her, he loves her deep down. even if he never says it out loud, she knows.

it’s the same everyday, she stays home. she cleans and cooks, lounges on the couch. it’s not like she didn’t want to just be a stay at home…girlfriend. but he insisted when they’re arrangement got more serious, giving that his undisclosed job was dangerous.

she didn’t ask questions. she knew better, she knew that he was protecting her. keeping her in his possession out of the fear that she would find someone better. which wasn’t possible in her mind.

she knew things, but things she probably shouldn’t because of how private he was. how much he kept things under lock and key, for her own good? probably. she could see the look in his eyes sometimes when he came home from his “work-trips”.

this look that said everything without saying anything at all. he had seen things, things that were probably beyond her comprehension. of course she had questions, doubts, who wouldn’t?

he spoiled her, gave her a home and started taking care of her. giving her a less shitty life. she doesn’t know where it’s going or why he chose of her of all women. two years ago seems so far away now, so not real and she doesn’t know if she’s just numb to it now, or if she’s just too happy with the sex, love and money to care.

eventually, she gets out of bed, pulling the black sheets off of her bare body that’s covered in hickeys and marks of leon’s love. she grabs her pale pink silk robe from the chair and ties it around her bare body.

she looks around the bedroom, sighing. he didn’t even leave a note this time. she thinks to herself as she opens up the curtains to the bedroom, looking outside at the large front yard. the large trees rustling as a small wind blew through them. her flowers that she planted in the garden; a mix of tulips and lilies.

she loved the little additions she had made to his home, their home, even after two years she had to keep reminding herself that she lived there too. even if he did pay for everything.

she protested at first, wanting to contribute, but he told her he was okay with it. that his job paid enough, so she didn’t argue. he didn’t protest when she started picking out furniture, buying her clothes, letting her plant flowers and start a small garden.

he would just smile, nod and hand his card over to her. he never argued. it was when she didn’t follow his orders that he got…upset. he would punish her, even though she was supposed to hate the spanks that left her ass red and bruising, she enjoyed it.

even though she knew deep down she shouldn’t, but she didn’t really care anymore. he was always gentle and rough in the times where it really mattered. she deep down craved it, knowing that if she ever did decide to leave him, she’d never be the same again.

he was unlike anyone she had ever met before. she moved to the bathroom attached to the bedroom, padding her bare feet across the cold tile. she took a minute to look at her appearance in the mirror. the hickeys had swarmed all over her neck like a necklace of some kind.

she lets her fingers trace them with a light touch, sending shivers at the memories of the look. she cracks a small smile. she knows that she is never going to ever forget this, forget his touch.

but she wonders, even if deep down he could ever tell her that he loves her. that he could emotionally open and just tell her. she’s gonna have to find out. but until then she’s just going to wait.

and hopefully he will.

she hopes.

later in the day, she finished cleaning, working in her garden. then she came back in, took a shower. she then blowed dried her hair and styled it as she liked. she put on a tennis skirt and just a tank top and decided to maybe take a nap for a little bit.

she was already exhausted and she had only been up and around for six hours. she let her body relax into the black duvet cover of the bed on her side. her body relaxing into the sheets again as she tried to take a nap. she needed it, at least she felt like she was obligated to it.

she had done what she needed too, taken care of almost everything about the house. she sighed and rolled to face away from the window and moving her face to press into his pillow on his side of the bed.

she inhales him on his pillow, smelling the leon smell that came with him. she smelled the hint of his cologne on the sheets and the subtle smell of his shampoo. it was hard not having him around most of the times. he had taken a week off two months ago, and that was the best week of her life.

just sex, food, sleeping and just them.

but inhaling him now, on the sheets in the bed they shared. it was almost like a drug, a small dose of it that left her wanting more.

she groaned into the sheets, upset. “fuck…” she sighed as she rolled on her back, she looked up at the ceiling of their bedroom. could he be any slower getting home? she thinks as she lets her hands drift to her inner thigh underneath her skirt.

just then as she’s about to get closer to where she really wants her hands, a slam echos through downstairs and she jumps out of bed. her heart pounding in her body as she scrambled over to where leon kept his knifes and other small weapons.

she reached into the drawer and grabbed the knife, holding it behind her back and clicking it open as she quietly opens the door. she carefully creeps down the hallway, her blood pumping fast in her veins.

her breath running fast through her throat, as her heart pounds in her ears. she creeps down the stairs. he usually called out when he was home, or he didn’t slam the door as hard. she didn’t know if it was him, if it was, he was home early.

she keeps the knife of his blade right behind her as she moves, creeping steadily as her breath comes out short. she rounds the corner to the kitchen slowly, looking to see leon standing there.

she breathed a sigh of relief and put a hand over her heart, “thank god.” she breathes out, causing him to turn around and look at her with raised eyebrows. “you okay, bunny?” he asks with a small crooked smirk on his features.

she moved the knife from behind her back to click it shut and hold it, concealing it in her palm. “i just thought you were an intruder.” she chuckles nervously as she looks at him. running her free hand over her face.

“your lucky i’m not.” he mumbled as he dropped his work bag on the counter and looked over at her. her body sheathed behind the corner to the kitchen, she hides her palm with his knife there.

“i suppose.” she hums as she smiles softly at him, her body resting half against the wall. she sheathes the knife in her palm, “your acting weird.” he observes as he looks her over with a trained eye.

she swallows and shakes her head, smiling nervously, “no i’m not, i’m just…your home early. i didn’t expect you to be.” she says with a small avert of her eyes to her feet. he clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a small smirk, he slowly saunters over to where she is.

“give it.” he says sternly as he towers over her, holding out his large hand. “i know you have something that your not supposed to. give it.” he says in a still stern voice, his blue eyes piercing into hers like knives. she feels her panties dampen at his command but she shakily obeys him, moving her palm to give him the concealed knife.

she lays it in his palm, removing her hand and letting it drop back by her side as everything within her screamed: this isn’t good. he’s mad, abandon ship! but he just sighed and shook his head as he looked down at one of his knives. “why did you have this?” he says in a low voice, holding it up in his hands in front of her face.

she shakily breathes, “i thought you were an intruder, like i said.” she says in a small breath as she looks from the knife to him, praying to god that he wasn’t mad or upset with her in any capacity. he chuckles dryly, his blue eyes glimmering a little as he raised an eyebrow at her, “and you thought a knife was going to do something? do you even know how to use this?”

he held up the knife and even clicked it open for emphasis, her breath failing her, her panties dampening at his voice. “n-no? i mean, i’ve seen movies and stuff, i thought it was…pretty simple.” she explains with a small nervous smile as she moves a little on her feet.

he hums in amusement, a grin forming on his face. “it’s anything but simple, baby. you wouldn’t stand a chance against someone with just this knife.” he says in a almost menacing voice. he holds it up to show her but then he quickly moves it to her throat.

she sucks in a breath and her eyes go wide as she looks at him, she looks at his face with fear as the cold metal kisses the pale skin of her throat. she tries to move her head against the wall to get away from the edge of the knife. “they could turn it on you in a second.” he snaps with his free hand to emphasize his point as he looms over her on the wall, she can barely feel the edge of the blade on her skin.

“i-i get it…can you…can you please get it away from me? this isn’t…funny.” she manages to get out nervously as she looks up at him, trying to be aware of the knife against her throat.

he eyes her, nodding slowly, still keeping that smirk on his face. “i’ll take it off after you learn not to put your hands on my knives when you don’t even know what the hell your doing.” he says in frustration, the veins on his arm constricting as he presses the knife in a little.

she felt her blood pumping faster and faster, her heart pounding in her ears. she nods slowly as she’s frozen in fear and she looks up at him. she knew that this was going to end up in a punishment like it always did.

she squeezed her eyes shut as she felt him drag the blade down her throat. she feels the cool metal over her collarbone and onto the bra strap peeking out beneath her tank top. she shuddered as she felt him let it go under the bra strap and the tank top strap, and with one foul swoop he sliced it open.

she gasped as the bra and tank top snapped under the blade on one side. she let her chest heave up and down in fear as she felt arousal going to her core. he watched her face, seeing her flushed cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

he knew he was having an affect on her. he wasn’t stupid. he had been with her long enough to know when she was aroused from being punished.

“oh? you like the knife huh?” he says with a mocking tone towards her, running the blade of the knife to the other side of her chest and snapping the other side of her bra and tank top strap off. she flinched again, sucking in a breath and sending daggers his way.

“i’ll buy you a new one.” he says as if he can read the look in her eyes. she was obviously using the fact that he cut her bra off the knife as an excuse to be mad. just so he maybe wouldn’t punish her as bad, yeah, not gonna happen.

she swallows a whimper as he runs the knife over her hot skin and chest, he pulls the ruined tank top and bra down, showcasing her breasts to him fully now. “oh my, gorgeous girl. these fucking tits…” he trails off as he makes a small noise.

“perfect titties baby, all mine.” he says in a low voice as he runs the back of the knife over her nipples, the metal from the knife makes her release a small moan. she can feel them hardening, her pulse pumping from the danger and the sensation.

he chuckles lowly, “you like that? mmm, of course you do.” he says with a small look of amusement in his eyes, his hand moving the knife away from her entirely. “go bend over on the countertop, bunny. strip. you need to be punished.” he says in a demand, not as a question.

she feels her pussy pulse around nothing, practically dripping and needy at this point, a blush covering her face as she walks over to the kitchen island, stripping off her ruined tank top and bra, then sliding her skirt down her legs, then her underwear that are practically soaked through by now.

she lets them pool on the kitchen floor, he watches this with a small smirk of satisfaction and approval on his face. “bend over. you know the drill.” he says with a small grin, she nods slowly because she does know the drill, she knows what happens next.

she’s practically eager for it.

so she bends over the island in the kitchen, her nipples and breasts pressing against the cold surface and making her shiver. goosebumps erupting all over her skin at the cool air of the kitchen, her pussy and ass exposed to him as he slowly walks up behind her.

he clips the knife shut and puts it on the kitchen table before walking up behind her and rubbing his hand over the curve of her ass. “such a beautiful little ass. i think im gonna paint it red.” he says with a low voice as he grins. she bites her lip and feels his words go straight to her pussy.

he then lifts his hand up after a couple moments before bringing it down and smacking her left cheek hard, making her squeal a little. she gave up on trying to keep her noises inside, it was pointless. “mmm,” he licks his lips, rubbing over the red mark on her ass that was slowly forming.

“needs more red.” he says with a smile that was anything but genuine or gentle in this moment. he lifts up his hand again and brings it down on her right cheek this time. this causes her to release a noise mixed with a moan and a whimper. “oh bunny,” he lightly smacks both of her cheeks this time.

“this is what happens when you touch my stuff.” he says with a small mocking pout, she can’t even see his face but she can hear the cockiness, assertiveness dripping from his voice like molasses.

he spanks her again, and again and again.

until she’s practically leaking down the inside of her thigh, her cheek is pressed against the cool countertop and she’s gasping and whining. he clicks his tongue, not denying how his erection is painfully throbbing in his work pants.

“i think you’ve learned your lesson, bunny. what was it again?” he says with a small hint of amusement in his voice as he rubs his hands over the flesh of her ass, soothing over her reddened cheeks.

she sniffles and bites her lip, nearly making it bleed. “not to touch your stuff.” she manages to get out in a strained voice, he nods and smiles. “very good.” he says with a small little tap of her bare hip.

“turn around and lay on the counter for me. you’ve learned your lesson, now it’s time for your reward.” he says with a small grin, unbuttoning his pants. she nods slowly and shakily slides to stand up and turn around on her feet, wobbling a little. he braces a hand on her bare hip, “easy now, don’t fall.” he says with a small smile.

she knows he’s being a little nicer now, but she knows the switch is going to flip again and he’s gonna fuck her until she can’t walk or see straight. which is exactly what she wants and craves. and she feels relief now, relief that she wanted deep down in her bones. this was her kryptonite.

she swallows, hopping up on the counter and feeling the cool marble against the flesh of her red and stinging ass. she hisses through her teeth but accepts it and lays back, her long hair splayed throughout the counter as she feels the marble kiss the delicate skin of her back.

“good girl.” she hears him say as he pushes his pants and boxers down, looking over her body with a small bite of his lip. his praise went straight to her core, her body making her leak all over the countertop.

he released his hardened erection from his boxers, her teeth bit down on her lip in long awaited anticipation of what was about to come. he was always big to her, nothing could match how he felt inside of her.

she was practically drooling at the sight of it, keeping her legs spread on the countertop as she leaned off of her elbows. her bare back coming in contact with the cold marble countertop, as he stepped between her spread legs.

“my sweet little, bunny.” he hums lowly as he runs his hands over the plains over her stomach, admiring the way she shivered beneath his touch. “soaking all over the kitchen, so fucking messy…” she hears him say as he runs the head of his dick through her folds, making her release a small whimper.

“please. just…fuck me…” she manages to get out as she wiggles a little bit, her fists clenched uselessly at her sides as she waits for him to stop teasing her already. he shakes his head, spanking her ass lightly again, “your not in any position to make demands right now, bunny.” he says lowly, almost dangerously as he strips off his t-shirt, tossing it on the floor.

he jacks his cock a little, running the tip over her soaked folds again. the tip catches her clit and it makes her release a small moan. his low tone making her pathetically clench around nothing, she almost hated how him being mean made her so wet.

he leaned over her as she laid on the counter, his length resting hard on her folds as she feels him run his fingers over her cheek in a soft caress. “you gonna be a good girl? accept your reward?” he says with a small daring raise of his brow, an evil smirk settling onto his angelic features.

she doesn’t even have to think before she’s nodding, desperately wanting him inside of her. she wants to feel consumed by him, feel him hold her, feel him absolutely bruise her cervix. she doesn’t care anymore, her thoughts are just; him, him, him. and all on repeat.

he hums lowly, moving a little which causes his dick to prod at her soaked opening. she instinctively grabs onto his bicep at this and releases a pathetic little noise, “mmm, gonna stretch you out all over again. make sure your body doesn’t forget me.” he says in a low rasp as he leans down and lets his hand caress her jaw.

her body melts at his words, her pussy reacting to it more then herself. he taps the side of her jaw as he leans over her, “open.” she doesn’t even have to think either before she’s opening her mouth and he’s releasing spit into her open mouth.

“now swallow and then i’ll fuck you, bunny.” he says demandingly as she closes her mouth and swallows, feeling his saliva slide down her throat. she sticks out her tongue for him, showing him that she did it. he nods in an affirming way, reaching down between them and sticking just the tip in.

she almost would see stars if her eyes weren’t open, she’s sure of it. she feels her mouth fall open, her head rolling back. he pushes in just a little bit more and she wraps her ankles around his back, her hands sliding around and onto his back.

“taking it so well, knew she’d remember me.” he says in a strangled voice as he furrows his brows, pushing into her more until she was filled to the brim with him. all she could think of was she was so full, her nails slightly digging into his back, her eyes fluttering open and shut beneath him. the praise making her pussy and her head swim in delight and lust.

she could only release a strangled noise, he caresses her hair out of her eyes delicately as he leans over her, letting her adjust to his size again. “doing so good, baby. your so good.” he says in a small strangled release of his voice.

she whines and makes noises that would make a grown man blush scarlet as he pumps in and out of her at a punishing pace. his long and thick cock hitting that spot inside of her that made her see heaven and earth. her nails digging into his back and scratching deep, he lets out a low groan at this.

it doesn’t slow him down, just eggs him on. he keeps moving his hips, hitting that spot inside of her over and over again. her head is empty, all she can think of his him and his dick, feeling so fucking full and just euphoric.

“you close, bunny? gonna come all over my cock?” he says in a strained voice, she can tell he’s close too. he wants to feel her come around him, let her climax push him over the edge. she nods rapidly and releases lewd noises at his words, he reaches down and grabs her thigh that’s wrapped around his waist, pushing it up higher.

the new angle making her practically draw blood on his back, his chest heaving over her as he grunts and groans, making her whimper. every hit and punch of his dick to her cervix is bringing her closer and closer. he reaches down between them with his free hand and rubs her clit.

the sensation does what it’s supposed too, flinging her over the edge as she releases cry after cry, moaning and feeling tears of desire leak out of her eyes. she clenches around him as she comes, he groans and buries his head into her neck.

“so fucking good, gonna come inside, baby. paint your pretty walls white.” he growls against her skin as he picks up his sloppy and stuttering pace, her fingernails still digging into his back as he fucks her through her orgasm to chase his own.

his words making her back arch and her spine stiffen as he finally comes with a few more languid thrusts. releasing a small moan into the skin of her neck. his cum filling her up, making her fuller then ever and she can feel it. the familiar and foreign feeling that feels oddly comforting in a way she can’t describe.

she feels him press a small kiss to the skin of her neck, kissing his way up gently to her lips. his chest heaving from his previous release as he looks straight down at her, her eyes connecting with his in a way that makes her blush. makes her feel embarrassed after so long but oddly connected.

“i love you. you know that right?” he says and finally, finally her confirmations are there. her head moves to nod, looking up at him with a languid smile, “i know.” she whispers, her mouth dry. both of their skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the sex they had just had.

but the words ring out in her mind like gunshots, making her wanna cry. she doesn’t but she finally knows, all the actions and things he’s said since they’ve been together have been solidified. she feels like she could die a happy woman if she passed away right now.

he smiles, a rare occurrence, down at her. he leans down and presses a slow kiss to her lips, tasting her and conveying another message through his actions instead of his words.

after he pulls away from the kiss, he slowly pulls out of her. it leaves her oddly vulnerable and cold, he notices the change and grabs a paper towel from the roll on the kitchen island and wipes the inside of her thighs and where she was leaking with his release.

“feel better?” she hears him ask, she nods with a small lovesick grin on her features. she absolutely feels better. not a thing is wrong for her right now. she feels like she’s where she needs to be, right here with him.

“yeah, much better.” she says softly, a scarlet covering her cheeks as she sits up on the counter. this prompts him to pull his boxers and pants back up, tucking himself away. “i love you too…” she starts and his head peeks up and looks at her as she sits on the counter.

a cheeky smile before she continues, “in case you didn’t know.” she adds with a small giggle. he rolls his eyes playfully and steps in between her bare legs, moving some of her sweaty hair away from her forehead, “i did know babygirl, but thank you for telling me.” he whispers sweetly.

and he’s only sweet with her, she knows that. she knows she is special to him, just as he’s special to her. his girl, his bunny, his love. everything that he wants her to be, she’ll be for him. and she’ll do it with pride. because he loves her and she loves him just as much.

if not more.

an: go to this post to join the taglist (also linked at the beginning with my masterlist), pls reblog and follow for more, my asks are open in my bio. i missed posting oneshots, this one (amongst others) has been sitting in my drafts for the longest. so my apologies. i love you all <33

taglist: @heartsforvin



[natalievoncatte]

The first time Kara Danvers touched Lena Luthor was seared on her memory. Lena had offered her hand in the usual way and Kara took it, but it was no ordinary handshake. Her grip was firm, but not controlling, and her flesh was warm, almost feverish. The handshake was like Kara herself- bold and brash at first, then softening, letting Lena take the lead almost with a sense of relief.

(Later, in a darkened room with an empty whisky bottle by her head and a broken picture frame clutched to her chest, Lena would realize that had *not* been the first time that Kara had touched her; the first time was to save her, rescue her, protect her, to bend steel one moment and reassure a terrified woman the next, and that first touch had set a tone for the others, a surpassing tenderness she didn’t deserve)

The next touch she remembered was Kara gently tapping her shoulder on a restaurant terrace. Lena had tensed at the brush of fingers on her shoulder, looking up sharply with a stabbing fear in her gut- it was the first time she’d dined out casually and publicly since her brother committed a literal crime against humanity. She wouldn’t dare do something so ordinary in Metropolis; she’d be lucky if there were only protesters with signs as she was leaving. Only when she arrived in National City did she let her guard down, both literally and figuratively. Kara’s impossibly soft fingers on her bare shoulder jolted her from her reading and she felt that spike of terror for just a moment before she met a pretty smile and those lovely, strangely haunted blue eyes greeting her.

Lena had built walls of steel and stone and pain and the woman who came from the sky took them apart touch by touch, not with fists but with back-pats and handshakes and hugs until there was nothing left but a bare soul, exposed and raw like a frayed nerve, with only Kara to protect it.

The next time it happened was at a gala. It wasn’t an important one and Kara was frankly bullshitting Lena by asking her to tag along to “report” on the goings-on. Lena knew it would be painfully boring for Kara because it was painfully boring for her.

That was what she thought, anyway, until Kara, bold sweet Kara, rested a guiding hand on the small of Lena’s back and lit up every nerve in ending in her body like a Christmas tree, as she defensively stood proud next to Lena, towering over her and the randy city councilman both. She wouldn’t know until later, much later, why Kara had seemed so much more herself, more true, in that moment.

After that was one of the most painful nights in her life. Lena had always known she was trash, that she was nothing but one of Lionel Luthor’s by-blows; sometimes she could hear Lilian at the funeral, snarling at her that she only existed because her father was a second too late to waste her on her mother’s thigh where she belonged. The world didn’t care about her hospital or her charity work or the effort she’d put into making her company a positive force in the world. Someone told them she poisoned the children and the goodwill was gone in a puff of smoke like the thin, gossamer thing it had been. Once a Luthor, always a Luthor.

Then Kara was there, a living, loving fortress of bone and muscle and love, wrapping Lena so tightly in a shield of pure compassion that she could have survived anything, that even as the tears fell she knew that she could live in a world that hated her so long as this one person could would love her so much. Kara carried her through that storm and more besides.

That was also the night that Lena began using her own touch as a substitute, a pale imitation of the one she wanted from Kara but knew she would never have.

But they did not always touch.

Later, after more hugs and more lingering hands and shared dances, they would sit next to each other for nights of games or movies, and their friends would begin to make innuendos and begin to stare and Lena let herself pretend that the touches were more than they were.

In the darkest hours of the night Lena would lie in an empty bed and pray for touches.

Then the worst thing happened, and she denied the touch. Kara reached out, meaning to console, to comfort, to protect, to make it all better with her maddening power, but there was no fixing it. In the frozen tomb that was Kara’s arctic fortress, Lena buried Kara alive in a green hell and wished never to be touched again.

But her anger did not last forever. It never does. They fought, they argued, Kara ruined her plans, called her a villain, resisted her at every turn… but never touched her. Those soft hands were never laid upon her in anger and there were times when Lena almost wanted it, just to feel them again.

Then one day Lena saw too much and learned too much and the enormity of what she had done came down upon her, rushing in on her all at once, and she was as raw and naked and pained as she had been that night long ago when she first realized what Kara’s touches meant.

When she rushed back to the rent controlled side of town, going on foot for fear her brother would learn of her destination if she took the car, she only had wanted to set things right. She knew she didn’t deserve what she’d already been given and would ask no more.

Kara was waiting for her. When she opened the door she stood tall, jaw set, hair down over a pastel cardigan. The effect of Supergirl’s stern, righteous conviction garbed in the soft, inviting form of Kara made her heart do a flip, almost made her run, but she held her ground, feeling like a child begging forgiveness from a hurricane.

Lena stood before the open door, trembling and shaking, tears cutting red lines down her cheeks as she explained herself.

She didn’t expect Kara to touch her, so when it happened she flinched, almost yelped. When those powerful arms wrapped around her, it was as if nothing had changed, but everything had changed, because for the first time, Lena touched her back.

Lena touched her back without fear or reservation. She touched her back without the nervousness that came with hugging her Straight Best Friend. She hugged her back without deceit. She hugged her back with absolute conviction, saying with her arms and hands what her ever broken heart could never speak in words.

Kara’s touch answered her. She cupped Lena’s chin with a softness, a gentle control that no human could ever have, even as she closed the apartment door with such intensity that it left a hand print in the metal. The touches changed; they were no longer announcements but conversations, exchanges, dances and music at the same time. The world became a blur, a dreamscape of hands lifting her from the floor and relieving her of her coat and laying her on a bed, each caress a declaration that Lena answered with her own.

When their lips met, Lena poured into them every thought, every desire, every pain, every longing. She would have swallowed Kara if she could, climbed inside her, and Kara’s hands and lips begged and adored and instructed and finally, after, in morning sunlight, Lena buried her face in a sleeping Kara’s shoulder and wept her joy and freedom, because at last she was home.

When Alex came and Kara told her that Lena would help them safe the world, they were holding hands.

They would be holding hands again much later, after much love and loss and hope and joy, when Kara closed a delicate bracelet around Lena’s wrist.

[ghostchems]

blood and cookies

written with copia in mind but can be any papa. if you read, let me know which papa you imagined! this idea came to me in the middle of the night. 1.2k words. nothing crazy here except for some bloodsucking :) happy holidays!

Flames crackle in the fireplace, casting shadows on the simple garland draped across the mantel. A single, plain red stocking hangs from one corner - the extent of your Christmas decorations. You zone out in the direction of the display from the kitchen as you remove your oven mitts, placing them on the counter. A chill rolls down your spine despite the warmth of the cookies cooling in front of you, sugar cookies shaped like trees with green and red sprinkles. They're typical Christmas cookies, the only kind you trust yourself to bake.

Recently, you've had a visitor every couple of nights. They aren’t the kind to stick around, showing up because they *needed* something from you. You wonder if your dabbling in the darker arts attracted them— ever since moving here you’ve found yourself attracted to the strange herbs and mushrooms that grow wild in these woods. You've learned to identify them, to harvest them properly, and to learn what they are used for - spells that are meant to give protection and tranquility.

The knowledge feels ancient, like it's been waiting here in the soil for someone like you to discover it. Sometimes you wonder if it was a trap all along but you are enjoying your new hobby. Long winter nights are hard living deep in the forest with your closest neighbor miles away, but you make do with your DIY witchcraft. Sometimes you enjoy the solitude while other times you wished you had someone to share it with. That is, until some of your evenings have been interrupted by a mysterious visitor.

You hear fluttering from the living room and quickly move to scoop some cookies onto a plate. Smoothing out your apron with one hand, you take the plate in the other and head toward the fire.

A figure stands near the fireplace, his one otherworldly white eye glowing in the darkness. Dark wings stretch behind him, their leathery surface creaking as they fold against his back. He is like a living shadow, his form seeming to blur at the edges where the firelight touches him. He's never spoken. You don't even know his name but his visits have become more frequent. At first it was once a month, then every other week, and now he visits at least once a week.

“Good evening,” you say softly, placing the plate of freshly baked cookies on the small table beside your armchair. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the air, mingling with the woodsmoke. His white eye follows your movement, and you notice the slightest tilt of his head — perhaps in curiosity, or appreciation. “Help yourself. I will, uh, get you some warm milk.”

You turn back toward the kitchen, your feet padding quietly across the wooden floor. As you warm the milk on the stovetop, you can't help but wonder if he'll still be there when you return — he sometimes disappears as silently as he arrives. The gentle crackling of the fire and the soft clink of the plate behind you suggest he's staying, at least for now. It doesn’t take long for the milk to warm, and you pour it carefully into your favorite ceramic mug — the one with pale green mushrooms painted all over it, their caps dotting the surface in cheerful reds and purples.

When you return, he's closer to the fireplace and two cookies are missing from the plate with a few crumbs on the table. There’s a sense of relief that he liked them enough to eat more than one. You place the mug of warm milk on the table carefully, having learned he isn’t too fond of sudden movements. That doesn’t stop him from moving with inhuman speed right up to you, causing you to gasp and stumble back a step. His wings unfurl slightly, casting strange shadows on the walls.

"You are hungry," you whisper to him, your eyes scanning his face. You can see more of him now—the white and black paint that clings to his skin. He gives a low rumble in response, coming from deep in his chest. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. His eye narrows slightly, the otherworldly glow intensifying for just a moment. You know what comes next.

He crowds close to you, his wings curling around you like a dark embrace. His gloved hand gently tilts your head to the side, exposing your neck. You feel his impossibly cool breath against your skin, causing you to shiver. His other hand pushes the strap of your apron to the side and leans in, lips against your skin. The touch is gentle but cold, like winter frost against your warm flesh.

He kisses your neck. This is new. Usually, he just bites and drinks, a simple transaction of blood for company. But tonight there's something different in the way his lips linger against your skin, the way his hand cradles your head. The gesture is almost tender. You find yourself leaning into his touch, your hands reaching up to steady yourself against his chest. His fangs graze your neck, almost as if asking permission.

"Yes," you whisper, "you may."

His fangs pierce your skin with practiced precision, and you gasp at the sharp sting. All feeling melts away in moments. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket as he drinks deeply, the sound of his satisfied grunts mixed with the crackle of the fire. Through half-lidded eyes, you notice his wing has curled more tightly around you, probably to keep you upright as you grow weak with each deep draw of blood.

Your vision starts to blur at the edges, darkness creeping in. He must sense this and withdraws his fangs, his tongue quickly lapping at the wound to stop the bleeding. His wings move away from you as you sway on your feet, and the last thing you feel is his arms guiding you gently into the armchair as consciousness slips away from you.

You awake with a soft groan, your neck tender where his fangs had pierced. Fingertips drift along the wound as your eyes fall to the fireplace. The fire has died down to glowing embers. Then, your eyes drift to the small table beside you, where only scattered crumbs remain on the plate that once held your Christmas cookies. The ceramic mug sits empty, a smudge of black - like paint or lipstick - marking where his lips had touched the rim.

Despite how weak you feel, there's a sense of contentment. He ate all of the treats you made for him. You smile softly, sinking deeper into the armchair. You wonder when he'll visit again. Maybe next time you'll try another treat, perhaps chocolate chips or snicker doodles. The thought makes you feel warm as you sink deeper into the chair, sleep claiming you. You dream of dark wings and winter nights, of sugar cookies and stolen kisses.

Outside, snow begins to fall covering the forest in a blanket of white. Somewhere in that darkness, a shadow moves between the trees, leaving no footprints.

[moonlight-prose]

“look me in the eyes when you do it” with manny as you have to kill him, HEAR ME OUT!!! he gets bitten and he gets wants you to be the one to kill him. Bringing the gun to his chest with shaky hands, he tells you this wrapping his hands around yours bring the gun to his heart okay BYE

damage gets done

a/n: you wanted a sad angsty fic with this man i will deliver it. this was a dangerous ask to send in babes because i have held back on full fledged pain. but now i am happy to indulge in the absolute angst i can dish out! so to preface this, have some tissues, have a nice fluff piece (obviously not found on my blog sorry), and be prepared to cry. enjoy!

summary: he was tied to you from the first kiss. wrapped like vines around an aching heart. you just never expected his memory to haunt you - the gun in your hands marking an end to something extraordinary.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: manny alvarez x reader

warnings: BE WARNED CHARACTER DEATH AHEAD, angst, unhappy ending, death, violence, grief, trauma of losing a lover, infected plotline, tw blood, angst atop angst atop angst, (i listened to ashley johnson's rendition of through the valley. take from that what you will.)

His eyes would haunt you.

The kind of brown you’d find in the bite of an early morning mug of coffee, in the melted chocolate he found at the back of an old kitchen cabinet. The dark hue of forest floors and fallen trees and the mud that clung to filthy clothes and blood stained skin. You’d see them when you slept, burned behind tightly shut eyelids, face buried into a jacket that still smelled like those shitty cigarettes he found in an abandoned house weeks before La Muerte came to hold your hand.

He’d show up in dreams, the figment of his body beside yours in small cots and uncomfortable sleeping bags. Tricks of light beside fires that barely kept you warm. He existed in the words of those around you, his memory stained on each of your hearts. A small spark of humor to mask the pain that coursed through his chest—pressing down on shoulders that curved forward and a weary face.

The moment would remain carved into a beaten down soul, rising in the night like the faint glow of moonlight.

Stupidity was following him on a small outing, hunting for some food that would keep the group alive in the winter weeks to come. Love was fighting off infected by his side.

The gun ran out of ammo two infected ago, his knife slicing through what remained, dead brown blood dripping down the hand that clutched the handle. Knuckles pale and face stained red with the effort of battling in the cold. You were certain you fared no better, wiping the carnage from your face with the sleeve of your coat—trying not to gag at the feel of it.

“Was it worth it?” you joked, breathless and yet still alive despite it all.

He huffed, eyes rolling beneath drooped lids. “Was what worth it?”

“Disobeying orders?”

“Orders? Mierda you’re fuckin’ worse than them.”

Sighing, you tried to ignore the flare of irritation brewing at the base of your stomach. “We shouldn’t be out here by ourselves. There’s who knows how many more of those fuckers.”

“So you want us to starve?” Sliding the knife home, he checked the remaining bullets on an aged and barely working gun. “Didn’t know you were cruel like that mi alma.”

“Cállate,” you bit out, teeth digging into a curved bottom lip. But your smile was caught by the prying eyes of a man who knew you better than you loved.

How easy it felt to exist in his presence; the ease of his laughter, his snarky remarks that left you grasping for a piece of him to hold close. He was your lifeline in this world. Infection tainted the very ground you walked on, blood stained the footprints of your past, but his touch washed it away. You could remember vows whispered in the middle of the night, the cold press of jewelry against your neck lingered with every step you took by his side.

The promise to protect one another existed with ease in each breath you took.

Until the day it all ended.

“Let’s head back before we find anymore,” you called, trudging up the small path carved by two decades of people seeking safety.

Manny didn’t move, his fingers curled into a fist, face pale against the bright sun.

“Vida Mea?”

His eyes screamed everything before he could form the words on shaky lips and a thick lilted voice. The brown hue punctured by the anguish of promises he never wanted to break—vows of forever marked by the passing of people you once knew. One day La Muerte would come to claim his soul, this he knew.

He simply wished he had more time.

“Manny what’s wrong?” Rushing over to his stock still form, you reached for the hand that hung listlessly at his side. “Hey talk to me-”

He ripped his palm away, staggering back into the trunk of the tree behind him. The branches arched over your heads, blocking what sunlight raged across a clear blue sky. You wanted to press him for answers, find what changed his mood so suddenly. But a part of you knew the cruelty life could hand out—the agony you’d witnessed more times than humanly possible.

“Show it to me,” you rasped, surging close enough to catch him off guard.

“Mi alma-”

“Show me…the fucking bite Manny.”

A hand shaky and coated in more than just the insides of the infected he killed pressed to your outstretched palm, eyes glassy with what he knew might come next. He wasn’t afraid to die. He knew it would happen, an inevitable turn of fate no one could run from.

He feared what you might do after he was gone.

“Shit,” you breathed, transfixed at the sight of teeth marks indented on his skin. “W-What do we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do.” The gruff response pricked open a festering wound you never knew could exist by his own hand. “It’s fucking done.”

“Manny-”

His fingers tore through unruly hair, eyes wild with the fear of all he’d been running from. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he breathed. “We were meant to have more…fuck!”

The gaping maw of your soul screamed for him to survive, for a miracle to occur and the bite to scar over. It begged for an outcome that led to anything other than this. You started to laugh, tears spilling over hot cheeks, as reality gripped you by the throat. Slowly suffocating what remained. The man you love stood a foot away, terrified to place his hands on your body—a walking death sentence that had been signed without his consent.

The least you could do was give him the choice.

“What do you want to do?”

He exhaled slow, long enough to drop time down to mere milliseconds. “Just promise me one thing mi alma.”

“Anything.”

The lifeline went flat, your heart turning to ash along the forest floor when his hand curled around the handle of his gun. Anything but that. Anything but destroying everything right down to the bottom. You always wondered what it might feel like to watch it all collapse, your life built stone by stone—fighting past unimaginable horrors.

Now you’d give anything to stop it from happened, hands gathering ash and cracked stone and the bones of a lover you shouldn’t have to bury.

“No Manny…”

His grip on your wrist felt reverent—an unbreakable connection for all that would never get to be. “Look me in the eyes when you do it.”

The sob cracked from a caved in chest, bubbling past a burning throat that wanted to scream for someone to fix this.

La Muerte stood over your shoulder, clutching your wrist in her unbreakable grip. Death was the better option, quick and painless as opposed to what began to crawl along his veins. Wrapping tight around nerves and a mind that still felt clear. He knew who you were right now, watching every expression play across the face he traced in pitch black nights. The nose he kissed and cheeks he cupped.

“Please don’t…” You gasped for air but nothing came. An empty expanse of what was never meant to be.

“It has to be you,” he whispered. “I need it to be you.”

You’d recognize the thump of his heart anywhere, yet never thought you’d feel it beneath the barrel of a gun. How strange to know someone this way. The feel of their life resting in the palm of your shaking hands; distrust nowhere to be found between two bodies that would know one another in every life. He’d find you in the next. This you were sure of. You just couldn’t fathom the idea of waiting.

“Te amo,” he said, clear and loud for the first time in his life.

The infection would spread, his body would become unfamiliar—unnatural with the vines and roots of what begged you to follow. It would be so easy to let his teeth sink into your flesh, indent his permanent mark anywhere he wished. A far better ending than this.

“I love you.” Things you should have said long ago, unspoken no longer as the world burned around you.

He smiled, eyes a mark on your soul you wouldn’t soon forget. You’d love him until the end. This you knew to be true.

The trigger pulled with sickening ease, the thump of a heart tied to your own ceasing with a deafening bang.

“Oh god,” you choked, dropping the gun in the dried grass—arms flinging around his form. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.”

Warmth seeped into your coat, staining the thick fabric a muddy red. You knew it would happen one day. You’d give up fighting, you’d finally die by the hands of that fucking infection. You just never thought you’d be alive to witness the aftermath. Manny’s hand—limp and stained with dirt buried deep in the lines of life and love—fell to your lap.

“I’ll find you,” you forced out, eyesight a blur of hot tears that spilled down blood covered cheeks. “Okay vida mea? I-I promise.”

I’ll find you.