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bunnis-monsters · 3 months ago

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A witch and her werewolf Pt1

Male!Werewolf x Fem!Witch Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 25th

Oct 19

Oct 26

summary: You meet a lone wolf in the woods, and realize he’s more than you thought.

a/n: this is a reskin of a Kurapika x reader fic I wrote, but never got past the first chapter. If you want a continuation, please comment or send me a Kofi.

WK: 5k+

It was finally spring, a time where flowers bloomed and the snow melted away to reveal all kinds of herbs and plants for the little witch (Name) to gather.

Today she was doing just that, gathering herbs to begin making more potions. Through the winter, her stock of salves and potions had grown smaller and smaller, until she only had a few left.

(Name) had customers that would be coming by any day now to buy her goods, so she was determined to go out and hunt for all the ingredients she would need.

She was a good witch, focusing on healing salves and helping the villagers nearby. It was partially out of the goodness of her heart, and partly because she wanted to keep a good relationship with the townspeople so they didn’t grab their pitchforks and torches to chase her out of town with.

So (Name) grabbed her hat, wearing a thick pair of boots to protect her feet from the thorny vegetation. She was always careful when visiting the forest. After all, there were rumors that many magical beasts made it their home.

Along the path, she spotted small clusters of mint, frowning. “Mint is so invasive, I thought I told the villagers not to plant it in the ground…”

(Name) did her best to dig up and pick what she could, then moved on along the path. Mushrooms, herbs, and pretty rocks all found a new home in her basket. After searching for a while, she wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘Hmm… I should still have some time to go by the lake before I go home… I wonder if anything is growing near the water's edge..?’

(Name) stepped on a branch as she neared the lake, ready to search for aquatic plant life and maybe even find a good spot to go fishing!

But before she could get too close, (Name) heard a loud howl that made her freeze in her tracks. When she turned, she spotted it.

There was a large, golden wolf near the water’s edge, its ears pinned back and snarling. From the water dripping from its furry chin, the witch assumed it had just been drinking from the lake before she interrupted it by making noise.

She was quick to hold up her hands in a sign of surrender, talking in an even voice. “Easy, boy, I’ll go,”

Backing up slowly, (Name) made sure not to meet the wolf’s eyes, though she did notice they were a sparkling shade of scarlet she had never seen before.

The beast huffed, watching her for a moment longer before turning back to drink. Once it did, she broke out in a sprint, her basket held firmly against her chest. (Name) knew the forest wasn’t exactly safe, but she had never encountered a wild animal besides some chipmunks and bunnies.

‘I’ve never seen a wolf with that coloration before…’ (Name) thought, putting away her foraged goods once she arrived home. ‘Maybe it’s an albino or something? But wouldn’t it’s fur be more white then?’

Despite being a little afraid, (Name) couldn’t get her mind off of the wolf she had seen before. It was easily the top predator in the forest, yet it only gave her a warning growl before minding its business again. Was that normal wolf behavior? She had no idea.

‘I’m thinking too much…’ (Name) thought, changing into her pajamas. ‘I need to sleep, or I’ll be late to the coven meeting tomorrow…’

Turning over, (Name) wondered what exactly she would even speak about during the meeting. She wasn’t exactly the most confident witch, often being spoken over or ignored due to her shy nature. No one would think she was the very first apprentice Ania Quell, the head of the very coven (Name) was a part of.

‘I may have been her first apprentice, but I’m definitely not her best. Miles and Gil have me beat for sure…’ she thought, rolling over onto her side to stare out of the window.

Through the gaps in the curtains, she could see the moon shining up above, big and full. It’s light bathed her in a soft glow, and made her feel both rejuvenated and relaxed.

‘It’ll be okay… after all, I have friends there. Everything should… be fine…’

(Name) drifted off to sleep, the last image on her mind before she was taken to slumberland being the golden wolf peering at her with those scarlet eyes.

—————

(Name) packed a small basket full of jams and jellies, humming a tune as she carefully stacked a small jar of syrup on the top. “I know Jill won’t be there today, but Ania loves my jams and jellies. Hopefully I’ll actually have a chance to speak with her…”

Ania, being the head of the coven, was always busy. She was usually stuck talking with several other witches about various topics, or leaving early to conduct business with other covens. Getting the opportunity to talk to her was rare enough, but being able to sit down and have a conversation was nearly impossible, especially these days.

There had recently been several cases of witches and their familiars disappearing, or even familiars turning on their masters and killing them, so Ania was especially busy dealing with the aftermath.

Each witch had a familiar bestowed upon them during a ceremony after becoming a full fledged witch. Some even had two or three, and witches with high status and great power possessed up to 10 familiars.

And there was (Name), with no familiar at all. At the ceremony, the wizard conducting it simply turned her away, saying she was not yet ready to become the master of familiar. Every other witch present had received their lifelong friend, while she went home empty handed.

It was lonely, all on her own. Watching the other witches go about their lives with the help and support of their familiars made her feel awfully… jealous. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed harboring, so (Name) tried her best to be positive!

Ania herself had said that it wasn’t unheard of for a witch to not receive their familiar during the bonding ceremony.

“Some witches just haven’t found their match yet, or perhaps they haven’t really found their true selves,” Ania had said after the ceremony, in hopes of comforting (Name).

(Name) huffed, loading her basket onto her broom. “So much for being a late bloomer. It’s been nearly five years since I became a full fledged witch, and still nothing! No familiar, not a cat or owl, not even a frog! Hell, I’d settle for a tarantula at this point!”

She flew over the forest, tilting her head when she spotted a spot of gold walking slowly near the lake. (Name) flew a bit lower, her eyes widening when she spotted the same wolf she’d seen the day before.

This time, it seemed to be walking with a bit of a limp, a small trail of blood behind it. Her heart ached to see an animal in such pain, so she landed a safe distance away from it.

“Hey there, pup.”

The wolf stiffened, quickly turning its head to growl lowly at her. (Name) held up her hands, her broom floating behind her in case she needed a quick escape.

“Woah, easy. You’re hurt, and I can help you if you’ll let me.”

She didn’t know why she was talking to it, but she kept it up. “There’s no need to be afraid, sweetheart. Shh…”

The wolf’s ears flattened against its head, and it began to bare its teeth. (Name) yelped when it began to approach her, jumping on her broom just in time to escape its jaws. It snapped at her broom bristles, but she was thankfully in the air by then and bar away enough from its jaws to not get hurt.

But… the wolf didn’t seem to be trying too hard to chase her. (Name) had a feeling it wasn’t actually attacking her, more so just trying to scare her away.

She frowned as the wolf became a small speck, her heart hurting for the poor thing. (Name) hoped that the poachers that her fellow witches had chased out from the forest years ago weren’t back.

‘I’ll have to talk to Ania about it… if I can talk to her that is.’

—————

(Name) landed in a vast meadow, wild flowers of various kinds softly swaying in the spring breeze. She took a moment to relax, bending down to pick a daily and place it in her basket.

‘Oh, I always forget where the doorway is…’ she thought to herself as she held out the stick end of her broom to feel around. When it bumped off of something solid, she grinned.

“There it is!”

(Name) reached forward and patted the surface until her hand landed on a doorknob. She turned it, and walked forward.

The empty flower field was replaced with a dark forested area, with lampposts leading down a snowy, worn down path. She could see the moon shining down through the canopy, filtered by the thick leaves until only small rays of light were visible.

‘I see the meeting is being hosted in the northern lands this time…’ she thought, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. The northern lands were often cold, even when spring came, snow still covered the land.

Each meeting was hosted in one of the four sectors of the world, North, South, East, and West. The north was her least favorite, due to the cold weather and people. The citizens of the north were often blunt and rude, having to time for warm pleasantries.

(Name) lived in the southern lands, where the weather was always warm and pleasant. Even the most severe winters in the south were not as cold as the northern spring.

She spotted the soft warm glow of a candle shining from a canon window. ‘There it is!’

(Name) opened the cabin door, revealing a bustling meeting hall. Witches all ages and genders walked around, speaking to one another and trading goods.

“(Name)!”

The woman yelped when she was tackled to the floor, knowing instantly who had done it.

“Miles, what did I tell you about jumping on her like some wild animal!?”

“Miles, Gil…” she smiled as she watched Gil drag his friend off of her, pinching his cheek.

“Hi, (Name)! It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to see you!”

She laughed, ruffling their hair. “Yeah, nearly three months. You weren’t able to attend the last few meetings due to Ania’s training, right?”

The two shuddered. “Uh… we’d rather not talk about that.”

(Name) could remember her own training, which would have been way less intense than theirs due to her weaker body. Even so, she collapsed nearly every day from exhaustion, so she could only imagine the horrors they had endured.

“Ah… okay, how about you show me how your training has been coming along then?”

The three sat in an empty room as the two showed her new, complex spells they had learned. Gil was able to summon lightning and use it as a weapon, while Miles was able to harden his body. Both were spells even she couldn’t do.

“Oh wow, you’ve grown so much! Maybe that training was worth it then?”

Gil groaned. “Barely, I didn’t think we were going to survive another day of it.”

“Aww, it wasn’t that b- no, actually it was that bad. But I’m still grateful Ania taught us so well!” Miles replied, giving her a smile.

She gave them both a hug. “I’m proud of you both. You should really come visit me sometime. Spring is here, so you can go play in the forest. There a lake~”

This excited the two, who both enjoyed swimming. “We'll definitely be coming by this summer!”

Before they could speak anymore, they heard a bell chiming. “Oh, we’ll talk later. The meeting is about to start!”

(Name) took her seat near Ania. As her first apprentice, she had to be at Ania’s side for every meeting. That didn’t mean she got Ania’s attention, though. She couldn’t blame her mentor, for she was the leader of this coven.

“Hello, my friends. Our monthly meeting has begun, and I will announce any upcoming events before opening the floor for discussion.”

(Name) looked around the room, unsurprised when she saw multiple witches waiting impatiently for the floor to be open.

It was mostly the same elderly witches that always had some mundane problem… but what was surprising was Ember, one of the fledgling witches that hadn’t yet gotten her familiar, anxiously tapping her well manicured nails against the oak table.

“And with that, the floor is open to discussion.” Ania said after finishing her announcements. Ember was quick to speak up, interrupting an elder.

“Some creature has been lurking in the south, killing my father’s livestock and scaring what it doesn’t eat half to death! It’s some kind of magical beast, I already did the identifying spell and it’s either some type of fae or a…”

She trailed off, her face going pale. Ania raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “A what, Ember?”

“A… a werewolf.”

The sound of gasps and whispered conversation filled the meeting hall, only silenced when Ania held up her hand to motion for the noise to cease.

“And you’re sure that’s what the spell said?”

Ember nodded, standing up to offer her grimoire. Ania’s eyes scanned it, then she sighed heavily. “I see…”

(Name) frowned deeply, glancing from ember to Ania. She knew that Ember lived only half a day’s walk from her home, meaning if there was a werewolf causing trouble for her, it could potentially move onto (Name).

“As we all know, magical beasts are drawn to witches due to their magical power. This is good when it comes to making friends or getting a familiar, but leads to some… detrimental outcomes when the wrong creature gets attracted. And with the recent uptick in werewolf based attacks, I wouldn’t doubt this has troubled you, Ember.”

Ania stood, walking around the table. ��But be that as it may, werewolves are not evil in nature. They are simply beings that are different from us, and can be reasoned with and befriended just like most magical beasts.”

One witch scoffed. “Miss Ania, with all due respect, all witches know werewolves are dangerous beasts that deserve to be put down to keep ourselves safe. I mean, haven’t the last three witch deaths been caused by werewolves?”

Ania scowled. “That’s the kind of attitude that causes entire species to go extinct. A few werewolves have done wrong, yes, but how many humans have killed each other or other creatures? Do we all deserve to die due to the actions of a few individuals?”

The witch who spoke up immediately shrunk into herself, grumbling under her breath. (Name) noticed that several other witches also looked displeased with Ania’s words, but said nothing.

“Ember, I’ll send you home with a spell that will ward off any fae or werewolves. It’s easy, and very effective.”

“Thank you, Ania!”

The woman turned to the rest of the coven. “Now, what else needs to be discussed?”

———————-

“I respect Miss Ania’s opinion, but werewolves are dangerous beasts!”

“I know, right? My friend’s cousin’s aunt’s stepbrother was killed by a werewolf!”

“And I heard that once a werewolf has seen you, it’ll tell its whole pack to come and eat you!”

“Oh that’s not the half of it! I heard-“

(Name) rolled her eyes as she passed by a group of gossiping witches, ushering Gil and Miles away. “Don’t listen to them, I’m sure not a single one of them have ever even seen a werewolf in person.”

“Have you, (Name)?”

(Name) paused when Miles asked her that innocent question, sighing softly. “Yes, once before. It was only for a moment while Ania went to meet with one for a trade. It gave her some of its fur for a potion in exchange for a protection spell.”

“So… it didn’t attack you or Ania?”

“Nope, so don’t listen to those witches. Not one single creature is the exact same as its kin. Some are more peaceful, some are violent, just like with humans. Once people come to accept that, we could possibly form an alliance with the werewolves.”

Gil huffed, digging in her satchel. Once he found what he was looking for, a bag of handmade candy, he swiped it. “Hey, you remembered to bring it!”

“Of course I did, silly. It’s your favorite.”

Gil popped one of the candies into his mouth as they walked, humming in delight. Miles grabbed one too. “Did you get to talk to Ania, (Name)?”

The woman sighed, handing out her jam and syrup to a few witches she traded with. “Not yet, but I hope I’ll be able to catch her before she leaves. You know Ania, she’s always busy.”

“You’re not wrong, but today I have a little bit of time to spare.”

The three jumped when they heard Ania’s voice from behind them. “Ania!”

(Name) jumped into her arms, easily being held up by the seemingly young looking girl. Everyone in the coven knew that Ania was much older than she seemed, but little knew of her immense physical strength.

“Oh, (Name) my dear, you’ve gotten a bit bigger haven't you? It feels like just yesterday I was carrying you home from the orphanage and giving you your first wand.”

“A-Ania! That’s embarrassing…”

The woman laughed, setting (Name) down. “Alright, alright… what is it you wanted to talk about, dear?”

(Name) gave Ania a shy smile, handing her the jams and jellies she brought for her. “I wanted to give you these and ask how the situation with the rogue familiars has been going.”

Ania stiffened, glancing at the two boys before digging. “Come, (Name). Let’s discuss things in private.”

With a wave of her wand, (Name) and Ania were transported to a vacant room. Ania made sure the door was closed before beginning to speak in a hushed voice.

“I didn’t want to scare anyone, so I’ve been keeping some of the information private. But…” she sighed, looking out the window, into the snow. “Every single familiar that attacked their witch was a werewolf.”

(Name)’s blood ran cold at the revelation, her eyes widening as Ania turned to meet her gaze. “Every single one? That’s…”

“Unusual, I know. Werewolves in and of themselves are rare to have as a familiar because they’re reluctant to be bound to a witch… so the fact that each familiar was a werewolf is suspicious.”

“What could be the motive? I find it hard to believe a familiar would just kill its master like that! In all of witch history, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Ania opened her own grimoire. “I agree with you, it is hard to believe. But the detection spell pointed to each familiar being a werewolf. We have yet to find and question any of the suspects due to them fleeing the scene once the bond to their master was broken…”

(Name) frowned deeply. “And with what Ember said today, if this news got out, the entire coven will be in hysterics. There will be werewolf hunts and-“

“That’s why they can’t find out. You are the only person outside of my trusted inner circle that knows of this, (Name).”

She looked at Ania, confused. “But why would you tell me, Ania? I’m not as strong or intelligent as others, so why would you give me this information and not someone more qualified?”

Ania smiled at that, chuckling. “That, I cannot say my dear. You are destined for great things, and I just want you to be informed so when it’s time for you to make decisions… you’ll have all the information you need to make the right choice.”

“That’s really cryptic, Ania.”

The older woman only smiled, beckoning her to follow. “Come, I must take my leave. Let’s walk and talk.”

The two continued to chat as they walked towards the entrance of the cabin. “I’ll send you home with a spell, dear. It is quite late in the southerners sector by now, hmm?”

(Name) nodded, grabbing hold of her broom.

“Oh, and (Name)?”

She looked up as Ania raised her wand. “Yes?”

“Kindness and patience is always key.”

With that, she was sent home. She appeared in her cottage, the fire lighting the second she stepped close.

“I wonder what she meant by that…”

———————

(Name) brushed off her dress, staring out into the forest. She really had to go back into the forest to gather supplies… but she was worried she would encounter that wolf again.

With a sigh, she pocketed her wand and carried her broom. They were just there in case she sensed any danger. Unfortunately, she wasn’t great with defensive or attack spells, it was why she took to healing magic and concoctions instead.

But she knew a few illusion spells that may buy her some time to escape… hopefully those would work.

(Name) walked along the work down path, much more alert than usual. She listened for the sounds of the forest, making sure to listen for any branches snapping or leaves rustling.

She was able to make it back to the lake with no problems, sighing in relief. There, she unloaded her jars from her basket and began placing shells, underwater plantlife, and some of the nutrient rich soil to add to her garden.

Unbeknownst to her, she was being watched from a distance, a pair of scarlet eyes following her as she walked along the lake’s edge.

Once she finished, (Name) was surprised to see the wolf with the golden coat standing only a few meters away from her. Although it growled when she moved, it showed no other signs of aggression, only watching her… as if it was curious.

“Hello, again…” (Name) said softly, staying still as it approached. She kept her hand in her pocket on her wand, but began to relax. It only circled her, chuffing when it moved behind her.

She tensed, but relaxed again when it appeared on her left side. It was inspecting her, sniffing her… was that normal behavior for a wild animal?

Its scarlet eyes focused on her, and she noticed it still had that slight limp when it walked. “Are you… injured?”

As if it could understand her, the creature tensed, the fur on its back rising. “Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Taking a chance, she slowly reached out her hand to place it on its head. She had a connection with animals, having rehabilitated many woodland creatures. A wolf couldn’t be that different, right?

Well, she was wrong. The beast growled before snapping its jaws at her hand, barely missing her fingers. It then ran away, slower than it usually would be due to its injured paw.

Her heart hurt from the sight. Had it been trying to ask her for help? It was possible the poor thing was someone’s pet that had been let go after learning how hard it was to take care of a wolf. Maybe that’s why it was both comfortable around humans and also weary of them?

(Name) made a decision that day. She would gain that wolf’s trust, and maybe… even make it her familiar.

———————

As the days turned into weeks, (Name) visited the forest every day she could. She saw the wolf often, sometimes from the corner of her eye, and sometimes it came in direct contact with her.

She always sat patiently, letting it come to her. (Name) had learned her lesson, and eventually she was able to sit in silence with the wolf by her side as she did mundane tasks like cleaning out her jars or sewing by the lake.

It had yet to let her touch it, but she didn’t mind. She would get it to trust her… it needed medical attention, more than she thought. It was scrawny, hungry looking, as if it was having trouble hunting by itself.

She started bringing out raw meat from the market and leaving it by the lake for it, and when its condition started to improve slowly, she knew that it was eating.

Once she started feeding it, the wolf began trusting her a great deal more. It now followed her down the pathway when she walked home, a slight sway in its tail.

She was making great progress, and the two seemed to have a mutual trust that neither would hurt the other. Every time she came to the lake, it was waiting there for her. It would eat, then sit nearby as she did what she needed to do, then walked her home. It had become her routine.

That’s why it surprised her when it wasn’t there when she came.

“Pup?”

(Name) called for it, patting her thigh and whistling. Usually it would have come to greet her by now…

The silence in the forest was almost eerie, as if everything was holding its breath. There was no birdsong, no squirrels skittering from tree to tree… just silence.

“Something is wrong…”

It was growing dark, and she was hurrying back as quickly as she could. (Name) had heard from some other forest dwelling witches that when the sounds of the forest stopped, that meant there was a large predator around, something that made the squirrels and birds hide in fear.

Had the wolf gone into hiding too?

She didn’t have to wonder for long. As she neared her cottage, her eyes widened in horror. There were bloodied paw prints leading down the stone path to her front door, and laying on her doorstep was the golden wolf.

It panted loudly, its fur matted with blood. (Name) immediately kneeled at its side, trying to hold back tears. The injured paw was stuck in a bear trap, and it had gashed on its belly and back… as if it had been attacked with a knife…

When it growled at her touch, she simply shushed it. “Shh, shh, I’m here. You came to my home for a reason, right? I can help you…”

Although it still snarled and yelped as she hoisted it into her home with great effort, it made no attempts to sink its teeth into her flesh.

As soon as it was inside, she summoned as many bandages as she could, along with a metal bar to help her pry the bear trap off.

“This is going to hurt, pup. Don’t bite me…”

The wolf laid its head down, as if telling her it trusted her to help. It growled and snarled in pain as she pried open the bear trap. Once its paw was free, she examined the damage.

His paw was barely hanging on… thankfully she focused on healing magic. She was able to reattach his paw and clean the wound, bandaging it before moving onto the gashes on his body.

(Name) collapsed in exhaustion after hours of working on the wolf. Her efforts had paid off, as it was now sleeping peacefully by the fire.

‘At least one of us is able to sleep…’ she thought, rising from the couch to wash the blood from her hands. She exhausted all of her magic saving the wolf’s life, which worried her slightly. That meant if it were to attack for any reason, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

After much thought, she realized that even if it wanted to hurt her, it would be unable. The thing couldn’t stand, much less leap out and attack her, so she decided to sleep next to it… just to watch over it, of course… the fact that it was so soft and warm had nothing to do with it…

———————-

(Name) woke up in the early hours of the morning, the sun not even up yet. She could have only been asleep for a few hours, as the fire was still going…

She sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes… but paused when she took a second look at the fire.

She hasn’t remembered putting that second log in the fireplace… before she slept, she had even cursed herself for not doing so.

(Name) felt a chill run up her spine and immediately turned to see if the wolf was okay… but instead of seeing its beautiful golden fur and large form, she was met with something much smaller hidden under the blanket…

Smaller, but still bigger than her, whatever it was wriggled the second she spoke. “U-um…”

She expected the wolf to perhaps be some kind of magical beast that turned into something smaller when injured to conserve power… and she wasn’t that far off.

When she pulled back the blanket, instead of a furred creature, she came face to face with a handsome… man?

“… hello…”

For finding a man in the place of the injured wolf she saved, (Name) took the situation well. And by well, she screamed and scooted away, wielding her wand.

“W-who are you and what did you do to that wolf!? Are you some kind of poacher? A pervert? A poaching pervert!?”

The person squinted at her, sighing. “No… I’m neither of those… I-“

He winced in pain, whimpering as the blanket fell around him. (Name)’s eyes went wide as she saw the bandages decorating his form, the same ones she had applied to the wolf last night…

The things that finally clued her in were the wolf ears perched atop of his blonde head, and tail limp on his back.

“Y-you’re…”

“A werewolf…” he muttered, his ears flattening against his head. “You… helped me, and… I understand if you no longer want to help now that you know what I am. I simply ask that… you let me recover until I am able to move…”

She swallowed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter what you are. You’re hurt, and I won’t let you suffer.”

The man looked on in mild shock as she helped him onto the couch. “This should be more comfortable… I’ll need to redo your bandages soon…”

The man watched her work silently. She redressed his wounds with a skill that was uncommon for women in their era. Once she was done, it was only then that her eyes trailed down his torso to look for anything else that she may have missed when his thick fur was in the way…

“Oh.”

Her face warmed, her eyes going wide.

He was completely and utterly nude, barely covering his groin with the blanket. His wolf ear twitched as she turned away, flustered.

‘I forgot, werewolves lose their clothing when they turn…’

For now, she simply covered him with a blanket, too tired to do anything else. With that, she left him to sleep on the couch and headed to bed.

‘What am I going to do? There’s a werewolf on my couch, right after Ember mentioned one eating her livestock. Is it the same one..? Could it… be connected to the familiars going rogue?’

She sighed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. ‘Well, whatever the case is, it’s my responsibility now. I decided to save its life, and I don’t regret it. Once it’s back to full health, I’ll think of what to do…’

With that decided, she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from her long day.

———————

In the living room, the werewolf stared up at the ceiling, his head filled with the images of the events he had been through.

‘I thought they lost my trail… those damn poachers will do anything to complete their collection…’

His heart ached to think of his pack, their coats skinned from their bodies after they were forced to transform and fight each other for their captors’ amusement. It made his blood boil to think of how scared the pups must have been, how the elders must have died comforting them with their final breaths, just for all of their words to mean nothing in the end.

He hated humans and their endless lust for money and power. For years he had avoided human contact, staying in his wolf form and attacked anyone that came near in fear of being hurt again…

That was until he met her.

Even before they officially met, he had been stalking her through the woods for months. At first, he had planned on killing her and taking over her cabin for himself. In his mind, it was only fair. Humans killed and stole from nature every single day, honestly he thought he was doing the world a favor taking one of them out.

But (Name) wasn’t like other humans. Every day, he watched her take only what she needed, and left behind gifts for the fairies and animals. She tended to the wounded creatures and made sure she never overstayed her welcome.

It would be dishonest to say he liked her, but she was the closest thing to tolerable a human could get in his eyes. So when he met her, he found himself unable to hurt her.

Though at first he kept his distance and attempted to bite her if she strayed too close, he never intended to actually hurt her. If he wanted to, he could have easily tore into her throat and feasted on her flesh… but he didn’t.

This human, this girl had become something akin to a friend to him. Despite his hatred for her kind, he couldn’t help following after her and staying by her side. It felt soothing, safe… almost familiar in a way. It reminded him of when he was just a pup and would follow behind his mother while she hunted or gathered ingredients for dinner.

So when he was attacked by the very poachers that killed his family, he escaped with only one thing in mind.

‘I have to find her!’

He followed her scent, barely dragging his wounded hide to her home and collapsing on the front step. He never would have thought that he would trust a human to help him, not after what he had been put through.

Even now, as he laid there powerless and unable to move, his mind was still conflicted. Was this really okay? Could he truly rely on this human to tend to him when he was utterly defenseless?

‘It doesn’t really look like I have much of a choice…’

Winning his trust would not be easy, but if she could… (Name) would gain a loyal companion.

Only time could tell what would become of these two…

—————————

SFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @peachesdabunny @misswonderfrojustice @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @zyettemoon1800 @kassandra-hawthorne @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @readeryn68 @danielle143 @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @hammerhead96-blog @bubblez-blop @snugglyshoji @wanderlustingcastaway @amberexe2 @swasti8854 @an-ever-angry-bi @nenggie @rainejiang @lostsomewhereinthegarden @idkccdfnfz @xrenka @cavern-creature

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

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Imagine rough sex with eds and you guys just break the bed and you have to tell wayne

✶ ┄ BROKEN BEDS !

summary: you and eddie break his bed. the worst part is having to tell wayne. pairing: eddie munson / f!reader warning: smut! eddie being the cutest human alive! a wild appearance from uncle wayne! 18+ mdni! a/n: i need everyone to know that when i wrote this draft, i titled it "breaking bed" and it made me chuckle a lil. anyway, thanks for your request anon! enjoy xoxo

( MASTERLIST )

when eddie muson fucks, he fucks like a wild animal

he grunts with each of his rough thrusts, brown eyes somehow darker with lust while his untamed curls cling to his sweaty forehead

and you just let him drill into you because, truth be told, you love him this way

you hold the backs of your thighs and keep yourself wide open for him while he fucks so deeply into you

he leans over you, one hand white-knuckled where it grips his headboard, and the other wrapped around your throat

not tight enough to choke you exactly, but to make sure your eyes stay locked on his as he fucks you for all your worth

the headboard slams into the wall in time with each of his thrusts, rhythmic bang bang bangs that you’d be scared are leaving a dent in the wall if eddie wasn’t making you feel so good

he tilts your jaw to the side to expose your neck to him

and he hides his face in the sweaty crook of it, seeking refuge there while he nips and suckles at the warmed skin

you just keep begging for him to go harder and deeper and faster as he fucks you more and more stupid

and eddie complies without question

he revels in the way you keen each time he pounds into you and how your face scrunches up and your back arches for him

your toes curl and your legs tense up so hard they start to quiver

and right when you’re about to come, the bed suddenly jolts and dips beneath you, accompanied by loud crashing sound

it scares the shit out of you and you squeal while eddie lets out a grunt of surprise

because his bed just fucking broke

and it isn’t the most surprising thing in the world, the thing is about as old as he is

but it does take the two of you off guard

all you can do in the moment is laugh about it

and eddie barely wastes another second before he starts fucking you again

because his bed is already broken, who cares if it gets more fucked up?

plus he knew how close you were to your orgasm and you just look so pretty when you come <3

the worst part about it though is telling wayne

because there’s no way he’s not going to notice

and eddie can’t exactly sleep on a crooked bed

so he just comes up with the shittiest excuse known to man “so the thing is... i was… jumping on the bed…”

wayne furrows his brows “the hell were you doing jumping on your bed?”

“well, you see, i was just, you know… trying to… heal my inner child…”

“…what the fuck does that mean?”

but, like, obviously wayne knows

typically you’re good at keeping eddie in check and sometimes he can hear you saying you don’t want to fuck while wayne’s in the house

and that’s a part of the reason he likes you so much bc you don’t want to put him through that trauma

but you guys are young and in love and sometimes keeping your hands off of each other feels like the hardest thing in the world

so he knows exactly how the bed broke

but hearing eddie trying to lie about it is the funniest thing on the planet

shopping for a new bed frame is easily the most adult thing you and eddie have ever done

and the only one he can afford is a star wars themed one in the children’s section

eddie groans and acts annoyed about having to get one that’s so childish but you know he secretly loves it

because the headboard is shaped like the cock pit of the millennium falcon with lightsabers painted on the foot of the bed

you try to put it together without wayne’s help while he’s at work

and you’re like “how long do you give it before we break this one?”

“an hour if you wine and dine me first <3”

have any blurb requests? send em here if you want!

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #st headcanons #eddie spaghetti hc

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i-wanna-write · 5 months ago

Text

If One’s Different, One’s Bound to be Lonely - Wolverine Fic - Part 1

Fic Synopsis: We know Wolverine and Sabertooth but the reader is known as Jackal. Just like the other two, their mutation is animalistic, lending them healing factors, enhanced physical abilities, and animal senses. This fic details their relationship with the Anchor!Wolverine and how they ended up meeting the Worst!Logan

Chapter Warnings: violence, cussing, lewd comments/thoughts, reader is described as female

Word Count: 3k+

A/N: I’ve had this idea since I saw Deadpool and Wolverine so I figured I’d give it a go! I wanted to write Worst!Logan and SacredTimeline!Reader but wanted some backstory. Well, the backstory turned into backstories which then turned into this mini fic. Not sure how many parts there will be but no more than 10. This will start from when the reader was born, through snippets of the X-Men movies before FINALLY making its way to D&P. There's obviously going to be changes in scenes due to the reader and it's a fic so I can change what I want! I also love how Wolverine and Sabertooth are brothers in Origins so went with that. The timeline is also a little sketchy because D&W is set in 2024 and Logan 2029 but they discuss how Logan died already… so just bear with me on that… Let me know what you think!

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You were born in 1895 to two loving parents. They were older than the average parents, having struggled to conceive but finally being blessed with you. You were their pride and joy, providing you with all the clothes, toys, furniture, games, and literature you wanted.

You were a secluded child. You preferred being alone and were grateful for being an only child. You hated sharing your things and talking to others.

You were also a sick and frail child. You always caught a cold or broke a bone, or got a scratch. Your parents dragged you to numerous doctors, trying to find a reason for your ailments. It wasn’t until you hit puberty that the truth was revealed.

You were a mutant.

Your genetics carried an X gene and had different DNA then your parents.

A week laid up in bed with a constant fever, sweats, and chills, it was finally revealed when your fingernails elongated into claws, the rest of your baby teeth spilling out and adults ones replacing them. Only they were all razor sharp and could easily shred anything.

Your parents were hysterical at first. They prayed and waited for their miracle child but were terrified at first to learn that she was a mutant.

That she was different.

Your sense of sight was keener than the average human, you heard like a bat, your smell like a bloodhound. You no longer got sick. If you received an injury it healed in a matter of seconds.

Your parent’s initial fear turned into protectiveness and soon you were shut in - no longer allowed all the things you wanted. Your parents kept you at home, not letting you mingle with others your age in fear of something happening to you… Or you doing something to someone else.

As you grew older, you finally escaped your parents and never looked back. You moved around, being adaptable and able to change at any given moment and go with the flow of the environment. You were cunning and evaded anyone or thing you wanted to without thinking twice. And just like in childhood, you grew to be more territorial. You valued all your personal items and were always willing to defend what you called yours.

Through much research over your first years on your own - you were able to determine that all these traits were similar to that of an animal.

A Jackal.

Known for the same personality traits of your own, this dog breed also sported sharp teeth in all regions of their mouth and just as sharp claws to take down their prey. Soon, that's what you became known as.

You moved through the years alone, never staying in one place for more than a year due to the world's hate towards mutants. You often found secluded cabins and would purchase what you needed at a store, then hunted on your own for protein - using your abilities to your advantage.

If someone caused a problem for you, a man making a sexist comment. Someone shit talking other mutants. You didn’t hesitate to take them out. Your instincts would take over in that moment and your claws would disembowel them or your teeth rip out their throat.

Sometime during the 1950s, you were staying in a Montana cabin you found, the nearest town miles away. Occasionally, you would frequent a bar there, wanting a moment to feel the whiskey slide down. It was in that bar that you met two other mutants for the first time.

You were seated alone at a table in the tavern, dressed in slacks, a button shirt, and jacket, A cap was on your head, hiding your long hair to make it appear short. Making you appear like a man.

You were nursing a whisky on the rocks, allowing the liquid to burn your throat and sooth your day. The bar wasn’t too busy, filled with men after a day of work. Two were seated at the bar, another alone at a table than solely the bartender handing out drinks.

You smelt them before they entered. One smelt like copper, the other smoke. As they entered and made their way to the bar, you examined their appearance. Both dressed in jeans and dark jackets, the copper one appeared shorter but with broader shoulders. His hair was buzzed to his head with stubble lining his jaw. He moved with confidence, acting as he owned the establishment and everyone should part for him to make way.

The smoky one was taller, shoulders not as wide but perhaps weighing more due to his height. His hair was longer, curling behind his ears towards his neck with tufts on either side. His jaw was also lined in stubble, but rather than walking like he owned the place, he walked with ease, as if he knew people were staring but could care less about it.

Your eyes followed them as they ordered, noting how the other patrons seemed to watch them too, as if all of you were aware that they could be dangerous. You returned your attention back to your drink when you got a whiff of something you haven’t before. Despite their initial scents, they both smelt off - different than all the other humans you’ve been around your life. They smelt… almost wild.

You were taken from your thoughts when the seat across from you suddenly became occupied. You looked up and saw the two men seated across from you, both with a drink in hand. The shorter one spread his body on the chair, his left arm around the taller ones.

“What’s a woman like you doing in here?” The shorter one asked, nodding his head towards you.

“Women?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow.

So far, no one has been able to distinguish your true gender. How could these new patrons know?

“Can smell the difference Bub.” The taller one said as if it was obvious.

While his companion was spread out, the larger man surprisingly took up a smaller space. His forearms rested on the table, fingers clasped in front.

“Smell?” You repeated, feigning ignorance.

“Come on Frail. We can smell you’re a woman and smell you’re a mutant like us, quit playing stupid.” The shorter one growled, a look of anger on his face. “Never met a woman mutant like us though.” He added a malicious smirk on his lips. He turned to look at the other one, as if wanting him to comment as well but to no avail.

You’ve never met another mutant before. Period.

“Well, pleased to have checked that box off your list.” You smile, quickly finishing your drink before slamming it on the table, rising to flee. “Have a good night gentlemen.”

One of them smelling like blood and acting as he did, you knew they were trouble - and you’ve avoided trouble for so long the past years you weren’t about to start getting into it. You went to leave but the taller man grabbed your arm suddenly, claw like knives slowly breaking the skin of his knuckles and leaving them, puncturing your skin.

“We weren’t finished talking.” He said, finally showing some emotion as a smile graced his face.

You quickly yanked your arm back, watching as your skin healed itself, blood now stained on the sleeve of your jacket.

“Have a seat frail,” The shorter one added, smirk still on his face. “We want to get to know you.”

You sat back down. You wish you didn’t finish your whiskey as you tired to make your escape, no longer having something to fiddle in your hands.

You look up at the men and see them both staring back at you, as if taking you in. You know what they see. A woman with H/C hair hidden underneath a hat with just enough to be seen on your forehead. Eyebrows to match that have strands out of place and eyelashes that prissy girls would kill for circling your E/C eyes.

You do the same, truly taking in the men if they’re going to be talking with you. Assessing you. Determining if you’re a threat or not.

You observe the shorter one first, seeing him as the larger threat of the two. His eyebrows are bushy despite his short hair and has wrinkles on his forehead. He continued to wear a malicious smile and has subtle dimples on either side but they make him appear menacing rather than childlike. His eyes are green and hold a dark tint, as if he’s thinking about fucking you or killing you. Maybe both.

You move to look at the taller one and notice that his expression is almost unreadable, except his mouth is curled up slightly in a snarl. His eyes are a deep brown, holding only mistrust and curiosity, as if solely reading everything about you. His bottom his lip is full, the top one smaller but shaped perfectly despite the snarl.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” The shorter one repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Drinking. What else do you do in a tavern?” You bite back, shooting him a dark look.

He looks around as if debating his answer before saying, “Some drink.” He shrugs. “Others bring a girl in and fuck her in the bathroom.”

You grimace at the thought of doing that act with him. You’d pick the taller one if it was between life and death if you had to choose. At least the taller one looks like he’d make it quick.

“I’m sure you have to drag them back there as no women would glance your way.”

You know you shouldn’t egg him on but you can’t help it. You have just as sharp of a bite to back up your bark and you’re not afraid to use it. Even if it’s against two other feral mutants.

“Hmph.” The man says.

You watch as he reaches his right hand out, going for a handshake. His hand resembles a paw, his nails replaced with claws and sharp as knives. Your eyes travel to his face and now notice how his canines are sharper than an average humans. Perhaps attributed to his mutation.

“Victor Creed. This runt is my brother James Howlett.” He finally introduced.

Two can play at this game.

You elongate your own nails, showing off your claws. You then smile, teeth sharpening to show off points on all of them, not just your canines. You reach over and clasp his hand in your own.

“Y/N L/N.” You tell them, causing him to smile wider.

You let go of his his hand and look at the other one. “I’m not shaking your hand since you already sliced me, asshole.”

He merely shrugs. “Not offended Bub.”

This time you notice how deep and gruff his voice it. It sends goosebumps throughout you and you hope neither can notice it.

“What do you two want?” You ask, switching your gaze between them.

“Like I said, never met a female frail before. And based on your reaction, guessing you've never met another mutant ever.” Victor says.

It’s your turn to shrug. “I like being alone and keeping to myself.” Simple and to the point.

“Why’s that? Afraid you’re gonna kill someone with those claws? Too weak to fight off the instinct to sink your teeth into their neck?” Victor leans forward, looking intently at you for your answer.

He’s right. Of course he is, having hit the nail on the coffin. You’re a loner by mutation and learned that being around others only causes harm by your hand. It’s better to be alone and comfortable, rather then surrounded by prey.

“So what if I am? Can still take your ass down.” You say nonchalantly, trying not to appear bothered by how easily he read you.

He laughs, it sounding hoarse and dry. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Somehow I think you’d enjoy that. Don’t wanna end up in the bathroom with you.” You retort back.

You notice then how the taller one barely talks. He seems to have an air of indifference around him. Like he’s just here because Victor is and has no interest in the conversion. Or you.

“Tell me, how old are you? Gotta be young if you’ve never met another mutant before.”

You watch as he takes a sip of his whiskey, again upset at yourself for downing yours. You think about stealing James due to his lack of participation but think better of it, not wanting him to slice you again.

“I was born in 1895.” You reveal, holding your gaze with Victors.

“Awe Jimmy.” He coos, bumping his elbow into his brothers arm. “She’s just a kitten compared to us.”

You growl at that, not liking the mocking tone. This man was starting to get on your nerves. His gaze keeps drifting down to your chest, as if he has x-ray vision to see your breasts. The other isn’t giving anything and you wish he would, seeming to be the more sane one of the two. If you take out the part where he cut you.

“What? You guys my long lost grandfathers or something trying to bring me home?” You question, arching an eyebrow.

They looked to be your age but based on what Victor has said and you’ve seen, their mutations really are similar to yours. You wouldn’t be surprised if they were older than you. You want to know more about them - you have to. The first people like you since you’ve discovered you're a mutant. Maybe you won't feel so lonely anymore due to your difference form others

“1831 and 1835.” James finally speaks, lowering his whiskey from his mouth.

“Doesn’t answer if you are my grandfathers.” You point out.

“Not your grandfather frail. Quite trying to be cute.” Victor cuts in. “Now, based on your claws and teeth, you’re definitely like us, not just by scent. So what? You got some wolf? Some crocodile? You hiding scales underneath those clothes?”

You laugh, your voice light in the air before you remember where you are and what you’re pretending to be.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You snap back, baring all your canines at him.

“She’s a Jackal Vic.” James says. “Hates being around others. Easily blends into her environment. Able to will her nails to claws and all teeth shape as canines. Makes sense”.

“One point to brains.” You point to James, winking at him. “Zero points to brawn.” You point to Victor.

Said man goes to speak but you don’t let him, continuing. “You’ve got your own set of claws and canines. You’ve been trying to manipulate me and the situation this entire time, proving your cunningness. And you seem to try to include James here, I’m assuming your younger brother, into the conversion because you value family. Making you similar to a Sabertooth.” Something you thought you might’ve been before discovering your similarities with a Jackal.

Victor raises his eyebrows in surprise, not thinking you’d be able to guess their own mutation like James had yours.

“Meanwhile,” you turn to James, “You seem to hate being around other people as much as me. Your quiet but observe everything around you, making sure you have an escape. You were able to debunk what my mutation was, suggesting you’re smart. If I didn’t see your claws earlier, I would’ve guessed you to be a Jackel like me.” You finish.

You watch as James leans forward, both arms resting on the table as his face gets closer to you. You stare into the deep brown and feel yourself getting lost for just a moment before being pulled back.

“So what does that make me?” He questions, curious of your conclusion.

“A wolverine.” You state.

With that reveal, you make your escape. You quickly exit the table, knowing this time to not walk by it as you exit the tavern. You push open the door with one hand and start to pick up your pace. There are people lingering outside and you don’t want to draw attention.

You reach the edge of the forest, taking the cap from your head and letting your H/C locks free. You run a hand through them, trying to catch your thoughts and slow your heart rate at the run-in you just had.

You two sets of footsteps rush up behind you and take a breath, smelling Victor and James. A hand reaches out and lands on your shoulder but you immediately grab it, turning to your right to face your attacker.

A crack is heard throughout the first floor as you break Victor’s arm and don’t hesitate. Your teeth elongate to canines, your face moving to his neck and grabbing it. You bite down, blood immediately rushing into your mouth as you grab a chunk out of him.

You let go and push him away, watching as he staggers back and James stands at his side, hands in his pocket. You spit the flesh out of your mouth and grin at both men.

“If you guys have heard anything about the Jackal, you’ll know to leave me the fuck alone.”

You leave it at that, turning on your heel and walking off into the forest, leaving an angered Victor and impressed James behind you.

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Stay tuned for Part 2!

#wolverine x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #james howlett x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett imagine #xmen fanfiction #wolverine #james howlett #logan howlett

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darnell-la · 5 months ago

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𝗣𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗗 𝗨𝗣 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗥 (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ)

pairing: dark!stalker!logan howlett x bartender!reader

warnings: kidnapping, breaking skin, manhandling, choking, hard orgasm, begging, change of mind, teasing, degradation, etc.

note: lil pervy bastard. fuck, I just know he’d make sure you knew who you belonged to.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

“W-Where am I?” Y/n asked as Logan finally played her down his bed. The layout on the room scared her, because it was similar to her own layout, just more things she’d been wanting to get that she has noted in her notebook.

“Home, princess — Gotta lay low for a couple of days though, after that stunt you pulled,” the man had glanced back at y/n as he went through his drawer that was full of clothes y/n would definitely wear, and some clothes that she noticed him missing throughout the months.

“Logan-“ y/n was scared at how much work he put in for her. He was a grade a stalker, and the worst one at that. She wouldn’t be able to fight him off. No one could, and he knew that.

“C’mere, princess,” the man said after finding a nightgown for her to wear for the night. “D-Don’t come near me!” She shouted, but it sounded so pathetic. She knew that once he laughed and continued walking towards her.

“N-No,” Logan pulled on y/n’s ankles until she was on the end of the bed. “You needa be comfortable around here, Bub. Can’t have my princess worried, stressed or anything. Not one issue,” the man said like he hadn’t kidnapped her.

Y/n could hear the sirens outside of the apartment, making her think he probably lived close to the bar, and he did.

He worked hard to earn money for his own apartment. He didn’t need to stay with the x men or anyone else for that matter. He needed his own place to have y/n in.

“Stop it, let go of me!” She yelled at the man as she kicked and swung, but the man eventually got her clothes off. Every last fabric.

“Don’t fuckin’ piss me off, y/n. I’m just gettin’ you ready for bed,” the man tried being calm. He didn’t want to hurt y/n, but she’s leaving him no choice just about.

“N-No! I wanna go home!” She yelled as she finally got loose from his grip somehow. It wasn’t long before his hand wrapped around her arm, but she was read.

The young woman had grabbed a lamp that seemed brand new and untouched. She raised it and broke it across the man’s face.

She soon regretted it as the man turned his head back to her with a terrifying look as his the cut in his cheek healed back in her face.

“You’re in for you fuckin’ bitch,” Logan cusssed before he lunged at the girl, two hands wrapping around her neck as he slammed her against the wall. The wind was knocked out of her.

Y/n cursed herself out in her mind, unlucky that she was completely naked and he was only in his boxers. If she had played along, maybe she could’ve snuck out. Or maybe she’d just stay. He’d come for her again, anyhow. She was fucked either way.

“Wanted to treat you like my little princess, but sometimes pretty girls like you needa be stooped down to a slut,”

Logan lifted the girl up and threw her from the wall to the bed. She flew across the room, shocked when she hit the mattress, but before she could process the fact he threw her like a baseball, the man lunged over her.

Logan waisted no time bite at y/n’s neck. She cried in pain, but she knew she was fucked when her head became light from the instant rush of lust.

“Mhm,” the man growled in her neck as he pulled his boxers down. Y/n pushed at the man’s thighs, begging for him to let her go, or maybe even take it easy on her, but he didn’t want to listen.

“Whores don’t get what they want,” the man whispered in the girls ear like some game, before he plunged into her, stretching her in an instant and violating her walls.

The girl cried loudly, feeling him deeper than when he fucked her over the bar counter. This man was a an animal, a fucking beast the way he bullied through her.

“Nah uh, you shut the fuck up! Fuckin’ callin’ the police on me and breaking lamps over my fuckin’ head. You’ve gotten on my last nerve tonight, y/n. Last fuckin’ nerve,” Logan’s hips snapped hard.

“P-Please, Logan — I-I’m sorry,” she cried out, regretting it all. She knew the cops were going to be no help, she knew that damn lamp wouldn’t do shit to Logan, and she knew she was so close to cumming dumb around his cock.

“Oh, really, baby? Well, you’re gonna have to show me how much you’re sorry to deal with me tonight,” Logan gave y/n a chance, but she barely wanted to take it, but she couldn’t lie anymore.

All the crying, all the trying to get away — It made no sense when the young woman knew she was going to fall apart on the man.

“S-So sorry,” y/n’s hands gripped the man’s shoulders. “S-So fucking sorry,” she cried as his teeth pushed at her neck, making sure to leave something, rather people would see it or not.

“So fuckin’ sorry, princess? You’re so sorry?” The man mocked as her head fell back. Logan looked down at the woman, watching her mouth part and eyes switch. He couldn’t help but chuckle at how fast she fell apart.

“So fuckin’ easy. I can impress this cunt in less than twelve hours,” Logan’s lips now grazed against hers. She chocked in her moans as her body stiffened. “Yeah,” Logan repeated in a low deep voice, feeling her juice soak into his mattress.

“That’s my girl — So damn good lookin’ when she goes dumb,” y/n finally cried out, feeling his thrusts get faster. “L-Logan,” the girl softly placed her hands around his neck to pull him closer.

Her mind was forced to forget every red flag about him. The way he fucked into her, made her clueless. She couldn’t understand how dangerous he was, knowing he fucked like this. She couldn��t deny how much she loved being used by an animal.

“Gonna fill this cunt up, and give you another chance to relax tonight,” the man said through his teeth as he felt his cock twitch.

Y/n never thought the man that got drunk everyday would be deep in her system one day. He was always out of it. She thought the man wouldn’t even be able to recognize her, but she was wrong.

Logan was a mutant, and the downfalls of being a good person, is y/n forgetting all about that. Forgetting that the alcohol doesn’t blind him from beauty. Forgetting he’s capable being a bad guy. Forgetting he’s capable of breeding her until she can’t carry anymore.

“F-Fuuuck,” the man buried his face in her neck as his hips rolled, stroking against the right spot, but she couldn’t react. She felt unconscious, but she was still there. She was high off of his cock.

“My fuckin’ slut,” was all her throbbing cunt could think of throughout the night as he pulled her into his hair sweaty body.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 5 months ago

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When You Need Me Most

Jeongin x Reader (implied female but can be read as gn!)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt4

MASTERLIST

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

The following days were thick with an uncomfortable silence between you and Jeongin.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed.

The way you carefully avoided his gaze, the way you skipped over his presence as if he weren’t there, cutting through the atmosphere like a wound that hadn’t fully healed. He could sense something had shifted, something that left you uneasy and guarded, but he could only assume it was his fault.

It had to be because he confessed.

I messed everything up, he thought bitterly, replaying the moment in his head.

He hadn’t meant for the words to slip out so casually, hadn’t meant to burden you with his feelings.

But how could he have not fallen for someone like you.

He loved you.

So much.

And he wasn't afraid to admit it.

He wasn't afraid that every time he saw an apple he thought of the smell of your shampoo. Everytime he passed a bakery he made a mental note to see if they had cheesecake so he could sruprise you. Everytime he saw a cute stuffed animal he imagined what your smile would look like if he were to gift it to you.

The sea, the sky, the stars- everything reminded him of you.

And now he was sure- convinced -that you didn’t like him back. Why else would you treat him this way? Why else would you act like he didn’t exist while still laughing with the other members, as though nothing had changed?

But for you, everything had changed.

You hadn’t spoken to Jeongin since the day he fought your ex, a messy brawl that ended with bruises and company discipline. At the time, you couldn’t stop trembling, your heart torn between gratitude and guilt, the confusion tangling your emotions into knots.

Jeongin had gotten in some trouble with the company, but not as much as you’d feared. After all, his actions were justified in their eyes- the news of your ex's betrayal, the public fallout, and the toxic rumors spread by sasaeng fans and the physical violence enacted towards you would have been enough to provoke anyone. But you still couldn’t shake the weight of it.

And now…now Jeongin was doing anything in his power to get you to notice him.

You had gotten some payout from the company to keep quiet about the incident, and decided to move to completely remote work in your company, since you felt even more alone surrounded by people who didn't know you. And preferred to at least be around some who did.

You helped Chan with some of his organizational things as well; so now you were around the JYP building much more- of course after the elder boys asked for permission.

And it made Jeongin elated.

He wasn't going to give up. He would get you to talk to him again.

The sweet, thoughtful gestures didn’t go unnoticed- he’d bring you coffee in the morning, even though you’d barely nod in his direction.

He’d leave small notes or text you from across the room, saying things like, Just making sure you’re okay or You seemed tired today. Want to talk? But you never replied. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

Because you thought it was your fault.

You were the problem. You were the one who drew chaos into the lives of the people around you. The ex who cheated on you with a trainee-your ex. The scandals, the sasaengs, the headlines that tore into Jeongin, too- your fault. All of it. Because you loved and were loved.

Because after thinking about it for a little, you realized just how happy you had been to hear those words fall from his pink lips.

Lips you had now imagined yourself kissing at least a hundred times.

You wondered how they would taste- how they would feel, would they be warm and gentle and perfect?

Love was supposed to be something beautiful, something pure, yet every time you allowed yourself to fall into it, something broke. Someone hurt. And you couldn’t let that happen to Jeongin. He deserved more than whatever cursed, tangled thing you called love.

But he didn’t see it that way.

One evening, Jeongin found you sitting alone in the practice room, your knees pulled to your chest as you stared blankly at the mirror in front of you.

You had had a rough day, seeing articles about your ex and his mistress leaving the company.

While you hated him for what he did, you didn't think it would absolutely ruin his career.

Or the female trainee's career.

You had heard it was Channie who had helped in the background to get them canned. And it hurt to think you brought him into your issues as well.

You really, were a problem.

Jeongin hesitated at the door, unsure whether to come in or give you space considering you seemed deep in thought, but his heart ached too much to stay silent any longer.

He stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the empty room.

"You’re avoiding me," he said softly, but there was an edge to his voice- raw, frustrated. He wasn’t angry with you, but he couldn’t help the emotions that simmered just below the surface. "Why?"

You glanced up at him briefly, then back down at the floor. "I’m not avoiding you." Your response was simple and Jeongin hated that he couldn't hear your beautiful voice more than just this.

"Yes, you are." He took another step forward, his brow furrowed in concern and frustration. "You haven’t talked to me in days, Y/N. Not really. You haven’t… you haven’t even looked at me." He sighed and his voice grew quiet. "I didn't mean to confess like that...I...if I knew that it would ruin our friendship than I would have kept it to myself. You can forget I ever said anything just...please..."

Silence stretched between you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze, the pain in his voice. And it hurt you that you had given him that pain.

You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. "I don’t want to hurt you, Jeongin."

"Hurt me? How would you hurt me?" His voice cracked, and he knelt in front of you, trying to catch your eye. "You could never hurt me, Y/N."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the wave of emotions building inside you. "You don’t understand. Everything…everything bad that’s happened- it’s because of me. The cheating, the sasaengs, the fights, the rumors. Even what happened to you. You got into trouble because of me."

"No, Y/N, that’s not true," he argued, shaking his head, his eyes searching yours desperately. "None of that is your fault."

"But it feels like it is!" You raised your voice, the pent-up frustration spilling out. "My feelings are valid and it feels like I’m cursed or something! Love doesn’t work for me. It never does. And now, I’m scared it’ll destroy you, too. So...so I've been avoiding you because I'm not going to allow myself to fall for you anymore because I don't want you hurt." Your voice broke and you felt tears pool in your eyes so you blinked them away quickly.

Jeongin reached out, his hands trembling as he gently cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You’re not cursed. And you’re not the reason for any of this. Your ex was a coward. He cheated because he was too weak to handle someone as incredible as you." His voice softened, filled with conviction. "I fought him because I wanted to. Because he deserved it for what he did to you, not because of you."

Your heart clenched at his words, but your mind kept resisting. "What about the trainee? My ex wasn’t alone, Jeongin. That girl… they were both involved. And they’re gone now. Did I ruin them, too? Pull Chan in to do my dirty work?"

Jeongin frowned, remembering the fallout with the two trainees. Your ex had been demoted, his career in shambles after the cheating scandal leaked, not just because of what he did to you, but also because of his reckless behavior outside the company and after thorough investigation found out he was leaking his information to sasaengs for more attention. The female trainee cut herself loose after she faced an immense amount of online ridicule and stress. She couldn't handle the aftermath of the actions she caused so she resigned. It was also found that she knew of your ex leaking info as well. So it wasn’t just their affair; they had violated their contracts and put everyone at risk. And Chan just happened to stumble across that information and leave it on a director's desk.

"They made their own choices," Jeongin said firmly. "They ruined themselves. They weren’t cut from the company because of you—they were kicked out because they betrayed everyone, not just you. They were selfish, Y/N. You didn’t do that."

His words were gentle but steady, and for the first time in days, you felt something shift inside you. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let go of the guilt that had been gnawing at you for so long, but it was hard. So, so hard.

"I don’t know how to stop blaming myself," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For any and all of it."

Jeongin’s hands tightened their hold on you, his thumbs brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. "Then let me help you. Let me show you that you deserve love, that you’re not a burden to anyone. Least of all me."

You felt your walls start to crack, his words digging deep into the parts of you that were aching, breaking. You wanted to believe him. But the fear of what love had cost you before still lingered.

"I don’t know if I can do this," you admitted, your voice wavering.

He smiled softly, leaning in closer. "You don’t have to do it alone."

"I’m still not sure, Innie," you murmured, your voice fragile, as if the words would break apart if you spoke any louder. "I can’t…I don’t know if love is meant for me."

Jeongin’s expression softened, but he didn’t look discouraged. Instead, there was a quiet determination in his eyes, something firm and unyielding that you hadn’t seen before.

He shifted, moving closer so that he was kneeling directly in front of you, his hands still gently holding your face.

"I don’t believe that," he said softly, but there was a fierceness in his tone. "Love isn’t something that’s meant for some people and not for others. It’s not something that decides whether you deserve it or not. Love is a choice. And I’m choosing you, Y/N."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling into your chest, but the doubts, the fears, still clung to the edges of your mind. "But what if it doesn’t work? What if…what if I ruin everything again? What about the fans? You know how they are. If they knew-"

"I don’t care about the fans," Jeongin interrupted, his voice steady but urgent. “I care about you. This isn’t about them. This is about us. You and me. I’ll deal with whatever comes my way, but I won’t let anyone- specially some fans- decide how I feel about you."

You blinked, taken aback by the certainty in his words. "Jeongin… you can’t just ignore-"

"I’m not ignoring it. I know what could happen. I know how crazy the fake fans can get, how people talk, how the company would react. I’m not blind to it. But none of that is going to stop me from trying. Besides, the photos leaked from that one sasaeng didn't even cause that much problems. If anything they Stays were actually kinda happy." A little chuckle left him. "Some of the comments are funny. Like someone said they were happy we finally had a real dating rumor among the guys because they were worried we'd stay bitchless forever- not that I think you're a bitch- you're literally an angel, Nabi." He stumbled over his words his face pink. "But...I'm prepared for the crazy ones I swear."

Your breath hitched in your throat, the sincerity in his voice breaking through the layers of your uncertainty. You could see it in his eyes- he was serious. He wasn’t just saying this to comfort you or to make you feel better in the moment. He meant every word.

"Let’s make a deal," he said suddenly, his tone shifting to something lighter but still laced with that same determination.

You frowned, confused. "A deal?"

Jeongin smiled, the corner of his lips quirking up just enough to ease the tension. "Yeah, a deal. You don’t have to decide anything right now. I won’t pressure you, okay? But…give me time. Give me a chance to show you. Let me woo you properly. And if, after all of that, you still don’t believe love is meant for you… then I’ll back off. No hard feelings. But-"

"But?" you asked, your curiosity piqued despite yourself.

"But if I manage to convince you- if I show you that love is something that can work, even for us- then we’ll figure the rest out together." His eyes were filled with hope, a gleam of mischief, as if he already knew how this would end. "What do you say? Deal?"

You stared at him for a long moment, your heart beating in a strange, uneven rhythm. The part of you that had been so afraid, so convinced that love was only ever going to bring you pain, wanted to resist, wanted to turn him down and retreat into the safety of being alone. But there was another part of you, the part that longed for something more, that wanted to believe he could be right.

"Jeongin, I don’t know if I can promise-"

"I’m not asking for a promise," he cut in gently. "Just…give me a chance. Let me try."

You hesitated, but the warmth in his gaze, the unwavering determination, made it hard to say no. Slowly, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Okay…deal."

Jeongin’s smile widened, relief and excitement washing over his features. "You won’t regret this, I swear." He leaned back, his confidence now brimming. "I’ll do everything in my power to woo you over, Y/N. You’ll see. By the time I’m done, you’ll wonder why you ever doubted it in the first place."

You felt a strange mixture of nervousness and anticipation bubbling up inside you, but for the first time in a long while, there was also a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this could work. Maybe love wasn’t as impossible as you’d made it out to be.

But even as the thought crossed your mind, you still couldn’t help the whisper of doubt that lingered. You’d been hurt before- shattered, really. And the scars from that still felt fresh, still weighed heavily on your heart. Could Jeongin really change that? Could he really show you that love was something worth fighting for?

"Jeongin," you said softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "What if it’s not enough? What if the fans don’t accept it? What if-"

"We’ll figure it out," he interrupted, his voice steady. "We’ll deal with it together, one step at a time. But none of that matters if you don’t let me try first. I’m not afraid of what people think. I’m not afraid of the company, the rumors, or anything else. All I care about is you."

His words hung in the air between you, a promise wrapped in hope, and despite the doubts that still clung to your mind, something inside you started to shift. Maybe it was his sincerity, or maybe it was just the fact that, for the first time, someone was willing to fight for you in a way that made you believe you were worth it.

"Okay," you whispered again, this time with a bit more conviction. "Okay, Innie. Let’s see where this goes."

Jeongin grinned, his eyes lighting up in a way that made your heart flutter. "I won’t let you down." He stood up, offering you a hand to help you up. "Now, be prepared. I’ve got some wooing to do."

Despite yourself, a small smile crept onto your face as you took his hand.

It was warm and big and soft and felt like it was meant to be in yours.

Maybe this was the start of something new. Something better.

You wanted to delude yourself into believing that this wouldn't work. That it couldn't.

But you couldn't help and think that this might be the hardest thing you had ever done.

To force yourself not to fall while he did overly the top romantic stunts.

Since you had already started to fall with the bare minimum.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan

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veren-cos · 6 months ago

Note

Hello! If your requests are still open I would like to ask for your headcanons on a specific scenario.

The farmer came back from the mines in a really bad shape. They had to go to the hospital to get multiple surgeries and now how to stay in bed for a while.

How would the stardew bachelors react to their spouse getting hurt so badly and how would they help them with chores and recovery?

My requests are always open!! They just take me a while to get through depending on motivation, inspiration, and just time to write lol. Basically, as long as I don't respond to an ask saying I cant/won't write it, it will get written. Now onto the fic!!

(No trigger warnings. Reader is hurt, yes, but there are no in detail descriptions)

Sam

• He passes put when he sees you.

• He lived relatively close to the clinic so I imagine he got there pretty fast after he heard what had happened.

• So he saw you pretty beat up.

• Once you were finally awake, he pulled you into a big hug. Which proceeded to make everything hurt worse as you were still bruised and healing.

• You let out a yelp and then Sam jumped off of you and nearly started crying from how much he was apologizing.

• He ended up having to be taken out of the room by Maru while Harvey talked to you.

• Sam helped you get home, but you better believe you aren't doing *anything* on your farm until you're fully healed.

• Sam was prepared to full on quit his job to take over your farm until you were healed.

• You had to convince him not to do that, so he just ended up taking less hours (which you still didn't like, but you appreciated his effort and sentiment)

• Once you were finally healed enough for him to hug you and give you cuddles, that man was not letting go of your for *days*.

Sebastian

• Sebastian would not know what to do.

• He never thought that he would have someone this important to him, and now you look damn near dead.

• He emotionally shut down for a long time after seeing you.

• But once Maru talked some sense into him outside of the clinic room, he was just so worried.

• He knew he wouldn't be able to fully take care of your farm, but he did basically live in with you.

• He works from home, so he just moved his work to *your* home.

• He cooked for you a lot. It started out with a lot of instant noodles, but he eventually broke out of that and made you other food.

• He wouldn't smother you, but he wanted you to know he would be there if you needed anything.

• He took great care of your animals, and made sure the weeds on your farm were taken care of.

• Unfortunately, he wasn't able to keep up with your crops. So you ended up loosing a season.

• But Sebastian being there with you made it so much better than rotting by yourself.

Alex

• Oh Alex would be pissed.

• He doesn't go on the mines. He could handle it, but he knows that it's dangerous and doesn't want to mess with it.

• But if he saw you all fucked up from the mines?

• Oh he would be pissed.

• Maru and Harvey would have to hold him back from going in the mines to beat up whatever hurt you.

• But when you woke up, Alex completely forgot about going down there, and rushed straight to your side.

• He was with you like a lost puppy.

• Alex only works in the summer, so even in the summer, Alex could completely take care of your farm.

• Like Sebastian, Alex basically moves in with you while you heal.

• Random, but the thing he found he liked the most about his time while you were healing was helping you shower. He thought it was a very domestic and cute moment. (Alex loves the little domestic moments and I will die on that hill. Same with Sam-)

• He would smother you compared to the other Bachelors, but he just doesn't want to see you get worse.

Harvey

• He sees it the worst.

• Like with the other Bachelor's, you're still in bad condition. But Harvey sees the raw injuries. And he has to be the one to operate.

• He nearly breaks down but after maru talking some sense into him, he pulls himself together.

• But after operating, he just falls apart.

• Breaks down crying, not leaving your side until you wake up.

• He is so worried. Yes, he is confident in his work.

• But if you don't wake up. You. Harvey would never forgive himself.

• So when you finally do wake up, he is all over you.

• Like. For weeks. He won't let you do *any* farm work. He tries to pull double time as doctor and farmer to fill in for you.

• So he crashes a burns.

• Eventually he ends up enlisting the help of the town to watch you and do some farm work until you're back on your feet.

Shane

• He froze when he saw you laying clinics bed.

• Like just stood there. It took so long to register that you were *that* hurt.

• When Harvey told him you'd be on bed rest for at least 2 weeks, he blanked out.

• The most important part was getting you home and better. Shane could deal with the farm, but there was no way in hell you were getting up once.

• He nearly fell back into a depressive episode because of all of the stress, but now he had you. He was learning to rely on Marney more.

• So Shane took care of the animals. He tried to keep up with the farm itself, but it was too much.

• He still had his job at Joja, so there was only so much he could do.

• He moved a mini cooler onto a nightstand by your bed, so you never had to get up for food or drinks.

• He watched movies with you a lot, and once you felt good enough, gave you a lot of cuddles.

• He tried to put on a brave face, but he was worried for you. He didn't think he was going enough, but Shane didn't know what else he *could* do.

• All in all, he tried his best. Nothing would go wrong with him taking care of you, but there would be a lot of work for you once you completely recovered.

Elliott

• He was utterly heartbroken

• It felt like a piece of him got bruised and broken along with you.

• Elliott isn't very strong, so while he can help with the animals, the farm is staying still.

• He reads poetry to you every night. It becomes a nice habbit even after you are healed.

• He is there for you emotionally. Get that hurt is very traumatic, and he just wants to be there for you.

• He makes sure to take care of you until you can take care of yourself again.

• But even after, he still would want to take care of you <3

Hope Y'all liked it, have a nice day!!

Masterlist

#fanfiction #sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley x reader #sdv shane #sdv alex #sdv sebastian #sdv elliott #sdv harvey #sdv sam

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whateversawesome · 7 months ago

Text

Spy x Family Chapter 102: Healing

It was a very sad chapter, there's not much I can say about that, but I'll say that the panel that actually broke me and made me cry was this one:

That one hit hard.

Raise your hand if you have anxiety. Didn't this just hit home? And then, when she mentions that it must be because of an animal instinct, well, she was talking about fear, of course.

Fear's job is to keep us alive, to prevent us from doing something stupid, a mistake that could result in our demise. It raises the "DANGER" alarm whenever we face something unknown because what if that something is trying to kill you. But, what happens when everything looks like a threat? Could fear be an excuse for war? Could fear be enough cause to destroy others and ourselves?

One of the frequent topics of sxf is mental health and I'll say that, even though this chapter was so sad, it was also incredibly hopeful. I mean, look at Twilight, who is still young, who went through so much horror during war (just like Martha). The man suffers from PTSD and severe anxiety, for sure. Nevertheless, we see Martha, who was a young soldier like him, quietly drink her cup of tea, talking about difficult times with a six-year-old girl. Her life didn't turn out like she wanted, yet, she's smiling, and by the way she says things, the way she behaves and carries herself, it's evident to me that she has dealt with her demons and won the battle. It seems she has healed.

So, after reading this beautiful arc and specifically this chapter, I feel hopeful, not only for Twilight, but also for all the people whose anxiety feels like an unbeatable monster. Look at Martha realizing she still had so much to live for, look at her getting old, look at her be at peace. May that happen to Twilight too, may that happen to all of us.

#spy x family #twiyor #sxf #spy x family analysis #spy x family meta #loid forger #martha marriott #spyxfamily

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criticallyinneedofadar · 3 months ago

Text

Alliance of Shadows (Epilogue)

A/N: Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me guys :) Let me know what you want to see next!

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Warnings: SMUUUTTTT, MDNI!, this is the filthiest thing I've written- though definitely not the filthiest I've read lol

Taglist: @annatartastic @oakenshielq @perse-cora @eowyn7023@passionofthesith @zoya-olenko

Word Count: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One Year Later

The wind whistles through the mountain peaks, carrying with it the scent of pine and the sound of hammers striking stone. Below, scattered across the valley and nestled into the steep mountainsides, are homes—new homes. They are rough around the edges, some half-built, with timber and stone piled nearby, but they are homes nonetheless. A testament to the resilience of both the mages and the Uruks.

It has been a grueling year. The mountains are unforgiving, their rocky faces and unpredictable weather challenging both peoples in ways none of them had anticipated. The work was slow, and there were many nights you wondered if this alliance—this dream of creating a home for two vastly different peoples—was too ambitious. There had been arguments, cultural clashes that felt insurmountable. The Uruks, fierce and proud, had their ways, their traditions of strength and survival. Your mages, equally stubborn, clung to their centuries-old customs of knowledge and power. It had seemed, at times, that the gap between them was too wide to bridge.

But time and time again, the same thing happened: when the storm clouds rolled in, when the wind howled through the mountains, and when adversity came crashing down, the Uruks and the mages showed their true nature. They helped each other. Uruks used their brute strength to move stones, to carry heavy timber, to protect the mages when landslides and wild animals threatened their progress. The mages, in turn, brought their magic to bear, healing the injured, conjuring food and water when resources grew scarce, and using their powers to make the mountain more livable, inch by inch.

There were moments—glimpses of hope—where they laughed together, where they broke bread in the twilight, sharing stories around the fire. There were days when you saw the first true signs of unity, where mages would stand beside Uruks as equals, not out of obligation, but out of a growing sense of kinship.

Adar has been your rock through it all. He has never wavered, never doubted that this future is possible, even when you felt the weight of your past mistakes pressing down on you. His steady presence has been a balm to your soul, his guidance invaluable as he led his people with quiet strength and helped you lead yours. He stood beside you through every hardship, every victory, his love for you never faltering. Over the course of the year, your relationship had grown even stronger—unbreakable, even.

It was a rare thing in a world so full of chaos and uncertainty, but your love had become a beacon, a shining symbol to both your peoples of hope for the future. The Uruks and the mages respected you both, seeing in your bond the promise of what could be if they worked together, if they embraced the possibility of unity.

A wedding was in the works, though at times it felt more like a distant dream than a reality. Between ruling, building new homes, and ensuring the safety of the Uruks, you and Adar barely had time for each other, let alone for planning a ceremony. But even when the days were long and exhausting, when you collapsed into bed with barely enough energy to breathe, there was a warmth in knowing that he was there, always by your side. His presence was enough—a reminder that, no matter how difficult the path ahead, you were not walking it alone. The memory of his proposal is one you will carry with you for all your years to come.

—---------------------------

One evening, as you sat together on a cliffside overlooking the half-built village below, the stars bright above, Adar grew quiet. His usual intensity softens, and he gazes at you with a look you’ve seen before, but now, there’s something deeper in his eyes—something vulnerable. The wind stirs his dark hair, and the firelight from below flickers across his sharp features, casting them in shadow and flame.

“I have lived many lives,” he begins, his voice low, the gravelly tones blending with the night air. “I have seen empires rise and fall, watched those I cared for wither and fade with time. But never have I found anything, anyone, who has made me feel as you do.”

You turn to him, your heart already beating faster at the solemnity of his tone, and the raw honesty in his gaze. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. His grip tightens as if drawing strength from your touch.

“I have wandered this world for so long, burdened with purpose, with duty,” Adar continues, his voice rough around the edges with emotion. “But with you… it is different. It has always been different.”

You hold your breath as he shifts closer, his eyes searching yours, flickering between the depths of your soul and the vast sky above.

"I cannot imagine a world without you," he says, his words weighted with longing. "The thought of being parted from you, even in death, is something I cannot bear. You have brought me peace when I thought such a thing was impossible. You have given me hope, and for the first time in my long life, I have found something more valuable than power or land."

You feel the sting of emotion rising in your chest, threatening to spill over as you stare into his eyes. His gaze never wavers, and his expression is one of unshakable certainty.

“I have known loss,” Adar says, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “I have known pain. But I have also known you. And that, more than anything, has taught me what it means to live.”

Your hand trembles in his as he continues, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. "I want to spend the rest of my days at your side. I want to build this new world with you—not as a ruler beside another ruler, but as one soul bound to another. I love you, more than words can express, and I will follow you, always."

The weight of his confession hangs in the air, heavy with the depth of his feelings. You feel your throat tighten, the overwhelming tide of emotion making it difficult to speak.

“Adar, I—” you start, but he cuts you off gently, raising a hand to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly across your skin.

“I wish to never be parted from you,” he says softly. “Not in life, and not in death. I would fight the gods themselves if it meant staying by your side. Marry me. Let us be bound in this life and whatever lies beyond it.”

Tears blur your vision as the full weight of his words sinks in. He is offering you everything—his heart, his soul, his eternal loyalty. For a moment, you are lost, overcome by the magnitude of his love, of the life he is promising you.

You nod, unable to find words, but the look in your eyes speaks volumes. Adar’s expression softens, and for the first time in a long while, you see a flicker of relief.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I will marry you. I will stand by your side, always.”

A rare smile touches Adar’s lips—small, but filled with a warmth so genuine that it makes your heart swell. He pulls you close, pressing his forehead to yours, and in that moment, nothing else matters. The world around you fades, and all that exists is the two of you, together in the dark, holding onto a love that has survived battles, betrayals, and the weight of two kingdoms.

His lips brush against yours, a soft and tender kiss that promises all the things words cannot say. As you pull back, you feel lighter, as if the burden of the world has lifted, even if only for a moment.

Adar's eyes light up, a smile spreading across his face like a crescent moon, illuminating the shadows. He leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle yet insistent kiss that speaks of passion and forever. Your hands pull him closer, winding around his shoulders as a gentle moan leaves your throat. He deepens the kiss, tracing your lips with his tongue. His hands travel down your body, tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips. He grabs your buttocks, feeling their softness and the way they fit perfectly in his palms. You gasp as your body responds to his touch, sending a shiver of excitement down your spine.

You feel his arousal growing, pressing against your stomach, and your own desire starts to unfurl like a blooming flower in the heat of the moment. You run your hands over his chest, feeling the contours of his muscles beneath his shirt, and down to the waistband of his pants. He's hard, his desire, standing tall and demanding.

You pull away from his kiss just enough to whisper, "Don’t stop." He nods, understanding the need to be closer together as you both shed your clothes. The cool night air kisses your skin, raising goosebumps as it meets the warmth of your body. You lead him to the chaise lounge, the moon casting a silver glow upon the marble floor. The arm is cool against your bare skin as you lean against it, looking out over the city that's now just a canvas of lights below.

Adar lays beside you, his length, now freed from his pants, nudging against you. It's a gentle reminder of the passion that awaits you. You can feel the heat of him, his length pressing against the cleft of your buttocks. You lean back into him, feeling his chest against your skin, his breath warm on your neck as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his hands cupping your breasts, your nipples tightening into little pebbles at his touch. You arch your back, pushing them into his palms, silently begging for more.

He obliges, his thumbs rolling over your areolas before pinching your nipples. The sensation sends an electric shock straight to your clit, and you moan softly. "I need to feel you," you murmur, your hand reaching back to grasp his cock. It's thick and velvety, the head already slick with desire. You stroke him slowly, watching the muscles in his arms tighten as he supports himself against the arm. His hands slip down to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Touch me," you whisper, your legs trembling with anticipation.

He moves lower, his cock slipping from your grip as his mouth kisses a trail down your spine. Your breath hitches as you feel his hot breath on your hip, his tongue flicking out to taste the sensitive skin. His hands glide over your thighs, parting them gently, as he lays you on your back. His tongue traces the curve of your hip before moving down to the sweetness between your legs. You lean forward, bracing yourself against the arm as he spreads your legs. He licks a slow line along your lips, eliciting a gasp from you. You are already wet, your inner walls quivering with need.

"Adar," you whimper, feeling his tongue explore the folds of your sex. He laps at your clit with the hunger of a man who's been lost in the desert, savoring every drop of your nectar. You feel his hands spreading your thighs wider, giving him better access to your most intimate parts. His tongue delves into you, curling inside you, fucking you gently as he laps at your clit. The sensation is overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that has you moaning louder than the city below. Your breasts sway with the rhythm of his mouth, your nipples tightening further as the cool night air teases them.

"You taste like heaven," he murmurs against your pussy, his voice muffled by your wetness. You look down, watching him as he worships you, his eyes dark with lust. The sight of his mouth on you sends a bolt of desire through you, making you wetter than ever.

You gasp as he licks you, his tongue long and agile, exploring every inch of your sex. You can feel him savoring you, tasting every part of you, and it drives you wild. His mouth moves back up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. You moan, your hands grabbing fistfuls of the chaise lounge's cushion. The stars above seem to pulse in time with your heartbeat as he works you closer to the edge.

Your fingers find their way into his hair, guiding him, urging him on. "Don't stop," you pant, your voice strained with desire. "I'm so close." His eyes meet yours, and the intensity in his gaze sends a shiver through you. He knows exactly what you need, and he's not going to let you down. He sucks harder, his tongue flicking against your clit in a way that feels like it's been designed just for you. The tension in your body coils tighter and tighter until, with a cry that echoes through the night, you come. Your pussy clenches around his tongue, releasing a flood of warmth that he eagerly drinks down.

As the waves of your orgasm subside, he kisses his way back up your body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His cock, now slick with your desire, slides against your thigh, and you can't wait to feel him inside you. "Adar," you breathe, reaching down to guide him to your entrance. He doesn't need any more encouragement. With one smooth stroke, he enters you, filling you completely. You both gasp as your bodies connect, the sensation of fullness making your eyes roll back in your head. His cock stretches you just right, every inch a sweet invasion that you welcome with open arms.

You clench around him, eager to keep him there forever. He starts to move, his hips rolling in a steady, deep rhythm that has you gripping the edge of the chaise lounge. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, your nipples brushing against his chest, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. He watches you, his eyes dark with hunger, as he takes you, claiming every part of you as his own. You can feel the tension building again, the need for release coiling tighter with every stroke.

"Take me, Adar," you beg, your voice a breathy whisper that's lost to the night air. He complies, his hips slamming into yours, his cock hitting that perfect spot deep within you that sends you spiraling towards another climax. You can feel his muscles tense as he holds himself back, giving you all the pleasure, making sure you're ready to fall over the edge with him.

He leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth. The sensation is exquisite, a delicious blend of pain and pleasure that sends shockwaves to your core. You can feel yourself getting closer, the pressure building deep inside you.

"Don't stop," you plead, your voice a desperate whisper. "I'm going to cum again." Adar's response is to grind against you, his pelvis pushing into your clit with every stroke. You arch your back, offering yourself up to him completely, your pussy clenching around his cock like a fist.

He sucks harder on your nipple, the sensation sending you spiraling over the edge. Your body convulses, your pussy spasming around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He doesn't stop, his hips pumping into yours, his cock hitting that perfect spot with unerring precision. You scream his name, the sound of your climax a symphony of ecstasy that fills the night air.

As your orgasm subsides, Adar lifts you up, his arms wrapping around your waist. He carries you to the edge of the balcony, your legs wrapping around his waist, never breaking the connection between you. The city below seems so far away, nothing but a blur of lights as he fucks you against the railing. The cool stone presses into your skin, the contrast with the heat of your bodies only adding to the intensity of the moment. "You're mine," he growls, his teeth nipping at your neck. "Forever."

You nod, unable to speak coherently as he drives into you. Each thrust feels like a declaration of love, a promise sealed with every beat of your heart. His cock stretches and fills you in a way that's both agonizing and perfect. The head of him brushes against your cervix, sending sparks of pleasure through you with every stroke. Remarkably, you can feel yourself climbing again, your pussy clenching around him, begging for release.

His hips piston into you with a ferocity that matches the beating of your heart. The stone of the railing is cold against your ass, the contrast with his burning skin making you even more sensitive. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you in place. "I'm going to cum, again" you laugh against him, your voice a desperate whisper.

He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His cock feels like it's swelling even more, stretching you to your limits. You can feel his muscles tensing as he fucks you harder, faster. The night air is filled with the sound of your flesh slapping against his.

"I'm going to fill you up," he whispers, his voice a harsh rasp. "I'm going to mark you as mine." The thought sends a thrill through you, and you nod eagerly, your pussy clenching around him in response. He leans in, kissing you deeply as he continues to fuck you against the railing. His tongue mimics the movements of his cock, stroking you, filling you, claiming you.

You can feel his cock thicken even more, his length a delicious stretch within you. Your pussy walls quiver, and you know you're about to come again. "You are mine," you groan, your voice a desperate moan. "Come with me, my Uruk."

He groans, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. He complies, his cock jerking within you as he releases his seed. You feel the warmth of him fill you, painting your walls with his essence. The sensation sends you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave.

"Adar," you moan, your nails scratching against his back as your body arches. Your pussy clamps down on him, milking every drop of cum from his cock. He holds you tightly, his own orgasm making his muscles quiver. As the tremors subside, he lowers you to your feet, his cock still buried deep within you. You lean against him, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.

Your legs shake as your knees give out, Adar catching you with a laugh. “Have I worn you out already, my queen?”

He scoops you up in his arms, walking you both back inside, laying you down on your bed. “Give me a moment, I’ll catch back up.” you giggle, pulling him down beside you and wrapping your arms around him. You nuzzle into his neck, “My king” you whisper.

Adar groans, and you feel his excitement stirring again at your words. You laugh and drag him into a deep kiss. Pulling his body over yours, you pull the blankets up over both of you, his laugh following the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

_______________________________

The shadow cover you had promised the Uruks was your greatest achievement. After months of intense work with your strongest mages, you had woven a blanket of darkness that stretched across the mountain range, a barrier that blocked the sun’s harmful rays. It was a delicate balance, one that required constant monitoring and strengthening, but it allowed the Uruks to roam freely, no longer confined to the shadows. They could wander through the forests, the valleys, and the cliffs without fear, knowing that the sun would not burn them.

It was a gift to them, your way of making up for your mistake with Mordor. And every time you saw an Uruk child running freely through the fields or an Uruk warrior basking in the cool shade you had created, your heart swelled with pride and relief. You had kept your word, done everything you could to help them, and now they had a home that was truly theirs—a place where they could thrive.

As you stand at the edge of the newly built village, overlooking the progress that had been made, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. The mountains, once so daunting, have become a sanctuary, a place where both Uruks and mages can forge a future together. Adar stands beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, his presence a steady comfort.

“We’ve come far,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful as he surveys the work below.

You nod, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. “Farther than I ever thought we could.”

He turns to you, his eyes softening as they meet yours. “And we will go farther still.”

His words, as always, fill you with hope. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the solid strength of him against you. There are still challenges ahead, of course. More homes to build, more people to unite, more obstacles to overcome. But you know, without a doubt, that you will face them together. Always together.

As the sun sets behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the valley, you take Adar’s hand in yours and squeeze it tightly. The future is uncertain, but with him by your side, you are ready for whatever comes next.

#the rings of power #adar #adar rings of power #adar x you #rings of power s2 #adar x reader #adar fanfic #adar series #fanfiction #alliance of shadows

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m0chisenpai · 2 years ago

Text

New Daughter of Mine

Pre!Avatar Way of Water

platonic!jake sully x human!!reader x platonic!neytiri

Sequel: Goldilocks

It’s easy to take in a stray animal. A human child being taken in by two aliens is an entirely different narrative and challenge within itself. Neytiri works her best to learn with each day. And there were good ones like now. As she sits with her dear Netayem pressed to her chest and she watches as Jake points to himself, palms pressed to his chest as he slowly sounds out, “sem…pul”

And she can’t help the smile across her lips as you speak it back pressing your hands atop his, “sempul!”

“And Neytiri is?...” he raises his brow as you huff, pressing your eyes so tight then opening them wide.

“Sa’nu!”

“Sa’nok” He flicks your forehead gently.

“For you I am sa’nul my y/n.” And her heart throbs at the gap toothed smile you flash her. Her own lips turned up.

You latched onto Neytiri in an instant. And to Jake’s surprise she accepted you immediately. She would bring you on small hunts, teaching you to aim, to track. Crafted a bow with you as she told you the story of the one whose bow she carried.

She braided your hair affectionately in the warmth of the day. Her fingers gently plaited, and moved with a gentleness you never knew. Slowly you found yourself falling asleep, leaning your small body back to rest your head on her stomach.

And she didn’t have the heart to wake you, so she adjusted your head gently and continued threading the beads. They were her own ones from her own childhood. A piece of her, now a part of you.

You shifted in her arms, eyes open half way as a large yawn fell from your lips. By then she was done and you looked into the clear waters with excitement enjoying the sounds of the beautiful beads.

“Mother would braid tight when she did my hair at home. And there was another woman, I don’t think she liked me very much. She would do it sometime and it would hurt.”

And Neytiri cupped beneath your jaw to look into your eyes. “I will always be gentle with you, my y/n.”

And she was. Jake would raise his brow as she watched how Neytiri would speak with you. It took months to tear down that stoney wall, but with you she was a pile of mush in an instant.

But when it rains it pours. And when the bad moments come it is when Neytiri realizes that it only strengthens the now four of you.

It usually happens at night. You would get these night terrors and would scream and cry for your mother and father. It shook her to her core the first night it happened, but somehow you knew Neytiri’s arms and when sh beheld you tight and rocked you gently you would slowly lull back to slumber.

One particular night it was bad and in an attempt to soothe you Neytiri lay her hand atop yours and went to hold you once more. In your haze of a nightmare though you continued to shout “Mama! Mama!!” your shrieks now shake Jake awake who watches as your tiny fists drive into Neytiri your hands collide with hers working to get them off of your body.

“Its ok baby come here, you're fine. You're safe. We’re here” Jake quickly pries your fighting form away from Neytiri and wraps his arms around you.

And so she pressed Netayem to her chest bouncing him gently as she shushed him and Lo’ak who was woken by your screams.

Her heart broke as Jake pressed you to his chest, how you grasped his hand as you whimpered. You were scared of her. It was then she realized it. No matter how hard she would try, how hard she could try and heal your wounds, she would never be your birth mother. But for now, she would endure it. Because you were her ite.

She would not be your birth mother, she would do better. She could feel this task in her bones, from Eywa herself as she knelt before the tree of souls with tears in her eyes. “Free my daughter from these monsters in the night my Eywa. Great Mother help me, guide me. Teach me to do what is needed for my daughter.” Her eyes screwed shut as she clasped her hands tightly.

Tonight she waited. Neytiri was a huntress at heart, the best among the tribe. And she could hear it from the stutter in your breath. And so she sat up, holding you in her lap and rocking you as your breaths picked up. And she sang. She sang your song chord. Whispered it over and over as she brushed your hair out of your face.

And this time you didn’t fight her. Instead your head slowly fell into her palm, she could feel the gentle puffs of your breath slowing down. You lean into her touch and she smiles as she sings into the night.

That next day she would add a bead to her song chord. It was a beautiful stone you’d found playing in the waters with Netayem. She smoothed it down once rough and covered in stone turned smooth with deep grooves like a pearl, and now sings a new verse. “My Y/N, my light. Bright star in my life. To you, Great Mother, I thank you each night. Daughter of mine, new joy in my life. My Y/N, My Y/N.”

#avatar x reader #neytiri x reader #jake sully x reader #avatar way of water #platonic!jake x reader #platonic!neytiri x reader

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earthlybeam · 13 days ago

Note

Hi! I absolutely adore your work and I’ve devoured it every chance I’ve had. I wanted to ask if you would be willing to do the elves (Haldir, Thranduil, Legolas, Lindir, and whoever else you want to add) having a elven partner who is a healer and is looking after them after an injury of some kind.

I’m a nursing student and this is like a dream imagine situation for me 🩷

Thank you so much for your kind words! 🫶 I’d be more than happy to write small prompts for you. Here’s a brief healing moment for each of the elves you mentioned, featuring you as their healer and partner: Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir, lindir versions below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The hunt had begun with the quiet grace that was characteristic of Thranduil’s people. The dense forest, usually so full of life, was eerily calm this morning, a stillness that seemed to press against the senses. The Elvenking rode ahead of his party, astride his great elk, a majestic creature with antlers like the branches of an ancient tree. His crown of silver leaves sparkled faintly in the early morning light, a regal symbol that made him appear as much a part of the woodland as the trees themselves. For all his calm and collected demeanor, Thranduil was acutely aware of the strange quiet that had fallen over the forest. Birds were absent, and the air was thick with an unsettling tension. He narrowed his eyes, his sharp senses pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck. A faint rustling somewhere in the underbrush caught his attention—just the wind, perhaps? Or was it something more?

He shook the feeling off, urging his elk forward, confident in the power of his animal companion, who had always been steady and obedient. But today was different. A sudden, high-pitched noise broke the stillness of the woods. It was sharp and unnatural, a sound that seemed to slice through the calm. Thranduil’s elk startled, its massive body jerking under the pressure of the unexpected noise. The great creature reared, its hooves striking the air with panicked force, its broad nostrils flaring as it bolted forward, completely unhinged. Thranduil gripped the reins, trying to steady the animal, but the suddenness of the reaction took him by surprise. His usual command of his elk, honed over centuries of companionship, faltered in the face of the unexpected terror. He cursed softly under his breath, pulling on the reins with all his strength, trying to bring the creature under control. But the elk was frantic, its large body surging forward in an uncontrollable panic.

The forest blurred in a frantic rush of color as Thranduil fought to regain control. Trees flashed by on either side, their trunks becoming mere shadows in the chaos. His elk’s hooves thudded loudly on the ground, thundering with each panicked stride. Thranduil’s focus was razor-sharp—his mind calculating, analyzing—but the panic in the creature beneath him was becoming harder to quell. He could feel the animal’s muscles twitch, its body straining against the sudden onslaught of fear. Thranduil’s grip tightened on the reins, urging the beast to slow, to regain its balance. And for a brief moment, it seemed as though the creature might listen. The frantic pace began to slow, the elk’s breathing heavy and wild. But the moment of calm was fleeting. With a final, frightened lurch, the great elk skidded to a halt, the jarring motion coming so suddenly that Thranduil’s body was violently thrown forward.

Before he could react, his own momentum pulled him from the saddle. His heart skipped a beat as he was yanked from his perch, flung headfirst toward the unforgiving forest floor. His mind barely registered the collision as his head slammed into the thick, gnarled root of a tree that had risen just out of sight beneath the foliage. The world spun in an instant—bright stars bursting across his vision, the sharp sting of impact exploding in his skull. For a brief, disorienting moment, there was nothing but the feeling of weightless void. He could hear the rapid thud of his own heartbeat in his ears, and his mind fought to keep focus as pain rippled through his body. His breath came in shallow gasps, but his limbs refused to move. Everything felt… distant. Then, as the fog of shock slowly began to clear, Thranduil tried to push himself up, but his head felt as though it were encased in stone. His vision swam, and a thin line of blood trickled down his temple, mingling with his platinum blonde hair. The cold, rough texture of the tree root under his skull sent a jolt of reality through him, and he realized with a sudden clarity that he had fallen hard—far harder than he had intended. The once unyielding strength in his limbs seemed to falter, and for the first time in ages, he felt vulnerable.

His breaths came in uneven gasps as he tried to gather himself, his hands reaching out to steady himself, but the world around him seemed to waver like a fading dream. The moment of stunned silence was broken by the frantic cries of his hunting party, the sound of hurried footsteps and panicked voices drawing closer. “My king!” one of his hunters called, his voice trembling with fear. But Thranduil could do nothing but lie there, his once-proud composure shattered in the wake of the fall. His crown, symbolic of his power and pride, lay broken beside him, shattered pieces of silver scattered across the forest floor like remnants of a forgotten kingdom. And for the first time in centuries, the Elvenking—proud, untouchable, and fierce—was brought low.

The Elvenking’s hunting party had returned in chaos. His majestic elk, usually so composed and steady, had burst through the gates without its rider, Thranduil. Panic rippled through the gathering of elves, their faces pale as whispers of uncertainty and fear spread like wildfire. The sharp tang of alarm filled the air, a feeling so foreign, it tightened around your chest with unrelenting force. Without a word, you pushed past the gathering elves, your legs moving before your mind could fully catch up. You followed their frantic gestures, their pointing fingers leading you into the depths of the forest, each step heavy with the growing dread that something had gone terribly wrong.

The further you went, the more the forest seemed to have shifted—branches shattered underfoot, the ground churned, as if something had violently disturbed the natural peace of the woods. A sickening stillness hung in the air. And then, through a veil of broken branches, you found him. Thranduil lay sprawled across the forest floor, his form crumpled in a way that was far too unnatural for someone as regal as him. His platinum blonde hair, once gleaming like moonlight, was matted with blood, his crown shattered beside him as if it had been violently torn from his head. His face was pale, eyes closed, a deep gash on his temple still weeping blood. The sight of him, the proud and mighty king who had stood unyielding for centuries, brought low in such a manner, made your heart stutter. You froze for a moment, an icy wave of fear flooding your senses.

But that fear quickly turned into action. Dropping to your knees at his side, your hands trembled as you reached for him. His head had struck the ground with brutal force, the impact clear in the way his body lay unnaturally still. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath as you gently brushed the strands of hair away from his face, your fingers lightly grazing his cool skin. His chest rose and fell, a small, comforting sign of life, but the stillness of his limbs sent a shiver down your spine. “Thranduil,” you called, your voice low and urgent, though your throat constricted around the words. You needed him to respond. You needed him to fight. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, but they were not the sharp, calculating eyes you knew so well. They were dulled, unfocused, clouded with the disorientation of pain and the shock of his fall. The king, the great Thranduil, was not the figure of command you had always known in this moment. He was human, vulnerable, and it tore at something deep within you. He blinked a few times, his gaze struggling to focus on you as if the world around him was spinning out of control

Thranduil’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a haze of confusion clouding his usually sharp gaze. His brow furrowed, still trying to make sense of what had happened. The pain in his temple was blinding, the force of his fall nearly unbearable, but his pride—his unyielding pride—held him back from fully acknowledging it. He blinked a few times, trying to focus, trying to hold on to his usual commanding presence. The world around him was dizzy, but the sound of your voice cut through the fog. “Stay with me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling but firm as you gently cradled his head, lifting it slightly to inspect the injury. Your fingers brushed back his platinum blonde hair, your touch soft against his cool skin. It pained you to see him like this—vulnerable, fragile in a way he had never allowed himself to be. He was the mighty Elvenking, a figure of strength and command, yet now he was crumpled on the forest floor, his pride shattered almost as much as his crown. His lips parted weakly, his breath shallow as he whispered, “Do not fret, just little fall.” Even in this state, his voice held traces of that usual command, though it was laced with pain, his words faltering as he spoke. He wanted so desperately to push away your worry, to return to the stoic, indomitable figure that others looked to for strength. But beneath that facade, his body was trembling, and his pride was wounded as much as his head. “Do not fuss over me I’m no baby who needs coddling,” he continued, though there was no force in his tone, no strength left to push you away. His gaze, clouded with discomfort, met yours briefly, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and yet still trying to uphold his dignity. “It is nothing.” The words, meant to assure both you and himself, only highlighted the stark contrast between the proud king and the broken man before you.

You couldn’t stop the flare of frustration that stirred within you. You knew him—too well. You knew that his pride ran deeper than most things, and right now, his body was betraying him. His stubbornness was as sharp as his wit, but it could not change the fact that he had been brought low in the worst possible way. “It is not nothing,” you said, your voice soft yet firm, your hands still look at his temple, despite his protests. You moved with careful precision, the blood already matting his platinum blonde hair, the swelling at his temple alarming. You had seen warriors brought down before, but never someone so regal, so fiercely proud. “Even a king needs care.”

He winced sharply as the you touched the injury, his composure faltering for a fleeting moment as the pain surged through him. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the pain took hold. His stoicism, once unwavering, broke for the briefest second, and you could see it in the way his lips pressed together tightly, his jaw clenched in an effort to maintain control. His pride had been wounded, not just from the injury, but from the fact that he needed help at all. For a moment, his regal composure seemed to crack, and he turned his head away from your gaze, as if to hide the weakness that had so unexpectedly overtaken him. Despite his discomfort, your presence brought him a strange sense of solace—though he would never admit it aloud. His pride fought against it, tried to dismiss the care you offered, but in that moment, even Thranduil had to acknowledge the gentle force of your touch. He allowed himself a brief, fleeting moment of vulnerability before the armor of his pride slowly began to close back around him.

Thranduil’s pride, still reeling from the injury, caused him to mutter bitterly, “This is… unseemly.” His words were laced with a mixture of frustration and deep embarrassment, emotions he rarely allowed to surface. The king, so accustomed to commanding and controlling his surroundings, was now reduced to a broken figure on the ground, his strength failing him. His gaze flickered away from you, as though to escape the softness in your eyes that only made the vulnerability of the moment more piercing. But as your fingers brushed against his cheek, gentle and steady, the tension in his body seemed to melt away, if only for a heartbeat. His eyes slowly lifted to meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, the great Elvenking was no longer a king at all—he was simply a man, raw and exposed, vulnerable in a way that was both foreign and strangely comforting. The fierce warrior, the monarch who demanded reverence, was now quietly surrendering, his gaze softening in your presence. “You are not unseemly,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart ached to see him like this. His pride may have been bruised, but he was still the same being you loved—dignified, noble, and deserving of care. “You are my heart, Thranduil, and I will not let harm take you.” Your words rang clear, soothing the tangled storm of emotions that threatened to rise within you.

The faintest flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips, but it was brief—too brief. The usual strength in his smile was missing, replaced by something softer, something quieter, and it nearly broke you to see it. He may have been struggling to accept his fragility, but in that small, quiet moment, you saw him as he was: a king, yes, but also a man who needed someone to lean on, someone who would not abandon him. His fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting gesture that carried so much weight. It was a silent admission, a wordless plea for comfort and reassurance. Thranduil’s body relaxed ever so slightly, leaning into your touch as if it was the only anchor he could cling to in the vast sea of his discomfort. His pride still stood at the edge, watching from afar, but for now, he allowed himself to trust you—trust you in a way he had never allowed himself to trust another. Though his strength had yet to return fully, his trust in you was evident now—clear and unwavering. In this quiet moment, surrounded by the stillness of the forest, the great Elvenking, the fierce and unyielding leader of his people, allowed himself to lean on you. His pride did not allow for much, but here, in your care, he found solace. He found safety. And for once, Thranduil let himself be cared for, let himself simply be… yours. The journey back to the palace had been slow, the weight of Thranduil’s injury pressing down on both of you. Every movement seemed to send waves of discomfort through him, but the king made no sound of protest. His pride still held firm, though his body faltered beneath its weight. You walked beside him, offering support when necessary, keeping him steady with your touch.

Once you had him safely in the healer’s ward, you gently laid him on the cushioned table. The dimly lit room smelled of herbs and healing oils, the quiet hum of the palace a distant backdrop to the focus required to tend to the Elvenking’s wounds. His platinum blonde hair, though damp from sweat, had mostly dried, but the blood at his temple had matted in a dark patch, still visible under the soft glow of lantern light. You could tell that the impact of the fall had been severe, but it was the uncertainty of his condition that left you with a deep unease. Was it only the gash at his temple, or had something more sinister been inflicted upon him? You moved to his side, careful not to startle him. He was lying still now, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His golden eyes, though clouded with fatigue, flickered toward you as you took your place at his side. He didn’t speak immediately, and the silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. It felt, in some strange way, like an unspoken acknowledgment of the gravity of the moment—of his vulnerability. The king was always a figure of strength, but now, there was only a man before you, needing care. Thranduil’s voice, though weak, was still firm. “You need not fuss over me meleth nin,” he murmured, his words almost automatic, a reflex born from a lifetime of pride. You leaned over him, your fingers gently tracing the edges of the wound on his temple, feeling the jagged line of it, the warmth of the blood beneath your touch. “I am not fussing, Thranduil,” you replied softly, your tone soft but steady. “You’re not just my king… you’re my heart. I will not let this pass without care.”

His breath hitched for a brief moment, and his eyes flickered with something unreadable. His pride battled against the helplessness of the situation. Thranduil had always been the one to protect, to guide, and now he was the one in need of protection. The thought brought a mix of sorrow and tenderness, and for a heartbeat, you almost felt his vulnerability more than the pain he bore. Your fingers brushed over his temple again, applying a damp cloth soaked in a healing mixture of crushed herbs and water. He winced, though only slightly, the movement barely perceptible. You frowned slightly, concern furrowing your brow. “I think you may have a concussion,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. “The fall was hard… it’s possible.” Thranduil didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze followed your every movement, the slight flicker of trust beginning to form. “A concussion… a king’s fall should not be so unceremonious,” he muttered with a weak laugh that was anything but mirthful.

You smiled softly, though your heart ached to hear his words, and leaned closer, your hand gently resting over his. “No, but even kings are not invincible.” He seemed to think on this, his lips pressing together in a thin line, as if weighing your words. Then, his fingers shifted slightly, brushing against yours, though the movement was subtle. The smallest of gestures, but in it, you could feel the silent agreement—his walls had lowered just enough to let you in, even if only for a moment. With great care, you began to prepare a mixture of healing herbs—ones that would ease the swelling and accelerate his recovery. You applied it to the wound carefully, your movements slow, deliberate, as you worked with both precision and tenderness. His breath deepened as the soothing mixture took effect, calming the burn of the wound. The swelling at his temple was still troubling, but you could feel it beginning to lessen under your touch, the soft magic you infused him with helping to mend the damage.

He let out a quiet sigh, and his body seemed to relax under your touch. “You always know what to do,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and something more personal—perhaps a fleeting recognition of his dependence on you in this moment. You didn’t answer immediately, focusing instead on carefully binding the wound with a clean cloth, ensuring it was firm but not tight. When you were finished, you gently wiped the sweat from his brow and looked into his eyes, seeing a softness there that wasn’t often visible. “It’s not about knowing,” you replied, your voice low and reassuring. “It’s about caring. About being here when it matters most.”

Thranduil’s gaze softened further, and for a brief, rare moment, he allowed himself to simply exist in the quiet solace you offered. Even as the Elvenking, fierce and proud, he could not escape the fact that he needed you in this moment—needed the care and trust you gave him. The king, no matter how powerful, was still just a man in your eyes, and that truth seemed to settle over him like a quiet balm. His hand, which had rested beside him, moved slightly, brushing against yours again. The touch was light, but there was a weight to it—a sense of quiet gratitude that he did not express in words, but in the subtle tenderness of his gesture. As you finished tending to the last of the bandages, you stood back, looking down at him. Thranduil’s breathing had steadied, and the tension in his body had dissipated somewhat, though fatigue still clung to him. It would take time for him to recover, but for now, he was safe in your care. “You will heal,” you said quietly, more to reassure yourself than anything. “But for now, rest.” His icy blue eyes met yours again, and the faintest glimmer of something like trust, or perhaps even affection, flickered in his gaze.

“Rest… yes,” he murmured, his voice growing softer. “For once, I will listen.” With that, you settled into a comfortable silence, both of you aware that healing was not just about physical wounds, but emotional ones too. And for now, as his hand brushed lightly against yours, you knew that, in this moment, you had both found some small measure of peace. Thranduil’s lips twitched upward, and his voice, though still weak, took on a teasing edge. “With the luxury of my wine, of course.” You shot him a look, part amusement, part exasperation. “Always your wine, Thranduil,” you scolded gently, but there was a warmth in your voice. “You can’t be serious all the time, can you?” He smirked, a faint glimmer of the mischievous king you knew well. “It is a noble king’s prerogative to enjoy the finer things in life, my dear.” You shook your head, but a soft smile tugged at your lips as you brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I swear, you’ll never change. But don’t think I don’t love you for it.” He closed his eyes briefly, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “And I, you,” he murmured, his tone sincere, despite the playful words. And in that quiet, the two of you were content—one wounded but healing, the other tender and full of love. It was in these moments, as fleeting as they were, that you both found peace in each other’s presence.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The wind was fierce in the canopy that morning, howling between the dense branches of the great trees of Mirkwood, sending leaves and twigs swirling through the air like a flurry of whispers. Legolas had always been at home in these heights, his movements a symphony of grace and precision, his every leap and bound almost instinctive. He was the prince of the woodland realm, after all—one with the forest, capable of navigating the thicket of trees as if he were born to it. Today, however, the winds had a different temperament. They tugged at the branches, pushing them in ways that were foreign to Legolas’ usual rhythm. Despite the occasional gust, he pressed on, undeterred by the wind’s unpredictable nature. His target was just ahead—a large, sturdy oak that beckoned with its wide, curved trunk, an ideal vantage point to survey the path ahead of him.

With a quiet intake of breath, Legolas pushed himself from the branch he stood on, aiming for the next tree. His feet hit the bark of a nearby trunk, but the moment his foot made contact, the wind howled, sending the branch above him shaking. A sharp, biting gust knocked him off balance, sending his weight tipping too far forward. He flailed, trying to catch himself, but there was no saving his fall. His foot slipped and caught on something—a hidden vine that had been entwined around the branch, its tendrils nearly invisible beneath the thick leaves. The vine yanked him downward with terrifying speed.

Legolas had no time to react, his body twisting awkwardly as he plunged into the air. The ground rushed toward him with an unforgiving speed, the leaves and branches below offering no soft landing. He collided with the earth, his body slamming into the forest floor with a sickening crack, his breath knocked from his chest. The sharp pain that followed surged through his body, the unmistakable sound of snapping bone echoing in his ears. His left arm crumpled beneath him at an unnatural angle, and he gasped for breath, the world around him blurring as the pain spread like fire. For a moment, he simply lay there, stunned, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. The wind continued to roar above, but to Legolas, it felt muffled, as if the world had drawn a curtain around his consciousness. His arm was on fire, and when he tried to move, a sharp jolt of pain stabbed through his side. His ribs had taken the brunt of the impact, and he could feel the ache deep within his chest. Blood surged to his face as he struggled to lift his head, the taste of copper in his mouth.

He tried to focus, to push through the pain, but it was too much. His vision swam in and out, the edges of the world growing hazy. The forest seemed to grow distant, even as the familiar rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds lingered. But there, in the midst of it all, a familiar presence approached, cutting through the fog of his senses like a lifeline. “Legolas!” The voice called out, strained with worry. He tried to lift his head, to reassure you, but his muscles refused to obey. Instead, he clenched his jaw tightly and forced a weak, pained smile, as if to say that he was fine, that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. The sharpness of his breath betrayed him, and the agony seeping through his side and arm was an undeniable truth. His body was broken, his pride wounded more than anything else. “I should have been more careful,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, his eyes darting toward you. He longed to stand, to be strong and invulnerable as he always had been—but today, the forest had proven him wrong.

You knelt beside him, your heart aching at the sight of the once-immovable elf now reduced to a figure of vulnerability, his chest heaving with every strained breath. The forest around you, usually a place of strength and safety, felt strangely hollow in the wake of Legolas’s fall. There was a heavy silence between the two of you, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind and Legolas’s pained breathing. His face, usually so full of resolve, was now marked by an expression you rarely saw—a mixture of frustration and helplessness. Legolas’s gaze met yours, and though he tried to muster a smile, it was weak, faltering. His pale lips trembled slightly, his eyes betraying the agony that racked his body. His pride, ever so strong, was struggling beneath the weight of his injury. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his uninjured arm, hoping to offer him some comfort, some reassurance that he wasn’t alone in this moment.

“You are careful,” you said softly, your voice unwavering. “This was simply misfortune. The winds… they are strong today, and the vines—” You shook your head, trailing off. “This is not your fault.” You could see the internal struggle in his eyes, the battle between accepting help and retaining his dignity. You didn’t want to add to his frustration, so you simply stayed by his side, offering your steady presence. The words felt inadequate against the weight of his pain, but you hoped the softness in your voice would reach him where words alone couldn’t. You stayed quiet for a moment, allowing the connection between you both to speak where words had failed. Legolas didn’t have to say anything; the look he gave you—so full of trust, of quiet acceptance—spoke louder than anything he could have voiced. Despite the agony clearly radiating from his body, he seemed to find solace in your proximity. His chest, which had been rising and falling in shallow, frantic gasps, began to steady a little. He let out a small breath, his eyes closing for just a second as if gathering strength from your touch. “I… I did not wish to fail,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “You didn’t fail, Legolas.” You kept your tone soft and steady, pressing your palm against his arm in an attempt to convey more than words ever could. “You’re here, and that’s what matters. We’ll take care of you. I won’t leave you.”

There was a pause, and in that quiet space, Legolas’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak. His chest continued to rise and fall, and for a moment, you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—a deep gratitude, even if he didn’t voice it. You exhaled slowly, drawing yourself up and positioning yourself to support him. The forest was still swirling with the sharp gusts of wind, but they felt distant now, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you. You could sense his reluctance to move, to allow you to help him, but you could also see the helplessness there. “Legolas, I need you to let me help you,” you said, your voice firm yet gentle, the way one would coax a wounded animal back to safety. “We need to get you back to the palace, to the healer’s ward. You need rest, and the proper care.” He shifted slightly, his face contorted in discomfort, but he nodded ever so slightly, accepting your words despite the obvious strain. “I trust you,” he whispered, though the words sounded more like a promise than a statement.

With a steadying breath, you gently helped him sit up, supporting his weight as you moved slowly to your feet, your hands moving with practiced ease despite the worry gnawing at you. His arm—broken and hanging awkwardly—made it difficult for him to move, but he leaned into you, trusting you not to let him fall. You felt his body shudder slightly with each step, and you pressed him closer to your side, your arm wrapping around his back to support him. The walk back to the palace would not be easy, and Legolas would certainly protest at every slow, painful step, but right now, the greatest comfort you could offer him was this—your steady presence and your promise that you would not let him go, not now, when he needed you most. The forest seemed to fade into the background, and all that mattered was the bond you shared, the understanding between you.

Together, you would face the journey ahead, the hardship of the return to the palace, and the healing that would follow. You only hoped the healer’s ward—or perhaps your own chambers—would be enough to ease the pain of his body, as you had already begun to ease the burden on his heart. The journey back to the palace had been slow, each step a painful reminder of Legolas’s injury. His body leaned heavily against you, his breath shallow and labored, but through it all, he made no complaint. He trusted you, and that trust seemed to be a steadying force between the two of you.

When you finally reached your healer’s chambers, the weight of relief was almost tangible. The familiar scent of herbs, the soft glow of candles, and the calming silence of the room provided a sense of safety you both needed. You gently eased Legolas onto the cushioned cot, making sure he was as comfortable as possible despite his injuries. His pale face showed the strain of the journey, but there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes as he settled, his left arm resting awkwardly at his side. “Legolas,” you murmured softly, “I need to tend to your wounds now.” He gave a slight nod, though his gaze shifted to the fire in the corner of the room. His thoughts seemed distant for a moment, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was still feeling the sting of his own helplessness. But then his eyes met yours again, steady, though still strained with pain. “I trust you,” he said, the words laced with quiet reassurance. It was a simple statement, yet one that carried so much weight—perhaps more than he realized. In those three words, there was a sense of surrender, of willingness to allow you to care for him in the way that only you could.

You moved to his side, your hands gently cupping his injured head. There was a deep gash at his temple, a result of the harsh impact when he fell. The blood had dried around the wound, leaving dark streaks in his golden hair, but the cut itself, though deep, did not seem to threaten his life. You carefully wiped away the dried blood, murmuring quiet reassurances as you worked. “Hold still, Legolas,” you instructed softly, applying a healing poultice to the wound. The herb mixture would help reduce the swelling and stop the bleeding. His muscles tensed for a brief moment, the pain seeping through him, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze remained locked on you as if seeking comfort in your touch. “You know,” he said after a moment of silence, his voice still strained but laced with that familiar elvish calm, “I’ve never been in this position before. To be so reliant on someone else.”

You paused in your movements, looking into his eyes. The vulnerability there was raw, a stark contrast to the proud, composed warrior you’d always known. “It’s alright, Legolas,” you said, your voice warm and steady. “Even the strongest among us need help sometimes.” He closed his eyes, a faint exhale escaping his lips. “I know. It’s just… hard to let go.” You allowed him a moment of peace, then continued tending to his wound, your fingers careful and gentle as you bound the head wound with soft cloth. Once that was done, your attention shifted to his left arm. The bone was sprained, and though the swelling had reduced since the fall, the joint was clearly stiff and bruised. You moved with practiced ease, easing the arm into a splint, your touch soft yet firm as you ensured the injured limb was held in place. Legolas’s breath hitched slightly when you adjusted the bandages, the movement clearly painful, but he remained still.

“It’ll heal, Legolas,” you assured him quietly as you worked, your fingers deftly wrapping the cloth around his arm. “I’m not going to let it stay like this.” He let out a breath, as if trying to center himself, and then slowly nodded. “I know,” he replied, his voice tight but thankful. The final injury you needed to tend to was his ribs. You gently pressed along his side, the motion slow and deliberate. The bruising there was significant, a dark purplish hue spreading across the delicate skin of his side. You could feel the crack in the ribs, the sharp edges still unsettled, and you knew it would take time for them to heal. His breath hitched when you applied pressure to the area, the pain evident on his face, but again, he didn’t cry out. You paused, your hand resting gently on his side as you spoke in a soft, soothing tone, “I’ll use a salve to help ease the pain and help with the healing. But you need to be still. This will take time.”

“I’ll be still,” Legolas murmured, his eyes closing for a moment as he focused on the comfort you offered. “I trust you.” You worked quickly, applying the salve to the bruised skin and wrapping a bandage around his ribs to stabilize them. His body stiffened slightly at the tightness of the wrap, but there was no protest. Instead, he allowed you to continue, his focus solely on your hands as they moved with practiced care. When everything was done, you stepped back, giving him space to breathe and adjust to the healing that had just begun. He lay there, his chest rising and falling with each careful breath, his eyes now closed in rest. “You should rest,” you said quietly, your voice soft as you brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “You’ve been through a lot, and your body needs time to heal.” Legolas’s lips parted in a faint smile, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was enough. “And you, healer, have done more than I could ever ask.” His words warmed you, though you kept your focus on him, watching over him as he drifted into a fitful sleep. In that moment, the world outside seemed distant, the forest’s winds now nothing more than a faint hum beyond the walls. All that mattered was the quiet, steady beat of his breath, and the knowledge that you would remain by his side, tending to him, helping him heal—body and heart alike.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

The night had settled over Lothlórien, its deep shadows cloaking the ancient trees as the sounds of the forest murmured in the distance. Haldir, tall and regal in his elven armor, moved through the woods with his patrol, his eyes sharp, ever watchful for signs of danger. The crisp evening air seemed to hold its breath as his team of Marchwardens made their way along the northern border of the woods, silent as ghosts. The patrol was routine, at first, a quiet stretch of the forest where nothing out of the ordinary stirred. But the tension in the air was palpable — something was off. Haldir’s senses were finely tuned to the rhythms of the woods, and he could feel the disturbance before he saw it. The faintest movement caught his eye, a flash of unnatural dark shapes cutting through the trees, growing nearer. “Orcs,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible. He raised a hand, signaling his team to halt. The Marchwardens came to an immediate stop, crouching low behind the thick trunks of the trees, their eyes scanning the area. Haldir’s pulse quickened, but his mind remained as clear and focused as ever. There were at least six orcs—perhaps more—crawling like vermin through the underbrush. The smell of their foul presence was unmistakable, the rancid odor of their filthy bodies filling the air.

He turned to his team, issuing swift orders. “Wait for my signal. We strike in silence.” The elves melted into the shadows, their movements a blur of elegance and deadly precision. Haldir stayed at the front, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the tip of his bow lightly brushing against his leg. The orcs were unaware of their presence, their crude voices rising in excited chatter as they drew closer to the border. Haldir’s keen eyes picked out a clearing ahead, and he knew the orcs were about to walk right into the trap. With a subtle nod, he gave the signal. The elves sprang into action. Haldir’s bowstring twanged as he loosed the first arrow, striking an orc in the chest, sending it tumbling backward. The rest of the patrol exploded into action, arrows flying with deadly precision, blades flashing as the elves descended on the orcs like a storm.

The orcs tried to fight back, but the Marchwardens were too swift, too skilled. Haldir darted forward, his sword a gleaming arc of silver in the moonlight as he engaged with the nearest orc. The beast growled in anger, raising a crude axe to swing at him. But Haldir was faster, parrying the blow with ease and cutting through the orc’s defenses with a clean, practiced strike. The orc dropped to the ground with a gurgled cry. In the chaos, Haldir’s mind remained sharp, his focus unbroken as he danced through the battle. But the orcs were numerous, and the battle raged on longer than he had anticipated. His body moved with a fluid grace, each strike and parry a seamless extension of his will. Yet, despite his skill and speed, the odds were growing against him. His team was in control, but it was a fight that would cost them. And that was when it happened.

Haldir moved to block a downward swing from an orc’s jagged sword, but the force of the blow sent a shockwave of pain through his shoulder. At that precise moment, another orc, hidden in the brush, loosed an arrow with deadly accuracy. The shaft of the arrow whistled through the air, striking Haldir squarely in the shoulder blade. The force of the impact was brutal — the arrowhead slicing deep into his flesh, the shaft snapping as it buried itself deep. The pain was immediate, searing through his body like wildfire. Haldir’s breath hitched in his chest as the wound flared up, but he refused to show any sign of weakness. His eyes narrowed as the battle continued to rage around him. He could feel the blood beginning to soak through his tunic, the warmth of it spreading quickly across his back. The arrow was lodged deep in his shoulder blade, and he knew it would take a miracle to remove it without further injury.But he did not falter.

With a sharp growl, Haldir twisted his body to face the orc who had shot him, his movements quick and purposeful despite the pain. His sword was already raised, and in one fluid motion, he severed the orc’s head from its body. The creature fell in a heap, and Haldir’s gaze swept across the remaining orcs. His hand was pressed tightly against his shoulder, but the battle was far from over. His thoughts were sharp, focused on protecting his team and ensuring the safety of the border. He fought with renewed fury, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the blood dripping down his back. The rest of the orcs were soon dispatched, their bodies falling to the ground in defeat. Haldir’s movements slowed as the adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of his injury hit him all at once. His vision swam slightly, his body beginning to tremble with the effort of holding himself upright.

But even then, Haldir refused to show weakness. He turned to his comrades, nodding in approval. “The border is clear,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “Return to Caras Galadhon.” His warriors began the trek back, but Haldir lingered behind for a moment. His hand remained pressed against his wound, but he did not let his pace slow. The forest whispered around him, the pain in his shoulder growing worse with each step. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Haldir made the decision to return. His determination to complete his duty overrode everything else. He would return to the healing hall soon enough. But for now, the pain of the arrow in his shoulder was just another burden to bear. The border was safe. That was all that mattered. The evening air had grown still as the last rays of the sun melted beneath the horizon, leaving the forest draped in an eerie quiet. You walked with purpose toward the healing hall, your footsteps light and measured as you thought about the day’s duties. It had been an exhausting shift, but nothing you couldn’t handle. The soft rustle of leaves was the only sound, save for the occasional chirp of a bird as it settled for the night.

Then, just as you neared the hall, you heard them—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, with a familiar rhythm. Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively recognized the tread. Haldir. The thought crossed your mind like a whisper in the wind, but the unease that followed it made you freeze. You didn’t need to see his face to know something was wrong. His presence, usually so confident, was off. When he came into view, your breath caught in your throat. Haldir, the proud and skilled Marchwarden, was walking slowly, one hand pressed tightly against his shoulder. There was an unnatural pallor to his usually composed face, his posture noticeably slumped. His steps faltered slightly with each movement, his free hand clenched at his side, almost like he was trying to hold himself together. You moved without thinking, rushing to him as the faint glint of blood caught your eyes. His usually pristine armor was marred by the dark stain seeping through the fabric. The sight of it made your heart sink, and you forced yourself to remain calm despite the flood of panic that threatened to overwhelm you.

“Haldir!” Your voice cracked as you neared him, your hand reaching out, unable to stop it. You could see the arrow now, embedded deep into his shoulder, its shaft jutting awkwardly from the flesh, the blood trailing down his arm. The injury was serious—too serious for him to be walking at all. His gaze flickered to yours, and for a brief moment, a sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tried to appear unaffected, but the faint tremor in his eyes betrayed him. “It’s nothing,” he said, his tone too calm, too controlled, attempting to downplay the severity of the wound. You didn’t let him finish. Your hands were already at his side, your fingers gently brushing against the cold metal of his armor before resting over the blood-soaked area where the arrow protruded from his shoulder. A mixture of relief and frustration washed over you, but it was mostly the latter. “You think I’m blind?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Haldir, look at you. This is far from nothing.” His jaw tightened immediately, that familiar stubborn set to his features. You had seen it countless times, but never in such an intimate moment. He winced slightly as you shifted his shoulder, his face betraying the sharp pain despite his attempt to hide it. His eyes locked with yours again, and for a second, there was a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps. Or maybe it was just pride.

“The orcs were dealt with,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but firm. “The patrol is safe, and I…” You cut him off, unable to keep your frustration at bay. “Stop it,” you said, your hands working quickly but with great care to steady his shoulder. “You should have returned to the healing hall immediately. You’ve put yourself in danger for no reason.” You tried to keep your voice even, but it wavered. The fear, the concern you had felt when you first saw him like this threatened to break through. “This arrow could’ve hit a vital organ, Haldir. How long did you walk like this?” His eyes lowered for a moment, and there was a pause—an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to worry you.” A lump rose in your throat. You could hear the weight of the words, the unspoken burden he had carried for so long. You shook your head, your hands still gently bracing his injury. “You don’t have to protect me from your injuries. I care for you, Haldir. Let me help you.” His gaze softened, but there was still a flicker of pride in the way he stood, as if this was a burden he was meant to bear alone. But his body betrayed him, the blood soaking through his tunic, his stance weakening. For a brief moment, you wondered if he would finally allow himself to lean on you, if the burden of his responsibility could be shared, if the trust between you both could be enough.

But instead, Haldir stood there, his chin lifted, eyes meeting yours with a quiet resolve. He might never admit it, but you could see it in his gaze. He wanted you to help, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for it outright. You didn’t need him to ask. With You felt Haldir’s breath quicken slightly as you gently guided him into a sitting position, his face betraying the strain of the injury. His body had tensed when you first touched his shoulder, the sharp sting of the wound still fresh. The warmth of his skin and the blood that seeped through the fabric beneath your fingers reminded you of the urgency. “Just breathe, Haldir,” you murmured again, your voice steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You placed your hand on his shoulder, gently massaging to keep him as relaxed as possible. The last thing you needed was for him to tense up too much.

His gaze met yours, sharp and intense, even with the obvious discomfort. He didn’t say anything at first, but you saw the way his lips pressed together, the only sign of the pain he was in. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, but he did not flinch as you worked to ease the weight of his injury. Taking a deep breath yourself, you focused your attention on the arrow that was lodged deep in his shoulder, its shaft protruding from the skin. You could see the darkening stain around the wound, a stark contrast against his pale skin. The arrow had pierced through the flesh and muscle, leaving behind an ugly, jagged tear in its wake. It wasn’t just an arrow wound—it was a threat.

Carefully, you examined the entry point, noting how deep the arrow had gone. It had lodged near the shoulder blade, the shaft lodged at an awkward angle, which had likely caused the pain in his arm and neck. But from the way his breath caught as you probed the edges of the wound, it was clear it had caused more than just superficial damage. His body was already reacting—he was weakening, albeit slightly, as if the adrenaline was starting to wear off. “Haldir,” you said, keeping your tone as soft as you could, “I need you to stay still. This will hurt, but I need to remove the arrow now. It’s too deep for any healing to begin until it’s out.” His eyes flickered to yours again, that glint of pride still there. “I can manage,” he muttered, his jaw clenched in an attempt to stay composed, despite his obvious discomfort.

You nodded, not giving him the chance to protest further. You could feel the heat of his skin through his tunic, the erratic pulse beneath it—the fire of the wound was raging beneath the surface. Taking a deep breath, you reached for the arrow. Your fingers brushed against the shaft with delicate precision, trying to assess how best to grip it without making the injury worse. You would need to pull it straight out, carefully, with no jerks or sudden moves, or risk further damage to the surrounding tissue. The arrowhead had cut through muscle, and any force now could cause irreparable damage.

His breath hitched as you placed your fingers just beneath the base of the arrow, your other hand bracing his shoulder. You didn’t let your gaze leave his face, watching the muscles in his jaw tighten, a flicker of pain flashing across his expression. “I’m going to do it now,” you warned softly, your hands steady as you carefully began to pull the arrow out. It was a slow, agonizing process. As the arrow began to inch free, Haldir let out a strained breath, his body rigid beneath your hands. The tension in him was palpable, but he remained silent, determined not to show weakness. You couldn’t help but admire his resolve, even though it made your heart ache to see him in such pain.

The shaft finally broke free from the wound with a soft, wet sound. Blood welled up from the deep gash where the arrow had been, and you quickly moved to staunch the bleeding with a cloth you had brought. The arrowhead had embedded into his muscle, and though you had been as careful as possible, you could feel the depth of the damage. You knew it would require more than just cleaning; this wound would need stitches and time to heal properly. Haldir’s breath came in sharp, controlled bursts, his body tense but still under control. The faintest sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, but his eyes never left yours. He was fighting through the pain, but you could see the edges of his composure fraying. “I told you it was nothing,” he muttered with a crooked smile, despite the obvious discomfort.

You let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with the relief of knowing you had gotten the worst of it over with. “You always say that,” you said gently, your fingers now pressing against the wound to slow the bleeding. “I’m not so sure you understand the meaning of ‘nothing,’ Haldir.” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but you could see his body waver with each move. It wasn’t easy for him to sit still, especially when the wound was so fresh. But you needed him still, so you pressed a little harder against the injury, keeping him grounded. “I’ll clean it up now,” you said, your hands moving methodically to wipe away the blood and debris that clung to the injury. “Stay still, this will sting.” Haldir gave a slight nod but didn’t complain. His resolve never seemed to break. Even though you knew the pain he was in, he never once asked for relief. You admired that about him—his strength, even when he could barely hold himself up.

You reached for another cloth, dipping it in a solution of water and herbs meant to disinfect the wound. Gently, you cleaned around the edges, careful not to touch too harshly. His face remained neutral, though the occasional tightness in his jaw gave away his discomfort. “Almost done,” you reassured him softly as you finished cleaning the area, before moving to apply a salve to help with the healing. For a brief moment, the air between you was still. The world around you seemed to fade into the background. There was only the soft rustling of the forest, the quiet hiss of Haldir’s breath as he relaxed, and the steady rhythm of your hands at work.

When you finally finished, you looked up at him, your hands gently wrapping the wound with a bandage. His face was still pale, but the tension had eased a little, and the pain, though still present, seemed to be under control. You met his gaze, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever. “You’re going to be alright,” you said softly, your voice filled with quiet certainty. Haldir’s lips twitched, a faint smile tugging at them despite his exhaustion. “I trust you,” he replied, the words soft but genuine. And as you finished tending to his injury, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Not just for his recovery, but for the promise in his eyes—one you intended to keep.

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Lindir had always moved with an innate grace, his every step deliberate and fluid, as if the very earth beneath him conspired to support his movements. He was known for his poise and precision, the quiet elegance with which he carried out his duties. Today was no different. In his arms, he carefully balanced a stack of scrolls—ancient texts, maps, and records critical to Lord Elrond’s ongoing studies. These documents were important, and Lindir, ever dutiful, had taken it upon himself to personally deliver them. He moved briskly through the stone halls of Rivendell, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, intent on his task. His thoughts, however, were not solely on the scrolls. You had joined him as you both walked down the hallway toward Elrond’s study, offering light conversation as you spoke of evening plans. The air was cool, rich with the scent of old parchment and the quiet hum of Rivendell’s daily rhythm. The sunlight streamed in through the high windows, casting long shadows that danced on the stone floor. You spoke softly, the sound of your voice mingling with the distant sounds of elves working and laughing within the sanctuary of Rivendell. As you walked beside him, the quiet symphony of the day enveloped both of you in a calm moment. Lindir’s usual calm demeanor seemed impenetrable, his attention divided between the scrolls and your conversation, both important in their own right. He was a master at balancing the two, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

As you neared the stone steps leading up to Lord Elrond’s study, Lindir’s attention momentarily drifted. His focus shifted to something in the air, perhaps a fleeting thought or a concern, and in that fraction of a second, his foot found an unforgiving edge of one of the ancient stones. His perfectly poised step faltered. Time seemed to slow in that moment. The scrolls in his arms shifted dangerously, as though mocking the very precision he prided himself on. With a sharp, startled gasp, Lindir tried to regain his balance, but it was already too late. The stack of scrolls flew from his grasp, the flutter of parchment sounding like the softest wind as it scattered through the air. He could feel his body tipping forward, his arms instinctively reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop the fall. But gravity, unforgiving and indifferent, took over. His body plunged toward the ground with a sickening thud, the impact reverberating through the stone corridor. His chest slammed into the ground first, followed by his arm—his left arm.

The stone steps beneath him, cold and unyielding, seemed to mock his usually smooth and graceful movements as he twisted in mid-air, trying to shield himself. But the fall was brutal. One of his arms hit the ground at an unnatural angle, a harsh, jarring crunch echoing in his ears as the force of his body weight drove it further out of position. His cry of pain, sharp and strained, was swallowed quickly by the cold air. The world around him spun, his senses overwhelmed by the sharpness of his injury. The scrolls—those documents he had carried with such care—now lay in a disordered mess around him. The faint sounds of paper rustling were drowned by the pounding of his own heartbeat. Pain surged through him, and the world tilted. His left arm throbbed, a radiating pain that consumed him, while the sharp sting of a cut on his forehead sent a wave of dizziness over him. The blood from the cut trickled down his temple, staining his usually pristine features, a cruel reminder of how easily things could fall apart. His face, normally serene, was contorted in an expression of agony, his once composed features now a mask of pain.

For a moment, Lindir could do nothing but lie there, dazed, trying to catch his breath. His mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of the sudden, chaotic turn of events. He could feel the cold stone beneath him, pressing against his chest, the sharpness of the injury in his arm pulling him back to the present. His breathing came in ragged gasps, but it was the pain, more than anything, that rattled him. His arm—a trusted instrument for countless tasks—felt like it no longer belonged to him, as though it had been twisted into an impossible position. He glanced down at his left arm, now pressed awkwardly beneath him, the unnatural angle sending another wave of nausea through him. His head swam, and his breath became even more erratic as he tried—too stubborn to admit defeat—to move, to push himself up. But the pain was unbearable. He winced, a low groan escaping his lips as he attempted to shift his arm, but all that came was a sharp, agonizing spike of discomfort. His entire body trembled as the pain overwhelmed him, yet still, he tried to maintain some semblance of control, his pride fighting against the onslaught of sensation.

“I… I’m fine,” Lindir managed to say, the words barely escaping through clenched teeth. His voice was tight, each syllable forced out, and the tremor in his tone betrayed him. He wanted to reassure you, to make it seem like the fall had not shaken him, that it was simply a minor inconvenience. But even he knew his attempt was futile. His arm, the position it held, the way he cradled it against his chest—all of it told a different story. The pain was too great for him to hide, but the embarrassment of having fallen in front of you, so clumsy and ungraceful, gnawed at him. Lindir, always composed, always perfect in his movements, now felt utterly helpless. The embarrassment of the moment was almost as painful as the injury itself. He could see the concern in your eyes, but even as you knelt beside him, you could feel the tension in his body. It was not the fear of injury that haunted him—it was the sense of failure. Of how he, ever the dutiful and careful elf, had fallen so easily.

Lindir’s calm, composed demeanor had cracked in that instant. Despite the unbearable pain, despite the injury, he fought to maintain his dignity, not wanting to show weakness in front of you. But his usual unshakable poise seemed so far away, lost amidst the swirling chaos of pain, embarrassment, and the sheer vulnerability of the moment. With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, he closed his eyes briefly, his head dropping forward as the shame of the fall weighed on him. “I am sorry,” he whispered, almost to himself, as he lay there, fighting not to break down. The pain was more than he had expected, but it was the humiliation of his fall, his inability to stay composed in the face of an accident, that truly rattled him.

You knelt beside him, your touch gentle as you cupped his face, guiding his head back up so that your eyes met. His words cut through you, the depth of his shame reaching places you hadn’t expected. But you weren’t angry or disappointed—in fact, your heart swelled with affection for him, for the strength he showed even in this moment of weakness. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lindir,” you whispered, your voice warm and steady. “You didn’t choose this. Accidents happen, and they don’t make you any less than the elf I know. You’re allowed to be human, to be vulnerable, especially with me.”

You paused, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek as you continued, “You’ve always been there for me, no matter what. Don’t you think it’s okay for me to do the same for you now?” Lindir’s gaze softened, though the shadows of his embarrassment still lingered, tucked away in the corners of his eyes. But slowly, as he absorbed your words, he seemed to relax just a little more, the tightness in his shoulders easing. “You are so much stronger than you think,” you added, your voice gentle but insistent, “and you don’t have to carry the weight of everything alone. Not when you’ve got me.” You could see it then—the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes, His face was drawn, pale from both the pain and the embarrassment of his fall. His body trembled slightly, not just from the injury, but from the pride he fought so desperately to maintain. You could see the struggle in his eyes—he wasn’t ready to show weakness, not even to you. Still, you gently guided him back down, your hands firm yet tender, urging him to sit and take a breath.

“I’m going to help you,” you said, your voice soft but firm, offering him a reassuring smile even though your heart was racing in worry. Lindir didn’t argue, though the effort to keep his composure was clear in the way his jaw clenched. His eyes flickered toward the scattered scrolls, and his chest heaved slightly as he tried to push past the pain. He opened his mouth to protest, to insist on retrieving the documents for Lord Elrond, but you were already giving orders. “Someone, please take the scrolls to Lord Elrond for me,” you instructed to a nearby elf, who had paused upon hearing the crash. “I’ll take care of Lindir.” Lindir, ever diligent and intent on doing his duties, made a small, frustrated noise, but his eyes betrayed his true feelings—he was thankful for your intervention. He simply wasn’t willing to admit it, not yet. As the elf hurried off to take the scrolls, you turned back to Lindir. He winced as you pressed a hand to his shoulder, guiding him toward the healer’s ward, your voice gentle yet insistent.

“Come on, you need rest. It’s not just your arm,” you urged, trying to get him to focus. The injury to his head had begun to bleed more than you’d originally noticed, the cut on his forehead still weeping crimson, his usual pristine appearance marred by the blood. Lindir hesitated, then slowly nodded, his usual determination fading slightly in the face of his injury. As the two of you made your way to the healer’s ward, you couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion on his face, the way his steps faltered despite his best efforts to appear composed. His left arm hung at a strange angle, and each movement seemed to send another wave of pain through him.

Inside your healing chambers, you guided him to a chair by the low fire, the warmth of it offering a faint sense of comfort in the midst of the tension that hung between you both. You could feel the weight of his gaze, though he kept his eyes averted. He was embarrassed, not only by the fall but by the vulnerability of needing help. “Lindir, sit,” you said firmly, your tone brokering no argument. You could see the struggle in his eyes—the desire to appear strong—but his body had already betrayed him. He obeyed with a slight, reluctant nod, and you moved to fetch the supplies you needed. His breathing had slowed, but it was still labored, and his face was flushed with pain. You carefully began to clean the cut on his forehead, the small wound on his temple trickling blood. The moment your fingers brushed against the tender skin, Lindir flinched, his body tensing as though the slightest touch might send him over the edge. His eyes met yours, a flash of something unspoken passing between you—the quiet, unyielding trust he placed in you to tend to him, even when he would never ask for it.

“I’m sorry,” Lindir murmured, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I should have been more careful. I… didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t want to worry you.” You glanced up at him, surprised by his admission, but you said nothing at first. Instead, you gently pressed a cloth to his forehead to stop the bleeding, your fingers soft but certain. “Lindir, Accidents happen all the time. Don’t be so hard on yourself darling.” You softened the words, trying to reassure him even though the pain in his voice was cutting deep. You could see his eyes flicker with the weight of his pride, still trying to maintain that stoic façade. It was hard for him to show anything less than perfection, but you could also see his vulnerability there, hidden beneath the layers.

You moved next to his arm, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady but filled with the knowledge of the task at hand. His arm was broken, and it had to be set before anything else could be done. You could feel his body tense as you gently, but firmly, moved his arm into place, adjusting it to a more natural position. The pain must have been unbearable. Lindir’s breath caught sharply, his face twisting in agony, but he said nothing. His jaw was set tight, his hands clenched into fists, but not a word of protest came from him. He wouldn’t let you see the full extent of his discomfort, not even now. You glanced up at him, his eyes now closed, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple. “I need to set the bone, Lindir,” you murmured softly, trying to prepare him. You didn’t wait for a response before you began. Slowly, with gentle precision, you aligned the bone, pulling it back into place. Lindir’s body stiffened beneath your hands, his breath hitching sharply as he fought to keep the noise of pain buried within him. But you could hear it—the way his breath stuttered, the way his body quivered with the sheer effort of holding it together.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you secured the arm in a splint, wrapping it with careful attention. The moment you finished, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Lindir’s arm was now stable, though you could see the exhaustion settling into his face. You rose to your feet, your hands gently brushing away the strands of hair from his forehead, and your heart ached for him. You could tell how much he wanted to be strong for you, how much he hated the feeling of being vulnerable. But in this moment, he had allowed you to tend to him, to be the one who kept him safe. And though he would never admit it aloud, you knew he appreciated it more than words could say. “Thank you my love,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse from both the pain and the emotion that he had fought to suppress. “I… didn’t want to need this. Didn’t want to need help.” You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his uninjured hand, the warmth of it a quiet comfort. “You don’t have to be perfect, Lindir,” you said softly. “Not with me.” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes, allowing the silence to settle between you both. It was a small surrender, but it was all he could give in that moment. And for you, it was enough.

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bwabys-scenarios · 9 months ago

Text

A familiar werewolf

Part 1

Werewolf!Kurapika x Witch!Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

A/N: This is supposed to be an AO3 exclusive, but I decided to post the first part here in case y’all like it. I WILL ONLY CONTINUE TO POST THIS SERIES HERE IF THIS PART DOES WELL! If you want me to continue posting this on tumblr, COMMENT, LIKE, REBLOG!

if you’d like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment a red heart ❤️, make sure you’re able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)