#Lent Contemplative

[firstumcschenectady]

“It. Is. Well.” based on Deuteronomy 26:1-11 and Luke 4:-13

If I rewrote the temptation of Jesus story for today, it could sound a little different:

The tempter said to Jesus, “If you are the son of God, scan social media for updates about your friends and ignore all rabbit holes and clickbait.” Jesus answered, “Sow for yourselves righteousness; reap steadfast love… so, no.” (Hosea 10:12a)

The tempter said to Jesus, “Here is the world on a piece of paper, it is called the newspaper. Read this and tell me again that God is good.” Jesus answered, “God’s steadfast love endures forever, and God’s faithfulness for all generations - and that truth is deeper than any news.”

The tempter said to Jesus, “Here is a way to protect yourself, to get yourself out of the messes all around you.” And Jesus said, like Jesus liked to say, “Whatever you do to the least of these you do to me.”

That is, I think that a significant temptation facing us today is the temptation to become overwhelmed, to slide into despair, or to become self-protective. As many have pointed out, that temptation has been handed to us on a golden platter by those who believe that having us overwhelmed and mired in despair means we will be more compliant, but even knowing that, it is hard to stay centered.

And, I want to make space to say, I don’t think any of us can stay centered all the time and we all have different vulnerabilities, different access to resources, and different levels of tolerance, and with GOOD REASON some of us can’t find our centers very much at all. Or ever. Which isn’t any sort of personal failing, it is just that being attacked is dis-regulating.

Some of you are already familiar with the story behind the hymn “It Is Well with My Soul,” but as I think it is otherwise an odd choice of chorus for our gathering hymn for Lent, I want to tell the story again. Horatio Spafford’s life was a bit like Job’s. (Grimace) Spafford had 5 children and a lot of wealth. One of his children died, and then much of the wealth went up in smoke in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Two years later the family traveled to England but Horatio sent his wife and remaining children ahead of him while he finished some work. Their ship sank and all of his children died. His wife was saved. When he followed, and his ship traveled over the waters where his children died, he stood on deck and watched. And it is said that the song came to him then and there.

Now, I fear that the story can be a little bit too poignant, and someone could take from it that grief and loss are to be ignored or dismissed, and a person of sufficient faith can face any disaster with poise and grace. I don’t mean ANY of that. I think that any grief comes in waves, and sometimes one finds a grace-filled peace and sometimes one finds the depths of despair. And I don’t think being a person of faith insulates anyone from disaster or being deeply impacted by it.

I do think though, that somewhere within us is a piece of our being that is connected directly to the Divine – some people call it soul – and nothing in the world can damage our souls. Our bodies can be harmed, our minds can be harmed, sometimes even our so called “spirits” can be broken, but nothing in the world can damage our souls. And we all have them.

One of the reasons to engage in Contemplative Prayer is to allow the soul – who knows God intimately – the space to offer guidance to our beings as a whole. Another is to find that “peace like a river” that our souls know but usually our whole beings can’t access.

The Quakers have done a lot of work in thinking about and learning about souls in this sort of definition. One of the things they teach is that souls are SHY. They get compared to wild animals, who spook easily, trust hesitantly, and need a lot of space. Some of the continued education time I’ve engaged with while here at First UMC Schenectady has been devoted to “soul-work,” led by the Center for Courage and Renewal which was founded on the teachings of Quaker Parker Palmer.

Courage and Renewal engages in practices to let our soul-wisdom out. Their retreats include a lot of silence, time for journaling and art, and the use of “third things.” Third things are some sort of art – music or poetry or paintings, etc – that are used as a vehicle for reflection and as an indirect way to seek soul wisdom. People have a chance to notice aspects of the art, notice the feelings they have in response to the art, and wonder a bit about the connection. A practice like this is part of our offering on Wednesdays in Lent, a space with lots of silence, some intentional questions, and plenty of spaciousness. Those shy souls might feel safe enough to peak out!

The wonder of the work I’ve done with Courage and Renewal has been in learning that when one soul peaks out, other souls get really curious and are more likely to do their own peaking out as well. The wisdom of one soul is never exactly like the wisdom of another soul, but nevertheless they recognize that type of wisdom and their “ears” perk right up.

In an ideal world, this sort of wonder would happen every week in worship too, and I think to some degree it does. But worship doesn’t have quiet enough silence, or patience, for it to happen a lot. Nevertheless, grace appears because God is like that, and sometimes we’re really able to share our deepest truths and be heard by others deepest listening.

Dear ones, the point I’m trying to make may be a little obscure this time, so let me attempt to be clearer. Deep within you there is an unbreakable connection to the Divine. You may have other language for it, today I’m calling it soul. While the upheavals of the world can do profound damage to you, they can’t hurt your soul. Your soul might hide more deeply within you, or be more shy about sharing its wisdom, but it can’t be hurt! It can’t be hurt by distressing decisions or outrageous news or even by direct harm to you.

Because God’s own self is a part of you, and God is bigger and stronger and more loving than anything in the world could ever stop.

Which is why, in the middle of Lent, in a time when it feels like our society and the world are rolling backward, I think it is really important to sing, “It is well, it is well, with my soul.” I also think it is a great time to engage in contemplative prayer practices that help us connect with the Divine, with our own souls, and with peace.

All of which helps us feel the truth of “it is well, it is well, with my soul.” Because the wonderful thing is, it always is, always, no matter what. Thanks be to God. Amen

March 9, 2025

Rev. Sara E. Baron  First United Methodist Church of Schenectady  603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305  Pronouns: she/her/hers  http://fumcschenectady.org/  https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

[slowtumbling]

This Dysangelion Fast

Transformation through the Renewing of the Mind Scripture:“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”—Romans 12:2 (NRSV) In the quiet moments of my day, I often find myself reflecting on the profound impact that negative media has on my mind. It’s as if each piece…

[docileandlazy]

on extremely rare occasions I actually glance at Twitter and see a tweet that's good

[targuman]

L is for “Lent”

This is an entry in the “Acrostic Contemplations.”  Lent, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, cones from Old Dutch and Old German, meaning “long” or “lengthen.” It is a reference to the lengthening of days in the spring and in some Old English texts, the term is synonymous with spring. In Christianity, “Lent” refers to the forty days of penitence that beings on Ash Wednesday goes into to…

[playfulsparksp]

Wishing you a reflective and peaceful Holy Wednesday. 🙏 May this solemn day be filled with moments of prayer, contemplation, and gratitude. Let's take this time to remember the great significance of sacrifice and renewal. #HolyWednesday #Reflect #Pray #Gratitude #Renewal #Faith #Contemplation #PeacefulDay #EasterWeek #HolyWeek #Lent #Solemnity #Blessings #SpiritualJourney #ChristianFaith #HolyWeekObservance #Prayerful #ReligiousTradition #Faithful #SpiritualReflection #GodsGrace #ChristianLife #HolyWeekPreparation #LentenSeason #EasterPreparation #HolyWednesdayReflections #HolyWeek2024

www.playfulsparks.com

[multi-fandom-imagine]

lol imagine house figuring out you’re pregnant before you!😂

A/n: He fucking would too 🤣. You know that man would be so smug about it too.

House was never one to miss details. It was something that made him an exceptional diagnostician, but sometimes it also made him an insufferable observer of everything around him. He noticed small things: the way your appetite had shifted lately, the subtle exhaustion in your eyes despite your attempts to hide it, the slight nausea that seemed to hit you at odd times.

It started small—an occasional queasy look when you had take a sip of your coffee or had turned down food you'd usually devour without a second thought. He brushed it off at first, thinking it was just the stress of the busy lives you to shared. But as the days went by, more patterns emerged. You were more tired than usual, even taking naps when you would normally power through. You'd also been avoiding certain foods, particularly ones that you'd used to love, and there was something about your demeanor that made you less… you.

Then there was the subtle change in your mood. You had been quiet and contemplative lately, your usual warm energy.

House was, as usual, sharp enough to catch the signs, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of them, he debated with himself.Finally, one evening, while you two were sitting together on the couch , House couldn’t help but ask.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice casual but with that sharpness that came when he was close to solving something, “you’ve been acting a little… different. And I’m not talking about your sudden obsession with decaf coffee.”

You looked at him, your hand subconsciously resting over your stomach. It was a simple gesture, but it didn’t go unnoticed by him. You didn't know why you did it though letting out a soft laugh you shook your head.

“I’m fine, Greg. Just… tired, I guess.” You smiled at him, but it was a forced smile—one he could see right through.

“Really?” House raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m pretty sure it’s more than just tiredness. You’ve been… avoiding certain foods, and your mood’s been off. I’m pretty sure I could diagnose you with some kind of… mysterious ailment, but I’m guessing it’s not just a case of being overworked and underfed.”

Though the more he explained though more he started to realize what an idiot he was. "Fuck."

"Pardon?"

"I can't believe I didn't see it earlier..all the sign's....it was like a flashing billboard...you're pregnant."A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, his signature sarcastic edge creeping in as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Brooke chuckled softly, her eyes glistening with a mixture of relief and worry. "Really, I guess it makes sense....though I'll take a test before we head to bed to make sure."

"You owe me $50 if you are." House stated as he lent in placing his hand over yours.

"Greg I am not betting money on this." You rolled your eyes as a smile tugged at your lips.

"What about sex?"

"Ugh." Rolling your eyes you snuggle into his side as House wove his arms around your waist protectively, fingers brushing your side. "You're impossible."

[thargelalia]

see you in hell, baby

jason todd x fem!reader

Dick naively expects Jason to help him stay in your good graces as the MVP brother-in-law

-> 1.4k words

-> fluff, poor attempt at humor

-> warnings: none, the dynamic duo being dorks together perhaps?

please, reblog if you like or the author will cry

There's nothing better than to enjoy the vast collection of classics at the Wayne Manor library on a rare peaceful Sunday afternoon.

Or is it?

“Jaybird, hey!” Dick greets his younger brother, a little more excited than usual, as he saunters into the library. “Have you.. uhh, is my BFF around?” 

He’s scanning around the place like you could emerge from behind the couches or bookshelves at any given moment. Judging by his tone, Jason can already tell Dick wants something, but chooses to ignore him, too immersed in his current book to care. 

Dick looks left and right to the hallway before closing the doors, and joining Jason on the leather couch. The latter finally acknowledged his older brother to get this over with, so he can leave and Jason can read in peace. 

“She went to the bathroom.. why?” Jason says, narrowing his eyes inquisitively at Dick’s fidgeting. A fake smile plastered on his face, sweat bidding on the temple. He’s obviously worried about something. “You’re being weirder than usual.. Got your pants stuffed with itching powder again?”

His lips twitch upwards a little at the memory. 

“No, I— please, don’t ever remind me of that day again.” Dick winces, rubbing on his thigh to soothe an imaginary itch. Steph really goes all in on April Fool’s Day.

He clears his throat. “So, uh.. maybe, just maybe… I might’ve accidentally scratched that Beatles record sis-in-law lent to me last week.”

Jason exhales, contemplating whether he should ease Dick’s mind or not. While you were very careful and protective of your vinyl record collection, depending on which one that got damaged – and the extent of it – you might get a little upset, but let it go without much trouble. 

Not before an hour lecture to the culprit about taking better care of other people’s stuff, of course. 

“As long as it’s not Sergeant Pepper’s, you’ll be fine.” Jason shrugs, then chuckles to himself a little as he opens his book again. “Perhaps a kick or two to your shins.”

The silence that follows is pregnant with guilt. Jason can almost smell it in the air at the way his brother blanches next to him. 

“Fuck. Don’t tell me—”

“It was an accident!”

“Dick, you insane?! It was a gift from her grandmother!” Jason chastises, smacking the book shut with a hard thud. “You damaged an original copy from the seventies, you fucking idiot!”

Dick slides down on the couch, a pout taking over his lips. “I know!” 

“Can’t believe she let you borrow it.” Jason huffs, crossing his arms while shaking his head indignantly.

Dick has his hands on his head, about ready to rip his hair out.

“I know! What do I do now??”

“Well… for starters,” Jason begins dead serious, leaning towards Dick, who straightens his posture, desperate to hear a solution, “when was the last time you updated your last will and testament?”

“Shit.” Dick falls into the cushions, a desolated sigh leaving the depths of his soul. “Not helping, man.”

“Maybe Bruce can recycle my gravestone,” Jason continues, tapping his chin in fake thought, “what about an epitaph? Sure you’ve got some ideas.”

As always, any comment remotely related to his death has all the bats squirming or tensing like they’ve been poked by Catwoman’s sharp claws – which most of them have, in fact. They tend to feel uneasy whenever Jason makes his grim jokes. 

And perhaps that’s exactly why he does it. 

“Please, don’t talk like that,” Dick says softly, furrowing his eyebrows. Then, he changes his demeanor completely. “And yes, I do. Here lies Gotham’s hottest piece of ass. S.I.P.”

Jason gives him an unimpressed look, lifting his eyebrow. “S.I.P?”

His brother smiles as if he was dying to be asked that. “Sashay in peace.”

“Hope you make a safe passage, disco queen.” Jason deadpans. “Make sure to head straight to heaven, though. Don’t wanna put up with your glittery ass in hell, too.” 

Dick seems to suddenly remember why he was there in the first place. He grabs his younger brother by the shoulders, and shakes frantically. “This is serious, Jaybird! What now? I’ll lose my ‘favorite brother-in-law’ privileges!”

Jason kisses his teeth in annoyance, immediately releasing himself from Dick’s grasp, and pushing on his chest with zero delicacy. “You never had those.” 

Anyone other than Dick — and Bruce — would’ve splattered themselves on the cushions at being on the receiving end of Jason’s hard shove. But his older brother only tilts back, and recovers his posture like a roly-poly toy. An impressive display of sheer core strength.

“Yes, I did. I do. Remember her last seminar? She only had one other seat aside from yours, and she chose to invite me.” He points at himself, sounding smug. “And what about the wine she got me from her trip to France? Or the tequila from Mexico, huh?”

“The others aren’t old enough to drink.” Jason points out, groaning as he massages his temples. This conversation is getting tiresome. Baby, where are you? He thinks in exasperation. Dealing with his family outside patrol is easier when you’re right next to him.

Dick freezes, his index finger lifted in the air. 

He lowers it, closing his mouth. 

Then, he raises it again, attempting to hide his wounded pride. 

“That’s not the point! The point is—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Jason cuts him off, waving impatiently before he adds dryly, “too late for that, though. Replacement joined her Public Health research group last month. She’s invited him to dinner at our place twice now, unfortunately.”  

There’s a shocked gasp. 

“Not to mention the little demon asking her for help with his school projects, even though everyone knows he’s damn well capable of handling himself.”

An even bigger gasp leaves Dick’s lips, this time followed by a dramatic hand to his chest.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Will you fucking stop?”

“I need to amp up my game. Urgently.”

“Good luck with that. Not sure you can—”

Jason’s interrupted by the sound of the doors opening. The scowl on his face immediately dissolves into a relieved look at your return. Meanwhile, his brother appears as if he’s staring at a ghost.

You smile, tipping your head up. “Hey, Dick! What’s up?”

“Heeey, bestie!” He shoots up from the couch, sounding extremely unnatural as he glances at the watch on his wrist. “I–um.. Damn! I gotta pick up Babs at her friend’s house now. See you guys later!”

With a quick kiss to your cheek, he breezes past you and out the doors like he’s suddenly been possessed by Wally West.

“What was that?” You turn from the door to your boyfriend, giving him a puzzled look.

Jason contemplates for a brief moment whether he should tell the truth or not. More out of concern over you, as he’d hate to upset you, than over Dick’s sake obviously. But if you found out later that he knew about this fuckup, he’d join his brother’s body in the graveyard. And Jason is very much enjoying his second chance at life right now.

“Dick ruined your Sergeant Pepper’s record.” Just as predicted, he doesn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse for snitching on his older brother. Jason wishes he’d broken the news in a better way, but he let his eagerness for throwing Dick under the bus override his judgment.

Much to his surprise, you don’t show any expressive reaction aside from the slight purse of your lips. 

“You’re talking about the scratch?” You ask simply, joining him on the burgundy couch as he opens an arm to envelop you in a half embrace.

He tilts his head to rest against yours. “You’ve seen it already?”

“It was there before he got it. Probably happened during my last move out.”

“Oh. Oh.” 

“Poor Dick. I told him my grandma loved that record… He must be feeling like trash.” A sigh escapes your lips as you lean against Jason’s chest. “You should probably tell him when he comes back.”

“Baby, I’m not telling anything.” Jason laughs wickedly, taking your hand in his large one and bringing it up to his lips. The tender kiss offers a stark contrast against the disapproval in his tone. “Serves him right for not being watchful enough.”

“You’re so evil, Jace.” You tilt your head up, so he can see the playful glint in your eyes. “There’s no place for you in heaven, you know that, right?” 

Jason eyes you in disbelief. “Are you planning on telling him?” 

The pressing of your lips together is already enough to answer him – a futile attempt to conceal a mischievous smile. 

“That’s what I thought.” He pulls you to sit sideways on his thighs, arms tightening around your waist as he leans in to kiss your neck. Lips lingering there as his voice lowers in a way that makes you shiver when he says, “guess we’ll both be sharing Satan's throne as you sit on my lap in hell, baby.” 

A/N: I wanna be Jason's boo, and Dick's bestie so bad y'all!!

Remember to reblog, and let me know your thoughts if you liked. It helps me stay motivated to post on here <33

divider is from here

[tomicscomics]

02/28/2025

How could they forget Ash Succotash?!

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. Ash Wednesday is the beginning of Lent, a Catholic season of contemplation, preparation, sacrifice, and humility. If you go to Ash Wednesday Mass, you get ashes on your forehead in the shape of a cross. Catholics are supposed to fast (eat less than normal) and abstain from meat on Ash Wednesday. 2. In this cartoon, Emi tests Agnes on some made-up Ash Wednesday terminology. Not one answer in this whole thing is a real term, though some of them are probably things that exist. For example, priests must have some sort of ash stash for all those ashes, though they might not call it that. 3. At the end of the cartoon, Emi implies that she's taught Agnes that, if she eats meat on Ash Wednesday, she'll be whipped by "the ash lash." Emi's mother finally hears what the girls are talking about and yells at Emi for making stuff up.

[that-one-p00k1e]

───〃★ the way I love you ೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

Their love language w/you ft. Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Ren Kaji, & Haruka Sakura | Demon Slayer ver.

c/w: 🎀OOC🎀, fluff, gn!reader (I think), use of "my lady" in Suo's, established!relationship in Umemiya's

GRADUATING 2DAY RAAAHHH🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🦅🦅🦅

—Haruka Sakura being the easily flustered tsundere he is, words and physical touch aren't really in his dictionary of how to express his feelings. He isn't good at being forward verbally in the environment of love, nor is he able to initiate close proximity gestures.

Without realizing, one of his particular ways of showing his care was through acts of service. Helping each other around town has become a normalcy. Thus, he wouldn't stand out when doing you a favor purely out of his own will; he prefers to be discreet to avoid getting called out, not wanting to be viewed as soft and lose his dignity.

He'd claim that he couldn't give any less of concern for anyone. Yet, he couldn't help but feel an uncomfortable tug at his heart when you mentioned forgetting to bring an umbrella during the rainy weather. He contemplated whether to do something about it or not, torn between his pride and feelings.

Just as you were about to step foot outside, you felt a hand on your shoulder that brought you to a halt.

“The hell do you think you're doin’? Trying to get a cold?”

You weren't given enough time to let out a reply before a folded umbrella was held up to your face.

“You could've asked to borrow one, y'know. I have a spare, so save the fuss and just take it.”

With that, you thanked him and gave a smile of gratitude before taking your leave with the lent umbrella. Little did you know, that boy did not own a spare…

—Hajime Umemiya is so pure he's guaranteed to shower you with every. possible. way. imaginable to express his love. But physical touch would be one of the most prominent.

No matter the occasion, no matter the time, you somehow will always get pulled into an embrace one way or another. He loved the feeling of cradling your petite figure between his strong arms; it made him feel like he was shielding you from any harm. His hugs were warm, comforting, and provided a sense of safety. He'd wrap his arms around your waist from behind and spoon you in, he'd rub his hand up and down your back as you cry into his chest, he'll run up to you and let you jump into his arms, spinning you around as he lifted you off the ground.

He loves the feeling of your hands against his; your soft skin contrasting with his calloused palms. The comparison between the size of your hands and his was somewhat cute to him, making him want to protect you even more as if you were the most precious yet fragile treasure in this world.

“Next time you come in here looking all beat-up, I'm kicking you out and locking you outside,” you scolded him as you tended to his injured hands, irritation yet concern etched on your facial features.

Ume let out a chuckle at your threat, gazing at your grumpy yet worried facial expression which he thought endearing.

“Aww… You really have the heart to be so cruel to your beloved and caring boyfriend??” he whined as he looked at you with an exaggerated pouty face.

“So-called ‘caring’ but doesn't even seem to care about how worried his girlfriend gets when he comes over looking like a used dog toy.” He felt a twinge of guilt at your words, feeling bad for making you so worked up over his condition.

Gently, he held your wrist and brought your hand up to his face, softly placing tender kisses on your knuckles.

“I'm sorry for worrying you, sweetheart…” His deep, gentle voice conveyed such words so smoothly, like a soothing melody strumming its way through your ears and into your heart. You couldn't help but loosen the wrinkles that tugged your eyebrows, letting out a sigh as the tension slowly left your nody. You knew it was his duty to protect the town and all, but the amount of fight he gets into this week devastated you.

“Just… try to avoid doing it alone, please? I know you're strong, but it hurts me seeing you go up against many by yourself.”

“I'll try… Promise.” With that, he leaned over to plant a reassuring kiss on your forehead.

—Hayato Suo enjoys being discreet and mysterious. He finds amusement in seeing your confused face when you receive any form of gift anonymously. At first, he'll start out completely unknown; he wants to satisfy his curiosity on how you'd react for the first time. Once he saw the confused yet happy look on your face, it made him want to perform the act of gift giving even further.

The type of gift would often be small flower bouquets. Occasionally, a little pack of candy would be stuck to it alongside a little note. Written inside those little notes; through either riddles, poems, or song lyrics, he started giving subtle hints on who the sender was. Day by day, he watched patiently as you took your time to connect the pieces.

Until one day.

You were at Pothos, helping out Kotoha as the first-year gang hung out. While wiping the front counter, you overheard Nirei sharing his opinion on how cool Suo was that he understood flower language. You internally agreed. Suo was a man of many quirks, and you've secretly admired him for that. He understood trivial things that most people wouldn't; poems, flowers, riddles– Holy shit.

Your body froze up the moment realization kicked in, heartbeat accelerating as you tried to quickly form everything in your mind. The elegant handwriting, the heart touching poems, the beautifully arranged varieties of flowers. Could it be–

“Suo.”

The crowd suddenly went quiet at the abrupt mention of one of the personel. You decided to take things somewhere a little more private.

“Please be honest with me,” you demanded as the both of you stood in front of the café.

“Are you the one who has been placing random flower bouquets in front of my doorstep? And before you come at me, there is no one else I know that understands flower language, poems, or-”

“Ah, so you've finally noticed,” the brunette chimed innocently with a sweet smile.

You blinked. “W-What?”

“Yes, I'm the perpetrator behind all those floral gifts you find every day. Are you uncomfortable with it? I can stop if you'd like–”

“NO! I-... I appreciate it. It's just… why? What for? Did you get a dare or something?”

Ever so subtly, his eyes softened at your words. “Why, it is simply because I like you.”

The moment the confession escaped his lips, it felt like your whole world was shaken. You were excited, happy, yet unsure. Unsure if he meant it or not. After all, you knew the kind of person he was.

“... Please don't joke about this.”

He understands what you mean, and he doesn't blame you for that. “My lady… I may be one to bluff, but involving one's feelings is where I draw the line,” he spoke with a tone oh-so gentle, wanting to convey the sincerity his words bore.

“Then… what are you trying to get out of doing all of this?”

“Your heart.”

Blood rushed into your cheeks like a marathon. Your heartbeat acceleration exceeded a speed limit you didn't know you had. With a deep breath, you gathered all ability left to respond.

“... You already did.”

Not even a second passed, and the young man felt a pair of arms embracing him tightly; a sigh leaving his lips as he looked down at the fair maiden in adoration and fondness.

Little did they know about the little audience they had through the glass window of the café.

—Ren Kaji has an aloof demeanor that he tends to keep to himself and distance his existence from the world. He's not one to listen nor speak, preferring to focus on the music blasting through his headphones. Though he enjoys being in rowdy places, he doesn't get loud and excited himself. All in all, quality time would be his best aspect in the language of love.

He'll accompany you on your walks, either when he bumps into you during patrol or when you're going home from school. He'd claim that walking you home was a part of his ‘duty’ and that you just happened to appear as an excuse. Along the journey, he'd listen to you talk your heart out while humming occasionally to let you know he was listening. Even if his headphones were on, he'd lower the volume to be able to hear your voice.

Never had he admitted how he felt comfortable with your presence, and maybe he never will. Words and touches weren't in his field of knowledge, making him seem to be difficult to approach. But little did you know that deep down, he held a spot for you as one of the exceptions – which he was clearly oblivious to.

“... Kaji… Kaji.” He rolled the sucker in his mouth and pulled down his headphones as he felt a poke on his cheek.

“Go on ahead without me. I'm gonna head someplace to eat.”

“I'll come with.”

“But you have patrol.”

“And I also have Enomoto and Kusumi. End of discussion.”

With a defeated sigh, you decided to eat at Pothos; the safest place to eat and thankfully the closest to your place. You offered to treat Kaji for dinner – not wanting to be the only one eating – but the young man declined and said he wasn't hungry. You didn't care; still getting him something as a way to thank him for his willingness to accompany this whole time.

“What? I said I wasn't hungry,” he claimed in defense while pulling his head away once he saw you bring a spoonful of omelette rice to his mouth.

“Just shut up and eat. I'm not living with the guilt for having you go through all this trouble for me.” You pulled out his sucker and replaced it with the awaiting spoon, not giving him time to argue back. He swallowed and looked away before muttering lowly.

“I'm not doing it for you.”

“Whatever you say…”

He begrudgingly let you feed him the whole food, chewing quietly and kept himself distracted on his phone. Unbeknownst to you and him, tints of pink adorned his cheeks.

Little did y'all know, Tamon's second year's vice captains had a good view, but decided to save themselves a scolding.

[moon---fuu]

« Ten years »

::Micheal Kaiser x fem!reader

Camera flashes illuminating the room, Kaiser was looking at you, as you were changing your poses. It was your last shooting, for the day, so your boyfriend decided to come, after his soccer practice, to support you. As always, sitting in the back, your silhouette did not leave his eyes. The way your hips, he worshipped, swayed with your every moves. Your hand, he love holding, changed position. Your face, he adore kissing, was focused on the photographer, in front of you.

He licked his dry lips, continuing to contemplate you. God, you were absolutely breathtaking, and the comment the photographer had for you only amplified your natural charms.

It was Kaiser, who introduced you to the haute-couture world. He was the first one, to lend you his hand when he gained fame. He was just giving you back all the helping you did for him, for ten years.

Ten years from today.

Ten years, that you lent him that piece of bread, when your father had, already, scolded him for stealing from his little market. Ten years, that, with your beautiful doe eyes, you gave him a piece of affection with that gesture.

Ten years, that you gave him a reason to live.

So how could he not shower you with all the material things he lacked back then, now ? It was just his way to say « thank you ». With time, more than just being thankful, this feeling changed into an « i love you ». Just the way your love saved him. He didn’t realized it, but he was just mimicking the attention your were giving him, when you were younger.

By now, you must have forgotten all the little gesture you had for him. But in his mind, they were the highlights of his life. He smirked a bit, tacking into memory your moves.

Your cheekbones getting warmer from all the compliment the staff workers had for you, while your hands moved to deny them. Saying you just had the privilege to be here and anyone could do as well as you.

No.

Nobody would be sincere, shy, sensitive and innocent as you.

Nobody was affectionate as you.

No one was there for him, to heal his wounds, physical or not, as you.

No one gave him the attention he needed, as you.

You were the only one. The only one, he could see in the sea. No need for any other fish, when he got his own personal one. Just fitted for him. No one could replace you, so how could you not see your qualities yourself ?

The last photos were taken, after Kaiser applauded, getting up from his seat to walk over the scene.

« Perfect. You were absolutely perfect Meine Liebe. » he smirked, with his usual confidence. All the staff agreed, as you got red looking down at you feet.

« Stop it…Micha »he laughed at your response, taking your chin into his hand for you to look at him.

Micha…

What a sweet nickname you got him, ten years ago. Back then, you had a hard time pronouncing his name, so you just gave it to him. Your second present after that piece of bread. With his usual cocky attitude, he sneaked his other arm, behind you back to « trap » you as he like to say.

« I won’t stop, cheering for my empress », he smirked once more. Stunned, the staff workers were just whispering of how he was a sweetalker to you. How could you be so different, how could your relationship work so well ? But all you saw, was his eyes. Clear blue eyes, holding all the sorrow, the raw vulnerability, softening when you responded with a quick sweet kiss.

This protectiveness he had over you, was maybe a way to cop with your « imposter syndrome », because he was the one to bought you to this world of fame. A way of loving you, very personal, passionate and sincere.

Or just maybe, because, he was seeing himself in you.

❥ I’m just writing what i wanted to read…

::Moon

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (2/20)

SURPRISE!!!

A little of expectations for you.

Enjoy it <3

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio X Fem Reader

Summary: When you hand over the Rio blouse, you discover something that maybe fate has different plans from yours.

Attraction

The sound of the keyboard was the only thing breaking the silence in the small apartment. You were hunched over your laptop, your eyes glued to the screen as you frantically searched.

"How to remove coffee stains from white cotton."

It was the tenth time you tried a different combination of words, and the results weren’t very helpful.

Glancing at the impeccably white shirt that Rio had lent you, you let out a nervous sigh. The light brown stain on the fabric seemed to mock you. Rio probably had dozens of other shirts, but you needed to return this one in perfect condition. It was as if your dignity depended on it.

After following the instructions from a dubious blog, you rushed to the nearest market and bought the most expensive liquid detergent you could find, along with a fabric softener whose advertisement promised to make any fabric as soft as a hug. It cost nearly all the money you had left, but it was worth it.

Hours later, the shirt was clean and smelling of lavender with a sophisticated floral touch. Perfect. Now, you just needed to deliver it.

The address on the card led you to one of the most upscale areas of Los Angeles, where the streets were wide, the buildings gleamed in the sun, and every storefront seemed to belong to another world.

You stopped in front of the art gallery bearing Rio’s name on an elegant sign. The large windows revealed a sophisticated and well-lit interior, where only a few people moved silently, contemplating the works on display.

Upon entering, the air was fresh and imbued with a faint scent of paint and polished wood. The first thing that caught your attention was the monumental pieces scattered throughout the space.

Some sculptures were abstract and imposing, others were paintings that seemed to overflow with emotion. There was a raw, hypnotic energy in those works – some wild, others so deeply personal that you felt a knot form in your throat as you looked at them.

You were so absorbed in the paintings that you almost didn’t notice the woman behind the marble counter, typing on her computer. Her neatly tied hair and thin glasses gave her a professional and serious appearance, and the sound of the keys was the only thing breaking the elegant silence of the environment.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked, without taking her eyes off the screen.

You gripped the paper bag tighter. “I…I need to speak with Rio Vidal.”

This time, she looked up, appraising you for a moment with a neutral expression. “Do you have an appointment?”

You hesitated. “No. But I just need to deliver this”—you lifted the bag slightly in your hand. The woman’s haughty expression made it clear she really didn’t care. “—to her, so… It’s important.”

The woman sighed lightly, picked up the phone, and dialed a number. “Mrs. Vidal, there’s a young woman here to see you. She says she needs to deliver something.”

There was a pause, and then the woman nodded, hanging up shortly after. “She said you should come upstairs.” The bored tone made it clear that this wasn’t exactly what one imagined doing with their life—or was working for Rio really that difficult?

“And don’t touch anything!” Your heart leaped, as if you’d been caught doing something wrong. You hadn’t even noticed that you were staring at the surrounding artworks with an almost childlike fascination.

Nervousness settled in your stomach as you pressed your lips together and proceeded.

Following the instructions, you walked to the second floor of the gallery, where a corridor with glass doors led to the private offices. When you reached the last door, you hesitated for a moment before lightly knocking and pushing it open.

The space was a spacious studio bathed in natural light coming from the huge windows. The smell of paint was stronger there, mixed with a woody hint. Rio was standing with her back turned, working on an unfinished canvas, and even without seeing her face, her presence dominated the room. When she turned around, her sharp gaze met yours, and a small, amused smile played on her lips.

“Oh. Look who came to grace us. Butterfingers.”

Your face immediately heated up. “I–I came to bring your blouse.” You carefully extended the paper bag, the fabric neatly folded and still perfumed with the expensive softener. “And again, I’m sorry.”

Rio got up with the ease of someone completely in control. She walked over to you, taking the bag with an almost lazy gesture, yet her eyes remained fixed on yours. When she pulled the shirt from inside the bag, one eyebrow arched, noticing the subtle scent that permeated the fabric.

“Lavender?” Her tone carried something indecipherable, a touch of provocation mixed with discreet interest.

You nodded, unsure of what to say. Rio held the shirt between her fingers, examining it for a moment before carefully folding it over the back of a chair.

She took the bag slowly, her eyes still fixed on you. Her smile seemed to analyze, to calculate. “You are so thoughtful, aren’t you?”

You felt your cheeks warm, too shy to admit that it felt like a ritual of personal redemption.

She let out a low laugh, shaking her head. “Thank you, my dear.”

Then, she set the bag aside as if she had no hurry to take it, and took a step toward you.

“You did a good job.” The proximity between you had grown closer now. “And since you’re here…” Her eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement. “What did you think of my works?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the question. You were still trying to catch your breath after walking through the gallery. Each piece seemed to have a life of its own, drawing you into a world of intense shapes, striking textures, and meticulously planned chaos.

Some works were monumental, dominating the room with an overwhelming presence. Others, smaller paintings, carried an emotional depth that you didn’t know how to process.

“They’re… impressive,” you answered hesitantly.

Rio tilted her head slightly, a playful smile on her lips. “Impressive? Is that all?”

You bit your lower lip, feeling her gaze burn into your skin. “I… I really liked that one over there.” You pointed to a painting with dark tones, where violent brushstrokes mixed with almost delicate details.

It was a canvas loaded with shadows and contrasts. A blend of obscurity and a desire hidden somewhere in the depths of the subconscious. Violent brushstrokes clashed in disorder, yet amidst the chaos, there was something almost delicate—subtleties concealed in the details, like secrets buried beneath layers of paint.

Green and brown intertwined as if linking past and present, life and decay, rebirth and oblivion. The green of persistence, of hope, suffocated by the earthy, solid, and inevitable brown. A silent struggle between promise and ruin.

Rio walked up to the painting, fingers gliding along the frame. "Curious. This piece is about desire." Her voice dropped slightly, as if confessing a secret. "The line between control and surrender."

Your stomach twisted at the way she said that, her gaze locking onto yours with calculated interest.

"And this one?" Rio gestured toward a nearby sculpture—a woman with an expression of pain, her form entangled in shapes that grasped and pulled her downward, tense, as if trapped in an eternal dilemma.

You hesitated. "The woman looks... restless."

"Exactly." Rio smirked slightly, as if satisfied with your response. "It’s about the moment before surrender. The hesitation before the inevitable." She stepped closer to you, her eyes fixed on your face. "I like that phase. When everything is just... anticipation."

Your breath hitched. There was something in the way Rio spoke—not just about art, but about you, about the situation unfolding between you two. The tension was almost palpable. Your fingers brushed lightly as you tried to look away, but she didn’t pull back.

And then, the gallery door opened. The sound of heels echoed through the space, a floral perfume mixing with the scent of paint and varnish.

"What a charming scene."

The voice came from behind you, husky and laced with irony. You turned around only to find a woman standing at the entrance, dressed in a flawless dark overcoat, her gaze sharp enough to be impossible to ignore.

Agatha Harkness.

Her eyes slowly swept over you before settling on Rio, a subtle smile playing on her lips.

"I hope I’m not interrupting anything... intimate."

You instinctively turned back, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you recognized her. "P–Professor Harkness?" you stammered, your voice almost failing from the shock.

Agatha Harkness, with her dark hair impeccably styled and wrapped in a perfectly tailored purple suit, seemed even more imposing outside the classroom. Her eyes—blue and gleaming like ice under the sun—moved from you to Rio, lingering just a second too long on your hands, still close. There was something in that gaze, something that felt like much more than mere curiosity.

"Yes… and what exactly are you doing here with my wife?" The tone was sharp, but carried a veiled amusement, as if Agatha found the scene before her quite entertaining.

The word echoed in your mind like a distant chime, and your stomach dropped. Suddenly, the closeness between you and Rio, the way she looked at you, the condescending way she laughed at your reactions... everything took on a new meaning.

The tension in the room became tangible. It was as if the two women were engaged in a silent conversation, their gazes exchanging meanings far beyond your understanding.

You watched, shrinking into yourself, feeling like an intruder in a moment that seemed private—yet you couldn’t look away. The magnetism between them was undeniable, almost hypnotizing. They are the most beautiful couple I’ve ever seen, you thought, unable to stop yourself.

Rio was the first to break the silence that hung like a storm about to break. Her expression was serious, but there was a glint in her brown eyes that betrayed her usual control. "She just came to return my shirt, my love." Her tone was careless, almost lazy, as if deliberately ignoring the rising tension.

Agatha arched an eyebrow, her smile slightly sarcastic. "Ah, so you..." She tilted her head slightly, glancing sideways at Rio before fixing her gaze on you once more. "Are the one responsible for the coffee stain that ruined her favorite shirt? What a... twist."

You opened your mouth to explain, but Rio interrupted you with an irritatingly superior calm. "It was an accident. It's already taken care of." Her tone was indulgent, as if she were defending a childish mistake. As if you were exactly what she loved making you feel—small, fragile.

Agatha's eyes gleamed with something unreadable, and a soft clicking sound escaped when she pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Interesting."

And in that silent exchange between them, everything became clear: Agatha was not just the feared mentor of your course. She was Rio’s wife. And in that moment, the world seemed to shrink around you.

You realized you had stepped right into the center of something much bigger—something you weren’t sure you could even begin to comprehend.

As silence settled once more, Agatha took a step forward, leaning slightly toward you. "Well, gem, I do hope your disastrous talents are compensated for later, huh? After all, you’re supposed to impress me today, aren’t you?"

You swallowed hard, feeling heat rise through your body. Between the magnetism of Rio’s presence and the overwhelming allure of Agatha, you were completely trapped. And the worst—or best—part was that deep down, you didn’t want to escape.

You cleared your throat, trying to recover some semblance of dignity. "I—I should go. My shift starts in just a few minutes. Sorry again for the shirt, Mrs. Vidal." Your voice trembled, but you tried to sound firm, giving a nearly mechanical nod before hurrying out of the room, feeling Rio and Agatha’s gazes burning into your back. "And see you later, Professor Harkness."

Your heart was still pounding wildly as you left the art gallery, nearly stumbling onto the sidewalk. You tried not to think about the magnetism of those two women—the way their gazes seemed to pierce through you, the tension that pulsed between them.

But it was impossible.

Arriving at work, the chaos was evident before you even crossed the door. The sound of cups clinking, the endless hum of conversations, and the coffee machine steaming away created an uncomfortably familiar backdrop. Behind the counter, America stared at you with a look that mixed irritation and relief.

"Finally!" she muttered, throwing her hands up. "It's hell in here, and we haven't even made it past the first hour. And just so you know, the boss is watching. Better not screw things up again today."

You simply nodded, feeling the weight of her words like a brick on your chest. Since the coffee incident, you had been relegated to the counter, away from the customers. Making drinks was the most you could do now.

Trying to ignore her judging gaze, you adjusted your apron and began working. Cappuccino, latte, black coffee – it was almost automatic. Everything seemed reasonably under control until America came back, her face contorted with even more irritation.

"Hey," she said, pulling you by the arm. "That woman is here again. And guess what? She specifically asked for you to serve her."

You froze. "Rio?"

"The one and only. Soon, the boss is going to overcharge for these famous people," America crossed her arms, lowering her voice. "Does she always seem so grumpy? Seriously, the kind of person you look at and already feel like you've done something wrong."

You followed her gaze to a discreet corner of the room. There she was. Rio Vidal.

The immaculate blazer, dark hair falling over her shoulders with calculated carelessness, and that gaze... the kind of look that seemed to observe and judge everything at once, as if the world around her was just a minor detail. Even sitting down, there was something about her that exuded a commanding presence, something that made the room subtly bow to her will.

Rio Vidal was not just an artist – she was an icon. Critics called her "an eccentric genius," "an untamable mind," "a storm in the shape of a woman." Her exhibitions were exclusive events, her paintings fought over by collectors who paid fortunes for a single piece.

Her temperament, however, was almost as famous as her art. There were stories... so many stories. Assistants who quit in the first month, gallery owners who avoided direct contact, journalists who preferred to interview Agatha rather than deal with Rio's unpredictable mood.

And now, that same woman was here. Waiting for you.

America snapped her fingers in front of your face. "Earth to you. You're not going to make that panic face when you get over there, are you?"

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the nervousness. "I'm not panicking."

She raised an eyebrow.

You exhaled slowly.

"Maybe a little."

Reaching the table, you tried to keep your posture, even though your heart was racing. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Vidal. It's a pleasure to see you here again. How can I assist you today?"

Rio lifted her eyes from the menu, the same penetrating gaze from before locking onto you. "I thought it would be fair to give you a chance at redemption," she said, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "You owe me a coffee, after all."

You swallowed hard, trying not to show how disarmed her words made you. "Of course, Mrs. Vidal. What would you like?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if studying you. "Surprise me."

Just like that. Without even looking at the menu, without giving any hints. Just the order hanging in the air, a challenge disguised as indifference.

Back at the counter, you focused on the drink, choosing the ingredients as if they were brushstrokes on a canvas. Caramel cappuccino. Sweet, but with a robust undertone, balanced. Like her? No, of course not. But... maybe.

As you prepared the cup with more care than ever, you felt her gaze burning into your back. Rio was watching, silent, her presence as heavy as spilled paint on a blank canvas.

When you returned to the table with the carefully prepared coffee, Rio took the cup but, instead of drinking immediately, spoke in a casual tone:

"Did you know my wife is curious about you?"

The words hit you like lightning. "Professor Harkness?" you asked, almost without thinking.

Rio smiled, but there was something calculated in her expression. "Yes. She mentioned you have... potential. Both in film and in causing trouble."

You didn’t know if it was a compliment or a provocation, but before you could answer, Rio finally took the cup to her lips. After a sip, she nodded, approving.

"How did you know caramel cappuccino was mine?" she asked, sipping a bit more of the sweet drink.

"Excuse me?" you asked, confused.

"Yesterday. I ordered caramel cappuccino and black coffee for Agatha. And today, you bring me a sweet drink. How did you know it was for me?" she asked, intrigued.

You blinked, feeling your heart tighten. You hadn't thought too much about it; you just followed your intuition when preparing the caramel cappuccino, as if you somehow knew it suited her. But now, under Rio's sharp gaze, the question seemed much more laden with meaning.

"I... I don’t know," you replied honestly, your voice low. "I just thought it suited you."

Rio raised an eyebrow, a subtle smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It suits me, does it?"

You immediately blushed, the words slipping out before you could control them. "I mean, uh... the cappuccino is... refined, but sweet. I just thought maybe it was something you’d like."

She tilted her head, her eyes dancing between amusement and curiosity. "Interesting."

The silence that followed was heavy, but somehow comfortable. You felt like Rio was watching you in a different way, as if she were trying to decipher something you didn’t even understand. Finally, she placed the cup on the table, crossing her arms over the wooden surface.

"You are really... rare, aren't you, little gem?" she said, leaning her body toward you, suddenly very interested in occupying the same air as you.

The nickname fell from Rio's mouth like a drop of poisoned honey, soft but loaded with something more. Your stomach twisted, and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks, bursting into a blush you couldn’t hide.

The words echoed, hitting you hard. Not just for the sound, but for the implication – the way she leaned her body, as if she wanted to wrap you in an invisible web.

"It’s an interesting nickname, but I really don’t understand," you said, your voice faltering slightly, gripping the cleaning cloth tightly, trying to keep your hands busy. "Professor Harkness calls me exactly that."

"Oh, I know," Rio replied, her eyes shining with something that seemed dangerous, but fascinating. "A rare, rough gem that needs to be shaped. Sounds exactly like you."

The air between you seemed heavier with each passing second. The silence wasn’t empty—it was filled with something you couldn’t define, but it made your breath feel too loud. You knew you shouldn’t feel this way; you were sure that Rio wasn’t trying to do anything malicious.

But then, why were her eyes so intense? Why did it seem like she wanted to tear away each of your secrets?

Before you could respond, the unmistakable sound of your boss’s voice sliced through the moment like a dull blade. “Ah, Ms. Vidal. Is she bothering you? I’ve told this girl not to get into trouble again...”

The coldness in your spine was immediate, but it didn’t last long. Rio’s sharp laugh pierced the air. Low, almost indulgent, but full of pure disdain. She straightened in her chair, lazily resting an arm over the backrest, like a queen on her throne watching a foolish subject.

“Tell me, do you always speak to your employees this way, or do you save that condescending tone just for women?” Her voice was sharp velvet, and the look she shot the man was enough to make him hesitate.

“I was just... commenting on yesterday’s incident,” he tried to fix, discomfort showing in his fake smile. “You know, with the coffee...”

“Ah, yes.” Rio interrupted, standing with rehearsed calm, her presence dominating the space as if she had always belonged there. “An incident that has already been resolved. And if I remember correctly, I was very clear: this girl,” she gestured vaguely toward you, “should not suffer any kind of reprisal.”

The air grew heavy. Your boss opened and closed his mouth but couldn’t find the words that could save him from Rio’s predator-like stare.

“C-Certainly, Ms. Vidal,” he conceded, averting his eyes like a cornered dog. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“It is now,” Rio declared, already bored with his existence. She slid her wallet out of her coat pocket, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and placed it on the counter without even looking at it. Folded with precision, as if every detail were part of a game only she knew.

“For her.” The command came soft, but undeniable.

And then, as if the man no longer existed, Rio turned her gaze back to you. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink until it fit inside the brown of her eyes.

“See you later, little gem,” she murmured, her voice slow, delicious, soaked in that almost lazy tone that made your skin tingle.

Before you could even catch your breath, Rio walked out of the cafe with the same lethal calm as always. The woody scent of her perfume lingered in the air, just like the shiver that ran down your spine—and the unsettling feeling that the game was only just beginning.

[...]

As you crossed the building’s doors, the opulence of the environment seemed to swallow any remnants of confidence you had brought with you. The façade reflected more than your image—it projected your insecurity before the magnitude of the world you had just entered.

This wasn’t just Agatha Harkness’s territory; it was her domain, a space that vibrated with her invisible but overwhelming authority. You were a misplaced piece here, and every step you took seemed to echo that reminder.

The interior was even more intimidating. The wide corridors, lined with black-and-white photos of legendary cinematic moments, and the glass doors revealing immaculate offices, exuded professionalism.

However, it was the dense silence, interrupted only by hurried whispers, that made it impossible to ignore the weight of Agatha’s influence. Her subordinates moved like gears in a perfectly adjusted machine, but every furtive glance they cast toward her office door revealed something else: fear.

When you entered the production room, the tension was almost tangible. The environment buzzed with the energy of busy professionals, but for a brief moment, everything seemed to freeze.

Subtle glances were raised only to assess your presence—there was no curiosity, only a cold, impersonal evaluation, as if they were deciding right then and there whether you belonged in that space.

“This is our new intern,” one of the subordinates announced, his voice carefully neutral. But the hesitation, though minimal, betrayed his discomfort.

Agatha didn’t need to raise her eyes for her presence to dominate the room. Sitting behind the desk, she seemed part of the very scenery—motionless, but in a way that suggested she could take control of everything at any moment. The space around her was too small for the grandeur she exuded.

Her long fingers held a script, which she leafed through with a genuine-seeming interest, though you knew it was just a game. Every gesture was calculated, a veiled display of power. Her silence was a warning.

Then, almost as a whim, Agatha raised her eyes.

The impact was immediate. Her gaze didn’t linger, but in an instant, it pierced you like a cold blade. There was no apparent emotion, only a meticulous examination—impersonal, surgical. You knew you were being analyzed, but you didn’t know what she was looking for. Just enough to understand that she had already made a decision.

And then, without a word, she turned her gaze away.

The ice in your chest spread as Agatha returned to her reading, dismissing your presence as if it were irrelevant. There was no need for orders or threats. Her indifference was the message.

The others returned to work as if nothing had happened. But, from time to time, someone would glance in your direction, almost as a silent reminder: don’t expect anything from her.

Your heart raced, and a feeling of discomfort enveloped you. Feeling invisible in front of her was harder than you’d imagined. Every subordinate who came to explain the procedures seemed to try their best to be as polite as possible, but the furtive glances they exchanged told everything: don’t mess with her, don’t question her, she doesn’t like that.

The tension in the air was suffocating, but also magnetic. Even being ignored, you couldn’t escape her presence. It was as if Agatha was in every corner of the room, shaping everyone’s behavior without needing a single word. Her silence was as eloquent as a direct order, and you realized that, even without looking at you, she was fully aware of your presence.

Suddenly, her voice cut through the silence, low but full of authority.

“I expect excellence. And I have no patience for those who don’t measure up.” Her voice was like a steel thread, elegant but sharp.

“This script should not have made it to my desk in this state.” She raised her eyes again, but not to you—as if you weren’t worthy of that privilege. “Correct it by tomorrow. And please, spare me any more wasted time.”

The room fell into complete silence, the air heavy with tension. Everyone seemed used to this type of order, but the pressure was palpable. Each person quickly returned to work, and you, almost breathless, tried to settle in and understand what was happening.

Agatha was a woman who didn’t waste time, and her team knew that.

It was as if, despite being there, you weren’t really noticed. Agatha, the woman who had made you so nervous during your first meeting, was now completely ignoring your existence. Which left you with a strange feeling. Was she mad about what happened with Rio earlier? Or was this just her way of working?

Throughout the rest of the day, you followed the instructions, trying to focus on the work and the small responsibilities given to you, but your mind couldn’t stop returning to Agatha.

How could she be so distant and, at the same time, so fascinating? The way she kept control, how her presence filled the room effortlessly, was something you had only seen in movies.

You approached, introduced almost automatically, like just another piece in the puzzle. Agatha didn’t deign to look at you more than once, not even when her subordinate introduced you. Her eyes were fixed on papers, uninterested in what you had to offer.

You, in turn, stood there, trying to absorb every bit of information, but the feeling of invisibility was almost suffocating.

You felt humiliation wash over you, but what bothered you the most was how Agatha seemed to put so much effort into ignoring you. As if your presence was an inconvenience, something she simply didn’t want to deal with.

Your body tensed, but you held your posture, forcing your mind to focus on the task at hand. But the question lingered: Why was she treating you this way?

You worked alongside Yelena, helping build the script. The clock ticked slowly, but for her, time seemed to move differently — without hurry, without hesitation, as if she already knew exactly what needed to be done.

Yelena was young like you, but that was where the similarities ended. She had a firm, secure posture that exuded a kind of confidence you didn’t know how to reach. Where you hesitated, she acted. Where you doubted, she asserted. It wasn’t arrogance, it was conviction.

And Agatha saw her.

The director never needed to ask Yelena for anything twice. She didn’t even need to ask. It was as if there was silent communication between them, a tacit understanding that made everything easier. While you tried to prove your worth with every task, Yelena was already an essential piece in that machine.

You wanted to be seen that way.

"Hey, you still here?" Yelena’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked, realizing you had been staring at the woman in a constant daydream.

"Sorry," you murmured, returning to your work.

She chuckled softly, not cruelly, but with a familiarity that made your chest tighten. "Relax. I know what it’s like to want her approval."

You froze for a second.

Yelena sighed, leaning against the table. "Everyone wants to be seen by her. But she doesn’t see just anyone."

The words stayed with you long after work was over.

When you finally said goodbye to the team, the sense of relief was immediate. It was already getting dark, and you walked to the bus stop, trying to process everything you had experienced that day.

But as you passed by the street, something made you stop. The sound of a powerful engine made your body tense automatically. A black Audi A5 parked next to the bus stop. You felt a wave of tension pass through your body, your heart beating faster.

The car window rolled down, revealing Agatha, who was there, as if she had appeared out of nowhere. The way her blue eyes fixed on you was as if she were watching every inch of your soul, as if she were trying to understand what made you different.

"You’re going to wait for the bus here until when, dear?" Agatha asked with the same coldness, but there was something in her tone that made you hesitate. She didn’t seem like she wanted to leave anytime soon.

You looked at her, surprised. The woman of undeniable power was inviting you to something that didn’t seem like just politeness. "I... I’m waiting for the bus, but..."

Before you could finish the sentence, Agatha interrupted with an impatient gesture, her expression still calculated. "Don’t tell me the obvious. Don’t make me repeat myself. Get in the car."

You hesitated for a second, but the invitation was direct, and, as strange as it was, something in the way she spoke made you give in. You got into the car, and the silence between you two stretched until the vehicle started moving.

The smell of leather and the elegant environment of the car enveloped you in an uncomfortably intimidating way. The luxurious interior of the Audi seemed designed to constantly remind you that you didn’t belong there, but at the same time, there was something hypnotizing in Agatha’s presence.

She was so close, but at the same time, so distant, like an unrelenting observer, examining each of your movements. The car’s engine moved smoothly through the streets, but the tension growing between you two made time seem denser, slower.

"Then guide me..." Agatha said, her voice soft, but with an authority that left no room for contestation.

You swallowed hard, the nervousness taking over your body as you recited your address, trying to maintain composure. "You shouldn’t be doing this... You’ll get home late," you said with hesitant concern, as if you were somehow looking out for her.

She scoffed, clearly amused by your audacity, but not letting it show. As much as your posture screamed submission, you couldn’t hide the nervous tremor in your voice, as if simply speaking to her was a challenge to your own sanity.

"And who do you think you are to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?" Agatha’s tone was low but full of authority that made you shrink.

Her blue eyes, so clear and imposing, gleamed dangerously as they fixed on you.

You choked on your words, but insisted, trying to keep some thread of reasoning. "I-I didn’t mean that... I— I’m just worried about your safety. And Mrs. Vidal... won’t like you getting home so late." You pointed out, as if it were obvious, as if you had found a way to justify your questioning.

Agatha leaned slightly forward, a playful expression dancing on her lips. "Oh. So this is about my wife, little gem?" She whispered, as if she had caught a child eating dessert before dinner. The movement of her body closer to you made your stomach tighten, and the feeling of heat in your belly intensified.

"N-no! That’s not..." You tried to correct, but were interrupted by her response.

And then, for the first time, you heard Agatha laugh. It wasn’t just any laugh; it was a rich, deep laugh, full of a somber strength, but at the same time, wonderfully captivating. It was almost as if she knew exactly the effect she had on you, as if she were laughing at a game you still didn’t fully understand.

"Don’t worry. Rio is organizing a charity event for the gallery. I’ll be alone for the next few hours," she said, her voice softer now, but the tension between you two continued to grow with every word.

The heat in your body didn't subside. You could feel the way the car moved through the streets, but all you could perceive was Agatha. She was in control, not just of the car but of everything around her—and worse, it seemed like she was in control of you too, though you didn’t understand why.

You gripped the leather beneath you, trying to focus, but you couldn’t escape the intensity radiating from her. It was as if, somehow, she knew what was happening inside you, and at the same time, had the power to make you crave more.

The car slowed smoothly as Agatha parked in front of the building where you lived. The engine’s roar ceased, leaving only the distant sound of the city in the background.

You fidgeted nervously with your hands, unsure whether to thank her, leave, or say something to break the silence, which seemed heavier than ever.

Before you could take any action, Agatha leaned slightly against the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the plain, unremarkable entrance of the building. “Do you and your boyfriend live here?”

The question came in a casual tone, but her gaze, intense as always, was far from indifferent. Your body reacted immediately, a strange heat rising to your face.

It was impossible to tell if she was genuinely curious or just testing you in some way you didn’t yet understand.

“I don’t like them. Men, I mean,” you replied without thinking, trying to sound indifferent, but the almost imperceptible tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Agatha turned her face toward you slowly and deliberately, as if savoring every word she'd just heard. Her blue eyes shone with an intensity that made you feel as though the air inside the car had become thinner.

“Ah,” she murmured, almost as if processing the information, but the way the word escaped her lips suggested something more. She didn’t seem surprised or judgmental—just dangerously intrigued. “I see.”

The silence that followed was overwhelming. You could feel the weight of her gaze on you, as if she could see through your skin, through your soul. You tried to look away, but her proximity, the scent of her perfume mingling with the leather of the car, all conspired to make you even more nervous.

“So, what do you like, then?” Agatha finally asked, her voice softer now, almost a whisper, but laden with a curiosity that didn’t seem rhetorical.

Your heart raced, and your throat felt dry. “I... I like women who are...” The words escaped before you could fully form them, and the way she looked at you, that half-smile on her lips, didn’t help.

“Women who are...?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow. There was something in her tone that made it sound more like a tease than a question.

“Powerful,” you completed, almost choking on the word, feeling your face burn. It was true, but it felt like a pathetically ridiculous answer at that moment.

Agatha tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into an enigmatic smile. “Power. How interesting.” Her tone was almost mocking, yet still soft, as if she were playing with something only she understood.

You knew you should leave, end the conversation, but something about her kept you there. It was the gaze, the way she seemed to control the environment effortlessly, as if she was fully aware of what she was doing to you.

“I…” You began hesitantly, and cursed yourself for starting. “—did I impress you today?” And then you let it slip, completely trapped by the atmosphere.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, her smile widening, but without losing that air of mystery. “Impress?” She repeated, as if savoring the word. “Maybe you should try a little harder, little gem.”

The nickname came like a sharp knife, slicing through the air and leaving you breathless. You felt the heat rise to your neck, but couldn’t look away. There was something in the way she spoke, something that held you, that made you want to prove you could impress her, that you could be worthy of her attention.

“I will,” you replied, your voice firmer than you expected, but still laced with a vulnerability you couldn’t hide.

Agatha didn’t hesitate. “Good girl,” she said, her voice soft, yet filled with approval. There was something in that compliment that made you feel small and, at the same time, powerful, as if she had placed a key in your hands but hadn’t yet told you which door to open.

She leaned in a little closer, and you could smell her—jasmine and something deeper, something that made you feel dizzy. Her blue eyes seemed to pierce your soul, as if reading every thought, every desire you could barely articulate.

“You have potential,” she continued, her voice low, almost a whisper. “But potential is nothing without direction. Without... control.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you couldn’t move. Agatha was so close now that you could feel the heat of her body, and it only made the confusion of emotions inside you grow stronger.

“And what do you want me to do?” you asked, your voice trembling, but full of a courage you didn’t know you had.

Agatha smiled, her lips curving into an expression that was both gentle and perverse, as if she knew a truth but wouldn’t share it. “You’d better get inside before it gets too late. I don’t want to be responsible for... unwanted events tomorrow.”

There was an unspoken weight in her choice of words, something that sent a chill down your spine. You swallowed hard, muttering a hasty thank you before opening the car door.

As you stepped out, you could still feel her eyes on you. When you closed the door and began walking toward the building, the sound of the Audi’s engine roared to life again. But instead of speeding off, the car stayed there for a few more seconds, as if she was making sure you got inside safely—or maybe something more.

As you crossed the building’s door, the tension still weighed on your shoulders, but now there was something else, something you couldn’t name, but you knew it wouldn’t leave you alone anytime soon.

You sighed heavily once you locked the door behind you. Lucky came up to greet you with a sleepy meow, rubbing against your legs as if it knew exactly what kind of day you’d had.

“Hey, my baby,” you murmured, bending down to pet its head. “Today was... intense.” You shook your head, took off your shoes, and went straight to the sofa. “And by intense, I mean absolutely exhausting and confusing.”

Lucky meowed in response, jumping up beside you as you let out a short laugh. "You're the only one in my life who doesn't complicate things. You know that, don't you?" He purred in reply, and you sighed again before getting up and heading to the bedroom.

After changing and turning off the lights, you lay down in bed, trying to finally relax. But as soon as you closed your eyes, your mind began to wander, as it always did.

First came Rio's subtle gaze, the way she watched you, as if trying to unravel every layer of you. The deep timbre of her voice echoed in your head, and you found yourself imagining what it would be like if those words were closer, more intimate.

And then... Agatha. The memory of her behind the wheel, her hands with their prominent blue veins gripping the steering wheel, the way her eyes seemed to pierce your soul effortlessly.

Her scent invaded your memory. You turned over in bed, trying to push these thoughts away, but they only seemed to grow, spreading like an uncontrollable fire. The heat in your belly built unbearably. The pressure was almost palpable, and you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep like this.

Your breathing grew faster, uneven, as your mind flooded with images of Rio and Agatha. They were there, so vivid in your memory that you could almost smell their perfumes—Rio's sweet warmth and Agatha's hypnotic sophistication.

The thought of them being older, experienced, old enough to be your mothers, made your stomach twist in a mix of nervousness and desire.

There was something wrong about this kind of fascination, something that should have repelled you. But instead, it only made everything even more magnetic, more forbidden. The age difference, the contrast between their lives and the power they exuded, made the heat in your belly intensify.

"Fuck me!" you exclaimed, moaning desperately as your hands slid under the blanket. Your fingers found the wet heat between your legs, and you didn't hesitate.

The initial touch was light, just the tips of your fingers sliding over your clit, already swollen and sensitive. You arched your back, a low moan escaping your lips.

Now the movements were frantic, almost torturous, as you explored the growing sensation. Your body reacted on its own, your thighs instinctively tightening as you gave in to the desire burning inside you.

Your mind alternated between the two: Rio, with that provocative smile and piercing gaze, and Agatha, with her low, cutting voice, so full of authority. Both were women who could easily teach you everything you didn't yet know, and that excited you more than it should.

As your mind grew hazy with the approach of orgasm, your subconscious took over, setting your body ablaze with immoral thoughts.

But now it was too late.

You were already falling.

They were no longer just the most important women in Hollywood—they were archetypes. Figures carved from a need you didn’t dare name. Agatha, with her ever-sarcastic laugh and cold eyes, was the mother who set boundaries, who said “no” with a razor-sharp smile. Rio, with her tattoos and raspy laugh, was the mother who spoiled you, who let you eat dessert before dinner just to see you smile. Together, they filled every gap life had carved into you.

A slip of fingers over your skin, trying to mimic the touch you imagined Agatha would have—firm, calculated, intentional. But soon your mind betrayed you, replacing her with Rio, whose hands were warm and impatient, as if they knew exactly where you needed it most. Your body responded before reason could intervene, a moan escaping your lips as your hips pressed into the mattress, seeking relief.

“Little gem,” Agatha’s voice echoed in your mind, as if she were there in the dark, watching. “Do you think this is enough?”

You bit your lip, your fingers moving faster, trying to prove that it was. But it was useless. The image of Rio appeared then, laughing softly, as she always did when you tried to be too strong.

"Mommies..."

Your clit was swollen, sensitive, begging for more, and it pulsed even harder at the word with M. Your hands moved faster, the motions growing more intense, until everything culminated in a moment of pure release.

"Let me help, sweetie," her voice whispered, and you imagined her fingers replacing yours—wider, rougher, better.

It was a dangerous game. The more you tried to focus on one, the more the other intruded. Agatha pulling your hair back, ordering you to "behave," while Rio whispered that "making a mess" was allowed too. Your hand was now drenched, the movements so fast they hurt, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop.

"Mama will take care of you," Rio murmured in your imaginary ear, and you let out a whine, your legs shaking.

"Naugthy girl," Agatha reprimanded, but there was pride in her voice, as if she were happy you were letting yourself go.

"This is getting out of control," you whispered, your voice low and shaky. But even as the satisfaction still pulsed through your body, the desire for those women—so different and so powerful—continued to echo in your mind, impossible to ignore.

You're not good for me

You're not good for me

But baby, I want you

I want you

Rio and Agatha. Two women so different, yet somehow they had pulled you into their orbit. It was as if both had drawn you into the eye of a storm, leaving you ungrounded.

Rio, with her magnetic charisma, had a warmth that was almost unbearably enveloping. Agatha, on the other hand, was the opposite—cold, cutting, but equally irresistible. And both were unattainable, older, married... so far removed from anything you could even imagine for yourself.

You're not good for me

You're not good for me

But baby, I want you

I want you

You turned over in bed, hugging the pillow as if it could bring you some sense of comfort. But even that didn't help. The memory of their gazes continued to haunt you.

Rio's playful eyes seemed to fix on you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. And Agatha, always analyzing, always a step ahead, made you feel small and, at the same time, desperate to be seen.

"Why is this happening to me?" you murmured to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut.

Then you understood: it wasn’t just pleasure. It was a ritual.

Every touch was a way of rewriting history—Agatha teaching you how to be loved with discipline, Rio showing you how to be loved with excess. And you, caught in between, were the child who never knew what that meant, now intoxicated by both.

But even in that liberation, there was pain. Because deep down, you knew they weren’t really there. They never would be. They were just projections of a mind that, even at your age, still hoped someone would finally say, “I see you.”

You're not good for me

You're not good for me

But baby, I want you

I want you

~*~

Mommies will teach you...

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[thewulf]

In the Arms of Fate || Aragorn

Summary: Request - During the war with Sauron, she gets kidnapped and tortured badly by Saruman. Aragorn and the others immediately get on a mission to rescue her and eventually find her barely alive... Read Rest Here

A/N: This was tough to write but I really like how it turned out. Thank you for the amazing requests anon, hope you all enjoy!

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,600 +

TW: talks of torture, pain, reader gets taken, general LOTR triggers

In the middle of the raging war against Sauron you found yourself drawn to the Fellowship not only by fate but by your own unique blend of skills and qualities that made you an indispensable member of the group. Aragorn quickly recognized your unwavering loyalty and the depth of your courage. He insisted on your inclusion in the Fellowship. He saw in you a kindred spirit as someone who shared his determination to see the quest through to the end.

Your skills were varied and essential to the success of the Fellowship. As a seasoned fighter you were proficient in various forms of combat. You sported weapons with precision and grace. But it wasn't just your prowess on the battlefield that set you apart. It was also your keen intellect and quick thinking that made you invaluable to the group. You possessed a sharp mind and a strategic approach to problem-solving, often providing crucial insights and solutions during moments of peril. Even Legolas looked to you for guidance from time to time.

Gimli was initially skeptical of your presence in the Fellowship. But even he soon came to appreciate the depth of your skills and the strength of your character. Your friendship with him grew as you shared stories of battles fought and victories won. You formed a bond that transcended the differences between your races. Together you and Gimli formed a formidable duo. Your strengths complementing each other in ways that made the Fellowship stronger as a whole.

With Legolas, your relationship was characterized by playful banter and teasing exchanges. From the moment you met there was a natural rapport between you. It was like a shared understanding that lent itself to lighthearted jests and witty banter. Legolas never missed an opportunity to tease you. His playful remarks eliciting laughter and smiles even in the darkest of times. Despite the teasing there was a deep form of friendship between you. Formed through shared experiences and mutual respect. He loved to tease you, especially about a certain ranger that had captured your heart with ease. It was on one particular eve that Legolas had let you know that he knew too. He wasn’t blind. He caught your longing looks. But he too caught Aragorn staring right back at you.

The evening was alive with the crackling of the campfire and the soft rustle of the forest around you. As you sat beside the fire completely lost in thought, Legolas approached with his characteristic grace, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Ah, Y/N, lost in thought again?" he remarked. A teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. And he likely did.

You chuckled softly turning to face him. "Just contemplating our next move," you replied, though your thoughts were anything but focused on strategy. Instead, they drifted to a certain ranger sitting across the way who occupied far too much space in your mind.

Legolas arched an eyebrow, his keen gaze fixing on you with knowing amusement. "Or perhaps," he suggested with a knowing smirk, "you're pondering a particular king’s pining for you?"

Your cheeks flushed crimson at his words, and you sputtered in protest. "Wha—no, Legolas, you're imagining things," you stammered. It was a terrible attempt to brush off his teasing with a nervous laugh.

But Legolas only chuckled. His soft laughter mingling with the gentle crackle of the fire. "Oh, come now, Y/N,” he teased, his tone light and playful. "Even the trees can see the way he looks at you. And you him. It's as clear as the stars in the night sky."

You rolled your eyes. Though a part of you couldn't help but wonder if there was a kernel of truth to Legolas's jests. Aragorn's lingering glances and subtle gestures had not gone unnoticed by you. Though you had dismissed them as mere figments of your imagination. "He's just... concerned for my well-being, that's all," you insisted, though doubt lingered in the back of your mind. "We're friends, nothing more."

Legolas's smile widened as his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Of course, Y/N," he replied. His tone dripping with elvish sarcasm. "Just friends."

As he walked away quiet as ever leaving you to figure out you conflicting emotions, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was more truth to Legolas's teasing than you dared to admit. But for now, you pushed aside your doubts instead focusing on the task at hand and the challenges that lay ahead. You couldn’t let that distract you of all things. You had Hobbits to find after all.

As for Aragorn, the dynamics of your relationship were markedly different. From the moment he laid eyes on you Aragorn was captivated by your strength, courage, and insane determination. He found himself drawn to you in a way he couldn't fully explain. His heart skipping a beat whenever you were near. Despite his stoic demeanor Aragorn found himself unable to hide his feelings for you. His affection and admiration shining through in subtle gestures and meaningful glances. Whether it was a reassuring touch on the shoulder or a lingering gaze across the campfire Aragorn's love for you was evident to all who knew him. Maybe except for you.

And though you tried to hide it, the effect he had on you was undeniable. Your cheeks would flush with color whenever he spoke. Your heart deciding to skip a beat at the mere sound of his voice. Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure Aragorn had a way of unraveling your defenses. His presence stirring emotions within you that you struggled to contain.

The Battle of Helm's Deep raged on with unrelenting ferocity. The clash of steel and the roar of orcs echoing through the valley. As darkness descended upon the fortress you stood shoulder to shoulder with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Your heart was pounding with adrenaline, determination, and a touch of fear.

Together, you fought valiantly against the relentless tide of enemies. Your blades flashing in the dim light as you defended the walls of Helm's Deep with all your strength. But as the battle wore on fatigue began to set in and the odds seemed increasingly insurmountable. In the chaos of the fray the enemy's forces surged forward with renewed fury. You were overwhelmed. The defenders of Helm's Deep were overwhelmed with their sheer numbers. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli fought with unmatched skill and valor. Their resolve unbroken even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

In the middle the chaos and confusion tragedy struck for you. As the defenders of Helm's Deep rallied for one final stand you found yourself separated from your companions. Unfortunately surrounded by a horde of wargs and orcs. With grim determination you fought with all your might. Every strike of your blade a desperate attempt to fend off the encroaching darkness.

But it was not enough.

As the enemy closed in around you completely overwhelming you with their sheer numbers, you felt a surge of despair wash over you. Your strength faltered and your movements began growing sluggish as exhaustion threatened to consume you whole. And then in a moment of cruel fate you were seized by the snarling jaws of a warg. You were dragged away from the safety of the fortress just as the offenders began to retreat. You were a prize.

Aragorn's heart constricted with dread as he watched helplessly from afar. His voice lost amidst the din of battle as he called out your name in desperation. His pleas were a cruel reminder of how quickly things could change. With every fiber of his being he longed to rush to your aid. To fight tooth and nail to rescue you from the clutches of the enemy. But the tide of battle had turned, and he had no time to rush after you for he would likely die in the cause.

And so, as Helm's Deep fell silent in the wake of the enemy's retreat. Aragorn's heart weighed heavy with grief and guilt. For though the battle had been won. The cost had been immeasurable. And the fate of his beloved remained uncertain, lost amidst the darkness that lurked beyond the walls of Helm's Deep.

In the grim depths of Saruman's fortress, you endured unspeakable torment at the hands of your captors. From the moment they laid hands on you their cruelty knew no bounds. Their twisted minds delighting in the suffering they inflicted upon you. They reveled in your screams of agony. Their laughter echoing off the cold stone walls as they subjected you to unimaginable pain and suffering. Every blow, every cut, every moment of pain was a sickening game to them. A twisted form of entertainment that they relished with sadistic glee.

But despite their best efforts to break your spirit you refused to fold. With every fiber of your being you clung to life with a tenacity that defied comprehension. You endured their tortures with a steely resolve. Your will to survive burning bright even in the darkest of moments. They tried their best to break you. To strip away your humanity and reduce you to nothing more than a shell of your former self. But still you fought on. Your spirit unbroken even as your body bore the scars of their cruelty.

In the depths of despair, you found a flicker of hope—a tiny ember of defiance that refused to be extinguished. And though they tried to snuff it out. To drown it in a sea of pain and despair, still it burned bright within you. It was Aragorn. He was your salvation. Your thoughts that brought light within your darkness. You couldn’t break. Not when you knew was alive and fighting to see you again.

And so, as the minutes turned into days and the days turned into weeks, you clung to life with a determination that seemed to defy reason. For though they sought to destroy you. To crush your spirit beneath their heel. Still, you refused to surrender, your will to survive burning bright even in the face of unspeakable evil. You began to worry they may tire of you. That they may get bored and kill you despite your efforts to survive.

In the grim confines of Saruman's fortress sustenance was a meager and scarce commodity, doled out sparingly by your captors. Each day you received barely enough to sustain your frail body. The meager rations serving as a cruel reminder of your dire circumstances. The food was tasteless. The water stagnant and foul. Yet you choked it down with grim determination. You did it in hopes of seeing Aragorn again. Maybe just maybe you could confess your love to him for this journey made you finally realize your feelings for him.

You couldn't bear the thought of leaving this world laying bare the depths of your heart and soul to him. And so, even as your body grew weak and your spirit faltered, you held fast to the hope that one day, somehow, you would find your way back to him.

As the news of Saruman's demise spread throughout Middle earth a small bit of hope rose within the hearts of those who had suffered under his tyranny. For you, however, trapped within the depths of Orthanc's dungeons, the passing of the once-great wizard brought no relief from your torment.

Barely clinging to life as your body was ravaged by weeks of unspeakable suffering. You lay in darkness your breaths shallow and labored. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as you teetered on the brink of oblivion. Your spirit beginning to falter by the weight of despair.

But in the cruelty of the shadows that engulfed you a faint whisper of hope stirred within your soul—a feeling, a sensation that you couldn't quite explain. It was as if a part of you knew deep down that your salvation was at hand. That somehow, someway, your beloved Aragorn was close and would come for you.

And come for you he did.

Driven by a gnawing sense of unease. A feeling that he couldn't shake, Aragorn ventured into the depths of Orthanc. His heart weighed heavy with dread and determination. Guided by instinct and a love that knew no bounds he searched tirelessly for any sign of your presence. His footsteps echoing through the cold stone corridors as it laid eerily quiet at Saruman’s demise.

And then, at long last, he found you.

Tucked away in the darkest recesses of the dungeons, barely visible amidst the shadows, lay your frail form. Your breaths barely there, faint. Aragorn's heart constricted with anguish at the sight of you, his beloved, so close to the brink of death.

With trembling hands and a voice choked with emotion. Aragorn gathered you into his arms. He cradled you against his chest as if he could shield you from the darkness that threatened to take you from him. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he whispered words of love and reassurance. His voice was a soothing balm to your battered soul.

As he held you in his arms as gently as he could he broke down. "Gandalf! Legolas! Gimli! Anyone, help!" His cries reverberated through the silent halls of Orthanc. Each plea in desperation for your salvation. He cried for someone to come to your aid.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he cradled you against his chest, his heart breaking at the sight of you—so frail, so vulnerable, so close to slipping away from him forever. He whispered for you to hold on. His voice raw with emotion as he begged you to stay with him just a little while longer. But you remained unconscious. Your breaths shallow and labored, your life hanging by the slimmest of threads.

As Aragorn's desperate calls for help echoed through the halls of Orthanc. His heart broke with fear and anguish. Though finally his cries were answered. Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli came running, drawn by the urgency and desperation in Aragorn's voice. Their faces paled at the sight that greeted them. Your frail form cradled in Aragorn's arms, barely clinging to life.

Gimli, his usually stoic demeanor crumbling in the face of such tragedy, sank to his knees beside you. His heart heavy with sorrow. "By the beard of Durin," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "What have they done to you, lass?"

Legolas with eyes wide of shock and horror, approached tentatively. His usual grace replaced by a raw vulnerability as tears welled in his eyes. "Nay, this cannot be," he whispered. His voice trembling with grief. "Not Y/N... not like this."

Gandalf had a grave expression on his face as he stepped forward. His gaze piercing as he took in the extent of your injuries. "We must act swiftly," he declared. His voice commanding. "There is still hope, but time is of the essence."

With a sense of urgency, they rallied together. Their hearts heavy with grief but their resolve unyielding. With shaking hands Aragorn carried you from the depths of Orthanc, his footsteps echoing heavy through the silent halls as they emerged into the light of day.

As time grew short and the urgency of the situation became increasingly apparent, Gandalf knew that swift action was needed to save you. With a wave of his staff and a word of command he called forth one of the Great Eagles. Ancient creatures who served as allies to the free peoples of middle earth.

As Gandalf summons the Great Eagle to take you to Lothlórien Aragorn's determination to stay by your side remained unyielding. With a glance at the rest of the Fellowship he knew that their journey will be swift on horseback as the Great Eagle could not carry them all.

"Aragorn," Gandalf begins, his voice carrying a sense of urgency, "time is of the essence. We must act swiftly to save Y/N."

Aragorn nods solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he turns to Gandalf. "I will take her on the eagle to ensure she receives the care she needs. The rest of you must ride with haste to Lothlórien. I will meet you there." Gandalf and the others exchange a knowing look. Understanding the weight of Aragorn's decision. With a nod of agreement Gandalf turned to the rest of the Fellowship.

"We ride for Lothlórien," Gandalf declares, his voice echoing with authority. "May the Valar watch over us all."

As Aragorn carries you in his arms and mounts the Great Eagle the rest of the Fellowship saddles their horses and sets off towards Lothlórien knowing it would delay their plans to get to Mordor. But for you they knew they had to. With a sense of urgency driving them forward they rode with haste. Their hearts heavy with worry yet filled with hope that you will receive the care and healing you so desperately need.

After what felt like a lifetime to Aragon Great Eagle descended upon the lush treetops of Lothlórien. Aragorn's urgent pleas for help echo through the elven realm. Celeborn alerted by the urgency in Aragorn's voice, rushed forward from the heart of Lothlórien.

With swift steps, Celeborn reaches Aragorn's side just as the eagle touched down. He sees the urgency in Aragorn's eyes and the battered state of your body and without a moment's hesitation he takes you from Aragorn's arms. His expression a mix of concern and determination.

"Bring her to me," Celeborn commands. His voice carrying an air of authority.

Aragorn watches with a mixture of relief and apprehension as Celeborn rushes towards the healing chambers of Lothlórien. His skilled hands cradling you gently. With each step Aragorn's heart pounds with worry, but he knows that you are in good hands.

As Celeborn disappears into the depths of Lothlórien Aragorn's thoughts turn to the rest of the Fellowship who are still traveling on horseback. He knows that they will arrive soon with their hearts heavy with concern for you. He worried for you. For Frodo and Sam who were continuing their journey ahead. For the delay all of this brought. But he couldn’t seem to care about that all knowing the woman he loved was on the brink of death. The woman who was always so full of life may be taken from him far too soon. Before he could confess his true feelings.

With a silent prayer on his lips, he followed Celeborn into the healing chambers. His determination to see you healed burning brighter than ever. And as he stands vigil by your side surrounded by the gentle beauty of Lothlórien, he knows that though the road ahead may be long and fraught with peril. But together you will face whatever challenges come your way

As hours pass in Lothlórien, Celeborn's efforts to heal you are met with frustratingly little progress. Despite his skill and knowledge your condition remains unchanged. Leaving both him and Aragorn filled with growing despair. Realizing that more drastic measures are needed, Celeborn calls upon his wife, Galadriel, for assistance. Together they work tirelessly through the and night. Their combined powers focused on bringing you back from the darkness of unconsciousness.

Aragorn watched with a heavy heart as Galadriel joins Celeborn in the healing chambers. Her presence a glimmer of hope amidst the peril that threatened to consume him. He knows that if anyone can help you it is the Lady of the Wood, with all her wisdom and grace.

Days turn into nights and still you remain unresponsive. You were lost in a realm of unconsciousness from which you seem unable to awaken. Aragorn's faith began to waver. His heart heavy with doubt and fear as he watches Galadriel and Celeborn work tirelessly to save you. But just when all seems lost, a miracle occurred. After a few days of ceaseless effort, Galadriel kneels beside your bedside and offers a rare prayer to the Valar. Her voice is soft but filled with conviction as she calls upon their aid. Her plea echoing through the halls of Lothlórien.

And then as if in response to her prayer, you stir from your slumber. Your eyes fluttering open for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Aragorn's heart leapt with joy as he watches you awaken. His faith restored in the power of love.

With tears of relief streaming down his cheeks, Aragorn gathers you into his arms. Holding you close as he whispers words of gratitude and love. As you lay there finally awake but still weak and fragile, Aragorn's emotions overwhelm him. Tears stream down his face as he gathers you into his arms holding you close with a fierce, desperate grip but gentle so not to hurt you further.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "I love you more than words can express, my love. You cannot leave me again. Please, never leave me again. Please."

His words are a plea. A prayer whispered into the stillness of the healing chambers. His heart ached with the fear of losing you. The fear of facing a world without the light of your presence beside him. And as he holds you close, his tears mingling with yours. He knew that he would give anything to keep you safe. To protect you from harm. As he pours out his heart to you, he realizes just how much you mean to him—how much he needs you by his side, now and always.

"You love me?" you whisper. Your voice barely above a breath as you look up at him, your eyes searching his for confirmation.

Aragorn's laughter fills the air. A warm and comforting sound that washes over you like sunlight breaking through the clouds. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"Did I not make it so obvious my wayward love?" he replies, his voice teasing yet tender as he meets your gaze with a smile.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at his words. You can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. Galadriel and Celeborn who have been observing the exchange with amusement, share a knowing look, their eyes twinkling with mirth of the love unfolding before them.

But in that moment as you gaze into Aragorn's eyes and share a laugh together all your worries and fears seem to melt away. For in his arms surrounded by the love and support of your companion, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead you will face them with him. Your beloved.

And as the laughter fades into a comfortable silence, you rest your head against Aragorn's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. With his arms wrapped around you, you know that you are home.

As Celeborn and Galadriel summon the rest of the Fellowship, the healing chambers soon fill with the familiar faces of your companions. Their expressions a mix of relief and joy at the sight of you awake, alive and with that smile adorning your soft features.

Gimli with his gruff exterior softened by the depth of his concern, rushes forward to your side. His eyes were brimming with tears. "By Durin's beard, lass! I thought I'd never see you awake again," he exclaims, his voice trembling with emotion as he clasps your hand tightly in his own.

Gandalf had his wise eyes shining with warmth, approaches with a gentle smile. "It is good to see you awake, my dear friend," he spoke. His voice filled with genuine relief. "You have faced darkness and emerged victorious. You are stronger than you will ever know."

Legolas, his fair face radiant with joy, stepped forward with a soft smile. "I am glad to see you awake, mellon nin," he smiled to you. His voice gentle and sincere. "The world is a brighter place with you in it."

Merry and Pippin, their youthful exuberance infectious as always rush to your side with wide smiles on their faces. "You had us worried there for a moment," Merry says, his voice filled with relief. "But you're back with us now and that's all that matters."

Pippin nods eagerly as his eyes shining with unshed tears. "We thought we'd lost you," he admits, his voice wavering with emotion. "But you're a fighter, just like Aragorn said. You'll always come back to us."

As the Fellowship gathers around you with their voices filled with laughter and tears. You felt a profound sense of gratitude wash over you. As you were surrounded by the love and support of your friends you know that no matter what trials may come your way you will always have each other.

As the night descended upon Lothlórien after you woke, Aragorn remained by your side as the rest of the Fellowship retired. His love and devotion unwavering as he tends to your every need.

With gentle hands he washes away the grime and dirt of your ordeal away. His touch tender and reassuring against your skin. He cleanses away the scars of battle as his fingers trace each line and mark with care, as if trying to erase the memories of pain that linger there.

As he helps you change into fresh clothes his gaze never strays from yours. His eyes were filled with an intensity of emotion that took your breath away. He spoke softly. His voice a soothing melody that fills the silence of the healing chambers.

"You are my light in the dark," he whispered softly to you. His words a declaration of love that echoes in the stillness of the night. "You are the reason I fight, the reason I endure. Without you I am lost my love."

Tears fill your eyes at his words. The depth of his love overwhelming in its intensity. "And you are mine," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you reach out to touch his face. "You are the reason I am alive, the reason I kept going. Even in the worst of times."

As the soft glow of moonlight filters through the canopy of leaves above Aragorn's adoration for you seems to shine even brighter. With every touch, every whispered word, he worships you as if you were a goddess descended from the heavens themselves.

He kneels before you, his eyes alight with reverence. He places gentle kisses upon your hands, your cheeks, your forehead, as if each kiss is a silent prayer to the gods, thanking them for blessing him with your presence. Thanking them for letting you live.

"I am unworthy of your love," he murmurs. His voice filled with sincerity as he gazes up at you with awe. "But I swear to you, I will spend every moment of my life trying to prove myself worthy of you."

His words melt your heart. Filling you with a warmth that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the depths of your soul. You reach out to cup his face in your hands, tracing the lines of his jaw with your fingers. Feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath your touch.

"You are more than worthy," you whisper, your voice barely a breath as you gaze into his eyes, seeing the depth of his love reflected back at you. "You are my everything, Aragorn. Without you I am nothing."

As you hold each other close surrounded by the quiet beauty of the elven realm. You know that nothing in this world could ever tear you apart. For in each other's arms, you have found a love that transcends time and space. A love that is as boundless as the stars themselves and as enduring as the ages to come.

Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[druidwolf21]

Stress relief part 1

Sanguinius / F reader

Your angel, tired of dealing with imperial squabbles, needs some stress relief

Tw: It's Smut. Short, unadulterated smut. I guess dubcon if you really squint? Sanguinius is a bit mean

you have been warned

Tags: @beckyninja @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst

Slam

You jumped at the sound as it echoed off the metal walls and reverberated down iron clad hallways, ringing a doleful harsh melody through the ship before dissipating into the depths. You sat for a moment contemplating the sound, your data slate forgotten for a moment between your fingers before rising to your feet. Tossing the tablet onto the velvet chaise, you made your way towards your door, the scarlet chiffon of your gown sweeping across the cool riveted floor with each soft step across the room.

Befitting a primarch, the walls reached high above you culminating in a towering ceiling, dwarfing you in its structure. A glittering chandelier shimmered softly as it leaked warm light across the room, casting shining twinkles across the ornate paintings speckled across the tarnished walls.

A large bed sat at the back of the room, littered with downy pillows and soft satin sheets still rumpled and stained; last night's revelry hidden behind heavy scarlet curtains wrapped around its posted frame. Behind you, your reading nook sat nestled in the corner, the chaise lounge, spotlighted by a soft Promethean lamp was almost completely hidden beneath the spotted animal hide roughly flung across it, behind it, against the wall, lent a full length mirror, golden and shining.

Your fingers barely ghosted the doorknob before it flew open. Lurching to the side your vision of heavy steel was replaced by vermilion robes and cotton white feathers as the primarch thundered into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. You smiled, reaching out to him and brushing his clenched fist.

Sanguinius turned, shoulders stiff and wings bristled as he looked down at you, a frown carved across his handsome face as he knelt. Before you could speak, he was pressing against you as his lips found yours. The kiss was hot, hungry, desperate as his hands trailed down your body, lingering on your hips and squeezing. You pulled away, arms on his shoulders gasping for air as his mouth trailed down your throat, hovering above your pulse point.

"my love what-"

You shuddered to silence as his mouth found your skin, nipping and sucking a bruise to the surface. A large hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as his tongue traced a hot line up to your jaw.

"sshhhh" he whispered, peppering kisses along your throat and jawline.

You nodded, melting into his touch as he released your hair and slid to the back of your dress, teasing the corset ribbons free and allowing the fabric to slide down your body. His lips returned to yours and you matched his energy, tongues fighting for dominance as he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. You bit his lip, smiling into the kiss as you felt his chest rumble with a growl. You met his eye, smirking as you pulled away when he leant in for another embrace. Another grumble vibrated through him before you were tossed onto the bed, legs spread and hair tousled as he looked down at you silently, chest heaving in great bellows.

"stressful day, my lord?"

You yelped as he grabbed your ankles and pulled, dragging you across to the edge of the bed as he loomed over you, wings slightly spread and puffed behind him.

"Looking to find some... Relief?" You sighed, trailing a finger up your thigh, pausing above your core, enjoying the way his eyes followed the movement, pupil blown into black pools. His gaze flickered to your face before he dropped to his knees and gasping your thighs, he wretched them apart and buried his face into your groin with a moan.

"you talk too much" he hissed, lapping at your cunt as you twitched.His tongue lapping at you before circling your clit, sucking and flicking until you shuddered and writhed. His grip on your legs became bruising as he forced them open, fighting you as tried to squeeze them shut. You felt your orgasm cresting as he plunged a finger inside you, curling it against the spot he knew made you wail.

With a cry you came, arching into him as he kept going, Ignoring your whimpers as he devoured you. His grip tightened and he pulled you closer, humming and groaning as he lapped as your slick.

"p-please, too much"

He paused, golden hair draping around you as looking up at you. His face slick with your cum and his eyes wild as he watched you claw at the sheets.

"I've heard enough opinions today, I don't need yours"

Shocked, you watched him rise to his feet and pull off his robes, flaring his wings he stood at the edge of the bed, slowly stroking himself as he smirked at you.

"come here"

You slowly dragged yourself off the bed, standing before him of quaking legs for a moment before you were twisted and spun, bent over the back of the chaise lounge. You found yourself facing the mirror, watching as Sanguinius positioned himself behind you.

"watch" he whispered, resting a hand on your hip as he nudged his tip against your hole before slowly sliding in, leaning over and gripping the chair as he slipped in inch by inch. Your head dropped as you swallowed back a cry, feeling him stretch you out slowly.

"I said watch"

You choked as his fingers wrapped around your throat, pulling your head up until you were meeting his feral stare in the misting glass of the mirror as he fully cheated inside you.

"watch what I do to you"

His grip tightened as he began rutting into you, his balls slapping against your clit and hips hitting your ass with every rough thrust.

The grip on your neck and the delicious drag of his cock against your walls had your eyes rolling back and your back arching, pushing yourself back against him with every thrust.

"throne" he stuttered, feeling your walls clench around his as you came, squeezing him as he rutted into you, slick pooling around his base as you wheezed.

Finally releasing his grip, he clutched at your hips, nails digging into your plush flesh as his thrusts became erratic. You gulped air, relishing the high from your orgasm and oxygen as your nerves buzzed.

You fell forward with a contended whimper as with a last rough thrust sanguinius came, his cock twitching as he filled you. You lay still as your breathing calmed, slouched over the sweat stained cushion as the angel hovered above you, hands clutching the wooden edge of the chair in support as he panted. After a moment, he rose to his feet and you whined as he pulled out, feeling his spend pool out and dribble down your thighs, dripping onto the velvet seats.

He gripped your arm and pulled you up gently, pressing a soft kiss to your temple and dragging the spotted fur from the sofa across your love bitten shoulders.

"better?" You questioned, blinking up at him. A tired smile played across his face as he knelt in front of you and took your hand.

"better"

[smaller-comfort]

I did read the first four books in the series, but in my defense, I was in high school and going through a book of revelations phase. Not recommended! But Fred Clark's review series on Slacktivist was a staple of my online reading throughout the 00s and early 10s.

vote yes if you have finished the entire book.

vote no if you have not finished the entire book.

(faq · submit a book)

[buckyshoneybunny]

The White Wolf (Part 1)

Wolf/Alpha!Bucky + Wildlifephotographer!curvy!reader  

W.C.- 2111 

Summary- Upon exploring the mysterious forest, you come across something you thought only existed in books. 

Warnings- None really. 

A/N- After a lot of contemplating I decided to turn this into a series. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to get another part out until the end of next week, hopefully 🤞. I haven’t decided how many parts yet tho. Anyway, thank you so much for the response on my last post, I could literally cry. I’m going to try and work on doing a masterlist, if anyone has any requests or story ideas I’d gladly take them. I hope you enjoy! Will be a slow burn.

Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 Masterlist Series Masterlist

They say, that if anyone could marry an animal, that you’d be the first person to do it. That’s the only way to describe your love for animals. You loved animals with everything in you, you loved volunteering at animal hospitals and shelters, helping injured animals, but most of all, you loved capturing the beauty of animals with nature. Not necessarily studying them, but observing. Watching wildlife, and capturing the beauty of nature paired with the animals you loved, that was what you lived for. 

Which is how you ended up here. New York City seemed to have lost its touch with nature and the animals around, so you decided to adventure out in the few forests they have left to capture the beautiful world of nature and prove to everyone that it’s worth salvaging what’s left. There was one forest in particular that caught your attention, thick trees with no way to get through but the path that led through them, the morning dew that settled over the trees, it screamed mysterious and begged to be explored.  

When you told some of the locals your plan, they warned you not to go there, said dangerous creature lurked in that forest. They said that lots of tourist would go walking there, but few returned. That only fueled your determination to explore the mysterious forest.  

So, bright and early Saturday morning you packed up your camera and some supplies, threw on a pair of blue jeans and a white tank top, a winter coat over top that to strive off the cold fall air. Shoved on your combat boots and grabbed a knife your dad gave you for protection and headed out the door.  

You were a little bummed when, a mile in, nothing had changed, thick trees and brush surrounded you. But you keep going, determined to find something. Your determination paid off. 

About another half a mile, give or take, you came across the most beautiful scene you had ever seen. It was a clearing in the trees, the land was flat with a big gorgeous clear blue lake. The early morning sun shone through the trees, creating a peaceful atmosphere. The soft, green grass covered in a layer of moister, flowers littered throughout the field. But what caught your attention was the somewhat big, beautifully white wolf lent over lapping at the sparkling water.  

I thought all wolves were extirpated from New York? You quickly and quietly hide behind a tree and whipped out your camera. You snap a couple of pictures of the wolf, you put the camera away and look for a way around the field, not wanting to alert the wolf of your presence. As you back away from the tree, you step on a twig, the sound reverberates through the forest. 

The wolf’s head snaps up, gaze locking on your figure. You freeze in fear and captivity from its sparkling steel blue eyes. The wolf slowly stands up, revealing he’s bigger than what you first thought. He sniffs the air and growls. 

Now, throughout your life, your father always told you to remain still and calm when presented in a situation like this. He said animals can sense fear, chances are though that they’re more afraid of you. Don’t let them sense you’re afraid, if they can sense you aren’t a threat they’ll most likely leave and you can get the hell out of there. When have you ever listened to his advice? That’s the only explanation as to why you ran. 

You spin around and take off, willing your feet to run faster once you hear his howl and rustling behind you. Logistically you knew you didn’t stand a chance out running a wolf, but you hoped to god he’d lose interest quickly and leave you to run away in fear. You’d never like hurting animals but when the sounds of heavy paws hitting the ground got closer you grabbed the knife that was strapped to your side. 

The wolf quickly catches up and knocks you to the ground, growling. Before he can rip your head off, you cut down the side of his back leg, not to kill him but to get him to back off. The wolf yelps and scurries off of you. You take off running again but trip over a root, you fall to the ground, hitting your head on another root, knocking yourself out. 

When you come too, you’re lying on the floor of what looks like a small cabin. The main area, where you are, is a small neat kitchen and a living room joined together. There’s a table in the corner by the kitchen, a couch, rug, and small coffee table in front of a fireplace that’s currently burning with wood. You lay between the table and fireplace on the rug, a fleece throw covering you. Your bag is, what looks like tossed on the couch. You quickly crawl over to it, sighing in relief to find your camera undamaged.  

Your head is pounding, you reach back to scratch your back to find teeth holes in your shirt. Your ass and backs of your legs brown with dirt, looking like you were dragged. You freeze when you hear a whine. You look over to see small hallway that what looks like it leads to a bathroom on the right, and a small bedroom across from it, there's a door at the very end, looks like a linen closet.  

You slowly and quietly stand up, you carefully toe off your boots, hoping your sock covered feet won’t make much noise. You grab the fireplace poker as a weapon and follow the noise. When you reach the bedroom, the door cracked, you find the wolf curled on a large dog bed in the corner, furiously licking the wound on his leg, the one you gave it. 

You take a deep breath and push the door open. The wolf growls as soon as he sees you, he tries to stand up but whines and falls back down. You gently set your makeshift weapon down and turn to the bathroom. You rummage through the cabinets and drawers to find what you’re looking for. 

Walking back into the bedroom, you slowly make your way to the wolf, he growls and buries himself more in the corner. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “I just want to help.” You gesture to his leg, you set the supplies down and cautiously stick your hand out for him to sniff.  

Once he assures you aren’t here to hurt him, but to help him, he lays his head down and watches you from the corner of his eye. Once settled beside him, you dip a washcloth in warm water and gently clean his wound. He whines and jerks his leg. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Let me fix what I caused,” you say softly. Once you finish cleaning the wound, you wrap it in gauze.  

“There, all better,” you cautiously reach out to pet his fur. He lets you; you reach up to scratch behind his ears, he closes his eyes and nuzzles your hand. 

You giggle. “You aren’t so bad, huh?” He just lays his head in your lap. You look over at the nightstand to see a picture of two tall, muscular men. One with shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes, and a metal arm. Huh. You think as you look at the metal arm, the other guy has blonde hair, blue eyes- not a sparkly as the other guy’s is- he doesn’t have a metal arm like his friend. 

You pick up the picture. “Is one of these your... owner? Did they find me?” You question the wolf, knowing he probably doesn’t even understand you much less can answer your question. The wolf opens his eyes, he looks to the picture then back to you, giving you almost a deadpanned look.  

Just then the sound of the front door opening and closing, and the sound of feet padding through the cabin, fill the silence. 

“Hey, Buck! I just wanted to check in and se-what the hell?” The blonde man from the picture stops short when he sees you, his eyes widened.  

“Uh, hi,” you give him a shy smile. 

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in here?” He asks, almost harshly.  

“I’m Y/N. I was exploring the forest when I... I had seen him. Needless to say, he chases me, I cut his back leg, I fell and hit my head. I woke up here and helped patch up his wound. That’s the short version. I’m guessing the other man lives here? Is this his... pet?” You gesture to the picture on the nightstand. 

The man snorts. “Yes, the other man lives here, I’m Steve and the other man is James but everyone calls him Bucky.” 

“How do you get Bucky from James?” 

“His middle name is Buchanan” 

You hum in understanding. “Will this Bucky be back soon? I’d like to apologize for hurting his wolf” 

Steve grins in amusement. “You’re petting him right now.” 

“Huh?” You look down at the wolf still nuzzling your hand.  

Steve snickers and leans down next to you; he reaches over to pet Bucky but he growls in warning. Steve puts his hands up in surrender and chuckles. “The towns people didn’t tell you about our kind?” 

“Your kind?” You look at him, confused. 

“We are a wolf/human kind, we shift to our wolf form during full moon. Bucky here is the alpha.”  

“What?! Are you jok-this is a joke, right?” You ask in disbelief. You go to stand up but Bucky whines and puts his front half on you, nuzzling into your stomach. 

Steve chuckles. “Somebody likes you.”  

“So, you’re telling me that the whole, alpha, omega, beta crap exists?” He nods, you go quiet, not knowing what to say. 

Steve spends the next couple of hours explaining everything to you. From the pack, to why he isn’t in his wolf form, once you have a mate you can shift whenever you like but they still have ruts/heats after the full moon. Steve left with the request of watching over Bucky, you agreed, and that he’d be back in a few days. He also said to be careful, once full moon is over and Bucky shifts back, he’d go into rut. 

You stay on the floor for a while, Bucky still half on you and asleep. When he does wake up, he sits up and start to rip the bandage off.  

“Bucky wait-it's not done healing,” you go to stop him but he gets it fully off, showing that the wound is healed. “What the..?” You whisper, tracing the area the wound was at.  

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” You giggle. He sticks his tongue out and pulls his lips back, almost like a smile. 

He pauses and sniffs the air, he tilts his head, you giggle. He leans towards you, sniffing. He all but shoves his cold, wet nose into your neck, inhaling deeply. You yelp and giggle, trying and failing to push him away.  

“Bucky!” You laugh. He licks up your neck and you laugh harder. He nuzzles his head into your chest.  

“You’re a goofball. Listen, I have to go out and grab my stuff from my hotel if I’m gonna stay here for the next couple of days, okay?” His head pops up, ears flat and whines. “Awe,” you coo and scratch behind his ears. “I’ll be back, I promise. Wanna walk me to the edge of the woods?” He jumps up and runs to the door.  

You leave the bag you brought and head out, once off the mini porch Bucky stops, he motions to his back.  

“You want me to get on your back?” You ask in a slight condescending tone. He was huge, on all four legs he was just past your waist, but you weren’t skinny and you’d worry you might hurt him.  

He nods. “Won’t I crush you?” He rolls his eyes and waits. You sigh, giving in you straddle his back, legs wrapped around him just in front of his back legs, arms around his neck. Once you’re settled, he takes off, your grip tightens.  

Once you get almost to the edge of the woods he stops and lets you off.  

“You’ll wait for me?” He nods and lays in the brush out of sight.  

You head off to your hotel, grabbing your stuff and checking out. You get back to the woods, “Bucky!” You call out. Nothing. You walk a little further, where he had been laying was a pool of blood. 

Bucky!  

[sufferthesea]

something something something carnival being a time to party before the forty days of lent (which usually involves fasting and giving up a favorite vice such as smoking or drinking), which is then followed by easter (which commemorates the crucifixion and sacrifice of Jesus)

and irving being a good christian man and choosing to dress as an angel (messenger of God) instead of wearing a mask or a dress, and still having to face the fires of hell because dr stanley sets himself and the tent on fire (and then he has to look at stanley, arms spread out like the image of Christ, but he's consumed in those very same flames of hell)

and fitzjames contemplating wearing a dress but choosing not to because even though lent follows carnival, he's abstaining early because he never really does let himself indulge in anything because he has to be a good and responsible captain, even though he's the one who organized carnival in the first place

and crozier being an actual non-functioning alcoholic and forcing himself into sobriety before lent and going into carnival with all the temptation and instead of giving in, he addresses the men and gives them the truth of their situation

and hickey acting as the serpent from the beginning of the show, lying and deceiving and scheming, and later being cain to gibson's abel, but choosing to help these people stuck in a burning tent but still ending up killing someone, even accidentally because that's who he is and he can't change his nature