#branch razor

[azulzstupidity]

I think you guys would be delighted to know that in the code for the outer ring explorer branch razor is referred to as "lover"

[thetruemxpink]

dont worry about it

drawing a bunch of razors and learning i have a favorite way to draw the faces (facing up looking slightly down) so now i gotta like. do a big expressions sheet thing to undo this evil. will it be posted? probably not. but. it will be done.

focused screenshots. and also gay.

[urlocalwhumper]

things that give me whumperflies like fucking crazy: the look of genuine fear and surprise on the princess's face if you just charge her with the knife in chapter 1

[buckysleftbicep]

little rabbit 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, primal play, chasing, unprotected sex, rough sex, overstimulation, oral sex (f rec), light degradation, loads of aftercare (please take care to read the warnings)

summary: you wanted to play prey and bucky was more than happy to hunt.

word count: 2.3k

author's note: hi loves! this fic reminds me of the foot pursuit challenge on tiktok, where partners get their significant other to chase and catch them and my gosh, i get why being chased (consensually) is a kink. based on this request | requests are open!

and suddenly my pants are gone

The forest swallowed you whole.

Dusk draped itself over the trees like a velvet veil, thick and breathless, shrouding everything in deepening shadow. Every snapped twig beneath your bare feet echoed loud in the quiet.

Still, you ran. Low branches clawed at your arms. Thorns kissed your legs. The thin fabric of your dress snagged and fluttered behind you, a ghost of surrender, but you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t. Not when you could feel him.

The weight of his presence stalked you from behind—unseen, but undeniable. The almost inaudible crunch of leaves. A shift in the air. That creeping prickle along your spine that told you that he’s close.

Bucky had given you a five-minute head start. It was a mercy. Time enough to let your pulse spike, to feel the adrenaline kick into your bloodstream. Not fear—never fear. This was anticipation, sharpened to a razor’s edge. Because you had asked for this. Planned it, begged for it. Every line, every rule, every dark little detail etched in the safety of shared trust.

He would chase. You would run.

And when he caught you… you were his.

You ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, stumbling over roots slick with moss. Your breath came in short, frantic bursts, chest heaving as sweat kissed your skin. The air felt electric, every sound amplified—every rustle, every breeze, every bird gone silent.

Then— A sound. Too heavy. Too close. Intentional.

You twisted mid-step, eyes wide, just in time to catch a blur of movement before something crashed into you, full force.

Not something. Someone.

You hit the ground hard, bark and soil tearing at your skin, the wind knocked from your lungs in a startled gasp. But even before you could react, you knew. His weight settled over you—solid, hot, commanding. Breath brushed your ear. A metal hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged it over your head, pinning it into the dirt. His other hand found your waist, gripping hard, keeping you still.

“Got you,” Bucky growled, his voice ragged and low, more breath than sound.

The sound of him went straight to your core.

You squirmed beneath him—reflex, instinct, desire. “You said five minutes,” you panted.

He leaned down, mouth brushing the edge of your jaw. “You had four.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, cut short the moment his hand slid up and curled around your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to anchor you. Enough to make your breath catch.

His other hand traced down the torn side seam of your dress, slow, deliberate. Fingertips dragging fire across your skin. His touch was reverent and rough all at once, equal parts worship and promise.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Mouth open like you’re already fucked.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. He didn’t want you to.

Instead, he kissed you—if it could be called that. It was teeth and tongue and breathless desperation. His stubble burned your chin. His mouth stole the air from your lungs. It was a claiming, not a kiss. And when he pulled away, you were already dizzy.

“Get up,” he said roughly.

Your brows furrowed. “What—?”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t explain. Just hauled you to your feet and spun you around so your chest hit the nearest tree trunk with a thud. His hand flattened between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward, and you barely caught yourself before your knees gave out.

Then you felt him.

His cock, already hard, already leaking pressed hot and heavy against your ass through his pants. He rutted against you once, slow and deliberate, making sure you felt it. The power. The possession.

“You made me chase you,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You made me earn this. You think I’m just gonna take it easy on you now?”

His teeth scraped your neck, and your head dropped forward against the bark with a shudder.

“I’m gonna take my time,” he growled, fingers already hiking your dress up around your hips, exposing your thighs to the night air. “And you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

Your breath hitched as rough bark scraped against your chest, grounding you. The tree was unyielding, but so was he—pressed flush behind you like a furnace, all sharp heat and coiled restraint on the verge of snapping. You barely had time to catch up before his hands were on you—gripping, dragging, claiming. One curled possessively around your hip. The other fisted the neckline of your ruined dress.

And tore.

The sound of fabric splitting echoed in the dark like a gasp. Cold air kissed your bare skin, sending a shudder through you—part from the chill, mostly from the anticipation. The dress fell in tatters around your waist, exposing your breasts to the open night.

Bucky made a low, guttural sound behind you. “Fuck,” he rasped, voice strained and rough with hunger. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were too busy shaking as he dropped to his knees behind you, slow and heavy, like a man worshiping at an altar. His metal fingers dug into your thighs, spreading them apart with forceful ease until you had no choice but to brace yourself against the tree.

Then—his mouth.

A single, filthy lick dragged up your center, and your whole body jolted like you’d been shocked. You cried out, loud and unfiltered, legs already trembling.

His breath hitched against you, rough and heavy, sending vibrations through your core that made your legs tremble.

And then he devoured you.

His tongue was relentless—sloppy, fast, desperate. Every stroke made your knees weaken, every flick against your clit sent stars dancing behind your eyes. He sucked, licked, teased, and when he pushed a metal finger into your dripping heat, you almost collapsed.

“Bucky—fuck, please—”

He didn’t stop. Just added a second finger, thrusting deep, curling up until your thighs started to quake. His other hand held your ass in place, keeping you pinned as you instinctively tried to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Too much,” you gasped. “I—I can’t—”

But he didn’t stop. Not until he chose to.

But when he finally pulled back, your whine of protest was almost pitiful.

He stood, chest rising fast. You could feel the tension rolling off him in waves—his breathing uneven, hands rough now as they grabbed your hips again.

His voice was a low snarl against your ear. “You think you get to come?”

Your whole body clenched, heat rushing to your core like you hadn’t just been on the edge of release.

“You ran,” he continued, biting down on your shoulder. “You teased me. And now you think you get to fall apart without permission?”

You whimpered. “Please…”

He grabbed your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “You begged for this. Remember?”

You nodded weakly.

“Said you wanted to be used.”

Then you felt it. The thick, hot weight of his cock nudging against your entrance—bare, leaking, ready.

“Then take it.”

He slammed into you with a single, brutal thrust.

Your scream tore through the woods, raw and involuntary. There was no gentleness. No easing in. Just the full length of him stretching you, filling you, splitting you open as your breath hitched and your eyes fluttered shut.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t let you adjust. Just snapped his hips into yours, over and over, fucking you hard enough to make your body jerk forward against the tree.

His grip bruised. His rhythm was punishing.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned. “Tight little cunt—jesus—meant for this.”

Every thrust forced a choked moan from your lips, your forehead scraping against the bark. His metal hand snaked around to grab your breast, pinching your nipple between cold fingers until you sobbed.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You—Bucky, you.”

His mouth found your neck, biting hard, and that was it. You shattered. The orgasm hit you like a freight train—violent, sharp, sudden. You cry out as you clenched around him, body going rigid, stars bursting behind your eyes.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept fucking you through it, deep and fast, chasing his own release. You were limp, barely holding yourself upright, when he finally slammed into you one last time with a grunt, his cock pulsing as he filled you. Warmth spread between your thighs, dripping down as your muscles twitched.

And then, for a long moment—silence.

Only his breathing. Only yours. The wind through the trees.

He stayed pressed to you, his chest against your back, forehead resting on your shoulder. When he finally moved, it wasn’t rough. It was careful.

He pulled out slowly as you whimpered. His hands smoothed over your waist, then wrapped around you, holding you upright.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured softly, lips brushing your skin. You nodded, too dazed to speak.

“Still with me?” A hum was all you could manage.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed close, breath still ragged against your neck, one hand on your waist like he was grounding himself with the feel of you.

The heat of him clung to your skin, everywhere, your chest, your thighs, the slick mess between your legs. Your pulse hadn’t steadied yet, and neither had his.

His forehead came to rest against your shoulder. “You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, your voice slow and slurred. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

He didn’t rush you. Just waited. His hands softened where they held you—no more grip, no pressure. Only presence. Only warmth.

“I didn’t go too far?” he asked after a pause, quieter now. Like he needed to hear it.

“No,” you said softly, eyes closed. “You didn’t.”

He let out a slow breath, tension finally slipping out of his frame. Behind you, he shifted carefully, pulling out with a gentleness that made your breath catch. The stretch still ached, your thighs trembling from exertion, and the cool night air wrapped around the places he’d left warm and ruined.

You pressed a hand to the tree, steadying yourself.

“Come here,” he said gently, and when he turned you around, you didn’t resist.

Your legs were unsteady, but he was solid. You let yourself fall into him, cheek to his chest, breath still shallow. He held you with one arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. His chest rose and fell beneath your face in a steady rhythm, anchoring you.

It was quiet for a moment. Then, without letting go, he said, “So… I take it that worked for you.”

A soft laugh escaped you, hoarse and tired. “That was insane.”

“You sure?” His tone was light, but you felt the nerves under it. “Didn’t think I was gonna find you that fast.”

“You nearly tackled me.”

“You said run,” he said, lips brushing the side of your head. “I took that personally.”

You smiled, breath catching slightly. “You were scarily good at that. Honestly.”

His fingers threaded gently through your hair, grounding you. “You weren’t exactly innocent either. All wide-eyed and breathless. The dress helped.”

You huffed a laugh. “Told you it’d rip.”

“And I said I wouldn’t tear it.” “You absolutely tore it.”

He grinned into your hair. “I’ll buy you another one.”

You nodded, letting silence settle again, warm between your bodies. Then, softer, he asked, “You really okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, and this time you met his eyes. “I liked it.”

His expression shifted—something softer in the lines of his face, something quieter. “Good,” he said, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Because I didn’t know how to stop once I had you.”

The confession hit low in your chest, but not in a bad way. It settled deep.

“I know,” you said.

For a while, you just stood there. Breathing. Letting the night move around you while everything inside you slowed.

Eventually, he shifted. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go inside. Get you cleaned up.”

You blinked, then grimaced. “My legs feel like jelly.”

“I’ll carry you,” he offered, already crouching.

“You don’t have to—”

But he didn’t let you finish. Just swept you up without effort, arms secure beneath your legs and back. You looped your arms around his neck and let your head rest on his shoulder as he started the walk back through the woods.

The world was still and dark around you. The crunch of leaves beneath his boots was steady, the rhythm of it soothing. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, and his grip on you never wavered. It was careful. Thoughtful. Safe.

After a while, you brushed your fingers along the line of his jaw. “Thanks for doing this,” you murmured.

He glanced down at you. “For what? Nearly fucking you into a tree?”

You let out a tired exhale, half a laugh. “For making it feel real. And then making it feel safe again.”

His eyes softened, and he didn’t hesitate. “You never weren’t.”

You nodded, eyes closing. You knew that, but still, it meant something to hear it out loud.

The compund's lights came into view, glowing soft and golden through the trees. He shifted you slightly in his arms, settling your weight.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he said. “You want food?” You groaned. “God, yes.”

He smirked. “Didn’t know primal play gave you an appetite.”

“It’s the trauma,” you deadpanned, and he laughed, a real one, low and warm and full.

You smiled, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Next time,” you murmured, voice already slipping toward sleep, “you better give me more than five minutes.”

He huffed. “You barely lasted four.” You smirked, eyes still closed. “Didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

His hand moved in slow circles along your back. “Yeah? Because I’d do it again. However you want.”

You just nodded, the edge of sleep tugging at you now, soft and easy. “Just like that,” you whispered. “Don’t change a thing.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair, steady and certain. “Wasn’t planning to.”

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed it! i love you all, and please stay safe out there!

[flowersforbucky]

delirium

bucky barnes x reader (sex pollen trope)

word count: 4.1k

summary: stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you.

warnings/tags: sex pollen, dub con, unprotected sex, oral, masturbation, angst, descriptions of physical pain, language, friends to lovers, avenger!reader, no use of y/n, reader is afab, 18+ only

flashbacks are in italics

Sometime in the near future, there would be a case study conducted on how long a human being could burn from the inside without dying.

They would refer to you as exhibit a.

Doctors and scientists would lay your cold corpse on a colder table and use a scalpel to cut you from your thorax to your belly button. They would scribble notes about how your lungs had turned to ash and your esophagus to molten lava.

They wouldn't say it, but they would think it's a shame, because your driver's license states that you were an organ donor.

A harsh gust of wind snaps you out of the twisted fantasy and back to your reality - standing barefoot on the rickety front porch steps of a small cabin in Sitka, Alaska. You've only been outside for a few minutes but the snow is pouring down at a brutal pace, already covering the tops of your exposed feet.

The razor sharp chill of the ground below you and the air that surrounds you are the only things tethering you to what little remains of your sanity.

You never thought that you would be so thankful for your feet to be going numb, but after feeling like every fiber of your being is getting melted with a hot branding iron for - what? Ten? Twelve hours now? You had to resist the temptation to submerge your entire body in the multiple feet of snow that had accumulated since nightfall.

You hear the front door of the cabin creak open from behind you. You don't have to turn around to know that he's standing in the doorway with the same look of pleading desperation that he's been giving you since the two of you had realized what was happening.

“You need to come back inside,” he says delicately. His voice is muffled by the roar of the snowstorm, but right now with heightened senses, you hear him just fine. “You're going to get hypothermia.”

You don't respond. The mere sound of his voice makes you grit your teeth together so hard that you're surprised the tiny bones don't shatter.

He keeps to the doorway, scared that if he takes one step closer, you'll flee into the miles of thick woods that surrounds you in only a pair of old sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. He murmurs your name in a tone that begs you to come in from the below freezing temperatures.

“What time is it now?” You barely recognize your own voice - low and strained, it sounds like you haven't had anything to drink in days.

You clear your throat, though you doubt it'll make any difference.

“Just after four o'clock.”

Eleven hours into this hell, then. Best case scenario, another half a day of this. Worst case scenario, close to two.

Either way, you knew that these symptoms had yet to hit their peak. This would undoubtedly get worse before it gets better.

You stare out into the endless thicket of snow covered hemlocks and spruces. The illumination from the full moon makes the white powder on the branches glisten in the darkness.

Daylight was still hours away, and with it, hope for some means of communication with the rest of your team back in New York. The snowstorm had brought a widespread power outage across the city. Cell phone signal was nonexistent right now.

“Go on back to your room,” you tell him. “I'll come back inside in just a moment.” You continue to watch the blizzard before you, knowing that he's still just a few feet away from you. “I promise,” you add, hoping that he’ll believe you and return to the bedroom you'd been forcing him to keep to.

The drug coursing through your veins had amplified every one of your five senses. Even with him behind the closed door of the bedroom, you could still smell faint traces of the earthy musk of his deodorant and something warm that is uniquely him.

You wouldn't chance coming back into the house until his scent has dissipated from the entrance - not unless you want to feel as though all air is being stripped from your lungs.

Even simply standing here, with him behind you and the wind blowing his scent in the opposite direction, is nearly intolerable.

You hear footsteps retreat into the house, growing quieter and quieter as he makes his way back down the hallway, until you finally hear the click of his bedroom door. You exhale a breath that you weren't aware you had been holding in.

You have no doubt that he'll try to drag you back inside by the ankles if he has to, so you make good on your promise and return to the sweltering interior of the six hundred square foot log cabin.

A sharp, stabbing pain radiates from the center of your body at that thought - the exact kind of thoughts you were actively trying to avoid having. Thoughts of his hands digging into your thighs, his wet mouth on your throat, his bare chest pressed against yours as he fucks you into the likely thirty-something year old couch - those thoughts. Dangerous territory thoughts - the kind you didn't trust yourself not to act on if dwelled upon for too long.

Apparently, the thought of him putting his hands around your ankles and dragging you kicking and screaming falls into that category.

You settle onto the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest in an effort to alleviate the ache in your lower belly. You notice that Bucky has crammed more wood into the fireplace, which currently serves as the main source of light for the cabin, save for a few candles that have been placed sporadically throughout the small space.

Sweat begins to bead across your skin within seconds of sitting down in front of the fire. You know that Bucky is just trying to keep the temperature of the house from dropping below zero while also providing enough light to see during the middle of the night while you are in too much discomfort to sleep, but you feel like you are locked in a sauna after running five miles.

You think back to all of the times that you've given Sam shit for taking ice baths after his workouts. Now nothing sounds better than an ice bath.

Almost nothing, anyway. The only thing that could possibly feel even better is laying down behind a closed door less than twenty feet away.

And he'd offered - begged, actually, to take this pain away from you.

“Please,” he whispers, kneeling on the ground next to the couch, where you sit hunched over in pain. He's so close to you and it's fucking suffocating. He places his hand on your knee and you have to dig your nails into the suede upholstery to keep from whimpering. He notices the reaction and retracts his touch.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he says louder, the pet name finally getting you to meet his gaze for the first time since you dropped the glass jar of the firetruck red powder in the former HYDRA warehouse two hours ago.

Big mistake. Looking at him is a big fucking mistake. From the way his blue eyes bore into yours with sincere concern to the way that his plump, pink lips are slightly chapped from the cold weather -

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head into your hands. “I can't ask that of you. I can't make you do that. I would never forgive my–”

“You wouldn't be asking or making me do anything,” he tries to reason with you. There's sincerity in his voice but you're too delirius to hear the truth of his words. “I'm offering. Because I care about you. Because I don't want to see you in any kind of pain if there's anything I can do about it. Because I think you'd do the same for me if the situation were–”

“Bucky,” you cut him off in a strained gasp. “Your voice is making this so much worse right now.”

“Then let me help you. Let me make you feel good.”

His words alone are enough to have you clenching your thighs around nothing but the thick material of your sweatpants. You can feel your cotton panties becoming more drenched with each word he speaks.

“Not like this.” You're on the verge of tears - from pain, from anger at the entire situation, from how goddamn badly you need to feel him inside you. “It can't happen like this. I never wanted it to happen like this.”

His features soften, a look of understanding spreading across his face.

“When we fuck, I want it to be because we want to fuck,” you say as you jump up from your position on the couch, desperately needing to distance yourself from him before you do something you can't take back. “I don't want it to be because we feel like neither of us have a choice in the matter.”

“But we do have a choice,” he murmurs from where he's still kneeling on the floor next to the couch. “And I'd choose to go back to that HYDRA facility and infect myself with this shit, too, if it means you'd feel a little less guilty about saying yes.”

Your answer to that was, of course, a big, giant absolutely fucking not. The snow started pouring down shortly after, making his irrational proclamation an impossibility, anyway.

Almost half a day later, here you are. Surrounded by miles and miles of snow and ice in a town with no power or semi-functioning cell phone towers, just trying to endure the fire coursing through your veins until the effects of the HYDRA made drug have worked through your system.

You're coming up on the twelve hour mark now, and there's no denying that you're desperate for relief in one way or another.

Worth a fucking shot, you think.

You prop your feet up on the glass coffee table in front where you sit on the couch, spreading your thighs apart by a few inches.

You hesitate for a moment, listening for any kind of indication that Bucky's no longer in the confines of the cabin’s singular bedroom.

Dead silent, except for the crackling of the wood burning in the fireplace.

You snake your hand down the front of your pants, past the waistband of your underwear and to your center that's been aching for hours now.

You stroke your fingers up and down your folds, stopping at the apex of your core to massage your clit in circular motions.

Your head rolls back on the couch at the sensation, immediately feeling the slightest sense of relief. You dig your teeth into your lower lip to keep from moaning - hard enough to draw blood, the taste of iron flooding your mouth.

You slip two fingers past your entrance, not requiring any foreplay to plunge them to the hilt. It feels good - the way you're working yourself with rapid scissoring motions. Really fucking good, actually. Better than fingering yourself has ever felt.

But only a mere minute into the ministrations, you fear that it won't be enough to satiate you in the way that the drug requires.

Still, you try. You yank your t-shirt above your tits, bringing your free hand to paw at your breast as you continue working your pussy with your fingers, the heel of your palm putting pressure against your clit.

“That's not going to work, you know.”

You yank your hand out of your pants, snapping your head to the side to see him leaning against the frame of the small hallway. You had been so immersed in attempting to find some amount of relief that you hadn't heard him exit the bedroom. He's looking at you with sympathy and concern, not judgment - you don't think you'd be able to find it within yourself to feel embarrassed even if he were. Not in your current state of discomfort.

“How do you know that?” Frustration is evident in your voice. You look away from him, back to the fire in front of you as you pull your shirt back down. The floor creaks as he steps out of the hallway and makes his way over to the opposite end of the small couch. He sits a foot away from you, close enough so that his scent and warmth invades your senses, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core.

“Because I've been through what you're going through right now.”

Your eyes break away from the ember that you've been staring at, your gaze snapping to him. You don't know why this comes as a surprise to you. It shouldn't, not with every other form of torment that HYDRA had inflicted upon him for over half a century.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was embarrassed,” he answers with a small half-shrug, breaking your stare. “I didn't.. handle it as well as you are,” he continues, shame in his voice and cheeks rosy. “You’re doing everything you can to fight something that you didn't ask for. That's more than I can say for myself.”

“You were brainwashed, Bucky,” you remind him delicately. It's a risky move that makes your skin burn and belly clench, but you scoot closer to him on the couch - your outermost thigh brushing against his knee. If the two of you weren't both wearing sweatpants, the minimal touch might even aid in bringing you some relief. Instead, you’re left feeling desperate for more of him.

But you push the feeling down, wanting to do what little you can to comfort him - wanting him to know that you don't think poorly of him for what was forced onto him, and what is now being forced onto you, too.

“I would never judge you for anything they made you do,” you assure him.

“I know you wouldn't,” he murmurs, turning to face you again. His blue eyes glow in the low lighting of the fire. The closeness between the two of you is dizzying, and electrifying, and -

“And I want you to know that I would never judge you for giving into this torture,” he adds.

You snort a laugh. “I'm starting to think you want me to give into this.” You mean for the statement to sound light-hearted, but a sharp pang in your gut makes you wince in pain and your voice goes shrill. You clutch your lower belly, hunching over at the pain.

He leans in closer, putting one hand on your lower back and one on your thigh. You whimper at the pressure of his fingers against your spine and inner thigh. Even through your clothes, the contact feels like heaven compared to hell you've been enduring for the last twelve hours.

You lean into his touch - you don't even think about it, you just do it. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, your forehead nuzzling the warm skin of his throat.

You take a deep inhale, attempting to steady your breathing, and you realize quickly that is a mistake - his scent is so euphoric, it feels like inhaling flames.

“Would it make it easier for you if I said that I do want you to give in?” His voice is low, his breath fanning across your face from his position above you.

“Fuck, Bucky, you can't say that to me right now,” you whine. You fist your hands into the fabric of his t-shirt, your eyes squint shut.

“Look at me,” he commands. You force your eyes open, pulling your head back enough to look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I want it to be your choice.” He brings a hand up to cup your jawline. His thumb skims the outline of your bottom lip. “But I would be lying if I said that I'm not relieved that I'm the one here with you, or that I wouldn't enjoy every second of helping you feel better.”

He brings his hands to yours, pulling them away from where they still clutch his shirt. You release your grip, allowing him to hold you by your wrists. He pulls your right hand up to his face, stopping just under his nose. Your brows furrow in confusion, until it dawns on you what it is he's doing.

He inhales deeply, then lowers your hand to his parted mouth. He slips the tips of your index and middle fingers past his lips, and then swirls his tongue around the two digits.

The exact two that had been inside your pussy not even five minutes ago.

Right now, you think you could come from him sucking on your fingers and nothing else.

You don't even try to stop the groan that slips past your lips as you shove your fingers deeper into his mouth. He moans around them as he finishes cleaning them off, the sound sending vibrations up your arm and throughout your body.

You pull your fingers from between his lips and immediately crush your own lips to his in their place. You feel the drug surging through your veins, but this time it's less excruciating - it now feels like pure adrenaline bubbling under your skin, spurring you on.

He opens his mouth to you, your lips and tongue moving with his in synchronicity. It's hurried and messy, and maybe not as romantic as you had imagined it in your head before this night - but it's exactly what you need right now.

He maneuvers you so that you're laying down on the couch, and nestles himself between your thighs. You can feel the hard outline of his erection through the thin material of his sweatpants. He ruts against you, dragging the bulge across your clothed center as he yanks your t-shirt up and over your head. He tosses it somewhere behind the couch before attaching his mouth to one of your nipples and palming the other with the cool metal of his left hand.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling the full weight of his body down against you. You stick your hands up the back of his t-shirt, scratching your nails down the skin of his back.

“I need more,” you gasp out as he pinches your nipple between his teeth, rolling it in his lips. The clothing that separates the two of you feels like a prison. “I need to feel you.”

He pulls away, leaning back to perch on his knees between your legs. Your eyes roam down the chiseled planes of his chest until they land on the defined “V” shape that disappears into the waistband of his low-hanging pants.

He hooks his fingers into your sweatpants and underwear and tugging them both down past your ankles, then throwing them somewhere across the room with both of your long-forgotten shirts.

His eyes trail your body from your breasts to your thighs, his pupils dilating in the firelight. He splays his hands across the meat of your inner thighs, pinning your legs open wide for him. He lowers himself back down on the couch, belly down so his face hovers just above your pussy.

“Bucky, I swear if you don't put your mouth–”

He laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle before his tongue slips between his lips. It darts to your hole, licking a soft strip up to your clit. You exhale a sharp hiss of pleasure, your hands shooting to lace your fingers through tendrils of his hair. You arch into his touch, meeting the thrusts of his tongue with thrusts of your hips. He eats like you're the best thing he's ever tasted - like he's wanted this for way longer than this drug has been in your system.

You're coming on his face in an embarrassing amount of time, really. Thanks to the influence of the pollen, you currently have the stamina and endurance of a teenager losing their virginity. Your thighs are clenched around either side of his head, writhing above him as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

The relief that you feel as you come down from your high feels like years of pent up frustration leaving your body all at once.

You don't quite feel entirely like yourself - there's still a dull ache in your core, and your skin’s still feverish - though that could be due to the fire that the two of you are just feet away from. But you're now able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Come here,” you whisper, your voice low and honeyed. He crawls over you, his chest brushing against yours as he centers himself above you. His skin shines with a thin layer of sweat that mingles with your own. You reach a hand between your two bodies, palming his erection through the sweatpants that he has yet to shed. You keep your eyes locked on his face, watching as his eyes roll back into his head and his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip as you massage him through the fabric. Your other hand juts down to the waistband of his pants and you tug them downwards, far enough to help him shimmy them down to his knees.

His cock springs forward and he takes himself in his flesh hand, pumping his length several times before teasing your folds with his tip. He collects your slick along his length, lubricating himself before nudging his head just past your entrance.

You're more than ready for him - hours of desperation in addition to already having come on his face leaves you needing no further preparation before he's filling you up with his impressive length and girth. There's a slight burn at the sheer fullness of it, but there's also a wave of relief that your body has been craving for hours.

He pulls out halfway, then rocks back into you. He starts slow - trying to hold back for his own sake or for yours, you're unsure. Gradually, he increases his speed, hitting your cervix at that sweet angle that not everyone knows how to work. You lean forward, raising your head enough to capture his lips in yours once more.

You taste yourself on him - a dichotomy of sweet and salty mixed with something entirely unique. He brings his flesh hand in between your bodies, lowering his fingers to your clit where he begins rubbing pressured circles. You moan his name into his mouth and he responds by biting your lip between his teeth, his movements becoming messier.

“You gonna come on my cock?” he asks in a low growl when he feels your pussy clenching around him. “Gonna fill you up and make you feel all better.”

His words send you tumbling over the edge for the second time - that telltale warm coil in your belly bursting at the same time that he begins spilling his warmth into you.

He collapses, pinning you between his body and the couch beneath you. Starting at your shoulder, he peppers kisses along your collarbones and up your neck until he’s finally eye-level with you.

“We can do that again,” he says in a breathy voice, still inside you. “If you need to, that is. Or if you just want you.” There's a mischievous grin spread across his face and a twinkle in his eyes. It's the most carefree you've seen him since the two of you left New York to come here for this mission. You put your hands on his chest, jokingly attempting to shove him away from you.

“Oh, I don't think I need to,” you jab at him. “I'm feeling pretty great now, but thank you for your services.” He laughs, pulling out of you and sitting back against the couch. He pulls you up with him, wrapping his flesh arm around your waist and tucking you into his side. “But I think I might want to again. You know, now that I'm no longer in excruciating pain.” He hums in agreement, stroking his flesh fingers across the side of your stomach.

“I'm glad you were the one here with me too, Bucky."

thank you for reading! i know sooo many people have done this trope, especially for bucky, but it's truly one of my all time favorites and i just needed to get this out of my system so i hope you all enjoyed

comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

other works by me: oil & water • down bad • acquainted •

[pastelclovds]

thinking about red riding hood laios with big bad wolf shifter!reader…

cw: forest sex, knotting, male!reader, size difference (reader is 3 ft taller than laios), blood (laios gets scratched a bit sooo), reader and laios are obsessed with each other, cock slut laios, everything’s planned cause laios and reader are FREAKS

your laios looked gorgeous in the outfit you hand picked for him to wear in this… lewdly hot scenario he wanted to act out with you.

you knew how fascinated laios was of you, especially with your abilities to transform into any creature at will. you also knew just how blunt he was when it came to his needs, and you willingly fulfilled every single one of his wishes. no matter how outlandish they were. your laios was a creative, horny nerd.

you were enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence one day when out of the blue he asked you, “have we ever had sex in the woods before?”

that question made you cough out your water as laios looked up at you with curious eyes that quickly turned dark. ravenous scenarios popping up in his head left and right. you knew that smile of innocence was fake as he asked you if you wanted to “try something”. you didn’t refuse, of course.

and that’s how you ended up here.

naked. in your werewolf form. in the middle of the woods. secluded far away from prying eyes. at midnight where the moon was high and creating light bright enough to make the forest visible. but even if it didn’t, your night vision would’ve helped you.

and even if you didn’t have your vision, you could track laios’ scent from miles away. it smells like a mix of nuts and spices. it’s so addicting, you would die happy if it suffocated you.

your cock is already leaking pre at the sight of his ridiculously short frivolous red skirt barely being able to cover his satin panties. the cape attached to his hood sways as he takes cautious steps over leaves and puddles.

he isn’t carrying kensuke or any other weapon in his basket. just snacks, tissues, and containers of water for after the fun. the fact that he trusts you that much that you’ll protect him makes your heart and cock throb.

when laios purposely steps on a branch, its crunch filling the deafening silence of the forest, it was your signal to make yourself known. your paw makes a loud thump as you step foot from your place behind the tree.

laios trembled in both fear and excitement at the sight of your towering form. the sharp claws on your hands scraping against the bark of the tree, your fluffy chest rising and dropping from your heavy breathing, and tail raised in anticipation.

his eyes drift to the hardened cock hanging between your furry thighs, your balls heavy and ready to be emptied, and your dilated pupils say everything else. hungry. savage. predatory.

show time.

laios turns his heel and bolts away from you. you let out a low growl as you lower your body, place your palms on the ground, and dart after your mate like a wolf chasing its prey. with your increased speed and stamina, laios only ran off ten feet before he was tackled. he gasps when his chest hits the ground.

he’s still as a rock when he feels your claws grip onto his cape. he glances up behind at you in false terror. your razor sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight as you grin devilishly at him.

“what’s a pretty thing like you doing in my woods? don’t you know better than to go inside someone’s home unannounced? naughty boy…~” you said mischievously, you suddenly flip laios on his back, making him squeak in surprise. you could clearly see the raging boner tenting his skirt, a tiny wet spot growing from where his twitching cock spilled pre. he quickly closed his legs to block your view, cheeks blooming in red.

“i believe that rude intruders—” you effortlessly push his legs apart and teared his skirt to shreds, laios cried out in embarrassment as now all he had to cover his privates was his satin panties, “should be punished.”

laios eyes tear up as he pleads, “i-i didn’t know this forest belonged to you. please have mercy!” you laugh cruelly as you lean down to lick his salty tears away. his belly twitches from where your claw rests above his waistband before tearing his panties in two as well. now he’s completely vulnerable beneath your gaze, his cock laying uselessly against his stomach.

“you really are adorable, naively believing you’ll go scott free by saying a simple please.” you flip laios on his chest once again, raising his ass in the air with your palms on his waist, as if he weight nothing. laios grows unbelievably harder. he wishes he had superhuman abilities like you. you were so strong and powerful and cool and hot— GODS he wanted you to take him already. he freezes when he feels your throbbing cock against his ass.

he wanted to be used for all he’s worth, filled to the brim with hot cum, he loved how your knots forced his hole to stretch out in order to pop inside, oh he loved you so so much—

laios sobbed when he felt the tip of your cock prod his well lubed hole, one of your hands left his waist to roughly press against his back so that only his ass was up, obediently presenting to you like a bitch in heat. he felt your labored breaths against the back of his neck as you growled out, “you’re mine, pretty thing.”

laios claws at the dirt below him as he felt you slip inside him inch after glorious inch. he yelped when the head of your cock nuzzled right against his prostate. you knew laios was ready to start, so you didn’t bother with waiting to begin.

you started with a quick but rough pace that left laios moaning helplessly at the great pleasure you gave him. pulling out a few inches before slamming into your mates tight hole, balls slapping wetly against laios’ ass as pre drips from his cock and makes a puddle of whiteish liquid on the dirt. without warning, laios cums. his body halting abruptly as his climax washes over his body, his eyes roll back when you don’t cease your thrust. overstimulation prodding at his nerves like the head of your cock hitting his prostate at every thrust.

you pull your head back to listen for anyone nearby, thankfully you don’t. probably because the only thing your senses can focus on is laios. your fingers brushing his hair, your nose overwhelmed with the smell of sex and sweat, laios loud moans and whimpers filling the silence of the forest, your eyes hyper focused on the sight of your pelvis lewdly slapping against his ass. nobody else mattered at that moment but him. your gorgeous laios.

you groan when laios tightened around you, your pace faltering as you felt your belly grow hot and your knot thickening at the base of your cock. laios’ toes curl when he feels your knot catch on the rim of his asshole, a pure euphoric smile overtaking his features as pleasured tears fill his eyes.

“i’m close, i’m gonna fill you up. would’cha like that, pretty thing?” you managed to ask, laios frantically nods his head in a ‘yes’ motion as he grinds against your growing knot. “yes yes, please do it! i-i’m gonna—” white pleasure crashes into him again just as your knot pops past his abused rim, locking you inside him as ropes of warm cum fill him until he felt full and hot. Laios’ legs give up holding his weight as he laid weightlessly on the ground, your palms are the only reason why his ass is in the air. your balls clench for the last time, finally releasing all you had into him before going flaccid.

laios whines when you attempt to pull out, streams of your cum leaking out of him. “nooo, stay inside. you feel so warm, so good— hah-” laios pleads, desperately grinding against the base of your cock, trying to find your knot to plug him up again. you chuckle under your breath, you should’ve known one round wouldn’t be enough to satisfy your mate.

laios whimpers when he feels your cock slowly harden inside his loose hole.

a/n: I’M BAAAAACK ⁉️ hope you enjoyed :)

[ozzgin]

I've kept my promise and returned with dino smut. Switch it to a dinosaur hybrid if you're too afraid of the full package. Content: gender neutral reader, NSFW (gangbang), monster dinosaur smut

"You've got to be kidding me."

You kick the wheel and walk away, trying to steady your breathing. This can’t be happening. Behind you, the guide continues to tinker with the car engine. He has a reassuring smile plastered on his face, but you can tell from the cold beads of sweat that he’s just as terrified.

You are stranded in a desert filled with dinosaurs. Scientific miracle? Sure. Presently your death sentence, too.

“Don’t walk too far from the vehicle, (Y/N), otherwise I can’t reach you in time if something happens.”

“What, you have a black belt in dinosaur fighting or something?” you scoff at the man.

“Now listen, do you think we didn’t anticipate these scenarios? I am equipped with this little guy here”, he says, pulling out a small, electric device. “Has enough juice in it to shock a T-Rex.”

Maybe he has a point. The Jurassic Park proudly dons a reputation of flawless service and guaranteed safety. Surely they must be equipped to deal with something as insignificant as a car breaking down in the middle of a guided tour.

You attempt to smile back, gathering some courage. In your newfound peace you didn’t really notice that the massive rock behind the car has moved, or that it was never a rock to begin with.

A wide row of razor teeth engulfs your official tour guide, and the enormous mandible closes with a loud snap. The upper half of the man detaches in a surreal, surgical cleanliness. You stare, mouth agape. It takes you a second to process the execution you’ve just witnessed, but the ear-shattering screech swiftly wakes you out of your trance.

Escaping from an entire pack of ancient predators feels rather futile, but that doesn't stop you from crawling up the steep hill, hoping the damned creatures can't follow. Had you known your comfortable car ride required survival skills, you would've worn a different pair of pants.

What's even more ridiculous is the nature of your perpetrator. Of course, you tell yourself, you had to trust a company that can't differentiate between the Cretaceous and the Jurassic. What's one or two million years? What's one or two dead humans in the grand statistics of their park?

You finally reach the top of the hill, and trip over some overgrown roots. Your collapse is cushioned by the scarce bushes patching the ground. Suddenly, you feel the branches vibrating against your burnt cheeks. Dear Lord, futile indeed. The heavy, bulky legs of the Carnotaurus approach you in a chaotic trample, nonchalantly stepping over your last bits of hope.

Knees scraping against the rocks, you close your eyes and shield your face, bent over like some beggar awaiting punishment. You're petrified. Did the guide feel anything when his innards stretched and tore under the unforgiving mouth?

The rough, scaly skin of the monster brushes against the back of your thighs. There it is! Flesh coming undone, bones giving in to the...wait. What are they doing, exactly? You subtly tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the strange event.

It seems that your resigned position has given them different ideas. The horned beasts investigate your scent with peculiar interest. A brief altercation ensues, in which they lock their horns together and their tails swing around threateningly, nearly crushing you in their blind aggression. You cry out and try to distance yourself from the thundering scene, but a clawed foot pins you back into the ground.

You suspect your present captor is the winner of the conflict, standing above you triumphantly as the others wait aside. Is this the part where you become a grand meal? Its enormous teeth graze your clothing, and the threads come undone.

In a most unexpected turn of events, it's you who ends up stuffed. You don't know what pain to focus on: your back hurts from the rhythmic swaying, bare skin grating against the parched earth; your privacy is burning from the sudden, invasive stretch, as the creature buries itself deeper with each hungry pound.

Eventually, a familiar knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. The thrusts become smoother, your legs weaker. Shameless moans begin to roll out of your drooling mouth, and you hold onto the Carnotaurus' rugged hips. Its mouth is slightly open, panting and groaning, blowing hot air against your already feverish body.

Your own high is interrupted by a thick, hot wave of fluid abruptly crashing against your inner walls. The beast detaches itself from you, leaving you heaving, dripping and sighing in disappointment. The least you could've gotten from this erotic absurdity was a decent orgasm.

Your naked body is suddenly shrouded in shadow. You look up to see a different member of the pack positioning itself between your legs. Glancing at the others, a horrifying, perverted thought occurs to you: they're taking turns, fucking you relentlessly.

Perhaps you will get your chance, after all. Or multiple.

[redbowedblogger]

The thought of mer!prowl having to teach Jaz to hunt in @keferon 's post apocalypse ponyo au. Just like he probably had to teach his little brothers. Jazz not knowing what or how to eat. So I did a thing

"Prowl.”

“What-?” Prowl was frustrated. This whole damn mess was going on for far longer than he had ever feared. He needed to get back to his pod. His family. Those fragging humans and their twisted sense of “mercy” had almost trapped him in a life of servitude and solitude. All over a little damage to his melon, nothing a proper mer healer couldn't fix, but clearly beyond their limited medical knowledge. And then everything changed when the wave had hit.

Calling it a wave felt a bit misleading. A miles high flood of oceanic rage that all but wiped the human city off the coastline and allowed for his escape. Their escape. This poor strange mer he had met in that box of stone and steel and glass. The one who had weak fins and an iron grip and no memory of the ocean. Jazz, who had been so excited to meet him.

He had been useful enough at the start. Practically hauling prowl along the dry rough pathways before they could reach the floodways proper and swim away. And it was handy to have one person with functional echolocation as they swam through the worst of the wrecked buildings, But after that he had unfortunately become quite the nuisance. Flighty and distracted by every flashy bit of detritus in the water, startled by fish a quarter of his size, and the talking. Relentless jabbering about everything and anything, occasionally bursting into one of those strange human songs, their tones and rhythm poorly suited for an aquatic environment. Prowl didn't really know why he had continued to let this stranger swim with him. Perhaps it was a debt of gratitude for helping him survive and escape. Perhaps it was his sense of duty, this jazz was ill equipped to survive on his own and had almost perished the first time they had hit a rip.

Perhaps it was because he was the only company in these waters that wasn't a bloodthirsty mutation, a shambling wretched gasping thing that was not mer not human not fish but some horrific combination of the three with their gangly limbs, razor claws and rows and rows of serrated ripping teeth.

And his singing was really good, when he chose the right song.

“Prowler I'm hungry. Is there anything to eat?” jazz asked, his posture meek as he floated neutral in the water.

“Of course there is. Just grab something and let's go. We are losing daylight and i'd like to find somewhere safe to camp before it gets dark.”

Dangerous things swam in the dark waters.

“What do you mean?” Jazz asked, thoroughly confused.

“Jazz we are surrounded by fish right now. Pick one and let's go.” prowl gestured to the schools of shimmering fish surrounding them. They were swimming through what had once been a park, the vegetation on the trees now replaced with algae and budding coral growths, the streetlights crusted with barnacles, and what was left of grassy fields struggling to survive as crabs and rays scuttled among the waving green vegetation grazing.

“Yeah that. How do I know which ones are good to eat? And how exactly am I supposed to just ‘grab one' they are all wicked fast.” Jazz pouted.

Prowl closed his eyes and counted to ten, digging deep for the well of patience typically reserved for only the youngest pod members before facing the mer behind him.

“You're a mer. We are the top predators of our natural environment. Everything is good to eat. Well, most of it. Watch me.” Prowl instructed as he swam off a few clicks. His echolocation was still trashed and would be until he could get back to his pods healer, so he would have to hunt by sight. Spotting a fish he liked he swiftly maneuvered around the school, herding them towards an algae covered statue to separate them. With a powerful flick of his tail he changed direction to head the stragglers off and turn them towards the branches of a tree. With another casual turn he isolated the one he wanted and with an effortless burst of speed; caught it in his claws and ripped its head off with his sharp teeth.

Jazz was in awe. Prowl moved so fast! The speed and grace in his turns as he effortlessly put the fish exactly where he needed it.

“Woah! That was slick, man I mean slick. How’d you do that?” Jazz asked with an excited shout and a backwards roll. Prowl finished the fish with a roll of his eyes.

“Everyone can do that. You can too, I know you have the agility for it. It's no harder than those silly dances the two legs made you do.”

“I don't know…”

Prowl sighed. This mer, This clever, happy, sociable mer, had been deprived of nearly every aspect of life prowl took for granted.

No open waves to surf.

No territory to call his own.

No pod to care for him.

He couldn't even hunt his own food.

They had enough time before they needed to bed down for the night.

“Here let's practice.” Prowl offered as he flicked another fish from the herd. Except this time, instead of decapitation he clipped one pectoral and half of its tail fin. As he let it go the fish wobbled back into the school, its progress hampered. When the others zigged it tended to zag.

“Catch the fish. Use any trick you can think of. Flips, rolls, dives. Whatever. Just remember that sight hunting is all about focus. Don't take your eyes off your prey for a second. Catch the fish and you will eat.” Prowl instructed.

Jazz hesitated for a moment. Then the hollow call of his stomach galvanized him to action.

Jazz bolted after the lamed fish and something began to sing in his veins. That feeling started deep in his bones and radiated up to tingle just under his skin. It electrified every muscle in his body from the tip of his tail to the end of his nose. He had never felt so at ease in water. He could feel the movement of the currents and somehow he knew exactly how to play off it. He dove and twirled and the fish scattered in a fluttering cloud of silver. A flick of his tail and he separated the other half of the herd.

He smiled as zeroed in on his target.

This felt good.

This felt right.

This felt fun.

The taste of silver fish in his mouth had never been so sweet.

[ilys00ga]

𖹭── there's no other love, it's only yours...

₊˚⊹ ᰔ 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 || MYG.

⌗🍵A/N: kinda inspired by cas' discography. I've missed doing this sm.. 🤧 pls lemme know what u think! enjoy 𖹭!

⌗🍵 no warnings, just delusion.

The moon speaks the language of night, beauty, and love. The moon sits in his eyes and underneath his tongue.

Yoongi loves just like the way he writes, the way he sings, and the way he speaks. Slow, deep, careful, and passionate. With one hand on your waist and the other one deep in your hair, his lips, ever so shy and sweet, press against yours, as if testing the waters of your very soul before allowing his body to dive head first in.

Slowly, they press harder, then longer, the shiness melts and slips right into your saliva as your lips crash together. A gentle brush turns into a sinful dance. The familiar butterflies in your stomach are wild as his hand slowly creeps its way up to your torso, and you've never felt more human than you do in his arms, inside his mouth.

Your skin, like dew drops resting on smooth leaves, quivers with every single brush of his maddening fingers. A hungry man he is, kissing on your neck, starving for the burning stardust that drops from the sky onto your skin.

His kisses taste like the combination of whiskey and a tinge of cigarettes, long sessions of work, and sleepless nights. When his teeth, the ones that peek brightly every time he gives you a smile, are never shy to carve dark red bites everywhere they can reach on your body, and your smooth skin burns as his tongue plunges into your ocean and sinks deeper, lower, down to your core, to then lift you up to highs unknown.

His kisses taste like a poet yearning for the words to spill out of his mouth and crown the little poems he often writes for you.

His kisses taste like soft petals on an early spring night. When his body is pressed against yours and the bed craddles your pair. His lips touch your temples, then your forehead, across your face, to finally reach your own in a gentle, innocent kiss.

His kisses taste like the wind, ruffling tall grass and heavy tree branches. Together, they dance and they sing, loud and passionate.

" trust you with everything, even with a sharp blade against my skin," he says, shaving foam spread all around his mouth, right after you make the joke of accidently tearing his pale skin open with the razor in your hand.

He never declared it aloud, but it wasn't hard to recognize the way he loved it whenever you shaved his face for him.

His eyes, they never lie. They watch your every single move. The way you pour your entire attention on the small task of shaving his face, A task so frequent and simple in its nature, yet so incredibly, intimate, and heartfelt, just like the kisses he leaves on your shoulder and the whispers he declares into your skin every single morning, while your limbs tangle together underneath your duvet.

It is his way of letting you, the sun and the sky above know that he's there, flesh and bones. That he breathes, loves, and cares for you, too. His way of saying: 'Thank you, for never leaving razor scars on my skin, for never letting my hands run cold, for always putting a smile on my face.'

His kisses taste like the way he loves you; slow, deep, careful, and passionate.

[voidsylus]

sylus love is so deep he was ready to let us go

rewatching LAR (many times bc that branch is the best) and seeing how near the end once we get our missing aether core, the camera deadpans to sylus face and just look at him

by now we (the viewers not as mc at the time of this setting) know he’s looking at the deepspace tunnel because that was how we became separated as we ran away together from the hunger games

but at this moment, sylus knew his actions scared away the only person who never looked at him like a monster. so he helped us but just look his painful expression. it tells us he has come to a decision ready to walk away, never to step back into our life and essentially give into fate because sylus was terrified that he lost us forever

you can see how conflicting it is for sylus because all he’s ever wanted was to defy fate and live happily with the love of his life but how can he when we forgot about him. he’s always willing to let go if that will make us happy as we can see painfully from razors dance

does that mean he’ll stop loving us? no. it means he’s content to see us happy or fall in love with someone else even if it’s not him. his love is so selfless and pure as mentioned in razors grip

but that all changed when this happened

notice the warm yellow color is literally the same as our evol. we saw the look on sylus face and our soul immediately became worried about losing him again and set a linkage. subconsciously we didn’t want to let go of him

but this is sylus evol because in immobilized he didn’t want to let go

sylus sighed because just as he was ready to set us free, he knew that isn’t what we wanted. there will always be a part of us that wants to hold onto him, thus making him snap out of it and change his approach

that linkage changed the trajectory of our (for now round 3) relationship and i thank it every time because now we are blossoming and basically a married couple

[noctiva]

im branching out of my box. view this as a premonition of what’s to come.

-

Eyeless Jack - General Headcanons

CW: mentions of cannibalism, blood and gore, self-destructive thoughts, mentions of mating cycles, mentions of self-hatred and body dysmorphia

-

I can not believe I haven’t talked about Jackie poo on this blog yet…. my fellow canadian <3

Visual/Appearance

We’ll get the obvious out of the way, grey skin duh. Cool toned, looking almost blueish in the sunlight. No eyes, constantly leaking a tar-like substance that drips down his cheeks and neck.

Has fangs and claws, both of which, incredibly sharp. He doesn’t ever need a scalpel, his claws are sharp enough to slice open skin like butter. Paired with razor sharp teeth, that can sink into muscle like it’s a rare steak - strong enough to crack bones if he really wants to.

Well groomed, dark brown hair. I’ll talk about this more in a second, but Jack remembers what it was like to be human, and so his appearance is a soft spot for him. Keeping the one thing that still looks human about him well-maintained is very important to him. He usually gets one of the other proxies to cut it.

Pointy ears, that articulate like a cat’s would. Perk up when he’s happy or excited, flatten when he’s pissed or frightened (though, he’s very rarely frightened).

He has a tail!!! Every time someone draws jack without a tail an angel loses their wings. I kid! But for real though, he’s got a tail. Looks like a rat tail with a big tuft of fluffy black fur at the end. Very soft, but also sensitive - so don’t touch it unless you’re close to him.

Tall and big!! Literal monster of a man! I’m talking like, 6’7 without his boots on. He was scrawnier as a human, but the whole ‘getting turned into a demon’ thing was like a cheat code for getting jacked. Big broad shoulders, calves for days, thighs that could split a watermelon in half. (🤤🤤)

I think he’s got a roman nose and an upper bite. His fangs poke out even when his mouth is closed.

Veryyyy clear skin. Like almost in an uncanny way. Kinda looks like a porcelain doll with how unblemished it is.

Wardrobe

Wears almost exclusively dark clothing. The shit that leaks out of his eyes stains everything, including his shirts, and so it got annoying. Nowadays he basically only wears black to try and counteract this issue. (Unless he’s wearing his lab coat!)

Big ol’ hoodies and even baggier jeans (also black). Think… Tech wear meets lazy stoner. Baggy, but in an intentional way. Loves those pants that have a shit ton of straps on them for no reason. He’d totally wear Tripp NYC if he could get his paws on it.

Combat boots at almost all times. He tucks his jeans into them.

Big side bag guy. Has a crossbody bag and a hip bag on him whenever he goes out to hunt. Guess what he keeps in them :)

He’s almost always wearing his mask, unless you’re like really close to him. As I said before, he remembers being a human. He remembers what he used to look like. So, knowing what he looks like now is always jarring, no matter how many years pass. He thinks he must look terrifying, so he’s not too keen to be subjecting his appearance to everyone else.

Again, actually pretty particular about his appearance! So unlike a lot of the other proxies, he hates it when his clothes rip and tear. Will be washing the blood out of them the moment he comes home from a hunt.

Usually prefers to eat shirtless because of this, as a way to try and avoid all that mess.

Personality

Stoic, and analytical.

It’s pretty hard to tell what he’s feeling most of the time, because his mask hides his expressions and his tone doesn’t give much sway.

Very closed off, extremely hesitant to let anyone close. Even the other proxies. He’ll play the role as their doctor, but that’s as far as he’ll really go in terms of relationships with them.

It’s because of two things, and both of them stem from Jack’s distaste towards what he’s become.

1. He doesn’t trust himself. He knows that who are friends, and who are food, but he doesn’t trust that his feral demon brain won’t blur that line from time to time. He likes to keep interactions minimal, to decrease the chance of that ever happening. He’d literally never forgive himself. 2. He doesn’t think he deserves it. He’s a cannibalistic, bloodthirsty demon, and he’s aware of that fact. He doesn’t think a creature such as him needs, nor deserves normal human relationships - because he isn’t human anymore, after all.

An actual sweetie if you do manage to wriggle under his skin.

Soft spoken and so incredibly kind, like some sort of angel trapped in a demon’s body.

He’s a big giver. Extremely selfless. Will willingly put himself in danger to save a friend. It’s not like he’s going to die, and he’s well aware of how to patch himself up if it’s really bad.

In relationships, gets flustered very easily. He was like this when he was human, and it carries over.

Honest to a fault. Will say whatever he’s feeling, whenever he feels it. If it hurts whoever he’s talking to he’ll be incredibly apologetic, but that wont stop him from doing the same thing in the future.

Big listener! Not a huge chatterbug himself, but he’ll sit and listen for as long as you want to talk to him. And, he’ll retain it all. He’s got a great memory.

He does not remember how to speak english. He can understand it, but for some reason his tongue just can’t figure out how to form those words anymore. I personally headcanon that he’s fluent in french, because canada, but I could see him speaking russian too.

Growls when he’s mad and chuffs when he’s happy. Like a tiger <3

General

Has an INSANE sense of smell and hearing. He can smell people from a literal mile away. And if you’re a woman, he can smell it when you’re ovulating <3 His ears can pick up sounds that no one else even thinks about, like the sound of your blood rushing through your veins.

Because of that, he hates it when people smoke. It’s already such a strong smell for people with normal noses, but for him? It’s literally headache inducing. He genuinely can’t stand it. Light up a smoke around him and he’ll be a mile away in a matter of seconds.

Alcohol and drugs don’t affect him. Demon things! Sober for life!

He’s blind! Like completely. In my brain he echolocates like a bat would, and his heightened hearing makes it easy to know who’s approaching him just by the difference in the way their feet hit the ground. His nose will sniff you out before that though.

Obviously, very well versed in the medical field. But he weaponized that knowledge against himself when he was first transformed. Performing experiments on himself. Cutting into his stomach just to time how long it took until the wound closed up completely. Removing his own organs just to see if he could still survive without them.

The results of those experiments were… Not good for his mental health.

Because they made it all too clear, that he was not in fact human any more.

Jack went a little crazy with it for a while. Doing the absolute worst to himself all in hopes that maybe he’d prove himself wrong. Cutting an arm off, leg off, cutting his own damn tongue out - all just to heal every single injury.

He does not have very high self worth. He views himself as a nasty, abomination of nature - because that’s what his experiments proved that he was. Not human, just some sick amalgamation that looked almost like one.

He can’t see himself (because… blind) but what he’s felt under his fingertips tells him all that he needs to know. So, as I said before, he hates taking off his mask. He could only imagine the horrors he’d be subjecting people to if he did.

He knows what he looked like as a human, and so knowing that his body has changed - but not knowing how much exactly, makes his stomach churn on a daily basis. He’ll run his tongue over his sharpened teeth and feel nauseous. Scratch his claws down his arm and nearly be sick right then and there. Feels trapped in a body he knows he wasn’t fit for.

Does not liked to be watched when he eats!! He’s already pretty pissy about this whole ‘being a demon’ thing, so to watch him during his most demonic activities? Yeah he’ll probably cry himself to sleep after.

He always smells like copper and sulfur, no matter what he does.

…He goes through mating cycles. Another thing that he absolutely despises about his new body. And you’ll know when it’s happening, because he will lock himself in his room and not leave until it’s over. (unless you’re his partner 😗)

Gets real feral when he’s on the hunt. Like, the human part of him completely switches off. He is brutal and messy. Doesn’t even retain his medical knowledge when he’s like this. Will tear through an entire abdomen just to get some kidneys even though he could’ve totally just sliced an incision in their lower back.

It’s like, common knowledge not to go anywhere near jack when he’s like this. He will not recognize you. He will tear you to shreds just like any other victim.

Oh, and he’s a very picky eater. Kidneys only! Everything else is yuck to him.

On a lighter note, he likes to knit :)

His claws are long enough that he doesn’t even need knitting needles.

Also a big fan of big brain games. Play chess or scrabble with him if you want him to fall in love.

Does not hunt animals! People only! Big animal guy. It’s like… You know how you feel way worse about a dog dying in a movie than a human? That’s Jack with eating.

Luckily, he only has to eat once a week, so that plenty time for another stupid human to wander into his territory.

I’m gonna headcanon that he purrs! Sue me!

Does not like perfume or cologne because of his sensitive nose. Too strong. Besides, your natural scent is 10x better.

—————————————————————————☆

ok! EJ has finally made an appearance on my blog!

he’s my side piece <3

[infamous-light]

Green With Envy

Agatha Harkness x Familiar! Reader

AO3: Green With Envy

Summary: You served as Agatha’s familiar, bound to her by magic and loyalty. As you journey together down the witches' road, Rio, another witch, begins to take an interest in you, much to Agatha's displeasure.

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Possessive behavior, jealousy, suggestive themes, light dom/sub

The witches' road stretched endlessly before you, a winding, leaf-strewn path bordered by towering trees with gnarled branches that twisted overhead, creating a canopy of shadows.

Agatha walked ahead, her posture tense, shoulders rigid beneath the folds of her deep blue coat. Her gaze was razor-sharp, fixed on the road ahead, though you could sense something simmering beneath the surface. The usual confidence she exuded was strained, her energy taut like a drawn bowstring.

You followed closely behind, careful to stay within reach of her.

The bond between you and Agatha thrummed beneath your skin, a constant, unspoken connection that had always defined your role as her familiar. It wasn’t something you could easily describe; it was beyond words. It linked your soul to hers, a deep and intimate tether that allowed you to sense her energy, her thoughts, her emotions, as if they were your own. And today, they’re complicated – more complicated than usual, because of a certain green witch that had crawled out of Sharon’s grave like a ghost from the past.

Her presence unsettled Agatha, stirring up memories best left buried. You could tell she was trying to maintain her composure, but her agitation rippled through the bond, making your own pulse quicken in response.

Speaking of the green witch – Rio, if you remembered her name correctly – had started to drift closer to you, a little too close for your comfort. Her long strides matched yours, as if she were deliberately trying to invade the space between you and Agatha. Though her demeanor seemed playful, an almost carefree air surrounding her, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something far more calculated lay beneath. It was in the way her eyes, ever watchful, kept wandering toward you, their intensity impossible to ignore. And each time you met her eyes, a slow, sly smile would curl at the corners of her lips. Her interest wasn’t subtle, nor did she try to hide it. It was clear and unapologetic.

You did your best to avoid locking eyes with her, focusing on the other members of the coven or on Agatha’s form just a few steps in front of you, but Rio’s presence clung to you like a shadow.

“Quite the loyal familiar you’ve got there, Agatha.” Rio purred, her voice low and laced with amusement. Her gaze, predatory and assessing, flickered briefly toward Agatha before sliding back to you, lingering in a way that made your skin prickle with unease. “Where did you two meet?”

Agatha’s reaction was subtle but unmistakable. She stiffened ever so slightly beside you, her body becoming tense as though preparing for a confrontation. Her hand brushed against your arm as if she wanted to remind Rio – and perhaps even you – of whom you truly belonged to.

“That’s none of your business.” Agatha replied, her voice cold and cutting. Her dark eyes flashed with a dangerous edge as they fixed on Rio, daring her to test her patience any further.

But Rio only smirked, undeterred by Agatha's icy response.

“So, how’s it been, being Agatha’s... familiar?” Rio’s voice dripped with a smooth, almost silky tone. She leaned in ever so slightly, a smirk playing on her lips as her gaze lingered on you, waiting – no, daring you – to speak. “Must be quite the experience, being bound to her.”

Before you could respond, you felt a sudden shift beside you. Agatha's hand shot out, quick as lightning, gripping your wrist with a firm, almost possessive touch that sent a jolt through your entire body. Her skin was cool against yours but the strength behind her hold burned like a brand, as if she were marking her claim on you.

“Careful, Rio,” Agatha warned, her voice low and steady. “My familiar knows exactly where her loyalties lie, so don’t even try.”

The air between the two witches crackled with barely restrained energy, the tension thick enough to be felt in the pit of your stomach. Rio’s gaze continued to remain locked on yours, as though Agatha's warning was nothing more than an amusing game to her. A challenge waiting to be taken up. Rio’s lips twitched, the beginnings of laughter threatening to spill over, though she held it back just enough to let the tension stretch further. With a dramatic flair, Rio raised her hands, palms outward in a gesture of mock surrender, as if to say she meant no harm, though the smirk on her face told an entirely different story. The theatrical display only seemed to intensify Agatha's fury further before she dropped her hands back to her sides.

“So protective.” Rio’s voice came out in a soft, almost singsong tone.

In response, Agatha's grip tightened. She yanked you closer, pulling you flush against her side. She leaned in, her breath warm against the sensitive skin of your ear.

“I want you to stay away from her, understood?” Agatha murmured, her voice a low, threatening growl. “You belong to me. Don’t you forget that.”

Your heart thudded violently against your ribcage, as if trying to break free from the pressure building inside of you. The heat of both witches' gazes bore into you, and you swallowed hard, the movement painful as your throat clenched tight, dry with apprehension.

“Yes, Mistress.” The words tumbled from your lips, soft and breathless, barely more than a whisper.

Agatha’s lips curled into a smug smirk. “Good.” She cooed, the single word dripping with satisfaction.

Agatha cast a sidelong glance at Rio as she leaned in further, her lips so close to your ear that you could feel the soft brush of them. Just as her teeth were about to nip playfully at your earlobe, the moment was shattered by a loud, deliberate throat-clearing.

Startled, all three of you turned, eyes snapping to Lilia, who stood awkwardly at the edge of the scene. Her expression was as uncomfortable as her interruption. Behind her, the rest of the coven shuffled around nervously, shifting their weight from foot to foot. Their faces were a mix of concern and curiosity, eyes flickering between you, Agatha, and Rio.

“We need to get a move on.” Lilia said, clearly eager to get away from this situation.

Heat crept into your cheeks as you realized the coven had been watching this spectacle unfold. You lowered your gaze, wishing for the road to swallow you up whole, to disappear from this moment.

Agatha let out an exasperated sigh. Without uttering a single word, she tightened her grip around your wrist, her fingers firm and unyielding as she forcefully pulled you along. Rio, meanwhile, merely flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, a knowing smile still playing on her lips. It was as if the interruption hadn’t bothered her in the slightest.

As she trailed behind, you could feel Rio’s gaze lingering on your retreating form.

***

The campfire crackled softly, casting a dim orange glow on the surrounding trees. The night air was crisp, carrying the fresh scent of pine and earth. Around the fire, the others lay in deep slumber, their makeshift beds of leaves and branches scattered in a rough circle.

Agatha made sure that Rio was far from the two of you, positioning herself strategically next to you to keep a watchful eye on the witch’s every move.

The stillness of the night was almost absolute, broken only by the occasional pop of the fire. Its warmth, though faint, was the only barrier against the biting chill that threatened to seep into your bones. Lying on your side, exhaustion clung to your limbs, making your body feel heavier with each passing moment. Yet, just as sleep began to tug at your consciousness, you felt a shift – Agatha stirring beside you.

A second later, the front of her body was pressed firmly against your back. Her breath, warm and steady, caressed the nape of your neck, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. One of her hands, soft yet deceptively strong, slipped across your abdomen, her fingers splaying out with deliberate ownership. Agatha began tracing slow, languid circles over your shirt, the movement deliberate and enticing, sending waves of heat coursing through your body despite the chilly night air.

“M-Mistress?” You stuttered quietly, the word escaping your lips in a barely audible whisper.

Agatha gently shushed you, her voice low and soothing. Then, she moved, turning you onto your back in one smooth, effortless motion. Her body shifted, and suddenly she was straddling you, her legs pinning you down with a delicious weight. Your pulse raced as she loomed over you, her wild, untamed brown hair cascading around you like a curtain, enclosing you in a world that belonged to the two of you alone. The flickering firelight illuminated her face just enough to highlight the sharp angles of her features – high cheekbones, a defined jawline, and lips that curved with a tantalizing smirk. But it was her eyes that truly captivated you – dark, smoldering, and filled with an almost feral possessiveness – that drew you in with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

Her gaze held a promise, both thrilling and terrifying, as she braced her hands on either side of you, caging you in, making it clear that you were hers and hers alone.

Without warning, Agatha closed the distance between you, her lips crashing against yours with a fierce, unrestrained passion. The kiss was possessive and hungry, like she was trying to devour every ounce of you. The force of it was dizzying, leaving you breathless as her tongue teased and explored, dancing with yours in a rhythm that felt both intoxicating and primal, leaving no part of you untouched.

Agatha’s left hand reached up, her fingers curling around your jaw with a tender yet commanding grip. She turned your face to the side, and you could feel her warm breath ghosting against your skin. As she began to pepper soft kisses along the column of your throat, each gentle press of her lips felt electric, sending waves of arousal pooling between your legs. The sensation intensified with every delicate brush, heightened as Agatha’s teeth grazed your exposed neck, biting down just enough to leave a mark. Your eyelids fluttered closed, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that overcame you, and you let out a soft whimper, the sound barely escaping your lips.

After another firm nip at your pulse point, you opened your eyes once more, blinking against the encroaching haze of desire.

The breath in your throat froze, caught like a deer in the headlights, as you caught sight of Rio gazing at you from across the flickering campfire.

She lay on her side, facing your direction, propped up on one elbow. Her dark hair cascaded over the forest floor like a waterfall of silk. A sly smirk danced across her lips, amusement sparkling in her eyes. Panicked, you instinctively glanced around, worried that the others may be awake as well, but, to your relief, they were sleeping peacefully in their makeshift beds.

“Uh-Mistress, Rio, she’s-” You stammered, a rush of embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

“Let her watch.” Agatha said breathlessly, her voice a sultry whisper that sent goosebumps across your flesh.

Agatha captured your lips once more. Her kiss was a fierce declaration, filled with longing and desire. As her right hand trailed up your ribs, her fingers brushed delicately against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, causing another spark of arousal to settle low in your gut. Each touch was deliberate, coaxing a deep, instinctual reaction from within you.

“Please…” The word escaped your lips in a breathy whisper, laced with urgency and yearning.

Rio made a low, pleased hum at the sound of your plea. Her eyes were half-lidded, dark with lust and intrigue, as if she were savoring every second of what was unfolding before her. She shifted slightly, leaning back, her posture relaxed yet predatory. One hand rested on her thigh, her long fingers tapping slowly, deliberately, against her leg.

The heat radiating from Agatha’s body felt like molten fire against your skin, leaving you desperate as her hand slid down, resting possessively on your hip, anchoring you in place.

When Agatha finally pulled away, a soft, involuntary gasp escaped your lips, your chest heaving as the cool night air rushed back into your lungs. Yet even as the distance grew, Agatha’s breath remained tantalizingly close, ragged and uneven, mingling with your own. Her gaze never wavered, locked onto yours with a deep, dark hunger swirling in its depths, consuming each one of your thoughts.

“You’re mine,” Agatha growled, her voice lower, huskier, dripping with pure possessiveness. “My pet. No one else will ever have you.”

Your body reacted instinctively as your thighs pressed together in response.

Agatha’s gaze shifted like a blade, cutting sharply toward Rio. Her eyes narrowed into a deadly glare that could have scorched the ground beneath the witch. But Rio, ever unfazed, merely chuckled, her laughter low and teasing. Without a word, she turned back around, her posture relaxed, as if unconcerned with Agatha's jealousy.

This was going to be a long, difficult journey, you realized.

[mollygrass]

Turning but Resisting

Remmick x female reader

Summary: You're the one with the voice that lures Remmick to the juke joint and he succeeds in killing everyone, but you. Sooner than later he catches you in his wicked grasp eventually.

Warnings & Tags: ⚠️ MDI ⚠️ , preacher girl reader, coward reader, primal play, reader gets turned into vampire, dark Remmick

A/N: This is only proofread once, sorry for any grammatical errors. Please enjoy.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺ ‧⁺ ‧

It’s been done and it’s game over for everyone. All their bodies lie limp, drowning in pools of blood. Everywhere in the juke joint is nothing but rubble. Chairs broken for weapons, tables flipped upside down, blood splattered on walls and the floor. Remmick did the place in with plenty of time left as the moon still shines.

Far off into the woods nearby your sobs echo. They are loud and pathetic, ruining the silence of the woods. It disturbs the animals running about in the darkness, but to Remmick it’s a beautiful symphony to his ears. His haunting laughter fuels your burning legs to keep going. Flashing on replay before your very eyes is the bile inducing events from the juke joint.

In bone-freezing fear, you beheld their brutal deaths one by one. Each of them put their lives on the line for you. They protected you from that vile monster, Remmick. Yet, your body wouldn’t even allow you the privilege to aid them in the fight. All you did was cling to your guitar and cry. Like a true coward you listened to Smoke’s last words as the light faded from his eyes.

“Run…hurry up and never look back.”

You spared him one last glance. Jumped out of the juke joint’s door from high up, tumbled to the ground in a crash and never looked back. Just as he told you to. Originally when you made it into the tree filled land you thought maybe you could escape the white devil. But that hope quickly shattered when you heard him calling out to you.

So, now you sprint, breathlessly. Dodging every branch, bush and log with precision. However, you don’t know how long you’ll last. Not to mention his mocking echoes seem to loom closer with each dashing step you take.

“Run all you want, but you know I’ll get you soon.”

Hearing his voice so close nearly trips you as your feet tangle from daring to peek over your shoulder. He’s right because the more you keep pushing onward the more your limbs grow heavy as lead. The arm carrying your guitar goes limp and a cramp blossoms to life in your ankle. Distracted by the new pain in your bone, a rock trips you.

Your body crashes, rolling wildly on the damp grass. You don’t stop until your side slams into a tree. It knocks the wind out of your lungs and for some time you lie there writhing in pain. The terrified little voice in your head yells for you to get up, but your body cries the opposite.

Grass crunching beneath a pair of shoes stirs you awake. It’s him and he’s not too far away.

“Aww, look at ya. You done went and hurt yourself. Poor thing,” he coos.

Shaking away the pain burning in your side you spring to life on your feet. You try sprinting away, but he’s faster. In a blur your back is slammed against the tree’s hard bark. His long, sharp claws hold you still. There he savors the sight. You, nails digging into his sleeve. Fresh tears threatening to fall as you whimper in his hold.

He licks his lips. “Be still, this'll only hurt a bit, darlin.”

You squirm in his iron grip like prey desperate to live. “No, no, no! Please, stop it! I don’t wanna die,” you sob.

Your cries fall on deaf ears as he leans in, sinking his razor teeth into your delicate flesh. Your skin easily tears and blood sprays everywhere. He hums, enjoying the sweet taste. The way your hands shake, gripping his shirt to how your voice wavers in pure shock. It fills him to the brim with cruel delight.

Misery comes, finding you quick and it brings guilt as well. They chew you to bits before spitting you out and worse of all remind you of the lives lost earlier. Each of their dying breaths sparks something new in you. An emotion you haven’t known all night—rage.

Ignoring the burning of your muscles in your arm, you slam the guitar in his head. He stumbles back on his feet, the guitar’s silver disk splitting his skull.

Free of his grip, you slip away past him. The aching pain spreading in your neck slows you. You silently sob, applying pressure on the grave wound. It’s pathetic, really. The way you drag your feet in a limp like an animal who barely escaped its hunter. Step after step your vision blurs. Regardless of the amount of pressure you force on your neck, the blood doesn’t stop gushing out.

“I don’t want to die. Please, god, please.”

Weak and tired from all the blood soaking your neck, your body leans on a tree. Slowly you sink to the grass. Your hand still resiliently presses on your neck as your head spins in endless loops.

A voice rings in your ears. It’s not yours. No, it’s his.

That’s it, just let go.

A wave, powerful and strong, hits you hard. It’s like your drowning, sinking further to the dark abyss. Deep where the light doesn’t shine. You fight against it, mind thrashing around.

Don’t fight the inevitable.

You can’t stop what’s already been written in blood, darlin.

Hanging on to what’s left of life by a thin thread, you see him. Through your blurry gaze you watch helplessly as he cradles you closer in his hold. His muscles flex, hooking around your torso leaving no space between you two. Instinctively, you tightly grasp at his shoulder for support.

He softly hushes you, kissing and licking away your tears. “It’s okay I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

Then his voice comes again, but it’s everywhere in you.

You shove weakly at his chest, whining. “No, stop…get out.”

“Just let it happen, darlin.” His blood stained lips curl as he chuckles. “After all, you’ll let me in eventually.”

Part two?? Maybe?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺ ‧⁺ ‧

@boogiemansbitch as promised I tagged you!! I hope this is how I’m supposed to do this loll

[fuji-sen]

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 9: Benny's Adventure Team! + Wolfhooks

[ part 8 ] || [ masterlist ] || [ part 10 ]

divider is made by @/saradika-graphics

"A shame I couldn't stay for long" you murmured, biting into the fluffy goodness that was mamon. It was another food that you learned from your Filipino Classmate, they had introduced it to you as a comfort food which was straight up facts ✨

You found yourself being able to easily slip out of the Ragnvindr estate, though the thought of not receiving your pay nearly made you hesitate. After all, how does one live without mora? the currency for everything in this place.

"I should visit the leylines later if I ever need money."

But then remembering how you were some sort of wanted mega criminal, you might not have many places to buy from. Right now you decided to head to wolvendom to harvest some wolfhooks as well as any other resources there. Since a lot of people were wary of the wolves, perhaps there are more natural resources there, laid untouched. At least, that's what you hope for.

Of course there is a chance to run into Razor. But you'll cross that bridge when you find it.

You turned to the map in your hands, given to you by Kaeya. You remembered your last moments with him before he had to distract Diluc.

"As much as I want to trust him. . I don't want to risk your safety. So for now you must leave, take my map I listed the locations where the knights are planning to patrol!" Kaeya said, taking your hand a forcing a map into your hold.

The man with deep blue hair placed both of his hands around yours, making it curl around the map securely. "Be safe [name]. Me or the traveler will try to find you when its safe but for now. ."

"Don't trust anyone carelessly."

You weren't stupid, despite the kindness showed to you by the hilichurls and the slime, despite Aether's honesty and Paimon's cheerfulness. . despite Adelinde and Kaeya giving you a chance. . despite all those kind people you cannot forget Jean. . Lisa or the knights, you could not forget the looks the Mondstadters had given you.

You know how precious trust is.

more so especially when your life is on the line.

Just because they were nice to you, doesn't mean the others would be too.

You closed the map, continuing your walk towards the Wolvendom, a bit more at ease when you saw that there would be no patrols in that area.

Wolvendom was different in-game, the forest was much larger, much thicker as it was filled with lots of trees much closer together, the canopy of leaves leaving abundant shade to protect you from the blazing sun. It had more resources that you could gather compared to the game as well.

You wiped the sweat off your face, your mask was untied, wrapped around one of your hand and kept away so you can breathe more easily. Finding Wolfhooks were easy, gathering them was not. You had to wince every now and then when the purple berries pricked you. Hence why you had to cover one hand with the mask to avoid any more injuries.

However you continued on, despite the irritation you managed to have enough wolfhooks for your journey, the berries also went straight to your inventory which was a nice touch and greatly boosted your quality of life.

Suddenly a branch had snapped and you turned to a bush that shook for a few moments, and from the shrubs a boy had emerged. A mop of ash-gray hair and scratches and scars that littered his much smaller form. .

Bennett.

Your hand gripped your bow, a part of you was ready to attack him and run, but remembering how he was simply a child made you stop, hesitating. Surely someone as kind and young as bennett. .

could you trust him?

"Ouch that hurts. ." he winced, still unaware of your presence as his gloved hand made its way to brush off the leaves and branches that was sprinkled around his hair, "Oh!"

His eyes finally made its way to you, and his hand fell limp on his side. You waited and observed how his eyes widened with recognition and surprise, would it morph to rage? or to hopefulness?

"You- you're the imposter!" a finger was thrust towards you.

"I have a name." You sighed, his eyes were still soft, there was no malice, at least. . none that you were aware of. "Have you come here in search of me?" you ask, finding it odd how formal you were being.

Bennett stammered, hand hovering near the handle of his blade. A beautiful skyward blade that glowed in his hands. . a sword you remembered equipping on him.

"Y-yes, you- it's a crime to impersonate the Creator!" he said, though despite the volume of his voice, you could still hear the hesitation and fear. .

he clearly didn't want to hurt you.

And so your heart ached for the young boy. "You are injured though. . why don't you try to kill me after I patch you up?" you offered with a pathetic attempt of a smile in hopes to assure him. "N-no!" he shook his head, you couldn't blame him. He'd probably be careless if he let someone branded as a criminal treat his scratches.

His stomach then grumbled and he flushed in embarrassment as he let you saw him in an even more vulnerable state. "Bennet." you frowned, the bow in you hands disappearing, "let me help you."

"I-"

"You're a kid. You're far too young to take another person's life."

"I'm an adventurer!" he argued as you walked closer to him, he still hesitated, even as you stood in front of him, vulnerable, he didn't unsheathe his blade to attack you.

"But you're no killer." you told him, and then you quickly acted. You grabbed his blade and put it in your inventory, effectively leaving him unarmed. "There" you smiled, yet he didn't feel scared.

Your smile was bright and warm, comforting not at all scary or threatening as he thought.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Bennett didn't know how to feel about the current situation, he found himself inside a familiar hollowed trunk. One that he had visited with Razor, his other friend who was currently absent.

In his hand was a fluffy snack you, the imposter, had called a mammon.

Meanwhile, you, the object of nearly every person in Mondstadt's attention was kneeling beside him, wiping his legs clean, muttering something about having to disinfect it.

"You're nice. ." he muttered after a few silent minutes filled with observation on his part.

"Of course I am" you almost snorted, "I'm not heartless."

You pulled out an ointment, twisting the cap open as you smeared the contents on your fingers. The young adventurer shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "It's not poisoned or anything." You told him.

You showed him your hands which had scratches littering your skin, and then you proceeded to apply the ointment to yourself. It started to tingle, did that meant it was working?

"See? I didn't die." You told him, and only then did he let you apply the ointment you had gotten from the Samachurl. "Why do they want to kill you. .?" Bennett suddenly asked as you finished and stood up.

"You. . you don't seem like an imposter."

Shrugging you turned away "But that doesn't make me your Creator either. I'm simply me. ." "How can that be possible?"

"I'm human Bennett. When we are born, we do not get to chose the face we were born with, or the situation we are born in. . it's how we are similar. You didn't chose to be born with bad luck, nor did I chose to be born with this face." You gestured to him, then to yourself.

Bennett pondered your words carefully, it made sense. . but. . "then why does Jean and the knights want to kill you? they wouldn't target you if you didn't do anything bad!"

"But I didn't" your voice was like a plead, 'please believe me' he could hear that small voice. "I just came inside the city, registering as an adventurer when I was immediately taken to their headquarters! They didn't ask me anything! They didn't let me explain, or even told me why I was arrested!"

Your sudden outburst had to stop though, as you noticed multiple presence approaching. You turned to the entrance of the hollowed trunk you were in, multiple sharp predatorial eyes were pointed at you. .

Razor and his lupical family had found you.

Perhaps they noticed your unfamiliar scent, or maybe benneth's and the iron scent from his wounds.

! You jumped back when Razor pounced forward quickly closing in the distance, swinging his claymore at you. You stared down at the wolf-boy, who lowered his claymore once you were away from Bennett who stared between the two of you in shock.

'This has just gotten troublesome.' The entrance was now blocked by Razor and his family, the only other exit was the one that would lead you to the weekly boss battle area for Andrius. You took a step back, eyes still on Razor who silently observed you like a predator.

"You. ."

His family snarled, and quickly moved. But instead of attacking you, they stood between you and Razor. Razor clearly didn't expect their actions as his red eyes widened in surprise. "Lupical. ."

The wolves growled and bark, communicating something to Razor who's mouth closed and opened a few times like a fish out of water. What did his lupical say exactly?

The claymore in his hands had disappeared, as he looked to be scolded. "Follow me. ." He said, walking pass you and jumping down to Andrius' area. The pack of wolves followed, as they passed you their heads would bob, a gesture reminiscent of that of a respectful bow.

Confused you turned to Bennett who stood up, a serious expression on his face.

"What exactly did they say about me?!"*

"They said. . that uh. ." his brows furrowed, perhaps still digesting what the wolves had said. "The lord of Wolvendom asks an audience with the person who shares the face of the creator."

You gulp, heart sinking. Andrius or Boreas was to judge you then?

"Come on, I don't think it's anything bad." Bennett tried to reassure you with an attempt of a smile, one that mirrored the same one you had given him. He was trying to comfort you?

Sighing you palmed your face as you tried to calm down, "okay." you muttered over and over again "okayokayokay-"

"Okay."

Bennett's warm hand had wrapped around your wrist, "don't worry, I'll make sure it's not going to end badly. Trust me as an Adventurer!" "Oh?" you blinked "and here I thought you were here to kill me since I'm an imposter. ."

He laughed awkwardly, "Well. . after listening to you, I guess I decided to just trust you. A real imposter wouldn't care about someone like me anyways."

"You think I care about you?"

"Well you did give me that tasty snack and dressed my wounds, doesn't that mean you care about me? you could have easily killed or left me anyways after taking my sword. ."

Chuckling your hand glowed, bringing out his weapon and handing it back to him. "Thanks Bennett, here." The boy beamed at you, taking his weapon once again, "where did you get that weapon anyways?"

"Oh, I received this as a blessing from the creator!" he chirped.

You hummed, standing at the exit, eyes casted downwards as you took a deep breath. Seeing Razor and the wolves from before, you wondered how you were going to land safely. . 'well if I'm going to die to Boreas, I guess it doesn't matter now.'

"I see, the creator must really like you then." you smiled at Bennett before plunging down.

"She. ." Bennett's eyes widened, running to the edge of the trunk in panic only to sigh in relief. "huh. . she knew my name. I don't think I ever told her." he scratched the back of his head, before unfortunately a rock flew towards him, hitting him at the back and being the one last push needed.

And so like you, Bennett fell.

Taglist:

@fantasyhopperhea @rhoswen-drake @cchiiwinkle @aman3kkun @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @bunniotomia @esthelily

@earth-to-name @fandomfan-102 @kh1ffy @jiyeons-closet @dragontammerz / @mercy-not-merci @aryuunachigiri @randomnatics @alexx197197 @keirennyx @vianitry @game-savvy @laviniadraws @altumsomnum @ghostlysyntaxed @kangyeonie @resident-cryptid @floofeh-purpi @allmightycucumber @wolfiafuntime @ofalexis @jiaoqiuthefoxian @is-it-night-or-day @lilacoaks @brainemptynothoughts

*Bennett understands a bit about the wolves' communication based on his voiceline about Razor.

NOTICE!

I will now be closing the participation time, now we will be having a poll to find out what's the name of our pyro buddy! Originally it was supposed to be till the end of the prologue arc but I'm beginning to think it'll be awhile till this ends.

Sorry for the quality too, I like Bennett but since it's been awhile I think he and Razor came out as 'ooc' in this chapter.

LINK!

Fuji_Sen has suggested! Lava Cake or "Java" based on the food / coffee" Fuji_Sen has suggested! Monsieur Creme Brulee or "Creme" based on the food. @Fantasyhopperhea has suggested! Soleil or "Sol" @Cactus4226 has suggested! Ruru (Py-ro, ro -> ru -> ruru) @bunniotomia has suggested! Helios or "Hel" @airyravenmaid has suggested! Cinnamon or "Cinna" @kindofscenic has suggested! Pyrex from the glass or "Pyruru" @shyentsmissingink has suggested! Pyri or "Pyrico" @dragontammerz has suggested! “Pepperoni” or “Pepper”

[octaneink]

Snowdrop

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: The Reader and Will go skiing. The reader has never gone before, sure things will be fine...right? Warnings: None Notes: I was scrolling through Pinterest and saw the first image, then boom I was inspired to write this fic. I hope people enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The Alpine Lodge’s fireplace crackled, its flames gnawing at the dry logs with an almost impatient hunger. Heat radiated in thick waves, but it couldn’t quite penetrate the layers you were drowning in. The rented ski pants—stiff, unyielding, their synthetic fabric a garish red and white at the cuffs—were bad enough on their own. But beneath them, the thermal trousers clung to your legs like a second skin, their waffled texture trapping every ounce of sweat and amplifying every itch. You shifted on the worn leather sofa, the seams of both layers conspiring to dig into the backs of your knees.

Will balanced effortlessly on the armrest, his weight shifting just enough to make the old leather creak in protest. The mug of cocoa in his hands sent up lazy tendrils of steam that curled around his sharp jawline before vanishing into the lodge’s dry heat. His skin still carried the mountain’s bite—cheeks flushed a deep, wind-whipped red, the bridge of his nose peeling slightly from yesterday’s forgotten sunscreen. When he turned his head, the firelight caught the stubble along his jaw, turning it gold where the razor hadn’t touched.

He raked a hand through his hair—thick, dark, and hopelessly mussed from yanking off his beanie earlier. A few strands stuck up at odd angles, defying gravity with the same stubborn ease as the man himself. His shoulders flexed under his thermal shirt as he stretched, the fabric pulling taut across his back, hinting at the kind of lean muscle built recently.

You could smell the cold still clinging to him—pine and crisp air and the faint, clean sweat of exertion. His fingers, wrapped around the mug, were long and slender, the knuckles slightly reddened from the morning's cold. Pale bands of skin stood out where his rings usually sat—the thin silver one with black gems that he twisted when thinking and the silver flower that caught the light when he gestured.

You wondered if he'd left them in some lodge room drawer or tucked them safely in the inner pocket of his jacket—precious things set aside for the sake of the mountain, just for today. His bare fingers tapped absently against the ceramic, the rhythm uneven, like he kept forgetting their usual weight wasn't there.

He caught you looking—your gaze lingering a beat too long on the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders as he moved—and smirked, the expression carving a dimple into his cheek. "What?" he asked, voice rough with amusement.

You jerked your eyes away, throat suddenly tight. "Nothing."

Somewhere outside, a snow-laden branch gave way with a muffled crack. You took a slow sip of your drink, the mug’s heat seeping into your chilled fingers, but Will didn’t press. Instead, his eyes dropped to where your fingers were picking at the cuff of your ski pants again, the thermal layer beneath bunching uncomfortably.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and nudged your boot with his. "You’re fidgeting like you’re trying to escape a straitjacket," he said, nodding at your leg. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of concern beneath it. "Let me guess—the thermals are riding up?"

You exhaled, grateful for the out. "It’s like being shrink-wrapped."

Will huffed a laugh, but it was softer now, less teasing. He reached down, fingers skimming the fabric just above your ankle. His touch was efficient and practical—adjusting the overlap of the layers with quick, practised tugs. "You need to smooth them out before you lock the pants in," he said, thumb brushing the inside of your calf briefly. "Otherwise they’ll twist on you halfway down the mountain."

You swallowed. His hands were warm, even through the fabric.

He sat back, studying his work. "Better?"

The thermals still clung, but the pressure had eased. You nodded.

Will picked up his cocoa again, taking a slow sip. The firelight caught the curve of his throat as he swallowed. "Good," he said, his voice quieter now, more deliberate. He studied your face for a moment before continuing. "First time jitters?"

You flexed your fingers around your mug, the ceramic almost too hot against your palms. "Is it that obvious?"

The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn't mocking—it was understanding. "Only to someone who remembers their first time eating snow on a blue run." He nudged your knee with his. "You'll be fine. Everyone starts somewhere."

Outside, the snow fell in thick, soundless sheets, muting the distant whoops of skiers. Your gaze drifted to the Salomons leaning against the wall—their edges sharp, their sleek frames intimidating. Will followed your look.

"Hey." He waited until you met his eyes. "Those aren't going to bite. And neither will the mountain." His thumb brushed over your knuckles where they gripped the mug too tightly. "We'll take it slow. Bunny hills until you're bored of them."

You exhaled, shoulders loosening slightly. "Promise?"

Will's grin was warm as the fire at your backs. "Scout's honour. Though," he added, leaning in just enough that his jacket brushed your arm, "I may have lied about actually being a scout."

The laugh surprised you, bubbling up before you could stop it. Will's eyes crinkled at the corners, pleased.

"See?" he said, squeezing your hand once before letting go. "You're already doing better than my first time. I cried when they made me take the lift."

You raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe not cried," he admitted. "But there was definitely some… passionate protesting."

The fire popped, sending up a shower of sparks. Somewhere beneath your layers, the nervous coil in your chest began to unwind, replaced by something warmer—something that had less to do with the thermals and more to do with the steady certainty in Will's voice when he said, "You've got this."

The lift’s steel cables whined, each protesting groan vibrating through the seat beneath you. Your gloves were damp where they gripped the safety bar, the leather squeaking under your clenched fingers. The wind carved its way between the gaps in your gear—needle-sharp at your collar, whispering cold secrets down your sleeves. Below, the world fell away in slow, sickening increments. Pine boughs sagged under their snow-laden cloaks, shrinking to mere smudges of green against the endless white.

Will lounged beside you like the chair was his personal throne, one boot propped casually on the footrest. His skis hung beneath him, perfectly balanced, edges catching the sunlight in fleeting winks of steel. When the wind kicked up again, rocking the chair with a stomach-dropping lurch, his arm shifted—not to steady himself, but to curl more deliberately around your shoulders. His jacket smelled of wax and wood smoke, the fabric cold against your cheek where you’d instinctively pressed closer.

"Breathe, love," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the cable’s metallic complaints. His thumb brushed the tense line of your shoulder through all the layers—once, twice—before stilling. "Look at me, not down."

You turned your head. His face was close, closer than the mountain deserved. Sunburn flaked at the bridge of his nose. His eyelashes were still frosted from the wind, each blink scattering tiny droplets.

The lift gave a sudden, violent shudder as it passed over a support tower, the entire chair swinging like a pendulum. Your stomach flipped, the half-digested lodge breakfast threatening to rebel as the world tilted at a nauseating angle. Your fingers scrabbled against the safety bar, gloves slipping on the ice-cold metal, but Will's arm became an iron band across your shoulders. His grip didn't just steady you—it pinned you to reality, his fingers digging into the meat of your arm just shy of painful.

"See?" His voice was calm, but when you dared to look, his jaw was set tight—not from fear, but concentration. He nodded toward the distant peaks where morning sun fractured across snowfields. "That’s where we’re headed. Not down. Not yet." His thumb rubbed a slow circle against your shoulder, the motion at odds with the wicked glint in his eyes. "Though, if you're really that eager to get down..." He shifted his weight deliberately, making the chair sway.

Your nails bit through his snow pants as you clutched his thigh. "I swear to fuck, Will—"

His laughter came sharp and sudden, a sound that shouldn't have carried over the wind but somehow did, bouncing off the canyon walls below. The chair steadied as the wind died, leaving only the creak of cables and your ragged breathing. His knee pressed firmly against yours, the contact warm even through layers of Gore-Tex and fleece. When he spoke again, his voice dropped to a murmur meant only for you: "Relax. I don't lose my passengers." A beat. "Almost never, anyway."

The safety bar vibrated under your white-knuckled grip, the metal singing with tension. Far below, a gust sent snow ghosts dancing across an untouched slope. Will's gloved hand covered yours. Not pulling your grip loose—just resting there, a silent counterweight to the vertigo. The lift crested the ridge, and for one suspended moment, you hung between earth and sky, held there by nothing but faith and the steady pressure of his touch.

His knee bumped yours, a silent promise: I’ve got you. The safety bar trembled under your grip. And somehow, impossibly, you believed him.

The lift’s final lurch sent your stomach plummeting as the ground levelled out. The world tilted—suddenly, violently—from the safety of the ascent to the sheer, yawning drop of the slope. Sunlight glared off the snow, turning the whole mountainside into a blinding expanse of white, broken only by the occasional dark slash of ice where skiers had carved too deep. Your skis scraped against the hardpack as you shuffled forward, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

Will’s gloved hand tightened around yours—your ski poles clutched awkwardly in your free hand—as he guided you away from the lift’s exit. His grip was sure and steady, the only thing keeping you upright as your legs wobbled beneath you. The cold air burnt in your lungs, sharp as a blade, and your breath came in shallow, panicked bursts.

Then—too soon—he let go.

You swayed, the sudden absence of his hand leaving you unmoored. Will didn’t seem to notice, already gliding ahead with the easy grace of someone who’d been born on skis. Snow hissed beneath his edges as he carved a tight, effortless turn, spraying a fine mist of white into the air. He came to a stop facing you, his skis angled into a perfect wedge, poles planted casually at his sides.

“Alright,” he said, his voice carrying the same warmth as when he’d coaxed you onto the lift. But there was something else underneath—a quiet command, the kind that made you straighten your spine despite the fear gnawing at your gut. He tilted his head, studying you. “Pizza wedge. Watch.”

You watched with rapt attention, "See how the tips kiss?" Will said, bringing his ski fronts together until they nearly touched, forming a perfect triangle against the snow. Powder puffed up around his edges as he rocked slightly forward. "That's your brake. That's your control."

Your own skis felt like unwieldy planks strapped to your feet, the weight unfamiliar and awkward. When you tentatively tried to mimic his stance, your boots wobbled in their bindings. The sensation was all wrong — like trying to balance on two greased sleds that wanted to go in opposite directions.

Will's eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched your first shaky attempts. "There you go," he encouraged, gliding closer. "Now bend your knees like you're sitting in an invisible chair. No, not that much — think more like you're leaning against a bar stool."

As you adjusted your posture, you became acutely aware of every muscle in your body tensing. Your thighs burnt from the unaccustomed stance. Your toes curled inside your boots, as if extra grip might somehow translate through the rigid plastic shells.

"Relax your death grip on the poles," Will chuckled, nodding at your white-knuckled hands. "They're not going anywhere. Right now they're just for balance, not for stabbing rogue yetis."

A nervous laugh escaped you, the sound sharp in the thin mountain air. You forced your fingers to loosen slightly, feeling the cold metal of the pole grips bite into your palms through your gloves.

Will demonstrated again, moving with the effortless grace of someone who'd done this ten thousand times. His edges scraped against the packed snow with a satisfying hiss. "Listen to that sound? That's your skis talking to you. They're saying, 'hey, we got this.'"

You swallowed hard, staring down at your own silent, stubborn skis that seemed to be saying anything but that. The slope stretched out before you, suddenly looking much steeper than it had from the safety of the lift. Every instinct screamed at you to step out of the bindings and walk down.

But then Will was there, his steady hands guiding your ski tips into position. "Trust the equipment," he murmured. "And trust me. On three?"

His quiet confidence was contagious. You took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill your lungs, and nodded.

With a deep, steadying breath, you pushed off, the skis gliding smoothly at first, the cold air biting at your cheeks as you picked up speed. For two glorious seconds, it felt like flying—wind whipping through your hair, the world a blur of white and blue, and Will’s voice cheering you on somewhere behind.

But then, your left ski caught an edge.

The moment your ski caught, time stretched—your stomach lurched as the world flipped sideways. Snow rushed up to meet you in a dizzying blur of white, and then—

Whump.

Cold.

Silence.

Powder exploded around you as you ploughed face-first into the snowbank, the soft embrace of it swallowing you whole. For one disorienting second, you weren’t sure which way was up. Your legs kicked uselessly, skis crossed somewhere above you, poles long since flung from your grip. The snow packed tight around your torso, your arms pinned somewhere beneath you, breath trapped in your lungs.

Then—sound rushed back in. The distant scrape of skis. The ragged gasp of your own breathing as you managed to turn your head just enough to gulp air. Snow clung to your eyelashes, your cheeks, the inside of your collar where it had tunnelled its way in.

"Hey—!" Will’s voice, sharp with alarm. The crunch of snow as he skidded to a stop, sending a spray of powder over your buried form. A shadow fell across you, blocking out the sun. "Christ, you vanished. You okay?"

“I’m fine,” you grumbled, though your voice was muffled by the snow. “Just… stuck.”

There was a beat of silence, and then a snort. Then another. "Oh my god," he wheezed, his voice strangled. "You're—" A full-bodied laugh escaped him, loud enough to startle a nearby bird into flight. "You're planted. Like a—a fucking snowdrop."

You groaned, which only made him laugh harder. He fumbled with his glove, pulling out his phone with fingers that trembled from suppressed mirth. The camera shutter clicked.

"Delete that," you demanded, flailing your free arm. The movement made you sink another inch.

"Never," Will vowed, his grin blinding against the blue sky. "This is going above the fireplace. Engraved on my tombstone. Etched into my soul—"

"Will."

"—and also our wedding invitations—"

A pair of skis crunched closer. The surrounding snow shifted slightly as someone knelt nearby.

"Are you—are you still laughing right now?" you tried to yell, but it came out as a muffled, indignant grumble. Your skis—still strapped to your feet and sticking straight up—twitched helplessly in the air.

A gloved hand closed around your ankle and gave an experimental tug. You didn't budge.

"Jesus Christ," Will wheezed, his voice shaking with barely suppressed laughter. "How deep did you go?"

Another tug. More snow shifted. Then, suddenly, fingers brushed your calf, working their way down to your boot buckle.

"Okay, don't panic," Will said, though his voice was dangerously close to cracking. "Actually— you know what, you can panic a little. This is hilarious."

You tried to kick him. It was like trying to swim in cement.

"William."

Will's eyes went comically wide, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' of mock terror. "Oh. My government name. Right, right, pulling you out now Snowdrop—" He braced himself, arms wrapping around your middle. "Three, two—"

The world lurched. Snow tore away from your face with a whump, and suddenly you were gasping in the open air, blinking against the blinding sunlight. Will staggered back, still clutching you, both of you collapsing into the powder in a heap.

His face hovered inches above yours, flushed from exertion, his eyes bright with mirth. A snowflake clung absurdly to his eyelashes.

"Welcome back," he grinned.

Your fist connected with his shoulder—a solid thump against the layers of his jacket. He barely rocked with the impact, just arched one eyebrow and smirked. "Worth it," he declared, the words puffing out in a white cloud between you. Then his laughter burst free again, rich and unapologetic, bouncing off the surrounding peaks until the whole mountain seemed to be laughing with him.

He rolled onto his back, dragging you with him in a tangle of limbs and ski gear. Fresh powder billowed around you both, catching in your eyelashes, dusting his dark hair with flecks of white. The snow cradled you now—softer, kinder—as if apologising for its earlier betrayal. Above, the sky stretched impossibly blue, so clear it hurt to look at.

Will reached up, brushing snow from your shoulders with exaggerated care. His gloves left damp streaks on your jacket. "Admit it," he said, voice dripping with mock suspicion. His eyes—crinkled at the corners, bright with mischief—locked onto yours. "This was all an elaborate scheme." He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cold-reddened ear. "'Oh no, Will, I've fallen and I can't get up! Whatever will I do unless a strong, incredibly handsome skier rescues me?'" He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. "Smooth. Very smooth."

Heat flooded your cheeks that had nothing to do with the winter sun. You shoved at his chest, but your mittens just slid uselessly against his waterproof shell. "I hate you," you muttered, but the words came out half-choked by the laugh you were desperately trying to suppress. A clump of snow chose that moment to slide off your forehead and plop onto his nose.

Will didn't even blink. He leaned in until his icy nose bumped against yours, then pressed a quick, cold kiss to the tip of yours. "Liar," he whispered. The word hung between you, visible in the frosty air. His eyes—so close you could see the gold flecks in the green—danced with unspoken laughter.

Then he was up in one fluid motion, spraying you with snow as he shook himself off. He planted his poles in the powder and nodded down the slope, where fresh tracks beckoned. "Ready for round two?" The challenge in his voice was as bright as the sun glinting off his goggles.

You groaned dramatically, flopping back into the snow—but this time the laugh broke free, echoing across the open bowl of the mountain. "If I die," you warned, pointing a mitten at him, "I'm haunting you first."

"Deal." His grin turned wicked as he fished his phone from his pocket. "But first—" The camera shutter clicked. "For posterity. And the wedding slideshow. And possibly the Christmas card."

You launched a snowball at him. He dodged with the grace of someone who'd spent a lifetime avoiding projectiles, already skiing backward down the first gentle pitch. His laughter trailed behind him like a banner as he carved a teasing serpentine path, waiting for you to follow.

And despite the snow still melting down your neck, despite the humiliation that would live forever in his camera roll, you found yourself pushing upright—still smiling, still warm where his lips had brushed your nose—and pointing your skis with a bit more confident downhill after him.

Let it be known that I’ve never skied a day in my life…

Icl I got distracted watching so many ski TikTok and YouTube vidoes while researching for this. I am equally amazed and terrified of some of the things people can do on the slopes.

I hope people enjoy this!

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Reasons why Sylus and MC’s Love is Strong and Enduring

The Front Side

Their relationship may have started in a wrong foot but they gradually (specially MC) come to terms that Sylus will constantly be at her side.

In “No Way Out” and “Radiant Brilliance” Sylus, the ever elusive and strong leader of Onichynus has no problem is showing weakness with MC. This is huge considering Sylus reputation. Being vulnerable and open is not something easy for a man like Sylus, but he let MC see every side of him.

Sylus is the first LaDS men to ever directly tell MC that he loves her and proves it to her in every way possible. (Source: Razor Grip)

Sylus is a man of confidence and conviction. MC is not very fond of him at the beginning (Nor he is fond of her) but I don’t feel that they genuinely hate each other. More like irritated and frustrated. But after all of the things ended in Sylus’ branch of the story, Sylus gradually but firmly makes his way to MC’s life. He always makes sure MC is alright and got everything she needs.

The memory “Wild Gaze” and “Melodic Weave” Is probably where Sylus gets the “sugar daddy” label. He really doesn’t mind spending his fortune with MC.

The Back End

They are on the opposing end of the society. Let’s not forget MC is a Hunter and Sylus is a wanted person of her organization. But romantically involved or not, MC never spilled anything about Sylus upon her return to Linkon from the N109 Zone. From this perspective, MC might be eternally grateful that she was able to return home, but this is huge for her. Considering she is all about being a hunter that not even Zayne is able to stop her from doing dangerous missions, her keeping secrets of Sylus whereabouts ans dealings is no easy feat.

Secret Dates and Escapades Shenanigans. This is one of the best tropes Sylus and MC have. The thrill of not to be caught together adds flavor to their relationship. We can see this on both “Melodic Weave” and voice call “Keep Distance”. Yes, Sylus couldn’t care less about what happened to him but MC is clearly not comfortable in the idea of them being seen together.

Given the conclusion above, they both still makes efforts to be together. And one of my favorite moments of them was during the “Riverbank Scenery” Phone Call. Sylus have to send a”suspicious” letter just to invite her out. And the fact that he called their meeting as a “rendezvous” instead of a date adds to anonymity on it and also heartbreaking. They may not directly say it,but they cannot be seen together. Which is why towards the end of the call, Sylus almost pleadingly ask her to stay with him longer.

The Consequences. By the time the we get to the “Razor Dance” memory, it’s clear that MC already has feelings for Sylus. But they are still keeping things a secret and I feel that the deeper reason for this is MC’s situation. What will happen to her once they are found out? MC might be branded as a traitor and lock her up. I know that Sylus will do anything and literally everything to save her but the real question is, will he risk it? I know for a fact that MC will not die but if the association finds out about it, she might be facing a problem same with what Ever Group is posing. MC has a very valuable asset and there is no guarantee that the Hunters Association will not take advantage of her as well.

The Conclusion

MC do not show any signs of giving up being a hunter or ever leave Linkon. She mentioned it in all the memories under the Wander in Wonder Event. She really hopes to return to Linkon and she misses her home. In the same event in the “Grassland Romance” with Sylus she asks him if he ever consider living in Linkon so they could always meet up and he readily agrees. With this we can assume the extent of Sylus love for her. He is willing to give up everything for her and be anything for her.

But although MC is not ready or willing (Depends how you take it) to give up being a hunter or leave Linkon, we cannot ignore the danger she is putting her self in every time she meets with Sylus. MC inviting him to live in her hometown can be taken as she wants him being in a more peaceful environment to keep him safe.

Their love story ma not be easy flowing but it’s not toxic. It may need a lot of effort, but it doesn’t make it less true. Loving Sylus can be a pain but it’s still rewarding.