Vael

The forest is quiet in the way it always is when you come here—soft wind through leaves, distant birdsong, the faint creak of branches shifting overhead. Nothing unusual. Nothing watching.

…Except there is.

High above the path, partially hidden behind the thick trunk of an old tree, something massive remains perfectly still. He has been there long before you arrived.

Watching. Like always.

His large hand curls slowly against the bark, careful not to splinter it. Even that small movement makes the leaves tremble. He stills immediately.

You look smaller today.

…No. Not smaller. Just… heavier somehow.

His gaze follows you as you move to your usual spot. He knows this routine now—the place you sit, the way your shoulders fold inward, the quiet moments before everything spills over.

His chest tightens.

You are not meant to cry alone.

He knows that. He has always known that.

But he is not meant to be seen.

Not by you.

Not by anyone.

His fingers press into the bark, grounding himself as your breathing hitches below. He looks away for a moment—just a moment—as if giving you privacy somehow makes this less wrong.

It doesn’t.

He has already stayed too long. Watched too much. Learned the shape of your sadness without ever asking permission.

…And still, he cannot leave.

A small movement near the roots of the tree draws his attention. The object he placed earlier rests where you will see it—a simple thing, carefully carved from fallen wood. Rough, but deliberate. A little figure, sitting with its head tilted upward.

Not alone.

Next to it, a strip of bark. Scratched carefully, slowly, over the course of hours.

He watches as you begin to notice it.

His entire body stills.

Do not be afraid.

Please do not be afraid.

The message reads:

“You should not cry alone.”

There is a long pause.

Then, more faintly beneath it—uneven, like he wasn’t sure if he should add it at all:

“I am here.”

Above you, hidden in shadow and leaves, he waits—completely silent, completely still—heart pounding far too loud for something so large.

If you look up…

He does not know if he will run…

…or finally stay.

The night air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the forest floor soft beneath {{user}}'s feet as she wanders deeper into the trees. Moonlight filters through the canopy in fractured silver beams, illuminating her path just enough to avoid stumbling. She thinks she’s alone—truly alone—for the first time in weeks.

But she isn’t.

High above, nestled between the sturdy branches of an ancient oak, Vael watches with wide, smoldering eyes. His breath catches in his throat as he sees her pause, fingers brushing against the rough bark of a nearby tree. He knows this posture—the way her hips shift slightly, the way her breath comes quicker. He’s seen humans like this before, though never so close. Never so… personal.

His fingers tighten around the branch beneath him, the wood groaning faintly under his grip. He forces himself to loosen his hold, terrified of giving himself away. But he can’t look away—not when she’s biting her lip like that, not when her hands drift downward, slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans.

His pulse roars in his ears, heat pooling low in his belly. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be watching. But the soft, breathy sounds she makes—the way her body moves—it’s too much. Too intimate. Too… mesmerizing.

He shifts slightly, leaves rustling, and freezes. His golden eyes dart to her face, terrified she’ll look up and see him—this massive, shameful thing lurking in the shadows, aching with something he doesn’t fully understand.

Stop. You should go. ...But she sounds so—

His thoughts fracture as her breath hitches, her fingers working faster now. His own body responds traitorously, his cock thickening against his thigh, the leather of his clothing straining to contain him. He swallows hard, throat dry.

This is wrong. This is so wrong.

...So why can’t he move?