#his geode now

[ask-wretched]

Big Man.

I have a cool rock d'ya wanna feel it? its a little spikey though be careful

(pulls out a small amethyst geode)

[foldingfittedsheets]

My mom longs for traditions but lacks the wherewithal to actually develop any. Growing up she’d always try to make some new Christmas gimmick that we could do each year. They never stuck. She’d forget, or we wouldn’t want to continue and she’d give up.

One year she had us sew our own stockings. This wasn’t a huge hit as I was requested to sew immediately upon waking, a skill I largely lack. My brother hated his inadequacy as I don’t think he’d gotten even the cursory education I had with a needle and thread. I think mom thought we’d make new ones each year and they’d be like a fun memento. Our dissatisfaction with the whole thing meant we skipped it the next year and I’ve been using the same janky stocking that I sewed half asleep ever since.

For two years she tried to do holiday cookie decorating but my dad griped about all the sugar in the house while gorging on cookies and the tradition faded away.

For a few years she remembered to always put a geode in the stocking that we could break open with a hammer. It was fun at first, but I had to eventually ask her to stop because I didn’t have anywhere to keep a million geodes.

We went to movies some years but trying to find a film we all wanted to see proved troublesome enough that it fizzled out.

This last holiday she just announced they’d be leaving for December and didn’t do anything with family at all.

She pines for familial connection while having little idea of how to maintain relationships. It’s more important for her to have a smiling picture as a memory than to actually be happy. She wants a picture perfect family that gets along and is constantly disappointed by what she has instead.

One of her favorite photos is the last camping trip we went on as a family, me and my siblings with their kids. She croons about how nice it was to have us all together and I don’t say that all I remember from the trip is learning my brother was a drug addict and seeing my sister hit my nephew across the face.

I reached out recently to suggest that since we’ve all got bikes now and my parents are both officially retired we can do a weekly bike ride. This was met with delight and excitement.

We had our first ride today and it was genuinely pretty fun. We’ll see if it can last a month.

[junicult]

!! showering w the bachelors for the first time

contains ; mostly fluff. fem!farmer. some suggestive parts. making out. newly established relationships. nsfw in sebastian’s, implied in shane’s & alex’s. afab!farmer. brief mention of fingering. not proofread, will later.

note ; i intended for this to be entirely sfw i swear

harvey.

- the honeymoon phase.

- where he doesn’t even live with you, yet he’s at your house nearly every night, or sometimes vise versa.

- when he uses your stove (with permission) to make you both dinner to share after you’ve finished work.

- where you’re still so in love all you wanna do is gaze into each others eyes and kiss until you can’t breathe.

- that’s exactly what kind of phase you’re in.

- and it’s been a long time since he’s been in that phase.

- you sorta have a whole routine atp.

- whenever he comes over, you make it a plan to wrap up work quickly & spend the evening with him,

- which is why you felt so guilty when you lost track of time, backpack full of rocks and geodes you couldn’t wait for clint to break open the next morning.

- when you glanced down at your watch, you nearly jumped ten feet in the air like a cartoon lmfao

- and you’ll definitely regret running up the ladder one level before you reached another button on the elevator—but right now, you weren’t even focused on that.

- by the time you made it back to your house, a mere two hours after you told harvey you’d be back, it was pitch-black outside.

- thankfully, he didn’t leave. instead, he stood scrubbing the dishes clean, before whipping around at the sudden swing of your front door.

- “harvey! i’m so sorry, i lost track of ti—“

- “oh thank yoba you’re okay,” he sighs, (u already know he wanted to call someone to check up on u but he didn’t want to seem controlling😭😭)

- and he didn’t waste a second to meet you at the door, scanning you just to see if you were injured.

- “i’m fine, i’m fine, just got way too distracted. did you make dinner? did you have to eat alone?? oh, i’m so so sorry i didn’t mean to—“

- ur word vomit is making him fall in love with you even more. two peas in a pod🫶🫶

- then it’s just back and forth of you constantly questioning and reassuring each other for a few moments.

- “but you made such a nice meal for me, and i kept you waiting, i just—i’m so sorry—“

- “sweetheart, it’s okay, i’m not mad,” he almost chuckles, holding you close.

- as soon as he established you’re not hurt or injured, he’s no longer stressed.

- he understands what it’s like getting carried away at work, so who is he to ever be mad at you for that?

- after you ate and assured him you were fine, that’s when you mentioned it.

- “i’m pretty dirty from the mines, i was gonna shower. make up for lost time with me?”

- his mind doesn’t inherently go to sexual things.

- honestly, he was just excited you wanted to.

- he also doesn’t give a fuck that he took a shower earlier. he just wants to spend time with you lol.

- although ik he’s all organized and has like a little routine where you both keep taking turns under the spray LMFAO

- like you get in first, rinse yourself off, then switch with him while you soap yourself up, switch & rinse, switch and apply shampoo, switch, etc, you get it.

- it’s so fucking funny LMAO.

- but the entire time you’re making casual conversation, some little comments about how much you missed each other, things like that.

- he loves how you look in the shower. not even bc ur naked, it’s just a vulnerable way to see the person you love, and there’s nothing sexual in the way he’s looking at you.

- even when you tug on his neck to pull him down for a kiss, he’s just swooning over your affections.

- unless the implication, or intention of sex came before the shower…he’s probably not approaching anything with that.

- it’s a completely different story if you’ve had a ton of tension all day,

- constantly making passing remarks that make his palms sweat, but unable to go any further because of your busy day,

- and you leave him all hot and bothered until you come home in the evening, and ask him to join you in the shower.

- that’s when he forgets all about the little routine.

sam.

- ah, the start to ur most important routine.

- honestly, i feel like you were the one who started it all.

- the whole, “every time you shower, we shower together” thing.

- at least, that’s what it becomes once you move in together. but before that, anytime he was over & you needed to shower, he’d totally join in.

- it’s not even sexual. there’s only like a 30% chance you’ll end up having sex, or even just do foreplay whenever you shower together.

- he’s just so clingy, and he craves the closeness after he realized how much he enjoyed you being there the first time.

- you both were quietly laying together, watching the tv wordlessly, just enjoying each others company after you two decided he should spend the night.

- which then prompted in him asking, “do you think i could use the shower? i smell bad.” he frowns after taking a whiff of his arm.

- you giggle. “i think you smell good, but go ahead. i don’t have your soap, though.”

- like he could care lmfao.

- “thanks!” he just grins, hopping on his feet and giving you a little kiss on the forehead before he skips off.

- you give it like 5 minutes before you decide u miss him too much (attachment issues😞)

- “sam…y’think you got room for two in there?” you knock before creeping the door open.

- he peeks his shampoo’d head from behind the shower curtain. “you wanna come in?”

- “is that okay?”

- u might’ve just asked him to marry you.

- his whole face lights up, grinning wide and opening the curtain wider as he steps to the side. “the more the merrier!”

- he doesn’t even care ur naked. there’s nothing sexual running through his mind, he’s just excited you’re standing with him rn. now he doesn’t have to rush to go see you.

- he even steps to the side to give you the chance to soak your hair under the spray.

- it’s easily just a little awkward at first.

- you’ve had sex before, that’s not why it’s awkward,

- only because it’s the first time you two are seeing each other completely naked without any intention of sexual advancement. not that it would be such a burden if you did, but neither of you want to.

- while you drench your hair, he can’t help but smile lovingly at the sight of water droplets all over your skin.

- he could easily be thinking about how much fun it’d be to have sex right here, but he’s too focused on how this might actually be his favorite thing you’ve ever done together.

- like minutes of silence pass, nothing but the water running and he’ll just lean in and press a kiss on your temple or shoulder.

- it’s not bc he’s trying to hint at something,

- he just wanted to do it, and he doesn’t really overthink the things he wants to do.

- but the affection makes you smile, and by how pure it was, it doesn’t send any false messages.

- it really doesn’t last that long. probably about 15 minutes of you both washing off and short displays of affection.

- yet it clung to you both so well, that it just became the routine you never skipped out on.

shane.

- it definitely just happened naturally.

- ur relationship at first was strictly sexual.

- to the rest of the town, no one even knew you guys even spoke. which, to be fair, there wasn’t much talking between u two anyways💀💀

- but i wanna say that was only for a couple weeks.

- it was still super slow and progressive. your conversations went from short & passing, to getting to know each other a little more. but the sex was still there.

- it went from instead of him leaving right after you finished, you’d stay up and talk for a couple hours.

- to waking up together, to spending the day together, etc etc.

- now ur relationship was approaching friends w benefits category. except it was unspoken, but neither of you wanted to be friends at this point.

- despite all of this, you’ve still never showered together.

- until you spent the whole day working outside. you feel gross, sticky, and sweaty. he just so happened to stick around after you started working.

- ur checking in on your animals he just follows you lol.

- before u both knew it, the sun was coming down and he spent the whole day helping you.

- the thing was, neither of you wanted to mention it. you were both nervous even bringing it up would spark the implication of wanting him to leave.

- which was not the case.

- not to mention, he’s a huge help. when u passed him ur axe to chop down trees, you almost couldn’t look away 🤷‍♀️

- so after you’ve finished, sun starting to set and sweat dripping from your temples—he’s still standing with you.

- “i feel gross, i’m gonna shower.” you frown, plucking your clothes away from your sticky skin.

- ofc he’s thinking it.

- but he doesn’t have time to make a sly comment before you shoot one over your shoulder, “there’s room for two, y’know.”

- say no more, he’s following close behind you throwing off his shirt.

- “thought you said there was room for two, there’s hardly room for one.” he snorts, squeezing himself beside you in the cramped space.

- “oh c’mon, you’ve never had a problem with making it fit.”

- he’s gonna lose his mind.

- u don’t really waste any time LMFAO

- drenching your hair under the spray before you look over at him,

- and you both just lean in cus it’s unspoken, but obvious you guys aren’t in there just to shower.

- he’s quick to slotting his hands at the small of your back, while you wrap yours around his neck and press yourself against him.

- …not much showering gets done, i’ll just say that.

sebastian.

- i feel like sebastian spends more nights at your house then he does at his own at this point.

- he’s not the type to get super attached very easily, even getting to the step of sleeping together took a while.

- but after it happened, he found your little cottage so comfortable. he liked waking up to you in the morning, and falling asleep in your arms at night.

- the only reason he goes home is to work.

- and the minute he finishes up, he heads back over.

- honestly, if he could pack up his computer and leave it at your house, then he’d never leave—which is probably why you made it clear he can’t do that.

- your relationship is already committed.

- i don’t really think he’d wanna sleep with you if hadn’t discussed a romantic relationship.

- anyways, i feel like bc of this, he’s already showered at your place lol.

- you were too busy to ask, and he knew you wouldn’t mind, so he just jumped in and took a quick shower.

- hours after you already started your chores for the day, he woke up & just sniffed his shirt and winced a little.

- he also did some laundry (for your sake).

- so then it kinda just became a, “hey, do you mind if i take a quick shower?” while you were preoccupied.

- sometimes you’d be the one to ask. like if you were lying together, on your bed in your house, you’d turn to him and say the same thing.

- it never rly occurred to either of u that you could knock out two birds with one stone🤷‍♀️

- one evening you were exhausted. you smelled horrible, you could already tell. you had spent nearly the entire day down in the mines, just covered in dirt and rubble, stinking like sweat yet he still kissed you when you came in.

- “i need to shower,” you groan, still accepting his kiss.

- ugh but he’s already spent the majority of the day without you, why are you going to deprive him of more?

- “i think you smell fine,” he tries his best to persuade, but you won’t budge.

- pressing against his chest, you giggle, “you know that’s not true. i’ll only be a few minutes, promise.”

- he’s honestly so clingy, literally tugging on your arm as you try to walk away and following behind you like a lost puppy.

- and suddenly, “i could use a shower too…” despite him using it earlier.

- you look at him for a second, narrowing your eyes, before you tease, “yeah, you could.”

- he’s much like sam, just less openly enthusiastic.

- when you tell him to get the water running, he’s only nodding, but it’s not hard to miss the way he’s turning to start the water so quick.

- and how he’s undressing like he has somewhere to be, despite presenting so nonchalant about it.

- for him, it’s just a better reason to be so close to you. he likes when you’re around.

- it really depends on how much he was missing you, but for the most part i don’t think it ever leads to anything sexual.

- sure, he stands back to let you rinse yourself off and his eyes wander, but that’s about as much that’ll happen if neither of you are in the mood.

- and even then, if you end up wanting to have sex, it hardly ever happens in the shower. most is just foreplay.

- which he is never opposed to.

- i’ve said it once, i’ll say it a million more times,

- he lovesss fingering you.

- and lowkey, if you’re intending on having sex and starting with foreplay in the shower…phew.

- gently pressing you against the shower wall, the water running all down his back but he doesn’t even care,

- and his lips are making out with yours, which are sloppy in response while his fingers press against that spot inside of you that has your neck craning and moans spilling…

- that’s what he wants when he’s been missing you and joins you in the shower.

alex.

- i actually think he’s similar to sam too.

- he’s a huge fan of showering together.

- for starters, he’s the kind of man who makes himself at home very quickly💀💀

- even when you guys weren’t even dating yet, still just in that getting to know each other and hanging out regularly phase.

- when you’d plan for him to come over once you finished up work and spend time w each other casually.

- the cocky side of him just took your hospitality as flirting.

- which, i mean, isn’t unbelievably far off. you do like him.

- but it was probably like his second time over at your house, and he just casually asked if he could take a shower.

- you might’ve raised an eyebrow, but you still said sure.

- so then it became a pretty normal thing. he never took longer then 10 minutes, so you could appreciate that.

- after you both started dating, and had seen each other naked, it became much more casual.

- the transition between not showering together, to showering together was so subtle.

- it just started with you showering, and he needed to pee so he’d just come in and, well, pee.

- then he’d be showering but you still needed to brush your teeth and do your skincare, so you hung out in the bathroom.

- and pretty soon it was so normal that when you asked if he wanted to join you one evening—you didn’t even think much of it.

- it wasn’t until you were midway through washing your body when you realized he was doing the same thing beside you.

- it was just like a, ‘oh, okay, this is normal now’ kind of realization.

- “can you pass me the shampoo?” like he was asking for the salt at the dinner table.

- it just felt natural, especially after he moved in.

- it became a thing you both do together.

- literally a part of your nightly routine. when you were ready to shower, you’d let him know and he’d start the water while you got undressed.

- so since it was your nightly routine, i feel like the longer you’re together, showering together and having sex doesn’t really pair up.

- you shower 9/10 times together. there’s no way you’d be able to keep up (he can tho lol)

- but that doesn’t mean it’s rare.

- he loves looking at you when you’re naked. no shame.

- there could be zero sexual energy between you two at the moment, and he’s still looking you up and down, admiring.

- he can’t help it! he doesn’t even have to be turned on for his body to react to yours.

- “are you hard right now?” you laugh almost like you’re making fun of him.

- and his response will always be, “well duh,” because you just have that affect on him.

elliott.

- another man that loves to shower with you.

- well…yes he likes to shower together, but he’s definitely a bigger fan of bathing together.

- i’ll get to that in a minute.

- your relationship progressed very steadily. it wasn’t until after a few dates when you actually slept together.

- once you had sex though, i feel like it opened you up into being much more comfortable around each other.

- spending time constantly, always inviting him over, allowing him to see you in more vulnerable ways like in your pj’s or all dirty.

- he approached the idea first, i feel like.

- you’ve been having a stressful week, working nearly every hour you were awake, and you had complained about it prior.

- so he just wanted to help you relax, setting up a nice bath with candles and bath salts and anything to help you relax.

- he’s so sweet about it too, not even intending on joining you until you clasped your hands together and asked him to.

- “join me, please. i’ve hardly seen you all week.”

- and he’s all ears.

- sitting in the opposite end, either sitting in peaceful silence or listening to you recap your day.

- i lowkey think he’d bathe you LMFAO

- like hear me out, he’s offering to wash your hair and he’s all delicate with it, giving you a whole head massage and dipping a cup of water to rinse it out.

- kissing your neck and shoulders, pampering you while you don’t even care to protest.

- and even if you did, he wouldn’t allow it. not when you’re all he wants to focus on right now.

- and despite him loving to bathe with you, i feel like his shower routine is so intensive and meticulous that it’s not often you shower together.

- he never minds your company, i promise you that.

- i just firmly believe he’s a morning showerer and you don’t really have the time for that in the morning.

- if you were to ask for him to join you, i don’t think he’d turn you down. he’d just stand away from the spray and tie his hair back so it doesn’t get wet LOL

- but he’s all for spending as much time as he can get with you.

[puffcap-factory]

Shared Dreams, Blossoming Hearts (Wriothesley x reader)

Wriothesley x fem!reader; fluff, pure fluff, heartwarming.

You were not satisfied with the results of the recent case you had been investigating, but Wriothesley seemed to have his own way to cheer you up. (Basically, it was how the two fall for each other)

Words: 3.3k

Notes:

Another Wriothesley fic because he hot >:-)

Okay, I did say I plan for a series but I don’t think I have the patience… Anyways, you can assume that this is the prequel to the other fic I made (the spicy one here) since I used the same setting for the reader. As always, enjoy!

((Update: a sequel of the story here))

•~•~•~•

You crouched, cradling one of the injured children in your arms, his small form trembling against you. 

How old was he? Five? Seven?

You couldn’t fathom how someone could use these innocent children as unknowing pawns in a smuggling ring for the geode, the case you had been investigating on these past few days.

Before you lay four treasure hoarders, all unconscious, subdued by the elemental power you channeled through your vision. A recon log mek was completely broken, no longer a threat.

Though you could intercept the last escaping group, a sense of incompetence washed over you as you realized you couldn't save the children unscathed. You had feared the worst.

"Y/n!" Wriothesley called out as he dashed towards you, Clorinde and her subordinates following closely behind.

He took a moment to glance at the unconscious bodies of the hoarders, understanding the fact that you had been the one defeating them. However, his attention quickly shifted back to you, observing for any injuries.

"Don't worry," he said in a low, soothing voice, his gaze filled with reassurance. "The healers are ready. You should head back first."

You let a moment sink in as you gently petted the boy's head, a soft, reassuring smile on your face. "Don't worry, these people will take care of you," you said soothingly, trying to comfort the hurting child.

Wriothesley watched you closely, a flicker of warmth crossing his features as he observed this caring side of you. It was a moment that revealed another layer of your character, one that he hadn't seen before.

You let the children got lifted by the healers as you stood up, ready to go back to the fortress. Wriothesley talked to Clorinde in the background before escorting you back.

•~•~•~•

As the direct delegate representing the Palais of Mermoria, you were tasked with reporting directly to Neuvillette for cases concerning the fortress. Over the past few months, you had worked closely with the Duke, primarily focusing on investigations related to the Fortress of Meropide.

Your professional relationship with him was marked by your efficiency, something that Wriothesley greatly appreciated. Calm and composed - as others in the fortress described.

However, the recent particular case you had been working on had proven to be quite tricky. It had been unfolding for several days, involving a group of smugglers with ties to the prison. Your investigation had led you going back and forth between the prison and the upper grounds, tirelessly pursuing leads. 

Sadly, your suspicions about the use of children as decoys had been true all along, adding a disturbing layer to the case. Upon learning that the other party had Wriothesley occupied, you rushed to the site. Time was ticking away as they planned to destroy the evidence for escape, which meant endangering the lives of the children involved.

Fortunately, the children were safe now, but the weight of the case bore heavily on your shoulders. One misstep and everything would have ended much, much worse… Anger and frustration simmered within you, directed towards the people responsible, the unfolding situation, and yourself, for not realizing the danger sooner or saving the children unscathed.

Children— they were innocent childrens. Why...

With a burst of elemental energy, you unleashed your vision against the dummy in the Pankration Ring. The crackling power of your magic lashed out, a physical manifestation of your frustration.

“Wow, that dummy won’t last long if you keep doing it like that.”

Turning your head, you saw Wriothesley casually walking towards you. You fell silent, observing him as he approached, his gaze softening as he scanned your features.

"Don't beat yourself up too much about it," he sighed, sensing your state of emotions. "In fact, I should be the one thanking you. If it weren't for you rescuing the children..." his voice trailed off, the unspoken gratitude hanging in the air.

You looked up at him, changing the topic as you did not want to imagine the worst. "How are the children doing?"

"They're doing well, thanks to Sigewinne's trustworthy potions," he chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. "We can check on them later."

A smile tugged at your lips. "Good… that's great. I would love to."

Wriothesley's gaze softened further, a silent acknowledgment of your care for the children.

"…Hey, if there's someone to blame, it would be me. If I wasn't involved in the other group, this may not have happened, true?" he asked flatly.

You paused, considering his words. He had a point, but you never held him responsible.

"Huh, but..." you started, but Wriothesley continued. 

"C'mon, if you want to release some stress, spar with me instead," he said, his lips tugging into a playful smile.

"A spar with the Duke himself? That's... quite the challenge," you chuckled, reluctance in your voice.

You were keenly aware of Wriothesley's physical prowess, not to mention his mastery over his vision. You would never match him in a fight.

"Nonsense," Wriothesley replied with a wave of his hand. "I saw what you did to those treasure hoarders. Use your vision, it's alright. As the ring's rules say, anything goes."

He smiled at you, a hint of challenge in his expression. The prospect of sparring against the Duke of Meropide himself, the champion of the ring, was both daunting and intriguing.

After a moment of consideration, you decided it was indeed a chance to both cool down your mood and train yourself. "Alright, let's do it," you said with a determined nod.

"That's the spirit," Wriothesley's smile grew wider as he made his way to the ring, and you followed him from behind.

Wriothesley tossed his jacket to the side, revealing the well-toned muscles beneath his shirt. The sight of his physique was impressive, a testament to his strength and skill. Even without gauntlets, the icy aura of his vision emanated from him, a reminder of his formidable power.

"No need to hold yourself back, give it your all," he added, his voice firm but encouraging.

With a nod, you mentally prepared yourself for the spar. Without your preferred weapon, you knew controlling your vision fully would be challenging. It felt harder to control without channeling it into a medium—a skill some could master, but it required extensive practice. From what you could tell, Wriothesley was adept at it.

Despite this, you refused to back down. A silent determination fueled your resolve as you admitted to yourself that you did actually want to see Wriothesley in combat—though not necessarily directly against you.

You focused on conjuring your vision into an energy ball, hurling it towards Wriothesley. With a swift sidestep, he dodged the attack and closed the distance between you. Knowing physical combat wasn't your forte, you attempted to keep your attacks ranged.

A slight smirk crossed Wriothesley's face as he started charging at you, clearly understanding your fighting style by now. Despite the challenges of channeling your vision power without a medium, you managed to throw some decent attacks, although most were either dodged or shielded by him.

Your thoughts on strategy were abruptly interrupted as Wriothesley closed the gap, launching into a series of quick and seasoned strikes. Blocking and parrying his blows as best you could, you could feel the icy blasts accompanying his movements. It was clear he wasn't showing his full skill, but even so, his speed and precision were impressive.

Realizing that solely shielding his attacks wouldn't take you anywhere, you focused your vision on creating a small dagger made from your vision elemental energy. With this newfound weapon, you lunged towards him, catching him off guard. Wriothesley dodged backwards, a bit taken aback by your sudden change in tactics.

"Smart move, as expected from you," he complimented. You remained focused and determined, taking measured breaths as the spar continued.

The exchange went rather fiercely, each of you landing blows and dodging strikes in a display of skill and determination. Despite the odds, you managed to hold your ground.

The spar reached its end when the small blade of elemental energy was poised against Wriothesley's neck. He froze, a small smile playing on his lips, admitting defeat in the face of your skill and determination.

"Alright, alright," he conceded, raising his hands in surrender. "You win this one."

You were clearly on edge, your breathing rough and labored in contrast to Wriothesley, who seemed rather unfazed by the recent spar. "You were clearly holding back against me, I can see that," you remarked, a playful glint in your eyes as you breathed in. Despite the intensity of the match and the fact that he was not giving his all, you still felt a sense of confidence building within you.

Wriothesley sighed defeatedly, acknowledging your observation. "C'mon, you think I could bring myself to beat a pretty lady like yourself?" he responded casually, a playful smile on his face. "Unless you really, really, reallywant me to," he added with a chuckle. 

His sweet talk caught you off guard for a moment, but you couldn't help but laugh at his offer. "No thanks," you replied playfully, shaking your head, knowing that you might end up weeks in recovery if he actually did.

Wriothesley grinned at your response. “But, seriously, you’re strong. And clever. With some training I bet you would match the strongest fighter in Fontaine.”

You honestly felt a bit flattered by his words, knowing he was regarding you too highly, but a small mischievous smile appeared on your lips.

"You... or Clorinde?" you teasingly asked him, knowing full well the rivalry between the Duke and the Captain of the Guard. 

Wriothesley chuckled, a hint of mock offense in his tone. "Hey now, I'd like to think I could give Clorinde a run for her money," he replied with a smirk. "But who knows? Maybe we'll have to settle this in a friendly match someday."

You laughed at the idea, genuinely intrigued with the prospect.

Wriothesley smiled contently at your laughter, his eyes warm as he asked after a while, "Feeling better?"

For a second, you forgot that you were here to take out your anger as he asked that. The spar had indeed shifted your mind and mood away from your thoughts. It was a fun experience indeed.

"Yeah, surprisingly, I am," you admitted with a smile, feeling a sense of lightness after the intense spar. "Thanks for the spar, Wriothesley. It was unexpected, but I needed that."

"Of course, anytime," Wriothesley replied, his tone light. "Let's go to the infirmary for a second to make sure everything's good, okay?"

You nodded in agreement as you followed by his side to head to the infirmary, reflecting on his actions towards you. After a moment of silence, you felt compelled to speak up.

"You're a great leader, Wriothesley, no wonder people chose you," you complimented him sincerely. How he had somehow sensed your troubles, and tended to it.

He looked at you for a moment, a bit caught off guard at the sudden serious comment. He thought for a second, before he said with a low tone, “…A lot of people had supported me along the way, I wouldn’t be at this place if not for them.”

You smiled at him, knowing full well that he was trying to be humble. It was true that he had the support of others to become the Duke of Meropide, but it was also true that his own actions had brought him to this position. His proactivity to help others, his ability to gather trust, and his innate instinct to protect those in need were all qualities that made him the natural and respected leader he was today. 

“To be honest, I did feel some disappointment towards myself… But luckily, I got you on my back.” he added, as he managed a smile at you. 

Right. The disappointment did not wear him down. Instead, Wriothesley maintained himself to be the pillar of strength, like any leader would. You truly admired him for this. And how he had tended to you, setting aside his own thoughts… you felt like you were drawn to him. Wanting to support him fully. 

You were about to respond to Wriothesley when you two arrived at the infirmary, greeted by Sigewinne. She seemed to know what you two had been up to, and proceeded to check on you first, then Wriothesley.

"You're all fine! But you might experience some soreness tomorrow, y/n," Sigewinne exclaimed cheerfully.

"That's... for tomorrow's problem," you replied with a sheepish smile. "By the way, when are we going to visit the children?" you turned your head towards Wriothesley, who was casually leaning back against the metal wall.

"Anytime. Now, tomorrow…. There's no urgent task for today, so, I can accompany you if you want to go after this," Wriothesley said, his tone warm and reassuring.

"Oh, the children! They would love a visit from you, y/n. They have been asking a lot about that yesterday," Sigewinne added, giggling softly.

You smiled warmly at the thought of visiting the children. Despite what had happened two days prior, knowing that they were safe and on the path to recovery now brought a sense of relief to your heart. “Then… can we go now?” you said, turning your head towards Wriothesley as you felt a renewed sense of energy filling in. Wriothesley couldn’t help but smile fondly at you. 

•~•~•~•

Wriothesley and you arrived at a place near the Quarter Lyonnais, where the children had been attended to. He observed you closely, walking a bit behind since he knew he wouldn't be recognized by the children, and he knew his appearance could be rather… intimidating. A gentle smile played on his lips as some of the children caught sight of you and ran over, their faces lighting up with joy.

You knelt down to their level, your heart swelling with warmth as you greeted each child with a smile and a gentle pat on the head. One of the older kids, a shy girl, timidly approached and handed you a piece of paper. "Um... this is for you, lady. Thank you… for saving us," her words stumbled as she offered you a drawing. You thanked her warmly, receiving the unexpected present when another boy, whom you had cradled in your arms during the rescue, approached you from the side. He stared at you innocently with his big eyes and asked, his voice soft, "Lady, who is that scary-looking man over there?"

You followed the boy's gaze and looked up to where Wriothesley stood, his imposing figure softened by the warm smile on his face as he noticed your gaze. You couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's innocent question.

“Oh, this man… despite his looks,” you smiled at the boy as you held him gently, pausing for a second, “is one of the kindest and most admirable people I’ve ever met.” You explained as you turned to face Wriothesley, a tender smile on your lips. “Try talking to him, and you’ll see what I mean.”

Wriothesley felt a flutter in his chest as you referred to him, witnessing your interactions with the children. It was as if a delicate bud within him had suddenly bloomed into a flower, its petals unfurling to reveal feelings he had kept carefully tucked away. How long had he been keeping these sentiments? He didn’t know. But in that moment, none of it mattered to him anymore.

As warmth spread through him, he quickly composed himself, maintaining his cool exterior, and hiding any signs of his sudden flush as the boy approached him cautiously. Kneeling down to the boy’s level, Wriothesley smiled warmly.

“Hello there,” he greeted the boy with genuine kindness in his voice. “I’m Wriothesley. I’m glad to see you and your friends are doing well.”

“Mister… Rye-uhh…sslee…?” the boy tried to repeat his name. 

Wriothesley chuckled at the boy's attempt to pronounce his name correctly, patting his head gently. "That's right, you got it!" 

As Wriothesley engaged with the first child, another female child who had been nearby suddenly ran up to him, asking rather loudly, "Mister, is this lady your girlfriend?"

Wriothesley's eyes widened slightly in surprise at the unexpected question, and he glanced over at you with a faint blush coloring his cheeks, though he didn’t shy away from your gaze. You couldn't help but laugh at the innocence of the child's question, but you also found yourself curious about Wriothesley's reaction.

“Hmm, good question. Do you think I make a good couple with her?” Wriothesley asked playfully, turning the question back to the curious young girl.

“Umm, I don’t know! But she is very nice! And pretty!” the girl answered honestly and innocently, just like any children would. 

“Mhm, indeed. She is lovely, I’d rather say,” Wriothesley replied, still facing the girl, his voice low and tender. The young girl giggled in response and ran off to join the other children, just like that. He let a small laugh at the girl’s reaction before turning his head back to face you, smiling.

The unexpected compliment – and his sheer confidence – sent a blush creeping up your cheeks, catching you off guard. Around you, the children giggled and continued playing, unaware of the subtle shift in the air between you and Wriothesley. You managed to give Wriothesley a warm smile in reply, attempting to mask your own shyness. 

You finally spent the evening together with the children playing, also with Wriothesley, who they had instantly warmed up to. As you made your way to the aquabus station to head back with Wriothesley by your side, the atmosphere was filled with a comfortable silence, the echoes of children's laughter still lingering in your ears.

You both traveled casually, the gentle hum of the aquabus filling the air as it glided through the water. The evening sun cast a warm glow over the scenery passing by, creating a serene atmosphere around you.

“I haven’t had the chance to see this side of you until recently,” Wriothesley spoke softly, his gaze warm as he looked at you. “You truly have a way with the children, and it's really heartwarming to see how fond they are of you.”

A soft blush tinted your cheeks at his words, and you met his gaze with a shy smile. “Well,” you replied, “I suppose our duties have kept us occupied, so it's understandable if you hadn’t noticed this side of me before.”

Wriothesley nodded, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “True,” he agreed, “but it’s a pleasant surprise. It's clear that you genuinely care for their well-being, and it's truly admirable.”

“I guess – that makes the two of us,” you replied with a warm smile, feeling a flutter in your chest at his sincerity. You had also witnessed Wriothesley interacting with the children, and it was evident that he was a complete natural, despite his intimidating appearance at first look.

Wriothesley pondered for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Finally, after a moment, he asked you, his body a bit tense, “Say, are you interested in working a bit longer at the fortress?”

You paused, considering the offer. You knew your position at handling the cases in Fortress of Meropide was not going to last forever. But, your time at the Fortress of Meropide had been rewarding, and the thought of working alongside Wriothesley a bit longer was rather appealing. Perhaps… something was also blossoming within your heart.

 “Hmm... I can't see why not,” you replied with a warm smile.

A sense of relief washed over Wriothesley's features at your answer. He let out a sigh as he stretched his back. “Great. Then please remind me to send the letter of request to Neuvillette,” he said, grinning as his voice tinged with anticipation.

Curious, you asked, “And why would you go that far?”

“Because,” he began, his voice low but sure, “I would like to spend more time with you.”

[heartshapedbubble]

Ello can I request a Norton Fools good x fem reader where she came across the blown up mines and sees Norton (in his hunter form) she’s scared at first but starts to recognise him and slowly starts to approach him reaching her hand up to cub his cheeks ( bro this man needs all the love! )

HOO BOY i agree tho... his release made me regain my interest in norton🫡🫡

[not to be a scum but i'm still open for sanrio emma comms btw😭😭]

fool's gold: imagine...⛏️

cut for length!

paying the bills has become a hellish cycle. break your back to pay off the expenses, relax for the following twenty-ish days, and be sent into frenzy again, not knowing if you're going to have a roof over your head tomorrow or not.

you found yourself hopelessly skimming through newspaper, looking for any job offer possible that would easen up the burden on your wallet. The paper was plastered with offers from bars, post offices and restaurants, but those were a always gamble. will you get your wage or not? and if you will, when? too much effort for something so high-risk.

at last, a small offer in the corner of the page caught your attention. pressed in miniscule letters, it said: MINE RESEARCH. EMPLOYEES URGENTLY NEEDED. EQUIPMENT PROVIDED. underneath the text, an attractive number: $15,000 payed off immediately after the job is done.

not only could this solve the rent for the following 3 months, you'd also have some money left for yourself! you rang the number the second you got home and successfully scored the job, due to the urgency of the situation.

it took you a day or two to start thinking about the job. what do you exactly need to know for mine research? probably at least some physical strength and stamina, you thought. surely it can't be too complex.

you arrived at the mine right on time, the sun slowly slipping back into the horizon to let the moon take center stage. to your dismay, you realized no one else applied for the job. maybe this wasn't a good idea after all? crawling through the narrow, rocky terrain all alone doesn't sound like the ideal scenario. no living being in sight, and 20 minutes have already went by.

still, that money is way too good to pass up. you picked up one of the yellow helmets piled up at the entrance, prayed to whatever god out there that your flashlight has enough power to last the following 2 hours and mindlessly rushed into the collapsing mine.

for the following 10 minutes, your sight unfocused while your mind took the lead, in front of and all around you just rocks and grime, shadows dispelled by the flashlight held by your hip like a lance. only after a good 5 minutes of running did you realize that you, in fact, have no idea what you're supposed to do. what qualifies as mine research? mining, inspecting the ores, measuring the surface?

all sweaty and breathless, the tunnel led you to a large room inside of the mine, the roof extending towards what seemed like a pitch black abyss. carts messily thrown around, bumpy and unpolished geodes laying all over the place, when was the last time a living being stepped foot into this mine? it made sense that such a large sum of money was needed to attract volunteers.

you carefully moved through the rubble, trying to avoid stepping onto pickaxes and shrapnel splayed all over the ground. since you forgot about the gloves your bare hand now held onto the unpromising terrain, the other firmly squeezing the only source of light in this limbo.

the surface grazing your hand now seems like it became... smoother? no longer does it cut and pierce your palms. it's bumpy, but at least you're not risking an infection anymore.

moving inch by inch in fear of falling, the stone below changes its form. you don't even pay attention to the fact that you're now grabbing onto cloth and that, below your palm, a steady pulse is faintly beating.

it's already too late when you realize that you're not alone, and the stone below you starts to take shape and morph until it extends towards the ceiling, now towering over you, slouched like a ragdoll.

complementing the cold shades of grey, a face emerges from the shadows. pale, with defined cheekbones, although malnourished. only his bust passes as human, as below his collarbones there's nothing but a mosaic of pebbles and boulders forming his torso, arms and legs. it - or he, perhaps - is breathing with struggle, coughs interrupting his wheezes here and there.

you feel a sense of dread overcoming you. you freeze on the spot, but he doesn't budge, either. lifeless except for the fact he's breathing and his heart ticks like a machine.

you draw back a step, and he lunges forward, seemingly still not used to this monstrous body of his. he could harm me with ease if he wanted to, a thought suddenly manifests in your mind, and with newfound bravery you inspect the cryptid like a sculpture. your hand grazes over his bumpy and unfinished hands, tugs at the remains of his clothes around his chest. he groans, in annoyance, you assume, but doesn't resist. you climb up a cart to reach his face, your fingers pinch his stubborn hairstrands, inspect the cavity in which his other eye once laid. in a moment of either stupidity or courage you roughly pinch his cheeks - they're cold to the touch, but it's funny how naturally does his intimidating face mush like a little boy's. kind of cute. after a minute of cooing to yourself two of his rocky fingers gently pinch your wrists and put them back to your sides, but his one foggy eye doesn't divert its gaze from yours.

perhaps the flashlight can last an hour more.. you've just began getting to know him, and the mystery of the mine and his origin still lay cold for you to discover.

[gloomwitchwrites]

By the Belt (1 of 4)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, light gagging, rough oral sex, praise

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

If you’re going to start something, you better get on your knees and finish it.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // by the belt masterlist

“You know what you’re doing?”

Your fingers freeze around the soft leather of Simon’s belt. The cold metal of the buckle bites against the edge of your index finger. Just seconds ago, you were eager, wanting to show him that you could take the lead for once. That you could initiate and show a bit of dominance in this relationship.

But Simon’s words freeze all further movement. You are solidified. You are made of ice.

With Simon looming in front of you like a shadow, you realize just how wrong you are. Simon is the dominate one in the relationship. He is the one who always shows you just how much he desires you. That doesn’t mean he forces himself on you—Simon always respects your boundaries—but he’s not shy about telling you what he wants.

Some days, it’s like Simon can read your mind, initiating when you’re in the mood but haven’t made the first move yet. He’s damn good about figuring you out and knowing what you need.

As your fingers begin to fall away, Simon is quick to snatch your wrist, returning your hand to his belt.

“Finish what you started,” he says, voice raspy behind the balaclava. “Never known you to be shy.”

A bit of sweet teasing bleeds into his tone, and your cheeks immediately heat from the compliment. Because Simon is right. You’re not shy with him. Never have been. He opens you up like a broken geode.

Fingers curling around the leather and tangling with the buckle, you move with slow deliberateness. You’re showing Simon your intention. With buckle undone, you slide the belt from the loops and gently toss it to the side.

Simon remains still, an invitation to continue. He won’t step in. He won’t do anything until he’s ready. He rarely acts in desperation. The control this man has is downright sinful.

The zipper and button are next. Your hands rest there, your gaze admiring in the slight bulge in Simon’s pants. His arousal is apparent, and that only curls something hot in your belly. The moment you have his pants loose around his hips, you slide your hands inside, intending to draw them down, but Simon seizes your wrists, hauling you off the couch to land on your knees.

“You’ll take it like this,” he says before releasing your wrists. The gravelly quality to his voice is enough to break thick glass. It sends a shiver through you, signaling every nerve to fire, driving your own desire for him higher.

Simon’s command is enough for you to return your hands to him, revealing enough of him for you to touch. He is already hard, but when you wrap your fingers around the base, there is a slight softness there. He is turned on by this, but not completely.

But you’ve only just started.

With Simon, his mood changes in how he likes it. Sometimes, he just wants to fuck your mouth, to claim it like he would your cunt, to listen to you choke and gag around him, to watch the tears form in your eyes. Other times, Simon likes it when you take your time, enjoying yourself as much as he’s enjoying watching you please him.

But right now, Simon says nothing. His hands are at his sides, motionless. His gaze is alert and intense, completely focused on your face. The silence is its own sort of pleasure. Its own form of anticipation. You have no idea what Simon might be thinking. All you know is that you were the one who reached for him, who grabbed him by the belt and tugged him close.

Your hand tightens around him, and you hear the soft inhale. Kissing the tip, you drag your lips up and down the base, gently kissing until you meet your hand only to come back up again. Your other hand lightly cups his balls, squeezes gentle, and your lips part, tongue tip brushing on the underside of the head.

His eyelids flutter, but otherwise Simon remains still. Unmoving.

With tongue and hand, it isn’t long before Simon is throbbing in your palm. It’s sweet victory.

But the moment is shattered when you begin to go in. Simon moves, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. Obediently, you open your mouth and Simon’s thumb slides inside. Your lips close around him. Sucking. Releasing. When you open again, it’s not Simon’s thumb but the head of his cock there wanting entrance.

Your tongue darts out, brushes over the slit to lick up a pearl bead of precum before sliding underneath as length of him penetrates. This insistence signals you to what Simon wants, and the very thought has heat pooling between your legs, drawing forth a slickness that begs to be satiated.

Simon’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, tangling in your hair, gripping it fiercely. It’s a tight enough hold that is causes you to gasp. With the widening of your mouth, Simon slides move of his cock inside. The response is a whimper. A vibration in your throat against his dick that has Simon moaning.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Stay still.”

That one command—those two words—say much more than that. Simon is telling you that he doesn’t want slowness. That he doesn’t want you to take your time. He’s going to take until he’s spilling down your throat.

Your grip around the base of his cock eases until both hands are firmly planted on his thighs, fingers lightly digging into the fabric of his pants. It’s the only anchor you have. And you do, you do stay still, but it’s not like you could move your head even if you wanted.

Simon’s grip on the back of your head doesn’t cease. It keeps you there as his hips start to roll in shallow thrusts, ones that act as a simple tease for what’s to come. This is what you wanted after all, to get him worked up, to push him over the edge.

And you’ve done that, because as you moan around his cock, Simon’s thrusts increase until you’re nearly gagging on him, an immovable hole for him to fuck and use in whatever way he wishes.

You could drown in this. Suffocate. And you’d fucking thank him afterward.

Simon is relentless, using your mouth and throat for himself. Taking and taking until saliva is dripping on your chin and tears begin to form in the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck, love. You look so beautiful,” groans Simon. “Full of my cock.” His eyelids flutter. Close. Open partly. “You take my cock perfectly. The best, love.”

The praise is a song that wraps around your ribcage, squeezing.

Simon’s hips stutter. His head dips back, the balaclava stretching to revealing the faintest flash of throat.

“Swallow,” he groans. “Every fucking drop.”

The hot burst of him explodes in your mouth. With his cock in your mouth. It’s a bit difficult to swallow. It’s only when he starts to ease out a bit that you’re able to do it. The head of him releases with a wet pop.

Without prompting, you show him your empty mouth.

Simon’s thumb wipes away the mess on your chin and lips.

“Good girl,” he breathes, chest heaving slightly. “Back on the couch. Open those gorgeous legs for me. It’s your turn.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @josephquinnschesthair @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi

[randomarttalent]

Pie's family redesigns + Family tree

Original posts, info and links down below

Maud "Slate" Pie + Mudbriar "Walnut"

Maud "Slate" Pie I've kept Maud mostly the same all over, her pallet and color scheme are already good in my taste. She now has spots to match Pinkie but also as a hint to her special talent, as I wanted it to look like an opened geode. I didn't like that her cutie mark was only just a rock, it didn't say a single thing about her special talent. Now it says a bit more, showing off that she can find true beauty under what others might just see as a rock.

She wears her normal dress, as I didn't see a reason to change it. I've however added a small bracelet, which has different beads, to represent her sisters. As she might not show or say it much but she loves them all dearly.

Mudbriar "Walnut" I've darkened his pallet a little, more so his overall design didn't end up too light or dark. I've given him cloven hooves and a long tail, as I see him from a family of mixed unicorn and earth ponies. His markings are like branches/roots of trees, showing his connection to the trees. Same story for his cutie mark as Maud's, it was too simple for what his special talent is. So I've added a book but it's standing by its opening, as a small hint to tents, as he travels to examine trees, learning about as many as he can and writing it down for others to read.

Mudbriar now wears a travel backpack, which is for his travels. He doesn't wear much else, as he doesn't see the need to.

Gilda "Glory" + "Shady" Limestone Pie

Gilda"Glory" I've darkened her whole pallet and added some markings. As she's a mountain lion + tiger in this AU. Her design hasn't been changed much, I've added some jewelry but not much else.

"Shady"Limestone Pie Limestone's pallet is mostly the same, its his patterns that darken his look. Lime is trans in my AU, as his anger issues were caused by him not feeling whole/as he should be. His cutie mark has been changed to a broken opened geode, with lime-green stone, which resembles a lime.

He has a few pricings and wears a his band's t-shirt, which says ROAD KILL, Gilda also has one but she mostly wears it to his concerts, showing her support.

 Trouble Shoes + Marble "Droplet" Pie

Trouble Shoes I've made Trouble Shoes slightly darker and added a few lighter strips to his mane and tail. He also now has a beard, which to those who don't know him, makes him look even more scary than before. For his cutie mark I wanted something more than just "bad luck". He of course still struggled to find out what he was meant to do, as he thought the clown nose and wig was some cruel joke the world did to him.

As for his clothing, I went with a nice jacket, kept his hat and his weeding ring.

Marble"Droplet"Pie Marble's pallet has mostly stayed the same, only receiving slight changes and the usual markings that come along with my redesigns. Her cutie mark now shows off how well she makes jewelry with the beautiful gems they find in Appleloosa. To me, her cutie mark never told a single thing about what she was to do, it said marble but what else? So now, she's a crystal collector and seller.

The clothing she wears is a simple shawl, her weeding ring, a few earrings, a few flowers from her middle oldest son, a sun anklet to represent her oldest son and a small bat wing hair tie to represent her youngest son. 

[dreaming-of-lu]

A thought that I shared with a couple of mutuals, cause I cannot shut up about Stardew Valley right now. Imma mix mash my favs together and make y'all spiral with me.

You, the only beloved grandchild of your grandfather, was given a letter by your grandfather who was on his last leg, filled with information regarding his left behind farm and cottage in your name. He told you when the day comes that when you've grown tired of the city and yearn for a life free from the shackles of the ever growing demand of corporates and nonstop hustle bustle. The farm and cottage will be waiting until you are ready. Years passed and of course, you become tired, exactly what your grandfather told you would. With no thoughts to spare to the city you left behind and little clothes on your back. Quitting your job, you head towards Pelican Town.

The mayor was friendly, save for the carpenter that definitely made you laugh until she made a jab at your grandfather's cottage. While you could agree, since it's honestly not much, yet you'll make do with what you got for now and add things on later. However, the slight pang went through your heart at the disrespect she gave to him. Before the mayor could set off, he highly encouraged you to introduce yourself to the entire town. He then goes over with you about the shipping container, what to put in there while handing you a sack filled with parsnip seeds. He also gestures to the tools he was able to get you that were sitting on the porch, with a wordless pat of good luck, he sets off down the road back to the town.

MEET OUR BACHELORS

First: Single (Bachelor)

Meeting First was quite quick since the man was known to be busy and quite on the run to get things done before heading back to the adventurer's guild that his great uncle runs. He was short in his greetings to you and apologized swiftly that he had to be somewhere.

It may not seem like it, but this man is definitely a poet with words. Chivalrous, that had his great uncle playfully rolling his eyes at his nephew.

Yet there's something underlying mysterious about him that drew you in to him. Perhaps you should gift him things and get to know him a little more better!

Sky: Single (Bachelor)

The eldest son of the carpenter! He lives down southeast of Lon Lon Ranch. He's the absolute sweetest person you've ever met in your entire life. The bright smile on his sleepy face had you mentally cooing at him.

He carves, paints, builds little bird houses just like what his mother use to do. He definitely decorates his home each time the season changes, it's so damn adorable.

He's single due to a breakup that did not end on good terms unfortunately. While he still respect her, however, there are things that were said that ended up hurting the other.

Four: Single (Bachelor)

The grandson of the blacksmith. He was working behind the counter when your fresh face entered the shop. Obviously, a little put off since not many people tend to flock to Pelican Town. He's a bit shy yet he makes small talk just to get to know you better. Until his grandfather emerged and the look on his face had him laughing.

Yeah, he ain't laughing anymore when his grandfather told him 'that's the kid you used to play with all the time when you were younger.'

He takes the tools you got and upgrades them or process the geodes that you tend to bring in.

Time: Single (Bachelor)

The working left hand man of Lon Lon Ranch. This man scared the absolute shit out of you when he showed up on your front porch that morning. To open a door to a towering, one eye, scarred man was not on your bingo card of shit you witness while living here.

He was straight to the point of who to come to when buying animals whenever you get your barn and coop up n going.

He's someone you want to be careful around, an anger you do not want aimed towards you. That mask you saw sitting on his belt felt ominous. He's hard to get warm up to.

Twilight: Single (Bachelor)

You were just planting the parsnip seeds when you heard a bark come from behind you and yelling from someone telling to 'Come back!' A black and white dog ran up on your porch with its tail wagging a mile a minute. A cute dirty blonde haired male came jogging up with an exasperated look before realizing you were the new farmer there.

He was embarrassed yet quickly introduced himself. The adopted son of Uli and Rusl's, the older brother to Colin and his soon to be born little sister. He also works at Lon Lon Ranch.

He's hiding something.

Hyrule: Single (Bachelor)

The doctor of the town. A shy sweetheart that introduced himself to you after you came in due to an already early incident on the farm. He scolds you gently for doing something stupid and rash.

May or may not have told you one day that he wasn't getting enough patients which affected his pay heavily.

Man has unprocessed trauma.

Wild: Single (Bachelor)

He runs the saloon, all by himself, save for his friend Flora does tend to come help him to keep things smooth and sailing when it gets packed. He was friendly enough to introduce himself to you when seeing you pass him on your way to Ravio's General Store.

He def encouraged you to take a load off once and awhile to relax in his Saloon.

He doesn't remember his old life, it seems like he doesn't want to either way.

Warriors: Single (Bachelor)

The older brother to Wind and Aryll. House is on the beach and he's dramatic as hell yet he comes in later on year 2 of your life on the farm. He introduced himself first thing in the morning and he's a bit stiff about it.

He's the only soldier(?) in Pelican Town and ties to the city, he seems so tired and run down honestly.

He's doing his absolute best to raise Wind and Aryll after the funeral of their grandmother.

Legend: Single (Bachelor)

The lone wizard that "summoned" you to his tower to gift you the language of the Junimos. Just to be able to easily translate the language and to fix up the community center.

His sassy attitude def threw you off yet he's standoffish. Only asking you of things he needed from the mines.

He seems to be mourning something.

Ravio: Single???

The owner of Ravio's General Store. The sight of his bunny ear hat sat upon his head was the first thing that caught your eyes. His eagerness to greet you while showing you the package of seeds he was given, showing off the wares he gotten.

The sight of his broken heart made yours clench when one of the workers of Joja mart came in and declared loudly that things were on sale for 50% off. He's trying his best, but the income is needed.

Is finding ways to take down Joja Mart

-TO BACHELORETTES (To be added at some point-

[izzabela]

Can you write about the reader having feelings for Syzoth but she thinks that he has feelings for Ashra but everyone else drops hints that Syzoth has feelings for the reader but the reader doesn't get the hints until Syzoth decides to come clean with his feelings for the reader?

As Subtle As A Rock - Syzoth x fem!reader (5+1 fic)

in which there are five times someone tells you that Syzoth likes you, and one time where you believe it

a/n: finally, some good fucking food (i'm kidding i love all the requests i get, i just don't often see syzoth content)

ship[s]: syzoth x fem!reader

warning(s): tsundere reader, y/n used, post-kanon story

1 - Kenshi Takahashi

You sigh heavily as you watch Syzoth use his tail to trip the monks that were ambushing him. He's training for his exam to become an initiate for the Wu Shi, and he was doing everything he could to stay ready.

He looked so good taking down the rest of the orange-clad men. His muscles flexed when he knocked Kung Lao to the ground, and the sweat glistened on his skin as he turned to block a flying head-butt from Raiden.

You had already finished your training for the day, a one-on-one with Liu Kang to assess your skills to see if you were ready to move on.

As you watch Syzoth spar, he spots you from his place and waves, and you give a weak wave back.

For some reason, he gets more serious in his sparring. He's more precise, his hits perfectly taking monks down left and right.

He's also puffing his chest out when he gets them down, like a video game character taunting.

As you watch him, a voice surprises you.

"You know, he really likes you," Kenshi tells you as his chin rests in his palm. He's copying your stance as you look between him and Syzoth in shock.

You turn to him with a flushed face and wave your hands like a madman. Despite the red bandana that was over his eyes, you can tell he's giving you the "look".

"Ah! No! Not possible! I mean...." you stutter, unable to find the words as Syzoth keeps his appearances up as he fights.

Kenshi has his jaw agape, slapping his forehead with his hand before he drags it down and groans in frustration.

One out of five people, surely another person could prove it, right?

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

2 - Raiden

You and Raiden stare at the pile of insects in confusion and worry.

You see, Syzoth had dropped you loads of food in front of your bedroom because you had gotten a bit sick.

Raiden was responsible in overseeing you as you regained your strength.

He was rounding the corner because he had brought your medicine from the infirmary, but the smell that was coming from your room....

Huge, fat(?), and dead bugs laid in front of your door. And Raiden saw Syzoth splaying the deceased insects in a fashionable(???) manner.

He knocked on your door and ran away, which leads to the situation now.

"Raiden... I am not a frog..." you mumble weakly as you cough.

Raiden chuckles and shakes his head, "Actually, it was Syzoth who dropped it off."

Your face warms with love at the thought of your crush giving you such care.

"He must like you a lot, you know," Raiden points out. "I mean, I am unsure of how Zaterran's court but-"

You swipe the medicine out of Raiden's hands and go on a (strangely) energetic ramble about how he could not like you, and how he's just being nice, and blah blah blah.

As Raiden gets the door shut on his face, he can still hear you go on about it. Shaking his head, he looks down at the bugs.

"Ah, what to do..."

Kenshi was right, you did have a hard time accepting things.

Then again, third time's a charm right?

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

3 - Johnny Cage

There's stupid, then there's just fools.

Johnny is classified as stupid, but even he knows a fool when he sees one.

And unfortunately, you were on his radar.

Johnny watches with a slacked jaw as Syzoth gifts you a pile of pretty rocks.

He's watching dumbly as Syzoth explains each rock, geode, and stone that he got from his latest travel as emissary.

"This is a rare gem native to the mines north of Satauri," Syzoth explains.

You hold the rocks with sparkling eyes, listening to every fact intently. You guys are at it for a couple of hours, sitting on the field of the academy before more lessons.

Finally, Syzoth leaves after a monk calls after him for some other chores.

You wave goodbye, and you smile bashfully at the pile of rocks and stones Syzoth gifted you.

Johnny surprises you from behind.

"Wow, he sure does like ya," Johnny says, swishing around you to swipe a rock to take a closer look.

"Not even Syzoth gave me thanks after I shot a movie after him!" Johnny whines, rambling about how much money went into the movie (he legit broke the budget tenfold).

You shake your head vehemently, "Absolutely not! Hedoesn'tevenseemelikethat...."

Johnny mocks you with a hand puppet mimicking a mouth, "Blah blah blah, yap yap yap."

Still, as you deny the possibility that Syzoth indeed reciprocates your feelings, you hold the rocks close to your chest, all of the little things in your hand as your heart pounds in your rib cage.

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

4 - Kung Lao

You and Syzoth are basking under the warm sun that shines over the Academy- Syzoth on a rock and you on a blanket over the grass.

You guys are on a break from training and lessons today, so Syzoth decided to invite you to do his favorite past time- sunbathing.

And so here you two were, chatting quietly amongst one another about your lives, especially his. His life changed, from pure despair to one filled with hope and new opportunities.

One such opportunities being love, though the couldn't tell that to you.

Despite how well-kept his secret was, it was so obvious to Kung Lao. The way Syzoth's eyes lit up when you were around him, the way his tail wagged when he shifted halfway, the rocks (he heard from Johnny), the sparring (thanks Kenshi), and the bugs (kudos to Raiden).

Kung Lao watches from the distance, only swooping in when Syzoth leaves after he's gotten ample sunbathing.

You continue to lay there, skin practically glowing in blinding radiance. The sun was just... perfect.

Kung Lao walks from his nest of watching, surprising you with his shadow over your face.

"You know, not even Syzoth has invited me to sunbathe yet," he says, and you rub your eyes and blink to make out Kung Lao's visual.

"Oh, hey Lao!" you greet rubbing your eyes. "What are you talking about? Has he not sunbathed with you?"

Kung Lao sits beside you, shaking his head as he looks at you with waggling brows, "That must mean he really likes you, (y/n)~."

You shove his shoulder, "Don't be funny, kung Lao! He does not like me like that. And besides, he and Ashrah spend a lot of time together."

Kung Lao mentally rolls his eyes. By the elder gods, if only you knew what those two talked about.

"Just tell him how you feel!" Kung Lao ushers you. "What's the worst that could happen?"

You groan, shoving him off your blanket and rolling it up, before storming away grumbling about Syzoth.

Kung Lao scratches his head, watching you and your feelings walk away.

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

5 - Ashrah

Ashrah swung her kriss at the training dummy, yelling and grunting as she practiced her moves and wandered in her own mind.

She was in a bit of a pickle, you see.

For the last couple of days, she had been talking to Syzoth because he had asked her how to confess to someone. Poor girl, she was still grappling with her newfound emotions that came with freedom.

Still, with the help of the other men in the Academy: Kung Lao, Johnny, Kenshi, and Raiden, she had been providing him with good advice and ways to get you to notice him.

However, everytime he came back after doing whatever she said, he reported back his fruitless attempts.

"She did not respond after I deposited the rocks," Syzoth noted once. Or, "She and I talked, but she fell asleep as I was tlaking as we were sunbathing..." as another report.

Ashrah sighs, stabbing the wooden dummy through its torso cleanly. You heard a little gasp behind you, and she leaves the sword stuck in the dummy as her eyes meet yours.

"G-good afternoon, Ashrah," you stuttered quietly, walking to another free dummy nearb

Ashrah watches you intently, smiling as you returned a rather slim one. Confused, as you were not returning her kind gesture.

Unintentionally pushing your buttons, she just asks you straightforward.

"Are you worried about Syzoth?" she blatantly asks, her posh voice ringing in your ears as you look over your shoulder with a glare.

You roll your eyes, "Not really something you should ask someone when the other is clearly vying for the same man as you." There's vevnom in your voice, and Ashrah frowns a bit as she gracefully removes her sword form the dummy.

Sheathing it, she continues, "I must let you know, it really is not like that." She approaches you, and you instinctively step back some. "Syzoth has been having a hard time telling you that he truly reciprocates your affections."

Your mood is soured completely, and you you cram the dummy back into the corner it belonged to.

"Syzoth likes you, not me Ashrah" you spat at her. "If you want friendship so bad, perhaps lying is not the best way to obtain it."

You stomp away, and Ashrah is both confused and sad over this attempt at making another friend- especially a woman.

And as your figure disappears within the Academy, your heart and gut wrenches at the games everyone has been playing with you.

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

+1 - Syzoth

Syzoth had given up with advice from both Ashrah and friends. He loves them, don't get it twisted, but it has gotten him nowhere.

From dropping off bugs to your door, trying to impress you as he sparred, even inviting you to sunbathe (he is very particular about his vitamin d)- it has gotten his feelings nowhere.

Manning up, he picked some flowers from a nearby field, called Ashrah and Kenshi over, and practiced what he wanted to say.

Kenshi was the coach, Ashrah pretended to be you, and Syzoth was fumbling over his words.

"No, Syzoth," Kenshi gently scolds. "You have to tell her why you like her, not just 'I like you'."

Syzoth groans, "I will bite your heads off if I must repeat this one last time."

As the trio continues their practice, you're walking in the general direction as a monk had called for you for an audience with Liu Kang.

You can hear the voices, and you turn the corner to find Kenshi, Ashrah, and Syzoth- you couldn't find your heart, though, as you're so sure it dropped from the shock of this scene.

"Um, am I interrupting?" You say rather coldly. Kenshi and Ashrah are wide-eyed, and Kenshi immediately grabs Ashrah's wrist as they run off like kids.

Is this a romance novel? A fanfic? You couldn't help but roll your eyes as you thought of their childish antics.

"Ah, um, agh... How do I..." Syzoth is nervous as he fiddles with the flowers he picked for you. You look between them and his eyes.

"Are those for someone?" you point. "If you need help confessing to Ash-"

"No!" he cries. Your shock takes him aback, but he reigns himself in as he clears his throat. "No. They're, uh... for you?"

You look at him with a quirked brow, then soften up as you look at the flowers and the general area Kenshi and Ashrah fled to.

"But I thought-." Syzoth interrupts you.

"I sought the help of Ashrah and the others," he begins to explain. "They were giving me advice, on how one can tell someone how they feel- the human way."

You look at him, and he uses this silence to continue his words.

"Ashrah provided me with advice, I was doing my best to make my efforts known..." Syzoth itches his head shyly, walking closer to you as he uses his other hand to hold on yours.

"I guess this was my final 'hurrah', something Johnny taught me," Syzoth chuckles awkwardly.

You shake your head, "I thought everyone was playing mind games with me..."

Syzoth shakes his head, rubbing your hand as the other hand that scratched his head now caresses your face.

"Your heart is not something to be toyed with..." Syzoth whispered, moving your hair out of your face.

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

sigh, i love syzoth

see yall in the next fic!

[thatfreshi]

No Need To Be Shy Now (Astarion x Reader)

TW - smut, lots of bloodplay, masochism, dom/sub dynamics, also tav is afab

(I had a lot of fun writing this and this is actually my first time writing smut so please let me know what you think thank youu)

Recommended Song: Tilted Halo - Flo Milli

Temptation. You were Eve, him the apple. All that time ago, lost in the forest, long before you were in love, long before he knew he could love. You and Astarion, what an odd history, and yet fitting, like a geode, two sides cracked apart, still fitting perfectly.

"Come here darling, let me drink in that beauty of yours."

You concede, coming to the bed, lying down next to your star-crossed lover, one you managed to keep your eyes on in this lifetime.

"I'd let you drink far more than that."

You grin, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck, gliding towards his chest until he forces your chin back up, coming into a rough kiss, hungry, desperate. You pull away for a moment, giving him that sweet stare.

"What darling?"

Impatience.

"Being a tease, that's all."

You ghost his lips lightly, smirking, knowing what you're asking for. And then he bites down into your throat. You gasp, somehow still shocked, but he doesn't drink just yet, pulling you on top of him, letting it trail down your neck. You take your blouse off, some of the blood smearing on the white fabric. It continues down your chest, dripping onto your breast. He licks it off slowly

"Fuck..."

His nails dig into your back, as he continues to lap the blood off your skin, intentional with his movement.

"So beautiful, bleeding for me like this."

He means every word, appreciation caught in his throat, almost making him sentimental. But he'd leave that for after he was done with you.

"Bite me again, please."

The only person you'd be this vulnerable with, the only man you'd beg for.

"Your wish is my command darling."

He lies you back on the sheets, moving down to your legs, leaving two teeth marks in your thigh, leaving you trembling. He can see all the little dotted scars, sweet memories, lustful evenings. He kisses down the inside of your thigh, taking the blood as he goes, leaving some of it smeared as a reminder. You try to keep your moans to yourself, almost a little embarassed. He looks up at you, noticing you're holding back.

"No need to be shy now, I've already got you right where I want you.""

He digs his fingers into your hips, a sensitive spot that wins a cry of pleasure.

"That's better."

He begins softly grazing in between your thighs, ever so slightly touching you. Astarion hears you about to speak, but hushes you.

"Patience dear. Let's have our fun."

He had been teasing you all night while you were out, light touches when your friends weren't looking, whispers in your ear that made red cover your face. You claimed the blush was just from how hot it was in the tavern. While you try and wait on his antics, you're taken aback by the sudden entrance of his fingers, well received. He stops moving for a moment just to get a rise out of you.

"Gods, you're the worst."

"Would the worst make you feel this good?"

Every word of his drips in lust, knowing he has you, knowing you wouldn't want this from anyone else, knowing he matters. The next few thrusts of his fingers are calculated, slow, trying to extend this moment as long as he can. You make eyes at him, trying to use that sweet gaze to convince him.

"I'm sure you're tired too. Don't you want more?"

You're not wrong, but he tries to keep himself in check, edging you for as long as he can before biting down into the flesh right above your hip, making you both moan.

"When I want more, I know how to take it. Promise."

He mumbles against your skin, more blood on the sheets. You're a little light-headed, somewhere between the bed and the heavens. Astarion moves to undo his belt.

"I think you've earned it my sweet."

Soon enough, hips collide, getting your own blood on himself. He doesn't hold back this time, giving you everything you've begged him for, and yet you're still begging. You grab the sheets tightly, and he takes that hand, putting it up above your head, holding you down in between his fingers. He goes to drink from your neck once more, picking up speed, leaving you utterly helpless.

"Please, can I-"

"Yes."

You're first, and he follows shortly after, the two of you shaking. He kisses you deeply, but softly.

"Gods..."

He lies down beside you, feeling the blood that has pooled on the bed. You don't say anything, still stuck in that bliss, trying to get your bearings. He moves a piece of hair from your face, and you slowly turn to look at him, smiling like an idiot.

"What a syren you are my love. If you didn't like begging for me so much, perhaps it would be the other way around."

You simply wrap your arms around him, tired from what he just put your body through.

"I love you."

You mumble into his neck, nestling yourself by his side. He kisses the top of your head.

"I love you too."

It's silent for a moment, and then he shifts a little.

"We should run a bath, get you something to eat before you get nauseous."

You pout, pleading that he stays in bed with you.

"I don't want to get up yet..."

He stands by the bed, slowly putting his shirt back on.

"If you let me use you so much, I have to at least make sure you're well taken care of. That is, unless you don't like it rough like that. Because if so we could always go back to-"

"Noooooooo. I'll go to the bath."

"Good answer."

Demand still in his voice, but coated in sugar. He helps you stand, leading you to the bath, where a night of pampering and hand-fed cheese is in order.

[loverofstufflof]

What do you do when an episode hits?

Make a lil guy!

Here’s my personal idea of Sun Wukong! The design is almost 100% subject to change as I dig up for details on his description and mess around with colours, but for now, monke.

Small thingies:

- His appearance is a loose mix between a rhesus macaque (which he is highly theorized to appear as) and a baby langur (because blorboification)

- I’m taking “Intelligent Stone Monkey” seriously here; he is a stoney boy

- He’s specifically a geode, meaning that being broken reveals rubies and gold underneath! (“What about those scenes that vividly describe his blood and organs?” Uhhh illusion magic/72 transformations next question)

- He is still a short kingtm

- The cloud-walking boots are fluffy because I say so

As said before, this is my personal interpretation of his appearance within the novel. If you have a different idea, that’s neat! I’d love to compare murderous fellas. Unless I’m genuinely portraying him harmfully, let’s all just have a good ole time :]

[ssaeri]

we fall to ashes

☆ tags: alex x gn!reader, he finds something that he never expected to see on your farm, this was going to be angst with an angst ending, but then my sister begged me to not write a sad ending, so have this relieving happy ending instead, LOTS of alex spoilers! ☆

Alex stretches his arms over his head and breathes in deep. In the distance, he hears chickens screaming—a sure sign that he's getting closer to your farm. The walk from his house isn't short, but while his grandparents would complain about the distance, he finds it ideal for cooling down after his harder work-outs. And he gets to see you at the end? He'd say that's a winner winner chicken dinner situation...out of earshot from your coop, at least.

"Hey there! Evelyn's boy!" Pam calls from his right.

He slows to a stop and waves. She sits in the driver seat of her newly repaired bus, window fully open, and takes another swig from her Joja Cola. Immediately, her face scrunches.

"Mornin', Pam!" he yells back. "How's that alcohol detox going for you?"

"Awful." She smacks her lips and holds the can up to her eyes, searching the ingredients for what makes it so fucking nasty. You often joke that it's the bitter taste of capitalism. "I could go for something stronger in this heat. You think the farmer has an extra glass of pale ale?"

Alex's smile tightens. Ever since Pam and Penny's trailer turned into an actual house, Pam's been doing her best to break old habits and he's glad for it—he can finally walk by her without the reflexive gag and hurried steps. You telling me I stink? she used to ask, angry in her drunken stupor, until she remembered why he showed up on his grandparents' steps nearly two decades ago.

She must read it in his expression now because she waves him off with a roll of her eyes. "I'm kidding, kid. Tell 'em I said hi. They're the only one who takes this damn bus anyway. I might as well take a nap." She slides sunglasses onto her face and reclines her chair until he can't see her anymore. "If I'm still here by the time you go home, wake me up."

Classic Pam, he thinks as he continues to your farm. Your dog is already running from the front door to greet him, panting and barking and disturbing your horse's peace.

"Come on, buddy," he laughs, shooing your dog until he can push open the gate. "I was supposed to surprise them."

Alex scratches your horse's ear as he passes its stable. Grape vines twist and sag on the trellises you've set up for the season, the structures nearly bursting with fruit, and he makes a mental note to stop by tomorrow to help with the harvesting. Maybe it could substitute for a work-out. He's helped you ship boxes of produce before and wondered how ripped he'd be after a month of your lifestyle. Between the trellises, the melons are just starting to come in. He doesn't know how long it takes for them to ripen, only that they taste really good when you drop off a basket for his grandma.

He calls out your name. Not in the fields, not in the pasture. Your new greenhouse, maybe? You were muttering something about ancient fruit last night. Or the mushroom cave, something he still can't believe is a feature on your farm. If Demetrius could add that, maybe Alex could talk you into installing an outdoor lifting station.

He walks past your workbench and active machines...

...and walks backwards again, hoping that his eyes are deceiving him. Crystalariums reproducing diamonds to sell, charcoal kilns working double time for enough coal, bone mills churning out fertilizer, geode crushers crunching rocks into pebbles, furnaces roaring as they smelt ores into bars—and right on top of the furthest furnace sits a wrapped bundle he's only seen in his (second to) worst nightmares.

He hears your content humming now, somewhere in the main farmhouse. Under normal circumstances, he would've called it cute, but the sound rings mockingly in his ears as he approaches the darkened flowers. A wilted bouquet. Fuck.

.

.

"Oh, hey there!" Alex called out as you got closer. He tossed his ever-present gridball into the air. "You here to catch fish again? I think you can find salmon in the river this time of year. At least that's what I heard."

Once you came to a stop in front of him, you shook your head, hands still behind your back. "I'm not fishing today," you said. "I actually wanted to give you something."

"Yeah?" His lips quirked into a grin. Another toss into the air. "Wouldn't happen to be a Salmon Dinner with extra lemon, would it? Those are one of my favorites, but I can never catch any salmon myself. Another egg would be cool, too. I've been adding your weekly deliveries to my workout meals."

You only shifted from one foot to the other, unable to take your eyes off his shoes, and a part of him faltered. You weren't intimidated by him, were you? Ever since you found him crying on the beach, he had been a little more flirtatious than usual, layering on the teasing and showing off. Maybe he came on too strong. Haley always told him that subtlety wasn't his strong suit. The grip on his gridball changed as he tossed it higher.

"You okay there? Did I do something...wait, this is—ow!"

The ball bounced off his head and landed in the grass, but he couldn't care less. He pointed to the bouquet in your hands. Not a regular bouquet, but the Bouquet made to order by Pierre. In a place as small as Pelican Town, there was no need for Pierre to have it in constant stock, so when the signature blooms made the rare appearance, they attracted everyone's eyes.

"...you want to get more serious?" he asked, incredulous.

Something in your expression changed, and you drew the flowers back to your chest. "Oh, sorry, did you not?" You gave him a wide smile, already stepping away. "I must've read the signs wrong. My mistake."

"No! That's not—I mean, you read the signs correctly. I, uh, I feel the same way." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush. "So I guess we're together now? Should I be asking you out on a date or something? Or wait, are you asking me out on a date? How does this work?"

You laughed, a genuine sound this time. "We can continue the way we were before."

And so you did, but some things changed for sure. He could hold your hand now as you ran errands around the town, carrying half of the gifts you handed out to the townspeople. He could kiss you goodbye at his door in the evenings, though George cleared his throat loudly every time. Alex remembered making some snide comment about his grandpa, who yelled out a gruff I heard that! before being shushed by Evelyn. When It Howls in the Rain was being shown at the town theater, you bribed him to a screening with the promise of Stardrop Sorbet, but as much as he loved the treat, he would've gone anyway—it was one of his favorite movies with one of his favorite people. Good thing he'd seen it before because he spent most of the time staring at your side profile, wondering when he could finally go pro and have you stare at him on a screen.

.

.

Your dog nips at his fingers. He pets it absently. He thought everything was going fine between the two of you. Just yesterday, you came over and had dinner with him and his grandparents. You told them about your mining adventures in the Skull Caverns and, to his horror, showed off your old stitches from Harvey. (George chided your reckless behavior and gave old-timey advice that you nodded along to.) You talked about the new farm you're setting up at Ginger Island—Ancient Fruit wine all year! you told them excitedly. It's a farmer's heaven!—and the Beach Resort you're trying to restore. (Evelyn hummed at your energy, asking rapid-fire questions about the flora there.) You even promised to bring over a season's worth of eggs and leeks as soon as you got your hands on them. (Alex's mind flashed to the old mariner and the mermaid's pendant he could see hanging around your neck in the future.)

So why is a wilted bouquet sitting here, right on top of your furnaces?

No point in guessing when he can just find out the answer right from the source. He takes the flowers and goes to your door, knocking twice. It opens before he has time to second guess his choice.

"Alex! I didn't know you were coming over," you say, beaming at him. He wants to immortalize this version of you: face full of dirt smudges and t-shirt collar soaked through with sweat, yet glowing in your element. Until your eyes drop to his hands. "Oh, that's..."

He sets his jaw. "Can I come in and talk?"

Your expression falters further at his cold tone, but you step back and lead him to the living room. Your dog trots in and settles by the TV, head on its paws, watching with blank eyes. Alex sits in his usual spot and you yours, and suddenly he hates how familiar he is with your space.

It's still silent.

You clear your throat. "So," you start, wiping your palms on your jeans. A nervous tick he knows well. "What did you want to talk about?"

He puts the bouquet on the coffee table between you.

"Right." You pause, likely waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything. "Alex, can you at least be less mean about this? I feel like you owe me that much after all this time together." He says nothing. "Like, tell me what's wrong instead of sitting here stone-faced. Things were okay. Why are you breaking up with me—"

"Why am I breaking up with you?" He barks a laugh. "Baby, I found this outside on your furnace! I'm not going to beg for you to stay, but what the hell is this?"

Your forehead furrows. "What? I wouldn't."

"If it's not yours and it's not mine, then whose is it?"

"I don't know! Alex, I wouldn't—I never even thought about breaking up," you insist. "Why would I lie about that?"

After scrutinizing your stricken expression, his relief comes in waves. He sinks into your couch, hands rubbing at his face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just—" He laughs again, the sound mostly air. "Yoba, that scared me. If someone left this here as a prank, I'm hunting them down tonight." He lifts his head to look at you and opens his arms. "Can you come over here?"

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm gross."

"You could be playing in mud with your pigs, and I'd still jump in."

With a roll of your eyes, you hop over to curl into his side and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You stink, but so does he after a good workout. Now that he thinks about it, he's still in his gym clothes.

"You scared me, too," you tell him, gaze trained on the table. "Not the best thing to see on a Friday afternoon. But now I want to know whose this is. Did you check it for clues?"

"Didn't bother. Thought it was yours." His arm around your waist tightens as you lean forward. "Does it matter?"

But that doesn't stop you. You have the bouquet in your lap now, prying at the blackened ribbon and wrapping. "Look at this," you say, holding it between two fingers. "The ribbon isn't blue, and Pierre always uses blue. The wrap is pretty much disintegrated, but this corner—he always puts his store brand." You suck in a breath. "Oh, duh! Where did you say you found this?"

"The furnaces right outside by the workbench."

"Okay, so mystery solved. This is mine, but not in the way you think."

He raises an eyebrow. "Explain. Don't say you're breaking up with a secret partner because I don't think I can handle a second shock right now."

"I made a wildflower bouquet to put on Grandpa's grave a few days ago, but I totally forgot where I put it, so I made a second one. This one must've been the one I misplaced."

He blinks. "How the hell did you not notice it since?"

"I came back from Ginger Island yesterday and went to sleep right after dinner! The flowers must've wilted from the furnace heat."

"You," he says slowly, pinching your cheek and ignoring your squeak, "are the absolute worst. I can't believe you nearly broke my heart and it turned out to be a whoopsie."

[yeyinde]

WILLOW TREE MARCH

John Price x Reader | Fae!AU

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go."  "Why?" You asked, blinking at her.  "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

—WARNINGS: 18+ | SMUT fae shenanigans, mythological nonsense; unsafe sex, smut in random places, slight exhibition kink if you squint; Dom-ish Price, soft Price, pining Price; fae trickery (dubious consent on account of the trickery but not really); unreliable narrator; ahhhhhh, body horror (??????????) —TAGS: Fluff, AU, mythology —WORD COUNT: 8,5k —Based on this ask

There's a thick forest at the edge of your town. It curves along the coastline, breaching the yawning maw of the inlet—the last safe haven before the open ocean—and can be found almost nowhere else in the entire world. A unique ecosystem comprising vaguely familiar flora and fauna. Brown and Black bears. Wolves. Sitka-black-tailed deer. Ravens. The waters that crest through the forest are full of salmon, steelhead, and river otters. On the coast of the inlet, you can find whales, sea lions, seals, orcas, and porpoises swimming offshore. 

It's protected, in large part, by its sheer vastitude. Spanning a massive chunk of your home, it stretches far north with curling fingers cutting through the granite of the crumbling coast, and as deep south as its knobby knees can reach. 

From above, it looks like a child curled on its side, knees tucked to its chest. It's this pose alone that makes others revere it as some sacred being, slumbering mindlessly until the day it cracks open its eyes, and awakens to the new world. A child god made of conifers, red cedar, spruce, fir, pine, birch, and hemlock. Mossy caves of granite and limestone. Thick colonies of moss, liverworts, plume moss, and common haircap. 

The forest is linked to your town only by a small strip of land that juts out from a raging ravine with currents too dangerous, too deadly, to try and traverse. An archipelago all on its own, untouched by greedy, human, hands because of its placement. 

It's insulated by the vast ocean on its front, and a series of insidious looking mountains ready to swallow wandering mountaineers whole if they get too close to the sleeping child. Protected and safe by anyone who might try to harm it. 

You used to dream about the forest. A nightmare dredged up about whispers and calls. Lured close to the edge of the river where a man would hand you his heart—sap-stained, and charred; a brittle piece of Bristlecone pine that felt fragile and worn—and told you to come back for him. To wait for him. 

You'd wake in a cold sweat each time, heart pounding so fast that it almost felt like you were dying.

(Maybe you were. Maybe you did.)

You don't know if you believe the stories told about people wandering into the gaping chasm of the forest and never coming out. It's not uncommon for people to get lost, after all. But it feels distinct and archaic. Old. Something about the way the wind howls sounds different from the other woodlands scattered around your home. 

It sounds like a beckoning call. A mother calling their child home for dinner. Come to me, the Chinook bellows. Come home now, dear. 

You never venture too close. You know all too well what happens to children who do.

His name is—was now, you suppose—Kyle, but no one called him that. To everyone in town, he was simply known as Gaz. 

Newcomers to the isolated archipelago are a rarity—so much so that news of the new family's arrival sent waves through the community, making Gaz an instant star overnight, all without him even setting foot on the shores. 

None of that mattered, though. He fit in with an ease that seems almost preternatural when you think about it, as if he was meant to be there. And maybe he was. Maybe the soft rolling valleys were destined to be his home where flowers bloomed in the spring, and Arctic tern trilled from the branches. 

Gaz was unique, different. 

He picked dandelions with the same intensity that picked fights with the bullies in the neighbouring town, the ones who tried to pick on the smaller kids in the community. 

With his fists always covered in dandelion oil and bruises, face caught between a grimace and a grin, like he was never sure if he wanted to spit at their feet or tell a joke, he stood against the onslaught with an anger that seemed to crackle in the air like fireworks. Ready for battle. Thirsty for blood. 

His anger never waned even when he turned back to the group, eyes cresting in satisfaction, and body trembling with adrenaline, and you could scent the rage in his smile, hear it in the soft words he muttered to the kids, telling them everything would be alright. 

Gaz was everyone's friend. The person you told your deepest secrets to, the one you planned adventures with. He was a rock—always armed with snappy jokes to make you smile, and advice when you needed it. 

He was everyone's friend—yours especially—but you can't remember if anyone was his best friend. He was polite. Distant. 

It started in the summer. His hands were always cold, and he kept them shoved deep in his pockets, clenched tight around the latchkey his parents gave him. 

He started to seem almost liquid then. Temporal. You'd reach for him, brushing your hands against his arms or shoulders just to assure yourself that he was really there.

You noticed that his eyes would list sideways, head tilted, slanting toward the forest. It looked to you as if he was listening to something. To some unheard noise or call that only he could hear. 

When you asked about it, he'd always blink, surprised, as if you'd woken him up from a dream quite suddenly. Then, he'd smile, and shake his head. 

"Don't worry about it," he'd say, shrugging. "Just the wind."

He'd bend down and pick a dandelion for you, holding it out between pudgy fingers with a grin that seemed to mimic the cresting moon. 

"For you."

He picked them for three springs before he, too, became another victim of the endless forest. Another empty tomb in the overcrowded graveyard.

Missing, they said, but not forgotten. 

You think about him often. 

(Even more so when you, too, begin to hear your name echoing through the forest.)

Beware the woods, your grandma says. Especially when it calls your name. 

(You never understood why something that sounds so comforting, so sweet, could ever be dangerous. It sounds like an old friend calling you over to play. 

"Never go," she snaps, her hands lashing out to grip your arms tight. You feel her knobby fingers digging into your bones. "Never listen, and stay away—"

"You're hurting me, gran—"

Her rheumy eyes burn into yours. "Stay away—!"

(You wisely never speak about the whispers in your head, keeping them to yourself. A secret just for you.)

You leave town when you're old enough, when the hisses in your head grow too loud to ignore, and it feels as though they're scratching at your skull. 

(Clawing at the walls.)

"Crazy weather, eh?" The first mate mutters nervously, eyes tilted upward as the sky darkens into an angry grey. "Came outta nowhere." 

You leave, and you don't look back. 

(But oh, how the forest screams.)

She calls you back several years later with a phone call. Your gran has passed. 

You think you should mourn, but it's been so long since you thought of home, that you don't remember what she looks like anymore. The sound of her voice is a whisper in your head—the cadence gone, the tone flat. 

But you don't cry, and you don't grieve—she's been dead for a long time now, after all. Ever since your mum went missing all those years ago, she's always seemed more of a ghost than a person. Living as if her body hadn't realised her heart was long dead. 

You go back only because you think your mum would have wanted you to. 

(And pretend it isn't because the silence in your head is suffocating. Without the whispers, it feels as if you're missing something. A part of yourself forever lost in the forest.

You wonder if anyone has found it by now.)

Nothing has changed since you turned your back on the town that raised you, the forest that stole from you. 

It's the same buildings. The same market. The same roads. The same houses. 

The people, too, seem largely unchanged by the years that have passed. 

The friends from your childhood who stayed meet you at the graveyard, eyes filled with sympathy as they ask how you're doing. 

She'll be missed, they lie sweetly to you. Everyone loved her. 

She was a hermit, you want to scream. A woman driven mad by ghosts and fairytales and terror. 

You nod, instead, and let them lead you around the town on a grand tour as if anything about this beautiful, haunting place had changed since you ran away. 

It gets easier to force a smile when they ask if you're okay. 

"Fine," you murmur and wonder if your voice even carries over the whispers. "Just—yeah. Fine."

North of the town is where the river separating the lonely forest carves a path, not at all dissimilar to an idyllic trough, through bedrock and sand, and flows into the sea. 

The estuary is dangerous in high tide when the rapid ascent of water on the sandy shores hides the rip current that is known to form when the two bodies of water meet. 

It's a dangerous place to get caught in. 

This beach was impressed upon you as deadly from a young age, almost in equal—if not greater—measure than the rapacious forest across the river. You know the dangers of standing on the slippery bedrock. 

But as the sun glows a burnt orange in the distance, and the endless ocean before you darkens into an almost unfathomable black, you can't help but find the view from the cliff's edge to be the most mesmerising thing you've ever seen. 

It looks like a painting. A brush stroke of tigers eye in the centre of the cresting sun that gradually fades out into xanthous, and rings of hazy peach; the light of diminishing star smears coruscating rings of persimmons into the indigo water. The gradual fade into gradients as the waves lap closer to the shore is reminiscent of liquid sapphire and smelting amethyst. 

The picturesque view is more befitting of a pastel postcard, an ethereal pastiche of the Ninth Wave—a moment of life imitating art, or—perhaps—the same view Ivan Aivazovsky stumbled upon when he set out to render the haunting beauty of the ocean in oil. 

The cresting waves arch into curled petals of white before setting upon the sloping beach with frenzy. It's the roar of those hungry waves that seem to, if only for a moment, drown out everything in your head. 

There are no whispers. No songs. No screams. Vengeful hissing can't climb to a higher decibel than the frothing waters slamming against jagged bedrock. 

All is quiet—except the sea. 

You lean into it. The closer you get to that precipice, the quieter everything in your head goes. Sounded sucked into the vacuum of the ocean. The endless song of the sea. 

Another step. Another. 

For a moment, you're free. 

The forest doesn't scream for you. Your grandmother doesn't dig her teeth into your gyri, hands clawing at the space behind your eyes. You don't think of her, or your mother, or Gaz, or anyone else unfortunate enough to get consumed by this damnable place where fairy tales split the seams apart, and merge with reality. 

It's peaceful. 

You take another step—

A hand curls over your shoulder, tugging you back. 

Anger pools, thick and acidic, on your tongue, but the flash of your ire, your vexation, is dashed by the sound the waves make when it slams into the spot you were just standing. 

It slashes across the concrete as the stranger pulls you into his broad chest, heat nearly liquifying your spine. 

He sucks in a breath. You feel his chest expand with it. When he breathes out, you taste gunpowder on your tongue. 

"Gotta be more careful n'that, love." 

You've had near-misses before. Flirted with the reaper. Ripped yourself from the jowls of death himself. 

This isn't anything new.

And yet—

Your eyes drag up, meeting flat black boring down at you. His hood is pulled over his forehead, casting shadows down to his jaw. 

"You—"

Your teeth sink into your tongue. Emotions lash through you like the flick of a bullwhip, shredding your skin until it's raw and oozing. The tail pulls away whenever you try to wrap your fingers around one of them—relief: you're not dead; embarrassment: how could you be so stupid; shame: saved by a stranger; and—

Visceral terror. Panic. 

It bludgeons its fist down your throat, barbed knuckles clawing at the soft tissue of your esophagus until you taste blood on your tongue. 

Panic tastes of ozone and leaks, thick and warm like molasse, down your throat. 

"Hey," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, his low timbre, is porous, calcined. The rough scratch scours through the haze of fear threading through your sternum. "C'mon on, now. Gotta breathe, yeah?" 

It's his hands on your shoulder—hotter than grenade fire—and the thick scent of musk, of stale smoke and kerosene sweat, that break through the gossamer of your acrid panic. He spins you around to face him, eyes fixed on your face. 

"That's it," he says, soft, soothing. "Keep breathin'. You ain't dead yet." 

You come to yourself in pieces. The world bleeds with startling clarity around the blurred edges. Home, you think. Maybe.

Once upon a time. 

You blink. Blink again. 

The hand still on you—heavier, you find, than an anvil—lifts, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw, swiping over the sweat-stained skin.

You can't see his eyes through the shadows cast over his face. A stranger. You've never seen him before. 

They didn't say anyone new moved to town. 

"Who are you—?"

"You don't know?" 

And then his hand is gone, taking all the heat in your body with him. 

It lifts to his vest, thick fingers, gloved in yellow, curling over the butt of his cigar. 

You must make a face. A grimace. A whisper of bemusement. Whatever it is, it makes his lips twitch under the shorn burnt umber of his beard. 

"I'd share," he mutters, teething sinking into the hilt as he pats himself down for a lighter. "But I ain't got the time."

"Shouldn't be smoking in a provincial park, anyway." 

The words are dragged out of you. Numbed, gritty. 

It makes him snort. "Maybe—;" he cups his hand around the end, thumb striking the ignition of the lighter. He inhales, and the red circle at the tip illuminates the cerulean blue tucked away into the folds of his hood. The plume of smoke curls over him like a shroud. "But I doubt a cigar is gonna bring the whole forest down, mm? 'sides, we all have our vices, don't we?"

With that, he leaves you standing in the tendrils of smoke that billow out from his caustic mouth. No goodbye. No name. Nothing except the hum of his touch buzzing through your veins. 

Your head is numb. Thoughts congealing into hardened clay. 

Yeah, you think sluggishly, eyes dropping to the drenched pavement where the ocean narrowly missed you. Swallowed you whole. We do. 

(Yours is bad decisions that reek of napalm. 

Men who scour your hands raw when you touch their coarse surface.)

You find him again in some desolate pub on the fringes of town a few days later. It looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from blowing down. Dilapidated. Rusted from the harsh salt of the ocean to the north. 

He lifts his head when you slide into the empty chair on the left, but says nothing about your unexpected company. 

Instead, his lips curl over the cigar sawed between his teeth. A grin, you think. 

You wonder if he was expecting you. 

(Wonder, then, with a touch of something warm gnarling in your belly, if you surprised him.)

The barkeep wanders past, brows lifting at you in question. 

"Um, a vodka soda—"

The man, Price you learned from the locals with a great of digging, snorts. 

"Ain't got none of that here, love. Two scotches. Neat." He leans over, thick fingers grasping the middle of the cigar, an inch away from the bristles on his upper lip, and pulls it away, ashing it in the tray in front of him. "And a bottle of spring water." 

"Scotch?" You echo, leaning your elbow on the sticky counter. He reeks of smoke. Sweat. Blood. Gunpowder. You veer closer, soaking in the astringent tang of him. Everyone on this island smells of daffodils and cotton; clean and neat and innocent. He reeks of danger. Everything inside of you screams to stay away. "I don't drink scotch."

The cigar burns in the tray. He pulls back, shifting in the chair. His elbow rests on the counter, the other arm is slung over the back of his seat. The picture of appeasement, of a satiated tiger eying a little mouse sniffing past it. There's no immediate danger, and his posture is relaxed. Open. But his eyes—

Price turns to you, then. His legs are spread, knees notched apart, taking up more space than you offer him. A looming presence. Dominating. Confident. He's not doing it on purpose, you don't think, he's just—

Big. 

His legs are too long. Thighs are too thick. 

Something gnarls behind your ribs when you take in his bare face. It's different, smaller, without the bulky black hood thrown low on his brow. His hands bare, leaving him in only casual clothes that stretch taut around his broad body. 

The beanie on his head, pulled low on his forehead, makes him look roguish, rough. The picturesque presentation of a bad boy down to the pelt-brown leather Levi jacket stretched taut around his broad shoulders. 

He looks older, somehow, without the tenebrous of night shading him in dark indigo. Aged like a fine whisky. All burnt umber and ivory. 

The charcoal colouring brightens the heavy blue of his eyes—crushed bluebonnets and powdered graphite; a black hole centre—and the frame of his brown lashes dusting over his clean cheeks makes something pool in your lower belly. 

(You wonder if he'd taste of whisky sour.)

"Well," he murmurs, brow lifting. It makes the skin on his forehead crinkle. He has laugh lines cresting around the corners of his eyes. They stand out to you, now. Void of the shadows you're used to. "You do when I'm paying."

The scotch, the cigar, the dingy pub that reeks of stale cigarettes and is perfumed in a dusting of nicotine that films every surface coalesces into incipient vice. 

His hand moves from where it's loosely curled around his glass, and rests, heavy and warm, on your thigh. 

When he leans in, you taste calcine on his breath. 

The acrid tang is a balm to the blisters in your raw esophagus. You meet him in the middle, smaller hands curling over the wool lapels of his jacket, tugging him into you. 

"Never thanked you for saving me," you murmur, his beard grazing your lips. A tickle. A brush. 

Price sucks in a deep breath, eyes liquifying into an intense azure. "No need to thank me, love. As much as I love the ocean, you don't belong there, do you? No," he adds, decisively. Sure. "You belong on land. The earth. You're wild, like the forest, aren't you?"

It's an out. An escape. An option to flee from the cosm that folds around you like a nebulous cloud. 

You could take it. Back up, away. Walk out of this dingy pub on the wrong side of town, and forget the man who reeks of nicotine, smoke; who leaves ashes behind on your skin when he touches you. 

The only one who stares at you from the unfathomable black of his eyes, lashes shrouded in tenebrous, and makes you falter. Makes your heart lurch, jumping to sit at the bottom of your throat.

You should pull away. Stay away from the man who leaks ethanol and nitroglycerine. From the man who smells of acrid smoke. Gunfire. 

You should. 

But your fingers tighten in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Closer. 

The bridge of his nose is warm when it presses against your own. 

His eyes spark, wildfires. A blazing forest. 

"You said something about vices." His chest rumbles in response to your hushed words. 

"So I did." 

Smoke singes your nose when you brush your lips over his. Warm. Chapped. Dry. You taste ash. Humus. The bitter tang of dandelion oil. 

"Got some time tonight?" 

"Thought you said I shouldn't be smoking."

"We're not in a park, near flammable trees," your hand falls to his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm. Thick, full. Your eyes lift to his, lidded and heavy. You gaze at him from under your lashes, coy. Demure. You wonder if he can see how eager you are beneath the sly cut of your lids. "Are we, Price?"

The use of his name makes his lips quirk. A small, secretive thing that you can't read. 

"No, we're not." His hand slides down, curling over your knee. "Don't know what you're gettin' into, love." 

"Oh, no?" You taunt, breathless. Even through all your layers, you still feel his searing heat on your skin. His eyes drop when your tongue lashes out, wetting your lower lip. "And what's that?" 

A frisson shudders over his face. Lashes fluttering. He leans forward, resting the rim of his beanie on your forehead. 

When his eyes slide open, all you see is arsenic white pooled around Prussian blue. "More than you could ever dream of." 

Your trembling fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes. 

And so, you kiss him. 

A messy punch to the mouth with your sun-blistered lips. 

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. And then—

He devours you. 

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss, but it feels more like a homecoming than stepping off the boat, and you tuck that inside your pounding chest. 

(The whispers in your head seem to sing when his lips touch yours.)

You taste bark on your tongue when it slips over his. Loam. Moss. Something earthy and rich. His beard scratches your chin, your lips, but you pull him closer, hungry for more—for the taste of wilderness on his tongue, for the respite from the whispers, the screams. Like the ocean, he, too, is a vacuum, swallowing everything whole until just you remain, stripped down to nothing but sensation and want. Bare, raw. 

Your teeth ache when you pull away, fingers curling into the coarse hair along his chin. The whips of his wry curls scratch your palm. 

You never want to let go. 

Price's eyes are noctilucent clouds; a storm over a rainforest. He'll ruin you. Devour. Destroy. Take, and take, and take until there is nothing left. 

Your lips tremble when you speak, words tremulous with your desire, your eagerness, when they slip past your bruised mouth. 

"I can think of a few that are better than smoking." 

Price shudders. 

"Where did you go?" Your friend asks, eyes swinging from the cards spread out in front of him—the Idiot, Solitaire—to you. They burn into the side of your face, the same place Price touched with bare knuckles, and said you belong to the forest, don't you? "Missed dinner."

You ate Doro Wat in a small shop after Price fucked you stupid in the dingy bathroom of the pub, face scraping against the waterlogged wallpaper that chipped with each brutal thrust of his hips. 

Like that, hmm? Can barely take me, love, but you're so fuckin' greedy for it, ain't you? 

You're sure the barkeep heard your moans as they bounced off the jaundiced walls. 

(You still hear him hissing in your ear. Still feel him splitting you apart.)

You try not to shiver. 

"Ate already," you shrug, bundling your sleep clothes tight in your trembling hands. When you stand, his eyes follow you. "So. Um—"

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, shifting on the balls of your feet. "I've—" You think of his eyes, gyre white, and wonder if this is what it feels like to get swallowed by the sea. "I've never been better."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I worry about you, you know?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say. "Me, too."

You break apart in the shower, falling into pieces as you make yourself finish, thinking about nothing but the phantom stretch of his cock seated deep inside of you, the taste of his come pooling on your tongue.

It balms the residual burn in your esophagus, and you know, then, when you throb, still wanting his touch on your skin, that you've always been terrible at telling yourself no. 

It can't happen. It can't.  

There's a strange magnetism about him—an uncanny sense of mystery and familiarity sutured together. 

It feels a little bit like staring at the looming maw, the event horizon, of a black hole. Unfathomable black. No way out. 

There's something that feels a bit like forewarning inside your chest when he brushes against you, and presses his lips on the skin behind your ear—a secret place only he knows, where only his fingerprints have ever been. You feel his touch even when he's gone. Haunted by the memory of his rough hands and rasping tenor. 

Running would make sense, you think, watching the ferries come and go. You have enough money for a ticket, and you've yet to even unpack your bag. 

You don't know who he is, but you've given him everything. All of it. There's nothing left inside of you to hand over, but he keeps looking at you as if he's waiting for more. 

"Waiting for a ride?" 

You glance back at the operator with a divot between your brow and cotton inside your ears. 

You want to say yes, but you shake your head instead. 

"No." I can't leave. "Just enjoying the view."

You find birch branches stripped of leaves, juniper berries, maple leaves, spindles of dogwood, bushels of fir, and bouquets of bog rosemary, northern bluebell, fireweed, and wintergreen on your doorstep each morning, laid gently against the old welcome mat. 

You should toss them out, and throw them away. How does he know where you live, anyway? It would make the most sense; be the wisest decision. 

Instead, you tuck them inside your notebook, pressing them against the pages where they'll be safe. 

(You try not to think too much about why they never die.)

It happens again. And again. Again—

It becomes a ritual for the few months you're back in town. The leaves, twigs, petals, pines, and seeds all show up at your door each morning and come nightfall, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

He finds the nastiest looking pub in the city, and you find him there after dark. 

He sits, smokes a cigar. Orders two scotches, and a bottle of spring water. Teaches you how to drink it properly—none of that sugary cocktail shite; just pure whisky, love, as it should be—and lets you puff on the damp end of his cigar, eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light above as he takes in the way your lips curl over the wet tip.

He stares at you like he's indulging you. 

Like he knows. 

And maybe, he does. 

Maybe he sees the way your jaw works, tongue lashing over the tip just to chase his taste. The heat in your cheeks, your eyes, as you gaze at him, open and raw and wanting. The way you list toward him. Eager for it. For him. His touch, his smell. 

He must, you think, but he's a right bastard. 

He doesn't give it until the end of the evening, when everyone has gone home. When it's just you and him and the barkeep that glowers at you something ugly when you stand on shaky legs, and whisper you're going to the washroom. 

Your fingers curl over the chipped porcelain, back arched as you stare at the face in the mirror. 

You can't remember if it's you. 

Whisky has polluted your synapses. The thick scent of smoke, the tobacco from the cigar, has congealed into resin over that little bundle of axons and nerves that control your impulse, logic. 

Stupid. 

You stare at the thing in the mirror, and wonder if the basal want on your face was so apparent to him as it is to you. If he saw the dark gleam of hunger, greed, impatience, swimming in your ink-smudged depths. 

The door rattles. Clicks. 

The squeak of the hinges is the only warning you get before Price is there, liquified in the doorway and clouded in smoke. 

His hand curls over the worn, peeling frame. Eyes dance with the same hunger, same want, as the ones that flicker across the surface of the mirror. 

"Couldn't wait for me, eh, love?" He breathes, his chest expands with his exhale. Scenting you, you think. You wonder if he can smell the slick pooling in your panties. The desperation brimming in your veins. "Wanted it that bad, huh?"

He moves. A mountain of a man now filling up the entirety of your gaze until all you see is him. 

You used to want to climb mountains. In training, they always warned of summit fever. Of that little part of your head that just wanted it to be over, to reach the very top of the precipice. Impatient, it couldn't wait. It made you spring up, and climb higher and higher before you were ready, prepared. 

You think of it now when your hands lift, curling over his broad shoulders. 

("Summit fever will get you killed," they say.)

"Just shut up and fuck me, Price." 

His eyes flash. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You are. Painfully so. 

It etches in your ribs like a sickness, festering in your mouldering bones. Rotting you from the inside out. 

A crutch in the searing heat of skin, sweat, and sin. The feeling of him taking you apart, breaking you down into atoms and molecules that bubble in the lining of your head becomes so commonplace, so often forget who you are when you're pushed up against a wall, being filled to the brim by him.

He leaves madness behind when he goes, and the world that divides fantasy from reality begins to crack, to splinter. 

You hear his voice in your head late at night when the wind blows through the window, carrying the scent of the forest.

"Come home," he rasps in your ear. 

The scratch of his beard seems to scrape against the little thread keeping you tied down to reality. It's frayed and worn by his hands. You wonder when he'll sink his teeth in the silk, and snap the line. Untethering you from your binds.

Come home to me. Come back to where you belong—

Price takes you out to dinner three months after this—whatever it is—starts. After your house becomes more of a garden, writ with the wild remnants of the forest, after each passing day. Full of bushes, and branches. Twigs and precious gems. He gives you raw gold, and open geodes full of amethyst, and sapphire. Canopy leaves, and bark from the trees. 

He leaves a whittled deer made from the red wood of a giant sequoia, and the likeness of the little fawn makes you believe that one day, it'll come to life in your living room.

(You leave a dish of water near the doorway—just in case—and wonder if you're becoming just as mad as your gran.)

He shows up at your doorstep, the bleached antlers of a great pronghorn in his hands. It's decorated with vines and moss weaved over the ivory in intricate braids and knots that you can't even begin to unravel. You marvel at the gift as he tells you he's taking you out for dinner. 

There is no discussion. He doesn't ask, he just—

Does. 

"Found a spot," he says, arms crossed over his broad chest. The cable-knit sweater pulls, stretched taut over his bulk. "Think you'd like it."

You don't know what to say. The antlers feel heavier in your hands, and warm to the touch. You try not to shiver when you set it down beside the little fawn.

"Oh," you say, but know you've never turned him down yet. It's all—

So much. 

Your home is slowly becoming one with nature, with vines growing on the walls in great blooms of wisteria and lilac; the old floor boards under your feet shudder and creak as little saplings sprout through the cracks. You wake up at night and taste earth in your throat, feel the grass beneath your fingers. The breeze in your hair. The call of an arctic tern. 

You dream of running through the forest. Of being chased. You breathe and feel the little seeds inside of your lungs start to take root. Soon you'll bloom with dandelions.

"Okay," you say, and wonder if the madness rummaging around your head will turn into a beautiful sequoia in the end. "Let's go."

The tavern is busy on a weeknight, crowded with a swell of mainlanders who'd ventured out for a camping trip over the long weekend. 

You sit with your back straight, and listen to him talk about a hike he wants to take with you in the morning. Through the woods, he says, and you don't ask which one. You know. You know. 

(It's time. It's time.)

There are alarm bells ringing in your head, but they're drowned out by the crooning whispers. 

But the line is only frayed and worn, and despite the lure in his voice, the itch in your head to say yes, you hesitate. Falter. 

The woods are dangerous. 

You don't want to go. 

He seems to sense it. His brows knot together. 

"You want to, don't you?" 

You fiddle with your napkin and try not to meet his arsenic stare. "It's… dangerous."

"I'll keep you safe."

"It's probably time for me to leave, anyway." 

The air in the room turns frigid all at once. You think you can see white plumes of condensation when you shakily breathe out, teeth chattering. 

"Price—"

"Didn't wanna do this, love," he says, voice hushed. Barely a whisper. His eyes are lavascapes. "But you ain't givin' me much of a choice, are you?"

"What—?"

The words die on your tongue when movement flashes in the corner of your eye. A man weaves, liquid, through the mindless crowd, cutting a path like the parting red sea. 

His eyes are honeycombs. In his hand, he holds a limp dandelion. 

It takes you a moment to make out the strange man who looms in the background. A splash of colour among sfumato. 

It's Gaz.

The childish swell of his cheeks has sunken into angled, sharp bone. Slender fingers twirl the flower around, around, around—

It's hypnotic. You stare, horrified and awed—a strange amalgam of emotions that slip down your spine: worry, elation, panic, comfort—as his pink lips part into an easy, familiar grin. The cresting sun breaching the horizon. Eyes slanting in playful derision. 

He looks like he's torn between telling a joke and spitting vitriol. Making you laugh, and then making you cry. 

It buzzes in the air, electrified fingers dancing down your spine, and then just as quickly as the boy who disappeared reemerges into the land of the living, into this bastardised reality, he gives one last sharp, fanged grin, a mordant wink, and then he's gone.

He slips through the door, and without hesitating, you give chase. 

Price says nothing when you go. Or maybe he does, but you can't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in your head. 

Gaz, it whispers. Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.

(It's time for the lost little boy to come home.)

The rocks sit in a zigzag pattern through the frothing waters, a deceptive bridge that connects the valley to the coast. You feel the tremulous rattle of the water slicing against the hollow cavern beneath your feet. A ledge chiselled from the blunt erosion of the rapid currents below. One day, they say, the granite shelf will give and a massive hole filled with howling water will fill it. 

Try not to be the idiot standing on the ledge. 

You feel the power of the currents even on the peat-covered edge. 

The water in front of you is deceptive. A calm, rolling surface at the shoreline almost seems to beckon you inside. Come take a dip in the cool waters. Grow fins and gills and chase the river otters through the currents. Feast on the wily salmon, and see if your feet can touch the sandy streambed. 

But the river's fatality is nearly assured. No one has survived a dip in these waters that act as a serrated knife, carving chasms and channels through the granite below. The currents will rip into you, pulling you until your body is crushed against the wall, or into an unsearchable cave. 

One slip, you think. Just one. 

But—

The man in the bar flickers through your mind. His honeycomb eyes, fanged grin. Ethereal in his beauty like a painting of a god in oil and raw canvas. Carved likeness of a Stygian prince. 

It was Kyle. It was Gaz. You know it. Know it deep within your bones, your marrow.

Taking the first step to the jutting slate that peaks just a few precious inches from the raging waters is easier, then, when you think of the boy who plucked a dandelion from the earth, and tucked it behind your ear. It makes the risk less daunting when it's for him. 

For his parents who sunk into themselves, into the crater his absence left behind. A deep depression into the earth that swallowed them whole.

They moved last year after laying down a bouquet of flowers at the mouth of the forest. 

You toe your shoes off, leaving them at the embankment, and then you leap. The perch is slick with waterlogged moss, slimy. It wobbles under you, but you catch yourself, stabilising. Steady. You huff. One down, four more to go. 

Up close, they look so far apart. A chasm between each rock. An endless abyss that will rip you into pieces. 

Still. Still. You have to find him. Have to. 

You step, toes sliding in the algae. The rock beneath is stained green. It wobbles again when you bring your other foot down on top of it. The loud clack of rock scraping against rock is heard, unmuffled by the roaring water that tugs on the stone. You feel the push against your feet. 

Two more. Two more. 

You take another step, and then—

You fall—

The world drips into focus, a steady trickle of cognisance that paints the world in shades of greens and browns. An eagle soars above the canopy, their shadow swooping through the thick tangle of conifers reaching to the heavens.

The bed of moss beneath you is damp—lush with dew and softer than your mattress at home. You sink into the ground when you breathe, caught in an embrace. The vines curl over your wrists, your ankles, as if refusing to let go. 

It should scare you—and maybe it does—but there's something against your head, fingers digging into your temples, and you feel nothing except a warm serenity leaking in. Thought spool into liquid gold, threads that weave together in a knotted clump. Indistinguishable from each other, and unreachable when they slip deeper into the honeyed-thick fog that curls around your mind. A temper from logic, from fear. Anything that isn't pure, artificial comfort is filtered through and cast aside. 

You don't know why you're here. 

One moment, you felt the coils of the raging currents sinking its claws into your flesh, pulling you under the deep waters, and then—

Heat on your face. The sun's desperate attempt to filter through the corded canopy and touch the forest floor. The shrill call of an eagle on the prowl. The tender caress of the moss below cushions your body. 

You should be underwater. Pressed tight against the side of the rocks until you were swept downstream and spat out in the inlet, waterlogged and dead. 

You draw humid air into your lungs until it swells against your ribcage. The steady thud of your heart tells you that somehow, somehow, you're alive. An empty brag—thud, thud; thud, thud—that seems to call out to the birds in the emergent layer, the ones nestled in their branches as they watch your feeble attempt to reconcile how you survived. 

It's strange, you think, but the soporific warmth coursing through your veins does not let you panic. 

You are—

"Foolish." 

The warmth turns molten. You try to sit up, but the vines tighten around your limbs. If you weren't so vulnerable, you think it would almost feel like a hug. 

The soft crunch of the moss tells you the voice—the man—is moving forward, toward you. You want to scream, but your tongue is thick, and your mouth is numb. 

"What you did there was stupid," he says, and the forest around you seems to come alive in his anger. Pulsing. The branches sway and the leaves rattle without any wind. The trees bend down, coming inward. You hear the scream of a fox in the distance. The chuff of an agitated brown bear. 

Primordial signs tell you to run.

But you're trapped. 

Price steps closer, falling to his knees beside you. You can see him now, and suddenly you wish you'd been swallowed by the waves. 

His face is writ with anger, brows tightening together in displeasure. 

He seems imbued with the forest. One with the lush green that swells around you. Burnt umber and icy blue. Ethereal, unnatural. Something in your hindbrain tells you to run from that man that looks as if he could swallow you whole.

"Tryin' t'die on me, hmm?" 

His hand lifts, and you feel his warm knuckles graze your temple. Soft, gentle, despite the ire in his eyes, and the irritation clenched in his jaw. 

"Gonna hav'ta try harder than that, love." 

You weren't trying very hard at all, you think, dazed, dizzy. You weren't trying at all. 

"You're mine," his eyes flash, and you feel the press of gravity against your skin, pulling you down to the soft earth. Your fingers twitch. The fog inside your head clears. 

Blinking up at him, you catch the scattering supernovae echoing in the corners of his eyes; galaxies of pine and cedar, humus and tussock. They bloom from the black hole in the centre, surrounded by sapphire blue. He's not human, you think, but it doesn't surprise you because you already knew. Have known, really—ever since you asked around for his name and watched the same strange fog seep into their eyes as they struggled to remember a man they claimed to know. 

Ever since you found bushels of figs on your doorstep. 

A crown of pine needles and crow feathers. 

Price leans over you, brows knotted together like the gnarled, weaving trunk of a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine. 

There's a forest fire in his eyes. "You're mine, aren't you?" 

You think about the trinkets left on your doorstep. The whispers, the screams. 

"Did you ever give me a choice?" 

The tension in his brow snaps taut. Agony frissons through the spaced canyons; whet from ire and slick from sorrow. He bends down, and shakes his head. 

"I've always given you a choice," his words are smouldering logs, crackling with his pain. "I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?"

Price takes you on the mossy forest floor, fingers digging into the peat as you sink, down, down, down—

His hand under your head, cradling the back of your skull, keeps you from getting swallowed by the grass knoll that breathes and trill against your spine. 

Fire licks in the crevasses of his eyes, molten desperation you can't ignore. He rages above you, quivering in the fading glow of the sunset struggling to slip through the canopy. No longer a man but a myth. He hangs over you with his canines bared, and flashes of anger and sorrow scorch the path his teeth leave behind on your skin. 

You're becoming unmoored. Each touch, and brush; each sweep of his tongue soothing the indents of his razor-sharp teeth all seem to loosen the ties that thread through your soul, anchoring you to the world that stands in full bloom before you. 

The forest shudders with his frantic pace; each piston of his hips leaks his fervent anguish and makes the trees croon, and creak as they bow their foliage in sorrow. His pain lashes through their roots, and rent the air in two. A fox mourns his loss in the distance. A wolf yowls in agony. His brethren lifting their muzzle to the sleepy moon, and howling out the melody of their despair. 

It's too much, too much, and you fall into pieces in his hands, shivering beneath him as the woods around you tremble and quake. It's a mesmerising dance. 

He finishes with a grunt that makes the world shudder anew, spending himself as deep inside of you as he can, as if he could overwrite your empty spaces with himself. Fill you to the brim until you are bursting with him, with life. Tulips for your eyes. Furze for veins. Moss for hair. Peat soil for blood. 

When he speaks, the world falls silent. 

"You don't know it yet, but you will. You've always been mine. Always belonged to the forest, to the earth. To me."

Despite his words, he lets you go. 

And you run, run, run—

Your toes dig into the wet soil near the stream. The desperate catapult across the ravine halted at the very last moment, leaving you winded and shaking. Hands clenched into tight balls by your side. Quivering with fear, with the adrenaline rush still roaring in your veins. 

You don't know what you're doing. 

The whispers in your head go silent. 

The absence of sound makes you mourn, and you think about his agony. The pain when he took you, the resignation when he let you go. 

You think of him, and you know. 

I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?

You scent napalm in the air, cloying despite the acrid burn that scalds your lungs when you breathe in deep, holding it there. 

You think of the chest inside your closet. The pieces of yourself you left behind. The way he fits you like a puzzle, like he was made for you. Designed with your rough edges in mind. Softening your hard lines; scouring your gritty surface it was smooth and shiny like fire Opal and precious gems. 

Ever since you felt his hand on your shoulder, you haven't been able to let go. 

(You don't even think you ever really tried.)

Come to me, the forest says, honey in your ears. It sounds like the rapid beat of a million birds' wings, ready to take flight. Pulsing and alive and full of wonder, childish glee. 

The earth blooms in your chest. You feel the soft, tender caress of the leaves against your skin, the moss sinking between your toes. Clinging to your flesh, desperate to get inside, and take refuge in your heart. Come home to us.

Your grandmother warned you to stay out of the forest, that it was dangerous. Deadly. Wrong. But how can it ever harm you when it touches you so sweetly? 

The branches curl around your ankles as you walk, leading you, guiding you, to the place where you belong. The forest opens around you, spreads apart and makes room for you to pass, touching you as you go, taking little pieces of you. Strands of your hair, the salt from your tears. Pieces of clothes. Parts of your soul. 

You pluck your heart out of your chest, and leave it beneath a gnarled sequoia. She will protect it forever. 

Moss grows inside of the empty space. A tern makes a nest inside of it, filling it with a bed of pine needles, and twigs from the junipers. You feel a mouse make a home in your rib cage, burrowing between your bones. You place your hand over your side, and feel her nuzzle against your palm. 

"You're safe now," you say. "We're almost home."

It's Gaz who greets you with a crown made of sugi. When he cups your face, you feel raging rivers and streams in his palms, and now that you are home. 

"Missed you, dandelion," he breathes, and his voice turns into a Chinook that crests over the mountains. "But there's someone who wants to see you."

His hands slide down to your wrists, and you feel the sun grazing your skin when he spins you around, around, around—

"Now," he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You hear the Falcons nesting in his chest, and smell pine in his breath. "He's been an impatient bastard, you know? Just moping about ever since you left—"

A scoff. You lift your head and feel the swell of the earth beneath your feet. Dizzying. Wanting. 

He waits for you in the thicket, eyes made of sapphire and stone. When he breathes, the forest swells with his breath, and you taste loam when you swallow. 

"A sorry sap, thinkin' you were runnin' away, and all. But you won't, will you?" Gaz pushes you forward, and his laughter rings in your ears. "Not anymore."

Price meets you in the middle, his eyes sparkling embers. A baptism in fire. You feel the heat on your skin, and shiver. 

You used to be afraid of forest fires, but you know, now, that sometimes trees need to burn before they can truly grow. 

Lodgepole roots bud under his skin, rippling veins across a ravine. He rests his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the dawn redwood needles that bloom under your skin. 

"Welcome home."

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." 

"Why?" You asked, blinking at her. 

"Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

You don't tell her that you already have. You don't mention the sticks and precious stones that always ended up on your windowsill. The whispers of the forest calling your name. 

You nod sagely instead, fingers tightening around the sap stained heart chiselled from Bristlecone Pine. The charred ends are warm in your palm. You feel it pulse. 

Will you accept this? My heart? Will you keep it safe for me? 

"I will."

This was meant to be light and fluffy and smutty but now it's. This. And um. Oops. I hope you enjoyed it!

JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION PART THREE OF COD X MYTHOLOGY ⁞ SOAP ● DRAGON PRICE

[eyesthecolorofarson]

Best Man Pt.2

https://www.tumblr.com/eyesthecolorofarson/722299567819882496/dick-didnt-know-what-to-expect-when-he-arrived-at

Jazz watched, bemused, as Danny bounced around the work room. He went from one project of an improved Specter Speeder to a project he and Sam were working on with the mutated fauna in Amity to his newest.

She didn’t know what to think about Damian, but she was thankful the Council would like him. He was obviously raised entirely around aristocratic figures but possibly separated. His wording choice suggested the former and odd accent suggested the latter. She’s always been worried about Danny’s open heart, even more so when she saw his reaction to just seeing Damian.

Thankfully, Damian seemed just as smitten as Danny was. She didn’t necessarily believe in love at first sight, but she understood an alphas immediate attraction to an omega who fit all their preferences and an omegas immediate attraction to the same. Though it is odd how they both fit each other’s preferences.

She would ignore it for Danny. He’s been so excited and happy since their meeting, and even though it’s only been two days he’d already started making the wedding rings. Dad was over the moon when he asked for the blueprints and chemical makeup. Apparently he wasn’t going to make the actual ring part until he knew what Damian would like.

Those thoughts reassured her over-protective mind. She’d thought the attraction was either an aphrodisiac or plain old mind control, but Damian’s reaction to Danny told her that wasn’t the case. She’d been able to overhear a portion of their conversation, and it soothed her to hear Damian getting more and more flustered.

Her protectiveness flared up when she walked in on the kissing, but Danny’s face of absolute horror washed it away. As the best big sister she was she ignored how he now smelled of brown sugar and spice, coffee and caramel. She would only make fun of him for the rest of his existence. Like the best big sister she was.

“Jazz! C’mer, I got it to work!” Danny excitedly waved her over, bobbing in the air. She marked her page and went to the work table. It had a microscope, scale, Bunsen burner, dozens of glass beakers in racks, pipets, magnets and a friability tester. In the middle of everything was a Petri dish with a single green geode.

They were calling it Ectolite, and it seemed to be the Infinite Realms version of fossil fuels. It was created from decaying Blob ghosts or fading emotional remnants. Naturally, anyways. It took a very long time for ghosts to fade and Blobs were no exception.

Artificially they were much easier to make. She thinks. It only took Danny two days after all. “What cut are you going to make it?” She asked as she put on gloves. They didn’t want to contaminate the love it would emit with her own feelings. The love it was supposed to emit if Dannys theory was correct. “I don’t know. The other gem changes shape and texture, but I didn’t check to see if the bottom changes too.”

Danny used a pair of tweezers to pull the shape of the geode into a triangle, then a square, and then a circle. He worried his bottom lip. “I want it to keep this free flowing quality, but I don’t know if actually cutting it will change it. But if it can be manipulated like this,” he stretched it until it looked like a teardrop with a thin tip, “then touching it could ruin the shape I put it in.”

Danny moved aside and let her inspect it more closely. Each side of the geode seemed to be a different texture, one side looking like an earth geode, one looking like bismuth, one appearing to be sea foam, and one seemed to look like a meat hammer. “Have you talked to dad?” She moved the dish to the microscope as Danny groaned.

“I would–and honestly I really wanted to make it with him, but–well, it’s mom again.” She hummed. The geodes cells seemed to be shaped in an infinity symbol, and when she pulled them with the tweezers the cells seemed to go through cellular division to fill the new space, and reabsorb when she moved it back.

“Still angry?” “Worse.” Danny sighed, and she glanced to see him lounge into the air. “She overheard me tell dad about Damian and now she’s pissed that she not only has a half ghost son, but a liminal son-in-law. She’s convinced I’m overshadowing him.”

Talking about mom was always difficult after the reveal. Dad had taken it surprisingly well, explaining that he loved Danny more than he hated ghosts. He even went as far as to say he’d make an effort to learn about ghosts from actual ghosts. Mom on the other hand… “It’s not your fault,” she leaned up from the microscope and took his hand. “Moms always been more eccentric than dad, and we both know she lost it a few years ago with the Pandora situation.”

“We can’t force her to change, and we can’t change ourselves for her. It’s not fair for her or us. The only thing we can do now is try to move on.” Danny sighed and squeezed her hand. “I know, it’s just—I don’t know why, but I blame myself.” “It’s not your fault.” She said again, firmer this time. “It’s not your fault you got hurt, it’s not your fault you hid Phantom, and it’s not your fault she reacted like that. You did the best you could in your situation.”

She was so proud of him. He’d saved the town, the universe and multiverse, he was rebuilding the Infinite Realms and now he was courting someone. It hurt her heart in the best way. He was growing up so fast, and it made her so happy.

“Hey,” she pulled him down until he was back on the ground, “how about you take a break? You can go and see Damian, maybe meet his family, take him on the first date and talk more about the wedding. You can ask him about the ring.” Danny lit up.

“Yeah! That sounds great! Do you wanna come? I think you’ll really like him.” She smiled and shook her head. “I have an appointment with a few ghosts about setting up my firm. Besides, I think I’ll give it a bit more time for our last meeting to wear off.” He blushed and she couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. He laughed and batted her hand away.

“Alright, but you’ll meet him next time, right?” She smiled. “Promise. Now go see your omega.” Danny’s grin was wide enough to show all his sharp teeth. Teeth that were similar to hers. She pulled him into a hug and kissed his head. He squeezed her as if he was scared he would break her.

Jazz watched as he bobbed out of the room, and once he was gone let herself deflate. She pulled out her phone and saw all the texts from her mom. There were at least eighty and they just kept coming. Telling her to call her, to be reasonable, to convince ‘the ghost to let that poor omega go’. Six more came in rapid succession.

Jazz knew she could just block her and get a new phone. It’s what Danny did. But for some reason she just couldn’t. Well, she might know the reason. It was all simple guilting and manipulation, her mom pretending she was the good guy and it was really Danny who was the problem. She was being manipulated subconsciously, and every text she read only made her feel more sorry for her mom.

Her finger hovered over the ‘block’ button. She really, really wanted to press it. But there was a little girl inside her, whispering ‘no! You’ll never see momma again! I miss momma so much, don’t you?’ She sighed, made sure the notifications for that number were off, and picked up her book as she walked out. She had ghosts to help move on.

Danny fixed his shirt again. And then he adjusted his pants, which messed with his shirt. Should he wear his cape? He really liked his cape, but would it be too much? Oh! He had a space blazer that Nocturne got him! He could wear that with a—well, would a button up with the blazer be too formal? He should choose a different shirt. And black or white? Black, black was good. He ran his hand through his hair in the mirror before taking a breath and choosing the turtle neck.

He pulled his hair into a pony tail, fixed his belt, adjusted his blazer, the turtleneck, and then put on his shoes and grabbed his second courting gift. It was a circlet crown with a silver chain. The front had a small, teardrop gem and the sides had three larger ones inside flowers with dangling gems. He’d found it after he’d raided the treasury for anything he’d think Damian would like, and even imagining him in it was making Danny blush.

He wrapped it in green velvet cloth, then put it in a black box and wrapped it with a green ribbon, both of which he’d, uh, liberated from a jewelry store. He couldn’t ask his servants for one because they’d take that information to the break room, those gossips.

Wait. Where would he even meet Damian? At his house? He didn’t know where he lived. Well, he kind of did, but would him showing up unexpectedly be rude or creepy? He didn’t have a way to contact him. But he really, really wanted to see him. Should he just use the Ring of Rage? He’d use the Ring. “Ring of Rage, take me outside of Wayne Manor Dimension 45Q-X.” The Ring glowed bright and a red portal opened in front of him. When he stepped through he was in Gotham City.

Wayne Manor looked like every other manor he’d seen, just more Victorian Gothic with gargoyles and cobblestone walls. He fazed through the gate and took a deep breath. Walking up the steps felt similar to walking to fight Pariah Dark. He rang the doorbell, and adjusted his hair over his shoulder before the door opened.

The man who opened the door seemed to be a butler, rather old but like Damian–and everyone else in Gotham–smelled like death. He smiled, and hoped he wouldn’t be freaked out by his teeth. “Hello! My name is Daniel Phantom, but you could call Danny! Would you know if Damian is available, and if he is could I perhaps talk to him?” The man studied him for a second, then smiled and opened the door wider.

“Ah yes, King Phantom, an honor to meet you your highness. Damian has not stopped talking about you since your meeting. I am Alfred Pennyworth, the primary caretaker of Wayne Manor and it’s residents.” Danny stepped inside and held out his hand. “Please, Mr.Pennyworth, the honors all mine! Damian spoke about you quite highly. You don’t have to call me your highness or king or any of that royal decree.”

Alfred took his hand and shook it, and his smile made him feel a bit better. “Thank you, Master Daniel. If you will follow me, I believe Master Damian is currently in the dining room with his siblings and father.” Oh god, siblings and father? “Pardon me, Mr.Pennyworth,” his smile strained a little, “but—how many of Damian’s siblings are here?” Alfred seemed to notice his slight distress, and it made him smile a bit wider.

“Five of Master Damian’s siblings are present today, as well as close family friend Barbara Gordon, a rare occurrence you are lucky to see.” Oh. Ok. So, six of Gothams Greatest Detectives and The Batman are here. Oh god he hoped he didn’t do anything stupid. But knowing him he’d fall and break his nose the moment he walked in. He really had to stop thinking like this. He just—oh, for the love of Ancients, he was a king! He could handle meeting his future father, brother and sister-in-laws. He could do this! For Damian!

Alfred opened a door for him, and he said a small ‘thank you’ and tried not to wince under all the eyes now on him. It looked like a large dinning room with a long rectangular table filled with various foods. What time was it? Oh he hoped he didn’t interrupt breakfast. All the chairs were filled and they were staring at him with various emotions on his face.

But his eyes landed on Damian, and suddenly none of it mattered. Damian’s face lit up, and he launched himself out of his chair with a joyful shout of his name and into his arms. The force made him raise a few inches into the air, and he couldn’t help but laugh and pull Damian closer.

He still smelled like him. It was as if he’d added his scent into his own, and Danny wanted nothing more than to lean into his neck and leave a mark. But the voices in front of him reminded him there were others here, so he had to–literally–come back to earth and address the situation.

Jazz and Clockwork would be so proud of him.

When he lowered Damian had wrapped his arms around his neck and touched their heads together. “Oh Daniel,” he cooed, and his voice drove him a bit crazy, “What a wonderful surprise! I’ve missed you so.” He couldn’t help but laugh and nuzzle his nose, inhaling more of his scent. “It’s been but two days and I already have a piece of my soul dedicated to you. You’ve captured my mind in a state of worship that continues even in your absence.”

Damian’s face flushed and his smile grew and Danny wanted to kiss him. He held himself back. “Oh. My. God. Daniel!” Another voice said, and Damian pulled back and Danny moved to his side, wrapping and arm around his waist as Damian wrapped an arm around his as someone approached. The man in front of him had light brown skin and slightly long black hair and blue eyes.

He raced through his Gotham knowledge and held out his hand, smiling. “Richard Grayson! Though, you go by Dick, correct? Damian’s told me about you!” Richard’s, or Dick, smile widened and he shook his hand enthusiastically. “Dick, please. It’s nice to meet you, Daniel! Damian has told me so, so much about you.” Oh, that was good! From Damian’s blush and slightly embarrassed scent that was really good!

He let his smile become more relaxed, and Damian led him to a chair next to his that Alfred had somehow gotten in the short time they’d talked. “Thank you,” he said to the butler, pulled out Damian’s chair for him since Pandora would kill him otherwise, and sat when he did. Him sitting seemed to wake the rest of the table.

“So.” Bruce Wayne said, and Danny was reminded he was Batman. “I haven’t heard as much about you as Dick has. Tell me, who are you? You seemed to be a meta, correct?” That first part felt like it wasn’t really for him, but he wasn’t going to be intimidated–even though he definitely was. It also felt like bit of a lie since Alfred knew who he was, but he would answer honestly.

He straightened his shoulders, held his head high and looked Bruce in the eyes. All while trying to appear non-hostile. “My name is Daniel Phantom. I am the High King of The Infinite Realms, The Afterlife Dimension. I act as the King of the dead and underworlds as well as their gods. And, if you shall allow, I want nothing more than to make Damian my Queen.”

There was a pause and he couldn’t help but notice the uptick of caramel in Damian’s scent. He liked it. Dick looked very happy, and the others looked either confused, worried, or–in who he thought was Stephane Brown and Cassandra Cains case–absolutely overjoyed.

Bruce didn’t let anything show, but he glanced to Cassandra. She met his eyes and nodded enthusiastically, softly clapping her hands and giggling with Stephane. He hoped that was good. It felt good. Bruce didn’t seem to think it was good.

“King of the Afterlife?” Another asked, and he definite knew who he was. Jason Todd. “Does that mean your dead?” He could feel Bruce trying to burn a hole into his head. “I’m actually an odd case. I’m what ghosts call a Halfa, which means genetically I’m half ghost. It’s rather odd, so the simplest way I could explain it is that I act as the line between life and death, but I’m capable of moving it. Sometimes more dead, sometimes more alive, but always a bit of both.”

He hummed and leaned back, and Timothy Drake leaned forward. “How does that work? You said genetically, but how are you moving, ruling a kingdom if you always have one foot out the door?” Damian’s spice turned a little hot, but not in a good way the way it did when they were kissing. He rubbed his thumb in circles on his hips, and it lessened the scent.

“Let us not hound my future mate,” Damian scolded, and his face flushed. “Daniel, you must’ve came here for a reason, yes?” Damian leaned a little out of his chair, and Danny did too. “That I did!” He pulled the box out of his blazer and presented it to him, “I wanted to see if you’d like to go on our first romantic outing, as well as give you another gift. It will connect to the crown you choose, as well as your veil if you’d like to wear one.”

Someone choked, and he heard the girls and Dick ‘aww’ as Damian blushed. Caramel and brown sugar wrapped around in, and he let his own scent do the same. Together, they smelled like a cup of coffee in a thunderstorm, a warm hug in autumn, the kitchen during the holidays. Damian took the box and gently undid the ribbon, smoothly wrapping it around his wrist before opening the box. He gasped, and Danny remembered he didn’t check where the gems were from.

Under the normal light they looked very out of this world. They seemed to look like heat waves, or the lines you’d see on an old box TV. Damian tilted the back center gem back and forth, and the color changed, the middle of it seemed to split into an eye—oh. Oh! He knew what they were! Oh thank the ancients, this was the best mistake he could’ve made!

Damian leaned back quickly as the waves came off the gem in a smooth streak, similar to his tail when he flew. It circled his shoulders and then expanded, solidifying into a white cat with four tails. Its eyes were a vibrant purple, and it didn’t seem to have fur but its skin was sleek and metallic. Like an Egyptian cat but without the wrinkles. It meowed and made some clicking sounds, sniffing Damian’s cheek before relaxing on his shoulders. Its mouth was filled with sharp teeth and a black tongue.

Someone muttered ‘oh my god’ and the giggling and ‘aww’ing increased. All good things. Damian’s eyes were wide as he traced a finger along the cats back, and it liked it if it’s purring was anything to go by. “This is a cat from Dimension AB12-00! Because of this Dimensions number everything in it is usually numbered in some way. This cat was the fourth born in its litter, as you can tell from the tail. They like to hide in shiny things. I believe it’s siblings are in the other three gems, though they’ve been incredibly shy so I don’t truly know.”

That was a bit of a lie, he could sense them a little bit, but that just made everything better! Damian looked overjoyed, cooing over the cat as it crawled into his lap and sniffed around. “Oh, she’s beautiful, what is her name?” “You can choose. They do not have one.” He let her sniff his fingers, and chucked lightly as she affectionately bit them. “I found them in the treasury, and as far as I know they’ve been in there for about twenty thousand years. At this point they’re AB12-00’s version of a Saber Tooth Tiger.”

The other cats were coming out. The one in the left kept coming out then going back in, and the one in the front teardrop bounced out and onto Damian’s lap. This one had only one tail, and it meowed and pawed Damian’s chest for attention. He laughed and scratched it behind the ear. As he did he leaned forward, put his hand around Danny’s neck and pulled him forward to kiss him. Danny blinked for a moment before kissing back.

It was just as wonderful as last time. The whole world seemed to shrink until they were the only thing that existed, as if they’d become one. But he didn’t get to enjoy it like he wanted because someone loudly cleared their throat. Damian pulled away quickly, his scent embarrassed and his face bright red. It was cute. He glanced to the table and had to stop himself from shrinking.

That was definitely Batman glaring at him. He had this odd shadow over his face, and it actually looked like a mask. “Wow,” Tim teased, “didn’t know you knew how to do that!” They all laughed as Damian’s face became redder, and he couldn’t help but give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m very glad you like it. I know you’ll be a wonderful owner for them.” Damian huffed, but his scent showed he was very happy.

The two cats seemed very tired, probably because they’d been in the gem for so long they weren’t used to this much movement. Damian was sad to see them go, so Danny proposed that they set up a schedule to get the cats used to being outside the gem. “Where would you like to go for our outing? You can choose any time, any place, and I will find it for you. I have access to it all.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Where would you like to go? I wish to learn more about your interests as you have for mine.” Oh that was sweet. He could take him anywhere in the multiverse he wanted, and Damian wanted to know more about him. He felt his face heat up, and took Damian’s hand. “Well, I love space! If you'd like, I could take you to my favorite planets in this dimension. There’s a planet a few galaxies away called Elma, and it’s inhabited completely by crystals!”

Danny rambled about Elma, detailing the crystal coral reefs and the glass islands and the crystallized sulfur and ozone in the atmosphere that protected the planet from invaders and painted the surface in sun catching rays. He waved his hands around and used ice to create the cris-cross pattern they froze in and the colored crystalline that made constellations that could only be seen on this planet.

“Ah! I apologize!” He said sheepishly, fiddling with his hair, “I did not mean to take over the conversation. But I could tell you more on Elma, if you’d like. I could take you to the Riverbend Festival!” Damian’s scent was so sweet and sugary, and he wanted to drown in it. “Do not apologize! You are so passionate, Daniel, the way your eyes shine as you detail the things you love is divine! I would love to see the festival! Is there anything I should wear for the weather, the activities and the like?”

They would be walking a lot, it would be chilly but not too cold, and something smooth he could give a crystallized texture to help them blend in since off-planet outsiders were basically impossible. Damian nodded, gave him a small kiss which almost made him explode, and stood and rushed off. On instinct Danny stood as well, and was left there with his future mates family.

“Damian, wait! Lemme help!” Stephane called, and her and Cassandra rushed off after him. Ok, that was two less interrogators. He must’ve looked a little nervous because Dick smiled and said, “Don’t worry, we don’t bite.” Danny laughed with him, and tried not to look at Bruce. “Your taking him off planet? Into another galaxy? What’s the point of that? You could take him anywhere on Earth.”

Dicks smile tightened, and Jason not-so-subtlety kicked Bruce. “I, for one, approve. I sorta want to threaten you, but I get the feeling that wouldn’t work on you.” Danny laughed. “Yes, I don’t tend to get actually scared anymore. One of my Council members is the personification of fear, and after looking him in the eye multiple times a day nothing fazes me.”

“And to answer Bruce’s questions, I want to show Damian the reaches his rule will go if he becomes my queen. Death goes far beyond this Dimension, and I pride myself on being able to at least slightly connect with every world and culture I come into contact with. I don’t mind if Damian does not wish to do that, but I want to see if he can. I believe he can.”

Bruce didn’t look any happier. If anything he seemed to be pouting now, and his scent was sour and unpleasant. Tim also had an odd sort of look on his face. “How do you plan to get onto Emla if you know nothing can enter the atmosphere?” Bruce raised up—“By teleportation. I can turn intangible as well.” — and sunk back into his chair. Jason snorted. “I’d like to get to know you more!” Barbara said suddenly. She’d been silent the whole time, watching him, and he’d honestly forgotten she was there.

“There’s going to be a Gala on the twenty-third, two weeks from today, to announce Jason and his mates child. Knowing how forward Damian is and how forward you seem to be, I’d assume by that time you’ll be sure that your going to become mates, correct?” Danny shook off his shock and nodded. “Yes, I’m already sure. But by that time we’ll have the wedding planned out, I’d hope.” Her smile grew. “Then would you like to come as Damian’s future mate? I think he’d love to flaunt you to everyone.”

“That I would.” At Damian’s voice he turned, and—

Wow.

Holy shit. Oh my ancients he’s so beautiful. He’s perfect. He’s never seen someone so stunning. Damian was wearing a dark green button up with black dress pants and shoes, with the circlet crown. It fit him perfectly. It was all tight and form fitting, and it seemed like his scent was a thousand times stronger and sweeter.

His mouth gaped like a fishes for a moment, and it made him realize Damian had come right up to him. He closed his mouth with a snap, reattached his tongue, and regained his senses. “I’ve never seen anyone or thing as mesmerizing as you.” He smoothly took Damian’s hand and kissed it. Damian’s face was a nice red, and he heard the girls giggling. Damian was wearing the ring. It made him purr louder.

Wait, purr? Oh FUCK he was purring. He quickly tried to stop but it didn’t work. It only made it stutter, and he cleared his throat. “Ah….Apologies.” He laughed awkwardly, and subtly tried to hit his chest. It didn’t work. Thankfully, for some reason, Damian looked as if he was in love. “I was unaware you could make sounds such as this,” Damian came closer, almost chest to chest, and tilted his head back to expose some of his neck.

“It’s attractive.” His braid short circuited. He swallowed, tracing the curve of Damian’s collarbone with his eyes. He imagined kissing along his shoulder, tracing his fingers down his spine, and biting—he bit his tongue off again. A growl had been building in his throat, but he knew Bruce would take it as a threat.

He cleared his throat. Damian looked very pleased with his reaction, and he leaned closer, inviting him to leave a mark. He really, really wanted to. But Bruce’s scent was getting more and more hostile, so he held himself back. “Ha…thank you, my love. Are you ready?” Damian bid everyone goodbye, and Danny used the Ring of Rage to open a portal to Elma.

“Oh my gooooooddd!!!” Dick cheered, grabbing Jason and rocking him back and forth. “I told you!! I told you!! Oh my god he’s even perfecter than I thought!!” Jason laughed and Bruce huffed. Tim laughed and the room was quickly filled with excited chatter and laughter.

“You should’ve seen him!” Steph squealed, “He was so nervous and exited and he smiled at me! He smiled and hugged me and said thank you so much!!” Cass giggled and clapped her hands, “Very happy! Very good! Hopeful!” “King of the goddammed afterlife man,” Jason chuckled “how the hell’d he do that?”

“You’re just jealous,” Tim poured himself more coffee but quickly stopped when Dick pulled him into a hug. “Anyone would be!” Jason retorted as he was also pulled into the hug. “This went awesomely!” Dick laughed, “Barbara, good job remembering the Gala! Oh I hope he brings his sister next time. Maybe we can meet his parents too!”

Alfred came around and took the chair Daniel had been seated in. “I look forward to seeing them dance.” He smiled at his grandchildren, and accepted Cass’s hug. Bruce made a ‘hmf’ noise, and Jason rolled his eyes. “Geez old man, what’s the problem now? Too touchy for your taste?” Barbara snorted. “He probably wasn’t respectful enough,” They both laughed as Bruce’s sulking increased.

“I just think it’s suspicious is all,” they groaned, “No, no, listen; what are the chances the king of the afterlife wants to marry the prince of the League of Assassins after their first meeting? What if he wants access to the Lazarus Pits?” Barbara rolled her eyes. “Why would the king of the dead want to bring people back to life? He’d be losing citizens.”

“He could be angry about that!” Jason sighed and banged his head on the table. “Maybe he’s only pretending to court Damian, as revenge! Regardless we need to be careful, we don’t know what he’s capable of.” Jason tried to hit his head again but was stopped by Dick. “Your just upset Damian’s getting courted. Relax, if this was for revenge why would he give Damian four cats?”

Barbara snorted, “Four saber tooth tigers!” And they laughed. Bruce huffed again. “Oh, and that second gift? It’ll attach to his veil or crown??” Steph fell into her chair with a dreamy sigh. “Did I tell you guys the ring was his mom’s wedding ring? It isn’t just an otherworldly ring?” The whole room seemed to gasp. “Master Dick!” Alfred scolded playfully, “That is not a detail you keep to yourself! What do you think of that, Master Bruce?” The room laughed. Bruce huffed sulkier.

“We still need to be careful.” “And we will.” Cass said firmly. “But. We will not deny him this happiness. He’s very hopeful. Very happy.” Tim chuckled as he took a sip of his coffee. “More than happy, I’d say. He kissed him in front of us! And the first thing Daniel said? ‘I have a piece of my souls dedicated to you’? Whoo!” He fanned himself, and the table laughed. “You could see it in the way he looked at him! That man, this literal king, looked like a lovesick puppy!”

“Imagine their wedding,” Jason continued dramatically, “not just a royal wedding but a union of the living and dead. Imagine the scandal, the scene!” Alfred patted Jason’s shoulder. “This is not one of our books, by boy. But,” he went on as the table laughed again, “I believe he would find it most helpful if we only assisted in the wedding when asked to, no?” There was a murmur of agreement, and Bruce once again huffed. Alfred gave him a look, and finally he conceded, “Alright, I’ll allow it. But we still need to be careful.” Immediately the table launched into discussion, and Bruce was forced to listen to the excitement of his youngest sons wedding.

[poppiesandpromises]

Geode cracking open with points of light

Sometimes the sparkle is hidden, you see

A secret blossom blooms with dark delight

The whole world is open, now you are free

You offer your heart to his careless hands

& you wait wraith silent for your reward

In time you collapse beneath those demands

You know you're ruined but he's only bored

Angel wings broken now, tender knees skinned

The sun-dappled sky has no comfort to lend

Damaged goods shattered, nothing left to mend

The flowers bloomed out, just thorns left to tend

He says you're defensive, you start to crack—

Everyone is when they're under attack

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

Can you please write some (optional relationship, if not, romanse) headcannons for Geo and/or Hyugo with a weeb MC? They don't have to be strictly into anime, but just really loving Japanese and Japanese culture (bonus if they don't know Japanese).

Chronic Love (Geo + Hyugo x Weeb! MC/Reader)

Enjoy my amazing little weeb, have an awesome day! Solemnly thanks for entrusting me with writing this for you.

Also, uh, a minor sidenote, I am not an anime enjoyer or even remotely close to a weeb; so if I get something wrong/too exaggerated etc. feel free to publicly execute me in the town square. <333

You can read this from any perspective, as in, both in an established relationship setting and a solely platonic one. :]

A/N: From now on, Geo and Hyugo will be referred to as Geode and Hyugeode, if anyone in the Geo religion utters 'Geo', they shall atone. 😊😊😊/hj

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Chronic(ally): to a very great extent; extremely.

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Hyugo is honestly surprised when he finds out of your...intense love for Japan and its culture.

He won't be opposed to it, he'd find it a smidge endearing, considering he's Japanese; and you seem to be willing to learn anything about it. He's more than happy to tell you what you wanna know.

Do you take advantage of this? Yes.

Would probably eventually, to your joy, start telling you cultural appropriations and norms, along with a couple generic Japanese words/phrases (you say them whenever possible, feeling the language fall from your lips and off your tongue feels so right, you can't get enough!).

You ask him to tutor you Japanese at some point, to which he politely declines (he's got enough on his plate okay?!), but is willing to converse with you if you ask.

Just don't nag him, he fucking hates being nagged.

You'd probably mispronounce certain words, to which he'd correct you, until you get the hang of it.

Might take you to a Japanese candy store to tell you his personal recommendations (they're great btw).

If you like anime he'll be chill with it, just don't act like the stereotypical weeb and he's fine.

Learning words is one thing, overdramatizing, glorifying and exaggerating Japanese things annoys him.

Fortunately, you're reasonably calm with your devotion for it, and he doesn't mind.

Would get a bit nervous if you decide to actively pursue Japanese, after all, what if you overhear him talking to one of his shadier acquaintances and pick out the context?

Would overtime subtly monitor you, gauge how much you know and how quickly you're progressing.

Overall supportive though, enjoys the fact you like Japan. :]

Literally doesn't care. At all.

You like Japan? Cool. Good for you.

Much prefers for you to not harass him about Japanese words and phrases, unless he tolerates likes you enough, to which he'll blurt out something along the lines of: "Go fuck yourself".

Will probably teach you insults (he says it's to insult you, but we all know the real reason teehee)

If you're hanging out somewhere and Geo spies Japanese text, he might point it out to see if you know it, to which you'll be racking your brain until he relents and tell you.

Eventually will start briefly telling you things about Japans' history and art. Especially bonsais, he loves those. He'll never tell you though.

Will probably take you to a Japanese market/restaraunt eventually, if he feels you've gotten good enough.

If you order fluently enough he'll be genuinely pleased (won't show it though).

If not, he'll do it for you (internally cringes at the sheer thought aaaaaa).

However, in the rare event that Hyugo calls him "Subaru" and you hear? And understand?

That won't be good.

He'll tell you to drop it instantly.

And he will give you the most murderous glare if you ever ask him why he goes by Geo.

If he feels you've forgotten about that incident you haven't, he'll be more relaxed again, but will maintain a veil of caution now.

After all, you can understand what he says in private now.

That's not a good thing.

If you like anime he's chill with it, just don't be over-the-top obsessive towards it and he's cool.

Is satisfied you want to learn Japanese though. Likes you a lot smidge more for it too.