#just all fluff like a sea otter

[r-aindr0p]

Scarabia lil squishies today hehee They have drip ngl, very cool dorm uniforms and the pants look comfy

[soobnny]

voicemails park sunghoon leaves you while he’s on tour — fluff, established relationship, tiny angst

heeseung | jay | jake | SUNGHOON | sunoo | jungwon | ni-ki

one. hi, baby. how are you? what did you do today? tell me all about it, okay? i love hearing you talk.

two. you know, every single time i finish a show, i just think you’re backstage somehow. that you’re there and waiting for me with the biggest kiss, and you’ll tell me you’re proud of my performance. and then i get upset when i remember you’re oceans away from me. i forget that you aren’t with me right now. i wish it wasn’t like this all the time.

three. (monkey noises) baby, i’m at the zoo! and, oh my god, earlier i saw the cutest otters. you would love them. the tour guide told us that they hold each other so they don’t drift apart in the sea. that’s literally you and me. i’m sending you a hundred pictures when we get back to the hotel.

four. 33 more days, pretty girl. ready up those lips! they are not catching a break when i come home.

five. baby, baby, baby. look, i learned to imitate the sound of a pigeon. wait, listen. (poor pigeon imitation) i did well, no? did i do well? heeseung says it’s absolutely horrible, but i don’t think it’s that bad. anyways, what’s your favorite animal these days? i’ll learn that next!

six. babyyyyyyyyy. i miss you so much, this isn’t fair! i’m actually going to ask bang pd to let me take you with me on the next tour. i cannot do this again. i feel like i’m gonna die if i don’t have you in my arms in the next 24 hours. i hate being far away from you.

seven. hey, are you having a hard time right now? call me back, please. i’ll talk to you until you fall asleep. just know you’re already doing so well, okay? and i can see the efforts you’re making to go on. you’ll get through this, like you did so many times before. it’ll all be better soon. it’ll only get better from here on out. i’ll make sure of that.

eight. i learned a couple magic tricks backstage these past few days. i can’t wait to show them to you!

nine. (kissing noises) (sunoo saying gross!)

ten. let me know about your day. i wanna hear everything. it makes me feel like i’m there with you too

[yuusishi]

. . . a shell gift

pairings : Neuvillette x gn!mermaid!reader

genre : fluff , written before 4.0 release

cws/tws : none

a/n : haha. do tou guys get it. a shell gift…a swell gift… also I should rlly start making the genshin masterlist but I’m like…so lazy rn

Neuvillette !!

“And…what is this supposed to be?” Neuvillette asked, holding the pink clam shell adorned with minuscule pearls and pieces of ribbon glued on.

As if rehearsed, a little white otter popped up beside you from the water, “Look at this tiny guy, don’t you think you look like him? He even has a pink clam shell too!” Neuvillette furrowed his brows and his gaze land on the creature next to you, its white fur and dark blue highlights reminiscent of the man in front of you.

“You called me all the way to the sea to compare me to an otter?” He said, it sounds mean but you know he bears no ill will, “C’mon, Neuvi, you’re always working nowadays. It’s nice to take a break, y’know?”.

Neuvi.

You were right, it has been a long time since he’s got to fully immerse himself in the sea, to the point he felt that it’s been too long since he’s heard you call him by that nickname. He doesn’t even know when you started calling him that.

Neuvillette sighed and looked at you “You can come join me if you want, I’m definitely not going to stop you” you smiled, another sight he felt he’s gone too long without seeing. He knew he had to go to work already, he knew he has Focalors waiting at the Court of Fontaine, but what is he if not weak towards the temptation that’s you.

Slowly stepping into the waters, he relieved himself of the clothes tailored for his human form and let him breathe in the fresh waters in his original form, one built for the seas. He breathes out a satisfied sigh, like getting in bed after a long day, it’s also been too long since he’s dived back into the water.

He looks back at you and you’re once again smiling brightly at him, your gaze warm.

“Welcome home, Neuvi”.

—

Once again, he’s back in his office, the stuffy feeling filling up his senses and he felt unusually distracted by it all when he thought he got used to it already. He opened his desk’s drawer and takes out the pink shell that you gave him earlier that day, what was supposed to be just a ten minute visit turned into the entire afternoon being spent swimming around and playing games with you which earned him overtiming late into the night.

But he doesn’t regret it, he felt grateful you basically forced him out of the suffocating environment around him and took him back home. Neuvillette inspects your gift closer, it was hard to see that you even put glitter on the shell and waterproof stickers behind it, were you planning to tempt him to swim with you from the start?

A rare smile makes its way into Neuvillette’s usually stoic face as he sets the gift beside his desk lamp, he felt like it was wrong to hide something so precious to him.

[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

[lilisgardensblog]

~Otter Neuvillette~

fluff, confessing to each other; ty for the idea anon🫶🏼

Ignoring the small drops of rain, you were taking an unusual detour to work by the sea to help you calm down. You were over your head buried in stress and the sea always helped you. Feeling the soft sand and hearing the sea were the best remedy for it. But beside the melody of the sea you heard something unusual. Like a soft...cry?

Looking around you saw it. A little otter with one of it's little hands hurt. You approached it carefully not to scare it. "Hi, little otter. Please don't cry, I'll help you." you said before petting the otter to help it calm down. And as the sobs came to an end so did the rain apparently. What a great coincidence. You were thankful for the rain stopping since it rained all night and all morning.

"Can I take a look?" you asked the otter. The little one looked into your eyes and let you see the paw. It seemed like a bruise made by a big maybe even sharp rock. But you weren't sure if it was a rock or some trash people throw in the sea. You sighed before talking to yourself "I really need to speak with Monsieur about this....Oh I should go ask him, I'm sure he knows more about otters than I do." You end your monologue and return your attention to the otter. "Well how about we pay a visit to Monsieur? I'm sure you'll love him...as much as I do." you whispered the last part, still shy about your unconfessed feelings. The otter rests happily in your arms as you return to the Court of Fontaine to look for Neuvillette.

After he was nowhere to be found at the Opera you returned to your house to take care of the now sleeping otter in your arms. You place the little one on your bed, the action waking the otter up. "Sorry for waking you.... sigh I need to find you a name. Hmm...how about...Ottie? Ottie the little otter sounds adorable just like you." you smile booping the little otter's nose. Ottie smiled back at you as you went to find some bandages to take care of that wound.

"Well now Ottie, can I see your paw again?" slightly unsure, the otter stretches its' paw for you to see. You carefully bandage it as Ottie tries to hold back a whine. "Sorry,mon cher, this will only last a moment." At your affectionate nickname the otter seemed to relax and you were quickly done with the bandages. "There! You were a good boy, mon cher. Maybe I should reward you." You giggle as you pick up the otter to peak its' nose.

But as soon as your lips touched Ottie's small nose, the little otter suddenly was standing in front of you, one head taller, with silky white hair and long blue horns and a visible pink coloring his cheeks.

"Monsieur..." you sigh and take a step back, almost falling over from the shock.

"Careful, mon amour!" Neuvillette said as he quickly caught you by the waist and was now face to face with you.

Both of you were speechless looking into each other's eyes before Neuvi retreated his hand and clearing his throat murmured a small apology. "Pardon me, y/n, I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries..." you nod as he keeps going "And thank you. For taking care of me... or Ottie as you called my otter form." He smiles at the adorable name, clearly enjoying it. "I have to apologize, if I knew it was you Monsieur I wouldn't have..."

"Hmm? You wouldn't have what now? Gave me the cutest nickname? Wouldn't have said your feelings back at the beach? Wouldn't kiss me?" he smiles while waiting for you to answer.

"Monsieur are you perhaps... teasing me?" You're a bit taken aback by this side of Neuvillette but certainly not displeased. "But...yes"

"Mhm, I see. What if I told you you're not the only one feeling that way, mon amour?"

"I'm not?You mean..?" you ask, your voice full of hope.

"Most certainly, I do feel the same, mon amour. I was merely...scared to confess...scared you won't feel the same. I'm not the best at expressing my feelings, but I am glad to find out you share the feeling."

You laugh and hug Neuvillette. " Monsieur, fret not, I am laughing at my own situation. But it's a relief laugh, I am glad we both share the feeling. Now... what shall we do with this feeling, hmm?~" You smile while resting your hands on his chest and looking into those lavender eyes. "Well I- I'm not certain of the next action, maybe marriage?"

"Monsieur, as I appreciate the boldness maybe a dinner would be appropriate before a marriage?" you smile at Neuvillette as he blushes embarrassed "Yes, that would be the best approach to a future together, wouldn't it?How about now?" you shake your head giggling "So formal, Monsieur.Let me get ready for our dinner then."

Before turning around to go change, you raise yourself on your tip toes to kiss his nose. You peak now blushing Neuvillette's nose and turn around on your heels to go change.

Finally after all those months, you and Neuvillette.... it feels surreal.

[fuyuu-chan]

Neuvillette As Your Beloved Partner ~Headcanons~

Pairing: Neuvillette x Reader

Fuyuu-chan: My imagination rn is literally going wild hahahaha

Warning(s): This headcanon is literally a mess, Not proofread, it's also short hahahaha

Genre: Fluff

✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

• Okay first of all, I don't think Neuvillette would tell you immediately in your early stage of your relationship that he is the hydro dragon, but of course he would tell you after a while when he thinks it's the right time to tell you, so you eventually find out about it.

• Once you know that the hydro dragon is actually Neuvillette, you got surprised at first and tried to process it but now that you think of it, it does rain when he's sad, you thought at first that maybe that was just a coincidence but apparently not.

• So whenever it rains in fontaine you immediately knew that Neuvillette is sad, so whether your outside doing stuff, you will go to his office because you knew for a fact that he's always there at the afternoon, well he feels tired and got affected after trials and you noticed it after being with him for a while.

• You will be there and comfort him and tell him sweet nothings and cuddle him.

• Now another thought of both of you holding hands while you both walk to your destination, and most of the people in fontaine always saw you both holding hands and can't help but look at you and neuvillette sweetly, everyone literally says that the both of you are the best couple in fontaine.

• You also visits Neuvillette in his office, but mostly you visit him at lunch break and you both eat lunch whether you bring food, go to picnic or have a reservation in a restaurant.

• You also visits him at his office at afternoon when your work finishes and spends some time there either reading some book or help him with his papers, when he's talking to someone and you happen to see Furina who is your close friend who loves dramas as well, you both would chat about stuff until Neuvillette finishes talking to someone at his office.

• And at times were Neuvillette are free you both hangout together with the melusines, you had gotten close with them even before you and Neuvillette got together and when they knew that you both is in a relationship they were all happy about it because they're two favorite humans (okay maybe not really about neuvillette but he's in human form soo) are together that all of them see you both as they're parents.

• At times that you are sad or stressed, Neuvillette will be there for you but if his currently busy he will try to make time for you but if he can't like his in a trial he will tell the melusine Liath to bring you the flowers he had picked and your favorite snacks with a letter from him, but most of the time Neuvillette is always besides you, he will hug you, comfort you, and cuddle you just like what you do for him whenever he's sad.

• He will actually give you flowers every week (but if you don't like flowers he will give you other gifts).

• Oh! Oh! OHHHH .... Okay okay, you both might as well go to the sea and go diving together as you both see some sea creatures and otters!! You also said to Neuvillette after going diving with him that he kinda resemble an otter despite being a hydro dragon, which he got confused but when you said that it's because of his hair now he kinda gets it.

• He also took a sea shell and pearls that's under the sea, a perfectly shaped one too, he also bought some chain for the necklace, and he started to make a sea shell necklace with one pearl on two sides for you and it's handmade by Neuvillette! Even though he can just buy some or order a custom one, he decided it will be more special if he makes it on his own!

• And he gave it to you as a gift at your Anniversary! And you gave him a otter plushie! It's basically a two otters holding each other, one is a blue and one is a (fav color), he said he will have the (fav color) otter because it represents you and you will have the blue one as it represents him, so whenever the both of you hug or see the otter plushie you both will remember one another. You also made him a handmade gift. (You can decide on what ever you want to give him).

• (A plushie may not actually exist in the original but please give me this one thing 😭😭 it exist to me alright)

• You both also go shopping together when there's no much work to do, like grocery and he will also buy stuff for you even though you told him that he don't have to, but he did anyways.

ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

Please do not copy, translate, repost to any other social media platforms, Thank you

[meowlod]

Hello may i req a neuvillette x reader! Fluff please :)) love your writing style btw!!🫶🏻

OF COURSE !! 🩵

Neuvillette barely has time to talk to you, but you always leave a couple of heart shaped chocolate and a bouquet of flowers in his office. He always puts them somewhere safe. And if he has the time, he will buy a couple of gifts for you and tell one of the melusines to bring them to your house.

Knock, knock..

You open the door and look down to see a melusine struggling to hold all the gifts in her hand.

”Hello there! These gifts are- ah!“ The Melusine couldn‘t finish her sentence before all the gifts almost fall on the ground, but you quickly catch a couple of them, putting them all to the side inside your house.

The Melusine lets out a cough. ”Ah..ahem, thank you! Anyways, the gifts are from monsieur neuvillette. He wants to see you in his office tomorrow at 8 PM sharp!“ she said with a confident voice, helping you to put the other gifts inside your house.

”Ah..i..thank you. I‘ll make sure to be there.“ you smile back at the Melusine who waves you a goodbye before she starts walking away to do her job. The chief justice wants to see you in his office? Did you do something wrong or did he just want to spend time with you?

You smile at the thoughts before opening a couple of the gifts he sent you. You see: a necklace, a couple of dresses, heart shaped chocolate and much more..

Red appears on your cheeks as you look all at the luxurious and expensive items. Why did he send you so much? You put all the items on the desk in your bedroom before you change into your night glown and fall asleep for tomorrow.

Next day, you wake up early. You wanted to buy a couple of gifts to give Neuvillette once you arrive at his office later, so you put on the new dress he had gifted you, the new necklace and then take one of the heart shaped chocolates into your mouth. They taste delicious!

Outside is already bright enough. The sun is shining and its a perfect day to go shopping. You walk towards the plush shop to look for a big one that you think Neuvillette would like. There are Furina, sea otters, teddy bears, dogs, cats, etc. But you saw one that got your attention: a big Melusine plush. Perfect!

You take the melusine plush and one of the sea otter ones to the cashier, where you pay for all of them before putting them in a bag. Since it isnt 8 PM yet, you decided to walk around Fontaine.

Hours and hours later, it reaches 7:50 PM. 10 minutes before the meeting. You smile at the thoughts of meeting him.

A couple of minutes and walking later, you arrive at the Palais Mermonia, where his office is. A melusine stops you from going in.

”Halt! Oh..wait, it‘s you! I did not recognize you for a second, I am terribly sorry. You‘re monsieur Neuvillette’s friend, right? Then please, go right in. The Iudex has been waiting for your appearance.“

A small chuckle almost escaped your mouth, but you nod with a smile before knocking on the office door. You wait, before hearing a muffled voice.

”Please come in.“

With the gifts in your hand, you open the door happily and drop the bags in your hand, running up to him and giving Neuvillette a big hug.

”Neuvi, I missed you!“ Ah, yes, Neuvi. The nickname you had given him a long time ago, and he still does not mind it.

“..Mm. I certainly did too.“ He cracks a slight smile at the dress you put on and wraps his arms around you, hugging you back. He is pretty warm and comfortable, you can just stay and sleep in his arms for hours.

As you both let go of each other, you take the bags you dropped and put them all on his office table. “Open! I think you would like it.“ You giggle as he looks inside the bag and takes both of the plushes out. You notice that the tip of his pointed ears became red..is he blushing?

“..Ahem..I definitely did, thank you. I will make sure that they will stay safe in my room.“

He answers with a deep voice, looking at the sea otter and Melusine plushes with a smile that you can‘t see. You walk to the side next to him, only to see him blushing. ”Huh? Neuvi, are you blushing?“

Your voice got him out of his thoughts of you, his blush disappears quickly. ”Oh, was I? I am sorry, it is just a expression of happiness.

You smile at his silliness and stand on your tip toes to get close to his face, giving the Iudex a quick kiss on his cheek. His eyes widen from the sudden touch and he gets slightly flustered again, like before.

Silence fills the room as you both look at each other.

While quiet, he slowly walks towards you, and you stand a little back. But Neuvillette gently pins you to the wall behind you and looks right into your eyes. His hand creeps up to your cheek to caress it, and your lips form into a sweet smile. ”Does our Chief Justice have a little crush on someone?“ you smirk, teasing the man a little.

”…! Ahem, no— I am simply just showing affection to a friend.” He closes his eyes, his flush still noticeable. Caressing his horns to tease him more, he lets out a small noise before pulling your hands away from his blue horns. He clearly does not like that very much, but does not mind.

“Hah, don‘t worry. I love you too, you know?“

The answer leaves him in shock, but happiness. He takes your face onto his hands and you stand on your tip toes so your faces are close to each other. ”..May I..kiss you, my lov— ahem, dear friend?“

“Yes, you may. My lovely Iudex. Also, you may call me love now.“

”..Of course, my love.“

[suzdin]

Two for One: Chapter Four

Neighbor!Dave York x F!Reader x Human!Max Phillips

Series Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, familial drama and angst, mentions of drug use/abuse, alcoholism!, stalking (don’t do it), voyeurism (so so much), invasions of privacy, mutual masturbation, sexting, oral (m receiving), dom!Dave, soft!Dave, dom!Max, softish!Max, public sex, work sex, some fluff, maybe?, SEA OTTERS!, murder, poison, asphyxiation, let me know if I forgot anything, watch me make up stuff about an aquarium I’ve never been to and also poison.

Word Count: 7,700+

Notes: Sorry this took forever because my brain is dumb. I just want to thank all of you for being so patient. I love you and hope you have a wonderful 2024. 💜 Enjoy and feel free to leave me feedback if you wish! 😊

(Not my gif)

—

You make Max exchange phone numbers as he’s leaving your apartment.

“No more showing up uninvited,” you reprimand him, the heel of your palm planted firmly between his shoulder and sternum as you push him into the corridor of your building, “I mean it.”

He cocks his head to one side, lopsided smirk twisting his lips, forehead wrinkling as he lifts his brows, pausing. He’s staring at your still very much flushed and sweaty face. “You sure about that, doll?”

Your skin heats even more. You hate to admit that his smarmy defiance arouses you in ways that it shouldn’t.

“Max. If we’re going to keep whatever this is ongoing, I’m going to need some compliance here. For my privacy.”

Max’s smirk only grows wider and he beams at you, his gaze sliding down your face to your lips, hands raised in surrender. “You mean so I don’t cross paths with him, is that it?” he asks, quirking one of his brows to the side, knowing you’re fully cognizant who he’s talking about. “Fine.”

“Tell me you’re not bullshitting,” you retort.

“Woman,“ Max begins, wagging a finger at you, “I assure you that I am in no way being deceitful.”

He hasn’t wiped that shit eating grin off his face the entire time he’s been standing in front of you, either.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Scout’s honor?” you press.

“Scout’s honor,” he replies, lifting his hand in a mocking salute.

You sigh and shove him back another step, his back almost flush with your neighbor’s door.

“Goodbye, Max,” you snip, turning to go back to the comfort of your apartment, when that gnawing southern upbringing decides to make a re-emergence once more, and you remember your manners.

With a sigh, you turn to give him one last glance, your visage softening in its regard. “Thank you, by the way. For the drink.” And you mean it, even if it’s likely all melted and weeping on the table by now.

You almost think you see his own features grow a shade softer, and before you can dwell on it, he’s suddenly shifting back into your space.

Your initial instinct is to flinch, to shove him away, because after Dave and him in a single day, your poor fucked out pussy can’t handle anymore punishment.

But he doesn’t grope or manhandle you. Max’s arms grapple you into a snug embrace, his hot breath fanning over your neck. It’s uncharacteristically soft for Max to show this level of affection and you would hug him back if he wasn’t clamping your arms to your sides.

“Thank you,” he whispers, keeping you ensnared for a few lingering moments before releasing you and taking a step back.

“Yeah… no problem,” you offer awkwardly, because what else do you say to that? “I’ll see you around. I work tomorrow, opening to two.”

Max nods, his usual crooked smirk making a reappearance. “See you then.”

“And hey?”

“Yeah?”

“Be nice to my coworkers. It’s the least you could do,” you remind him.

His smirk doesn’t fade, tongue swabbing the inside of his cheek. “I’ll do my best.”

You snort and shake your head, watching as he disappears down the stairwell.

——

After Max leaves, you spend the remainder of the afternoon and evening wallowing around your apartment, watching bad reality television and trying not to think about… well, anything, pouring yourself some vodka with whatever mixers you can scrounge up until your brain mellows to a welcome numbness.

You order take out for dinner because, fuck saving money at this point. Proceeding the earlier conversation with your mom, you aren’t even sure why you’re trying to get back to Texas anymore.

It’s far easier having several states between you, even if you do miss your grandmother and have a wicked hankering for some barbecue right about now.

You check Facebook periodically anyway, not at all surprised to see your mother asking for prayers and attention from all the faceless online entities because she did not receive the validation she sought from you.

You grumble and toss your phone down every time you read a new ‘woe is me’ comment from your mother and you wonder why you’re even torturing yourself like this.

Belly full of chow mein, you settle down into your bed for the remainder of the evening to distract yourself with some mind numbing television to go along with the buzz you’re feeling.

When your phone lights up, you sigh in indignation, expecting a text from your mother as you swipe open to the notifications.

Much to your delight, it isn’t your mother, and you let out the breath you realize you’ve been holding in.

Dave: Hey, you.

You smile. Relief washes over you as heat simultaneously slithers its way up your spine.

Dave decides to change to split screen, one side with the recorded footage and the other side with the current feed, and he watches as you smile at your phone, steadily stroking himself, his phone vibrating your response a few seconds later.

You: Hey, you. 😜

You: I was beginning to wonder if you’d made it to VA

Dave: Yeah. Long day.

Dave: You made it worth it, though.

You: Doubt that

That makes him chuckle. He knows you know that to not be true.

He continues to stare at you, your gaze glued to your phone as you await his reply. You’re sitting up in bed now, back against the wall, wearing a different but equally revealing top than the thin camisole you had on earlier, blanket pooling in your lap.

The veins in his dick pulse when he ponders if you’re wearing any pants under the covers, and his eyes flick back to the recording of Max eating you out, a soft, breathy moan escaping his lips. The pleasure on your face is telling.

Dave: You do, huh?

Dave: Maybe I should show you, then.

You bite your lip at his response, quickly punching in your reply and hitting send.

You: Aren’t you supposed to be spending time with your kids?

Dave: they’re in bed. It’s late.

His head lifts from the monitor momentarily—only as long as necessary—taking his headphones off to listen for any sounds of wakefulness from the bedroom. When he finds there is none, he turns his attention back to you, freeing himself from his sweats, tugging them down to his knees.

He quickly snaps and sends a photo of his rigid cock, colored a deep shade of mauve at the head, hand fisted at the base, dark curls peeking out from underneath his palm.

You swallow, your walls tightening and mouth watering at the mere sight of it, breath puffing softly past your lips. And you’re almost surprised how turned on you still are, despite the events of the past two days.

Max is just a phone call away, you tell yourself, quickly squashing that thought right out of your brain just as quickly as it arrives. You’d hate to risk having him spend the night with you. Besides, you should probably give yourself a break.

You: Jesus, Dave.

Dave: All for you, baby

Dave: This is what you do to me. I was hard almost the entire way here.

Dave: What are you doing?

You snicker through your nose at the sudden shift in conversation, deciding to play along anyway. Going back to the picture every so often to admire it.

You: Watching TV

Dave: Anything good?

You: Just reruns of 1,000 Lb. Sisters. It’s a good show, you should watch it

Dave: I would watch it with you if I was there.

Dave: if I could keep my hands off of you

Dave: Touch yourself.

You laugh when the conversation takes yet another rapid turn, but you barely give it a second thought the moment you feel your clit throb with need, firing off a response to Dave before breaching the band of your panties with your fingers.

You: Yes sir

Dave: good girl

Dave drags his tongue along his plump lower lip when he sees your hand disappear beneath the covers, his eyes darkening with lust.

Dave: show me

You throw the blanket back and he’s pleased as punch to see you’re only wearing panties. He watches intently as you shuck them off and toss them to the floor.

You open the camera app on your phone and begin recording, doing your best to get the shot right but it’s difficult to see much from your perspective. You take the video anyway.

Breathing softly, you slide two fingers between your folds and sink them into your entrance as far as you can manage, which isn’t enough and will never be enough compared to Dave or Max, before dragging them back out again to display the shiny coating of arousal on your digits for the camera.

You save the video and send it to Dave immediately.

Dave: Fuck

Dave: Can you get a different angle? I need to see it

He almost tells you to prop your phone up on the window sill by the bed, but he doesn’t want to risk you somehow finding out he’s watching you. It’s possible you would think nothing of it, since he has seen the inside of your apartment now, but he’d prefer not to take the chance.

You frown and stop touching yourself, looking around the room in consideration before scooting on your knees over to the window to prop the phone against the pane of glass.

You hit record and maneuver into position, spreading, lifting your eyes to make sure everything is in frame. Shockingly, it is, and this new angle is so visual and obscene that even your OB/GYN would be impressed.

You record a short video of your fingers circling your clit, letting out a soft, salacious moan.

You still feel very much used from Dave and Max in a single day, but you make sure to keep your own touches as light as possible.

You record about ten seconds of yourself and send it to Dave.

Dave: Fuck

Dave: Need to fuck that little pussy full of me

Dave: We’re getting you an IUD and I’m paying for it

Dave: Fuck

His eyes move back to the side with you and Max, at which point you’re cumming on Max’s face, and Dave’s balls tighten with longing. He remembers exactly how you taste when you hit your high, and his mouth waters in remembrance.

Any jealousy he feels is immediately snuffed out by how much he wants you. How much he needs you.

You: I can pay for it

You: [video]

He’s so distracted by watching Max making you cum, his hand pumping himself more rapidly, that he doesn’t realize you were recording again. Your fingers swirl your bud faster, your hips twitching and coming up from the mattress.

Dave: Jesus

Dave: It will be well worth the money to see my cum dripping out of that tight little hole

You: such things you say, Dave

He smirks.

Dave: use a toy

You: How do you know I have one?

Dave: dirty fucking sluts like you always have toys

Dave: do what I say

Arousal floods your core when Dave’s true colors bleed through, even over text. You can practically see his brow pulling into a hard, dark line; see the way his lips curve ever so slightly into a sadistic and hungry smirk.

You don’t dawdle, leaning crossways over your bed to retrieve your favorite toy from your bedside drawer — you have a few accumulated from your time with Jonathan, since he never got you off — a vibrator with a curve at the end for optimal g-spot stimulation.

You: yes sir

You: [video]

You: is this sufficient

Dave receives a video of you clicking on the toy and sliding it teasingly along your slick and swollen labia, pausing periodically at your clit, your moans quiet yet lewd. All for him.

Dave: fuck. Gonna have to fuck you with the toy in you like that

You: I look forward to it sir

Your words send a rush of heat through Dave as his vision subconsciously slips back over to the side with you and Max, who’s now railing into you from behind like a jack hammer, and he damn near cums on that image alone.

He wanted to kill Max for how he had treated you. But now, watching Max bring you pleasure, and how much you appear to be enjoying it, he can’t stop his thoughts from wandering. Would you let both men inside you at the same time? Would you like it?

Would Max take orders from him like a good boy?

That last thought admittedly gives Dave pause and he shakes it from his mind. He had done things in the military, sure, most of the men had, missing their wives and girlfriends. But that was a side of him he hadn’t acknowledged in years, and he shoves it down to the furthest recesses of his brain, returning his focus to you.

Dave: good girl. Now put in and make yourself cum for me

You slide the toy past your opening with little effort, and you’re so worked up it takes almost no time at all before you’re chanting his name. Dave watches, transfixed, pupils dilated and jaw slack, eyes drifting back and forth between the two images on the screen, a cry departing your lips as you reach peak.

You: [video]

You: Mmm wish it was you making me cum though

Almost like serendipity, you cum on the recorded footage at almost the exact same moment as he witnesses it in real time. He can’t hold himself back any longer, and he barely has time to pull his phone back out to record before he’s shooting like a geyser all over his hand and lower abdomen, thick and milky spend dribbling down the backs of his knuckles.

Dave: Fuck

Dave: [video]

Dave: wish this was all over your fucking face instead

You sigh and fall back, panting, opening the last text with a satisfied grin painting your lips as you watch Dave spill down his hand.

You: Rather it inside of me

You place the phone down and crawl off the bed to go clean yourself and your toy in the bathroom, smiling to yourself.

Several states away, Dave heads to the bathroom in his hotel suite to do the same.

But as the high starts to dissipate, your trepidation inexplicably returns, twisting like a knife in your gut. You like Dave. Probably a little too much. And you shouldn’t. Because the day will come when he hurts you, just like Jonathan did.

You do your best to swallow down your doubt and finish cleaning yourself up, traipsing back into the main room to retrieve your panties and slip them back on.

A new text message lights up your phone.

Dave: Soon.

Dave: Can I call you?

Dave sees you sigh and chew at your lip, one of your hands coming up to the back of your neck. You seem unsure.

Your anxiety triggers his own, making him worry if he’s moving too quickly for you.

You: Sure

Now clad only in his sweats, Dave takes in a prolonged breath, hitting the call button. It rings twice before you answer.

“Hi,” you answer quietly.

“Hi,” Dave returns and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Thank you for that. I needed it after today…”

He switches off the recorded footage and goes back to watching just you. You.

You’ve already moved back under the covers, snuggling up with your back facing the window, one arm drawn up under your chin.

“You’re welcome,” you reply after a beat. “I needed it too.”

Oddly enough, you did, despite how many times you’ve already cum today, which was a welcome end to a stressful day.

That makes Dave grin, and he feels a pang of want as he wishes he were there to hold you in his arms, to feel your back pressed up against his chest.

“I miss you,” he confesses with a soft, nervous chuckle. His change in demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed by you — a man of dual natures, an enigma. “Wish you were here.”

He chastises himself silently for saying too much, but it’s true.

You swallow down the coiling anxiety you feel.

“Yeah. That would be great,” you proffer gently. You change the subject as seamlessly as you can. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

He notices, but doesn’t point it out. “Taking the girls to the aquarium.”

You actually do soften at that. You always loved visiting the aquarium as a kid.

“Oh, how fun! I love aquariums. I know there’s one here… I’ve never been.”

“I’ll take you sometime,” Dave suggests. “We’ll make it a date.”

Your skin heats and you take your welling emotions and stamp them down as deep as you can. “Yeah.”

“What is your favorite marine animal?” Dave randomly asks.

“What, why?”

“Curious.”

You think it over for a moment. “Sharks,” you reply, “I like sharks.”

You hear him chuckle. “Figured you for more of a sea otter type.”

“Sea otters? Do explain, Dave.”

Although you can’t see it, he shrugs. He’s still watching you, fixated on the way your fingers fidget with the covers.

“Women usually like the cute sea animals. And sea otters are cute,” he says.

“Because I’m a woman, I’m not allowed to like things that aren’t, by your definition, ‘cute’? That’s sort of sexist, don’t you think?”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “You’re right. My bad.”

“Your bad? Well, what is your favorite sea animal, then?” you press.

“… Sea otters,” Dave answers without any additional thought, and you can’t control the burst of laughter that erupts from you. It makes his heart vibrate with affection hearing the joy in your voice and watching the way your nose crinkles when you smile.

“Oh, fuck off!” you tease, and he can’t help but laugh along with you.

“You need to go to bed,” you tell him as soon as the laughter dies down.

“What if I’d rather stay up all night talking to you?” he counters.

“Then I imagine tomorrow will really suck,” you quip back.

“It will be worth it.”

“Dave,” you begin in a more earnest tone, “I have work in the morning. Early. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Talk…masturbate mutually. Either way.

Your buzz is starting to wear off. Dave sees you rub at your eyes as you reach for your cigarette pack with the other, lighting it up and taking a long drag.

He knows you’re guarded and he supposes he understands why. He hopes you’ll let your walls down sooner than later.

“Okay,” he sighs in resignation. “But I’ll be thinking about you all day tomorrow.”

You tap the growing head of ash against the edge of the empty plant tray you’ve been using as a makeshift ash tray.

“Me too. Goodnight. Have fun tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah. I’ll try,” Dave replies honestly, and you exchange your goodbyes before hanging up.

He continues to watch you. And not just until you’ve finished your cigarette or gotten out of bed to — presumably — have one final pee.

He watches you plug up your phone and set your alarm. He even watches you as you curl into a fetal position, clutching one of your extra pillows against your torso, and he wishes it was him instead.

Soon, he reminds himself.

He doesn’t stop watching until he’s sure you’re completely asleep. And even then he lingers, only stopping when one of the girls — his youngest, Alice — rouses from sleep in absolute hysterics, loud enough to wake the dead. Something she had started doing around the start of the divorce process.

He sighs, slipping back into dad mode, swiping a hand over his sleep weary face as he shuts his laptop down and heads to the bedroom.

——

Like clockwork, Max is at The Beanery around 7:30 AM for his morning caffeine fix.

You’re grateful that it’s slow and that Audrey and Vincent are in the back room folding boxes and chattering away about god only knows what. Almost like you’d planned it that way. Like you gave them each monotonous side work on purpose.

You knew Audrey was working today and you wanted to stave off the inevitability of admission that you don’t really have the power to ban Max as long as you could. Or resist him, for that matter.

You’re also grateful that Audrey was able to hide your hickies and bruises using the expensive foundation she brought to work just for you, at your insistence, with the incentive that she could leave two hours early with pay today. A decision that would probably bite you in the ass later.

You didn’t tell her who or what they were from and she didn’t ask.

You receive a text from Dave mere moments before the chimes hanging over the door signal Max’s arrival, causing your blood to heat and your skin to pebble.

It’s an image of Dave in a steamy bathroom, fully nude, hand curled around the base of his stiffened cock, with the caption: Wish you were here

You respond with a very underwhelming selfie in your work cap and apron, to which he replies almost immediately: You’re fucking adorable

You can’t help the heat that crawls up your cheeks.

You slip your phone back into your apron and start cleaning the espresso machine when Max traipses in, strolling up to the counter like he owns the place.

Or like he owns you, more like it.

“Morning,” you greet, and the remaining traces of your flustered state swell once again the moment you see Max in his primped and tailored three piece, donning a flashy paisley red tie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him not adorned in a suit, aside from when he’s naked.

“Your usual?” you query, starting on his Americano before he even has a chance to respond.

“Morning,” Max parrots, smirking as his eyes bore into you. “And add whatever you want for yourself, sweetheart.”

He’s certainly starting off early today, isn’t he?

“That isn’t necessary,” you say.

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” he tuts and slams his card down in front of you. When you go to retrieve it, he reaches out to grip your wrist gently, and your eyes snap up to meet his.

He can see the affect he’s already having on you just by proximity alone, his cock already growing rigid in his pants.

“Thanks,” you squeak out and ring up Max’s drink and yours with your free hand, running the card and handing it back to him.

“Good girl,” he purrs in a rich timbre. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night.”

And he really couldn’t. He doesn’t oft have a habit of bringing women to his place, opting for theirs or someplace else instead, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you in his bed, waking up next to him that morning so he could make you sing his praises first thing.

“Let me get your drink…” you tell him, attempting to take a step away, but his grip on your wrist holds true, tightening infinitesimally, thumb circling your pulse point.

Max leans forward, a single elbow rested on the countertop. “Or,” he suggests, his voice low and barely an octave above a whisper, “you can meet me in the bathroom in two minutes.”

His eyes flash and he releases you, shooting you a stilted grin before heading to the small bathroom in the corner.

At first, all you can do is gape in disbelief, your jaw slack. Did Max Phillips really just come into your place of business and ask you to meet him in the bathroom?

You turn to listen to the sounds coming from the back room; Audrey and Vincent seem to be prattling on about something, oblivious.

You sigh and resign yourself to curiosity, to self torture, checking to see that the coast is clear.

“Hey, Vince, listen for the front, please. I… I’ll be right back,” you call out and take in another prolonged breath.

“10-4, dinosaur!” Vince chimes back and you roll your eyes, rounding the corner of the counter and heading over to the bathroom.

As you approach, the door swings open and Max pulls you inside before you can even reach for the handle.

He barely gives you time to react before he’s locking the door and crowding into you, pushing you back against the wall and pinning you as his hips grind your thigh hard. He starts to grab at you, everywhere, pawing at your clothes, your body. His mouth finds your neck and when his teeth start to bear down, you protest weakly.

He doesn’t listen; or maybe he’s just so overwhelmed with his desire to be inside of you that he’s lost any semblance of composure.

It doesn’t take you long to realize you don’t want to do this here. Not at work and not when your body needs a break, still so sore and overwrought from the last couple of days, and you attempt to push him away. He only pushes right back, unwilling to hear your pleas, because he thinks it’s what you would want.

“Max,” you groan and you feel your resolve slipping although you shouldn’t, “not here.”

“Come on baby,” Max growls, gently nipping at your earlobe, “let me inside of you.”

He pins your arms above your head at the wrists with one of his hands while the other begins to undo your belt, moving swiftly, his breathing desperate and heady.

He hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind for two whole days and pining over a woman isn’t something Max Phillips does.

Your resolve is rapidly waning and just about gone, arousal welling up within you. But with your last remaining shred of dignity, you’re able to shove him away and grit out, “Max, lavender,” your safe word.

Part of you expects to be ignored regardless, as Max has a habit of doing whatever the fuck he wants, and what you suspect to be very few morals. To your surprise, however, he does stop.

He releases you and takes a tentative step back, lips parted, hurt and uncertainty twisting his features. With nothing to say, at least for a few brief seconds.

His eyes meet yours and he lifts his hands in surrender, a frown creasing his brows. “Fine. That’s fine. I just figured since you came in here…”

“Max, shut up,” you say as you step towards him and you’re the one undoing his belt this time, positioning him with his back to the sink. “I just didn’t wanna— I mean, I want a break, but let me just… do this instead,” you further explain as you successfully get everything undone, sinking to your knees in front of him.

Understanding settles over Max and he nods, eyes growing a shade darker as he watches you finagle his slacks and boxers down, hardening cock springing free after a moment.

Of course none of the tile on the floor is even, so you have to adjust slightly to prevent the edges from digging into your knees and make yourself more comfortable, your hands sliding down Max’s thighs as you look up at him through your lashes.

He gently places a palm atop your head, fingers curling into your hair. “That’s it, doll. Be my good girl, now.”

He has to stifle the loud moan that reverberates from his lungs as you spit directly onto his shaft and grip him in your fist to begin slowly jacking him off, swiping the flat of your tongue up his length, his entire body vibrating.

You pause at the head, circling it, lapping at the pearl of precum that collects at the slit. He grasps your hair with a firmer hold, tugging at the roots.

“Don’t be a… fucking tease… or I’ll fuck you anyway,” he warns and in spite of yourself, you moan, and almost break.

You grin to yourself and take him deeper into your mouth, still holding him steady with one hand at the base as you adjust to his size, slowly pistoning your head forward and back.

“That’s it. Ohhh yes, good girl, sweetheart, good girl,” Max pants softly.

You slide your tongue along the underside of his dick, pausing at the fold of skin at the head as you rock forward, causing his hips to shudder and you eventually bottom out.

He grunts and grips the back of your neck, holding you flush against his groin, the dark and manicured thatch of hair tickling at your nose.

You can smell and taste the soap he uses; woodsy and light, nothing over the top nor underwhelming, but he’s as clean and well groomed as you would expect a pretentious man like Max to be.

He releases you when your eyes start to water and you murmur a noise of protest, allowing you to take a short break for air.

“Come now, darling, you can do better than that,” he notes with a small pout.

You nod in agreement and wet your lips, placing your hands on his hips as you take him back into your mouth and his head rolls back with a sigh, hands going to either side of your face.

You bottom out again and manage to hold better this time, hollowing out your cheek bones and breathing through your nostrils, relaxing your jaw and throat as you do so.

“Good girl… good… fucking girl,” he praises, nary louder than a whisper, running his fingertips along your scalp.

You tremble at the attention, moaning as you taste more precum dribbling onto your tongue, bobbing your head faster—as fast as you can—to get the job done as expeditiously as possible.

He groans and grasps your cheeks tighter, stilling your movements, holding you exactly where he wants you, and without any prior warning, starts rutting into your mouth.

“That’s right, that’s right… you can take it, can’t you? You can take it,” he growls, and there’s little else you can do but let him use your body as he wishes.

You can get the job done quickly but Max can get it done faster, knowing you’re on a time crunch.

You slacken your muscles as much as you can, as much as your body will allow, breathing through your nose and trying not to gag, especially considering you can feel and hear him nearing his release.

He starts to sputter what mostly sounds like nonsense words to you, gripping your cheeks and neck tightly in his large hands, rutting into your mouth with wreckless abandon and all you can do is sit there with the uneven tile digging into your tender knees and take it, letting go of his thighs to find purchase on the vanity behind him.

Finally, his hips begin to catch and then eventually seize, and with a low, guttural growl he spills hot and thick into your mouth, and you accept everything he has to offer you, swallowing it all with ease.

“Good girl… good girl…” he puffs, chanting your name softly on his tongue.

You milk him of every last feasible drop and a line of spittle connects you as you pull away, bringing your hand up to swipe at your mouth and breaking the string in the process.

He’s still panting as he helps you to your feet; you move to step to the sink so you can clean your face and rinse out your mouth. Without warning, Max grabs you once more, different than only a moment ago, ensnaring you in another tight hug and pushing you against the wall.

“Max… hey—“

He hasn’t even pulled his pants up yet. He squeezes you, lips ghosting over your skin as he presses his nose to the soft space between your neck and skull, inhaling your scent. And just… holds you like that, in an embrace, not at all dissimilar to yesterday.

“Thank you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and you’re once again struck with his sporadic shift in demeanor.

“Uhh… you’re welcome,” you reply and he breaks the hug, a single hand coming up to cradle your jaw, thumb dragging your bottom lip as he stares at it, contemplative and fixated.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to return the favor?” Max asks.

“Um… no… I need to clean up and get back out there,” you explain, causing his hand to drop from your face.

“Yeah. Yeah, right,” he says, almost appearing crestfallen — almost — as he tucks himself and his shirt back into his work slacks, buckling his belt and giving himself a cursory once over in the mirror.

You turn away and ignore him as you smooth down your clothes, splash some water over your face and rinse out your mouth and when you’ve determined you don’t look super fucked out, you confirm with Max that you’re each composed enough, giving him one last glance as you step out.

You feel fingertips against the small of your back, almost like he wants one last point of contact with you before you have to go back to the real world.

And what you both step into is a sea of chaos, the lobby now bustling with people needing their various morning addictions, and you cast Audrey and Vincent an apologetic glance as you rush over to assist them.

God, you really need a cigarette and a stiff drink.

They pass each other a look when they see you and Max coming out of the bathroom together and you inwardly sigh because you had hoped you could keep all of this on the down low. Well, that plan was pretty much out the window now. And there was no saving it.

Max stands to one side and waits patiently as you rush through making his drink, passing it to him when you’re done and your skin burning as you feel his gaze dwelling on you one last time before he dips out for the day.

The rush stays steady for about an hour and you’re actually kind of thankful for it, as it helps to keep your focus off of everything that’s happened recently.

——

You’re walking home when your phone buzzes with a new text.

You take in a breath and fish your phone from your purse, hoping it isn’t your mother. Wishing it isn’t her. She had already texted you earlier that day to let you know Garrett was out of jail, no thanks to you, and you made a point of ignoring it.

You expect another dramatic text from your mother as you’re opening your phone, but you’re relieved to see it’s from Dave this time, thank god.

You open the text to see an image of Dave crouched down in front of the jaws of a rather large shark, Alice perched on his knee and Mollie standing to one side, all three of them smiling for the camera. You try not to let the sweetness and normalcy of it affect you, and you can hardly believe that this is the same man who had practically broke you and stitched you back together multiple times.

You: looks fun

A few minutes later you receive more texts, popping up as you get close to your apartment’s wifi. The first is a video of the girls in front of a shark tank, babbling at a nurse shark, and then a second video of a reef shark swimming overhead in a tunnel, with the caption: sharks for you

You: Cool. I love them! See any sea otters?

Dave: no 🙁 But we saw penguins! 😍

You cover your mouth with your hand as you snicker at his reply, typing in a quick response.

You: Penguins? How feminine.

Dave: Okay smartass

You: Just dishing out some of what you were serving last night, Dave

Dave: Watch it, sweetheart, or you’ll really see what I can dish out when I get home

You: Promise? 😜

As you enter your apartment building and Dave texts back with I would love nothing more, you try to keep reminding yourself you aren’t falling for him.

——

With the girls dropped off safely with Carol, at the house which is still in his name, that he still pays for, Dave shoots you a quick text before pulling away.

Dave: I’ll be back in town in a day or two. I have a work thing

He fishes out a burner phone and punches in the address for your ex, Jonathan, who lives on Long Island. Which is good — perfect, really — as it’s en route back to Boston. A quick rendezvous there to take him out and then straight home. Or what he could consider his home, nowadays.

You make it feel like home to him.

The hit shouldn’t take long. It was an ideal situation, if he was being honest. The woman Jonathan had left you for had pulled the same trick on him as he had on you, leaving him high and dry after he had up and moved states, and now he lived alone in a small garage apartment at the back of a property that was flanked on all sides by woods.

Perfect.

He would be arriving long after nightfall, and he would bide his time in the woods until it was late enough to slip in and out undetected.

Dave did not care that Jonathan really wasn’t a bad person, aside from being the asshole who broke your heart. He couldn’t give two shits, really. He only wanted to take retribution for Jonathan’s slights against you, on your behalf, because you were too kind and gentle to do it yourself.

As he pulls onto the highway to begin his journey north, he can’t get your beautiful face out of his mind.

——

It turns out Jonathan is a night owl.

Dave has been in the trees at the perimeter of the property for hours. A single window at the back of the apartment shines a pale yellow, denoting lingering wakefulness from his mark. It’s the only available illumination aside from a lone street lamp near the front of the property.

And aside from his phone. He’s been watching you off and on all night, to pass the time. You’re alone, and have been for days now. You haven’t had Max — or anyone else for that matter — in your bed since the last encounter, which means you stopped seeing Max entirely or you had simply taken to fucking elsewhere. Max’s apartment?

He isn’t sure which, yet.

Currently, Jonathan is getting stoned and painting. Dave is far from being an art expert, but even from his vantage he can see the strokes on the canvas are broad and messy; calling it abstract would be a stretch. Infantile, maybe. He couldn’t have been the artist of the painting you have hanging in your apartment—the style and technique just wasn’t right.

He wonders, not for the first time, if you were a gifted artist as well as being a gifted writer.

Jonathan orders a pizza at 9:09 PM and it’s delivered at exactly 10:00 PM. He spends an hour eating, his motor skills slowed due to being so fried, attempting to masturbate after that — much to Dave’s abject disgust — gives up, and goes back to painting.

Dave can feel his patience growing thinner by the second. You’ve already retired to bed so he no longer has anything to occupy his mind as he waits. He would prefer to strike while Jonathan is sleeping, but it’s either now or never; anything close to daybreak would be too risky.

Given up on being discreet, he slinks like a cat out of the woods at around 12:30 AM, head on a constant swivel, gun holstered at his hip in case he needs it. He’s hoping he doesn’t.

He’s opted for the more difficult to trace route as the actual means of execution — a syringe with 100mg of potassium chloride, the same drug used in prisons — tucked away neatly in the pocket of his black hoodie.

The nearer Dave draws to the apartment, the louder the indie rock music Jonathan is blaring becomes, a band Dave doesn’t recognize. That’s a good thing, though, it will work in his favor when he picks the lock at the front of the building, arguably the riskiest part of this entire mission, due to its proximity to the street.

He reaches the second story landing and pulls his lock picking kit from said hoodie, adjusting the black beanie away from his eyes as he finds the right tools. He manipulates them into the lock, ear pressed to the thin door so he can better hear what he’s doing.

The music continues, and so far as Dave can tell, he hasn’t been detected.

He pops the lock within minutes and the door slowly shimmies open, his hand going to his hip on instinct as he pushes the door the rest of the way with the toe of his boot.

He’s met with a short entryway that veers off to a dimly lit living room. So far, Jonathan hasn’t noticed him. He’s on another planet entirely—exactly where Dave wants him. Thank god for brain altering substances.

Dave stalks forward and soon arrives at the opening of the main living space which is littered with various articles of trash and other clutter, skillfully dodging as much as he can so as to not alert his presence, or give detectives anything to go on.

What he finds is Jonathan hunched in front of a canvas, paintbrush perched between nimble fingers, painting god knows what, because Dave sure can’t tell, his back facing him. The sheer abundance of luck at his mark being in such a vulnerable and unawares position is so goddamn sexy Dave can hardly keep his dick in check at the presentation.

But even with Jonathan being as preoccupied as he is, it would be imprudent to dawdle, so he doesn’t.

He quickly closes the space between the two of them, one arm coiling like a large python around Jonathan’s throat and the other disabling his limbs.

Jonathan looses a low bellow, most of which is drowned out by the music and the reduced flow of oxygen to his lungs, nearly knocking over the easel the canvas sits on in his rush of panic, but thankfully does not. In Dave’s experience working cases for the CIA, signs of struggle are often harder to hide than one would think.

He attempts to fight back, body trying to twist away, but Dave is larger, stronger and more experienced in disarming than Jonathan is in fighting…well, anything…so it isn’t as difficult as Dave had feared it would be.

It isn’t exactly a cake walk either, and Dave knows he needs to get him to the ground as soon as possible to fully disable him, arm tightening around Jonathan’s throat as he wrestles the smaller man to the floor. He puts Jonathan in a sleeper hold, adding a second arm for leverage and bringing a leg up to ensnare his lower half.

“Just let it happen. Let it happen and it will be easier,” Dave grits against the shell of his ear. “Don’t fight me.”

He doesn’t listen, of course, hellbent on breaking the grapple, and failing. That pesky self preservation always did aggravate Dave as much as it excited him.

Jonathan’s vision starts to blot away, music fading to a low and persistent hum, his body finally giving in to the asphyxiation now that the adrenaline was a fleeting thing.

This is exactly what Dave needed to happen, and as he feels Jonathan’s body growing slack in his clutches, he removes the syringe from his pocket, biting the lid off and grasping it between his teeth as he readies the needle.

It isn’t hard to find a vein due to Jonathan’s heightened sense of agitation and panic, inserting the needle into the soft flesh of his neck and sinking the plunger before he can struggle away, flooding his bloodstream with the full dose of potassium chloride.

Within moments, attempts to free himself devolve to little more than faint body tremors, and Dave doesn’t release him until his body has fallen completely motionless and limp in his arms.

He checks Jonathan’s pulse a moment later and when he’s satisfied he’s gone, he drags the corpse to the recliner on the opposite end of the room, manipulating him into a position that makes it appear as if Jonathan succumbed to cardiac arrest.

Once done, he finds Jonathan’s cellphone and begins to thumb through the recent calls and text messages.

He finds you in there, as well as a string of messages to you begging your forgiveness and for your return, which have gone wholly unanswered by you. Dave smiles to himself. You must have blocked him after the breakup. Good.

He knows there’s a very real chance cops will question you regardless. But Dave decides to delete the messages and any other snippet of information he can find about you in Jonathan’s phone anyway, just to be safe.

As he repockets the empty syringe, he gives the room a final comb to ensure that not even a hair is out of place. When he determines everything is satisfactory, and that he hasn’t left behind any evidence or traces of DNA, he turns to make a hasty retreat.

He leaves the apartment exactly as he found it, making sure to lock the door behind him, leaving nothing out of place, no loose ends unraveled.

He jogs down the stairs and makes the mile long trek through the woods to return to where his car is parked, working up a sweat even with the cooler air but not at all concerned about it, pulling the beanie off and tossing it to the passenger floorboard when he finally makes it to the car.

Palming himself through his dark jeans, he pulls onto the road, with you being the only thing on his mind as he begins the arduous six hour journey home to see you. You.

And he can barely fucking wait.

——

Taglist: @ohheypedrito @kateispunk @awilderi @survivingandenduring @heavennumber2 @alwaysmicado @oberynslady @kellybelly1978 @cosmic-li @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept @annieispunk @xxjigglynatxx @daddy-dins-girl @onmysluttyknees @guelyury @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @anoverwhelmingdin @yorksgirl @shotgun-shelby

Please let me know if I forgot you, it wasn’t intentional 🥺

💜💜💜

[pinpurin]

NINTENDHOE

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 1610! Miles morales x reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ hc of playing acnh with miles bc I miss playing it

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ gag worthy fluff tbh, I need me a bf like miles

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ header by pastelwalks

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tbh he probably played before u two had gotten together but let’s pretend he didn’t rn

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ miles most definitely questions everything about the game

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷”why are we the only human??” “Why is the place being ran by a racoon?” “Who is this random otter in the ocean??”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷miles shaking trees and getting stung by wasp. After you told him that a villager can give him medicine he went up to one and they called him ugly LMFAO.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ I feel as if miles wouldn’t be picky when it comes to villagers, he loves all of them

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ skips all of blathers dialogue. “He talks to much” 😭

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷but because of blathers he remembers so many facts about dinosaurs, bugs and fish. He even recites them if he see it in public

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ “that’s a paper kite butterfly” “ I don’t now wether to write on it, fly it or spread it on toast”

“…what..”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He isn’t really into the whole “selling villagers thing” and when he finds out you put your villagers up for sale on discord he judges so hard😭😭

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ “wdym your putting Moe up for sale???” “Miles he’s a ugly version of Tom, I don’t like him” “but FOR SALE??? That’s sounds like human trafficking”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ I feel like the villagers miles would like would be Dobie and Joey, don’t ask why they’re just adorable.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ now back to the actual game, miles would have BEEF with Tom nook (just like the rest of us)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷” baby why do I have to pay a phone bill fee, he OFFERED the phone to me”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷imagine the first time he shoots down a ballon and it goes in the water LMFAO

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ when he has to build the nooks cranny alone, he would be so shocked at the amount of material he needs

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷”30?? 30 iron nuggets?? How am I supposed to get 30 iron nuggets if the rock only gives me two???”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ you start to treat him like he’s your sugar baby, giving him iron, regular wood (bc that shit is hard to get for no reason), flowers,literally anything

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷”hey baby, why’d you want to come to my island?? What are you dropping?? Is that MONEY, WHY ARE YOU DROPPING THOUSANDS OF BELLS??”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ he always says he’s gonna pay u back but you decline ofc

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ miles gets mad when he gets a sea bass for the 90th time so you offer for him to fish on your island only for him to get another see bass

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷” I got ANOTHER SEA BASS? If I hear this joke one more time I’ll start crying. “Baby here you try” *you pull a sunfish* *angry stare in disbelief*

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ he gets a little aggressive with Isabelle when she is trying to help the island get up to 3 stars and he keeps getting told “plant more flowers”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ now he gets 3 stars right, he’s fucking EXCITED like it took so long and he finally got it

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ miles fav k.k songs are kk crusin, kk surfin and kk western.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ I don’t think he has a theme going on, just kinda goes w the flow but loves watch island tours on YouTube

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷miles coming over to your island just to see you beating the hell out of a villager with your net and calling them names

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷”mi vida…. Why are you torturing them?..” “I want him to leave”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ most definitely has you design a Spider-Man costume for his character

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ I truly don’t know what his favorite season would even be, like idk I get spring vibes but it could be anything

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ having miles come to your island to catch the spiders that are harassing you. (I’m being so fr, the spiders scare me so much, if I see one I’m closing the whole game).

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ he WORSHIPS your island, like he loves it always praising you about it just UGH 😩 I LOVE HIM

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷” Amor??? Your island is so good, what?? How long did this even take?, you’re so talented I swear” “uhhhh haha it’s not that good” “ baby it’s AMAZING”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ acnh dates where Celeste is at your island and you both make wishes

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ “you know… my only wish is to be with you forever” “miles, you are so corny….I love you” “I love you to mi alma”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ spending the holidays together in acnh, like him wrapping up a gift for you during Christmas and you both exchanging them 😭😭 adorable

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ telling miles all of your island drama bc he swears yours is more entertaining

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ “omg baby, literally Raymond and Judy got into a fight the other day arguing about who’s better looking and Raymond said it was obviously him, so he was basically calling Judy ugly. THEN they had the audacity to ask me who looked better. “Whatttttt😮”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ he loves the game truly, he plays with you whenever you ask. He just got out the shower but you wanna play? let him hurry and put clothes on and he’s yours. Just got done patrolling after a long day but you wanna play? How could ever deny you with a face like yours?

I literally love this sm, I might have to make another one with 42!miles and another with the twins 🤔🤔🤔 let me know if y’all want that bc I’ll have it done,

[aqupistau]

— ☕️ⸯⸯ : the way back home﹙bbh﹚

warning: mentions of alcohol (but it's just wholesome fluff)

genre & trope: fluff and established relationship

pairing: byun baekhyun x gn!reader

word count: 0.97k (edited)

synopsis. "if i were a sleepy sea otter and you were also a sleepy sea otter, would you hold my hand so that we won't float away from each other?"

Baekhyun wasn't the greatest soldier alive when it came to alcohol tolerance; he himself had great self-awareness of it. This resulted in him never drinking furthermore in your presence once he knew he was tipsy. At first, you didn't mind this at all, although, after receiving the first-ever emergency call from one of his friends, this changed your mind.

The call consisted of the first few seconds of a proper conversation with the said friend, and then a minute later to Baekhyun stealing the phone, who was then drunkenly flirting with you. Clearly losing the battle between alcohol and his sobriety.

Baekhyun's friend that called you, who seemingly was the only person sober, got his phone back and pleaded you to get him ASAP before he lost his marbles dealing with a bunch of lousy drinkers.

You obliged, mindlessly arriving at the destination a lot quicker than you thought, almost snickering at the thought of a crimson-cheeked boyfriend just smiling like a fool at you. Junmyeon, the caller, his face of weariness turned into a relieved one as he greeted you at the front door, booming noises of drunken men singing karaoke inside and the strong smell of assorted liquor exuding from him.

"Hi, Y/N! Here to pick up Baekhyun, right?" he questioned, which honestly sounded more like it had only one valid answer.

"Yes, though it looks like I'll be spoiling his fun if I pick him up while all of you are having so much fun." You politely replied just for formality.

Junmyeon chuckled and firmly added, dead in the eyes, begging, "I promise you that you aren't. Please come inside, Y/N. Please?"

"Y/N? Is that Y/N? Y/N!" A familiar bright, boyish voice slurred in excitement from the inside. You looked at Junmyeon for assurance, and he nodded, encouraging you to enter the living room. You gulped in nervousness, thinking of how to deal with the new kind of Baekhyun you'd never met before. It was like helplessly walking on a field of tall grass full of wild Pokemons.

Before leaving your shared home with Baekhyun, you've researched the effects of alcohol, and one struck you: repressed emotions and thoughts will be set free in a drunken state. You weren't sure if that was true since no reliable sources proved this fact, but you still wondered, almost in a way of contemplation. Doubtful if you can even deal with a wasted Baekhyun.

"It's me, Baek—Oh my god."

There he was. And you were right about one thing: his cheeks would go red when he was drunk but based from the research about repressed feelings when in a drunken state, you can tell that this Baekhyun will be a handful.

"Y/N~" The last syllable of your name dragged on as he attempted to wiggle up from his seat. "I missed you so much, Y/N." You quickly ran up to support him from standing, relieved that you caught him on time.

"But we were together like… four hours ago, baby." He nodded in reply.

"Exactly." Oh, well.

After bidding goodbye to the rest of his friends, who were thrilled to see you, you got help from Junmyeon to put Baekhyun on the passenger seat, bidding him farewell and good luck as you set off to go back home.

Surprisingly, the first couple of minutes of the drive were quiet, and your boyfriend was just sleeping peacefully, thankfully, not causing a ruckus silently. You didn't try to pry him from his peace and just continued driving, waiting for him to mumble anything you could tease him about once he woke up. You admired this very moment of comfortable silence, wondering of the antics that would happen by the next morning and planning to prepare ahead a good hangover soup to lighten the weight of your lover.

"Baby?" He's awoken.

"Yes?"

"Can I hold your hand? It's quite cold," he requested groggily.

"I can't, baby. I'm driving us back home."

"Oh...then, can I borrow your jacket?" Baekhyun tested again, opting for a different consolation.

"Yes, of course. It's on the backseat, Baek."

He struggles to look for it in the back seat, carefully but clumsily putting his arms inside the armholes of the jacket when he does.

A few minutes pass, and he complains again, "...I still wanna hold your hand, Y/N."

"Let's hold hands when we're under a stop light, okay?" You turned the car to the highway, and coincidentally, the red light from the traffic light stopped you. In reaction, Baekhyun reached out for your hand and interlocked his cold fingers with yours.

"Y/N?" he called out again.

"Yes?"

"Your hand is very warm. I love holding your hand."

You beamed with a snicker, looking down at your entwined hands. His hands that easily get cold and would always seek refuge for yours that were always cozy and warm. These hands that would always cup your cheeks and kiss you plushly in the wake of the morning. You noticed the difference of temperature of his and your hand, and you grasp slightly harder, attempting to warm his faster.

"I love holding your hand too, Baek."

The traffic lights turned green, and you gently removed your tightly held hand from him, leaving his hand to reach out to yours with dismay.

"Y/N?" Baekhyun asks for you again from just a few miles.

"Mhm?" You hummed softly, never troubled by his constant wants to hear your voice and attention even if he asks for the vainest demands.

"I need you to answer a question."

"Sure."

"If I was a sleepy sea otter," he yawned, the sign of the need to sleep displaying, "And you were also a sleepy sea otter…."

"Will you hold my hand so we'll not drift away from each other when we're sleeping?"

"Baek?" It was your turn to ask, "You do know that we always snuggle when we sleep, right?"

"...Oh. Then, can I hold you all night when we're finally home?" There were remotely a small number of cars driving, so you turned the car, almost near your home and took the opportunity, interlocking the hand that rested on his thigh with yours, holding it near your lips, and kissed lovingly the back of his hand.

"When it involves loving you, then it's always a yes."

© aqupistau. all rights reserved. ↬ masterlist

[almondest]

— ⋆˙⊹ For Better or For Worse

⨾ pairings: Wriothesley x F!Reader

⨾ synopsis: the sweet mellow feeling of being loved like delicate piece of china, despite being the duke of meropide, he surprisingly raises the bar for standards high.

⨾ content: fluff

Wondrous fontainian creatures swam by the glass as she adored the little otter playing with delicate piece of shell. She's no more than a citizen from above, frequenting a visit to her beloved.

"Early as ever I see." Illustrious voice echoed through the halls of a room seemingly lacking of stuff and people other than the two.

'Speak of the devil.'

"I dare not to be late..." She responded heartily, stepping forward as she was greeted with a pair of strong arms embracing her warmth.

Her hands lay atop his back, patting it lightly as her head leaned comfortably to his muscular physic. "Celestia knows how much I longed for you..." She whisper in a small mumble, his lips curving up to a smile as his grip tightened, his lips landing light kisses on her neck.

"As do I."

Thy stood still in the same position for a while, just basking in each others presence as saccharine air enveloped the place. His hands suddenly directed to both sides of her cheeks, his kiss landing on hers for a quick peck before letting go. "Shall we?" He'd ask, her answer would always pair with gentle nod and a smile comparable to sunshine.

The day would always somehow go with Wriothesley letting her decide for their agendas, sometimes she'd also let him decide as they both enjoyed one anothers preferences.

She'd usually go by with usual permissions for letting them eat out at all sorts of café surrounding the court of Fontaine, sometimes she'd rather stay home and do some baking with him, or else, cuddle, play board games, and the like.

Him on the other hand would respect and go along with her ideas and suggestions, enjoying their date as much as she does. Sometimes he'd also ask if she'd just let the two of them take a stroll around the vast greeneries, gaze upon the wide blue sea, go to libraries and read books of their choice, or stay at home and play a few rounds of tcg.

When disagreements arise, they'd wish to hear both sides and communicate. "If we ever fight, I'd want us to communicate."

"And if we ever gain differences, we'll embrace and learn to appreciate it just as the other does."

With him, she is at ease.

With her, he is at peace.

To her, he's comfort, he's home.

To him, she's comfort, she's home.

[arashrita]

Could I request some Floyd? 👉👈He’s one of my favorite characters lol. I would like some fluff? Maybe him being in a bad mood from missing us. Also which characters are you more comfortable writing about?

A/N: Heyyyy! I hope you are well. Also, I love every character, so I try to complete all the requests. But I love Mal and Leona just a bit more than the others hehe 💜💜

Sqeezes!

For the love of God, you couldn't understand why Floyd wouldn't look at you. The whole day he avoided you like the plague and now when you are asking for a hug, he wants you to leave? Ouch...

"Floyd, can you please tell me what's wrong?" You sighed.

"Go away shrimpy! I don't want to talk to you. You are sooo mean."

"But, why?! What did I do?!"

"You don't care about me."

"Where did that come from?"

"You are always with those Heartslabyul guys, Sea lion gets to use you as a pillow, Sea otter randomly sqeezes you outta nowhere! I don't like it! I am the only who is supposed to give you sqeezes! Not to mention Sea slug is always trying to spend time with you."

His pout made it clear that he absolutely hates how others steal you away from him. Why do you have to be the whole school's dream crush or something like that?

"Awww are you jealous?"

"Must you be the hero all the time? I miss you shrimpy..."

He sulked. Why won't you give him attention? Does he annoy you that much? Is he that boring?

"Come here, Floyd. I can assure you that you are the only I love. I know, I'm not available most of the time. But, I promise I love you so much. Nobody can make me feel better with their sqeezes. You and your sqeezes are the best."

"Really?~~"

"Yes!"

He immediately jumped out of his bed and tackled you in a giant hug. He was sqeezing you so tight that you could barely breath. Seriously, this man's sqeezes will knock out the living daylight out of you one day.

"F-floyd! You are c-choking me!!"

"You are so cute like this, little shrimpy. Hehehehe~~"

[hypnoneghoul]

The Happiest Ghoul

WC: 825

Pairing: Rain/Dewdrop

Tags: Off-screen sex, kinda aftercare, mentioned knotting, transmasc Dewdrop, cuddles in the water, fluff, comfort no hurt, they are just sooo in love

Rain was floating on his back, arms so very tight around Dewdrop, with his mate curled up on his chest. Aether once said that they looked exactly like a baby otter with its mother, and Rain couldn’t get that thought out of his mind. He loved it. He loved Dewdrop, so very much.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

“Dew, baby, are you back with me?” Rain asked, gently combing his hands through Dewdrop’s damp hair. The small ghoul just curled himself more into his mate, arms around his neck, nuzzling his chest with a quiet, content purr. 

Still not there, then.

But that was okay with Rain, it would be a lie if he said he didn’t enjoy sleepy, clingy, adorable, fucked out Dewdrop. It was his favourite Dewdrop, actually, and he absolutely couldn’t get enough of taking care of him, holding him close, safe.

Rain was the only ghoul Dewdrop would even think of going near water with. Showers and baths were fine, but the lake? Or sea, while on tour? Nuh-uh, a big no. Not without Rain, anyway.

The topic of water in general was a wound that would stay fresh forever, the scars on Dewdrop’s neck and ribs, as well as Rain himself, a constant reminder of his past. But Rain wasn’t clawing that hole open, no, quite the opposite, he was filling it. Dewdrop may have lost his own water, but he got Rain, nearly as in exchange. If he’d be presented with a choice, getting his original element back or staying a fire ghoul but with Rain by his side, he’d not hesitate in choosing Rain. Not one second.

Rain made him feel loved, safe, cared for, appreciated, everything Dewdrop wasn’t able to see in himself on his own.

And his mate loved that, was so grateful for it, the vulnerability Dewdrop allowed himself with him, the trust onlyhe was granted, the love the little ghoul had for him. He could get drunk on it.

What they both enjoyed, probably the most, was when the fire ghoul let Rain take him out to the middle of a lake, held in a tight circle of his arms, for him to thoroughly take him apart and put back together there. That’s exactly what just happened, and now Rain was floating on his back, arms so very tight around Dewdrop, never letting go, with his mate curled up on his chest. Aether once said, that one time he went out to look for them when they were gone for a few hours, that they looked exactly like a baby otter with its mother, and Rain couldn’t get that thought out of his mind. He loved it. 

He loved Dewdrop, so very much.

Rain wasn’t surprised with how far gone Dewdrop was now, he was really stressed the last few days and it was so busy the water ghoul couldn’t find even half an hour to take him out to the lake. When he managed, though, he made sure to make hid mate let go of all worries. Even Rain himself lost count of how many times he made him cum, with his fingers, tongue, tail or cock buried in his cunt, leaving nothing but a clingy, purring puddle of a ghoul on top of him.

Rain was pretty sure his mate fell asleep, soft, even purr resonating through his chest as the water ghoul paddled them around, one hand running through his soft hair. His cock was still in Dewdrop as he knotted him on the last round, but he realised he absolutely didn’t mind. If anything, the added closeness made his chest squeeze with adoration for his small mate even more.

They floated around like that for what felt like a sweet eternity, soft sound of Rain’s fins moving through the water, rustling of trees in the distance and delicate rumbling of the small fire ghoul’s purr. Rain thought he could stay like that forever, that all he needed was Dewdrop with him and a little bit of peace to be the happiest ghoul both Topside and in the Pit. 

He already was.

Rain might’ve napped himself, because when he felt Dewdrop shifting on top of him, it was already sundown, “Hi, baby.”

“Mhm… hi,” the fire ghoul yawned, lifting his head to look down at Rain, a dopey grin on his sleepy face. “Was I out for long?”

“I think so,” Rain giggled, “but it’s fine, I fell asleep too, apparently. You wanna get back?”

“Hm, can we swim for a bit more? It’s nice.”

“Of course, love,” the water ghoul purred, tightening his hold around Dewdrop, as he chirped happily and nuzzled his face back into Rain’s neck. He nearly melted at the cuteness of his mate.

He was so very happy.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Rain whispered, kissing Dewdrop’s head, base of his horn. “I’ve got you, you’re safe with me.”

The fire ghoul never doubted that, didn’t need a reminder, every soft touch or word Rain gave him were, but he appreciated it anyway, “Rainy?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” Dewdrop mumbled, words he wasn’t able to choke out for so very long, now coming out easily in moments like these. Only in moments like these, only with Rain, only for Rain.

“I love you too, baby.”

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Exploration No. 5

[namjoon x reader] [1k+ strangers to lovers?, fluff] A/N: This is loosely based on Reese Lansangan's Exploration No. 5. Whenever I listen to the song, I think the line "Hey, what's your favorite crustacean?" was written for Namjoon. Or the entire song might as well have been. Also, I just really miss him. I miss BTS.

-

You hated school excursions, but you think you can make an exception for this particular trip if your museum guide is this cute.

-

For most of the tour, you were spacing out. Walking past exhibits, mindlessly taking photos of artifacts you may or may not use as a reference to your sketches. It's not like you didn't like museums, you actually enjoyed them. But on your own time.

"Y/N, look," Jungkook calls for your attention, imitating the posture of a taxidermized creature.

"Cute," you reply dryly. "Ya!" You hear as you walk away, not in the mood for one of his shenanigans.

You were passing by a group gathered under the fossilized crustaceans exhibit when the guide, passionately explaining an in-depth history of crustaceans, caught your eye.

The museum wasn't exactly short of cute guys, but call it fate or whatever you want, but something had you glued to where you stood, a few steps away from him. And it's not like you stayed to gawk at the guy, you were genuinely growing interested and curiouser and curiouser with each discussion.

"So, any questions?" The cute guy asks. Cue crickets and tumbleweeds passing. "Right. Thanks for—"

"Is it true lobsters pair and mate for life?" You dumbly ask. Of all the questions you could ask.

Seeming shocked someone asked a question, Namjoon searches for the source of the voice.

Your eyes meet.

"Ah well, miss…"

"Y/N. Just Y/N"

"Just Y/N," he smirks, "I hate to be the breaker of bad news, but by nature, lobsters are not exactly monogamous. A male lobster would most likely mate with multiple females during encounters lasting days to weeks. So no, lobsters don't pair and mate for life." He clarifies with a smile.

Just when you thought he couldn't be more adorable, you're proven wrong with those dimples.

"Ah, I see," you return with a smile, "Bummer."

"But there are other sea creatures that stick to one when they find their pair; we have angelfishes, sea otters, even some species of seahorses," he ends with a soft laugh.

Fuck, he's really adorable. "Oh, cute," clearing your throat, "I meant the angelfishes, and the uhm..” You let out a half wheeze, half laugh noise.

Now he’s staring with mirthful eyes.

“I was saying it’s cute that there are species that, uhm, that are like, you know, monogamous. Sticks to one; ride-or-die couples, I guess." Great, you're now rambling.

And your group seemed to have moved on to the next exhibit.

Reluctant to leave but unsure how to continue the conversation, he picks it up for you and asks, "Did you get that 'fact' from friends?"

"Huh?"

"The one about the lobster. I presume you watched the series and got it from there."

Now you're embarrassed. "Heh, I did. Kind of embarrassed now to admit that I believed it for years," you titter, "have you watched the show, too?"

He hums in reply. And as he walks further to the fossil aisle, you follow. "My mom bought me all ten DVDs, and from that, I learned to speak English better," he continues. You laugh, thinking it was a joke until you chance another look at him.

"Oh, you're serious." Another smile, then he nods. "So, do you think you're more of a Joey, Chandler, or Ross?"

Now it's his turn to look at you. "Humor me," you continue.

"I guess I'm a bit like Chandler. I see myself relating to his character." You let a beat pass before shamelessly replying, "I bet you don't have much trouble getting girls, though."

At that, he loudly laughs, a few students turning to look in your direction.

Oh, you'd gladly lamely flirt with him in exchange for his amusement.

"That's actually the bit that I relate to. Aside from classes and this internship here at the museum, it's not every day I meet cute girls who would want to talk to me. But today must be my lucky day."

Again, he smirks. He definitely knows how it affects you, too. You blush. And if possible, melt. You don't think you can even look at him, so you turn to face the artifacts. You actually dare to be bashful now when you fired the first flirty remark.

Mouth still stretched to a grin, you turn to face him. "You must think you're charming, huh?"

"Well, I'm assuming if I struck your fancy, at least a little bit." You like the creases by his eyes when he smiles, you think.

"Okay, you did. And you are."

Like a still-frame from a film, you're stood in the middle of the museum, heart eyes staring at each other.

You were the first to break away.

You are about to ask him another question when your professor announces it's time to leave for your next museum destination.

"Ah, I guess you have to go now," he nods towards the corner where students start to gather. You turn to look and agree with a nod, hiding your disappointment.

You try to stall. Just a bit. You gather all the bits of courage you have, "I know this is a bit too direct, but—" You're cut off, "Y/N, come on, we gotta go." Jungkook calls for you.

You huff, "Yea, just a minute. I'm right behind you." You stare him down until he goes ahead without you. And he does, but not before glancing at Namjoon.

You look back at Namjoon to see him expectantly looking at you, "Uhm, so thanks for the fact-check.." You trail off as he nods. Your courage was quick to leave you, and with that, you accept defeat.

But as if your fallen confidence were caught by your feet, you were merely a few steps away when you walk back to him, "Hey, what's your favorite crustacean?"

Startled by the question, Namjoon stutters a reply, "What?" He sees you shift in your feet, "Well, I mean, there are a lot, and I guess there's—"

"Can you tell me through text?" You attempt to steel your nerves once again. You can let embarrassment consume you after you leave the museum, but now, you want to shoot your shot.

He laughs and looks at your leaving party, "I guess I can do that since we're pressed for time." He takes your phone to call his, and long fingers quickly types in his name and number before you hear Jungkook call for you again across the gallery.

"Thanks," you see his saved contact and smile, "Joon."

He smiles back with a nod.

Ah. There's that killer smile. You want to dip your finger in those dimples, you think.

You hold back your intrusive thoughts and rush to your friends.

Unbeknownst to you, Namjoon’s stupefied, in a good way. And as he watches you catch up to your group, you turn around and wave goodbye. He returns the gesture.

-

Sat at the bus and enthused, you send Namjoon a message.

"Hey, tell me again, what's your favorite crustacean?"

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Hi, I hope that if you pulled on the new banners your pulls went well ! Me I managed to get Freminet within 20 pulls so I'm pretty happy!

Exploring underwater with him made me thinks of picking romaritime flowers with Foul Legacy, and playing with the otters because theyre so chill not even the big mothman can scares them

i did not pull since i am saving but i'm glad you got Freminet!! from his test trial his kit seems pretty funky and neat :D

YES YES YES YES you cannot FATHOM how much i want to swim around Fontaine with Foul Legacy,,, he technically uses a Vision so he should be able to breathe underwater right? right??? he's right at home in the water, too, and the bright Fontaine seas are so different from the tainted Abyss that he's used to. it's a bit harder to keep an eye on him- he sees something shiny and he's off like a bullet, cutting through the water and twirling around as you struggle to keep up. it gets to the point that you keep a hand in his fluff at all times so when he swims off, you're pulled along with him. he doesn't mind at all, though!! in fact, if you wanted to hold hands while swimming you'd have a very happy and enthusiastic moth at your side

oh the otters absolutely LOVE him. all the other sea creatures are a bit wary of him (partially because he's big, partially because the Abyssal energy frightens them) but the otters don't care. they adore him, swimming around his feet and weaving in and out of his fluff- they bring him seashells they think he'll like, or ones they have trouble cracking open. Legacy's considerable strength means that he can open any seashell with little effort so the cute otters can have dinner!! they take a liking to you as well, and happily follow you and Foul Legacy around as you swim. sometimes if he gives one of the seashells to you, the otters will do cheerful flips in the water, knowing that they just helped him give you a courting gift <33

[seraph-of-sizes]

Writing ideas

Here are some writing ideas I have, I'm already working on the Fontaine siblings (Human Freminet, Borrowers Lyney + Lynette) but y'all can pick what others you find interesting. :D

Lumine + Aether w/ borrowers Lyney, Lynette, Freminet (modern au)

Freminet w/ borrowers Lyney, Lynette

Wriothesley, the DUKE, giant lowkey equivalent to Atlas, LITERALLY holding the primordial sea at bay as his sentence. Neuvillette finds out. (Wriolette fluff)

Scara’s consciousness occasionally gets shot into the husk of Shouki no Kami, its stressing him out but he refuses to talk about it, believing it's just a nightmare. Nahida figures it out when she catches the Traveler going down into the workshop one night through a hole at the base of Sumeru City’s tree roots, scaralumi/scarather will be neutral so you can read it per your preference.

After the mirage in the bottle, Eula and Collei head back to Sumeru to see Nilou perform. Unfortunately, Eula isn't as familiar with Sumeru’s rainforest and loses collie after being attacked by a Rishboland tiger. Thankfully a particular forest watcher was nearby.

Navia, sizeshifter that runs Spina di Rosula. After Act two of the 4.0 Archon Quest, she's constantly tiny. And it rains, a LOT. When Poisson begins to have a small crisis from the downpour causing flooding, she makes the journey with the Traveler to see Neuvillette and straighten out the hurt in her heart. (Why the Traveler thinks this will fix the flooding, Navia has no idea.)

Neuvillette, who can be as small as an otter (and sometimes confused with one) or as large as the sovereign he is the incarnation of, as his body winds along the trenches of Fontaine. Loud pops make the water churn as he stretches completely for the first time in one hundred years. However, when he opens his eyes, he wasn't really prepared to be face-to-face with the infamous child diver Freminet, and neither was Freminet prepared to actually see the hydro dragon in all of his scaled glory.

Zhongli has had a few forms over the years, but never has he stayed so long without donning his Exuvia, an itch to be large and powerful itches under his skin. It's not until the traveler introduces him to the Iudex of Fontaine and a low territorial growl escapes him that it truly becomes unbearable. Escaping into the wilds of Juyun karst, he dives into ancient caverns to hide from the people of Liyue, after all Rex Lapis is supposed to be dead, not roaring his head off in the woods somewhere.

Kaveh had explored a fair number of ruins in the desert of Sumeru, he even stumbled across the one that trapped Faruzan for a century (he gave it a wide berth, no thank you), but the tiny dais before him was something so foreign he couldn't help but open it. I mean, yes, it LOOKED like a tiny coffin, but the worst that was going to happen was a dead lizard falling out of it or something…. Turns out the 'or something' is a tiny person. That looks almost exactly like Alhaitham. Wait…is this King Deshret?

Kazuha gently kneels before the sword and masterless vision that lay right where he had left them. With the vision hunt decree and sakoku decree abolished, he was a free man. He could help being bitter about how he made it to the other side alive and whole, and yet had lost so much along the way. He shook his head, such negativity would get him nowhere, even the wind was whispering of new beginnings, chances to make amends… “Niwa?” What he had assumed was a discarded doll suddenly moved towards him, speaking. Kazuha centric, character study. Kabukimono formed from the lost doll scara had. Wanderer comes in later.