#rich spring soil

[vamppvania]

Everyday im overwhelmed with the Horrors and feel like I'm not gonna make it to the end then I watch a video of baby blue jays playfighting and watch my chickens jump around in the grass playing with their flockmates and I'm reminded to trust in this still

[theosang3ls]

When you know, you know

inspired by “Margaret” by Lana Del Rey

pairing: Theodore Nott x F!Reader

summary: Theo had asked you out on a date, and though hesitant at first, you agreed. What began with uncertainty soon unfolded into something quietly profound—an afternoon that made you realise how deeply you longed to be truly seen, and made Theo realise he didn’t want anyone else but you.

warnings: pure fluff, reader talks a lot

A/N: I was literally giggling and kicking my feet while writing this, this is my favourite work that I’ve ever written. Dedicated to all my girlies who get called weird and are hopeless romantics💋 I’m kind of honouring the arrival of late spring through this fic as well, I just love how nature wakes up again at this time of year. English is not my first language, I’m sorry for any grammatical errors!

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You were currently out on a date with Theo.

Even now, as the afternoon sun spilled like liquid gold across the foothills and warmed your skin, it didn't feel entirely real. Just days ago, he had asked you out—his voice soft, steady, almost shy. The memory of it still sat like a folded letter in your mind: unexpected, delicate, something you hadn't dared imagine opening. It caught you so off guard you almost laughed. Theo, asking you out? It seemed impossible. Not because he was distant or arrogant—he never had been—but because you had never thought of him that way, never considered the possibility that he might be thinking of you like that.

And yet, he had. And now here you were—sitting cross-legged on a thick carpet of grass that had just returned to life after the hush of winter, your back resting against the smooth bark of a fallen yule log, as if nature had prepared the seat just for you. Across from you, Theo mirrored your posture, tracing the fresh, supple blades of grass with slow, deliberate fingers. His gaze kept drifting to you, unguarded, soft as a sigh, as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.

You had hesitated when he asked you out. Something inside you had told you to be cautious, to hold back. Maybe it was doubt, or maybe fear—the kind that creeps in when something good shows up unexpectedly, and you worry it might vanish just as fast. You'd even considered canceling the date. Told yourself it would be easier, cleaner, safer. But you hadn't. Something kept you from backing out—something in the way he looked at you when you weren't paying attention, or maybe the steadiness in his voice when he spoke to you like you mattered.

So you said yes. And now the world was draped in a kind of magic you hadn't expected.

The place he brought you to felt like it had been waiting for you. It was a hidden pocket of paradise tucked beneath the arms of the mountain's lower slopes, just far enough from Hogwarts’ castle to feel secret, sacred. The forest around you had awakened in vibrant celebration—leaves the color of fresh emeralds trembled in the soft breeze, catching sunlight like fragments of stained glass. The trees stood tall and proud, their bark still dark with winter's memory, but their branches bursting with life. Tiny wildflowers had erupted from the soil in chaotic, joyful colors—brilliant golds, purples like bruised dusk, whites soft as snow—and they danced when the wind passed, as though the earth was laughing quietly to itself.

The air was rich with scent—warm moss, young grass, the faint sweetness of blooming buds and petals still unfurling. Birds sang from the canopy above in a chorus that seemed improvised, but somehow perfectly orchestrated. Somewhere nearby, a brook whispered its way through stones, its voice threading through the wind like a lullaby. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in golden shafts, casting gentle shadows that shifted as the breeze stirred the treetops. You could feel it all—the hum of life, the pulse of the earth beneath you—as if the land itself was exhaling after a long, still winter.

"So... you come here regularly?" you asked, your voice quieter than usual, reverent. You tilted your head as you looked around, eyes trying to take in every inch of the place, to memorize it the way you wanted to memorize the feeling blooming in your chest.

Theo was watching you with that same quiet intensity, a softness behind his smile like he was letting himself fall and wasn't afraid to. "Not too regularly," he said, his voice just above a murmur, "but it's kind of perfect this time of year."

You smiled at that, a small, slow smile that tugged at your lips like sunlight creeping through morning curtains. "It really is." Your eyes drifted upward, to the wide open sky above, so bright and blue it looked endless. The sunlight dazzled your vision and made you squint, but you didn't look away. You wanted to feel it—to let the light pour into you and settle deep in your bones.

"You really love nature, huh?" he asked after a moment, his voice laced with curiosity, but also admiration. You weren't looking at him, but he was definitely looking at you.

"There's nothing more beautiful," you said, your gaze still tethered to the vast sky above, your voice laced with a gentle wonder that curled around Theo's heart like ivy. "The way the wind brushes through the trees... it doesn't just move the leaves—it gives them a soul for a moment, makes them twirl and flutter like they're dancing for the sheer joy of being alive. Or how the birds begin to fly lower when rain is near, like they carry the sky's secrets beneath their wings. And even the tiniest creatures—those you'd barely notice any other time—they emerge now, drawn out by the hush and bloom of spring, as if the earth itself is putting on a play, and not a single living thing wants to miss a moment."

He looked at you, completely stunned—not just by what you had said, but by you. There was something in the way your words fell from your lips, unfiltered and vivid, like soft rain over dry earth. You were a poetic soul in a world that often only celebrated silence. And it made his heart ache in the best possible way. Like hearing a song he didn't know he'd needed. Like remembering something he thought he'd forgotten.

He didn't speak—not at first. He just looked. Let the silence between you swell and breathe. He needed time to absorb it, to let your voice echo inside him where it mattered most. You weren't just speaking thoughts; you were offering pieces of yourself, and he received them with a reverence he didn't quite know how to articulate. Every word you'd said still hung in the air like pollen—delicate, golden, alive.

It wasn't simply attraction—no, this was something older, deeper, something that felt like it had been written into the marrow of his bones long before he ever knew your name. You didn't have to do anything. You just were—sitting there in that patch of spring sunlight like the season itself had bloomed just to wrap around you. You were effortless. Unaware of the spell you cast, how the mere tilt of your head or the way your lashes caught the light had him caught in a current he didn't want to escape.

There you were: back pressed gently against a weather-worn yule log, your hair dancing with the breeze like it was part of the wind's design, your eyes bright and open, reflecting the sky's soft blue and a curiosity he found endlessly magnetic. And you smiled—just a little. That hesitant, confused smile you wore when you didn't quite understand why he was staring at you like that, like you were the last beautiful thing in a world that had long gone dim. It was a fragile thing, that smile. Tentative and sincere. And to him, it was sacred.

But he wasn't just staring.

He was studying, memorizing, revering. Every detail of you was a verse in a poem only he could read. You weren't simply a person—you were a constellation, a collection of light and wonder and soft chaos that made his heart quiet and wild at the same time. Your presence overwhelmed him in the gentlest way. He had never believed in soulmates, never believed in fate. But sitting there, watching you exist so unselfconsciously in the middle of blooming earth and golden air, he was almost convinced that maybe, just maybe, the universe had placed you here on purpose.

You spoke to him then, your voice light but alive, and it wrapped around him like a melody made only for his ears. The way your thoughts unfolded, vivid and full of color—your passion for the smallest details, the way your eyes lit up when you described things you loved—he drank it all in like a man starved. Your words weren't just sounds to him; they were sunlight and soil, things that rooted into him and bloomed. He was enchanted by how you moved through the world, how you gave meaning to things that others might overlook. You didn't just see beauty—you named it, shaped it, gave it life. You turned a simple breeze into a love song.

He longed to touch you. To feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. To press his lips to yours, not out of some shallow desire, but out of reverence. He didn't want to kiss you just to have you. He wanted to kiss you as a way of saying thank you for existing. He wanted to pour all his silent awe into that single moment, to let you feel in one soft collision everything he couldn't yet say aloud. But he didn't. He couldn't. Because to kiss you meant closing his eyes, even for just a breath—and he wasn't ready to lose sight of you. Not yet. Not when your face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

So he just watched.

He watched the sunlight draw delicate patterns across your cheeks. He watched the shadows shift beneath your lashes when you blinked. He watched the way your expression changed with your thoughts, subtle but alive, like weather over a quiet field. And with every passing second, he carved you deeper into his memory, desperate to hold onto the way you looked right now. If his eyes burned from not blinking, he would have welcomed the sting. If night fell and stole the light from your features, he would have begged the stars to shine brighter just so he wouldn't lose you to the dark.

In you, he saw something beyond beauty.

He swore he would remember the exact way you looked in that moment until the end of his days. Because to him, you weren't just a girl on a hillside. You were everything. You were the pause between heartbeats. The hush before the dawn. The whisper of something holy.

In you, he saw poetry.

“You see the world so differently,” Theo said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, as if anything louder might shatter the sacred stillness between you. There was awe in his tone—not just admiration, but a kind of reverence, like he was saying a prayer. “You don’t just notice it… you feel it. You let it move through you. It’s like you carry the world inside you, and everything you see, you let it stay.”

Your smile wavered, and something in your eyes flickered—not surprise exactly, but something softer. Recognition. As though he’d just pulled a thread loose inside you that no one had ever dared to touch before.

“No one’s ever said that to me,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, laced with something unspoken. “Not like that. Not like it’s something good.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out small, wistful. “I get that a lot,” you added, eyes locked onto his with a gaze so steady, so unflinching, it made Theo feel like his heart had stumbled into a sprint. “But not as a compliment.”

There was a pause—a heartbeat stretched between two souls—and then you smiled again. This time it was warmer, more open, tinged with gratitude. The kind of smile that made something ancient in him sigh.

“Thank you,” you said simply, and those two words carried more weight than most people’s whole conversations.

You turned your gaze toward the trees again, watching how the sunlight filtered through the canopy and painted soft gold across the grassy earth. Then your voice shifted—took on that thoughtful, drifting cadence Theo had come to recognize. The sound of you diving deep, without fear, into another ocean of thought.

“I just think… people get so tangled in the noise of their own lives. They obsess over things that don’t matter—deadlines, mirrors, numbers on screens—things that don’t feed the soul. They forget to just… be. To breathe. To look around and realize the world is alive. That we’re alive. They walk past trees without seeing them. They hear birds and think of alarms. They smell rain and only worry about their hair. It’s like they’ve been taught to ignore the symphony the earth plays for them every day.”

You paused, not for dramatic effect, but because you were genuinely overcome by the weight of what you were saying. Your fingers ran gently through the grass beside you, the gesture slow, reverent, like you were grounding yourself to the very soil.

“But nature…” you continued, your voice softer now, almost like you were confiding in the air itself, “Nature doesn’t ask anything of us except presence. And still, people treat it like background noise. But it’s everything. It’s truth, in its rawest form. It’s the wind reminding you that you’re small, but not insignificant. It’s the flowers blooming without applause, the way the earth forgives us each spring. It’s the silence between birdsong, the hush of the forest, the sound of your own heartbeat when you really, really listen.”

Theo was silent, completely still, utterly caught in the gravity of your words. You didn’t even notice the way he was looking at you—like you were both flame and shelter, like he could spend forever listening to you and still not have enough. The way you spoke stirred something in him he hadn’t known he’d been missing—an ache, a longing, a sense that maybe this was what connection was meant to feel like.

You stared back at him, puzzled by his stillness. Your brow furrowed gently, your nose crinkling ever so slightly as your mind spun in quiet worry. You'd seen this kind of silence before. It usually came right before someone pulled away.

"Am I annoying you with my rambling?" you asked, voice dipping into uncertainty. "I'm being weird again, aren't I?"

There it was—your vulnerability, soft and sharp all at once. You tried to smile through it, to laugh it off like you always did, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. You were too used to being misunderstood. Too familiar with the way people got overwhelmed by the way your thoughts spiraled into beauty. You'd spent years trying to tame that part of yourself, trying to fit inside quieter boxes, but the truth was: your mind was a garden that grew wild and lush and unapologetic. And somewhere deep down, you feared that would always be too much for people to handle.

Theo's gaze softened even more, as if your worry had reached out and touched something in him.

"You're not weird," he said gently, and his voice felt like a warm hand on your shoulder. Steady. Sincere. "You're just... different." The way he said it made you pause. There was no judgment in it. No edge. Just admiration—pure and quiet, like a secret he was honored to carry. You bit your lower lip, a nervous gesture, your cheeks blooming into a pale, rosy pink. The kind of blush that wasn't born of embarrassment, but of something softer—hope, maybe. Surprise. You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him more clearly, your voice careful but curious. "Should I take being 'different' as a compliment?" you asked, your tone playful, but your eyes searching his face for something real, something rooted. 

He didn't look away. Neither did you.

It was as if the two of you had unknowingly stepped into a quiet challenge—some unspoken game of stillness and gravity, where neither one wanted to be the first to look away. But it wasn't a contest. It was longing. It was connection. You were caught in his eyes—those deep, endless oceans of cobalt and storm—and you didn't want to be rescued. You wanted to fall further in. Drown in them, willingly.

And Theo... he felt the same. Your presence had a magnetic pull. It was like standing in sunlight after a long winter—comforting and blinding and overwhelming all at once. Every inch of you drew him closer. Not physically, not yet—but spiritually, energetically, irrevocably. You were the kind of different that made the world feel bigger, richer, more alive. And he didn't want to look away—not now, not ever. So you sat there, suspended in a silence that said more than words could. Something delicate and infinite passing between you. Something that tasted a little like fate.

The mountains held their breath around you. Even the wind seemed to hush, threading softly through the tall grass, brushing against your skin like an unseen hand offering comfort. The warmth of the afternoon sun spilled golden over the clearing, catching the edges of your hair and setting it aglow like a halo made of firelight and softness. You looked like something sacred, something the earth had cradled into being and placed carefully in front of him.

Theo couldn't speak—not yet. Not without unraveling. So he simply watched you, as if memorizing wasn't a choice, but an instinct. The kind of reverence usually reserved for art or prayer shone in his expression. And perhaps that's what you were to him—living poetry, the kind that bled truth with every breath. "yes," he replied, barely more than a breath. "Being different... that's the most beautiful thing about you." The words hung there, suspended in the golden stillness. You didn't move. You weren't sure you could.

It had always been a sore thing inside you—how easily people turned away from the parts of you that felt too much. You'd always been aware of how you overflowed: in thought, in feeling, in wonder. You tried for years to fold yourself smaller, quieter, into the shapes other people expected. But even then, your heart had a way of spilling out, uninvited. You loved too deeply, thought too loudly, cared too visibly. You noticed things—how the petals on early spring flowers trembled in the wind, how people's voices changed when they were holding back tears, how the world seemed to pulse with quiet meanings no one stopped long enough to hear.

And for most of your life, that had been your loneliness.

Until now.

Until Theo.

"You don't hide from things," he said, his voice low, trembling with something he didn't dare name yet. "You don't numb yourself the way most people do. You let the world move you. It terrifies me how rare that is."

His hand, still half-buried in the grass, found yours. This time, not by accident. His fingers brushed the back of your hand like a question. You didn't pull away. You turned your palm to meet his, and the moment your skin touched, the world shifted—softly, imperceptibly, but deeply. Like something had clicked into place, and the universe exhaled around it.

"I always feel like I'm too much," you whispered, your voice cracking around the edges. It wasn't a confession meant for pity—it was a truth, worn and tender, carried inside you for years. "Too intense. Too curious. Too sensitive. Too... loud, I guess. People don't usually stay."

Theo's fingers closed around yours with gentle certainty, as if your pain was something he could hold and soothe just by being steady. "Then they were never meant to," he murmured, and his tone held no bitterness, only truth. "Because anyone who asks you to be less than this... doesn't deserve to be near you."

Something in your chest gave way. You didn't cry—but it felt like you might, if you let yourself breathe too deeply. There was a pressure behind your ribs, not from sadness, but from recognition. From being seen, finally, not just for your beauty or your kindness or the words you put together like constellations—but for everything. The wild, radiant chaos of your inner world. The boundless storm of your empathy. The way you never stopped feeling.

"I just want to be understood," you said, and your voice cracked on the last word. "Not explained away. Not tolerated. Just... understood."

"I do," he said, instantly, and there wasn't even a pause. "I do understand."

He said it like a promise. Like a vow carved into the air between you.

Your eyes met his again, and there was no more hiding in them—no fear, no overthinking, no pretending. Just two souls, open and trembling and unafraid to fall. You stared into the storm-blue of his gaze and felt yourself being pulled deeper, caught in the gravity of someone who chose you exactly as you were.

The light changed around you, slow and golden, the kind of fading light that casts long, soft shadows and turns everything it touches into something mythic. The air carried the scent of early blossoms and damp earth and sun-warmed wood. Somewhere nearby, a bird trilled a low, steady song, and in the far distance, the hum of a stream curled through the silence like a secret.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not your fears. Not even the future.

Only this.

Only him.

Only you—exactly as you were, more than enough, with your messy thoughts and uncontainable wonder, your heart that never learned how to beat quietly.

Theo leaned in slightly, not to kiss you yet, but just to be closer. Just to feel the space between you get smaller. His forehead nearly touched yours, and you felt the warmth of his breath mingle with your own.

"I don't want you to quiet down," he said, barely a whisper. "I want to hear everything."

And for the first time, you believed someone meant it.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

I’d love to hear your feedback on this one!

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Theodore Nott Masterlist

…until next time lovelies💋

[levvthan]

just a florist. | neuvillette x gn! reader

NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI Ao3 link → click here

words: 6,708

summary: Neuvillette was a frequent visitor to your humble garden centre in the heart of the Court. What began as a shared love for nature blossomed into a gentle friendship. But one afternoon, he arrived looking rather hot - his usual grace replaced with something unusual. Something was clearly off… but what?

!! content: smut, fluff & slight angst, breeding, size difference, mating cycles/in heat, biting, clothed sex, fingering, rough sex, knotting

A warm spring breeze drifted through the small garden center, carrying the mingling scents of blooming flowers and damp earth. It brushed against your skin, gentle and soothing, as sunlight streamed through the glass panes. 

Kneeling before a cluster of delicate flowers, ready to be potted and displayed, you pressed the trowel into the rich soil. Your fingers brushed against the flower's roots, feeling its fragile threads as you carefully nestled it into place.

The soft chime of the garden center’s door rang out, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. “Good morning,” a familiar voice greeted from behind. 

Neuvillette had become a regular customer at your garden centre. At first, he only visited every few months, but soon those visits turned into weeks, and before long, he found himself stopping by one day a week during his off-duty hours.

It had become an unspoken routine between the two of you. You’d even found yourself investing in new stock more often, just to keep him entertained and ensure there was always something fresh for him to admire.

Setting aside your trowel, you looked up, your gaze meeting Neuvillette’s figure, illuminated beautifully by the golden sunlight. He stood there, his presence serene, “Ah - those are beautiful,” he gestured towards the flowers you were potting.

“They’re Dendrobium, native to Inazuma,” you said with a smile, gently pressing the last bit of soil around the scarlet plant. “I’ll be with you in just a second, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

He chuckled softly, a warm grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Please," he uttered, his tone light, "you know that you may call me just Neuvilette."

“I’m only teasing,” you mused playfully, delicately placing the flower you’d just potted upon the lower shelf, as you reached for another. 

Idly, Neuvillette lingered over you, eyes fixed on your movements. Your articulate hands molded around the dirt with practiced ease, gently pressing it into place as you worked. When you glanced up at him, he slowly turned away.

“Do you mind if I crack open that window? It’s getting rather stuffy in here,” he asked, fingers fidgeting at his ruffled collar as if the warmth of the room had suddenly become noticeable.

You looked up and laughed softly before nodding. “Go ahead.”

Neuvillette hummed, his tall figure moving gracefully as he reached for the glass pane. Though he wasn’t in his usual work attire, he was still dressed as prim as ever. He swiftly opened the window, the fresh air swept in, and his elegant head of hair danced against the breeze.

You glanced back down at the now-potted plant in your hands, but something made you do a double-take. Your brow furrowed slightly as you studied him. Had his hair always had that many blue tethers? And his arms, were they broader than usual? The fabric of his sleeves and trousers strained slightly against his frame. 

However, you shook the thought away, quickly returning to your work - perhaps he’d been working out.

After a few minutes, “Thank you for waiting,” you smiled, rising to your feet and brushing off any loose soil from your apron. With a curious glance, you added, “Now, would you like to view this week's stock?” 

“Ah, first, could you tell me about these - Dendrobium?” He cast an intrigued gaze down at the Inazuman flowers, his eyes lingering on their vibrant petals as if they held a secret waiting to be unraveled.

“Of course, however, these flowers hold quite a dark story, really.” Your words seemed to earn an intrigued look from Neuvillette as he swiftly situated himself by your side.

You opened your mouth to tell the tale, yet a strange smell caught your attention, causing a brief distraction. It wasn’t unpleasant, just something… unfamiliar. You side-eyed Neuvilette, but quickly wrote the idea off, it was most likely the aroma of the Dendrobium's.

“It… it is said that they bloom most gracefully where blood has been spilled,” you told him. “Emerging from battlefields, after wars have been fought.”

“A symbol of both the violence and the resilience that follows,” Neuvilette muttered, his finger resting thoughtfully on his chin. “That’s quite a beautiful story, if you were to ask me.” His eyes still resting on the flowers, a quiet appreciation settled in his gaze.

You paused, pondering his words for a moment, before a memory struck you. “If you’re interested in something like that, I do have some other new-in-stock plants you may like,” you suggested, a hint of excitement in your voice.

Neuvillette smiled down at you as he nodded, and there it was again. That odd aroma, causing your nostrils to twinge. Yet, before you were able to address it this time, the garden center’s door chimed, the sound cutting through the air and drawing both of your attention.

“Hey! You sold me a faulty lawnmower… again !” A man at the door hollered rudely, his voice grating against the peaceful atmosphere. Neuvillette raised an eyebrow as you both turned toward the commotion.

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I’ll be back,” you said before hurrying over to the agitated customer, bracing yourself for the inevitable chiding.

Neuvillette shot you a look of understanding before turning his attention back to the plants. He leisurely made his way down a nearby aisle, his fingers grazing over delicate leaves as he browsed, making sure he was within earshot of your exchange with the disgruntled man.

You had dealt with this customer before, an elderly local with a notoriously short temper. He did his usual of chastising the store for not unboxing and testing the product beforehand. Inevitably, you offered him a refund and, out of the kindness of your customer service heart, offered him a discount on a newer model.

After some time, the senior soon left, his mood noticeably brighter and satisfied with the resolution, as per usual. You let out a small sigh of relief, as you returned to Neuvillette, who was still standing among the displays, his eyes wandering over the selection of your stock.

Before you could apologise for the interruption, he spoke first.

“They shouldn’t be allowed to treat you in that manner,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as his finger touched a petal of a nearby flower. Then, he added, “I thought you were no longer resorting to discounts?”

You sighed, recalling the conversation you’d had weeks prior. “I know, I know,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “But it’s the policy I put in place, but hey, I’m not losing money anymore.”

“That man, he comes back every few weeks,” Neuvillette noted, his tone laced with quiet suspicion. “And, surprisingly, every former purchase he has made has been ‘faulty’.” His fingers idly traced the edge of the petal as he cast you a knowing glance.

“I just want to keep up that good reputation, Neuvillette,” you hummed, knowing what he was getting at. “You know there’s a lot of competition here in the Court.” Your voice was light, but the weight of your words lingered in the air.

“I could-”

“No,” you interrupted, running your fingers through your hair. “No, thank you. Honestly, the business is doing fine.” You gave him a small, reassuring smile, hoping he could see the sincerity in your words.

You’d met Neuvillette whilst you were deep in a rather hefty debt. Over the course of his visits, time and time again, he had offered to help. He had more mora than anyone in Fontaine, and his wealth meant he could easily support you if you ever needed it. It was truly kind of him to offer a helping hand. Yet, each time, you felt a twinge of guilt for shooting him down.

However, his tone soon deepened, “I wasn’t going to offer my charity,” He countered, much to your surprise. “Perhaps, I could have a word with him, is all.” 

You had begun to remove your apron, but the words that left his mouth rendered you completely dumbfounded. You had never expected him to suggest such a thing, using his title as the Iudex of Fontaine to get through to a customer. It wasn’t like him at all.

“Neuvillette, what’s gotten into you?” you questioned, confusion etched across your face. “He’s only an elderly man, I can handle my own business just fine.”

Neuvillette took a step back, lowering the flower from his nose. Your eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself wondering if they too looked particularly different. You both stood there for a beat, taking in what he’d suggested.

“I apologize, I’m not feeling the best today, is all,” Neuvillette cleared his throat, his voice gentle. He placed the flower in his grasp back down on the shelf, as he toyed with his collar once more. 

You sighed. “I figured something wasn’t right.” A bead of sweat running down his forehead caught your attention, and with concern, you reached up, placing a hand against his skin. “Are you ill? Gosh, you do have quite a temperature.”

His expression became unsure as he reached up to touch your hand, but his arm faltered. His lips quivered, as if he were about to speak, but hesitation held him back, his gaze shifting between your hand and your eyes.

“Come, I have some herbal remedies that might help,” you said, giving him one last glance back.

He hesitated once more, a moment of uncertainty that didn’t go unnoticed, but soon silently accepted your offer. As you turned to walk away, he followed, the two of you weaving through the aisles. The soft rustling of leaves could be heard, guiding you both into the back room.

As you entered, you gestured toward a chair beside the door, propped open with a bucket. The backroom was small and quiet, its calm atmosphere contrasting with the untidy mess scattered about. Plants, garden equipment, and other trinkets which awaited to be stocked.

Handing Neuvillette a bottle of water from your unit, he took a seat with a soft huff, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped away the lingering sweat from his forehead, his movements slow and deliberate as he tried to steady himself.

Meanwhile, you rummaged through the cluttered drawers of your desk, searching for what you needed amidst the tangle of papers and tools. “Ah, here,” you chimed, eventually holding up a small packet of herbs.

“I’ve used these before, they’re great for fevers,” you said, striding back over to Neuvillette. However, as you approached, your expression shifted. He was slightly slouched, a posture you’d never seen from him before, his half-lidded eyes fluttered as he absentmindedly toyed with his shirt collar once again.

“Looks a little tight, perhaps you’ve had a growth spurt,” you remarked lightly, your playful tone softening as you moved to prepare the herbs. “Have some of that water while I brew this up for you.”

As you reminded him, Neuvillette wasted no time, the sound of the bottle crinkling as he opened it. He practically guzzled it down, only to choke slightly, his hand resting lazily against his chest as he coughed. You glanced over your shoulder at him, a hint of worry creeping in. You’d never seen him unwell before, and it was starting to unsettle you.

“Have you visited a doctor yet? Or has this only just begun to flare up?” you questioned, as you mixed the tea and herbs together. You waited for his response, but there was only silence, his gaze fixed downwards, odd .

You brought the freshly brewed tea over to him, in a delicate teacup, placing it on the nearby unit. The water bottle he’d drained was clutched tightly in his hand, while his left leg was sprawled out, distant from the other.

“Th-thank you,” Neuvillette managed to choke out, his voice hoarse as he wiped his forehead once more. He replaced the scrunched water bottle with the cup of tea, lifting it to his lips and taking a careful sip, the warmth seeming to soothe him slightly.

You smiled sympathetically, hoping the tea would provide some relief, before heading back to the drawer. “If it helps, I do have another packet. You’re welcome to take it,” you offered. 

However, the sudden, deafening sound of his cough startled you, making your heart skip a beat. His face twisted as he hastily set the now empty teacup down. It clattered against the surface, you stood frozen for a moment, unsure whether to rush to his side or give him space.

“Is it not sitting well? I’m sorry, I thought it’d help,” you apologized quickly, regret washing over you as you glanced over at the cup and back at him.

“No, no, it’s not that,” he replied, shaking his head slightly, his voice still strained. His hand rested on his knee as he propped himself up, as he fixed his eyes on your figure. “The tea, it’s lovely, I’ll take another packet.” 

In the back of your mind, you figured he was just being his polite self. Still, you searched around for the packet you’d dropped, and as you turned, you saw it resting idly on the wooden floorboards behind you. You strained a little, bending over to pick it up - your ass unknowingly waving in the air, as your back was turned to Neuvillette.

However, in the midst of your motion, another loud thud echoed through the room. You yelped, startled, as the chair Neuvillette had been sitting in clattered to the floor. Swiftly, you turned back around, only to find him gone. 

“Neuvillette?” You called out as you hurried toward the door. Just as you reached it, you heard the familiar chime of the garden centre’s entrance opening, followed by the sharp sound of it closing. 

The sudden silence that followed made your heart race as you scanned the store, confusion and concern settling over you. Was the tea really that awful? Was it something you’d said? The unanswered questions swirled in your mind, leaving you standing there, utterly bewildered.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The evening had come quickly, and the events from earlier lingered in your mind, refusing to let go. You couldn’t shake the confusion; Neuvillette had never acted like that in front of you before. His sudden departure, the strange behavior.

Maybe he had felt like he was going to throw up and didn’t want to embarrass himself? It was a stretch, but the possibilities kept running through your mind. 

Amidst your worries, you’d carefully arranged a beautiful display of flowers, the foreign ones you had yet to show him that morning. You had even handwritten a delicate card, reading ‘Get well soon,’ though you made sure not to include the small packet of herbs inside.

It felt like the right thing to do, a gesture to show you cared, even if you weren’t entirely sure what was going on with him.

With everything ready, you set off for Palais Mermonia, Neuvilette's place of work. The walk was quiet, as you took the less crowded route through the Court of Fontaine. The flowers within your small basket bounced with every step you took, trudging up many steep steps along the way. You hoped he’d be there, that he’d accept your gesture, and that he was alright.

Soon enough, the building loomed ahead, its grandeur almost overwhelming up close. You hadn’t visited often, only a few times before when the Palais’ maids had ordered bouquets, and each time, the sight of it took your breath away. Ornate stonework and tall, sweeping windows gave the building an almost ethereal presence.

“Name, please,” the frontman at the door asked, his tone formal and unbothered. However, soon enough, he noticed your basket. “Ah, you’re the florist Monsieur Neuvillette recommends, correct?” 

"Yeah, that’s me," you replied, surprised the frontman remembered you. You adjusted your grip on the package. "I’ve got a delivery for him, may I enter?" 

"Of course. Do you know your way?" The frontman smiled warmly, stepping aside to let you in. His gaze lingered on the basket in your hands. "I must say, those are beautiful, definitely of Monsieur Neuvillette’s taste." His voice carried a note of admiration as he reached out slightly, tempted to touch the delicate petals.

You subtly drew the basket away, forcing a polite smile. "Ah, indeed," you replied, adjusting your grip on the handle as you stepped forward. The Palais' grand hall stretched before you, its towering columns and gilded accents exuding an air of prestige.

Your nerves held steady as your footsteps echoed across the polished marble. In the air, the traces of melted candle wax enveloped your nostrils as you made your way through winding corridors.

After a short trek, both steadying your nerves and admiring the decor, you stopped before Neuvillette’s office door. Taking a slow breath, you reached for the handle. However, your hand faltered as you looked down at the gift basket with a doubtful gaze. 

You stood for a moment, the grand dark-wooden door towering before you. Would he truly appreciate this gift? Thoughts scrambled in your mind as you hesitated, reaching for the door time and time again, until you heard a faint noise on the other side.

Brows furrowing, you stepped closer, pressing your ear against the door. A deep, brief mumble followed by more murmurs, growing louder with each passing second, until a loud groan broke through the stillness.

Your eyes widened in shock, was he in pain? Panic gripped your chest, tightening around your heart, and without thinking, you flung the door open. But as it creaked, the sound felt deafening, and when you finally saw what was before you, your body froze, the scene before you impossible to grasp.

Neuvillette, in all his elegance, was sprawled out on a nearby couch, his shirt undone in a way that left little to the imagination. Horror twisted your features as you realized what you’d stumbled upon, your eyes involuntarily travelling lower, and lower, with each passing second.

You watched as his head tilted fully over the couch’s armrest. Each hot breath he took seemed to echo in the silence, deep and uneven, as he stroked his cock in a desperate, eager pace. 

His balls were somewhat tangled in his undergarments, as he’d made no effort to take off his trousers. His cock was a light shade of crimson, flicking his wrist, his pace quickened, as his grip tightened around his length.

After what felt like an eternity, completely lost in horror, the moment was shattered when you dropped the gift basket from your hand. It hit the floor with a loud thud, pulling you and Neuvillette back into reality.

Quickly, his head snapped up, his face twisted in surprise as his eyes met yours. He lay there, within the hot mess he’d created, shallow pants escaping from between his lips, each breath strained. 

"Oh! Archons!" you squealed, hastily covering your eyes as you turned away, the heat of embarrassment flooding your cheeks. "I... I just wanted to bring you these. These, on the floor - I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Neuvillette!" 

"No, no, it's quite alright," he replied quickly, his voice coarse, followed by the sound of him shuffling with his undergarments, then the zipping of his flyer.

" Quite alright ?! How could you say such a thing?" You bellowed, your heart racing. "I… I need to leave, I’m so sorry." Panic surged through you, and you blindly reached out for the door, desperate to escape.

However, you choked on your breath as you heard the door slam shut in front of you, the sound sharp and deafening. You jolted, as your eyes remained covered tightly by your hand, feeling a bead of sweat drip down your neck. 

"D-did you just close the door? Neuvillette? Why would you -" you asked, your voice quivering. Your hands flailed in the air, desperately searching for the handle. But you were cut off abruptly, feeling his hand grip your wrist tightly, pulling it away from your eyes.

Standing before you, you glanced up, eyes wide in shock. Neuvillette’s face was flushed, hair tousled, stray strands framing his features. Blue tethers, and more of them, shimmering and pulsing, his eyes were a brighter, fluorescent shade of aqua. Sweat dribbled from his forehead, tracing a line down to his chest.

He looked back at you, his expression stoic and unreadable. "I suppose it is no longer a secret between me and you," he said, his voice low, confusion twisted across your panicked face.

"I..." Neuvillette began, his gaze sweeping over you one last time. "I am… a dragon." The words hung in the air, leaving your mouth a gape. You could’ve come up with a thousand things he could’ve said instead, but this? This was entirely unexpected.

“What? I don’t understand, why, why do you say that?” You shook your head, taking a step back, his grip on your wrist falling. “Is this some sort of joke?”

The office fell into an awkward silence. "If what you're saying is true, then," Your eyes narrowed as confusion gave way to frustration, "then how is that relevant?! I just walked in on... on... oh! Never mind!" You threw your hands up in embarrassment, trying to push the image from your mind.

“I am in heat.”

Wide eyes, taking in his figure, he still dripped with an uncomfortable amount of sweat, the stains dark against his white shirt. In his stance, he stood tall, almost unaware, as his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath he took. Once again, your eyes couldn’t help but travel lower, his cock straining within his pants, leaving a thick imprint down the side of his thigh.

If your brain could combust into flames, now was definitely the time. You winced, covering your eyes once again. “Oh, Neuvillette! What do you mean you’re in heat?!” 

His expression remained steady, unaffected. Meanwhile, you felt like you were suffocating in a wave of mortification. You wanted to run, to disappear, to forget this ever happened. 

"My apologies," he said, his footsteps drawing closer. "Come now, it’s alright," he uttered, as he gently but decisively tore your hand away from your face once again. 

You shook your head in disbelief, clutching it in a tight grasp as you swatted his hand away, whining in anguish. "I don’t understand!" 

The fact that he could remain so calm stood in contrast to the storm in your head. Deep down, you knew - this moment, this absurd, intimate shift between you - it had changed your relationship forever. There was no going back.

"I realise this information is rather difficult for a human to take in." Neuvillette tilted his head slightly, his long strands of white hair shifting, his tethers bobbing gently. His gaze remained steady, as if trying to decipher the emotions written across your face.

Slowly, in the back of your mind, it all started to add up. His strange presence, his unearthly aura. Every resident of Fontaine knew of his age, yet it was said that his lifespan was a divine gift from the Archons, but Neuvillette was not one to lie. 

Another bead of sweat ran down his forehead as his words hit you, “I… don’t know what to say.” You sighed, face remaining almost as hot as lava. “I can’t believe I just… walked in on… you…”

The pair of you stood there for a beat, in an awkward, tense silence. "I just wanted to check up on you, the way you’d left in such a hurry, you worried me.” You muttered, voice low.

Slowly, Neuvillette’s hand lifted to gently touch the side of your head. He stroked your temple softly, which made you flinch at first, before you accepted it. He continued to stroke your temple, his touch more deliberate now, grounding you, and your nerves began to settle.

A hot pulse shot through your body, like a bolt of lightning. The words that left his mouth left you speechless. "I’ve always thought you were beautiful." A soft smile crept onto his lips, tender as he looked at you. The tension in the air shifted. 

“What?” you choked out, but before you could finish, a jolt of a now electrifying pulse ran down your spine. A squeak shot through your lips, as his soft strokes to your temple soon were replaced with a soft squeeze of your cheek.

Eyeing his hand upon your head, you opened your mouth to speak, but stopped. "Normally, I'm able to contain it , but earlier, when you bent over... it just struck a chord within me," Neuvillette admitted.

Neuvillette’s hand quickly traveled down to your chest as you breathed shakily. He began to loom closer, his figure towering above you, as if you were the smallest thing in the world. 

“Neuvillette - what’s gotten into you?” Voice quivering, as your gaze followed his hand, you breathed shakily, soon feeling his hot breath surge across your face. 

“I told you, I am in heat.” He replied in a low whisper, “Do you wish to satisfy my needs? Is that why you haven’t left yet?” 

You stood still, unsure of what to say; however, after a while, his touch soon turned relentless. Toying with the course fabric of your coat, as his hand then slipped beneath its folds, fingers meeting your waistline. They travelled up and down, in a slow motion, before his thumb began to circle your hips. 

His immediate shift in demeanor made your insides twinge. One hand simply became two, sliding your coat off as he then gripped onto your waist, rubbing circles harder and harder, as he slowly pushed you towards the couch. 

You stumbled backwards, your back hitting the plush settee with a soft thud. Glancing up at him, his hair strung down, tickling the tip of your nose. His expression hadn’t faltered, but soon turned to one of lust, his eyes had grown half-lidded, complemented by the flush still set on his face.

At the back of your mind, you knew that you’d wanted this for months, but you still couldn’t shake the waves of embarrassment. It began to wash over you, shifting your gaze away in an attempt to hide your face. 

Neuvillette's slender finger reached up to your chin, gently forcing it back into place, as the action alone reminded you that his eyes were all on you. 

His finger then travelled down to your shirt, he began to unbutton it at a medium pace. Your chest rose up and down with every short breath you took, heart beating like a bunny rabbit. Soon, your skin was freed, the air nipped at it as he slid your shirt off, letting it fall onto the couch. 

Your eyes soon glanced up at his shirt, patchy and gray, as it hung loosely over his shoulders. You debated whether you should reach out, slide it off as he just did to you, but there was no need, as he undid the remainder of his buttons. 

The pair of you were soon skin to skin, as he took a seat beside you, pulling your figure onto his lap. His sheathed length pressed against your clothed sex, still wary, you decided not to melt into his touch too heatedly. 

That was before a lukewarm sensation found its way around your nipple. He propped you up higher, his hands clasping your ass, as he was eager to get a better taste. All you could do was moan, head slumping beside his, the scent of his sweat engulfing your nose. 

Soon, you let out a wince, as he harshly squeezed your ass without warning. His fingers toyed with your clothed flesh, touch almost comparable to a beast longing to rid you of any restraints.

He still eagerly sucked on your nipple, which soon turned to slight nipping. By now, your mind was elsewhere, and you’d completely melted into him. You could tell he was growing hungry, his clothed cock which strained against his trousers prodded and poked at your sex. 

A deep moans escaped your lips, as you felt his cock twitch at the sound of yourself. With a pop, he freed your nipple from his lips, he grunted shallowly as he watched the trail of saliva travel down your abdomen. 

He freed your ass from his squeezed grasp, as his fingers began to toy with the hem of your trousers, soon unbuttoning them like he did with your shirt. He toyed and toyed, but taking such a thing off in this position was rather difficult.

You huffed in frustration, eager to free the rest of your body, you silently opted to stand and pull them off yourself.

However, there was no need. A harsh rip rang out through the office. Neuvillette let out a deep grunt, muscles tense, as he split them in half with ease. A long, garish tear travelled down your trousers, causing you to glance down in surprise. 

If it were any other scenario, you’d be in uproar, but there were other matters at hand.

You watched as Neuvillette’s hand travelled lower, followed by another deep grunt as it cascaded with a moan of your own. His slim index finger swiftly pulled your undergarments to the side, as it shadowed over your hole. 

You found yourself eager and waiting until he paused. Glancing up at him, confused, his eyes knowingly met your own as he tapped your chip. Opening your mouth, you allowed his finger in, tongue curling around it as you lathered it in saliva. 

No time was to be wasted, as he soon slid it out, a trail following along as he shadowed your hole once again. A relieving, passionate moan rang from your lips as he pushed it inside. 

You coiled inwards, forehead resting upon his shoulder, as you took his finger deeper. After a pause, allowing you to adjust, he began to thrust it up and down, in and out, until you became a steaming, moaning mess.

One finger soon turned to two, as his motions grew swifter with every passing second. You licked, nipped, and whined against his shoulder, as you subconsciously began to bounce up and down, chasing that approaching high. 

It was coming, you could feel it bubbling, steaming, as it continued to build with every inch his fingers grew deeper. Yet, the feeling faltered within an instant, leaving you eager and breathless, as you just were on the brink of short-circuiting. 

“Not yet,” Neuvillette muttered lowly, sliding his fingers out of you with ease. You shot him a look of disappointment and almost began to plead, before he answered for you.

Gently, he carefully helped you off of him, as he then stood up, now unbuttoning his trousers. In silent excitement, eyeing up his bulge, you also stood to take off your ripped pair. Though before you could even start, he softly pushed you back down. 

You slumped against the couch as you noticed that his expression was not one you’d witnessed before. A shift of fabric, the sound of his zipper, a tug and then a grunt. Your eyes travelled downwards, your mouth gaping as you took in the sight in front of you.

His cock seemed a lot larger up this close, your face contorting as your nerves began to heighten. It was long, thick with girth. Precum oozed out of him like a broken faucet, as he rewarded himself with a light stroke.

You whimpered, “How… is that even going to fit?” Your eyes widened and then narrowed, tilting your head back and forth as you contemplated the question.

“It’ll fit,” Neuvillette stated bluntly, stroking himself once again. His stare grazed over you, like he was sizing you up. You couldn’t tell if you hated it, or if it was just that his shift in manner unsettled you.

Though before you could even rebut against his claim, his hands found themselves toying with your flesh once more, squeezing your thighs. He ushered you to stand, but before you could even gain your balance, he twirled you around and pushed you back against the sofa, a lot more forceful this time. 

Ass up in the air, your thoughts began to wander, reminding you of the events that morning. You waited, and waited for Neuvillette's touch to find its way back onto your body. But it never came, causing you to look over your shoulder.

A gasp escaped your lips. He’d taken his trousers completely off, and his balls were now on complete display. They looked packed to the brim, as they hung below his oozing cock. He let out a slight wince as he stroked the aching tip once more.  

“I don’t know if I’m sure about -” Your face plummeted into the couch, smushing against its pillow.

Neuvillette’s cock entered you like a bullet, stretching your hole as your walls tightly wrapped around his length. You bellowed in pain, latching onto anything you could find, as he pushed himself in deeper and deeper. 

Shallow and coarse, a string of uneven moans left Neuvillette as he held your hips firmly against his. You felt his cock twitch as it strained inside of you, drops of sweat fell from his body fell coldly against your back. 

“It hurts! It’s too big!” You squealed, trying to edge yourself away, but his grasp held you in place, reminding you there was no turning back.

“You just need to adjust, you’re tighter than I imagined.” Neuvillette choked out between hot pants.

Your eyes tightened shut, gritting your teeth together. Slowly, he began to inch his cock in and out, the squelch from his juices mixing with yours, as the lustful sound of skin slapping together became more apparent.

Louder and louder, faster and faster, you moaned and moaned. It hurt, a lot, his cock was thick and unruly against your hole, but soon the pain was replaced with pleasure. 

Neuvillette began to let himself go completely, fucking you against the couch. His hand pinned your head down to the plush surface, his foot propped up beside your ass, as your back arched in a way once thought impossible.

His other hand soon gripped onto your hip, pulling you in closer. You felt his tip hit a spot deeper, feeling the slap of his balls, sending a fiery pulse across every inch of your body. “Neuvillette!” Was all you could say between your moans.

“Repeat it,” He grunted, his grip on the back of your head tightening.

“Neuvillette!” Again, “Neuvillette!” Each time you moaned out his name you felt his cock twitch and pump harder.

At this point, you were in a mating press. His long white hair stuck ickily to your body, adding to the sensation of having your hole abused by his cock. However, you gasped as he pulled you up along with him by your hair.

Without pulling out, you felt his cock twist and turn, as he sat you up so that you were in his lap. Not a moment to spare, he bounced you up and down with ease. You bit sharply into his shoulder, every squelch and slap of skin sending you into a lustful psychosis. 

“Look at me,” He ordered, but you couldn’t. The burning sensation building inside of you was far too intense, and you no longer had a pillow to grapple onto.

Neuvillette didn’t appreciate this. He gripped your hair once more, pulling your face away from his shoulder. Through half-lidded eyes, mouth wide open, you both breathed shakily, as you both looked at each other. 

He looked a mess, hair tousled, flushed cheeks, yet, his beauty remained untouched. If anything, it was more striking like this. Raw, unguarded, and real. There was intensity in his gaze, and it made your heart stammer in your chest.

He looked back at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as his movements grew slower, almost hesitant, sloppy, even. His hands left your ass, hovering in the air for a moment. 

You didn’t understand if he was out of breath, if he wanted you to ride him. That was until his strong, muscular arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you upwards as he thrusted his cock deeper than ever. 

Whatever noise that left your mouth was certainly one you hadn’t made before. Relentless, he fucked you harder as he squeezed you tightly against him. You could hardly breathe, head growing dizzy, as your abdomen began to do somersaults. 

“Neuvillette! I’m gonna cum!” You bellowed, his cock not once faltered in abusing your insides.

Your breaths mingled with his, filling whatever space was left between you in a desperate rhythm. Overwhelmed, your body trembled as the moment rose. You reached your high, walls tightly engulfing his cock, making it harder for him to thrust.

Neuvillette soon followed, his breath warm against your cheek, as deep moans weren’t hard to escape his pursed lips. The intense pressure made your skin tingle, as his voice vibrated from his chest.

One last time, you felt his cock twinge once more, before, he unloaded the entire contents of his balls inside of you. He pressed you down deeply, as if his cock was a spear, not wanting to spare even a drop of his cum. 

Neuvillette quivered as he filled you to the brim, grip still fiercely tight around you. You gasped as you felt it dribble out, running down your inner thighs, soon meeting the couch's surface. 

The pair of you were far too exhausted to care about the aftermath. Whatever mess had been made, whatever mark left behind, it didn’t matter. All that existed now was the shared silence, the heavy breathing, and sweat merging in a sticky sequence. 

After a momentary pause, regaining energy, Neuvillette’s grip softened, shifting into something more tender as he pulled you into a quiet, heartfelt embrace. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, breath still unsteady. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, as if the weight of everything had finally caught up to him.

“It’s okay,” you muttered back, your voice soft against his skin. “I… I enjoyed it.” The words felt fragile leaving your lips, but honest.

You rested together in the quiet, the room dim and still. Faint lamplight flickered across the walls, and the air was thick with warmth and the scent of… something sticky. Outside, the world felt far away, like this moment belonged only to you and Neuvillette.

Soon, his cock, which remained nestled deep inside you, began to grow soft. More of his cum began to spill, creating a rather large pool around you both. You went to lift yourself off of him, but his hand gently stopped you, holding you in place.

“You can’t,” he said softly, his voice steady but carrying a hint of something deeper. 

“Why?” you asked. You looked up at him, waiting for an answer. He avoided your gaze, tussling with his hair as he pulled a strand stuck to his chin away.

“I’ve knotted.” He replied, you lifted an eyebrow, until a flicker of realization crossed your mind. For a moment, you were speechless, the reality in that you’d just fucked a dragon finally clicking in your mind.

Even if you wanted to move, you realized there was nothing you could do. The thought of causing him discomfort made you pause, and so you stayed, sinking deeper into his embrace, allowing yourself to relax in his arms.

After a short while, he broke the silence, his voice tentative. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?” His words hung in the air, a hint of uncertainty behind them as he searched your expression for reassurance.

You thought for a moment, guilt panging in your chest. The innocence of his question, so simple yet loaded, “Of course we are,” you replied softly, offering him a reassuring smile. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you,” he said, his chest rumbling as the sound of his voice carried out low and smooth. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps next time, I can take you out on a date first.”

You both laughed softly, the sound barely more than a breath, but it eased his lingering worries. Wrapped in each other’s arms, with warmth settling between you like a quiet promise, you let the silence speak for itself.

A/N: I really rushed this towards the end. I know it’s lacking some depth and is just a bit off, but I really can’t be bothered to go back and rewrite it. Hopefully it wasn’t too bad, I hope you enjoyed!

MASTERLIST

[themonkey2025]

like yes it's making me feel horrible, it's making me feel like shit. but god it's so LUSH. i want to savor every page. i want to put each word in my mouth and roll it around on my tongue until i've whittled it down to the tiniest little seed. like the language in this book is just so extravagantly abundant, it's so refulgent, it's rapturous. it's fucking impossible to stop reading! it's making me feel just awful, like it ALWAYS does, but god this novel propels u onwards and doesn't set u down for even a moment. putting the book down doesn't even seem like a possibility really

sucks that a little life is unequivocally The World's Most Triggering Book because it is also Top Ten Best Books Ever Written In The History Of Humankind.

[thedarksilkpen]

Not A City Bear

Halsin has some anxieties about being surrounded by so much stone, cold and unfeeling. Luckily, the easiest way to get back to nature can be found in your arms.

i didn't do a word count for this one, and if there's any typos i'm sorry lol. tldr it's wednesday and i'm a recovering catholic. enjoy some heretical and blasphemous smut, i guess? and an excuse to use some of my favourite words.

NSFW Below

Halsin x Tav (female reader)

--

The city gnaws at him.

It’s in the way Halsin hesitates on the threshold, broad shoulders brushing the doorframe as he ducks through it, face drawn tight as if the cobblestones outside have worn down his ease. His eyes, so often rich with the warmth of forest glades and soft birdsong, are sharp now, restless. You see it immediately-- the tension in his jaw, the subtle twitch of his fingers as he unclasps his cloak.

His face is clean and smooth, scrubbed of the evidence of the road and the long nights of travel. Gone is the dirt under his fingernails and the smell of earth and grass from his tunic, replaced by some soft fragrant perfume that smells foreign on the tall elf. Halsin's eyes scan your face, flitting back and forth between the walls and you, his jumpiness evident.

He doesn’t speak. He just comes to you.

Large hands find your waist before you can ask if he’s alright, and he buries his face in your neck, breath hot and uneven, staggered with the depth of his sudden anxiety. You feel him inhale deeply with a shudder, like he’s trying to breathe in everything you are. His cheeks rub gently against your skin, and the sigh that leaves him is heavy and relieved.

“The city is... too much,” he murmurs against your collarbone, voice roughened by strain. “Stone everywhere. No wind. No soil. I needed…” You can feel his hand against your back as he clutches at you, trying to find the words.

His lips brush your throat as he attempts to speak. Once. Then again. Slower.

“…you,” he finishes simply, weakly.

You thread your fingers through the strands of thick hair at the nape of his neck, grounding him the way only you can. “Then take what you need.”

That’s all it takes. Halsin lifts you as if you weigh nothing, lips finding yours with a hunger that’s quiet but immense-- like roots spreading beneath the surface he flows into you, the essence of him, masculine and heady. He doesn’t throw you to the bed. He lowers you to it with reverence, like you're something sacred, the very culmination of mother Earth and soul-- a being born of love and to love.

His hands are gentle, but they're not shy.

They know your curves, your textures, the sounds you make when he slides his palm up your thigh and brushes the edge of your underclothes. Halsin knows that your breath will come sharply when he presses you just there and when he kisses you just here. Every movement is unhurried, but no less demanding.

His touch coaxes, not commands.

His tongue explores, not delves.

Halsin peels you apart delicately under his calloused but gentle hands, folding you open for him with a touch that feels like worship, and when your thighs part, the sound that leaves him is a wordless catechesis.

“I feel more alive,” he whispers, mouth against your breast as he frees it with a grasping and clumsy paw, “when I’m inside you.”

And gods, he proves it.

His tongue is slow, teasing. His hands cradle your hips as if they’re delicate stems and blooming in the space where the meet, beautiful and rosy. When he pushes into you, it's like a prayer—long, aching strokes that make your back arch and your breath catch. Halsin buries himself fully, pressing his forehead to yours as he rocks into you with the the fervor of fresh spring.

The bed creaks softly, muffled by the thick walls and distant city din. Here, in this quiet room, you give him the wilderness he craves. The nature of beast and man. He pants your name into your mouth as he moves deeper, slower, hips grinding as if trying to become part of you.

“You’re my forest,” he groans, voice cracking like a rock slide. “My earth. My peace.”

You wrap your legs around him and pull him in, again and again, until the pressure mounts between you both like summer thunder. The sounds of skin on skin feel loud in the small room and you whimper under him, hips rocking in tandem with his to force him deeper. You tremble first, helpless under his touch, and he follows, moaning low in his throat, holding you as if the city will tear him apart if he lets go.

When it’s over, he stays inside you, still pulsing, still breathing your scent in like he might lose it the moment he leaves. One large hand cups your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone as if he's memorizing the shape of you.

“I can face the stone again tomorrow,” Halsin says, lips soft against your temple. “As long as I have this. You. A place to return to.”

And just like that, you anchor him, the druid, warrior, lover; he's tamed not by chains, but by the promise of your hands.

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Wednesday 9 April 2025

In this raised bed the well-drained, humus-rich soil is perfect for the spreading perennial Anemone blanda 'White Splendour' (winter windflower, wood anemone). This plant can be used for naturalising under deciduous trees and shrubs, where its early spring blooms attract pollinators. It is summer dormant after spring flowering.

Jill Raggett

[estcaligo]

Sebek's scent

Sebek x reader, romantic A/N Another piece from the I Love Everything About You series. I tried to reference Sebek's 2024 Valentine's gift, which was an "honest aroma" fragrance spray. Very lightly suggestive.

Breathe in

It's so underappreciated - how deeply scent can shape your perception of the world around you. How it weaves itself into memory, places, people, emotions, creating a special bond, which affects your life.

You were surprised when you realized that the unfamiliarity of this place began to soften, when the strangeness of it all felt a little less daunting, was when his scent began to linger in your senses, grounding you. Such a simple and honest scent - yet so important.

Early spring evenings are still cold. The fireplace crackles softly, its flames flickering in rhythm with the wind howling outside. The familiar warmth of Ramshackle hall cocoons you, but your thoughts drift elsewhere.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace the rough pages of the book Sebek gave you. But you stopped following the plot long ago. Instead, you sink into a pleasant trance, carried away by the scent of old paper - warm, mellow, with hints of wood.

However it isn't just the book's scent that sends you dreaming. It's the way it now reminds you of him.

You've spent so much time together - reading, debating stories, exchanging books - that now, whenever you inhale that special scent, whether from crisp new pages or worn ones, it instantly conjures his presence.

Even when he isn't here, the moment you open a book, it's as if his ghost is summoned beside you, reading along in your shared silence. Or when you sit down to study, his stern expression flashes in your mind, strictly judging your effort.

And then there are all those bookmarks he gifted you - delicate, pressed with dried white flowers that release their own subtle fragrance. All these scents merge, making your head spin whenever you breathe them in.

Either way, the scent of books and white flowers - Is the scent of Sebek now.

Then, there's the smell of hot, sweet drinks. Spices too - cinnamon, vanilla - enriching but gentle and comforting.

Sebek always protests when you offer him such drinks. (He's training himself to drink coffee - so why won't you give him some?!) But after a moment, he averts his gaze and begrudgingly accepts. He takes the cup from your hands, a faint blush dusts his cheeks.

Sometimes, your fingers brush, and his face turns an even deeper shade of red. To hide his embarrassment, he lifts the cup to his lips, focusing too intently on the steam rising from it. You just smile. There's no awkwardness - only warmth in your chests. The rich, spiced aroma fills the air, soothing even someone as fiery as him.

Once the drinks are finished and his flustered state subsides, you lean into him, burying your face against his chest, breathing him in.

Sebek sighs, quietly scolding you about how easily warm drinks make people drowsy. But in the end, he hesitantly places a hand on your back, just barely, as if still embarrassed. Same every time.

You close your eyes, pressing closer to his broad frame. His breath, warm against your skin, carries his scent, and the heat of it only makes the fragrance more intoxicating.

Sebek smells like the forest - like oak moss and fresh pine, like the wind rushing through the leaves. But also like something untamed, something mysterious - of fae - hiding in that forest.

You nuzzle close and he growls deeply - a sound that reminds you that he does have some crocodile fae blood. As if reading your thoughts, his grip on you tightens. Images of swamps and majestic reptiles evoke in your mind, and you can feel some hints of damp soil and the faint musk of earth after rain too. All this electrifying symphony of his scents makes your mind hazy.

You trail your nose higher, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Here, the scent shifts - something herbal, something subtly sweet. Rosemary? Likely from his hair gel.

You press a light kiss against his skin and he jolts, stiffening. Chuckling softly, you brush your fingers over his burning cheek.

"Human-" he grumbles, voice rough with flustered protest, yet making no move to pull away. Instead, he rests his head against yours, his jaw now rubbing instinctively against your temple.

"Sorry… I just can't resist" you whisper, inhaling deeply, as if you want all his essence to sink into you, let it fill you all from within. But you also wish to wrap yourself in it, the way you so often wrap yourself in his soft cardigan after you-

The smell of comfort and love, even in this strange unfamiliar world.

Now your Wonderland smells like books and white flowers, like mossy forest air and hot spiced drinks.

Like the sweat of training, after which he still joins you for tea as promised.

Like his rosemary hair gel.

Like the stables, where you spend your days sometimes tending to the horses, helping him.

Like firewood crackling in the hearth when you rest against him after his long hours of serving his... your king.

Like smoked salmon he brings to share, boasting of his fishing skills.

Like the leather of his gloves, as they wrap around your wrist when you tease him too much.

Like the chill of his breath when he leans in close to whisper words meant only for you...

Such simple, honest words.

Just like his honest scent.

Breathe out.

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃'𝐒 𝐇𝐘𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄.

💞 — in which malleus dreams of the waste land and finds him grieving you and the old friend of his you resemble.

💞 — malleus draconia x reader

💞 — warnings: hurt/comfort type fic. mentions of death, religion, and grieving.

💞 — 1.5k words. heavily inspired by the poem "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot. this is extremely experimental but i think the poem suits malleus for some reason.

April is the cruelest month. With the coming of spring came the warmth that would speed up the decay of corpses long buried beneath the soil. Lively blossoms appear from under the earth, eating away at dead lovers for sustenance. Fallen soldiers are pulled in by weak branches, taken away to become the grass of next spring, hidden beneath layers of snow in the wintertime. 

This same grass would hear the laughter of children as a retired general held his boys on a sled, “Lilia, I’m scared,” but gentle hands would guide the young prince to hold on tightly. It was like flying down the mountains. Soon all three of them would laugh and fill the air with joy, but the dead could hear nothing. Not the crows above their tombstones, and not the laughter layers above their corpses.

It was not Malleus's hands which created this Waste Land, but his eyes witnessed it. Fae did not need sleep for energy as other creatures did, but when he did sleep, it became a spiritual experience. He would find himself in the Waste Land. Was this place far into the future, or far into the past? 

When he looked to the side, he caught the sight of someone. He recognized this person, “Child of man,” he uttered, the only sound in this land aside from the crumbling hopes of the families whose sons and daughters had fallen in battle, “You gave me hyacinths first a year ago. They called me the hyacinth prince,” but you had never come back. He had known nothing.

A spirit sings, those are pearls that were his eyes, nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea-change, into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell. Your hair was wet, fear death by water. But there was no water in this desolate land. 

The soil was dry and cracked, thirsty. Malleus could remember it vividly. Dancing with the young nymphs by the lake. Only then did he realize how fragile human life was. Water, which the earth cried for with its cracked form, water which filled the lungs and sank bodies. 

Unreal city, where the nymphs had departed, and hot mountains reigned as palaces. The dogs barked helplessly at tombstones. The sweet river ran softly as Malleus sang his song. The nymphs had departed, leaving him alone, sitting at the riverbank, reaching into the water and finding nothing. Dread pooled in his stomach, the young prince bent forward further and continued to grasp for nothing. All he found was burning hot rocks.

O Lord Thou pluckest me out.

He loomed over the young prince Malleus, dressed in flowing robes. Stoic but not comforting, a figure of great power to guide the fallen soul from the river of the valley to the river traversed by the ancient soldiers. Malleus had noticed this figure before, when he brought his friend to dance with the nymphs, “Who is that with you?” he asked his friend, “It is always you, me, and that third figure which follows you. Who are they?” He learned that day who that figure was, his scythe shimmered under the moonlight once the nymphs had departed.

That was the beauty of the Waste Land. There was no water to pull young friends apart, dragging them with the current before young fae hands could come and save them. It was dry and sandy and rocky. No water. No life. He looked to the child of man, you watched him with pearly eyes, “If there had been water, we should stop and drink,” he said, looking back out into the miles of cracked earth. It was better there was no water, your weak human body could fall in and drown. No nymphs to come rescue you, just a young fae prince.

You had come back to him in the shape of another. A new child of man, with hyacinths in their warm human hands. Datta. Those compassionate hands which traced over a broken horn with the gentleness of a mother. Dayadvham. It was hard to control his urges. His dear friend was back and all he could think was to hide them away from water, leaving the land to suffer in his selfishness. Damyata. 

All he could think was that young friend, dead for longer than a fortnight, dragged by the lake and rivers to the sea. They could not hear the cry of gulls, tugged down by the sea's cruel currents. Malleus begged that all who gazed into the sea thought of his friend, once as lively and handsome as you.

The chapel was empty, all he could hear was the rattle of bones and the cawing crows. It was a lone building standing weakly in the wasted land, doors and windows swaying open with the wind. Malleus stepped inside, following after you. He sees you, kneeled in the front. Some prayer falling from your lips, “Child of man?” he calls, but you do not answer.

He comes closer and then kneels beside you, gazing up at the stained glass figure of a mother he would never know. Regal, with dark hair cascading like the river which took his friend to the sea. Malleus could hear your prayers a bit better now, “O Lord Thou pluckest me out.”

The chapel's doors slammed shut. There was a flash of lightning, illuminating the green eyes in the stained glass figure and then came the patter of rain. It sounded more like the footsteps of fall soldiers ready to drag his beloved to the river of the dead. Rain. Water. 

The Waste Land was dark when Malleus left the chapel at your side, rain falling over his pale skin. He followed you to the shore, sitting down beside you, watching this ocean where Phlebas the Phoenician and his friend rested. You looked just like them. Sounded like them too, with feet desperate to dance in danger among the happy nymphs. These fragments of the past seemed to wash up with the sea foam. He looked at you. You looked at the sea. His eyes were made of pearls. 

Madame Sosostris warned of the death by water.

He could see your lips tremble from the cold, but he could not move to offer a coat. He was the viewer of the Waste Land, he could not intervene. 

When Malleus woke up in his dorm room, he was quick to sit up and look for a certain figure. His panicked hands reached out and touched the sheets beside him, only relaxing once they felt the familiar heat of human flesh. Translucent layers of skin covering all the most vital things to him. Those veins and arteries. All it would take was a sharp enough blade and some time and soon they would be like Phlebas the Phoenician. He sighed, “You are too fragile.” 

You stirred due to the movements around you and turned to face Malleus, bleary eyes shimmered like pearls under the dim light which came from the moon outside of his window, “Are you alright?” you ask as if you had not been the very cause of all his fright.

He merely nodded and laid back down, tugging your figure close to him, burying his face like a casket into your hair, “Worry not about me, little human,” he said. Your prayers in the chapel of the Waste Land had frightened him, but it was you who brought back the water to fertilize the land.

“I always worry about you,” you said, as if you were invincible and he was the one who could easily slip into a river and be dragged away by the currents. Your warm arm slipped around him to keep him close.

Malleus could feel your lashes against the skin of his neck. Your worry was a naive endeavor. He was fully capable of protecting himself. It was you he worried for, with this warm human body that could become cold so quickly. His hands dug into the plushness of your figure, clinging to whatever he could like a desperate mourner at a funeral, “You needn’t worry about me,” he repeats.

“I think I do,” you muttered. At the bedside were the hyacinths you so carefully picked today. Out in the forest, far from the campus. Little flowers sharing a single stem, holding onto one another like desperate lovers.

If he could have, Malleus would have stuck himself to you forever. He would have dug himself a place in your skin and lived there, peacefully watching the pulse of your heart. Instead, he just sighed once more, wistfully this time. It had rained in the Waste Land, fertilizing the cracked earth. Grass would grow and freeze in the winter before April came and tugged the bodies of fallen soldiers into the soil. Hyacinths would grow for a reckless child of man to pick.

But right now, he was in the comforts of his sheets with his beloved. His eyes fluttered shut and he did not dream.

Shantih. Shantih. Shantih.

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

support me on ko-fi!

[lieslab]

The look of love, the rush of blood

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Hyunjin X gn reader

Summary: You're enjoying the sunset and reminiscing outside when your boyfriend wakes up from a nap and joins you.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: I'm currently fighting a fever, but I saw a TikTok edit of Hyunjin and an idea sparked. Please tell me if this is a jumbled mess. I love that man, I hate winter, and I crave the colors and warmth of spring/summer. That's where this all started. He's so just pretty and talented, I hope he lives forever.

_ _ _

The edge of your nail bit into the soft skin of a peach with ease. One knee curled to your chest and the other knee was extended out towards the ground. Your bare foot pushed off the porch and you gently rocked yourself on the wooden swing. 

The stubborn-blue sky was finally fading away. Paint smears of lilacs and corals lined the sky’s canvas tonight. Long cotton clouds stretched until they pulled away from one another in layers. You learned that the sunset was the best time to wind down. 

Across the way, birds littered the backyard. Swiping their curved beaks through the grass, they searched for the last squirms of worms. The end of a worm, the hardened-shell of a seed, just a nibble of something to satisfy their evening hunger; even the smallest creatures get hungry before bed. 

Cold peach juice dripped down your chin. With each knock of the pit against your teeth, you were reminded how much you enjoyed the simplicity of it all. The soft breeze, the distant chirps, the sky of colors that you’d taken for granted so many nights before. 

It was Hyunjin that introduced this magic to you. You laughed as he tugged you to the back porch, but he insisted you needed to live in the moment. To look around and truly and authentically see it all. Away from electronic screens and the constant bright colors of advertisements. 

“Get out of your head and look around once in a while.” 

You laughed at how insistent he was. You couldn’t take him seriously, at first. The dropped sides of his lips and the poked out pout, it was childish. To make it better, you grabbed his hands, reached up, and pressed your lips against his. 

He tasted like wild citrus. It was a certain kind of rare sweetness. You didn’t know how to put it into words. When he plucked fresh-ripened oranges from a tree in the backyard, his kisses always tasted different. Something was lighter, the juice was sweeter, the kisses were better. 

Maybe it was because the trees were grown with your own love. When the sky was stubborn and the drops of rain refused to fall, Hyunjin was there with a small watering can and a voice of reason. He dubbed the tree a she and ran his hand over the grooves in her bark. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Hydrating our baby. What’s it look like I’m doing? Have you seen the weather report lately? She needs water.” 

The rich soil contained enough moisture, but letting the days tick by without watering her, Hyunjin swore it felt wrong. He personified one tree and then another. Another and another. 

As the summer season stretched, so did his love for the trees. The two of you didn’t plant the trees, but the previous owners did. A couple from the 60’s grew with those citrus trees. The lemons, the limes, the oranges; they were all grown with love. Not a day went by where they didn’t experience some sort of it. 

They heard it call out from the front of the house when you waved Hyunjin good-bye and blew him a kiss. The mere seconds in which you kissed one another was too short. Wanting to prove that his love would go with you, he was the first to blow you a kiss. When you did it back, he panicked. 

“Don’t send my love back to me, you idiot! Keep it! Keep my love! I don’t give it out freely, you’re supposed to cherish it!” 

The citrus trees caught glimpses of love beneath their sprouted leaves. They saw through sheer curtains and watched the two of you sneak kisses during mundane activities. Whether it was a drive-by kissing or stopping to grab the other’s hand. Lips pressed against fingers and the invisible print stained palms. 

They heard it when French ballads drifted through the open windows. At the top of your lungs and with the wrong vowels, you sang the songs poorly, but passionately. No matter how touching the lyrics were, you loved to spice it up with the wrong kinds of dance moves. Hyunjin laughed and laughed and laughed. In your pajamas, with your hair pulled back, love looked good on both of you. 

Your love fed their growth. Hyunjin’s love, more specifically, fed that specific citrus tree. The sweetened fruits appeared early this season. He swore they were bigger and sweeter this year. 

Sunlight reflected in his eyes as he dug against the first fruit of the season. You watched with amusement as he dug at the peel and forced his nails beneath the stubborn skin. Success never tasted sweeter and he saved the second taste for you. 

“Hey, you! Come here, you’ve got to try this! Look what we did!” 

He waved the fruit high overhead. The wafting sugared scent caught the attention of a nearby bumble bee. The fuzzy thing drifted closer and closer until its fuzz brushed against the side of Hyunjin’s hand.

“Um, babe, I think that was all you this year.” 

He didn’t hear you over the sound of his terrified scream. 

The citrus was sweeter with his presence. After escaping the bee, he held the fruit to your lips and watched as you took a bite. As you bit through the stringy fibers, his thumb wiped away a dribble of juice from your bottom lip. 

“Have you considered becoming a citrus farmer?” 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. He brushed off your words and turned to the side to hide his growing smile. Your compliments knew how to slip beneath his skin and warm his heart. Even if you never meant it, he was enamored by your attempts to express your love. 

Love was never boring with you. 

Shuffling footsteps drew your attention like a moth to a flame. You pushed back a stray piece of hair, licked excess peach juice from your lips, and glanced up to find a sleepy Hyunjin padding through the back glass sliding door. Messy bits of dark hair stuck out in every direction. Half-lidded eyes captured the expression of the near sleep that once was. 

“You finally made it out here.” 

He didn’t respond right away. The golden chimes across the way swayed in the breeze. The soft chiming and the brush of warm air across his face, it was so calming. He wanted to wrap this moment in time and stick it in his back pocket. At a later date, he’d pull it out and be able to truly cherish the details of it all. 

His fingers curled into his fists and stretched overhead. On his tiptoes, every muscle in his body stretched towards the sky. A yawn began to grow and your eyes wandered down to his torso, knowing what would happen. 

The white fabric lifted and revealed the single mole that sat near his hip. How could someone doing something so domestic cause your heart to pump so fast? The honeyed skin was there and then it was gone; a quick peek that was lost to the blimp of time. 

“Why are you eating a peach?” His voice came out groggy. He padded over, crawled up next to you, and nuzzled into your thighs. His eyes slipped shut while he cherished the skin-to-skin contact. “I just picked more oranges this morning.” 

“Because I like peaches better than oranges.” 

“The oranges I grew with love?” 

“We’ve been over this and I’m sorry.” A non-sticky finger on your free hand brushed a strand of dark hair from his face. “You know that I like peaches just a little bit more than oranges. Even when they’re grown by you, I prefer peaches more.” 

His eyes reopened and found your gaze. You brushed at a stray drip of peach juice that slipped across your wrist. “I love that about you.” He whispered his words softly while he gently grabbed your wrist and brought it to his mouth. 

The warmth of his tongue hit your quickened pulse and your breath hitch. He was constantly doing things like this and catching you off guard. His actions of intimacy were about as soft and sweet as the oranges from the citrus tree he grew. Nobody to watch or judge, just the two of you, and your skin. 

Quickened hearts, gentle touches, and the supple sweetness of fruit. Sewn into kisses and tangled into one another. To be loved was to be known. Nobody out there knew you better than him. 

“I love you.” 

Your words leapt from your mouth before you could stop them. Embarrassment warmed your cheeks and a chuckle fell from his lips. You felt it vibrate against his soft lips and it vivified your life. 

You swore the brown in his eyes lightened and for a brief moment, something exchanged between the two of you. A love so pure and one so rare, it was unheard of these days. Through the thick and thin, you two were glued together at the hip. 

He coaxed and hydrated your own soul. His touches fed you in ways you’d never known existed. This house wasn’t just a house, it was a home. Your roots wrapped around one another and the two of you would continue to grow here. 

Through the sideways sheets of a spring rain, the overpowering heat in the summer, the mourning of fall, and the death in winter; you were certain you could do it all beside him. As long as your roots stayed intertwined and the leaves never died, you could do this until your final breath. 

When rot carved out your insides and your limbs began to wither, you’d do whatever you could to stay afloat for him. Another season, another month, another day, and another hour. 

Citrus trees didn’t grow overnight, but it sure felt like your love did. Hyunjin pushed himself from the swing, causing you to shift, and he jerked away. “Hang on, I’ll be back.” 

You waited and waited and waited. Your foot gently pushed you and you rocked in the settling sunlight. When the door reopened, the scent of citrus bloomed. You glance over to find an orange half-peeled. 

He slumped onto the other side of the swing and let both feet touch the wooden deck. Your single foot followed the gentle rhythm. You watched without a word as his slender fingers dug into his own fruit. 

The sympathy of birds, the wind-chime, and dwindling sunlight. Love was gentle and kind. Tranquility sat between the middle of your bodies and made itself at home. After a few tugs and discarded orange peels to his side, he handed a slice of orange out to you. 

You stared at it for a moment and your eyes went back to your own fruit. Dripping with peach juice, it was impossible to pull out a neat slice. Instead, you dug your thumb into the soft flesh and jerked a chunk off of your half-consumed fruit. 

A half-smile appeared on his face as the two of you traded your respective fruits. You nibbled on your piece and let your head rest back against the edge of the swing. Your eyes went over when Hyunjin uttered your name. 

“Let’s never change for the other.” 

“I agree.” 

Every peach has a pit and, although some oranges come seedless, that doesn’t take any value away from the peach. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882

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[vandaliatraveler]

Coopers Rock State Forest hugs the eastern rim of the Cheat River Canyon, with upland slopes rising to 2,400 ft (732 m) above sea level, nearly double the horizontal elevation of the Mon River Trail. Although the spring wildflower show on the mountain lags a week or two behind that at lower elevations, it's starting to make good progess. From top: Clay Run at a healthy flow; the reticulated leaves of downy rattlesnake plantain (Goodyera pubescens), a common terrestrial orchid of the local dry woods; the young, intricately-patterned leaves of rattlesnake hawkweed (Hieracium venosum), so named because it grows in the same habitat favored by timber rattlesnakes; long-spurred violet (Viola rostrata), a lilac-colored beauty with amusingly-long spurs; yet more early blue coshosh (Caulophyllum giganteum), because I can never get enough of this delicate, shrubby-looking herb; broadleaf toothwort (Cardamine diphylla), also known as two-leaved toothwort and crinkleroot, a member of the mustard family with edible roots and blunt-toothed leaves bearing striking purple undersides; round-lobed hepatica (Anemone americana), an upland relative of sharp-lobed hepatica that prefers drier, more acidic soils; wood anemone (Anemone quinquefolia), also known as windflower and nightcaps, which forms extensive colonies in humus-rich soils along streambanks; the brilliant red berries of partridgeberry (Mitchella repens), a trailing, evergreen herb of forest floors; more cranefly orchid (Tipularia discolor), whose leaves will die back in spring before the orchid blooms in summer; halberd-leaved yellow violet (Viola hastata). a ubiquitous, early spring violet of rich, decidous woods; and (below), typical timber rattlesnake habitat near Clay Run.

[chocsra]

"Eternal Damnation."

PM! dazai x fem! immortal reader

a/n: apolgies for my absence. i was planning to write but everytime i could something piled up 🙁. thank u to @cherylpoptarts for the sudden reqs which piqued my interest immensely. ill work on my pending requests another time. enjoy the angst.

summary: you, an ability user who is able to automatically heal has been alive for centuries, constantly avoiding death. in the midst of it all, you hire an assassination, not for anyone, but yourself.

content warnings: suicide, mercy killing, insanity, assisted suicide, angst, small oneshot/long drabble, pm! dazai, (i hate this sm)

Lukewarm.

A temperature that was not too cold or hot; tepid. Little enthusiasm or indifference.

Similar to the freezing snow cooling down your neck into your back during Japanese winters. Catching snowflakes in the heat of your palm did not melt the bitter cold engulfing your being. Lukewarm was your companion throughout the tedious years of this beautiful thing we call 'living'. Lukewarm is the only comfort you know of.

There was a cut that always bled, never fully healed, the scab that you reckon to always pick off. Lukewarm water would wash over your scabbed wounds, into your eyes, and swallow you whole. You'd watch your loved ones become engulfed in a scorching heat, the bubbling fire scraping and tearing over old, bitter skin.

You'd run your fingers over the freshly new skin and everlastingly massaged joints. You never became old. You never felt hurt. You never were hurt—for long of course. For healing was your salvation, your ability, your gift—your curse.

"Winter is over soon,"

you muttered softly, the melancholic rebirth of nature prospecting over the misty blankets of snow surrounding you. Spring. The season when flower seedlings, trapped beneath infertile soil, reawaken and sprout; revelling in rich petals and leaves, calmly drifting in the cool breeze. You've seen it one too many times; 134—to be exact.

"And that's your reason?"

Your eyelids never falter your solemn, sad look. Continue to stuff your hands deep in your pockets to escape the cooling air, huffing out as you also fidget with the origami you've been toying with. "I'm not sure what you mean," you reply, eyes gazing over to the melting body of water, a local river as you stand over its bridge. For it was a beautiful sight, nature did this annual thing called grow—rebirth, if you may. And as many others hated the cold breeze that nature gifted, somehow, you basked in it. —"You want me to kill you because winter's over soon."

...

Right, you forgot the predicament you were in. Merciful. Yearning. Bright. Though the man beside you excluded the exact opposite of those adjectives, you cannot help but feel this funny thing called desperation—besides, you've heard it all, no 'youngest mafia executive' is truly evil. To you, he is only just a boy, a foolish boy. "I have lots of riches. You can even take my house, it's not dirty money."

"I see,"

A harsh breeze of wind swiftly picked up the origami that you were crafting from your hands, reaching out to grab the piece—a cold hand catches it and holds the folded paper in front of you, extending his hand. "you forget that you can't approach mafiosos on the street pleading for suicide, y'know? That sort of desperation is seen as dirty."

On the surface level, his words seemed like an insult; it was utterly offensive to refer to a person's actions as filthy. However, there wasn't any hint of insult in his voice—he even seemed amused. He, was a young man wrapped around in a beige scarf and black trenchcoat engulfing his entire body; he, was practically swimming in it. He, had brown wavy locks that framed his face. He, for some odd reason, was covered in bandages. —not the gauze you'd find wrapping around wounds, one similar to a mummy. And he, who looked like he lacked self-care, though you would be able to take in his pleasant features.

"Am I pleading?—" You snatch the origami away from his hand, "It's more like a deal. Consider it a paid assassination." the brunette merely scoffs, light air huffing out of his lips as he stuffs his hand back into his pocket. "Our conduct doesn't consist of mercy killing or assisted suicide," the man chuckles, peering along the barely frozen body of water. "nor unarranged business deals. But I'd like to know one thing,"

You lift your gaze meeting his in curiosity, taking in the soft features of his face, yet he brimmed with impurity. The slopes of his cheeks were so slim, and that followed through his lanky frame - a face that didn't seem boyish at all. Merciful. Yearning. Bright. He screamed an antonym of those words —Cruel. Repulsed. Dark.

"Why is it you want to die?" he asks, watching intricately as you brush your thumb continually over the origami you were making: a crafted swan. The brunette seemed rather impressed, watching - your skills seem exactly like traditional art of origamis: something he'd see in an old painting or lost crafts book. Swans - which symbolised eternal love, you seemed anything but loving. Maybe, it had just been eternal. An eternity without love.

"My journey started with helping others live. But once you start taking the breath of living for granted, it becomes the very reason you wish to die. I. suppose I've met my limit with that. With living." you reminisce the past, the melancholic nights under blankets under the same winter—the spring, autumn, or summer. In the blessing of longevity, there was a problem; for what you've gained, there was also lost. Death of others—an eternity without love was your reality. Your resentful condemnation.

"I understand."

At this moment, the mafioso didn't seem so cruel; it was almost sympathetic, you'd think as he gazes over the river. "I've never understood the purpose of living if that makes you feel any better."

...

"You're not very good at comforting, are you?" an unexpected chuckle escaped his lips, "I'd at least expect an immortal to be a nihilist." you remotely scoff at his revelation. "Stupid. There's a reason why I want to die, I understand the meaning of living." the brunette rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. "Well, I don't understand the meaning of living hence why I want to die."

You chuckle, "For a mafioso, you are sassy."

"For a beauty, you are quite rude." He smiles indifferently.

It's almost funny, actually. How casual that conversation was.

Engulfed in the flames of this beautiful thing we call living, you finally obtain that sweet release of death the moment you intertwine fingers with a young mafioso—one who reeked of death.

The flames that engulfed you were lukewarm, but he was different. He was warm, almost scorching. Scorching an angelic heat that cascaded into the palms of your hand all the way to your shoulders and neck. The feeling was deftly abstract, and you basked in it; the way he'd hold you so close, run bandaged hands over the slope of your cheeks, whisper untangible nothings near the shell of your ear.

"Death is the absence of life, the desire I've been longing to taste since adolescence."

Mist and smoke fill around the room, almost making you feel dizzy. There were a lot of turbulent emotions circulating through your brain. First, you were relieved. You've been insensitive to death for a while, the times you did cry for someone—it was out of relief. The sweet relief that that one person would not have to suffer. You suppose it was the same for yourself. You would meet your demise in the arms of a fallen angel. Fall into the fiery pits of hell, or be welcomed by heaven's gate through a smoky embrace of whiskey and canned crab.

"I'm a bit envious of you, actually," Dazai murmurs, his thumb which was once connected to a trigger, soothingly rubbing your skin. "you'll meet this desire before me." you often wonder, what was the man's infatuation with death? He was in the mafia from a young age, he must've been associated with all forms of death. Ranging from a loved one withering away, to open guts and blood-stained lips. The absence of life can be seen through the empty carcass of one's body, the glint of vitality in their eyes disappearing.

Dazai Osamu was unique. In fact, he never had that glint in his eyes. His carcass was handsome, he was the product of love and passion. However, the eyes—his eyes, which were the window of the soul, were a dark void, abyssal, vantablack. He was unreadable. The brunette's experiences, his beliefs, his spiritual grounding. Dazai Osamu yearned for death, but for what he learned as just a boy, he did not meet death—but became it.

You had a connection. The special origami of a swan—meaning eternal love. He wanted eternal, you wanted love. In the end, none of you were happy. And so, he'll give you peace, and you'll give him understanding. The carcass you're going to become is much different from a being he merely murdered. Dazai moves a hand from interlocking with yours, to cup both of your cheeks. Warm and rosy cheeks.

"I'm sorry,"

He had fluttered his eyes shut and leaned his forehead on your temple. Despite the burning fire ignited by the candle of his flesh alone, his warm and shallow breaths gave you a balmy breather from this feeling called lukewarm.

Crack.

Lukewarm. 

"I see you got what you wanted, huh?"

You stood atop a bridge from frozen water with a black scarf snuggled tightly around your neck.

A brunette man averted his gaze to you with a confused stare. The gape of which was rather familiar, one that excluded a slight glint of vitality, but other than that, abyssal. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

He adjusted the bandage on his finger, in which you assumed he cut his finger on something. "Nope. But I made an extra origami, do you want one?"

Silence. "..Sure."

The mysterious man picked up the crafted paper with suspicion. His gaze softens as he sees a professionally crafted swan. "I feel like we've met before—actually, I'm sure of it."

"Not too sure about that."

chocsra™

[rottenpumpkin13]

In honor of the baby delivery question that was in honor of the menstrual pad question, how would AGSZC (+ the Turks and Rufus, ifyw) react if they were asked how babies are made?

Assuming a child asks?

Sephiroth: Pulls up a powerpoint presentation he claims to be kid friendly purely because he included a rainbow title with fun lettering. "When genetic material from two compatible donors combines through sexual intercourse *next slide is detailed medical diagrams* "The male reproductive organ releases sperm cells which propel through the vaginal canal at speeds of 0.2 to 0.3 meters per hour." *more infuriatingly anatomically correct diagrams* "Please, do not cry. This is a perfectly healthy and normal depiction of human birth. Look, the mother even appears happy. Perhaps she won't abandon her child."

Angeal: *sits down with a warm smile* "When two people love each other very much, they share a special kind of hug and decide to express that love in a physical way! Just like how a seed needs rich soil and tender care to grow into a beautiful flower, new life needs—*gasp*—"NO SEPHIROTH, PUT THOSE DIAGRAMS AWAY!"

Genesis: "Ah, like the goddess's tender embrace of morning dew upon spring flowers, two souls entwine in passion's dance, the sacred union of dawn and dusk, where heaven meets earth in passionate embrace. Shall I recite the poetry of the Kamasutra?" *Pulls out an actual book* *gets tackled by Angeal*

Reno: *takes a drag from his cigarette* "When two idiots forget to wrap it up, a screaming hell-spawn is born and they have to deal with it for 18 years."

Zack: "Okay buddy, let uncle Zack break it down for you nice and simple! So there's this thing that happens... like when you... uh... you know how when chocobos... and then they... but with people it's... and then... CLOUD HELP ME OUT HERE!"

Cloud: *turns bright red* "Well... um... so... there's this... thing? That happens? With... parts? And... uh....and then somehow the cells do something with other cells and....Oh! I know! My mom said something about the dragons bringing the babies down from the mountain caves, but only if you leave out a bowl of Nibel stew every full moon for nine months! And you can't forget to hang wolf fangs over your door or the mountain spirits might swap the baby with an evil entity which—" *Zack covers his mouth because the child is now crying*

Tseng: Is cheerful and sweet but makes no sense. "Much like how Shinra absorbs smaller companies, there's a delicate negotiation between two interested parties. When the proper paperwork—by which I mean copulation—is filed correctly, a new subsidiary—that is, a baby—begins development. Think of it as a very complex tea ceremony, where timing and precision are everything!"

Rufus: *stroking Darkstar while reading reports* "A specialized delivery service employs large storks to distribute infants to suitable households. The process is quite straightforward and requires no further elaboration."

*Tseng whispers urgently in his ear*

"...I'm being informed that sex is involved."

[eatsbooks]

so what do you think the autumn court’s political system actually looks like?

feudalism !! i think that system fits well for a few different reasons:

canonically, we already know that beron parcels out the land for his sons to rule over in his stead. a feudalistic system would explain why he decided to have so many children to begin with — more sons = more vassals to swear fealty to him, ones that he can better ensure the loyalty of than those of other bloodlines. this further helps to cement vanserra reign. with seven! sons!! he can effectively bump all the other non-vanserra nobles who oversaw parcels of land down the hierarchy, ensuring all are beneath not only him as high lord but also beneath another vanserra lord to boot. it also explains why the younger vanserra boys are so antagonistic towards one another, even knowing the unlikelihood that they will actually become heir — with their brothers out of the picture or just out of their father's favor, they have the opportunity to accrue more power by expanding their provinces or even taking over one another's.

we also know the common folk are suffering while the aristocracy is flourishing. if none of the land they tend actually belongs to them and all of their profits eventually find their way to beron, whether it's coin for rent or the crops they harvest that will ultimately be sold, in exchange for protections that are rarely actually received, this lends more credence to a discomfited autumn court population that is too disenfranchised to do anything about it.

plus there's more fun political drama amongst the vassals and nobles this way! everything has to move up and through this chain of command, which means the corruption can be systemic and spread beyond beron's rule. makes it even harder for eris to enact widespread reform. yummy.

autumn land is always fertile. i guess that's a personal hc more than anything canon, but i feel like that makes sense. anything can be grown, no matter the season, and the soil is always rich, even after a harvest. feudalism is the easiest way to ensure all of the land is being utilized to its fullest, most profitable extent without beron having to overextend himself as a ruler.

while this makes it more difficult for widespread reform, feudalism would give eris more room to maneuver in his own province. in the same way that there's more opportunity for corruption, there is also more opportunity for him to enact positive change — as long as he is coming up with enough coin / crops / what have you to meet quota, he can largely rule as he sees fit without beron's scrutiny. plus, with the land parceled and an isolated sect of nobility beneath him, it's easier to keep any differences in the way he rules compared to his father or his brothers contained. it even fits in with the respect and loyalty he has for his own guard / soldiers versus those of his father — they come from his province, they are his people.

a feudalistic system also gives beron an even better reason beyond just being power-hungry to want to expand his territory in acosf by allying with briallyn. he needs more land to make more profit! and spring might not function exactly like autumn, but it is no doubt the closest when it comes to fertile and bountiful land.

[olenvasynyt]

Here are some Autumn Court worldbuilding headcanons I have, specifically about geography and nature and shit like that:

The Court borders try to blend with each other: in the northern mountains of Autumn, the snow from Winter melts when it reaches the border and turns into streams and waterfalls, and snow storms that cross the border turn to freezing rain.

The west side of Autumn has a lot of marshes / swamps due to Summer’s weather trying to melt over the border

A lot of trees on the southern border with Spring have more green leaves than the rest of the court

Older trees in Autumn tend to lose their leaves. I wrote this in my first chapter of A Court of Embers and Sunlight: “In Autumn, the age of a tree could be judged not only from its size but from its leaves. Only young trees clung to their gold and red, blessing the Court with its vibrant color, but these primeval branches were naked and dry, stretching to the sky like thousands of spindly antlers. They were not dead, despite their appearance. In fact, they seemed more alive than their colorful children, as if the land’s magic came not from the fiery leaves, but from the roots that dug deeper and deeper into The Mother’s earth.”

The Forest House is built around and throughout the roots of a giant tree that sits in its center, which explains why it feels so alive sometimes

The beaches of Autumn are super cold and have really loamy sand. The water will sometimes freeze over at low tide. Definitely go to Summer for a beach holiday lmaooo

The majority of Autumn has forests (idk let’s through around a number like 60% or something) (don’t look at the map SJM is wrong), but the rest of the Court is open farmland

There are some species of tree that adapted to fire, kind of like the sequoias. These trees have cones that are serotinous like the sequoias, and also have bark that’s immune to fire (the sequoias kind of have this, they just have really thick bark that insulates them. Just picture more magic) (I love trees if you couldn’t tell)

A large river flows from the northwest border down to the southeast, giving the land rich, loamy soil that’s good for farming

[dredgesnails]

thinking about how the magic mountain volcano adds to the lore of some of the surrounding bases:

the cyberpunk city is flat because it was placed on top of a dead city, one covered by ash and pumice. remnants of the lost city can be found in the metro beneath, weaving through what used to be ancient roads, tunnels winding through what what’s left of old buildings and homes and people.

a village is built into the side of the mountain because the soil is rich and fertile from mineral deposits, and the heat within can be harnessed to power buildings. temples are constructed for gods past and present, gods who live amongst the fire and magma and gods who rose from the sea, all seeking worship.

the tiny fishing town below is shadowed by a huge skull carved into the side of the mountain. is it what remains of gods long passed? of a battle between the earth and the sea? or did it form naturally, coincidentally, carved out by erosion and eruptions until it became a symbol worthy of creating religions over? inside the skull rainwater collects and forms a bubbling hot spring, water leaking over the side through one of the eye sockets after particularly heavy storms.

entrances to the inside of the mountain are littered around the base of it. some seem like entrances to underground shrines, perhaps where animals (or people) were sacrificed to whoever lives below. others appear as gateways through the mountain and beyond. the largest ones, having transported huge vehicles, appear to have fallen into disuse, while naturally formed paths lead into the smaller ones. heat emanates from the openings, warning of danger ahead, but those who know the mountain well have learned to traverse the depths within safely.

everyone lives there knowing the volcano barely lies dormant. one day it will erupt again. one day their world will end. but for now, it simmers and waits.

[rainybyday]

Thrid! (This idea keeps going, my mind won't let me study!!!!!)

Part 1 | Part 2

So at this point it's both a clan issue and a political issue

One - Clans

Uchiha’s have the issue of trying not to get into a Hatake conflict and now being essentially accused of border crossing 

Senju’s have one of their own being used against them as a biological weapon and a border crossing issue with their enemy

Hatake’s just got the news that one of their own is seen between two clan lands at war with pups! And injured!!!

Two - Political

Senju elders see this as biological warfare with one of their own, with a wood release, is used against them 

Senju and Unchiah border crossing when not in battle 

Hatake sighting, the main clan will probably visit ngl

Ok so Hatake’s

I see them as more as a nomadic clan that moves with the seasons to farm in lands that are wild and free

They would move every season for different crops to grow or lands to rest in

They have some pacts with some farmers to leave some of their crops there in exchange for a share of their crops for the farmers

So while many civilians are scared or hate them, a lot of farmers actually respect them, hence, why a lot of farmers or civilian families live in the old Hatake lands during Kakashi’s time

Hatakes, while known as farmers, are known as farmers that can grow crops anywhere

Like

Can grow in infertile soil, swamps, ice mountains, sand beaches

They are magic 

People know that a Hatake-grown crop is bound to be rich and delicious 

But also rare to get your hands off since so many people are willing to pay top gold for such crops

And yet Hatakes aren’t stingy with their crops nor are they materialistic so they don't mind trading nor selling their crops, but asking them for exclusive rights to their crops? Fuck no!

Fun fact, Hatakes will rebuild their “compound” of tents with additional material around them like wood from trees, clay from rivers, or use stones to build small walls for their young

Also! I like to add that Hatakes can be seen as the main clan and smaller packs!

So main clan will generally stay all together and move together as a clan but there are some smaller packs of Hatakes that will leave from the main pack to go there own journey

Its not to say that they are excluded or shunned by their clan but just that they have the need to explore or travel or do something other then stay with the pack

They of course have to tell their clan leader and inform them of new Hatake members if any, such as adopted members into their pack or new babies

Its a system to make sure that pack can help pack and anything necessary to help family out

They are all very family and pack originated but they are also free and wild and do as they please

So its not unknown to hear of smaller packs of Hatake’s out in the wild

What is surprising is to hear of a pack that migrated onto a war zone, and a unknown pack at that

So when the Hatake’s got the letter of a Hatale male with a pink hair girl they are very puzzled but also worried

Because for one, a pack at least has four people moving together, so for only a sighting of two is something to be considered about

Even more so when they heard they were injured

And the PUP had it the worse

So

What do they do?

The migrate of course ^^

Isn’t it wonderful that the new season just started this spring