#he SOILED their FRIENDSHIP GARDEN

[levvthan]

just a florist. | neuvillette x gn! reader

NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI

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!

[rascalthehamster]

HCs of Platonic!Yandere Legoharu with a gn!mole reader friend that starts out as one of Haru's only friends before Legoshi came along and now both are friendship yanderes for mole platonic darling. Please and thank you.

Platonic!Yandere LegoHaru

Being a member of the garden club was natural for a mole like you. Digging came natural, and you loved the smell of dirt. There was only one other person, a dwarf rabbit, whose reputation far preceded her.

You knew about the rumors, you also knew how rumors can change. How a spark can create a forest fire. What really surprised you was her attitude. She was always cheery, almost ambivalent towards the rumors that followed her around. The whispers that she obviously catches with her large ears. Yet, she was nice to you.

She knew you knew about the rumors yet she still treated you fairly. People have come to the roof to make a joke about joining the Garden Club. Her reaction made that clear when you first came with your slip filled out.

“What is it that you want? Here to mock me? Well at least you’re doing it to my face and not behind a corner. Well go ahead, spit it out!”

You were taken aback by her aggression, but still persisted to join her club. She saw that you were serious, and not just trying to yank the carpet from under her.

She wanted to test your will, see just how far she could push you. She made you move around many bags of dirt, just to have to move them again, repot all of the flowers, and clean the clubhouse completely, dusting and sweeping every nook and cranny.

When you did all of that, the sun was beginning to go down and she was still shocked at you not giving up. If it was a prank you wouldn’t have done anything, and if you were just trying to join a club so you could put it on your college resume you would’ve given up by now. She must’ve read you wrong.

She doesn’t apologize upfront to you about misreading the situation, but she did say she wanted to see you the next day. So it seems it’s official, you’re apart of the gardening club.

When you make it to the roof the next day there’s another person there. Someone much larger, and scarier. The grey wolf stares at you silently, sniffing the air softly. You walk past him, ignoring your body screaming at you to run away.

“Excuse me.” He said in a soft tone, keeping his hands behind his back and shrinking his body. “Uhm…” he lifted his hand to scratch his face, the long claws fingering his snout. “Do you know where Haru is? The little dwarf rabbit.” He moved his hand to accentuate just how small Haru was, she barely made it up to his knee.

“I don’t know. Yesterday was my first day so she could be doing something.” You picked up a bag of dirt and began moving it to some plants that looked like it could use some soil.

“Oh, okay.” He said, his voice disheveled and his tail tucked under him.

You felt bad for him. So you offered that he could help you while he waited, which he agreed to do. Canines were always eager to please. He quickly went to work, grabbing triple the amount of bags you could carry and just looked at you as if he wasn’t even strained, his tail happily wagging. “Where do you want these?”

After a few hours of him helping out, cleaning the gutters that towered over you and Haru, grabbing the hose that was put on the top shelf even though you specifically put it on the bottom shelf yesterday, Haru eventually appeared.

She saw you working with Legoshi and started to get excited. She didn’t want to show it so she pretended to get onto Legoshi for messing something up, grinning at you when his back was turned. You just giggled in response.

You began working on some flower beds that weren’t given attention yet when you saw Legoshi and Haru talking to each other. The wolf was knelt down to meet her eyes. When he caught your eyes, Haru also turned and she waved first, Legoshi just stuck out his hand. They were so different yet they were so close you thought.

When you finished up the plant beds Haru appeared behind you and asked if you wanted to go to dinner with her. Well, it went more like “Hey, me and Legoshi are going to head to dinner.” And she grabbed your arm, dragging you away from the plants.

The fresh dirt still on your paws as you were dragged along. You appreciated the invite though. Even if it came with weird stares from carnivores and herbivores alike.

The next thing you knew, Haru was following you all around campus, along with Legoshi who followed Haru all around campus. Haru would study with you, would eat all meals with you. When you woke up she would be right outside your dorm waiting for you. Legoshi also wanted this but was less extreme.

If anybody tried anything with you she would instantly stand up for you, however she had scary boyfriend privileges so the opportunity to prove that she could defend you never showed up. She made you know that she would if you needed it!

LegoHaru as yandere’s would be pretty good in my opinion. As long as you don’t mind a very clingy bunny and wolf I think all will be well.

[vilemorals555]

† EVANESCENT

summary: years have passed since anakin skywalker betrayed your trust, yet you're constantly tortured by his presence in your mind.

pairing: darth vader x reader

warnings: angst, cliffhanger? kind of.

a/n: i saw nosferatu weeks ago and i couldn't get this off my mind so i had to share it with you! includes my favorite quote from the movie, i hope you like it!

The familiarity of the garden came to bring you some sort of odd comfort, despite the cruel breeze, despite the darkness it held. He stood before you once again, like many times before.

You had stopped trying to understand what this place was a long time ago. A place you only see when you lay your head on your pillow, a place you're sucked into as soon as your eyes flutter shut.

His presence should fill you with joy. Yet it never does. Maybe it's the knowledge in the back of your head, that the man standing a couple feet from you is dead. A fleeting memory, a fading picture, nothing more.

Even during his lifetime as Anakin Skywalker, you could never understand the dynamic between the two of you. To call it a friendship would be improper. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't dismiss the way his gaze would linger on you, the way his slightest feather-like touches made you feel.

Unspoken feelings and words weighed on your shoulders even now, despite the years that have flown by since you've last spoken to him. It created a fog in your mind then, one that didn't seem to lift with the passing of time.

You've grown older — that much was clear to him. Your cheekbones were more defined, the childlike sparkle long gone from your beautiful eyes. He could've sworn you've also grown an inch or two, though it didn't make much of a difference to him; he was still a head taller than you.

You could only see the outline of his figure, but you'd recognize it anywhere. Anyone would. The sound that filled your ears each time he took a breath served as warning to many who had the misfortune to come face to face with him, and it didn't fail to fill you with dread either.

"What do you want?" You asked, your brows furrowed with an emotion you couldn't quite describe — frustration, anger, fear perhaps.

He didn't answer. He stood still like a statue, and you were almost convinced he didn't hear you, had he not tilt his head slightly.

That didn't satisfy you, of course. You took a step closer, the soil cold and moist beneath your bare feet. Once again you spoke up, your voice just a bit harsher, louder than before.

"Why are you here?"

He always admired your determination to get what you wanted. You stood in front of a man who kept the galaxy in terror for the past six years now and yet, your stubborn nature didn't allow you to quiver, to crumble under his unforgiving gaze.

"You watched me cry and beg on my knees for you not to turn away from me. Was that not enough? Have you come here to continue your torture?" You pressed further and this time, you told yourself you wouldn't back down until you got the answers you'd been seeking.

His mind was almost reeling at your defiant determination. It almost reminded him of when you were younger, how you'd demand that you go on some sort of misadventure together. It was a quality he'd once enjoyed in you, now it was vexing and bothersome.

His eyes narrowed at your tone, irritation flowing through his veins. His fingers clenched into a fist as he forced himself to remain calm, despite how unnatural it was for him to do so.

"Silence." He spoke, his voice deep and menacing — the exact opposite of the man she once knew.

"Answer me!" You demanded, your own hands holding onto your nightgown. "You owe me that much."

It only took him three long strides to close the distance between you, his gloved fingers curling around your jaw. His head tilted to the side once more, as he leaned closer. "I owe you nothing, girl." He hissed. "It seems you forget who you're talking to."

He, on the other hand, knew very well who he was talking to. You were the same girl he once grew so unfathomably attached to, and he wasn't planning on letting go.

His grip on your face loosened slightly as he tilted your head back, his thumb caressing your skin.

"Soon, I shall no longer be a shadow to you. Soon, our flesh shall embrace and we shall be as one."

Those words sent a shiver down your spine, but he didn't give you time to react. He was gone as fast as he appeared, leaving you alone in the darkness.

[lady-ashfade]

Hello my sweet, sweet babygirl! Your event looks so delicious. ♡

May I order a galaxy mystery sweet with Lucerys Velaryon? You can ignore me if you’d like <3 thank you for all the hard work !!

ೃ࿔࿐The Green Sea.

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Lucerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Bakery Event is closed

╰･ﾟ✧☽ summary: The Prince finally returns from his duties with his grandsire and the green eyed emotion comes for him.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 2.2k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: Jealousy, Luke Being Jealous, Little Angst, Arguing, Men Being Weird.

The young prince took pride in having his mind leveled when it came to your attention, he knew he needed to share you — as you did with him. It was still early in the betrothal process but long with the years you shared together, the admiration for you wasn’t newly found. At a younger age he struggled with keeping his disappointment of not being the soulful person to have your attention, but he grew. Soon the hidden feelings swept away in empty halls, or the words whispered only for the other becomes nothing to hide, you were his, his betrothed.

This week the air had shifted with more winds, he felt the lonely feeling without you by his side while taking care of his duties. Lucerys took sail with his grandsire to learn how to work the ships, his future men and tasks. Salty sea waves crashed into the side of the boat, he found himself staring down at the endless depths with you in mind. First it was your laugh that rang in his ears and smiling lips in his memory, he loved to make you laugh. Next, was the warmth of you by his side, wether looping your arm with his or cuddling in the privacy of his chambers — everything he loves reappears in his moments away from you.

His grandsire knows the look of his grandson, the longing for something missing and one he knows well, the same he had years ago for his wife. The wind blew the brown curls of his hair and the black and blue cloak from his back, Luke stood near the railing of the ship. Corlys approached the younger man with a limp making his footsteps louder in sound, the vibration ringing throughout the boards below.

“The journey is almost to a end, you’ll get used to the time away from land,” his words of comfort did little as it was not land he missed, “The sea can be huge when trapped away from the ones you love.” Corlys leaned next to Luke, his gaze falling below to the waves.

“Forgive me, I know my duties and will always be grateful for them.” there was a but, though he did not speak it.

“But the sea is not a woman, I understand that well,” corly grew a smile thinking of his younger days, “as I understand your betrothed takes quite a fondness with you, I’ve also seen the looks you give her. She’s a beauty, I can not blame you for missing her company.” Corlys placed his hand upon Luke’s shoulder.

“Learn to love the sea and time flies by, and remember you do this for your family.” with a few pats corlys leaves his grandson to himself and his thoughts.

Lucerys only returned to thinking of you by his side, maybe one day he could bring you along. The future is the both of yours to make.

— ‧₊˚ ࣭˚⊹‧₊˚⋆⁺₊ ࣪✩₊˚.⋆—

As the ship docks his feet move quickly toward the ramp down, ignoring the eyes of the crew and his grandsire. Once on soils ground he makes his way to the carriage awaiting him and climbs in with haste, he needs to see you. The time away was unbearable that his very bones ached to be reunited.

The life at the keep was as it was but more empty without him by your side. Picking up more studies, or chatting with friends — you tried to entertain yourself in his absence. The court was more hungry for your attention as many people gathered for celebrations of the moons to come. As new ladies began to flood in, you welcomed them and gave them friendship, and along was men who gazed upon you. The announcement of your engagement with The Prince was still fresh, men took it as a challenge to gain your affection — seeing as he was not here to say otherwise.

The gardens are the place you go to for silence and peace, also to remember Lucerys. A long time ago you meet here, surrounded by flowers of many kinds — blossoming their beauty. He was everything you wanted in a husband, kind, handsome and charming with a excitement for trouble.

The sound of footsteps made you realize the peaceful moment was over. Turning your heels the figure become clear, your lips curling upwards in a forced smile. A dark headed man, nearly a year older then Lucerys stood before you, his dark house colors proudly displayed on his clothing. He was much taller then you and make you step back at his looming shadow over you.

“Good Morrow, Lord Starrock. I hope all is well this early hour.” it was hard to kept up the acted as he has been forcing himself around you lately, being polite was growing harder to do. Yet he smiled and tugged his hands backwards showing no sigh of leaving.

“The Redkeep has been welcoming, my lady. Yet I was surprised to see you from my chamber window all alone, so I came to keep you company.”

“Yes, well thank for for that.” your nod was quick and your face feel immediately after, you turned to touch the flowers and walk aloud the path. Hoping he would get bored and walk off.

But he was nothing less then determined. “Might I been so bold to speak freely,” he asked and you only hummed in response, rolling your eyes with your head stayed away from him.

“The prince has left for his duties, leaving you here — Alone. I wonder if you are made for that life, to be the wife of a man who spends all of his time away.” he was bold, his words made you boil inside.

Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you sniff the opened flower and inhaled its scent before turning around to face him. Smiling you walk closer, wondering what it would feel like to strike him without consciousness.

At last you begin to speak your truth, “A life by his side is worth everything. The Prince is the only man for me, the best match to be made. He loves me, as I him. Would you not agree that is the work of the gods, Ser Darick?” watching his face become pale and shameful was entertaining.

He cleared his throat and shifted comfortably, “I meant well, my lady. My concerns come from a place of care,” his nerves smile told everything you needed to know, “a woman such as yourself-”

You raise a brow and scrunch you face, becoming something he’s never seen before, making him sweat, “A woman like me? I do hope you remember your place, Milord. I can handle myself greatly, and I will do my duty to His Grace as it’s intended.” he wanted to apologize to make up some stupid excuse but you walks away with deaf ears of his broken words.

Catching the eyes of your proud maid you rush past her, your dress clinch in your hands before making your way up the steps. There was a smile rested at your lips of the confidence you held. Shutting a man down was intoxicating. Yet you hadn’t realized the eyes spying on your interaction.

Lucerys stood above watching you talk with some man while the words muffled away before hitting his ears. The gardens are his spot to spend time with you, not some cocky taller untitled man who craves your attention. Nonetheless it was the flashing smile in your cheeks that sent unsettling feelings inside his stomach. All he wanted to do was see you, and yet you were with another man instead of welcoming him back — it was gut wrenching.

Straightening his back as you got closer to him, his arm rested on his sword resembling his older brothers temperament. Once your gaze feel on him, your smile becomes teeth wide and your feet lunged towards him. The sounds of your pointed shoes echoed on the stone and laughter emerged from your chest. Soon your arms flew themselves around him and he forgot his anger for a moment to hold you. 

Your head rested beside his neck as you smelled the salt on his clothes and hair, “You’re early, I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” you confessed before pulling away to grabbed ahold of his cheeks, and looking at his features to make sure nothings changed.

“Our journey was quicker then expected,” his hands still rested on your lip and not daring to let them leave, “I was expecting your face when I arrived at the gates.”

“No one informed me, I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” you stared at him innocently but the feel returned and made his stomach sick. 

His head leaned towards yours, his lips now in your ear, “Dismiss your maiden,” he demanded. You blushed but looked at him hesitantly, there was something about his tone that sounded laced with anger. But you do as he asked and sent her away with a look before his hands tug at your own as he started to rush through the halls. You could hear his huffs and you tried to question his actions without tripping over yourself.

— ‧₊˚ ࣭˚⊹‧₊˚⋆⁺₊ ࣪✩₊˚.⋆ —

He took you to a room that was unfamiliar and looked forgotten by everyone, surfaces covered in dust and webs on the walls. It was haunting. As you catch your breath he closes the door behind him.

“Might I ask what’s was the reason for that? I nearly fell,” you swallowed to clear the dryness in your throat.

“I’d like to propose a question as well, as I enter back home I find you with another man — In our place. The smiles you threw his way, no need to point out the obvious lust in his eyes while chatting with you.”

Realizing the motivation for his new found annoyance, and rudeness towards yourself, you looked at him surprisingly. “Lord Starrock wasn’t invited by my side, nor welcomed. Perhaps you didn’t see him approaching me,” you cross your arms, “but nonetheless, even if he was, to have you think i would even enjoy is company that way while we are betrothed is- Is,” you struggle to find a word or the emotion to use it with.

“Unbelievable insulting, Your Grace.”

The formal term stung in his chest because it was a phrase lost in time by the two of you, and now a insult you threw at him.

When you notice him going to speak you interrupted, “The conversation between us was that of you, and how I prided myself in being your betrothed. He raised the question if I would be lonely in the marriage because you’re away but I insisted against it.” you spat at him with venom in your tone.

“I don’t know that…” his voice was quite and shameful, and his head lowered itself along with his gaze.

“How could you? Had it occurred to ask me about it before accusing me of something your mind made up. I understood the unset feeling you experienced but you handled it horribly.” you said while calming yourself down from the stress, even running your hands along the fabric of your dress.

The silence was thick in the lonely and gloom room. He wondered if he could apologize for his mistake so you might not hate him forever while you wondered if he was going to at all. You knew him — you knew he would but it was hard to un cloud your judgment.

Lucerys stepped forward, bring his head up to meet your eyes with his, his own filled with sorrow. “I was out of line, I rushed because of this-” his fingers curled, “green monster inside of me. I was familiar with jealousy and thought I was capable of handling it, I apologize. Seeing you with another man was painful but no excuse.” Luke looked back down to the stone flooring.

Sometimes it was annoying how easily it is to forgive him, but he hasn’t acted like this before, so maybe you could let him off easy this time. So you exhale deeply and groan before closing the gap between you and take his lips into yours. You hum and wrap your arm around his shoulders, he is taken aback by the moment but sobers up to kiss you back and take your body back into his arms. Your lips moved slightly opposite but alined with one other, it was heated so you both moved your heads to take different angles, switching from left to right.

His lips pulled away first for air and they were glossy with mixed spit, but he only kept his head slightly away from yours. When you opened your eyes you found his half opened and dazed, and his hair messed up from the hand you ran throughout it. Reaching up from his neck you fixed his out of place curls and cracked a laugh. His chest vibrates with his own laughter, your smiles matching,

“I forgive you, Lucerys. Just don’t make a habit of it, or i wouldn’t be so kind.”

“If I act that way again, I give you my full support on knocking me back down,” he said. You both shared a look before returning your lips again, and pressed your bodies closer together, nearly stumbling to be pressed against the wooden desk.

[aziraphales-library]

I didn't know the fandom had librarians! This is amazing!

I read Factory Settings recently and I'd like to find more fanfics that deal in multiple realities, split realities or time travel / time loops etc. Do you know of any?

Hi! We actually have tags for these, so do check out the fics we've already recommended here: #multiverse, #alternate universe, #time travel, and #time loop. Here are more to add to the collections...

A Moment Suspended in Sea Spray by cassieoh (T)

Green filled his vision in the brief second before he instinctively tucked his head away in his coils. Crawly didn’t think there had ever been anything green and growing in Hell save perhaps a good mold behind Hastur’s knees. Cautiously, he inched the very tip of his nose out of his coils and flicked his tongue. Growing things. Soil. Apples. The oil left behind by human hands. Something strange and sharp smelling. Under it all, a smell he knew but couldn’t place. This wasn’t Hell.

Limitless by SmokingMirrorChaos, Yvesriba (T)

Crowley has never known a world with Aziraphale. Where he's from, his counterpart was the angel Anathema. 6000 years of friendship eventually lead to them traveling between worlds until they discover one where there has never been a Crowley. But, there is an Aziraphale. They met and fall in love and with Aziraphale, Crowley finds the happiness he's always sought. A tale told in Crowley's stories to Aziraphale and flashbacks.

creatures of circumstance by attheborder (M)

Anthony J. Crowley, Jr. is the prodigal son of CrowleyCorp, the UK’s most powerful, dangerous, and controversial technology company. A one-night stand with a mysterious man who calls himself Aziraphale tips his hopeless life upside-down into a dangerous obsession. And somewhere else entirely, a girl-shaped creature is presiding over the back room of a bookshop in Soho, where an angel and a demon lay unconscious on the floor…

Endless Night by AppleSeeds (T)

Spending Halloween in an old cottage with his housemates, university student Crowley finds himself trapped in a time loop that repeats every four hours, with only the spirit of Anathema's dead witchy ancestor to help guide him. Agnes believes the time loop has been triggered by Crowley's own thoughts, and that the only way to break it is to ensure that Aziraphale, who Crowley is completely infatuated with, actually enjoys himself. Despite how flustered he gets every time he even looks at Aziraphale, Crowley does everything he can to try to make that happen. But no matter what he tries, things keep going wrong.

World Enough And Time by Stephquiem (T)

For Aziraphale, there were always two Crowleys: the First Crowley, the one he met in the Garden, the one he's spent 6000 years meeting across human history. And there is the Second Crowley, the one who comes to him across time, again and again, propelled, it would seem, by some unknown tragedy. Both, his hereditary enemy. His dearest friend. For Crowley, there is a Before, and there is an After. Before, he spent 6000 years as Hell's agent on Earth, seeing Aziraphale occasionally, working together where they could get away with it. After... After, he's drawn back over and over, like he's attached by a tether that just won't let him go. Not that he wants it to let him go. The alternative...

Smoke and Mirrors by cyankelpie (T)

“If we want the truth from him, he needs to feel safe enough to speak truthfully,” said Gabriel. “Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘The traitor couldn’t possibly feel safe while he’s in Heaven for interrogation!’ And you’d be right.” His grin widened. “But—this is where it gets really good—he won’t even know that’s where he is.” (Aziraphale is imprisoned in Heaven, but breaks free thanks to Crowley’s help. On Earth, Crowley wakes up from his pandemic nap to find Aziraphale missing. Meanwhile, two angels watch an imaginary life unfold, with all the time in the world to wait for the answers they need.) And the sequel, dealing with the aftermath: Reality Check

- Mod D

[butlervibesonly]

𝐌𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 | Wil Ohmsford

• Summary: Stella Ohmsford is just like her dad. Caring and loving, and especially when it comes to gardening, just like her dad. And Wil finds himself having another favorite activity to do.

• Pairing: dad! Wil Ohmsford x mom! reader

• Warnings: just fluff!

• Proofreader: @eternal-love herself 🫶🏼😌

• Notes: Okay guys! Jokes aside! Wil is girl dad coded!!!

You lean against the porch post, breathing in the sweet spring breeze. The garden is bathed in that soft, golden kind of light the sun only gives at the end of the day. From where you stand, you can see them perfectly. Your little girl you named Stella, crouched low in the dirt, and Wil beside her, guiding her with the same gentle hands he uses to hold you.

Wil points to the flower Stella is holding. “You remember what this one’s called?” She thinks for a second, squinting at the bright orange petals. “Uhhh… Fire bells?” Wil chuckles warmly. “Close,” he says softly. “Foxglove. But I like your name better.” he kisses her little head.

She is the best of both of you. His blue eyes and blonde hair, your cheeks and lips. But especially, his pointy ears. Her ears have the soft, subtle point of his elven blood that you find absolutely adorable. Stella grins, clearly pleased with herself. “Can I name the next one?”

“You can name all of them, ladybug,” Wil replies, brushing a smudge of dirt off her cheek with the back of his knuckle. “They’ll grow better if they know they’re loved.” he explains, digging out a hole for next flower.

You smile at that. It’s such a his thing to say. Since the moment Stella was born, Wil was talking about nothing but of how he is excited to teach her about herbs, plants and gardening. Today he is here, doing it in the best way possible.

Stella carefully tucks the flower into the little hole he dug, then pats the soil around it. “Do you think she’ll be friends with the blue ones, daddy?” Wil’s heart absolutely melts when she calls him that. He still can’t believe this precious little girl is what your and his love brought to world.

“Oh, definitely,” he says. “They’re not picky. Except for the violets. They’re a little dramatic.” he chuckles and your daughter giggles, brushing her hands off on her dress, which is already covered in dirt.

You let the warmth sink into your chest as you watch them. From this distance, you can see everything—her wild, pointed ears that poke through her mess of curls, the way she leans into Wil like she belongs there, because she does, and the look on his face when he watches her.

It’s that kind of quiet love he doesn’t speak about often, but it’s in his every movement. In the way he crouches next to her instead of towering over her when she talks to him. In the way he listens when she talks about flower friendships like it’s the most important thing in the world…

“Daddy? Do you think plants miss each other when they’re not together?” Stella asks suddenly, settling cross-legged in the dirt among the flowers. “Most probably. I think they remember.” he looks at her with caring gaze. “Like how I remember you when you go healing?”

“Just like that,” he says, and then leans closer to whisper, “I miss you too, every single time…” She beams, all sunshine and grin, and you swear your heart could burst when you see Stella happy like this. He reaches out and tucks a flower behind her ear, then kisses the side of her head. “You’re the best garden helper I’ve ever had.”

“I love flowers!” she says with all the confidence in the world. “Mommy says I get it from you.” Wil glances toward the porch, his eyes finally meeting yours. Meanwhile Stella climbs on his lap. He smiles, and he’s clearly pleased to hear that. He holds her softly, and he looks at her. He rubs her little back, his gaze fixed on her, and he feels his heart filling up with more and more love for the little girl.

“Did she, sweetie?” he asks and Stella nods immediately. Wil smiles at her again, and kisses her little forehead. Then, he looks at you, catching your eye... and he smiles, and he mouths "thank you" to you, for telling her that. And you smile, nod and mouth “of course”, because that little girl. Oh, she is his twin.

Wil suddenly feels so much of love filling his heart. He has everything he ever wanted, and even more he never dared to dream he might have one day. He hugs Stella, and holds her in his arms lovingly. Rubbing her back and holds her close. He nuzzles his nose against her cheek and he whispers gently;

“My princess...”

Stella clings onto him like koala bears do to trees. She snuggles against him, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. “I love you, daddy…” she says softly suddenly, and it makes your and Wil’s heart absolutely melt.

Wil smiles, his heart so full at her words... and he presses his nose against her skin, just wanting to be close to her. And he nuzzles her again, and whispers to her softly, “I love you too, my little flower.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

PS. I hope you all enjoyed this concept because I love Wil! And I think that @peageetibbs-ab does too, so I hope you enjoyed! 🥰

[wibben]

Hanamichi

A life measured in flowers. All of the times in his life in which Nanami received a flower.

↳ warnings: angst, major character death

↳ wc: 3,730

↳ notes: this was a collab with @tsukimefuku over what began as a silly (sad -- very sad) head canon. major credit and props to her, because without her this wouldn't exist! i had a lovely time writing this with you, and i hope we can do it again in the future!

Nanami remembered his mother’s hands, dirt under her fingernails, patient as the earth. Her garden was her temple; she greeted each flower by name, whispered as though they were children needing to be calmed. Nanami, young and fresh-eyed, watched her closely. A solemn boy with hands too small to grasp his mother’s tools, was her loyal shadow. His duty was the simple work – pulling weeds, patting down the dark soil, setting down the watering can at her nod. And when the sun hung high and the garden wore its colors proudly, his mother would offer him a single flower. "One for yourself," she’d say with a wide smile, tucking a loose curl behind her ear beneath the shrouded brim of a drooping sunhat. She’d let him choose – the reddest rose, the brightest marigold, whatever his young eyes fancied. He would carry it like a treasure back to his room, setting it with great care in a glass half-filled with water. One for him, one to keep. For a day or two, the bloom would brighten his room. He would admire it with the quiet devotion of a soul older than his had any right to be. But soon, its edges would curl, its stem would bend, and by the week’s end, it was a crumpled shadow of itself. He watched this with an unspoken sadness, something about it hurt in a way he didn’t quite understand. After a while, he stopped picking the flowers, even when his mother offered. He wanted them to stay as he saw them – in full bloom, untouched. “Why not take one?” she’d ask, her voice as gentle as the soil beneath her hands. But he’d shake his head, glancing out at the garden as though trying to memorize it all in a single look. “They’re prettier here,” he’d murmur, his voice almost too quiet to hear. And his mother would smile, ruffling soft blonde hair with those same earthy hands with a mothers pride; a lesson imparted that sometimes the things you love should be left alone, because love, in its purest form of brilliant colors and sunny smiles and dirty hands, is not about possession, but appreciation. 

******* ***

Nanami wasn’t one for friendships, nor for the loud, messy camaraderie of his classmates. He was the quiet observer, the one whose presence was easy to overlook until you needed a clear answer or a steady hand. Haibara Yu, on the other hand, was the kind of boy who made himself known in every room – friendly, loud, with an irrepressible grin and the easy charm that pulled everyone into his orbit. Haibara was the type who could wander into a stranger’s conversation and be welcomed before he’d even said his name. He would find beauty in the ordinary – a bent blade of grass, an overripe pear, fallen blossoms trodden underfoot – and he gave freely, tossing these pieces of his joy like candy. And somehow, this boy, more golden-retriever than man, became his best friend. During the brief weeks of cherry blossom season, petals blanketed the schoolyard, caught in the breeze, drifting like snow. Haibara would gather them by the handful, tossing them to anyone nearby enough to receive them; like they were something precious, and not just seasonal tree-litter. Nanami found himself on the receiving end of Haibara’s antics more often than not. One particular afternoon, Nanami was deep in a book, crouched against the wall beneath the shade of a tree, when he felt a tug at his collar. Haibara tucked a blossom behind his ear. “Perfect,” he announced, stepping back with a look of proud mischief. “Gotta add a little color to your life, Nanami! Look how pretty!” Nanami had grumbled, brushing the petal from his hair, but Haibara’s smile was contagious. Against his will, he found himself smiling, too, at the absurdity of it all. And despite his protests, he let Haibara continue – tucking flowers into his hair, hiding them in his hood, filling his pockets with petals until they spilled onto the floor. He would humor him, because he knew how deeply Haibara loved every moment of living, and how little he asked in return.

And then, the worst outcome to what should've been just a regular Tuesday happened.

There were no flowers in there. That was the first thought that seeped its way into Nanami's mind as he gazed down at Haibara's covered up body in the morgue, bloodshot eyes prickling with the pain from the day prior. No flowers, only the blossoming petals of coagulated blood that had stained the thin fabric separating what was once someone bigger than life and the harsh reality of their permanent absence.

The stark contrast between the shiny, cold, hard steel over every surface in that room left no space for the green, the pink, the yellow, the resplendent warmth of life that was alien to this mortuary monolith of death. And then, just as grief had dug its teeth around his chest, Nanami came to realize what could only be considered as some sort of self-inflicted torture.

I never gave him any flowers.

The cherry blossoms Haibara had fashioned in his hair, his clothes, all around him on that one sweet, sunny day – it had all stayed with Nanami, the memory of a beautiful moment shared with his closest person now tarnished by the weight of this painful realization. 

Was this it? Did Nanami fail his best friend so spectacularly that the first flowers he'd ever give to Haibara, someone who flourished in everyone's life, would be at his funeral? 

Was this the future reserved for the likes of him and Haibara? The beauty and tenderness of petals only reserved for when it was too little, too late?

It was only after Haibara was killed, a mission so routine that all were left reeling, that the memories stung, sharp as thorns. Sometimes, on nights thick with silence that should’ve been filled with crinkling snack bags and loud laughter well past quiet hours, Nanami would find a blossom pressed between the pages of a book Haibara had borrowed. A reminder, pink as a bleeding bruise, pinned within Nanami’s careful pages. A beautiful life, snipped with violent sheers from the garden – a blossom he’d only started to fully appreciate as its edges were already curdled with decay.

******* ***

There was a dim, unchanging silence in Nanami’s life after Haibara’s death – a grayness that blanketed every hour, every inch of his thoughts; what was a garden without a sun to feed it? It was easier to let himself drift, as though by keeping his mind empty, he might somehow avoid feeling anything at all. And in that space, Nanami found a kind of grim peace. Silence, to him, was a balm. But Gojo Satoru wouldn’t let him have it. Gojo was all brightness and noise, a sharp, irrepressible force that never leashed itself to restraint. He would show up unannounced, talk too much and too loudly, filling Nanami’s presence with his voice. And if Gojo noticed Nanami’s lack of response, he gave no indication – because Gojo Satoru was not something so trivial as the sun, he was a supernova, too brilliant to look upon. On a late afternoon, Nanami retreated to the yard – a place he’d once found calm – when Gojo appeared, holding a bundle of cherry blossoms. He approached with that signature grin, holding the flowers out as though they were some grand token of kindness, something Nanami should be grateful for. “Spring,” Gojo announced, his tone far too cheery, as though the world had every reason to celebrate. “Pretty, right?” Nanami stared at the flowers, his expression blank. The blooms looked too pink, too delicate, too flowery, too perfect. A perfect mockery of what they once meant. He took one sharp breath, feeling the tightness in his chest harden to something cold.

“Take them,” Gojo insisted, practically shoving the blossoms into Nanami’s hand. He didn’t so much as glance down. Instead, he let his hand fall, releasing the flowers without a word. They drifted to the ground, the petals scattering in a small, meaningless heap. Nanami looked away, his gaze fixed somewhere over Gojo’s shoulder, anywhere but at the person who was trying, too hard and without reason, to intrude on his grief.

“Not in the mood. Got it!” Gojo grinned. But Nanami only turned on his heel, walking away without so much as a nod. If Gojo wanted a reaction, he’d get none from him. He felt a grim satisfaction at his refusal, a confirmation that he could still draw a line when he existed in straight lines and statistics and rationality and ratios. Gojo’s flowers, now scattered and forgotten, lay where he had dropped them, as if they’d never held any meaning at all. Because there was no room for flowers in Nanami Kento’s life. They were too fragile, their supple flesh bruised too easily by the fingers of the cruel or the careless. It mattered not if he left the flower to grow in the garden, because for all the care and appreciation he could show it, it would die.

They always did.

******* ***

Nanami Kento grew up, and became a man of small routines and quiet convictions. He was disciplined and solitary, spending his days in a precise pattern of obligations: work, study, sleep, and repeat. He ate alone, walked the same routes, and carried a silence that made most people feel comfortable leaving him well enough alone. Each Monday, he went to the florist down the street from his apartment. It was a small, unremarkable shop, the kind you might pass without a second thought with sun-stained and yellowed windows and old cracked tile. Inside, the flowers were modest – no grand arrangements, no bouquets meant to wow. But every week, Nanami would stand there, studying each bunch with the seriousness he usually reserved for work. As cyclical and predictable as his mundane habits, the flowers were a commitment, something to return to at the end of each day, a small reminder that he had at least one reason to make it home. A cautionary measure of sorts, in case he faltered in his unyielding resolution to keep at his ordinary routine with his ordinary, reliable little comforts. 

They required almost nothing of him – just a fresh glass of water each morning and a moment to discard the wilting petals when they’d had their time. In return, they filled a small corner of his apartment with something bright and alive. A much needed reminder in his line of work. Once, an old colleague had asked him why he didn’t get a pet. “Seems like you could use the company,” they’d said offhand. But he had only shaken his head. A pet would require too much. They grew attached, they needed more than just water and sun – they required presence, a resource Nanami could not afford to offer, not to anyone or anything. If he died, which he viewed as inevitable, it would be left alone, a burden passed along to someone else. No, Nanami couldn't. He wouldn't.

Flowers were different. Their impermanence suited him. They were not expecting a tomorrow, and in that way, they were a comfort he could manage. Aware of his position as a jujutsu sorcerer, clearly to a fault, he'd rather not impose his absence onto another living being, and treat himself like something just as ephemeral as the petals he'd let wither every week in that quiet, little corner of his life. The flowers were not from anyone, not a gift, not a gesture of pity. They were something he gave himself, a small reminder that, perhaps, he deserved to see beauty in his own life, too. They were a nod to survival, to making it through each Monday, then Tuesday, and on and on. He’d place them in the same glass vase, set them on the same narrow ledge near his kitchen window, and allow himself a brief moment to admire the color they brought to the room. And when he returned each evening, the sight of them gave him a small, steady reason to stop, to take a breath, to continue forward. Because as much as he liked to think he was untouched by the world around him, he knew better than to believe he was anything more than mortal. And mortality, as it did for all things, would catch up with him. Nanami honed his life to a blade, sharp and solitary. He worked until the ache in his bones became as familiar as his breath, until each day bled into the next in a march toward the inevitable conclusion he would not name.

******* ***

Mahito’s touch was fire and rot. A thousand memories converged: his mother’s garden, flowers he dared not pick; Haibara’s petals, scattered across his shoulders; Gojo’s blossoms, unappreciated then, but stinging now with the ache of regret left trampled in the dirt. In the blackened periphery of his vision, those flowers now floated, eerie, fragile momentos against the creeping dark in his eyes – or eye, he thinks he has only one now. They reached out in a sea of pale blooms to guide him, open arms to welcome him home. Haibara stood just ahead, haloed in light, and Nanami couldn’t even begin to think that strange. He knew he would be there. The boys smile was as steady as it was in life, unbroken, as though death had granted him nothing but peace. He felt the ache of it most sharply, shuddering through his bloody and broken body. His old friends face like springtime, unspoiled and untouched by the brutal, shrieking world they’d been born into. He need only step forward, to sink, to fall – the cold hand caressing between his shoulder blades would shepherd him to death. But footsteps came echoing down linoleum, pulling him back as he teetered on the razors edge. Yuji. Peach-pink, a small brightness against his vision that grows darker with every cold breath. A flower himself, hopeful and stubborn, rising from the barren soil of their world. His face was desperate, broken in the way his name cracked and fell hollow from his lips with trembling hands that wilted limp to his sides. Nanami’s heart twisted; he’d known this moment would come, that the end had been creeping up behind him all this time. He feared Yuji’s grief, what it could become and what it could do, the way this scene would imprint itself deep in the boy’s memory, sinking roots that might never let go. But in Yuji’s gaze, even beneath flat horror and despair, he saw it – the strength he’d searched for his whole life, something soft and resilient. Yuji was as fragile and as enduring as a wildflower, something untouched and tenacious, able to withstand the bitterest of winds and the worst of natures cruelty. Nanami saw it clearly: Yuji would grow, rise from ruin, bright and alive. He would persist. The edges of his world blurred, discordant shapes curling in the melting pot of his eye, and with a last, soft breath and his best attempt at a smile, Nanami gave what faith he had left. “You’ve got it from here.”

******* ***

The quietude solemnly prevailed over the debris and decay of Shinjuku, and for a fleeting moment, Gojo thought of the irony, how come such chaos left in its wake this indelible absence of sound? No birds chirped in the morning, nor any other animals dared to venture through the battle-scarred surroundings, no man's land for those who insisted on staying behind to fight the King of Curses. 

The silence that laid there laid bare in mourning for the losses.

Gojo gazed out the window as the gray sun set behind a curtain of gray clouds cast over the gray skyline, torn-down buildings scattered all over the gray terrain and pillaged wreckage. The air itself weaved flecks of soot and inhospitality, and it had been days since he saw a murmur of life dredging its way through the barren landscape — a small humming bird, that fleetingly passed its way outside their makeshift bunker before disappearing just as fast as it had come.

In this prevalent, overwhelming absence of green, the best he could haphazardly improvise was poaching a plastic flower from one of the many florals centerpieces on sale in an abandoned, ransacked store around the area. That, and a single incense, with a simple, small, black square incense holder.

Over the windowsill, the sorcerer placed one single faux white rose, the edges of its petals frail and frazzled under dust blemishes. Beside it, Gojo positioned the holder with a simple byakudan incense propped up by the holder's snug. It stood proudly, even if ideally, Gojo would've preferred to spare the right amount of incenses, time, effort, and flowers to hold a proper otsuya in honor of his fallen friend. The incense's smoke snaked and swirled in the air in a lonely stream, and just as Gojo himself, the solitude of the moment he held away from his students and colleagues ensured him once more.

We all die alone. Just like Nanami did.

Joining both his hands in front of his chest in a prayer, Gojo surrendered his six eyes to the quiet, closing his eyelids, regarding the silence for a moment with careful consideration, a small gesture of affection he spared for those he truly cared about. He wondered, caught up in thoughts, if he should indeed chant a sutra in the ratio sorcerer's honor, and as a trick of his imagination bringing forth the amalgam of impressions and memories ingrained in his mind, Gojo could hear the faint ghost of Nanami's voice. He could hear in the measured, precise beats of his usual nonchalant tone how unnecessary that was, and that Gojo, as the strongest, should waste no precious time in other endeavors that weren't dedicated to slay the evil which had brought destruction over Japan. And he heard, just as faintly, that same voice recede quietly in empathetic acceptance of his irrational need to honor a departed colleague.

For all his methodical regard over human matters, Nanami was inexorably kind at heart, clearly to a fault.

Clearly to death. 

"Gojo sensei?" a minute whisper cut through the somber silence, and Gojo turned around to look at the two who stepped into his solitary funeral rite. Yuji and Ino stood in the doorway, gazing at him and then at the makeshift, simple altar he had concocted with those few looted items. Upon realizing what Gojo was probably doing, Yuji apologized, and explained, "we were looking for you. We didn't mean to intrude."

"It's alright," Gojo replied, his usual smile forming over his face as a force of habit for his students’ benefit.

Ino regarded the scene in front of him attentively, remembering that earlier, on that very same day, Gojo had finally learned about Nanami's death during the Shibuya incident. Thoughtfully, he inquired, "is this an otsuya for Nanami?"

Gojo was slightly surprised, but not from the keen observation skills of Ino – after all, he was his mentee, Nanami's mentee. Gojo just didn't have in mind he'd find himself in this very scenario, even in all likelihood of that happening. 

"Yes, yes it is," he conceded.

"I'd like to pay my respects too," Yuji stated, stepping forward towards his teacher, "if that would be okay."

"Me too," Ino followed, approaching them both with measured steps. He briefly noticed the unkempt state of the rose Gojo had put as an offering on the windowsill, and it crossed his mind with a stinging amusement how much Nanami would be equal parts offended and grateful for this thoughtful gesture done in such a haphazard manner, even if he probably would only voice the former. Funerals, after all, were impractical. They served as vehicles of grief for the living, not the dead who had long since been shepherded along past whichever mortal veil awaited them. And in this desolate land of ruin and war, where grief hung heavy and pressed bowed heads all the lower, there was still beauty to be found in this small act of rebellion against death. A kind of garden bloomed in that space – not one of petals or green things, but the connections left behind, roots that dug deep, holding fast even in barren soil. A garden of the heart, built on friendship, quiet appreciation, and the stubborn will to live and remember. 

And in that sacred silence, Nanami would have clapped Ino on the back in the way he never did in life, a chuckle in his throat as he chided him with a quiet, “real men cry, Ino.” Ino’s jaw trembled, his hands tight at his sides, a breath held in with solemn determination not to let tears fall. Nanami might have approved, or perhaps he’d have nudged him closer to grief with a final, gentle insistence: some burdens were meant to be shared.

Yuji stood apart, eyes wide and carrying grief in the fragile way of youth. Nanami would watch with a quiet ache, recognizing that herculean weight Yuji bore, a burden he’d taken on willingly but never asked for. In Yuji, Nanami saw an echo of his younger self – a boy carrying the burdens meant for a man, each step of the path cobbled by the failure of the adults around him. Perhaps, in another life, he might have been there to guide him further, to offer the steady strength of a fathers hand. But here, from this distance, he could only hope that Yuji knew: he had done enough.

At Gojo’s side, Nanami would have stood without a word, a silent presence where no more needed to be said. He’d never dared it in life, never felt it his right to stand beside a man who seemed less human than some cosmic force. But here, in death, he allowed himself to be steady and still, a quiet echo of companionship he never afforded himself. And as Gojo’s eyes slid sideways, a faint, knowing flicker, Nanami wondered if he knew.

In the end, Nanami had left little behind, yet these three, brighter than any flower, were a bouquet of all he’d valued. An oasis, growing fast even in the shadowed, broken heart of Shinjuku. The smoke drifted higher, and somewhere beyond it all, Nanami stood watch, as those three blossoms remained forever in full bloom.

[aphelionwrotes11]

Little bird: part 1

Retired!soap x maneater!reader (afab reader, MDNI, slight dubcon if you squint)

Includes: descriptions of blood and gore, alludes sexual assault (not described), light stalking, fluff/comfort, soft soap, sub soap, dry humping, fingering/cunnilingus, PiV penetration, light masochism - soap receiving ofc, he can’t help that you look so pretty when you’re mad :(

Note: no smut yet guys!! fantasy fic, Reader is a maneater in a genuine sense. Don’t worry guys they love each other lots and lots !!

Need a male wife like him

1.3k words (not edited)

Soap who was forced into early retirement after his close encounter with death and a real shitty brain injury (he swore up and down that he was still fit for the military, his debilitating migraines said otherwise).

Retired soap who moved into the deep woods of a lush mountain, an hour out from any towns or stores. Nobody knows who he is, doesn’t visit town enough for anyone to even remember his face. The only people who know where he’s at are the 141 and laswell, who told him once his migraines settled down he could join the team again. They check in on him every now and again, a call twice a month, visiting him when on leave, dragging him out for drinks and such.

He doesn’t mind so much after the first few months, growing fond of waking with the sun, the fertile soil that grows a bountiful harvest at an unusually fast rate, fishing in the late evening and watching the sunset kiss the lake a short walk from his new home. His brain fog and migraines clear up a bit not too long after the move, but he decides he likes his new life a bit too much to leave it behind.

Retired soap who, despite the efforts of his old team, still suffers from loneliness. Never had the time to find himself a girl during the time he spent in the military, and considering that time was nearly half the years of his existence he was bit out of touch with women. So, he spends his time in his too big house, gazing at the open space in his too big bed. Wishes he had someone there with him, someone to love and care for. Would go out on the town and find himself a girl on his own if leaving the mountainside and entering the nearest town didn’t trigger a migraine that would leave him on his ass for days.

Finds himself on his front porch most afternoons, munching on a sandwich and glancing at the empty chair beside him. That’s when he feels it for the first time, an unmistakable heat boring into the side of his skull. After so many years in the forces he knows the feeling of being watched, it’s like a sixth sense to him now. He looks out into the woods beside his house, tracing the outline of each tree, scanning for any signs of life. Nothing greets him but the soft breeze, luscious brush, and thick trunks topped with green leaves. He decides it’s nothing, but can’t help to notice the rush of a different feeling, one he can’t quite place, but it leaves a fire in the pit of his stomach.

After a week, he realizes that he definitely has a visitor. The feeling of eyes on him is near constant every time he steps foot outside his house, he’s yet to decide if it’s unwelcome or not. His logical side tells him to investigate, whatever is watching him feels almost predatory in a way, hungry. But a small voice in the back of his head leads him to decide that no matter what it is that’s taken a liking to observing his stocky form work in his garden is better than the heavy feeling of loneliness that’s been plaguing his space like a sickness. After a short walk in the woods one evening, he finds a set of foot prints settled at the edge of the woods facing his home, human prints, too small to be those of a man.

Retired soap who somehow forms a friendship with his little prowler. Notices some vegetables going missing from his garden, a carrot here, a squash there, some greens missing a large chunk of leaves. He chuckles when he finds a hole in the dirt where a bundle of potatoes had laid wait to be plucked. Takes note of which vegetables are taken the most and soon starts leaving a basket at the entrance of his garden once a week with said vegetables neatly placed and washed, waiting to be taken. The first time he leaves the basket he tries (and fails) to catch a glimpse of his prowler, stayed up till dawn beside his window before falling asleep and waking to a basket barren of any vegetables. What laid at the bottom was a shiny piece of agate from the nearby lake.

“Like a little bird.” He chuckles to himself, rolling the stone between his fingers. That’s what he calls you from then on, treats you to the tasty vegetables in his garden and is gifted small shiny rocks and soft flowers.

Retired soap, who found himself wide awake one cold night. Too cold for late summer, a kind of bone chilling cold only found in the winter. He settles himself on the front porch after lying awake for hours. Sips on a cup of lukewarm coffee and waits for dawn. That’s when he hears it, small choked cries followed by the sound of a loud splash in the lake. He sits frozen for a moment. it’s the scream that’s gets him to his feet, running through the trees towards the lake.

And that’s when he sees you for the first time. The moonlight bathing your wet skin as you sat on the bank of the lake, your white dress and long hair clung to your body, locks of hair sticking to your face as tears rolled down your cheeks. Blood pooled down your chin, dripping from your maw, watered down from the lake. Remnants of red clung to your dress and arms, caked your nails and fingertips. God, you looked like a fucking Angel. A painting he’d dreamt of more times than he could count. You looked at him from where he stood, brows furrowed and eyes angry as you cried.

He took a step closer to you, and you let out a cry that made his stomach tighten. He raised his hands, letting out a shaking breath as he stepped closer again.

“i’know ye know me, birdie. Not gonna hurt’ye none, lass.” He whispered. Feeling a fire ignite as you give him a tentative look, the anger leaving your eyes.

He takes a few more steps to you, taking off his coat and slowly bringing it over your shoulders. Bringing himself down onto his knees beside you. He’s real close to you now, can smell you. Metallic, earthy, the faint scent of a candied perfume stuck to the skin on your neck. He had to physically restrain himself from sticking his face against your throat to catch a deep whiff of you. He felt drunk, dizzy just from your presence. His little bird that’d been watching him for a month now right in front of him looking more beautiful than anything he’s ever seen.

Your eyes meet and he swears his heart stops. He has to take a beat before he speaks.

“Come on back with me birdie, let’s get ye cleaned up. S’too cold out here.” He coos, a small smile on his lips as he rubs his hands up your arms, a poor attempt at warming you. You wait a moment before nodding, letting him pull you to your feet. He’s careful, can sense your skittishness, doesn’t want to scare you off when he finally has you.

[thornsinwinter]

Elain Week Day 6: Earthwork

@elainweekofficial

Into the compacted soil Elain dug her shovel, her muscles straining against the resistance. Six weeks at Spring Court had transformed her—arms stronger now, skin darkened by the sun as formal gardens gradually took shape again, one painstaking section at a time.

Twenty feet away, Tamlin worked in silence. He was repairing a collapsed stone wall, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, each stone placed with deliberate care as he rebuilt it. Elain knew that he could have simply used his magic, but she understood why he didn’t.

These shared mornings rarely required words; the rhythm they'd established seemed to render conversation unnecessary. Work, then rest, then work again. The physical labor that anchored them both to the present moment and kept unwelcome memories at bay. Sometimes Elain caught Tamlin pausing, staring at some distant point before deliberately returning to his task. She understood, she too had moments when memories tried to pull her backward, yet the solid weight of soil and stone helped ground them both in the present.

Nearly three feet tall now, the mysterious seed from the lesser fae, gnomes Tamlin had called them, had been transplanted into the garden. Its leaves, unfurling only at twilight, caught the day's last light before revealing luminous blue flowers that bloomed throughout the night. Regularly the gnomes visited, leaving small offerings—polished stones, bits of bark—beside the plant.

"The eastern terrace is clear now." Elain paused, wiping sweat from her brow. "Beneath the weeds, I found stepping stones."

Tamlin nodded as he set another rock in place, "There was a reflecting pool there once." A shadow crossed his face, quickly replaced by something more thoughtful. "It might be worth restoring."

Simple statements of fact, their conversations rarely delved deeper, yet Elain had begun to think of him as a friend. An odd friendship, built not on words but on quiet trust and shared silences and parallel work.

She observed his technique: fitting stones together without mortar, an ancient method relying purely on perfect balance. Those hands of his, once instruments of violence, now created instead of destroyed. Like her own, which had once been soft and uncallused but now shaped something meaningful from ruin.

They weren't saving each other, that wasn't the point. They were simply healing together, each finding their own path back from where they had lost themselves.

At midday, as always, they stopped. From a clay pitcher Elain poured water while Tamlin wiped dust from his hands. Together they sat on the half-repaired wall, facing gardens slowly returning to order.

"You visit your family tomorrow," Tamlin said.

"One month, as promised," Elain nodded.

What might happen after that visit remained unmentioned, the future tactfully undiscussed. Tamlin did not ask if she intended to return and Elain did not offer platitudes, but she had already begun writing down a list for him of which plants would need attention in her absence. 

At the garden's edge appeared one of the gnomes, watching them with bright eyes. More had emerged as the grounds improved, cautiously reclaiming territories long abandoned. "They remember what this place was," Tamlin said quietly, taking a drink of water. "Before everything."

Elain understood what remained unsaid: before Amarantha, before Feyre, before betrayals and broken courts and shattered lives.

"Places can be remade," she replied and Tamlin only grunted in response but when she glanced at him, she caught the small smile that lingered on his lips.

As afternoon clouds gathered overhead, offering shade and a cool breeze, they returned to their separate tasks and beneath Elain's hands, the earth felt alive with possibility. Day 1 / Day 2 / Day 3 / Day 4 / Day 5

[thedgeoftheuniverse]

FOOL. | joel miller

pairing: post outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: mentions of alcohol and trauma (non-specific but implied), enemies to lovers, slightly shaky timeline, defensive joel, light smut, sprinkle of a praise kink minors DNI!! (Photos are not mine! Pls dm for credit/removal)

requested by the lovely @marvelstarwars :3 i literally had so much fun writing this, thank you sm for requesting! i hope you enjoy !!

If you asked him, he would swear he only admired the flora adorning your porch; he simply paid no mind to you, nor how beautiful your hands looked as you poured water over the soil or the smile you flashed at a passerby on their nightly stroll. He did not care that it wasn't directed at him.

“Do you have any clue what an asshole you are?”

“You ain't too kind yourself, sweetheart.” 

“You won't let me be! I tried time and time and time again to be nice to you, and you're just such a dick no matter what I do, and I’m fucking sick of it." 

You were not prone to such outbursts—not anymore. Or so you believed. Eight years within the walls of Jackson, an almost haven in the midst of what you genuinely believed to be Hell, and the security such a place brought changed you (or perhaps reverted you back to who you were). Ample food supply, walls strong enough to keep Infected and humans alike out, community, friendship. It was a piece of the old world, frozen in time as the rest of the Earth fell farther and farther by the day. At times, you felt guilty; you could not recall a single action, decision, or thought you had to deserve such safety. Before your arrival at the community (arrival is a strong word; you were barely alive when Maria found you and thus had to be carried to the infirmary with no say in the matter), your hands were stained with blood, all the way down to the bone, and you had all but lost any semblance of the person you were before Outbreak Day. 

It was the greatest blessing that had ever been given to you. 

You remembered how to be gentle; you remembered how to entertain small talk; you remembered how to garden; and you remembered how the sun felt shining in from your bedroom window. You remembered how to smile. You remembered that there was a time you were kind, honest, and full of so much love that you had no choice but to share it with those around you, lest it threaten to consume you. You remembered how to connect with people and that those connections did not have to be purely beneficial. You found something you buried so deeply inside your chest that you believed it to have been long dead, snuffed out with the rest of the world. 

You remembered how to be human. 

The remnants of yourself that you pieced back together into a living, breathing person were respected and well known within the community. You befriended and loved even the most stubborn of newcomers; in a short time, you became a crucial part of fostering camaraderie and a sense of home, even for those who no longer believed it could exist. You owed your life to Maria and to Jackson, and you intended to pay the debt in full.

Joel Miller was a payment you somehow missed and a giant pain in your ass. He seemed determined to brush off every attempt you made at conversation, never bothering to look at you much less respond to your questions (“Hey! How're you settling in?” “Have you made it over to the Bison yet?” “How’s your daughter doing?") When conversation seemed fruitless, you brought freshly baked bread to leave on his doorstep with a note reading: Welcome in! Hope you're settling in alright. I’m just down the street if you need anything, and the door’s always open, with your name signed at the bottom. Three days later, you noticed the bread still sitting on his porch, the note nowhere to be seen. When smaller acts of kindness did not work—you tried many: more baked goods, offers of watching after Ellie while he went on patrol, bringing him what Tommy swore was his favorite drink, even offering a haircut after you noticed his visible irritation with the curls that relentlessly tickled his eyebrow—you settled for a wave or small smile when you passed him in town, which he only returned with a rotten scowl.

No matter what you did, he seemed to hate you. It well and truly pissed you off. 

You were not prone to violent outbursts, but Joel Miller incited anger in you like no one else. This was not your first incident with him, and you doubted it would be the last.

“I never asked you for a damn thing.”  

“Fuck you, Joel.” Your blood was practically boiling beneath your skin. “Enjoy being a miserable son of a bitch. I’m done.”  

“Oh, I plan on it, sweetheart.” You would have hit him if it weren't for his pretty face. You thought for a moment that a blackened eye or broken nose might take him down a notch, but another moment of realization washed over you: Tommy would be absolutely furious if you laid a hand on his brother when he technically did not deserve it. He was already sick of your bickering; he said as much himself, and you dared not chance the repercussions of a right hook to the side of Joel’s face.

Instead, you turned on your heel and left him in the middle of the street. You could not see the pain that welled up in his eyes as you turned away from him.

You did not speak to nor look in the direction of Joel for three weeks, and he did not catch even a glance of you.

For the first three days, he felt relieved. Since his arrival, he had hardly gone a single day without seeing your face or being met with a conversation he had not the slightest clue how to engage in, and to finally be without your presence felt peaceful. His morning walk was no longer disturbed by your upbeat chatter; he went to the Tipsy Bison and had a drink in peace; he sat on his porch in the evenings, strumming his guitar and sipping on a glass of whiskey without you strolling by and listening to the sounds of the strings. He settled down in Jackson, along with Ellie, three months ago and had finally been left alone. Ellie quickly befriended the other teenagers in the commune and spent most evenings getting into what he chose to believe was harmless fun (his paternal instincts screamed at him otherwise, but he knew she deserved to be a kid. Trouble came with the territory), and for three consecutive nights, he was unbothered. Not to say he disliked Ellie or her company; she was the most important thing to him, his reason for drawing breath. He loved her dearly, but silence had become a rare and cherished treat.

On the fourth night, Joel caught a glimpse of you on your front porch. It was a warm night, though it was unusually cool to be in the middle of June. You donned a pair of shorts and a not quite fitted shirt as you watered flowers and trailing plants hanging from the banister. He took a moment to admire the luscious greenery—he could recall you boasting of your skills in gardening, having been able to save many plants from the brink of death, and offering your assistance to the farmers in Jackson when their crops began to struggle. He also recalled the fact that you refused payment in return. (If you asked him, he would swear he only admired the flora adorning your porch; he simply paid no mind to you, nor how beautiful your hands looked as you poured water over the soil or the smile you flashed at a passerby on their nightly stroll. He did not care that it wasn't directed at him.)

On the ninth night, Joel made a trip to the Tipsy Bison. He had spent far too many evenings inside the house, according to Ellie. He desperately needed a change in scenery, but more than that, he wanted a drink. He briefly recalled the last instance of you knocking on his front door, unannounced, with an old-fashioned in your hand and a wide smile on your face that quickly disappeared when he declined the drink. When he went out on his porch later that evening, he found the same drink sitting on the outdoor table with a note covering the mouth of the glass to prevent insects from contaminating the beverage. As he sat at the bar all these weeks later, listening to a cacophony of music, aimless chatter, chairs groaning, and ice clinking, he ordered the same zesty cocktail while the handwriting scrawled on that note burned behind his eyelids.

(Tommy told me this was your favorite. Gotta say, they're not half bad. Hope you get to it before the ants do. Enjoy your night, door’s always open if you need anything.

P.S – I stashed away some bourbon I found from before, it’s yours if you want it. Not much of a whiskey girl.)

He stashed it away, along with the other handful of notes you had gifted him, though he was unable to discern why. He was never a sentimental guy.

On the eleventh night, he saw you for the first time since your outburst (aside from the brief glimpse of your weekly plant watering). It was another cool-for-June night, and he reckoned an evening stroll was preferable to listening to Ellie and Dina giggling upstairs. The summer air was crisp, and a warm breeze danced across his face, making his overgrown hair tickle his eyes. He thought a haircut was perhaps in order, though part of him did not trust Maria so close to him with scissors in hand. During his struggle to keep his hair away from his line of sight, Joel managed to overlook you entirely until he was a mere four or five feet away from you.

“What're you doin’ out here? It’s late.” You turned to face him for the first time in nearly two weeks, and Joel’s heart caught in his throat. How had he never noticed? The setting sun flashed brightly across your skin, filling your face with warmth and flooding your irises, and Joel realized that you were perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Your hair blew freely in the breeze, though somehow more elegantly than his unkempt curls, which still seemed determined to obstruct his vision. He was unsure whether he saw a moment of sympathy on your face or if his mind played tricks on him, because you surely held no sympathy for him or his overgrown mane that he quite disrespectfully declined your assistance with.

“Don't see how that’s any of your concern.” You shot back, despite your eyes having softened.

“Just curious. Tryin’ to be friendly.”

“That's a first.” He sighed heavily at your statement, though he knew there was no denying it: “Sky looks pretty.” You were being far shorter with him than he was accustomed to. He could not blame you. Joel knew he had been cruel to you, though he could not explain why. Especially now, as you bask in the setting sun’s light dancing across your skin. You looked more peaceful than he had ever seen you, and guilt rips through his chest as he realizes this is the first time he’s seen you look so serene when conversing with him—it’s the first time he’s ever seen you so disinterested in speaking with him.

The guilt weighed heavier as he realized this was the first time he'd ever attempted a conversation with you.

“Yeah.” He agreed, though he could not draw his gaze from you to pay any mind to the sky.

On the fourteenth day, Joel realized he missed you. He missed your smile, the cadence of your voice, the melodiousness of your laughter; he missed the handwritten notes; the drinks he never asked for but you somehow knew he needed; the breads that he never bothered to bring in; he missed your attentiveness over Ellie; your inquiries about his day or if the house was cool enough for him. He missed you. Scraps of lined paper with blue ink were a poor substitute.

On the fifteenth day, Joel Miller realized what a pompous asshole he'd been.

On the sixteenth, he could do nothing but hate himself.

And the seventeenth.

And the eighteenth.

Straight through to the twentieth day.

On the morning of the twenty-first day, the self-hatred gave way to pure confusion. Why was he missing your attention so strongly? Why did he care that you were actively avoiding him? Why did he turn down Maria’s offer of a haircut, and why was he hoping he would open his door to a handwritten note ending with ‘The door’s always open’? Why did he turn down Tommy’s offer of whiskey? Why could he not get you off his mind?

“Dude, you have to talk to her.” Ellie stated as she shoved down her dinner (Joel tried to get her to eat slower and teach her table manners, but residual effects of food scarcity currently make such an intervention nearly impossible).

“What?” He snapped back.

She said your name as though it should have been entirely obvious from the start: “You’ve been a wreck for days. Just talk to her, man. Say you're sorry or something.”

“It ain't that simple,” he retorted.

“Why not?” Joel did not have an answer. He opted to glare at her, and Ellie took it as a victory, but not without a final say: “You didn't like me at first either, but look where we are now.” She said, gesturing to the kitchen. Before Joel could snap back a response, Ellie was darting from the table, yelling something he could hardly discern as she ran out the front door.

And on the afternoon of the twenty-first day, Joel found himself marching to your front door with two cups of coffee and a note with what he believed to be a poor excuse for handwriting in his back pocket. As he approached your porch, he stole a moment to observe your plants up close. He could not help but admire your dedication to something that would never be able to return the sentiment. His heart was in his stomach as he sat the cups down on your outdoor table and raised a hand to knock on your door. He thinks it stopped beating for a moment when you didn't answer.

Nevertheless, he left the note and coffee sitting for you outside.

Avoiding Joel Miller was a task easier said than done. 

He had never been accused of being sociable, outgoing, or even particularly friendly, but something about him drew you in. His thick, southern drawl constantly played through your head, despite having rarely heard it directed at you. The messy curls, ever grayer by the day, adorning his head were never far from the front of your mind, nor were his soft brown eyes. It seemed the harder you steered yourself away from him, the more he consumed your thoughts. 

In all actuality, you were done being angry with him within a few days. One conversation with Tommy shed much-needed light on the internal battle ever waging in his head, and you realized Joel Miller was far unlike any other member of the community (of course, he would be livid to learn that Tommy divulged such personal details to someone Joel considered to be a stranger). You also realized your best course of action would be to leave him alone; you came to see that Joel was no different from you upon your arrival in Jackson—confused, angry, and filled to the brim with trauma you felt hopeless to overcome, but above all, you were scared. After so long of living on the road, a house felt more like a grave; the walls felt like a prison cell, and the people may as well have been judge, jury, and executioner.

You had fully given up on whatever friendship you tried to strike up with him. Joel Miller wanted nothing to do with you, and it was something you were going to have to learn to live with, no matter how desperately your heart seemed to wish otherwise.

 So when he knocked on your doorstep one afternoon, looking utterly disheveled and anxiety-ridden, you were completely taken aback, so much so that it took you a full two minutes to remember how to turn the doorknob and greet him. By the time you did, he had already turned away and was halfway back to his house. You noticed the mug he carried in his hand only moments before noticing another sitting on your table, with still steaming coffee and a note sitting underneath the ceramic. 

Your heart raced as you read his endearingly messy handwriting: 

‘I’ve been an ass. Sorry it took me this long to figure it out. Could I make it up to you over dinner? 

P.S – that bourbon should mix well with the coffee. Give it a shot before you give it away.’ 

In a split second decision, you made your way over to his house with the coffee in hand, unfortunately losing a few splashes on the way due partially to uneven ground but mostly due to your nerves. You could not understand the effect he was having on you. Three weeks ago, you were ready to knock him into the dirt. Today, you anxiously run your fingers through your hair and smooth out the wrinkles in your shirt while cursing yourself for not taking the time to brush your teeth again before coming to his front door. However, there was no time to turn back or regroup because he opened the door almost immediately after you knocked. 

You were wholly unprepared for the sight of him. His hair had grown noticeably longer, and perhaps grayer as well. It was messy; undefined curls spread all across his forehead, but somehow he managed to look nothing less than perfect. He adorned himself with a fitted black shirt that hugged his arms in all the right ways and only highlighted the broadness of his shoulders. His skin was beautifully tanned, a perfect bronze that looked as though the sun itself lived inside of him. You had never seen his eyes look so soft and unguarded. You were unsure if it was the prolonged lack of contact or if you were initially blinded by anger, but Joel was handsome. Rugged, chiseled, slightly older, and strong (you wondered if he was strong enough to perhaps carry you, pick you up as though you weighed nothing, or perhaps throw you around a bit). 

He cleared his throat and broke you from your trance. “Oh, uh… hey. Sorry, hope I didn't bother ya by knocki–” 

“How does lunch sound instead?” Your words came out rushed, and you hoped they didn't betray how flustered you were. “Like, now. As long as you're free, I mean, I know you don't really have company often, and you have Ellie too…” 

“That, uh, that actually sounds real nice.”

 “Really?”

 “Yeah. C’mon in. Sorry for the mess.”

Six more weeks passed. 

Six more weeks of spontaneous lunches, dinners, late-night drinks, heavy conversations as a result, and countless cups of coffee 

Joel could not believe he had ever been so foolish as to refuse your companionship; he has spent so many days chastising himself over his stupidity. He wasted the better part of four months pushing you away at every turn. And despite it all, despite his thorniness, despite his brash personality and rusty conversational skills, despite believing he had nothing to offer you in return for your adoration aside from pain and tears, you never once made him feel like the monster he believed himself to be. He could not help but remember your plants and your willingness to love them despite them never reciprocating; they grew, they lived, and it was enough for you. You gave and gave and gave just a little more, and you never expected anything in return other than him, with all of his flaws, his traumas, and his burdens. He was all you wanted. 

Joel knew he wasn't good with these things. He knew what he was beginning to feel for you—it was an emotion he hadn't felt in many years at this point, not entirely foreign to him but not his mother tongue. He did not know how to express his gratitude or adoration for you, certainly not in the way that you deserved. 

What he did know was how to use your body—or, rather, his body—for your pleasure. Joel’s words often fell short, but his mouth and tongue still had a myriad of ways to tell you his affections: late at night when the town slept and Ellie was off with her friends, or in the early hours of dawn when the sun had barely begun to kiss the sky, or during midday when the heat was practically unbearable, Joel would show you just how special you were to him. With every flick of his skilled tongue, every movement of his hands, and every kiss he shared with you, he poured every ounce of his adoration into your body, and you responded with the sweetest moans his ears had ever been graced with. 

And now, as you lay wrapped up in a thin gray sheet with your clothes scattered along his bedroom floor, Joel floods you with devotion. He took his time working you up; he made you earn it this time around and turned you into a beautiful little mess below him before he ever touched you where you so desperately needed him. A piece of him wanted to keep you like this—you looked so goddamn pretty underneath him, practically begging for him to do anything more than what he was—but he could only be so selfish when you were just so good for him, and he could not keep himself from telling you so. 

Such a good girl.

You're doing so good for me, darlin’.

Look so pretty like this, baby. 

And every time you come undone below him, Joel cannot help but look at you so ardently; you were a sight to rival sunsets, mountains, and entire oceans, and you were his. And every time he slides into your warmth, he swears he finds heaven—if not inside of you, then beside you. You cry out his name as your nails scrape down his back—a delicious burn that only adds to his pleasure—while your legs wrap around his hips, silently begging him to stay exactly where he is and to never go too far. Hot kisses pepper down the side of your neck, and you tug at his finally trimmed curls, eliciting deep moans from his chest, creating a cacophony of sounds that neither of you maintain the mental clarity to silence—not when you are so wrapped up in each other, nothing else exists outside of the walls of his bedroom. 

And when he finishes, when his body goes rigid and he moans, practically whimpers, your name at a slightly higher pitch than his usual cadence, Joel finds serenity next to you in the after. As your eyes open and shut, and you fall in and out of sleep, and he traces featherlight patterns on the soft skin of your shoulder blade, Joel cannot help but believe he’s the luckiest man on Earth. 

You murmured something almost indistinguishable into his chest, but a few sounds carried crystal clear through the air—enough that he thought he could understand your intentions. 

He responded, “Me too.”

[starglossie]

need to talk about umemiya + gardening. how his backstory is about grief and loss. how he fought to ruin himself as penance bc of his survivor's guilt. where he learned to live again for the people around him, and for himself. for umemiya who rebuilt furin with his calloused hands, bruised from fighting.

umemiya who cultivates a garden and i think that's so important. i love love love that he becomes a gardener. that he uses his hands in so many important ways. to toil the soil to plant the roots to water his plants. his hands can now give life! and create food! and then he can share that food with his friends!!! his hands are so integral to his belief in building community and friendships!

but from umemiya the boy who did not want to live to umemiya the boy who grows life with the palm of his hands OHHHHHH u r my son and ur story warms my heart and you deserve to feel safe and warm and receive the same love you give out into the world

[goblinpuppy35]

Paw Prints in Fresh Soil

Part 1 - (Next Chapter)

Professor Remus x Male Reader

Summary: While teaching at Hogwarts Professor Lupin tries his best to conceal his strong crush for the green fingered grounds keeper Y/N but soon a strong friendship blooms into something more.

------------------------------------------

It was a cool morning at the start of autumn, leaves were already starting to collect in the courtyard at Hogwarts and Remus was grateful for his thick cloak above his suit as he strolled down the stone corridors with the company of Harry and his friends. The amount of praise he was getting from his students in regards to the quality of his Defence against the Dark Arts classes was rather overwhelming for Remus, he felt deep joy in his heart knowing he was making a positive impact in these children's education. Harry's friend Hermione was asking him one question after another and the Proffesor was doing his best to keep up with this incredibly intelligent young witch however once he caught the site of the staff room door he did feel a small rush of relief. His social energy was starting to wither.

He opened the door swiftly, starting to bid the children goodbye and began to stride forward but luckily haulted upon his heels as to not knock into the much smaller figure on the other side of the door way. The younger gentleman's eyes had widened with the abrupt door opening and had clearly given him a scare. He raised his hand to his chest, palm pressing onto a very nice brown waistcoat. He was as formally dressed as a fellow teacher but had rolled his shirt sleveas beyond his elbows and had on thick worker gloves. Simailry his trousers were rolled up and instead of dress shoes he wore worker boots covered in mud. It was very common for Remus to frighten others when he loomed in door ways, he had just stared to form an apology between his lips when, "Sorry, hello. yes .. sorry" came out of the smaller man's mouth in a rush, despite his shock the panic on his face had faded and he smiled although made no direct eye contact with Remus. He smiled in the vague direction of Remus' chest and then proceeded to shift pass the Proffesor and walk down the hallway.

"Proffesor.. Proffesor are you alright?" asked Hermione who observed their teachers eyes following the figure walk down the hall with great focus. "Who is that?" Proffesor Lupin asked aloud without even thinking. "That's the new grounds keeper .. I don't know his name tho", Ron scoffed quietly at Hermione's answer "why do you know everything?". The bickering between the two students faded out of Remus' ear shot as he was still glued to watching the man walk away. "I'll see you later children" and without hesitation Remus ran after the man leaving his students behind and bewildered.

Eventually Remus made his way into the courtyard at the back of the school which stretched towards the grounds before dropping off towards to Womping Willow. With all the children returning to their classes it didn't take Remus long to pick out the gentleman, he was lifting pre chopped wood into a large rusty wheelbarrow. Remus was shocked by his own boldness as he approached the hunched figure. "Um.. hi .. hello, look I'm sorry if I scared you there. That was completely my fault. I'm Proffesor Lupin, Defence against the dark art teacher, I don't think we've met" Remus was holding out his hand as the man lifted his head up toward him. The crouching man smiles warmly before lifting himself up, chucking the last amount of wood into the wheelbarrel and taking Remus' hand in a light handshake. "It's fine really, I get easily spooked unfortunately, I'm Y/N"

Both man partook in an awkward handshake which made them both chuckle softly, recognising the social inept in one another. "Are you the new grounds keepers?" Remus asks, trying to hold back the excitement in his voice traveling from the thought of making a freind closer to his age. "Grounds keeper, gardening, occasionally herbology assistant, whatever Hagrid or other teachers need from me really, I do" Y/N said with another nervous chuckle rubbing the back of his neck with his gloves hand. Y/N's little laugh pleased Remus greatly, it automatically caused the corner of his lip to lift up. "It's parcular that I've never seen you before considering your a member staff" Remus mused playfully but then hesitated as he saw this comment draw out a uncomfortable expression on Y/Ns face, he looked off across the hills ahead of them. "Yeah .. I try to keep to myself when I can .. a lot of the teachers here are a little standoffish to me" and with that Y/N leaned down and lifted up the large wheelbarrow in preparation to move it. "I know the feeling" Remus couldn't helped but sigh though he was very aware why the other teachers were uncertain of him. Why they all refused to do the night patrols with him. It baffled Remus what could possibly be so off putting about the seemingly charming young man in front of him.

"Well, it was a pleasure to properly meet you Proffesor Lupin" Y/N began as he started to walk away "and um if you require any .. defense against the art dark related needs you know where to find me ... not that I imagine you would" again Y/N soft nervous laugh swirled around Remus' head as he meekly waved goodbye towards Y/N and let the man make his way down the grassy path.

Remus watched the man for a moment, rocking back and forth on his heels from the cold. Small clouds of warm breath bellowed out under his moustache and yet a little part of him felt warm inside. Comforted even by this brief encounter. Remus hoped he would be able to see this new potential friend again soon.

[stardustlin]

Miguel with reader that loves to garden and almost everyday when Miguel comes home he sees her weeding or planting and she always gives him plants for his office so it looks more homey and one night you invite some of the spider people to dinner and there like “wow” and talking out how it looks like something out of a story book and you all eat outside for dinner and sometimes Miguel and reader play music and dance together

miguel o’hara x gardener! f reader

you and miguel are two peas in a pod, and your love for gardening and plants is a literal and metaphorical expression of your love with miguel.

miguel, coming home after a long day of work, would often find you in the garden, your hands covered in soil as you lovingly tended to your plants. the vibrant colors and sweet scents enveloped the air, creating a serene oasis that melted away the stresses of the day. with each passing day, your garden grew into a paradise, blooming with an array of flowers, herbs, and vegetables. it became your sanctuary, a place where you poured your love and care, and miguel couldn't help but be captivated by your passion and dedication.

as miguel entered his office, he would always find a new plant lovingly placed on his desk, a gift from you. the plants brought life and a touch of home to his otherwise sterile workspace, creating a cozy and comforting atmosphere. one evening, you decided to extend your nurturing spirit beyond your private haven. you invited the spidey squad, along with miguel’s colleagues, for a dinner gathering in your backyard. the garden was blooming in full splendor, a picturesque scene straight out of a storybook.

the spider squad marveled at the beauty and tranquility of the garden, their eyes twinkling with wonder. they admired the vibrant flowers, the carefully arranged herbs, and the lush greenery that enveloped the space. it felt like stepping into a fairy tale, a slice of paradise hidden within the bustling city. as the sun set, casting a warm glow over the garden, the group gathered around a long table adorned with fresh flowers and flickering candlelight. the aroma of delectable dishes filled the air, carefully prepared by you, whose love for gardening extended to your culinary skills.

under the starry sky, laughter and stories filled the air as you all savored the delicious meal. miguel and you took turns entertaining your guests, sharing tales, and eliciting smiles and hearty laughter. the tranquil setting was amplified by the playful melodies of music dancing on the gentle breeze.

miguel and you, your hearts entwined, took to the makeshift dance floor. with each step, your souls connected, and every spin and dip spoke volumes of your love and joy. it was a moment frozen in time, surrounded by friends and nature's embrace. as the night wound down, the Spider Squad bid farewell, their hearts filled with gratitude for the enchanting evening they had experienced. they couldn't help but express their amazement at the beauty of the garden, a testament to your tender care and love.

for miguel and you, the night was a testament to the power of love, nature, and the simple pleasures of life. your garden, once a personal haven, had become a space where friendships blossomed, laughter filled the air, and moments were etched into memory. and so, as the stars twinkled overhead and the scent of blooming flowers lingered, miguel and you found solace in knowing that your garden would forever hold the echoes of your love and the cherished memories you had created. in that peaceful haven, you danced, your hearts and souls intertwining, forever rooted in the beauty of your shared journey.

tags 🏷️!! @astro1bloom @kairiscorner @meeom @sabcandoit @obi-mom-kenobi @emiemiemiii

[dbmars]

I posted a new fic! Don't worry, it's only 2.7k. You don't have to make as big a commitment as Hannibal wants to make with Will... that they spend the rest of their lives together.

This prompt came from Alisha, one of our Patreon patrons for The Feast Is Life podcast. If you'd like to wield the power of my pen (or my typing fingers) you can do so for just 5$ a month:

Something Blue

Will knows.

He has to know. 

I’ve ordered the fires extinguished in his brain. As I picked up the phone to tell Dr. Sutcliffe I’d changed my mind, I knew I was setting events into motion that could end with my death or lifelong imprisonment. I also understood that taking such a risk was imperative, as it may be the key to the greatest happiness I’ve ever known. The one certainty I clung to as I foiled my own plans was that Will would know me. See me. What he would decide to do with that knowledge is impossible to predict. 

But now, sitting in Jack’s office, I can’t be sure he’s received my messages. Understood the scope of my declaration.

I supervised his care during his recovery from encephalitis, driving him to his appointments when it wasn’t safe for him to be behind the wheel, picking up prescriptions and groceries. Cooked him proper meals, meant to nourish and calm the inflammation as well as delight the senses. I fed his dogs, paid to have his lawn serviced and the house cleaned and the hounds groomed. 

It was in his nature, of course, to refuse help. Will’s father raised him to reject charitable offerings out of pride. Pride, also, insists he must be self-sufficient; alone and lonely so long, he wears fierce independence like armor. But I am nothing if not patient and persistent, and he submitted long before I thought he would. 

His desire to be taken care of crumbled that pride like a faulty dam springing leaks before its catastrophic collapse. I’d like to think I had something to do with it. Not only care, but care from me . 

Once Will recovered from his immune system's misguided attack, we resumed our therapy and our friendship. Both flourished, a well-tended garden, roots deep in the soil and blossoms unfurling in the sun. We discussed killing the way others might discuss art, poetry, music. He invited me to fish with him and cook the catch after. I invited him to dinner. It’s become our routine to linger in my office for hours after his session is supposed to have ended, drinking wine by the fire. He let me sketch him once, his face in profile, illuminated by the flames.

One night, three months ago, he put his hand over mine on the arm of my chair. Gave it a tender squeeze. 

And that is when I decided to reveal myself to him, come what may, though the gesture of affection has not been repeated since.

[alwaysbethewest]

For @mourningbirds1 💞 as part of the fandom friendship exchange that @swiftiscruff created. Clare, you have been such a dear and vital friend to me these last few years—always there and always kind to me even when I'm struggling to be kind to myself. I'm hoping with everything I have that this year is better to you, especially as you settle into your new home (!!!). I'm proud of you for getting to this point and never giving up. And I hope this moodboard and the little fantasy ficlet below will make you smile ❤️

Him/You, 360 words. Just sweet domesticity.

The house needs a fresh coat of paint. He drives you to the store and the two of you split up on either side of the aisle so you can focus on the important task of choosing sample colors while he passes the time gathering rollers and tape, and he’s even good enough not to look too impatient when your job takes three times as long as his.

You don’t tell him you’d gotten distracted contemplating which shades of blue would best complement his deep brown eyes.

At home the unfurnished rooms echo and you can hear him humming to himself in the kitchen where he’s unpacking the essentials while you set to work painting swatches on the bedroom wall.

The essentials, according to him, comprise:

The coffee maker.

The bed.

End of list.

And not that you’d entirely disagreed but you’d tacked on a haul of groceries, dishes and utensils, bath towels, toiletries, and several boxes of books that will eventually need shelves.

You’re finishing the final coat when he appears in the doorway with a cup of coffee, and as he hands it to you and collapses to lounge on the bed, too sexy for his own good, you think he may have had it right after all.

The house takes shape. The books find a home on new pine shelving, the walls are spruced up in airy, neutral shades, and you end up with dirt under your fingernails and a satisfying ache in your back from tilling the soil and sowing seeds in the back garden.

He continues fueling you with freshly brewed coffee and soothing your back with his strong hands at the end of the day, and you keep him well-fed as you get to know your new kitchen and well-loved as you break in the bed.

And with time the space fills in to become a sanctuary, housing only the things you love best—your mid-century velvet-upholstered chair, your heavy cast iron skillet, the books and records and precious knick-knacks you’ve collected over the years—and him, held solid and warm and sweet in your arms. Right at home.

[violetstormms]

FNAF Sun/Moon x Reader MerMay Fics

 MerMay DCA x yn fic list

With Mermay coming to a close I decide to make a list of all the fun fish filled fics I have found so far. Remember to look at the tags and read at your own discretion.

Call of the Abyss by Buligete

archiveofourown.org/works/41191230/chapters/103261704

It was probably all very silly, considering the precarious situation I found myself in, but it really was all I could think about.

Could you really blame me? I never expected to find myself in this kind of a mess. I was not some big shot, thrill seeking space explorer. I was no seasoned freight worker. No avid alien world survivalist. Not even a simple cruise liner flight attendant.

I was a gardener. My feet belonged firmly planted in the soil of a garden world. I had spent my entire life up to now solidly anchored on Earth, and never dreaming of leaving the safety of gravity and atmosphere, despite the increasingly uncomfortable quality of life on the crowded homeworld. Sure, I dreamed of greener pastures. Of fresh air and fertile land. But frontier life and adventures in the big expanse of space? Not quite.

---

A FNAF x Subnautica crossover, about the challenges of survival, surprise friendships with quirky software and alien merfolk, man made horrors beyond our comprehension and unexpected mysteries to be uncovered within the depths.

Below The Surface by Justaduck6432

archiveofourown.org/works/46186750/chapters/116275786#workskin

You aren't what people would call friendly. No. You're not even polite. Much like the salty old sailor who raised you, you're short-tempered and not too social. And that's how you like it.

One day, a dirty-rotten fish steals something important to you. You know better than to tangle with a creature so large and dangerous. But you have little to lose and, by the gods, you're not about to let that smug fish keep what's yours.

Dive into this chaotic tale of merciless mers and our hot-headed protag who has to wrangle them!

Growing Pains by Celticwolfie

archiveofourown.org/works/46891666/chapters/118117984

It was going to be a normal fishing trip. Just a normal hike to the secluded river beach and maybe relax while listening to the forest waking up around you. However, that isn't how things go for you and now you managed to gain the attention of a legendary creature. Now everything seems to be turned on its head. Hopefully, you can adapt to it quickly enough and help these living legends out as their world is starting to shrink around them.

Free Space by omenofthevoid

archiveofourown.org/works/46904299/chapters/118150342

As a Leviathan, you aren't meant for the shallow water which inhibits your growth and keeps you small. You finally move to the Dead Zone, where you hope to be able to grow.

Galaxies, Lost in Ice by StarvingMe

archiveofourown.org/works/45778489/chapters/115203013

(Subnautica/Subnautica: Below Zero AU)

Sun went hunting, and he's been gone for a few days, and so it's up to Moon to drag Sun's Human Scientist Best Friend out into the ocean to find him.

(Leads into romance with aliens, no spice, that'll be a separate work that won't be necessary to enjoy this)

Abyssal Lights by PhoenixDaNeko

archiveofourown.org/works/46600771/chapters/117353191

You used to be powerful. Feared. Vicious. A man-killer. You were one of the most fearsome myths in the sea.

Then, despite everything, you were caught. Stolen from the depths of your home. Your older siblings had always cautioned against going too close to the surface. You wished you'd listened. Captured, placed into barely big enough tanks, traded between rich bastards and unethical scientists. Losing weight, power, sanity, you're beginning to give up, when a mysterious 4 armed... Person (?) comes by.

Who is this metal man, and why is he so interested in you?

My Lungs are Full of You by Xmimi89eR

archiveofourown.org/works/47111743/chapters/118694248

You didn't like the ocean.

The water felt like it would burn (and it does). Your lungs would give out sooner than others and you didn't even know how to swim!

You never asked for this trip, never asked to be here. Yet, here you are, stuck all alone and waiting for rescue that probably would never come.

Or, well, not really alone. The burning gaze of something in the water wouldn't leave you alone.

There Are Many Benefits (To Rethinking This Career Path)  by moonliched

archiveofourown.org/works/47449438/chapters/119573569#workskin

Life is cushy, working on a subterranean research facility on an underexplored ocean planet. As the resident handyman, most of your work takes place underwater - lucky for you, cave diving is your passion. With the building between bi-annual research teams, and the next lot yet to arrive, you find yourself with an excess of free time. All you have to do is fulfil your weekly duties, prepare the facility for the next team of researchers, and relax. Oh, and track down the net that went missing some time ago.

And then you find it.

In a submerged cave.

Trapping a mermaid.

You really wish this wasn't your responsibility.

(Moon thinks he should have listened to Sun and stuck to hunting in warmer waters. Why does this bizarre two-tailed mermaid keep coming at him with sharp instruments?)

Song of the Sea by TheDreamerFae

archiveofourown.org/works/38958630/chapters/97435890

You always loved the tales of Mermaids, of Selkies and of Sirens, of people who lived in the ocean as a child. You remember vividly seeing merfolk, but chalked it up your imagination. But then a boating accident with your grandpa had left you scarred, and you no longer wanted any association with the sea. But life has other plans

INSPIRED BY BAMSARA’S FIC god I love Celestial Omens.

Unusual  by  BlueMoon_13_31

archiveofourown.org/works/47008036/chapters/118422505

Your love for the ocean has sent you all around the world. However, the beaches of your coastal home have always been your favorite. Returning to the cloudy skies along the Pacific, the last thing you expected was to run into two creatures far from their natural habitat.

The Sea Has Always Known Your Name by CleverButDevastating

archiveofourown.org/works/47410663/chapters/119469997

Everyone is so caught up in your expulsion from the ship that they don’t see the pair of dark, sinuous shapes that slip up through the water only half a dozen yards away. No one notices the flashes of vivid yellow and luminous blue, or the intelligent eyes that take in the human spectacle with inhuman curiosity.

No one except you.

Clownfishing by Sujithe2DWaifu

archiveofourown.org/works/47314285/chapters/119220796

A night fishing trip lends itself to a chance encounter with a siren. After unknowingly showing it some kindness, your life is derailed in an extremely bizarre way.

Special thank you to Bug, who puts up with me, and Tobi(@Glambots on Tumblr)-This was originally a short story written in their ask box. While the first chapter will be short, they will get longer, just so you know what you're getting into. ;) Please also remember that I’m still learning and this is my first time posting on Ao3 specifically. I apologize in advance for any formatting issues.

Also warnings for this chapter and future chapters of thalassophobia, megalohydrothalassophobia, ososphobia, injury, body horror, animal death, offscreen minor character death, and something at bare minimum reminiscent of drugging. While these may be removed during the editing process as it currently stands these will apply at some point.

Turquoise Love by Wcat03blu

archiveofourown.org/works/47208670/chapters/118947625#workskin

You finally visit the aquarium by your college and fall absolutely head-over-heels for some celestial mermaids. Then you chill with them a lot :)

Leviathan Storms by TheDreamerFae

archiveofourown.org/works/47008924/chapters/118518967#workskin

Moving back to your old home rims has brought with you a sense of nostalgia of being. Sure most of the time it was cold and rainy but it didn’t make the scene any less beautiful. But a song keeps making itself known to you, and you must find it.

But who would’ve guessed Mers existed?

Bubbly by Robin_Green

archiveofourown.org/works/47513692/chapters/119741380

A little waterlily mer guppy is trapped, home destroyed, and taken to a pet store to be sold. After spending some time living in a fish bowl, our little guppy is saved and moved to a tank that has been dubbed the daycare by the human tending to it. The daycare tank is set up to rehabilitate fish before they are released back into their natural habitats. There our guppy meets Sun and Moon, two fish that live full time in this tank taking care their healing guests.

Sun and Moon and our guppy fall in love and then shit goes down.

Pearl Eye by NaffEclipse

archiveofourown.org/works/47400922

Movement. A mer swims overhead, speaking to someone, blocking out the starlight. The interloper lays a hand on the rim of the entrance but doesn’t look down just yet, and doesn’t see you, red-handed.

Your gut clenches with the urge to flee, your strength already spent in the fight moments earlier, and you heed the warning.

A Sleuth Jesters MerMay Fic

The Sea Jesters are Real Science by MatosaurusRex and sixty_nine13

archiveofourown.org/works/38833821/chapters/97107810

You stare into the glass. At first you see nothing, just a greenish-blue landscape, peaceful and ordinary. There is nothing special about it... Or so you think. As the seconds pass, two figures become more and more visible, slowly growing from two distant dots to two large figures, easily two metres tall. The two creatures stare at you, and you raise your hand, slapping it against the cold glass that holds the creatures trapped. These two beings, which until now had been considered to be legends, raise their hands to clasp yours as well. The most wonderful living beings in the world stand before you, separated by thick glass, suffering every day at the hands of greedy people.

How long will they resist this?

 ((This fic was inspired by Tumblr shenanigans and merMAY! Thank you all for inspiring us to create this <3))

And the Sea Swallowed My Screams by Burnt_Chicken_Lookin_Ass

archiveofourown.org/works/39115788/chapters/97855353#workskin

"Thalassophobia is the persistent and intense fear of deep bodies of water such as the sea, oceans, pools, lakes. [...] Thalassophobia can include fear of being in deep bodies of water, fear of the vast emptiness of the sea, of sea waves, aquatic creatures, and fear of distance from land."

You are a freelance diver. You are hired to perform difficult dives for item retrieval, research, and/or maintenance checks in less than safe underwater environments. Rule of thumb is to never dive alone; you live by that religiously. Hardly will you ever do a job without your diving partner: Iris. You have a deep seated fear of the open ocean, so if you cant see the bottom of a given body of water, then you simply wont go in.

One day, you receive a job from Fazbear inc. to retrieve the body of an employee at the request of their family. They had drowned when a company ship they worked on had spontaneously combusted and subsequently sank. The company is willing to pay big hush money to keep both the family and your retrieval team from mentioning the wreckage for some reason.

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Looking for more stories? I have a list of DCA stories sorted by type here https://www.tumblr.com/violetstormms/710457016218435584/sunmoon-fnaf-fanfic-recommendation-list   (or my pinned comment if you don’t like clicking links)

Also if you have any recommendations please leave a comment, its always fun finding new fics. :)