#because yellow and green and trees

[mxmarsbars]

a mediocre 3l!impulse design featuring some assorted doodles ^_^ because art is hard

[flashhwing]

I love when I tell people I’m from Colorado and they’re like “oh Colorado’s gorgeous” oh buddy not where I grew up. I still think any area with non-planted trees feels exotic

[tojisteddy]

John Price who has ditzy!reader as their neighbor. | cw: mdni, fluff, suggestive content, age gap (30s John and late 20s reader)

You’re always peeking on your top toes over the stone wall that separates his property from the main road and ogling over how John takes care of his property. It’s lush and green, full of trees and trimmed hedges, full of beautiful flowers beds, hanging plants from the porch, perfectly bricked path that leads to the backyard, and John is there tinkering at the working bench.

You’re not as discreet as you should be when you’re peeking, it was easier for the older man to notice you because you let out little grunts when you try to look over the wall. Manicured nails and curly hair popping out while your big brown eyes take in the enchanting scenery. And you can’t help but look at John, watching him unconsciously flex his muscles and his back while wiping away the sweat that grows on his forehead— he’s a total dream. And then he’d turn around, hearing he hears the ‘click, clack’ of your kitten heels as you scurry away.

You’re a pretty little thing, he can’t help but eye you himself. He decides to see that little brain work, catch you slipping. Right as you get on your tip toes to peek over the stone wall, your eyes fall onto the new, large carved flower pots that sit near the shed. You can’t help but daydream about the flowers he’ll use. Maybe petunias, or marigolds, or some pink and yellow peonies—

“Are you gonna stare the whole time, or use your words?”

You slipped, chills running through you as you fell back immediately to the pavement. There’s laugher from the other side of the wall and then you hear the gate click open, revealing the man you’ve been staring at without him knowing.

“I- I didn’t,” you pant, hand over your chest, heart racing “I didn’t notice you there.”

“Well I noticed you,” he smirks, coming over and gently taking you by the hand, “You alright? Not hurt are you sweetheart?”

“Not at all.” You hum, dusting yourself.

“You’ve been spying over my wall, yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, playful, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “That’s not very neighborly is it love?”

Your chest pounds out of your chest, you stutter out, “I-It’s just- It’s so pretty! I saw it from up there!” You point, over to your little cottage just a walk at so away. A shabby and old stone two story house, with shrubbery growing out of country and vines climbing up the sides of the home.

He can’t help but get lost in your big brown eyes, your bottom lip pursed out as you try to explain to him why your innocent in this situation, not even realizing that John could care less about it. He just wanted to get closer to you.

Be neighborly.

He gives you a nod and understanding smile, “Why don’t we make your yard pretty too, could use a bit ‘f work, a little lady like you might need some help.”

And you nod, bright eyes and bushy tailed, squealing in excitement, you jump into his arms unexpectedly, taking John off guard.

“Thank you Mr. Price! You’re the best!” And you jump up and down, skipping away, “I have to finish some things at home but I’ll come back tomorrow! See ya later!” and you give him a big wave with your two hands.

You’d be the death to that old man.

John Price who teaches ditzy!reader how to build out her own flower beds with some old spare wood he had in the shed. He’s all the more patient with you even when you ask, “Why do you have to sand it down?” And “which nails do we use again Mr. Price?” He finds you to be the cutest thing on the planet. You don’t even realize that hes had his large hand on the small of your back this entire time but you’re so focused, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You only seem to only be able to take in one thing at a time.

John Price who has to hide his boner when you come over in nothing but a tight pair of shorts that hugs your ass and hips ever so perfectly and a small t-shirt that lifts everytime your raise your arms.

You tilt you head to the side, blinking twice, then smiling, “You alright Mr. Price?”

No, no he wasn’t.

But he’d simply smile, rushing you off to go back home since it was getting late. You’d furrow your eyebrows but oblige, ever so cutely waving goodbye. And right as the door to his locked shut, John was rushing to take a cold shower.

Ditzy!reader who doesn’t realize John is fully flirting with them. And he’s tried it all, getting close, saying cheesy pick up lines, making the hairy man show off his body. And of course all you do is stupidly giggle, and shy away, peeking over at the older man as your heart thumps so fast, the heat rising under your brown skin.

“Mr. Price you sure are silly, huh?” You always say, smoothing down your skirt nervously. You believe his actions are just accidents. Like his hand on your back, or his sweet compliments on your outfits and your pretty face, and the way he wipes crumbs off your face and licks his thumb that make your guts spin in delights. He must be kind to all the women he talks to.

John Price who takes it upon himself to inform you hes going to kiss you since you looked utterly stunning under the moon and twinkly lights glow after your weekly dinner in his garden.

You were already magnetically pulled together already, and you kept squirming, pushing your beautiful breasts up unconsciously in your mint green corset. Delectable.

“[+]?” and you hum in response, his face right in yours, his cheeks red as ever, pink lips hovering over yours.

“Uh-huh?”

“I’m gonna to kiss you.”

“O-oh!”

And he softly kisses you, once. And then pulls away. But he can’t help but want- no need to feel your lips on his once more. So he kisses you again. Your eyes shoot open but you melt into him, eyes closing and lazily throwing your arms over his shoulders, deepening the kiss. His beard scratching your face ever to lightly. John pulls you into his lap, capturing your lips in a way that makes you lose yourself. It’s nothing but sweet from the pie John made, that you both indulged in.

“I like you,” John finally admits, with a breathless sigh, “I like you a lot, birdie.”

“Really?” You ask, big eyes widening, utterly shocked, “Since when?”

And he can’t help but laugh, your a ditzy little thing.

His ditzy little thing.

a/n: defeating the writers block and disappointment from earlier with John. Please heal me.

most recent masterlist

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

P☆SSY OBSESSED WOLVES.

paring : wolf!zayne, sylus, caleb and xavier x fem!reader.

synopsis : You got lost in the woods, just trying to find a way out. Instead, you found him—half-wolf, all muscle, and painfully in heat. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. One look, one growl, and you knew exactly what he wanted. And god… you wanted it too

tws : nsfw ／ smut, vaginal (creampie), marking, bitting, cervix kissing, nipple play, spanking, knotting (locked), multiple of rounds,, fingering, breeding kink and size kink.

note : I FINALLY FINISHED THIS, IT FELT LIKE YEARS!! Also didn’t do rafayel since I was too tired and didn’t feel like it. also there might be alot of mistakes since it ain’t proofread. ✌🏼

－ZAYNE ．

You were just trying to find your way out.

A wrong turn, a dead GPS, and an eerie quiet. The deeper into the woods you went, the heavier the air got. The moon hung low—full and yellow—watching.

Then you saw him.

Tall. Bare-chested. Black ears pinned back. Broad shoulders rising with ragged breaths. Zayne.

But not the calm Zayne you knew.

This one had hazel green eyes blown wide, tail twitching like a metronome behind him, body radiating heat like he was burning alive from the inside out.

“Y-you okay?” you asked, barely able to speak with how hard your throat clenched.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared.

Then sniffed.

Hard.

And groaned. Low. Deep. The kind that made your knees wobble.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said, voice hoarse. “I was trying to be alone.”

“Zayne…” You took a small step closer. “Are you—?”

“In heat.” His jaw clenched. “It’s… hard to fight.”

You swallowed. He looked huge. Wild. His muscles twitched, like he was holding himself back with the last bit of sanity he had left.

He took a shaky breath, ears flattening as he forced out, “You need to leave, sweetheart. I can’t trust myself.”

But you didn’t run.

Because fuck, the way he looked at you—like prey he’d die for—had your panties soaked. Your thighs clenched.

He noticed.

His nostrils flared again. “You’re… turned on.”

You nodded.

That’s all it took.

He was on you—hands gentle but firm, pushing you against a tree. He kissed you like he’d waited years for it, like his tongue could taste the want leaking out of you.

“I’m sorry,” he growled into your mouth, grinding into you. “You smell too good. You’re not safe with me—unless you say yes. Say it now, and I’ll stop. Please. Say it.”

Your body arched to his.

“Zayne,” you gasped, “Please. Fuck me. I want it—I want you.”

His restraint shattered.

He growled, spun you around, yanked your panties down and pressed your back against a tree trunk rough with bark. His cock—thick, hot, leaking—rubbed between your soaked folds.

“Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna make sure you’re too full to walk. You sure about this?”

“Breed me,” you begged.

And that was it.

He plunged in slow, dragging a moan from your throat. He was massive. You swore you could feel every inch rearranging you, kissing the back of your pussy.

“That’s it… good girl,” he whispered, holding your hips as you trembled. “You’re so fucking tight. Taking me so well.”

Crack!

You yelped when his hand smacked your ass.

“Stay still,” he growled. “Let me fuck this little pussy like it’s mine.”

He slammed in again, deeper, harder. You gasped, arching against the tree, toes curling in your boots.

You couldn’t even speak. Just drooled and cried out while he used your cunt like it was built for him.

Then—he bit.

Teeth sank into your shoulder, not enough to draw blood, but enough to mark. Your pussy clenched around him, fluttering as you came.

“That’s it,” he groaned, voice feral. “Mark you—so everyone knows. You’re mine. Say it.”

“M’yours,” you slurred.

He laughed softly, wrecked and breathless. “God, you’re so pretty when you go dumb for it…”

He grabbed your hair, gently pulled you back so he could watch your face as he shoved deep—so deep his tip pressed right against your cervix.

“Fuck—you feel that? That’s your limit. And I’m still not all the way in.”

You moaned, wrecked, dripping down your thighs.

He kissed your cheek. “One more. Let me knot you.”

His knot—it was swollen at the base, barely able to push in. He grunted, forcing it past your entrance. You screamed, body locking up as it stretched you wide, plugging you.

“Shh… I got you,” he whispered. “Just let it happen. I’ll take care of you.”

Then he came.

Hot, thick ropes shot into your womb, filling you so fast it spilled out around his knot. Your legs gave out. He caught you with both arms, pressing soft kisses to your neck even as he stayed locked inside.

“You’re so full, sweetheart,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ pretty like this. I can feel your cunt milking me—wanting it.”

You were a mess. Barely conscious. Babbling his name.

He held you like glass.

“I’ll carry you back when my knot goes down,” he murmured. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… let me hold you. Let me take care of my mate.”

You whimpered into his chest.

You’d never been claimed like this.

And you’d never wanted anyone else again.

－SYLUS ．

You should’ve never wandered into the woods after dark—but you couldn’t help yourself. The moon was full. The air was thick. Something in your chest had been aching, restless, and now your legs carried you deeper and deeper until the world went quiet.

That’s when you felt it—eyes on you.

Then you saw him.

Standing in a clearing like he belonged to it.

Sylus.

His usual composed, unreadable expression was gone—replaced with a glazed hunger, his red eyes glowing with something ancient. His white hair was tousled, his white ears twitching slightly, that thick, soft white tail low and flicking. His skin glistened, shirt discarded, chest rising and falling with every heavy breath. His cock—already hard—strained against his pants, the bulge obscenely thick, the knot at the base already swelling.

He was trying to control it.

But the moment your scent hit him—your arousal blooming in your panties just from the sight of him—he snapped.

“Kitten,” he said lowly, voice rough and calm, like he was lecturing you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re in heat too, aren’t you?” He stalked closer. You backed into a tree. His hand braced beside your head, body towering over yours. “Look at you. Tits bouncing with every breath. Eyes begging for it. Don’t lie to me.”

He reached between your legs. Two fingers pressed against your soaked underwear and dragged up, slow.

“So wet already…” he murmured. “What were you thinking, wandering this deep, smelling like this?”

“I—I didn’t mean to—” you started, but his fingers pressed harder, right against your clit, drawing a whimper from your lips.

“Yes, you did. You wanted to be found. Wanted someone to take control. Wanted me.”

You couldn’t answer.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Say it. Say you want my cock.”

“I… want it,” you gasped. “Please, Sylus—want all of you.”

He chuckled softly, then kissed you—slow and deep, tongue sliding in with all the patience of a man about to lose it. One hand slid up under your shirt, cupping your tit, thumbing your nipple until you moaned into his mouth.

“Perfect fucking tits,” he murmured, squeezing it in his palm. “Soft little handfuls—gonna leave bruises on these.”

He shoved your shirt up, mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking it between his teeth while his hand rolled the other. You clawed at his back, trembling.

Then he moved—quick and smooth—pushing you to the forest floor, flipping you onto your back and dragging your shorts off with one hard pull.

“Open up, kitten,” he ordered. “Let me see.”

You spread for him.

He hissed between his teeth. “Fucking gorgeous. And this little pussy—fuck—it’s drooling. You really did come out here for cock.”

Two fingers slid in without warning. Your back arched off the mossy ground, eyes rolling back.

“So tight,” he said, watching your hole stretch around his fingers. “So fucking needy. Bet you’ll milk me dry the second I knot you.”

He curled his fingers up, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit, pumping until you were shaking—until your thighs clamped around his wrist.

“You gonna cum already?” he whispered. “Just from my fingers?”

You nodded helplessly.

“Then cum. Right now. Do it while I watch.”

Your pussy clamped around his fingers, soaking him. He held you through it, still working you as you sobbed into your arm, overwhelmed.

“That’s one,” he said. “We’re not done.”

He stripped off the rest of his clothes, cock slapping heavy against his stomach—long, flushed, throbbing, and veiny. The tip leaked pre-cum in thick drops. And his knot… gods, it looked impossible.

“You’re going to take all of it,” he promised. “Even this.”

He lined up and shoved in.

You screamed.

His cock was massive, stretching you to the edge of pain—but it was perfect. You could feel everything. Every throb. Every vein. He bottomed out, hitting your cervix, and stayed there.”

“Kitten,” he whispered against your cheek, holding still, letting you feel him twitch inside. “You’re already stuffed. But you can take more.”

He started moving—slow, deep strokes that rocked your whole body.

He grabbed your tits again, squeezing and slapping them lightly. Watching them bounce as he thrust.

“Love these. So fucking soft. I could fuck them too. Make you lick the head while I slide between them. Would you like that?”

You moaned, brain melting from how full you felt.

He leaned down and bit your tit—hard. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave his teeth behind.

Then he grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, biting your neck next—deeper. Harder. Marking you.

“Mine,” he growled. “You hear me, kitten? I’m going to fuck you until your womb knows it. Until you feel me every time you walk.”

His pace grew brutal. No more patience. Just raw, slapping thrusts as his knot started to catch on your entrance.

“You ready?” he panted. “I’m gonna plug you. Gonna fill you up so deep it won’t leave.”

You begged, moaned, cried for it.

And then with a feral grunt—he forced it in.

Your pussy screamed around it, stretched wide, locked.

Then he came.

Hot, thick spurts flooded your womb, each one timed with his cock twitching, his hips jerking involuntarily. There was so much. Too much. It leaked around the knot, smeared down your ass.

You were sobbing, overstimulated, completely ruined.

And he still held your tits like they were his favorite toys, thumbing your nipples even as he emptied himself inside you.

He leaned down, kissing your throat.

“Shhh, kitten. You’re okay,” he whispered. “I know it’s a lot. Just breathe.”

He stayed knotted, holding you close, petting your hair.

“You’re mine now,” he said softly. “And I’m not letting go. Not tonight. Not ever.”

You’re still shaking when he rolls his hips again.

Still spread open beneath him, pinned to the forest floor, his massive cock locked inside you by that thick, swollen knot. Your pussy stretches around it—wet, swollen, twitching. His cum leaks out in warm, milky drips, making a mess of your thighs and the moss beneath.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d cum. How many times he made you cum.

And Sylus? He’s just smiling.

Not that cocky, boyish smirk. No. This one is slow. Quiet. Predatory. His glowing red eyes never leave your face. Not even for a second.

“You look beautiful like this,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your face. “So full. So fucked-out. My perfect little kitten.”

You whimper, barely able to respond. Your arms are limp around his shoulders, your chest heaving as he starts slowly grinding his hips again.

The knot grinds against your inner walls, stretching you just enough to ache—and Sylus watches you fall apart again with quiet satisfaction.

“Sensitive already?” he hums, tilting his head. “But you’re still so tight around me. Squeezing like you want more.”

Your nails scrape his back. “Sylus—nngh—can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He leans in, nuzzling your neck with his nose. “You will. You’re made to take me, kitten. Look at your poor pussy, still clenching, still drooling for me. You want to be ruined again, don’t you?”

He thrusts—just once. Shallow. Cruel.

You scream.

It hits your cervix, hard, and you feel him throb inside you. The pressure of the knot keeps you stretched, stuffed, plugged, and now he’s moving again—just enough to push you over the edge.

“Cum for me,” he whispers, lips at your ear. “Do it. Let me feel you.”

You don’t even need to try.

Your whole body jerks, pussy spasming around the knot as your eyes roll back. You’re sobbing. Barely even conscious. All you know is Sylus—his heat, his cock, the growl in his throat as he starts to rut into you again.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “There you go. Just like that. Let it all out. Let me feel this greedy little cunt choke on me.”

He pulls out just enough to tease, dragging his cock along your walls, letting you feel every ridge, every vein, every twitch of his swollen tip before forcing the knot back in. You cry out again.

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “I know, kitten. I know it’s too much. But you’re taking it so well. So perfectly. I’m going to keep going until you’re bred so full, it leaks out for days.”

He leans down and bites your neck again, deeper this time—his canines sinking in just hard enough to sting, marking you all over again. You can feel the heat of his breath, the calm in his voice, even as he uses your body like it’s his.

His hand slides down to your chest, cupping your tit and kneading it slowly. He brushes a thumb over your sensitive nipple, then pinches—just to hear you gasp.

“Still so soft,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I could spend hours just playing with these. My hands were made to hold them.”

You moan, incoherent. Everything’s too much.

And Sylus knows it.

He watches your face closely as you writhe under him, your legs spread wide, his tail swishing lazily behind him. Every time you sob, he kisses your cheek. Every time your pussy clenches, he praises you.

“You’re doing so well, kitten. Letting me fill you like this. Taking my knot like a good little bitch in heat.”

He slows down again. Just grinding now. Letting the knot drag against your g-spot while his tip kisses your cervix with every roll of his hips.

It’s devastating.

You’re mewling, twitching, your fingers tangled in his white hair, clutching him like he’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, lips trembling. “Don’t pull out. Ever.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he says softly. “This pussy’s mine now.”

You’re drooling. Moaning his name like a prayer. His red eyes glow brighter in the moonlight as he watches you unravel, slowly, completely.

Another orgasm rips through you.

And he doesn’t stop.

Not until your body gives out, limp and twitching beneath him, your pussy still fluttering around the knot like it misses him already.

He holds you there, gently, his hand stroking your thigh while his cock pulses with one more slow, deep release—thick cum flooding your insides again, pushed up against your womb, warm and claiming.

You can barely speak.

You’re ruined.

And Sylus?

Still hard. Still in you.

Still whispering into your ear, calm as ever:

“You’re not going anywhere tonight, kitten. I’m going to keep you like this. Plugged. Bred. Mine.”

— CALEB ．

You should’ve turned back when the sun dipped low—but you didn’t. The woods had grown darker, quieter, and every path looked the same. You’d lost service hours ago, your legs ached, your heartbeat pounded behind your ears, and the air was thick—hotter than it should’ve been.

Then you heard it.

A low, ragged pant. Not like a dog. Deeper. More desperate.

Then—your name. Half-growled, wrecked, hungry.

“…You came.”

You froze.

He stepped out from between the trees, his wolf ears twitching, tail hanging low and stiff behind him. His eyes locked onto yours like he was starving—and you were dinner.

Your breath caught. You didn’t speak. You didn’t move.

He did.

Caleb closed the distance fast—hands grabbing your hips, holding you still, panting against your neck like he’d been chasing you for miles. You felt his whole body trembling. His voice, when he spoke, was guttural, cracked with restraint.

“I tried to wait,” he breathed. “I did. But it hurts.”

You shuddered.

His nose skimmed your neck, dragging in your scent. His groan vibrated against your skin. “Fuck. You’re… perfect. Your smell—you’re ready, too.”

You weren’t sure when your back hit a tree, or when his hand slipped between your thighs—but suddenly your shorts were on the forest floor, and his fingers were dragging slow, wet circles over your clit.

“Already soaked?” he murmured. “You came out here wanting this, didn’t you?”

You whimpered.

Two fingers slid inside—deep, slow, curling in just the right place to make your legs shake. His tail thumped the ground once. He licked his lips.

“Your body knows what it wants. Knows who it belongs to, pipsqueak.”

He dropped to his knees. You nearly screamed when his tongue replaced his fingers, licking deep and slow and messy—like he was starving. Your thighs clamped around his head. He groaned into you.

“You taste like heat,” he growled against your cunt, licking faster. “Fuck—I need to be inside you.”

You were shaking when he stood back up, your slick dripping down your thighs, cunt fluttering from just his mouth and fingers. He turned you around before you could speak—hands bracing you against the tree, fingers digging into your hips.

You felt the heat of him. Thick. Heavy. Pressing against your entrance.

He leaned in, mouth against your ear, breath ragged. “I’m going to ruin you.”

And then he pushed in.

You cried out—stretching wide around his cock, gasping when he bottomed out with one deep thrust. He was huge. You felt everything—his tip nudging your cervix, his shaft pulsing inside you, the obscene drag of his length as he started to move.

“So tight,” he groaned. “So good—fuck, you’re squeezing me like you were made for this.”

His rhythm picked up. Every thrust hit deep. His hips slapped against your ass, hands spanking you when you clenched too hard.

“You like it when gege fills you up like this? Gonna take it all, aren’t you?”

Your answer was a sob.

Then—you felt it. That stretch. That pressure. His knot was swelling.

You shook your head. “Caleb, wait—!”

He growled. “Too late. You said yes with your body.”

His knot forced inside with a wet pop. You screamed as it locked deep in your cunt, locking you together, sealing you around him.

Caleb slammed one last time, hard and deep, groaning as thick waves of cum pulsed from him, filling your womb so full you felt it ache. Your stomach fluttered. Your body trembled. You couldn’t move—only feel.

“You feel that?” he whispered, biting your shoulder just enough to leave a mark. “I’m breeding you, pipsqueak.”

And he didn’t stop.

Even as your legs gave out, even as your cunt fluttered from overstimulation, he held you tight, whispering filth into your ear.

“Round two’s coming. You’re not done. Gotta make sure it takes. Gotta feel you swell with me.”

He fucked you through it, again and again, even as you sobbed and begged—his tail twitching, his ears perked, hands stroking your clit, tugging your nipples, spanking your ass until you were gasping.

You lost count of the orgasms. You lost track of time.

But he didn’t stop until the knot finally deflated—only to build again.

Because once wasn’t enough.

— XAVIER ．

You didn’t mean to wander so far. The sun had been up when you started walking—but now the woods were bathed in silver light, shadows crawling across the underbrush, air thick with something humid, heavy, and strange.

You felt it before you heard him.

A pulse in your chest. A flicker of instinct. Something was watching you.

Then—his voice.

Low. Shaky. Familiar. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You turned—and there he was.

Xavier.

His usual sharp composure was gone. His silver hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. His shoulders rose and fell with each uneven breath. His tail was stiff behind him, twitching. His wolf ears were flattened, trembling. His eyes were glowing.

You didn’t have to ask. You didn’t need to.

Your legs wobbled. Your heart pounded.

He stepped closer, slow, every movement tense—like he was holding himself back.

“I can smell you.”

Your breath hitched.

“Do you know what that does to me?” His voice cracked. “I haven’t touched anyone in years. I’ve avoided this. But now you’re here. You’re wet. You’re ready.”

You should’ve run.

But your body ached. Every part of you wanted him.

You whispered his name—and he snapped.

He was on you in seconds, shoving you back against a tree, his mouth crashing into yours with a hunger that bordered on feral. His hands tore at your clothes, pulling them off in pieces, until you were bared to the cold air—and his burning skin.

His mouth trailed down—neck, shoulder, breast. He latched onto your nipple, sucking, teeth grazing, tongue flicking. Your moans echoed in the trees. One hand groped your ass while the other slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding in deep.

“So tight,” he growled. “You’ll stretch for me.”

His fingers worked you open—slow at first, then harder, rougher. You cried out, clutching his shoulders. Your body trembled.

“I need to be inside you,” Xavier said, voice broken with need. “But I have to warn you—I’m not human when I’m like this.”

You nodded. You didn’t care.

He turned you around, bending you over a mossy rock, his hands gripping your hips. You felt him press against your entrance—huge, hot, throbbing—and when he finally pushed in, you screamed.

He bottomed out in one slow thrust, hips grinding against yours, cock so thick it kissed your cervix. Your body spasmed. He groaned low, fangs bared.

“Fuck—you’re perfect.”

He started moving—deep, hard strokes, hips smacking against your ass, each thrust rougher than the last. You sobbed his name, your walls clenching. He spanked you when you tightened too much.

“You like being filled like this?” he snarled. “You were made to take my knot.”

You didn’t know how long he fucked you like that. Your thoughts were gone. Everything was heat and pressure and him. His cock throbbed deep in your belly. Your slick dripped down your thighs.

Then—you felt it.

His knot.

Thick. Swollen. Pushing at your entrance with every thrust.

“I’m gonna lock inside you,” he growled. “Gonna fill you. Mark you.”

You begged. You cried. You said yes.

With one brutal thrust, his knot popped inside. You screamed—stretched wide, locked full. He growled as he came, hips grinding as his seed spilled inside you in thick, hot waves.

Your belly ached. Your legs gave out. He held you tight.

Still knotted. Still hard.

“You’re not done,” he whispered into your neck. “You can take more.”

He flipped you over without pulling out, your back pressed to the grass, his knot keeping you locked. His hand slid between your thighs, stroking your clit, making you sob. His lips found your other nipple, sucking deep, marking it with his tongue.

“I want you full,” he growled. “Want it dripping out of both holes.”

You blinked up at him, dazed.

He smirked.

“You didn’t think I’d stop at one, did you?”

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[imaginedisish]

Liquid Smooth (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Started writing this last night...sooo happy you guys wanted a sex pollen fic! Hope it lives up to everyone's expectations! This one is (obviously) inspired by "Liquid Smooth," by Mitski. ENJOY!

Summary: A simple mission deep in a forest alone with Logan quickly gets out of hand when you just have to go and pick a flower...

Warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Sex Pollen (so dub!con just to be safe, but not really), Multiple orgasms, Porn Without Plot...literally, implied!age gap, cursing, friends to lovers, fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,797 muahaha

“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” you murmur as Logan thumbs through the controls of the X-Jet. “Could’ve done this by myself.” 

Logan scoffs. “I’m not your babysitter, princess.” You roll your eyes at the nickname Logan has specially reserved just for you. “Charles said we’d be safer going together. He knows you can handle yourself.”

The X-Jet cruises effortlessly through the clouds. The air is still today. Calm. You and Logan are on your way to get some sort of flower that Charles claims to have extensive healing properties. It’s an easy mission. No fighting. No violence. You’re unlikely to have to use your powers at all. And yet, you’ve been paired with Logan. 

It wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t—admittedly—a little into him. Or rather, pining after him. There’s just something about the sarcasm that’s always thick in his voice; the way he squeezes himself into those thin beaters. How he’s always so self-assured, so thoroughly convinced he’s right. You just can’t help it. You want him. But he isn’t yours, and he probably never will be. He’s a little older—well, a lot, considering he’s been around forever. And you know it’s safer not to make attachments—not to fall in love.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for that. 

But having him here with you now, alone, with no buffers…it’s overwhelming. You can smell him—that mix of tobacco and pine and musk and him. He’s suddenly everywhere, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You watch as his long fingers press different buttons, his hands gripping the steering wheel, adjusting thrusters. You stare at those fingers for far too long, your thoughts drifting to what else he can do with them. You think about him curling them deep inside you, stretching you open and—

“Everything okay?” You snap your head to face Logan, swallowing harshly as his voice pulls you back to reality. 

You force a smile, nodding. “Yep!” You say, overcompensating just a bit. “All good,” you lie. You close your eyes, trying to push thoughts of Logan out of your head, denying the heat growing between your legs.

“Good, because we’re almost there,” Logan says, the X-Jet descending carefully. You look out the window to see the trees below. There’s a lake in the distance, but that’s it. No civilization, no houses—no one. It’s empty, peaceful. 

“We’re really in the middle of nowhere, huh?” You say, glancing at Logan. 

His eyes meet yours and he smiles. Warmth blooms in your heart at the sight. “My kind of place,” he says back. The X-Jet descends further as you approach a clear spread of grass to land on just ahead. 

This is, in fact, not your kind of place. The humidity creeps up your back and settles under your skin. The forest is overgrown and impossible to navigate. You let Logan slice through the plant life with his claws, swiping back and forth whenever something gets in your way.

You haven’t been walking for long, but you’re already done. Perhaps Charles was right; a partner is not the worst idea on a mission like this. 

You can see the flower just ahead—yellow petals and a long, green, viny stem. It glows brightly even under the dense forest canopy. “Semper in tenebris lux,” Charles had said; there is always light in darkness. And he was right. The flower illuminates everything in its path. Next to it, you can see a pretty, lavender-colored flower. You stop in your tracks, letting Logan wander ahead as you crouch down to stroke the purple petals. 

“Charles didn’t say anything about not taking other flowers too, right?” You call out, watching as Logan swipes carefully at the stem of the yellow flower. He holds the dainty stem in his large hands as he walks back over to you. 

“No, he didn’t. But you should be careful. It could be poisonous or—”

You ignore Logan, picking the flower anyway. You hold it up to your nose and breathe in. It’s sweet and fragrant. You twist the stem and realize the flower is sticky with sap and pollen. Your twist shakes some of the pollen up, and it lands all over your face. 

“Shit,” you mutter, wiping it away. A gust of wind sweeps through the forest, knocking the flower out of your hand and spreading more of its pollen in the air. You can feel it in your nostrils, getting caught in your throat.

Logan furrows his brows as the pollen falls to the ground. “What the fuck did you do?”

You roll your eyes. “All I did was pick a flower!” You lift your hands, feigning innocence. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” You stand up, glancing once at the yellow flower in Logan’s hands and then back at Logan. “It’s pretty.”

He parts his lips, his stare focused on you. “Yeah, it is.” There’s something else in that stare, in those words. Like maybe he isn’t only talking about the flower. You shove those thoughts down as you turn around and walk back to the jet.

Your steps are suddenly very heavy. You scratch at your shoulder. Heat blooms in your chest, your stomach, across your face. You’re irritated and overheated and itchy. Your breath grows heavier and rougher with every step. 

Logan notices immediately. He stops, grabbing your arm. You can’t control the way you lean into his touch, nor the way you’re craving more. “Hey,” he soothes, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay?” There’s a hint of panic in his voice. 

You swallow harshly, nodding. Your throat feels thick, your skin tight and oppressive. “’M’fine,” you mumble. 

“Quit lying. I can tell something’s wrong,” Logan demands. You open your mouth to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t give you the chance, his grip tightening around your arm. “Your skin is on fucking fire, princess. What did you do?” He cocks his head, sniffing as he furrows his brows. His voice is darker now, slower as his eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do?”

You take in a sharp breath. And that’s when you feel it, the ache between your thighs, the slick arousal soaking through your panties. The realization smacks you in the face. For a moment, you’re clear-headed, but still terrified. The pollen. That goddamn, fucking pollen. “Logan, look, I think that purple flower had some—"

He cuts you off as he yanks your arm, tugging you towards the ship. “We need to get you back to the jet, okay?”

“Oh, I am so fucked,” you cry. You know you only have a few seconds left before the effects really kick in. “L-Logan,” you stutter, almost moaning as your core burns stronger with need. “T-the pollen was everywhere. What if you got some too?” 

He ignores you, handing you the yellow flower you came here for in the first place. He sweeps one hand under your legs and keeps the other at your back as he lifts you in his arms—bridal style. You can feel his heart beating in his chest. You lean into him again, searching for relief. Wetness pools between your legs. You have never felt this needy before. Your desire hurts, burns, scorches you. You rut your hips, clenching down around nothing. 

“S-stop doing that,” Logan spits, restrained and quiet. 

“C-can’t,” you whine. “It hurts, Logan. It hurts so fucking bad. How come you aren’t like this too?”

He pulls you tighter to his chest. “I feel a little something, but that might just…”

You tilt your head up to look at him. He works his jaw, that perfect jaw. You want to bite it, to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Might just be what?” You ask, tentatively brushing your lips against the hollow of his throat. 

“Nothing, just—fuck,” he groans as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses all around his neck now. “Don’t do that, princess. You don’t want this.”

“But I do, Logan,” you beg. The ramp to the jet lowers as you and Logan approach. “N-need you.” You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. “Need y-you all the time.” The confession slips easily from your lips. 

Logan’s eyes widen as he walks up the ramp and into the ship. It lifts and seals shut behind him. “You don’t mean that, sweetheart. Let’s just get you back to the mansion as quickly as possible, yeah?”

He places you down on the seat next to him, taking the flower from your hands and putting it in the jar Charles had given you. The leather cold at your back almost feels good, almost relieving—until you realize Logan is no longer holding you, touching you. You reach out towards him, grabbing his arms, pulling him back in. “Don’t go,” you plead, nails digging into his biceps. Your body is on fire. Everything is unbearably painful. “Please,” you whimper. “Need you so fucking bad, just you.” 

“Fuck,” Logan curses. “I am not taking advantage of you. I am not doing this.” He stands, freeing himself from your grasp and walking over to the pilot’s chair. “I’m getting you back to the mansion and we’re going to fix this, okay?”

But that’s not good enough for you. You stand up and walk over to Logan. Your steps are shaky, your legs trembling. Your chest heaves, your heart beating rapidly. You climb into Logan’s lap, straddling him, one leg on either side. “Logan, I can’t fucking wait,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. The pressure feels delicious.  He grabs your hips, stilling you, forcing you in place. And that’s when you feel it: his erection, hard underneath your core. “This isn’t you. You don’t really want this, don’t really want m—”

“It is me,” you protest, squirming against his hold. “Logan, I’ve wanted you for months. I-I was thinking about you t-touching me the whole way here.” You remember the way his fingers dexterously pushed all the right buttons. Need courses through you like a river, and as Logan’s hold on your hips softens, you grind down into his lap, against his erection. “S-so good,” you cry out. 

His hands are still on your hips, but now he’s guiding you, rocking you against his cock. “J-just this though, okay?” 

You hum, pressing your forehead to his, rolling your hips faster. The relief is like heaven. His arms wrap around your back, his fingers trailing up and down soothingly. Logan ruts into you, his erection straining against his jeans. You can feel yourself getting closer, but the pain, the need, it’s all still the same. 

“Logan, it’s not gonna be enough,” you whisper, his lips ghosting yours. “N-need more. Hurts so bad.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, like he’s scared to truly touch you. But he wants to consume your pain, to take it away, to feel it for you. You can see it written across his face, in the way his cock throbs against your swollen clit, how he snaps his hips into yours. 

“I know, princess,” he coos, his hands like fire on your back. Your walls contract around nothing, begging for something to hold onto, to feel something sink deep inside. “Gonna take care of you.” He kisses you again, with more vigor this time, more passion. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”

You moan into his mouth. His composure is slipping, disintegrating with every roll, every rock of your hips against his. His cock notches against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure up the base of your spine. He hikes your shirt up, the cold air hitting your overheated skin. “F-feels good,” you stammer. You’re almost there, almost hitting that peak. “S-so close.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes. “Let go for me, know you can do it.” 

You moan his name, your orgasm crashing into you like a crescendo. You know you’re soaking through your clothes, and probably onto Logan’s too. He’s still rutting against you, giving you more. He knows it’s not going to be enough, and he’s right. Need builds back up just as quickly as you found your release. 

 “Lo…” you trail off, looking up at him under lust-filled eyes. You swallow harshly, squirming in his lap helplessly. “G-gotta have you.” 

He presses his forehead to yours. He works his jaw, parting his lips. “Y-you meant it when you said you wanted me before this?” But he already knows the answer. He knows you wouldn’t lie to him about that, not even now. 

“Yes,” you whine, pulling him closer. He tugs your shirt all the way over your head and picks you up, hands firmly gripping your ass. “Still gonna want you after this, too.”

He curses under his breath as he places you down in the pilot’s chair. He’s frenzied and frantic as he hooks his thumbs into your pants and panties, yanking them down your legs and casting them to the side. 

He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands, his thumbs brushing soft circles into your inner thighs. He’s kneeling, looking up at you. Your breath catches in your throat as his face settles between your legs. 

“Could smell you before, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning over your clit. “Wanted this so fucking bad.” He doesn’t keep you waiting, licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. “Knew you’d taste perfect. Pretty fucking pussy.” 

You throw your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking harshly. He slips one hand across your back, keeping you close. His free hand climbs up your thigh, fingers exploring your folds as his tongue flits across your swollen bud. He spreads your arousal, prodding against your entrance before shoving two fingers deep inside you. “Logan!” You cry out, your walls clenching around him. He’s stretching you out, his fingers dragging inside you. He pulls out and plunges back in. He isn’t taking his time, isn’t teasing. He’s giving you what you need, pump after pump. 

You look down at him, his face buried in your cunt, consuming you, swallowing you whole like a starving man. He’s lost inside you, lapping at you with unwavering hunger and desire. His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing ever so slightly. You moan his name again, and he hums against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice rocking through your body. He’s wrecking you, but it feels so goddamn good. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he goads you along. He’s adding a third finger now, and you suck him in. You’d take anything he gives you, anything at all. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” 

He sucks roughly, your walls clenching around him at the feeling. “Yeah?” He grunts, sucking again. “You like that? Feels good?” 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, stumbling over that one simple word. “S-so fucking good.” 

“I know, beautiful,” he groans, nipping at your clit in between his rough sucks. “Gonna make that hurt go away, okay?” His voice is like honey, sugar; it’s sweet, addictive. “You just gotta come for me again, can you do that?” His tongue strokes your clit, his fingers pumping faster now. 

You nod your head emphatically, pleasure surging as you near your peak. “Yeah, I-I can,” you huff. 

Logan smiles against your cunt between rough laps. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His fingers scissor inside you, deeper than before. He takes your clit between his lips again, sucking hard. 

And that’s all it takes—you’re screaming his name, coming undone, unraveling underneath him. The release is even better than the first, more full, more complete. Logan thrusts in and out a few more times before slowly pulling his fingers from your cunt. He licks one more long stripe through your folds and looks up into your eyes. 

For a moment, the fire inside has been quenched. You feel clear, levelheaded. But it doesn’t last long. “Fuck,” you moan, your head hitting against the headrest of the chair. The fire is back, spreading across your stomach, your chest. “Logan,” you whimper. “I n-need more.”

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he coos, taking you back up into his arms. He hoists you out of the seat, his hands finding your ass, squeezing softly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you across the jet, setting you down on a storage container. 

You bring your hands up to his biceps. “Need you this time, Lo,” you choke, stroking up and down his arms as the heat builds painfully between your thighs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes searching yours. 

“Always wanted you, always sure,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Wanted you too,” he husks. “But I wanted it to be different, to—” You cut him off. “Just want you. It’s okay like this. I promise.” You grind against him, his erection still straining inside the denim of his jeans. 

He takes the hint, and quickly unbuckles his belt, casting the leather to the metal floor with a clunk. He’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, shoving them down his legs, and lining himself up with your entrance. You push your hips forward, giving him better access. His other hand pushes your bra above your breasts, exposing you completely to him. 

With one hand on his cock and one squeezing your tits gently, he thrusts himself into you. He’s so deep—down to the hilt—stretching you out and working you open. He groans, flicking your nipple with his thumb, his lips at the shell of your ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine, quenching that fire inside. “So warm, so tight.” He pulls out and plunges back in again, filling you up. 

“Lo,” you whine. “More.”

“I know,” he growls, his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out with every thrust. “Gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He squeezes your tits once more before sliding his hand down your body and slipping between where the two of you connect. His fingers find your clit, drawing rough circles around the bud. “That feel good, beautiful?” 

“Y-yes, Logan, so fucking good,” you cry out as he rocks into you. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place. You hope there’s a bruise there later—proof that he touched you, proof that he fucked into you like the world was ending. 

His cock rubs against your walls, your muscles contracting around him, sucking him in deeper. “Squeezing me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. He’s taking all of you, hard and fast. You can feel him twitching inside you, throbbing with the same need you feel pulsing through your veins. 

Logan kisses your jaw, and then just underneath, biting down on your pulse point. You arch your back, your chest meeting his. The contact is delicious, the friction a necessity. He thrusts into you faster now, doing his all to satiate your every need. He’s getting you there, pump after pump, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time. 

It’s working. You can feel yourself slipping again, melting. “Logan,” you hum, too fucked out to say anything other than his name. That beautiful name, like a song in the air, a gentle prayer, a holy ghost. He’s all you need—all you’ve ever needed. 

Your walls contract, squeezing him tightly. “Fuck,” he mutters. You know he’s close too. He strokes your clit, circling roughly. “Come on, pretty girl. You can do it, let me get you there again.” 

“Lo,” you cry, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he fucks into you, rutting his hips, plunging deeper still. It’s all too much. You can feel the pleasure drumming inside you, coming to a head. 

Logan loosens his grip on your hip and slides his hand behind your back, pulling you into his chest. You rest your forehead against his. “Come on my cock, princess, let go.” And you do. You’d do anything for him. You moan as your orgasm tears through you. It’s all blinding white heat, liquid smooth, pleasure wracking your body. 

Logan curses under his breath, close behind. He pulses inside you once, and then he’s coming undone. Your arms wrap around his back, keeping him close, letting him know it’s okay to finish inside. He fills you up, whispering praises in your ear as you both come down from your high. Such a good fucking girl. Did so good for me. So fucking good. Perfect little pussy.

He’s still inside you, pumping slowly as you ride out your orgasm. His fingers let go of your clit, his hands running up your back and tugging you closer to him. He slowly pulls out, keeping you tight against his chest. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You take a deep breath, waiting for the heat to build again, waiting for that need to surge every cell of your being. But there’s nothing. Your nerves are suddenly quiet—silent. 

“I-I think it’s over,” you stutter, still nervous that maybe it’s not. He keeps you there, holding you tightly, ready to start again if necessary. 

After a few minutes, you let yourself relax. It’s not coming back. It’s over. 

Logan presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “I’ve still got you. Not going anywhere.” Your heart rate has finally slowed down. The heat is gone. You feel comfortable in your skin again. You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into Logan’s chest. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” Logan reassures, his voice gentle and soft. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You nod against him, but you still feel a sting in your heart. You need to make him know that you meant what you said—need him to know exactly how you feel. You swallow nervously, ready to bite the bullet. 

“Logan,” you breathe. “I-I meant everything I said. It wasn’t just the pollen.” You pull yourself from his chest, looking up at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you…” you trail off. “S-still need you now. Nothing’s changed.” 

He smiles down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know, darlin’,” he husks. “I wanted you before, and I still do, too.” 

“I know you wanted it to be different. I know it wasn’t—” But he cuts you off, his lips capturing yours, quieting your anxious rambles. “We’ll have other chances. Other times to do it the way I want.” He smirks, running his hands up and down your back. 

Other chances. Other times. More. More. More. “Yeah?” You ask. 

“Yeah, princess.”

tags: @wolviesgirl @dojacatswink @dilf420 @spiderset @pleasantlycrazyworld @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @y-ns-things

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

(deciduous) tree leaves change color in the fall because they are tiny little factories being shutdown and scraped for parts. the tree has made an evolutionary bet that the amount of energy required to maintain its food factories (leaves) through the (freezing, increasingly dark) winter is just not worth the investment--better to shut it down and hibernate instead.

but before a tree can shed its leaves, it needs to break down and reabsorb that valuable valuable chlorophyll, to reuse in the spring. this removes the green pigmentation, allowing the yellow/orange pigments (carotenoids) that are usually hidden to shine through!

so next time you see a majestic sight like this:

please know these trees are cannibalizing their own extremities ♥

[hedgehog-moss]

The cherry tree I planted in front of the greenhouse blossomed for the first time this spring! A round of applause!

The wind always blows from the valley so I planted this tree strategically so that in spring a delicious smell would be delivered in my living-room through the windows, and around the outdoor table where I work, and it worked :) I estimate that it improved my quality of life by 11%. A light spring breeze carrying a cherry blossom smell is the kind of thing that stops me in my tracks ten times a day and makes me close my eyes and take a deep breath and think oh, life is good.

More tree updates: I talked in this post from 2021, then this one from 2022, about how I hoped to plant a 'fruit tree path' in the woods behind my house—this project is still ongoing and, well, hasn't borne fruit yet, but has finally blossomed. My Fruit Alley now boasts 10 trees, and looks like—what it is, a small opening in the woods that I have to deploy heroic and sustained efforts to keep open, because the woods try to reclaim it year after year, patiently, like a slow green tide.

The white thing in the middle is one of the tarps I've been using to smother brambles, I move them every few weeks and it works pretty well. I also use cardboard, but in the spring it's hard to keep up with the sheer rate of growth everywhere. Of course the main enemy is the army of broom that you can see in the distance, all yellow and cheerful-looking at the moment. I mostly fight them in the winter, every year I manage to push them back a few metres...

Here's a photo where you can better see some of the trees :

In total I have planted 2 apple trees, 1 quince tree, 1 mirabelle plum, 3 red plums, 1 nectarine tree, 3 cherry trees. I'm really glad that all of them survived, as I was a bit worried about damage from deer or boars. I did lose 2 chestnut trees that were destroyed so savagely I have to assume it's wild boars, but I had planted them much farther away in the woods and I won't make this mistake again. I now have two new baby chestnuts and I planted them near the greenhouse (downhill):

I think I'd never seen nectarine flowers before, they look exotic! I also discovered this year what quince flowers look like:

The only tree that didn't bloom was the smallest apple tree, and honestly that's her fault because for some reason she decided to make tender new green leaves in the middle of winter, so she pretty much exhausted herself for nothing. And you can't blame climate change and seasons being weird for this, because it was a cold and snowy week and no other nearby fruit trees were making any leaves. The confused apple tree is a New Zealand cultivar, so I suppose you could argue she thinks she's still in New Zealand, except she's never been to New Zealand in her life, she was born and raised in France, she doesn't know New Zealand exists. The only possible explanation is, I suppose, a deep-rooted yearning for their ancestral homeland among New Zealand apple trees.

I was a bit concerned when this tree then failed to produce any leaves in the spring, I worried she might be hopelessly hemispherically-challenged, but then I went back to check two weeks later and she was finally green! In a seasonally-appropriate way!

Other trees I've planted, not in the fruit tree path: a persimmon, but it died very quickly :( I will try again; a goji berry shrub, which has been here for two years and seems to be doing well, but so far no sign of berries; and in front of my house, an amelanchier (un arbre dont ma mère n'arrive jamais à se rappeler le nom et qu'elle persiste à appeler "le mélenchon"):

Finally, my last piece of important tree-related news is that I had the hazel tree near my house removed this winter:

I asked the guy who was working on the road nearby with an excavator digging a drainage trench if he could do it, and it took all of 10 minutes, like picking a flower, it was impressive!

And the reason I wanted to remove it is that there are hundreds of hazel trees in my woods and I wanted something different in this spot by the house. Unfortunately for this deserving hazel, it just wasn't special enough.

So I planted a tiny ginkgo :) And now I just have to be extremely patient as I wait for everyone to grow.

[dynamic-power]

Steve is walking down the hallway towards his math class when it happens.

Someone bumps into him, a girl he only vaguely recognizes, and she reaches out and grabs his hand to steady herself.

His vision explodes with what he knows must be color. Bright shades assault his eyes, shades he doesn't even have names for. His classmates' clothes, the tiles beneath his feet, the homecoming sign above him. Even the lights have taken on a new hue, washing Steve's entire world in something completely alien.

The girl looks as shocked as steve feels. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth drooped open as she spins in a slow circle. She's pretty, he thinks. Short hair, soft features, an unusual sense of style. She's clutching an instrument case, and he thinks that's why he recognizes her.

"Uh," he says, catching her attention. "Hi."

Her mouth opens, closes, opens once more, and then she dashes away from him, disappearing into the throng of students.

He spends the rest of the day cataloging colors. By the time he's climbing into his car (which is a color he still can't name, but has decided he likes) he's found at least a dozen different shades, and he wonders how they all fit into the seven colors he's been told are in the rainbow.

He tells his mom when he gets home that day. She is ecstatic. When Steve admits he doesn't have anything to tell about the girl herself, his mom turns her attention on naming colors for him.

It becomes quickly apparent that something isn't quite right. He'd been so focused on everything that was new that he hadn't realized what was the same. He still sees a lot of grays. Blues, purples, greens,and violets are all still lost on him.

That doesn't make what he can see any less spectacular, though. Oranges, reds, pinks, yellows. The yellows are his favorite.

He'll meet his other soulmate, his mother assures him, as they sit in the backyard, admiring the rich golds and reds of the trees that he can now see, standing out against the gray of the sky he knows should be blue.

He does, about two years later. He's picking Henderson up from school one afternoon, but instead of Dustin climbing into the front seat like usual, the back door swings open violently and not one but two figures scramble into the back seat.

"Henderson, what the fuck?!?"

"Drive!" Henderson screeches, his head popping up between the seats. "Go, go, go!" A hand, not Dustin's, reaches out as the stranger tries to sit himself up and fingers graze his temple as he's peeling away from the curb.

"Motherfucking assmunch-" Dustin is saying, "thinking he can get away with that shit-"

But Steve isn't paying attention, because the trees are green and the sky is blue and the world is suddenly right.

Steve looks into the rearview mirror and meets the gaze of a shocked-looking Eddie Munson.

[comicaurora]

hi, you seem to be drawing a lot. can you please tell me, will drawing ever become easy? or is it always a struggle?

(because for me, drawing seems like a neverending fight against artblock, and at this point, i start wondering if it's not really artblock, but instead it's just the reality of art making)

It's not so much that it becomes easy. It's more that you'll find new things about it that are hard.

Art will never become effortless because you will start finding new challenges to wrangle with, but the act of wrangling them is a good part of the fun. Finding new visual effects you struggle to capture or comprehend the shape of, let alone put down on paper. You might start off struggling to render shadows on a figure, and then as you progress you start wondering how to do shadows of foliage, or caustics of light projected through water, or how glowing eyes would cast shadows on a face, etc. New complexities reveal themselves as old struggles are mastered.

If you're struggling with something that feels like artblock, the problem might not be in your hands, but in your eyes. What to draw is at least as much of a challenge as how to draw it. If you notice your eyes snagging on small details or vistas and you catch yourself trying to work out how to capture that effect, that's your artist eyes at work, and the better you get, the weirder your artist eyes will make you.

There's an exercise my mom recommends that she got from her old teacher: three life drawings a day. Of anything - a chair, a glass of water, a tree, someone's dog, your own hand. I think this is less about honing your techniques and more about honing your eyes, training them to snag on everyday things and observe their complexities, the nuances, the way they really look, not just the way you think of them looking.

When you're a kid and you're drawing your first landscape, it's probably a house and a tree under a yellow sun in a blue sky. The tree looks like a lollipop, the house looks like a box with a hat, the sun is an egg yolk surrounded by lines, the sky is the bluest crayon you have. Maybe it has fluffy clouds in it if you were thinking ahead, cuz it's hard to draw white crayon or pencil over already blue drawings. This hypothetical drawing is a pure manifestation of art without artist's eyes; it is made entirely of what you understand things to look like, not how you see them. No real tree looks like a green lollipop. The sun is a blazing white ball that shades half of the dome of the sky in painfully bright white, and the sky is only blue in the loosest sense - even without clouds or sunsets confusing things, the sky will always fade to a lighter shade closer to the horizon. It is never uniform blue. Clouds usually look like shredded cottonballs around the edges, not fluffy rounded boubas.

This awareness extends to more complicated things. We know glass is clear. When we draw something made of glass, how can we capture that clarity? Do we just draw the outline, maybe some token specular highlights to show that it's catching the light? Or do we render the way it bends and distorts the image passing through it? We know gold is yellow and shiny; do we draw it as a yellow sparkly thing, or do we capture how it reflects the space around it? We know that water is blue and reflective. Do we draw it like we would draw a shiny blue car? Do we render a glass of water like a blue raspberry icee?

Actively perceiving the world as it is takes work and practice, but it's a vital component in all art - even completely fantastical art that is not at all drawn from life references. Skin has a particular luminosity to it, subcutaneous scattering of light that is inobvious if you just know that Skin Looks Like A Color. Even if you're painting a goblin or a mermaid or a centaur, capturing how the light hits their skin can make the difference between them looking like an action figure and looking like a living thing. If you're painting a landscape that isn't earth, it helps to have observed what earth's clouds and atmosphere really look like, how they catch and scatter the light. You have to know the rules in order to break the rules.

I can honestly say it never gets easy, but it does become a lot of fun, and if you're currently struggling to find the fun of it, it will get better the more you hone your eyes.

[lordprettyflackotara]

fill the void || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+

It felt odd in a way, being alone for the first time.

Usually you were surrounded by your fellow Slytherins, the smell of cigarettes and cologne something your nostrils had grown accustomed to. The sound of vicious insults or bitter rants making a nest in your ears. The sight of scowls with liquor in their hands, their knuckles typically bruised and bloody.

But right now, all of that was gone. The air in the courtyard was clean, the breeze blowing past you providing you with the smell of the earth. Your sights were centered on a giant oak tree, as well as the moon that dimly illuminated the area below. It was an odd change, your surroundings being so settled. You couldn’t help but wonder what you would’ve become if you hadn’t been placed in Slytherin. Maybe yellow would’ve suited you better.

It wasn’t that you despised your housemates, even if they were a group of misfit toys. Mattheo protected you, Theo tutored you, Draco was always glued to your side. It wasn’t them that troubled you. It was what wearing the sickening shade of green meant. Submission to the dark lord. Following the ideology of pureblood nonsense. Especially being one of the only prominent girls, there was always the lingering question who’d you marry and reproduce with.

Yuck.

“Am I interrupting?”

You didn’t need to turn around. You’d recognize a Weasley’s voice anywhere. “Unfortunately not,” You admitted. You hated to admit you knew which Weasley twin it was, a lanky Fred Weasley plopping down beside you on the concrete steps. He stretched out his long legs, mere inches separating both of you. “Is there a reason you’re perched out here instead of doing shots with your friends?” Fred asked. How could you explain why? Oh yes, I am having an existential crisis because of the fact my dress is emerald. Want to go inside and split a chocolate frog?

“Where’s your other half? Didnt think you two separated,” You quipped, brushing off his question. Fred took the hint, leaning back on his hands. “Currently snogging Angelina Johnson,” He answered. This caught your attention, your head snapping to look over at him. “The chaser that wiped the floor with Blaise last season?” You asked. Sometimes you forgot how small this dreaded University actually was. Fred nodded, shrugging. “Aggressive on and off the field, just the way George likes em,” He replied.

You snorted. “Ahh yes. Makes sense a Weasley would enjoy being slutted out,” You snickered. It was too easy of a jab. Fred began to man spread, his long legs in your personal bubble. “I wouldn’t be so hasty little serpent. A few of us know how to put a brat in their place,” He smirked. The cocky motherfucker winked, heat dashing across your cheeks. You must be in a different dimension. There’s no bloody way a Weasley made you blush. “You’re cute when you blush,” Fred praised. He couldn’t help but notice how good you looked in the moonlight, the beams highlighting your features.

“Are you complimenting me Weasley?” You questioned. You avoided his gaze, trying to ignore the fact your heart skipped a beat. “Obviously not, i’m flirting with you,” Fred replied, unable to control the smile creeping across his lips. You were just so easy to tease. “What makes you think you can flirt with me?” You asked, turning your head to look over at the ginger. He shrugged, meeting your firey gaze with ease. “Perhaps it’s because we’re in the same boat, sitting out here alone in a bloody courtyard while the yule ball is less than five hundred feet away,” Fred explained. You audibly scoffed. “Weasley’s can’t afford a boat,” You spat.

Fred chuckled at your insult, your venom harmless to him. “Considering you’re out here I think it’s safe to say your boat has sank. Guess we’re on the same island together then,” He replied. You couldn’t help but find his facial expression smug. “Great,” You grumbled. You rested your chin on your knees, contemplating your life decisions. Fred sighed. “Well, if my presence really isn’t that valued i’ll relocate,” He said. He began to rise to his feet, your body doing a one eighty. You didn’t realize your hand was gripping his wrist until it was, desperately holding him in place.

“Sit down Weasley. I-,” You paused, looking up at the ginger. “I’d prefer it if you stayed.”

Fred grinned down at you mischievously, resuming his place beside you. “Figured you’d say that. Just wanted to hear you say it,” He gloated. You slapped his arm. “You’re unbearable. You know that don’t you?” You grumbled. Fred couldn’t help but laugh. Your annoyance was adorable. “You seem to like it,” He replied. You frowned as he stood up in front of you. “Do not,” You argued.

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Fred extended his hand in front of you. The faint sound of classical music could be heard over the stillness, the wind having faded out. “Care to dance?” He asked. The choice was standing right in front of you, demanding an answer. You could say no and continue moping on the stairs. You could say no and go back inside, all eyes on you once again. Or you could say yes, potentially having a good time with a boy you didn’t belong with. Dancing with a Weasley? Draco would have a field day with this one. But Fred’s hand never looked more appealing than it did in that moment.

Hesitantly you took his hand, allowing him to bring you to your feet. Even in heels he easily towered over you, the ginger not hesitating to bring you close to his chest. “You know you can drop the bad girl act with me, I won’t tell,” Fred said, guiding you back and forth. You were an awkward dancer, despite the endless ballroom dancing classes your parents put you through. “It’s not an act,” You argue. Fred looked down at you, his face painted like he knew you. Like he could see right through your hollow shell.

“Sure it isn’t. And i’m not the best prankster in Hogwarts,” He quipped. You slowly spun you around, giving you time to catch up as you almost tripped in your heels. “You’ve really got quite an ego, don’t you Weasley?” You asked. Fred grinned as he pulled you back close to him. “Thats a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” He asked. You glared up at him. “I think not,” You argued. Even though your words were laced with venom, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed his touch.

So gentle but so assertive, guiding you. Your mind strayed away, imagining him guiding you a different way. Guiding you to take his cock, to ride him until the sun came up. “Hey? Are you listening little serpent?” Fred asked, his voice coming back into frame. You blinked a few times, trying to regain your composure. “Sorry, what?” You asked. Fred slowly guided the dance to a stop, the song ending. You couldn’t help but wish it’d last forever. “I was asking what you’re thinking about,” He said.

You could feel yourself turning red, your filthy thoughts flooding to the forefront of your mind. You felt tongue tied, unable to confess your dirty fantasies. “Ohh, I see,” Fred said. You couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye, embarrassed enough to be in this position. You felt his slender fingers slide under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. You allowed him to guide you, his eyes boring into yours. You liked that, allowing him to guide you. Even if he was supposed to be bad for you, his touch put you on cloud nine.

“Do you like that? When I guide you? Take control?” Fred asked, his voice dropping an octave lower than before. You could’ve dropped to your knees in an instant. “Maybe I do,” You replied, not wanting to cave, not just yet. Fred leaned down further, pressing his lips against yours. His lips were warmer than you thought they’d be, filling the void inside of you. The void that craved approval and validation. His lips provided all of that and more. He guided you towards the giant oak tree, pinning you against it.

The sharp bark scraped at your back, a groan escaping your lips as Fred’s refused to stray from yours. You raked your hands throw his hair, pulling at the roots roughly. Fred whined into your mouth, smirking as he pulled away. “Cute,” He murmured. His eyes flickered behind you, ensuring no one was around. “As much as i’d love to make you squirm, we can’t do much here,” He whispered. You pulled him back to your lips, sliding your tongue into his mouth. You couldn’t get enough, your body craving him.

“That eager, are we?” Fred asked, pulling you back in for another kiss. You gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it towards you. “Fuck me, at the very least Weasley,” You ordered weakly, your body betraying the attempt at dominance you were spewing. Fred grinned mischievously. “Turn around for me pretty girl,” He purred. You did as asked, his large hands pushing you against the tree. You could hear the clinking of his belt, your core throbbing in anticipation.

His large hands pushed up your dress, pulling your panties to the slide. “You’re lucky we’re in the courtyard, otherwise i’d make you beg and scream for me to fuck you,” Fred purred. You felt his tip brush up and down your folds, a moan escaping your lips. One of Fred’s hands flew to your mouth. “Gotta keep quiet little serpent. Dont want anyone to hear you being a whore for a Weasley, do you?” He taunted. He pushed himself inside of you slowly, your body feeling like it may split in two.

“You’re fuckin soaked for me,” Fred mused, placing a sloppy kiss against your shoulder. Your moans were muffled by his hand, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I’m bigger than Malfoy aren’t I?” He asked teasingly as he bottomed out inside of you. You grabbed onto his wrist, yanking it away from your mouth. “In your dreams Weasley,” You spat, whimpering as he bucked his hips ever so slightly. Fred began to suck at the side of your neck, harsh enough to leave a hickey. “Dont leave marks on me,” You argued, moaning as he began to thrust into you. Fred released your neck with a pop, satisfied as the skin began to turn purple.

“Whys that? Afraid your boy toys will find out you’ve let me in between your legs?” Fred asked, beginning to pick up the pace. His pace was brutal, his hand flying back over your mouth to muffle your sinful noises. “When they ask tell them. Tell them how I ruined you. How a Gryffindor made you cum in a courtyard like a dog in heat,” Fred huffed. He continued to viciously snap his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with each thrust. You moaned his name into his hand, gripping one of his wrist and the tree for support.

“You’re so fucking tight, so perfect,” Fred groaned into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He removed his hand from your mouth, his hands taking their rightful place on your hips. “I’m going to make you cum on my cock. You understand me? You’re going make a mess for me,” Fred ordered. His orders were hypnotizing, your legs beginning to shake as he held onto the fabric of your dress. You could feel the knot inside of you tighten, a familiar feeling coming.

“Please make me cum Freddie, fucking please,” You pleaded, your orgasm coming faster than you’d like to admit. Fred chuckled, fucking you mercilessly against the tree. “There she is, there’s my sweet whore. Go on, cum for me,” He panted. You squeezed his wrist tightly as you came, euphoria washing over you as you came on his shaft. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out on you at any moment. You felt Fred’s hips stutter, the ginger pulling out of you.

He guided you onto the ground, your bare knees hitting the dirt below. You stuck out your tongue, allowing Fred to cum inside of your mouth. “Holy shit,” Fred moaned, watching as you swallowed every last top. You both sat there for a moment, your highs subsiding as you soaked in what you had just done.

“Hey y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna grab a butterbeer sometime?”

“Shut up Weasley.”

[leviathanleva]

Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

Excitement for your morning coffee turns to panic when you bump into a mountainous stranger in a grey hoodie, sporting a skull mask. Sputtered apologies become a conversation in a corner of the café. And he’s so beat up, battered and bruised and scarred that you can’t help the words that leave your lips:

“Do you want to come home with me?”

[5k words ]

Chapter 1 "Caffeine Rush"

Airpods in your ears, music vibrating through your soul, you were ready for the world outside.

Sweet Saturday morning, after a week of work and barely any time for yourself, you’d decided on a treat to start off the weekend. You’d slept in late, phone alarm turned off and sleeping mask tugged on, new sheets prepared the night before because it was so comforting to wake up to the subtle smell of detergent. And once you were finally up, you’d decided fuck it, go out and get a nice steaming hot coffee in a cute paper cup from the local café, listen to Lofi or Lana Del Rey or whatever Spotify had prepared for your daily suggestions on the way, cozy up in a warm winter jacket and a thick scarf. Bless the crisp December air, it nipped at your cheeks and filled your lungs with sharp frosty air. It numbed your nose too and made your eyes water, but those weren’t as positive as the previous two affixes.

The streets were buzzing, a rare sight of the sun peeking through a blanket of grey clouds was shining down on you.

All in all, it was going to be a good day.

You waited impatiently for the light to turn green before crossing the street with a horde of nameless individuals, keeping in tandem with them.

Snow was still a no-show, you could only hope for its appearance at least on Christmas. The holidays without a fluffy coat of white powdering over everything from trees to rooftops just didn’t sit well with you, but at the end of the day, it was up to Mother Nature, not you. Anything but the ice rain you’d had the week prior; you weren’t ready to skate to the store again.

The bell above the café door shakes to life, signaling your entrance. You tuck one airpod in your pocket to listen in on the chatter in the comfy, coffee bean scented establishment, and also because you didn’t want to miss anything the cashier said. You were the anxious type after all, didn’t wanna miss a thing ever.

The heating system is blasting, cranked to the max, steam comes in large waves from behind the oak counter, be it from warm beverages or baked goods fresh from the oven, it lingers long enough for you to get a whiff before being diligently sucked away by the range hood. You unzip the top part of your jacket before getting too stuffy, loosen your scarf and take off your gloves. The staff, donned in their creamy yellow aprons, zip back and forth between tables like worker ants and you step into the line of waiting customers to keep out of their way.

The hardwood floor is licked spotless, looking down, you can almost see your reflection staring back at you. The hum of the large coffee grinder fills your exposed ear and you decide to turn off Spotify for the moment and bask in the café’s ambience instead.

The line moves, it’s almost your turn and you glance up at the display monitors listing off all the choices on the menu for today. Lattes, milkshakes, espressos, you decide on a large cappuccino, leave experimenting with unfamiliar drinks for another day when you’re feeling more courageous.

“Large cappuccino, please.” You say with a polite smile and fish out your wallet from your pocket.

Coffee is cheap here, cheaper than in most cafés and that’s one of the things that keeps you coming back to this place. It’s not easy to afford treats when you live on your own and have to pay the bills and groceries alone. However, you manage, and being able to afford a coffee or takeout once in a while is all the sweeter when knowing you owe nothing to nobody.

You take your cup and nudge your chin for the barista to keep the change before stepping away to the sidebar littered with plastic lids, sugar packets, and cheap wooden teaspoons for stirring your drink. After a brief consideration, you decide not to sweeten your coffee and only take a large lid, pop it over your cup and after zipping your jacket back up, you’re about to turn and walk out.

A walk through the park where you can sit down and enjoy your drink suggestively passes by your mind. Deciding that’s exactly what you will do, you palm through your pocket for your discarded airpods while nursing your paper cup to your chest.

And maybe it was your fault for not paying enough attention because you were buzzed to have a nice relaxing weekend. Or that you’d already achieved your first goal of the day and you were about to have a nice vibey stroll while hurrying to stuff your ears with music before you left the café. Maybe you’d jinxed your Saturday by confidently thinking it would be a swell time and nothing wrong would happen for once.

You should have known better. You should have suspected something would go wrong.

Something always goes wrong.

You whirl around with the intent of being on your way, expecting the glass doors to be in view, but they aren’t. A mountain of flesh and muscle stands before you. And your reaction time is too slow to save yourself or your coffee.

You jump, your hand flinches and the paper cup goes flying, a gasp upon your lips so loud it turns heads. You can only watch in horror as it makes contact with a wide chest clad in a grey hoodie, the lid pops off from the force of the impact and the hot contents inside go in every direction.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my freaking God.”

One hand goes up to cover your agape mouth while the other clutches at the zipper of your jacket as panic crawls up your neck and prickles your scalp.

The worst part is that your coffee wasn’t the only casualty. The poor guy had dropped his beverage to pull his hoodie off his chest the moment your scalding beverage had soaked it.

There was steam coming off it. It was boiling and you’d spilled it on him.

You wanted to die.

And he’s fucking terrifying too. Easily two heads over you and built like a truck. The intricate skull mask obscures the lower half of his face and you can’t discern if he’s absolutely pissed or just mildly uncomfortable with the large stain plastered on his top.

His eyes are sharp, trained on his ruined hoodie, crow’s feet crinkled, and you’re grateful they’re not directed at you because you were a step away from breaking down on the spot.

A stone lodged itself in your throat.

If he didn’t curse you to oblivion, he’d either break you in half, or worse, sue you.

You can’t get fucking sued. You don’t have the money to get sued.

So much for having a good day…

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” You sputter out and grab a handful of paper towels from the counter. You’re glancing up at him every now and again for fear of his patience running out. “I’m so so sorry.”

Shaky hands are tapping away at his top, soaking in the liquid as best you can while trying to keep from breaking down. Your tongue is arrested between your teeth, bitten down on hard in a self-soothing attempt. Your fingertips are stained with coffee because there‘s so much of it that it’s turning the paper towels to mush. You couldn’t care less about that or that you were practically sweating bullets under your jacket.

All you hoped for was that you hadn’t caused the poor guy a burn.

“ ‘s okay.” He murmurs in a thick British accent while watching you fuss over him with growing anxiety. The jitter in your movements would be almost comical if not for you practically hyperventilating on him.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

“No.” You whine, before you can stifle your voice to normalcy, and turn to the cashier peeking from behind the counter with watery eyes and a deeply carved frown. “No. I’m so sorry, we spilled our drinks. I mean, I spilled - ” You take in a breath to compose yourself and brush a hand over your forehead, shoulders slumping. You’re giving your best apologetic expression, practically mourning over the mess you’d made at your feet and of the man looming next to you.“ – I’m sorry. I can clean it up if you have a mop.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, miss. We’ll mop it up.” The cashier replies, bless her, and signals for one of the waiters to fetch the cleaning supplies. The friendly smile never wavers from her balmed lips; neither does the caffeinated twinkle in her eyes.

She’s most likely seen this sort of thing plenty of times, but for you, it’s a first and it’s your fault to top it off. It’s not an easy pill to swallow and despite the atmosphere being anything but hostile, you can’t help but still feel guilty.

Of course, this had to happen to you of all people. You weren’t allowed a single day of peace and tranquility.

With the main cause of disturbance taken care of, you turn back to your victim, who’s joined you in trying to dry off his hoodie. Your stomach churns at the sight, and you’re afraid to look around in case all eyes are on you two. You can’t bear the scrutiny, even though most people have probably resumed their dwellings by now.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? I’m so sorry, sir.” You ask and reach for more paper towels, pressing them against his chest more so to show you’re very apologetic and trying to fix the situation rather than actually fixing it because most of the coffee has already come out.

You glance up at him after mustering up the courage, curious as to what awaited you next. He returns your gaze with one of indifference or calmness, you can’t tell, blinks at you slowly, as if he’s just now taking your flustered form for the first time, then he speaks, more clearly this time.

“It’s fine.”

A server arrives with a mop in hand and you both step away from the mess to let them clean it up. You take the lead unintentionally and guide the stranger towards one of the vacant tables in the corner of the café, away from prying stares.

You pick the chair next to the wall that has a large ficus partially looming over the seat. Maybe with enough luck, you can disappear inside it.

Finally, unzipping your jacket because you’re about to faint from the stuffiness, you lay it on the cushioned backrest of the chair and pat it down to make sure you’d not accidentally dropped any of your belongings during the accident. You tug at your sweater to air out the thin sheen of nervous sweat that’s formed over your skin, brush off the strands of hair that have come to stick to your face and take off your scarf.

The stranger sits on the opposite chair, paper towel still to his chest and sucking out any leftover residue. The stain won’t leave your vision no matter how hard you try to rip the two separate. It’s the worry gnawing at your gut that keeps you rooted to your spot, wanting to approach but too afraid to do so.

But so far he’s been a nice guy, hasn’t said one single bad word to you.

Your mind reels with how red and irritated his skin must be, praying it hadn’t blistered up already. You have half a mind to ask him to take off his hoodie so you can take a look.

A fresh wave of panic wraps its dainty fingers around your neck in squeezes, sends needles to prick over random places on your body.

And all this time, you’ve been sputtering out apologies like a broken record, his dismissal of your regret not even reaching your ears let alone registering.

“Should I call an ambulance? Oh my God, I’ve never had to call an ambulance in my life…” You ask, mumbling the last part to yourself as the realization hits you square in the face. For a brief moment, you forget how to dial the emergency line because you’ve never had to use that number before. “I’m sorry, sir – I – I didn’t mean – ”

You continue to blabber while searching your jacket pocket for your phone. The guy might have said nothing at your suggestion, but you wanted to be safe and have your phone at the ready anyway. And you’re too preoccupied going ballistic with panic in your own little world to hear him repeatedly tell you that everything is fine and you’ve done no big deal, he doesn’t need an ambulance and that he’s fine.

“Hey!” He grabs the crux of your elbow and pulls you before him, a large knee on either side of your thighs. A startled noise crawls up your throat but you make no move to step away. You’re staring at him as your hands disappear inside his and he jerks them slightly, his voice lowering now that he’s caught your attention finally. “Relax. It’s alright. Happens.” His comfort is rough. His voice gruff and sounding more like a scold than anything. He shakes you a bit too hard, not used to handling something as delicate as you, and pulls you down enough to make solid eye contact. “Alright?”

You nod and avert your gaze away, soggy paper towels left in a pile on the table making your fingers twitch with the need to do more. Apologies simply aren’t enough, not when he’d probably need to apply ointment on his chest for a few days after your little fiasco.

Why did have to be such a hot mess all the time?

“At least…Let me buy you another drink. On me? It’ll make me feel better.” The frown is still tugging on your lips as you speak, shyly looking at him from under your lashes. “Please?”

He sighs softly at your relentlessness and shrugs before letting your hands slip from him, having kept them in his grasp for longer than he should.

“Sure.”

He leans back in his chair and readjusts both his hood and the cap poking beneath it before resting his elbows on the table.

“What did you order?” You question while fetching your wallet.

The innocent look you toss him has him forcing himself to stop staring at you like a creep. He clears his throat and rubs over his tired eyes tenderly before answering.

“Black tea with milk.”

And so you reorder your cappuccino, get him his tea and decide that a simple butter croissant as an apology is enough for the moment. Every time you turn around to glance at him, nervous that he’d simply slip away from your overbearing presence, he catches your stare without fail. Heat gathers around your ears and your lips purse unintentionally every single time and you quickly turn back to the cashier, pretending you hadn’t just been discovered ogling him.

The chair looks too small to encompass his hulking frame comfortably, the table is no different, but you guess he’s used to it by now. A man of his stature isn’t a common occurrence here. Poor thing probably has to bow to enter through most doorways and have his shirts custom-made with how wide his shoulders were. If he wore shirts at all that is.

He looks like he’s brooding when you return with the order, fingers linked together and thumbs dancing around each other.

You set the tea by his side, note the callouses and scarring around his knuckles, the roughness of his skin. Your first thought is that he’s a construction worker, it would explain his size, the biceps that are as big as your head and straining against the stitches of his hoodie, the casual clothes, and the dark circles under his eyes that make it easy for anyone to guess that he doesn’t rest enough. But then he pulls his mask down and lets it rest under his chin as he takes a prolonged sip from his drink. You note the crookedly mended nose after a trauma so potent it made your eyes water at the thought of what pain he’d endured. There’s a gash running along his thin lips, multiple ones that stand out from the light stubble peppering the lower part of his face, deep ones, ones that you guessed had needed stitches and took forever to properly heal.

Now you’re not so sure he’s a construction worker.

“So what do you do for a living?” It rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. You laugh nervously and raise a hand in a soothing motion before he even has a chance to answer. “You don’t have to tell if you’re not comfortable. I’m just curious.”

The mug of tea pauses before his lips and he gives you a skeptical look.

“Military.”

“Oh.” You blurt out and awkwardly take a sip from your coffee, nearly choking at how hot it is.

And that’s precisely the answer Ghost expected. It was a big turnoff for many people when they learned his career path, mostly because the news only displayed the bad outcomes of his work and never the good. He might have saved this entire city a week ago from a bombing and nobody would know.

It came with the territory and he half expected you to think up some lousy explanation as to why you suddenly had to go.

But you aren’t like that at all because of course, you aren’t. Why would it be made easy for him to forget you and move on with his day when you could be sweet and open and give him more reason to burn you into the crevices of his conscience instead? Why would you make an excuse and leave when you could stay and kindle the embers of his humanity and make yourself space to be a permanent memory?

That’s just his typical luck.

“Must be tough.” You muse, absentmindedly taking a napkin and wiping off the milk and tea mustache staining his upper lip, as if tending to a messy toddler. It comes instinctively and you don’t fight it until your fingers are already being poked by his stubble. “But thanks for keeping us normal folk safe.” You give his wide-eyed stare a warm smile, and tilt your head slightly to one side.

You notice the subtle way in which he moves his chin towards your hand, apprehensive of you pulling away. As if he’s fighting his demons to lean into your touch, to rest his cheek against your palm and close his eyes because he hasn’t been offered softness in so long that he doesn’t remember what it feels like anymore.

You don’t mind that his large hand reaches to try and still your wrist, aching for more delicate touches, but stops before coming in contact with your flesh, pulled back by self-deprecating restrain. You almost want to encourage him, he looks visibly altered by your simple gesture, like a dog who’d been beaten all his life and was given a treat for the first time.

“What happened to you, old soldier?” You want to ask gently, pry a little while you cup his face and let him rest on the softness of your palm, close his eyes for a brief moment of respite.

Your heart aches for him.

But then you remember he’s a stranger and the moment shatters.

The smile vanishes from your face, the warmth dissipates and you flinch back.

“Sorry.” You rush to say and crumble up the napkin in your hand before tossing it on the table and trying to brush off the suffocating awkwardness. “You had something there.” You motion to your upper lip before drowning in more coffee, hoping it will ease the discomfort.

Just what the hell had you been thinking?

And he’s not far behind you on that note. The flicker of softness dies in his chocolate browns and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth stills and dips into neutrality. The exhaustion returns to his features and his gaze flits away from you as he gathers himself back together.

“You should eat tha’ ‘fore it gets cold.”

Your eyes trail to where he’d nudged his chin and you see the butter croissant you’d purchased along with your drinks. You giggle, it turns into a light laugh when his head cocks to the side in confusion because he’s yet to realize you’d gotten it for him.

Because why would he? He’s a soldier, he gets bullets and grenades, not tea and croissants.

Poor creature, sweet scarred sufferer, with so much weight on his shoulders you couldn’t imagine bearing.

“It’s for you.” You push the small plate closer to him and flick your hand for him to dig in, treat himself on your behalf if he won’t do it on his own accord.

“What?” He reels back in his seat slightly at your words, sets down his drink and tenses up. There’s so much disbelief there that it’s almost comical.

It’s like he’d never been treated before.

Maybe he hadn’t been.

Jesus Christ, what if he actually hadn’t been?

“I mean it’s the least I can do after drenching you in coffee.” You say and press the lid of your cup to your lips, hiding the sympathetic smile from view lest he takes it as pity.

You didn’t pity the man, not in the slightest, but from the tired eyes to the worn clothes, sunk-in shoulders and need for anonymity, you guessed he’d not seen much kindness.

It was easily discernable that he wasn’t used to taking care of himself. Coming to a café to get a drink was probably the maximum self-indulgence he’d permit himself.

“Didn’t ‘ave to.” He grumbles out, voice hoarse and cutting off at the end.

“I wanted to.” You say and wave off his meager comment.

Gods, you wanted to bathe him in sugar and softness.

He tugs the plate before him hesitantly, looking over the croissant as if not trusting it or you, then he picks it up. A small bite at first, one of apprehension before the treat melts on his tongue and awakens his taste buds. He finishes it in two mouthfuls, barely chews and you’re inclined to ask if he wants another, you’re ready to feed him the whole bakery stand if he so wishes. But he declines, whether from embarrassment or mistrust, you didn’t know.

You just know he’s hungry.

You give him your name while he’s washing down the croissant with his leftover tea, just throw it out there in the hopes that he’ll give you his. And he does after heaving a sigh.

“Simon.”

“Pretty name.” You note, toss him a friendly smile that’s a silent invitation for him to say more. “Nice to meet you then, Simon.”

But your friendliness doesn’t breach his defenses a second time. He eyes you with an unreadable expression, watches you slurp your coffee while you’re left to wonder if your compliment had been a mistake.

You might have been coming off as too friendly, trying to suck up to him after ruining his top and that was the reason why you were so nice. Or maybe he thought that there was a hidden agenda behind your acts, that you’d want something in return for your kindness and that’s why he kept his guard up.

Action without a need for reciprocation didn’t exist in his world. Nobody was stupidly selfless enough to just give and not want anything in return. But you were right there, proving him wrong and he wasn’t sure that fact was a fact anymore.

Throughout his internal debate, you’re doing your best to remain casual but it’s difficult with those dark orbs boring into your soul. It’s even more difficult when the silence settles, so you decide to ramble and keep the spirits up until he feels comfortable enough to join.

It might come off as annoying, but you’re sure he’ll stop you if you’re becoming too much to handle.

You tell him about your job, a brief summary of how rough your week had been that that was the reason why you’d come here this morning to treat yourself. You tell him you’re clumsier than you’d like to admit, that you can’t imagine drinking tea first thing in the morning. You tell him that you’d love to have a pet one day, but your landlord doesn’t permit any, ask him if he has pets or would want any. Then you ask if he’s more a cat or a dog person.

And throughout the entire time, he’s staring at you with this undigestible look and you have no idea what to make of it.

The caffeine pumping in your veins helps keep your monologue going until finally he speaks up.

“Bothering you?”

“What?” You spit out, cease your rambling and scrunch your brows at him in confusion.

“The face.” He says, motioning towards his partly obscured face like it’s so obvious. “Ain’t a pretty mug to look at.”

You blink at him silently, at a loss for words at his not-so-kind statement. Your mouth parts, struggling to form a coherent reply because you’re absolutely thunderstruck that he thinks so lowly of you as to believe you’d be affected by such a thing.

Then again, he doesn’t know you, and neither do you him.

But the fact that he’s polite enough to ask while already anticipating the answer tells you that he might have had this conversation one too many times already. Or maybe he hadn’t, maybe the mean comments and ugly remarks were all in his head and he hid his face to stifle those rather than hide from other people.

You don’t know which alternative is sadder.

“No! Not at all.” You say slowly, accenting every word that comes out of your mouth, with eyes trained on his and refusing to blink in case you missed anything. “You’re handsome, really.” You dare to reach out for him and rest your hand atop his, gentle and ready to pull back in case his features portrayed any hint of discomfort with your actions. “Plus your scars mean you put yourself before me to keep me safe, right? Can’t judge you for that.”

Now he’s the one left speechless.

Wordlessly, he twists his wrist, rolls his hand around and slowly unclenches his fingers to let yours through. And your hand is so soft and warm when it slips over his mauled palm, even the skin is a stark contrast because yours is so smooth, spotless, perfect, compared to his.

He runs his large thumb over your knuckles, relishes the tingly feeling it gives him, watches intently because he’s sure that as soon as his eyes move to somewhere else, you’ll vanish and it’ll all be over. Your fingers fall against his wrist where his pulse leisurely beats, only quickening when you shift in your seat because he thinks you’ll pull away.

Manicured nails trace over the scars poking from beneath the sleeve of his hoodie and he shivers, the hairs on his arms rising. He lets you tug the sleeve back, wanting to know how far the violent marks go. Soon enough black and grey ink peeks from under the fabric and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips at how delighted you seem.

“Oh, I love tattoos…” You hum while tracing the tips of your fingers over it.

“Got any?” He asks absentmindedly, almost mechanically as all his attention is focused on the little hand exploring his own.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” You giggle, eyes closing briefly in delight as you bask in the fuzzy atmosphere.

He bites his tongue at that, decides now isn’t the time for flirty remarks, bids you too esteemed to fall for a sleazy comeback that might result in him naked in your bed. No, you were made to be courted, won over with effort and flowers and all the things he hasn’t bothered with in the past.

You were the type of woman that he avoided for fear of messing things up, someone who deserved better than him and he wasn’t ashamed of admitting that. Yet here you were, practically thrust in his arms by chance.

“Do you want another tea?” You ask because his drink is gone and what’s left at the bottom of your cup is two sips at most. And you don’t end this to end, you don’t want him to leave just yet.

“I’m good.” He answers and retracts his arm before standing. “Gonna ‘ave a smoke outside. Cheers for the tea.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it still makes your heart ache and your mind switches to turbo mode to try and think of something.

Your next question doesn’t come from a place of desire or lust. You’ve no intent of trying to get the battered soldier into your bed and use him for selfish pleasure. You’d never let yourself be so cruel.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

You ask because to you, he’s a stray in need of a home, someone to take care of him a little and nurse him back into a better shape before his next big military mission. It’s naïve, stupid really, to think a grown man such as himself can’t take care of himself.

But the way he looks tells you a sad story and you’d spoken before thinking. Now you’re left with a hot face and a fluttering stomach as he stares at you over his shoulder with something akin to surprise.

“I mean…for lunch, sometime. My treat of course.” You say next, trying to salvage the moment before it got too awkward and you were forced to go to the toilets and hyperventilate while beating yourself up internally. “You don’t have to – ”

“ – Yeah.”

And you swear you saw his eyes squint with a smile hidden somewhere behind the bulk of his shoulder.

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

[coralinnii]

"Eyes are Windows to the Soul"

↳ Admiring your Dark Brown eyes

feat: Idia ❋ Sebek ❋ Kalim ❋ Trey genre: fluff note: no pronouns were used for reader, set before Book 7 (mostly because I haven’t finished it yet),

Idia grew up sheltered in a sterile world, filled with LED lights and sleek metal walls. Shades of brown were not common in his daily routine, so he didn’t have a lot of opinions on it. 

In a world of neon blue and cold silver, your brown eyes ironically stood out in Idia’s world. 

Your eyes remind him of fluffy brown kittens, filled with warmth and mischief. You remind him of those adorable teddy bear prizes in claw machines that everyone covets. You were everything he dreams of holding, but often out of reach.

That is until the two of you grew closer, then he sees your eyes in the ice-cold colas he’s chugging during long grinding sessions with you. He feels a tingling sensation when he sees your eyes in the dry autumn leaves crunching beneath his feet whenever you drag him out to “touch some grass” 

Your brown eyes remind him of everything fluffy and warm, of fuzzy feelings and snugness. 

Your eyes give off energy, but it’s not scary or overwhelming at all. Rather, it’s soft and enjoyable like a refreshing drink on a hot day.

You seem so out of place in his old world, but Idia couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore.

”Uggh, that cat is just too cute, what a sensory overload! Huh, when did brown cats become my fav? I-I guess kinda recently?”

Sebek holds himself with prestige and integrity, a well-kept man with honor to uphold. 

But his experience is filled with the great wilderness, with the natural and unbending beauty of the forest. He proudly recalls his childhood living close to the world of fae and nature. 

You were a human. Your upbringing was nothing like his own, a pair of opposites with nothing in common

But, when you look at him with your sweet brown eyes, Sebek sometimes feels lost in nostalgia. In your eyes, he sees the beautiful trees of his homeland, he sees his beloved worn-out books in his bookshelves passed down by his grandfather. 

Not only his childhood memories, Sebek feels the same feeling of familiarity in his current lifestyle. He’s reminded of the joy and excitement he feels when he trusts his whole self to the majestic brown horses in the campus wooden stables. 

Is it because just like his trusted steed, your warm brown eyes effortlessly shine with so much strength?

Lost in your eyes, he recalls feelings of comfort and home, a connection to what makes Sebek…himself. Though he may not admit it, the stubborn young man finds solace just by staring into your eyes.

"Do I ever feel homesick? Of course I do! I simply… haven’t been feeling all that distant from my homeland as of late”

Kalim is not only surrounded by shades of brown, but also reds, yellows, greens, and everything else in the large spectrum of color. His world is bright and vibrant, never a dull moment for the boisterous heir. 

You fit right into his life, adding more happiness to his routine. Your existence gave off a sense of wholesome, sweet fun. You join him in his highs yet keep him grounded when he flies too close to the Sun

To anyone else, Kalim lacks nothing in terms of riches. He is financially blessed for generations to come, and Kalim is not ignorant enough to deny otherwise. 

But lately, whenever he watches you, he ponders on what the word “rich” truly meant to him. 

Some would call your brown eyes pretty but rather plain, but regardless Kalim would catch himself swimming in the hue of your irises. 

In your eyes, he sees the deep color of expensive cognac that many would gift his parents, he sees the color of flawless leather prized by countless merchants, and he sees the color of fertile soil that nurtures and feeds his country. 

If someone were to ask his opinion, Kalim would say that richness and pricelessness could be defined by your eyes. Kalim may have an abundance of gold and silver but there is no price that could compare to the look of pure love in your exquisite eyes.

"Have you ever seen a chocolate diamond before? They’re really pretty with a wonderful shine. I really like them, I’ll show you one someday!”

While he isn’t against dabbling in certain subjects and interests, Trey has a pretty solid idea of his future, to become a patissier and to either inherit his family's bakery or start his own business. 

Trey doesn’t see himself as anyone extravagant nor does he really want to be. Sure, he may be in a prestigious school, and he may hold an enviable position as a vice-Housewarden, but the green-haired senior holds himself more modestly. 

You knew well of his humble dream, and he appreciated the way you would support him however you can, be it a taste tester for new recipes or assisting him in the kitchen before a busy unbirthday party. 

In this close proximity, Trey is allowed more chances to glance your way, especially your eyes. 

He sees the resemblance in your eyes the color of the chestnuts you collected with the mischievous freshmen, the first day he noticed how cute you were. He’s reminded of warm brownies and cookies he would bake in secret just for you, all to see those very eyes sparkle. He imagines a brick house in the same shade as your eyes, where he’ll live out his peaceful life with you.

In your warm brown eyes, he feels reassurance and security. Trey doesn’t need a lavish lifestyle or a grand plan. All he could wish for is a life where he could bake cakes and pay taxes with you.

“I’m not exactly the most romantic with words, but I do like your eyes. They remind me of…my oven. Ah, that sounded a bit…” 

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green, p29

masterpost

The yellow flowers were bright against the headstone.

Danny had gone with a bouquet of small sunflowers. Something about how cheerful and slightly silly the flowers were seemed right. Bruce thought they were a good choice too.

“I don’t actually know what to say,” Danny started. Bruce had stepped back a bit under a tree with Ursa to give Danny some privacy. “I’ve never actually talked to a grave like this. I don’t have one. A grave, I mean; I don’t have a grave. I’m glad that you do.”

After a moment of debate about appropriateness, Danny sat down next to the grave. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He had always thought graveyards would feel gloomy, but it was oddly peaceful. He wondered if he felt more settled there because of what he was.

“Bruce told me about you. I mean, he said that what he knew was dated, even before your death, but tried. He tries a lot, which I think you must have known if you were friends with him, if you went to him for help.” Danny rested his head on his knees. Despite the years, Annalise’s name was still crisp on the headstone. “I think I understand that about him easier than the other kids, but I guess that’s because of what I am? I know what it’s like to try too hard too.

“He’s actually been a really good dad to me. I know there are things he fucked up with in the past, but for me he’s been good. I also like the rest of the family and I think you’d like them t00, from what Dad has said. You’d be especially good with Damian. I think he could use someone soft in his life that just loved him because he’s him. I mean, I think maybe I could use that too?”

Danny sighed and fell quiet. A damselfly flew past, idly resting on bits of the graveyard.

“I’m sorry that I never got to meet you. I’m sorry that Bruce never got to meet your child,” Danny said when the damselfly had moved on. “I know I’m not her, but I hope it’s okay that we’re pretending that I am. Dad seems so certain that you’d be okay with this since it’s to help protect me, but I kinda hate that we didn’t get to ask you. It’s just that… it makes you my mom, and that shouldn’t be forced on someone. Even the dead should get that right.”

With another sigh, Danny stood and dusted off his jeans. He reached out to lightly rest his fingers on the headstone. “Anyways, I just wanted to come and say thank you. Even though we just did it, thank you for being an option. Oh, and that I’m going to try to be a son that you can be proud of. I hope you and the baby are resting well.”

Once Danny got back to the tree, Bruce rested his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Did you say what you needed to?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Danny bent down to ruffle Ursa’s fur in greeting (and maybe a bit to have to avoid meeting Bruce’s eyes).

“We can always come back if you need to say more,” Bruce said. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

Danny couldn’t help but smile a little. He knew Bruce didn’t believe that talking to a grave did anything. To be fair, Danny didn’t know how much it actually did, but he felt that some of it got through. It had to. But even if Bruce didn’t believe in it, he was so willing to put up with the drive just because Danny did believe in it.

“Thanks. Maybe after our summer trip?”

“I think that would make sense. Now, do you want to eat somewhere or just get something from a drive through?”

Danny’s gut said to do a drive through, but he knew that was still mostly about being afraid. He was trying not to be as afraid. “I guess… if there’s somewhere dog friendly or that we can eat outside at, we can eat here. That has to be easier for you, right?”

“It would be, but it also wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve driven and eaten something,” Bruce said as he handed over Ursa’s leash. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through something.

“You already have a list of places, don’t you?”

Bruce gave a slightly sheepish little smile. “I like to be prepared.”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny said, because he really did get it. “Okay, pick one for us? I could eat whatever.”

“Whatever’ it is.”

-

Danny found himself drifting off in the car. It was rude, he guessed, to not stay awake and keep Bruce company on the drive, but he almost couldn’t help it. The sunlight through the window was warm. Ursa, who had insisted on sitting on the floor in the front, had her head resting on his lap. Bruce, as if sensing that Danny wouldn’t last, had put on some sort of podcast that was low volume and mellow.

His eyes slipped closed.

Time drifted past as he floated in that spot in between. It was actually one of his favorite states of being. Not awake but just awake enough to know that he wasn’t exactly asleep. It was the perfect sort of state to just spend lounging in bed and relaxing. Or on a warm day on a drive where he knew he was safe.

“Danny.”

“Hum?”

“Open your eyes for me, honey.”

Everything was bright, almost blinding green. It took Danny’s eyes a moment to adjust. It took longer to understand what he was seeing. “How am I in the ghost zone?!”

“You aren’t. I believe it’s more like we’re standing on opposite sides of of a bridge.”

Danny shook his head and tried to focus on the swirling reality. “Who… oh. Oh, you’re Annalise, aren’t you?”

Annalise smiled back. Her hair, pale blue and flame like, drifted around her like she was under water. One pale hand rested on her still round belly. Her eyes were golden and kind. “Or ‘mom’, if you’d rather.”

Even in this odd dream state, Danny could feel the blush climbing up his cheeks. “I don’t mean to—”

“I know you don’t,” Annalise interrupted him gently. “I heard you when you were at my grave.”

“You did?”

Annalise hummed in confirmation. “I don’t think we have much time like this, so there’s something I need you to understand. Are you listening, Danny?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Bruce was right,” Annalise said. “You are my son now and I already love you so very much.”

“But—”

“You don’t have to do anything else to make me proud, honey, okay?”

Danny swallowed back his protest and the lump in his throat alike. “Okay. But what about…?” His eyes dropped to Annalise’s belly.

Annalise’s face fell a little and the hand on her stomach tightened for a moment. She did her best to recover her smile. She seemed to be getting smaller. No, further away. “Well, at least I don’t have back pain like this!”

“Find Clockwork!” Danny called. The green was cracking and shattering around him. “Ask him about the never born!”

“I will!” Her voice was faint now. “I love you, Danny.”

“I—I love you too!”

“Danny?” Bruce asked, his voice coming out of nowhere. “Are you alright? You’re crying.”

Danny scrubbed his palm over his cheek, surprised to find that he really was crying. He blinked the rest of the green away and was back in the sunlit car. He threaded his fingers into Ursa’s fur. “I’m okay.”

Bruce looked doubtful.

“I am,” Danny insisted. “I really… I really think that I’m okay.”

[iydiamartinx]

WINE & PAINT NIGHT

Pairing: Kyle Rayner x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.1k synopsis: Wine and paint night with Kyle. a/n: Y'all can't judge me for writing another Kyle Rayner fic, he's just too damn sweet.

The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and fresh takeout—cheap pad Thai in cartons perched haphazardly on the counter, abandoned in favour of the two canvases set up side by side on the living room floor. A plastic drop cloth crinkled beneath your socks as you moved, settling into your spot in front of the easel with a glass of wine in hand.

Across from you, Kyle was already grinning like an idiot.

“You’re not allowed to laugh at mine,” you warned, pointing your paintbrush at him like a sword. “I’m a civilian. A normal civilian with zero artistic skills.”

“Please,” he said, swirling his wine with theatrical flair, “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at the concept of anyone not being an abstract prodigy with a paintbrush after two glasses of Merlot.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much.”

The wine had warmed you from the inside out, loosening your shoulders and making you bolder with every brushstroke. Soft jazz filtered through the speakers, the apartment bathed in the glow of fairy lights and the golden flicker of the candle Kyle had lit an hour ago. 

You sat cross-legged across from each other, canvases angled and half-finished. His was some kind of half-sketched skyline that somehow already looked beautiful, even only halfway done. You glanced down at your canvas. Yours… well, yours might’ve been a tree. Or a shrub. A very confident shrub. Either way, it was a valiant effort.

The next time you looked up, Kyle was no longer focused on his painting. He’d abandoned the canvas completely, now sprawled out on his stomach and sketching something directly onto the drop cloth beneath him. His wine glass sat untouched by his elbow, half-forgotten, as he worked. His brows were furrowed, tongue poking slightly out the corner of his mouth in that way he probably didn’t realize he was doing it, completely lost in concentration.

“What are you doing?” you asked, setting your brush down and leaning forward curiously.

He didn’t answer right away, pencil still moving in light, practiced strokes. Then, without looking up, he said casually, “Just needed to sketch you from this angle.”

Your stomach did a stupid little flutter. “What?”

He rolled onto his side, propping his cheek against his hand, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You look so serious and focused,” he murmured. “It’s adorable.”

A soft heat bloomed in your cheeks, and his eyes caught on it instantly before shifting to another spot on your face as his grin widened.

“You’ve got a little something…” he said, gesturing vaguely with a finger still stained with paint. His brush hovered midair, forgotten. “Right there.” He tapped the bridge of his own nose, eyes flicking back to yours, mischief glinting in their depths.

You blinked, confused at the sudden subject change. “Where?”

“There.”

You leaned toward the table to look at your reflection in the glass but never got the chance. Because before you could even process it, Kyle dabbed a streak of blue paint on your nose with the tip of his brush.

You gasped. “You did not.”

He bit back a smile. “I absolutely did.”

“You’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Before he could retreat, you dipped your finger into your palette—coincidentally green—and smudged it across his cheek with theatrical flair.

“Now you really are the Green Lantern.” You giggled.

“Okay,” he said slowly, blinking. “…this is so war.”

The next few seconds were a flurry of poorly aimed brush swipes, giggles, yelps, and colour. Kyle ducked as you flicked paint at him, retaliated by streaking your collarbone with a dash of violet. You smeared green across his jaw, and he retaliated with a burst of yellow across your forehead.

“Kyle!”

You shrieked, trying to bolt—but Kyle was faster. He caught you around the waist with ease, hauling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. You barely had time to laugh before he lifted you off the ground entirely, spinning you both in a dizzying circle. Your giggles mixed with squeals as you clung to his paint-slicked arms, breathless and laughing

By the time the chaos settled, you were both breathless and laughing, covered in messy swirls of pigment. You collapsed backward onto the plastic-covered floor with a soft oof, your chest rising and falling with aftershocks of laughter. Kyle followed, lying beside you, one arm draped across his forehead like a man dramatically defeated.

“Truce?” you murmured.

He peeked at you from under his arm, cheeks flushed—not just from the wine or the laughter. “Only if you kiss it better.”

You rolled onto your side, fingers gently brushing the paint off his cheek, softening as you took him in. “You look like a rainbow threw up on you.”

He huffed out a laugh, “So do you,” he grinned before his voice dropped, quieter now. Tender. “Still the prettiest thing in the room.”

You smiled and leaned in, before he could say anything cheesier, you kissed him. The kiss was soft, slow. He tasted like wine and you could feel him smile against your lips, the way his hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing just under your ear.

His other hand found your waist, fingers curling gently into the fabric of your shirt, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t quite bear the thought of letting go. 

When you finally pulled back, noses brushing, breath mingling, you stayed close—your forehead resting against his.

“I think I like wine nights,” you whispered.

Kyle nodded, eyes half-lidded as he stared down you. “Next time we skip the painting and go straight to the kissing.”

You grinned. “But then how would I win the paint war?”

His smirk deepened as he tugged you closer, until your noses bumped—his still streaked with a smear of blue, yours dusted with specks of orange.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice low and full of affection, “I’d let you win any war… if it meant I got to taste your lips again.”

And just like that, he kissed you again. The rest of the night faded into soft kisses, slow jazz, and the comfortable hum of being exactly where you wanted to be—in Kyle’s arms and surrounded by his love.

[hexhomos]

Hi! I had a question about "house Talis colors" i see alot of people talking about red, white, and gold. But if that are their house colors why does Ximena not wear any of that? Is there something that explicitly states those are house colors? Or has fandom just assumed those are house colors because Jayce wears them?

We predominantly see the talis symbol and jayce displayed in strokes of red. Even in his academy uniform, while viktor wears a white tie jayce wears a Red one. Gold & White are not really exclusive to jayce in any way - They're moreso *Piltover* colors, clean and shiny. They come attached to the setting. So yes, people did see the red banners and epaulets and went 'oh, those are family colors!' but in their defense jayce has been wearing red & gold as his mainline classic outfit since 2012... and it makes sense, imo.

In League piltover was predominantly /Gold./ In Arcane, piltover is painted in a lot of blue hues to offset all the gold detail they're using (and in s2 the kiramman-medarda hostile occupation crest is Blue & Gold (with a noxian diamond center), different from the greenish hue we see in s1) What ximena wears seems to be falling in line with the Kirammans in specific, see how she's sitting between the patron of the family and one of their hired hands sporting the crest in the center of his vestment. I think this matches with the idea that she was not part of the Talis house by birth and doesn't feel comfortable claiming the robes, though her clothes have little hammer details; It also matches the information we have of jayce being highly dependant on the kiramman patronage to continue working. It's not a stretch to imagine his whole family depended on the support of a larger, ruling merchant clan to operate after his father's death (if not before), and we see jayce paying for that investment his entire life.

But! Things are also not so clear cut. Ximena's pre-piltover(?) attire in jayce's childhood flashbacks is already blue, so its not exclusively a Piltover Symbol thing. It could be that she already wore it as her own.

Colors are malleable and they depend on context, specially on arcane. Blue is for Hextech, blue is for Jinx and the revolution, blue is for enforcer-backed uberfascism and Caitlyn's villain cape. Blue was always Viktor's original dominant color in game and in his classic machine herald model - a deep blue cloak with a slice of red sewn on the inside.

Red is for the Talis crest and heat of the forges, red is for Vi's hair and undercover jacket, red is for Silco's kingpin clothes to stand out in the dark, red is for Noxus and their bloodletting invasions, red is for Vander's vision turned dark with ire and for Warwick's rampaging, red is for the Black Rose.

Green is for the 'corrupted' swatches of Zaun covered in smog but it is also for the Firelights, and Ekko, and the hopeful glimmering tree they orbit around. Green is also Singed's abominations and his many crimes against nature. Green is the polluted river.

(Yellow is for excesses of gold. Yellow is for the flowers that adorn viktor's commune. everything is multifaceted.)

[gracie-eilish]

You always have the most magical writing outside. It’s written so vividly and prettily! Would you be up for writing about Billie and the reader going camping together and they end up having a little smutty moment in their tent?

camping trip🏕️🌙

an: this ended up being SOO long LMAO! i also got a little carried awayyyyy so i hope it's still to your liking haha!

ALSO! i’m aware you shouldn’t leave a campfire unattended. pls ignore that detail and pretend it’s like not a fire hazard for this fic and enjoy the vibes it brings:) fire safety yall, it’s important🫡‼️

(i picked hazel cause i have hazel eyes SUE ME!🫣😭🤪)

warning: contains smut!

The drive to the campsite had been filled with your off-key singing, Billie's laughter, and the occasional distraction when she reached over to squeeze your thigh, just because she could. She was giddy about this trip—probably because she had been the one to plan it, claiming that you needed to experience “real” camping.

“Real camping,” you had repeated skeptically, side-eyeing her. “You mean, like, sleeping on the ground with bugs?”

Billie had just smirked, her fingers tapping absently against your hand. “Sleeping under the stars with me,” she corrected, glancing at you with that signature, knowing look. “Big difference, love bug.”

And, okay, maybe you had softened a little at that.

By the time you arrived, the sun was high in the sky, filtering through the towering trees, and casting dappled patterns of gold across the forest floor. Your chosen spot was a cozy clearing near a shimmering lake, surrounded by wildflowers in full bloom. It was beautiful, almost unreal, but you mostly loved seeing how excited Billie was—bouncing on her heels as she unpacked, her hair wild in the afternoon breeze.

“Okay,” she clapped her hands together, turning to you with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Are you ready for the most romantic camping trip of your life?”

You laughed, crossing your arms. “That depends. Does it involve me actually doing labor?”

Billie grinned. “No, you get to sit there and be pretty while I do all the work.”

You gasped, dramatically pressing a hand to your chest. “You finally get it!”

She rolled her eyes but leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your cheek before pulling away. “Alright, pretty girl, let’s set up camp.”

After setting up your tent (which, admittedly, Billie did most of the work on while you “supervised”), you both decided to take a short hike nearby. You wandered through a nearby meadow, the scent of sun-warmed grass and blooming flowers filling the air. Billie had a basket hooked over her arm, picking flowers with a look of pure delight, occasionally glancing at you with an all-too-knowing smirk.

“You know, I had a feeling you’d love this,” you teased, watching as she carefully examined a bright yellow buttercup before adding it to the collection.

“Of course,” she replied easily, glancing up at you through her lashes. “Flowers are pretty. And I like pretty things.”

You knew what she was doing, but your face still grew warm.

She noticed—of course she did—and stepped closer, tucking a tiny deep orange and green wildflower behind your ear before running her fingers down your cheek. “There. Perfect. Matches your eyes.”

"My eyes are hazel lovey," you said with a giggle. "This is orange."

"Yeah, but when the light hits them they get all ambery and golden," she replied matter-of-factly, not looking up from picking her next flower.

You sighed dreamily, but your heart was beating faster. Billie smirked.

“Are you gonna make me a flower crown that matches my eyes too?”

“That depends. Would my princess like a crown?”

You groaned, but she just laughed, delighted at how easy it was to fluster you.

You ended up lying in the grass, Billie lazily braiding some of the wildflowers together while you watched the clouds shift overhead. At one point, she leaned over, letting a petal fall against your nose, making you scrunch your face.

“Billie,” you whined.

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re so cute when you pout.” You just smiled up at her as she tied off her flower braids.

"Alright baby, sit up for me," she said while sitting back on her heels to face you, delicately placing the little flower crown onto your hair.

"There we go," she mumbled smiling, fiddling with the crown. "Such a pretty princess."

The two of you collected your flowers and made the short trek back to your campsite. When you returned, Billie delicately set your little bouquet in the tent, safe and sound and she even made sure to tie it up perfectly with the ribbon that just minutes ago was tied up in your hair.

She claimed that it was the only thing nearby that would keep the flowers together. But selfishly, Billie loved it when you let your hair down fully. It was so soft and shiny and free.

When she poked her head back out from the tent, she had a mischievous look on her face. She stepped out and instead of walking towards where you sat in your little lawn chair, she was making her way down the little trail towards the lake.

The lake was clear, the surface shimmering in the late afternoon light, and the second Billie saw it, she turned to you with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“No,” you said immediately, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

“Yes,” she grinned, already reaching for the hem of her shirt.

“Billie,” you warned.

“C’mon, baby, it’s hot.” She was already stripping down to her swimsuit, completely unbothered as she took a few confident steps toward the water. “You’re not gonna let me have all the fun, are you?”

You sighed dramatically but peeled off your clothes, and before you could even test the water, Billie took it upon herself to splash you.

“Billie!” you squealed, shielding yourself.

She only laughed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oops.”

You glared at her, then retaliated with a splash of your own. And that was it—the beginning of a very competitive, very wet battle that ended with Billie tackling you into the water, her arms wrapping around your waist as you both went under.

When you surfaced, breathless, tangled in her arms with your legs around her waist, water dripping from her lashes as she grinned at you. “Hi,” she murmured.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Hi.”

She kissed you then, slow and sweet, her fingers tracing lazy circles against your thighs. The lake lapped gently around you, the world growing quiet save for your breathing, and the occasional ripple of water.

“I love you,” she whispered against your lips.

And just like that, you melted.

After swimming, you dried off and set up a picnic blanket outside your tent, Billie settling in with her legs stretched out while you curled up with your head in her lap. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the air warm with the lingering heat of the day.

Billie absentmindedly played with your hair, twisting and untwisting strands around her fingers while her other hand rested against your side, thumb brushing slow circles against your skin.

“You comfy?” she murmured.

You hummed in response, eyes half-lidded. “Mm. Very.”

She smiled, shifting to press a kiss to your temple. “Told you camping would be fun.”

You cracked one eye open. “You also said there’d be no bugs.”

Billie gasped, feigning innocence. “I never said that!”

“You implied it,” you accused.

She grinned. “Okay, but—worth it, right?”

You sighed, gazing up at her. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “Worth it.”

Her expression softened, her fingers trailing down your cheek. “Good,” she whispered, then leaned down, pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, the stars beginning to twinkle above you, you realized there was nowhere else in the world you’d rather be—wrapped up in Billie, in the middle of nowhere, in a perfect little world that was just yours.

Once the sun had fully set and the cool forest air had taken over, the two of you had scurried into your little tent, seeking some heat….

The evening sky was a canvas of twinkling stars, visible through the mesh window at the top, creating a romantic ambiance. The gentle babbling of the lake provided a soothing soundtrack to your intimate evening. With no one around for miles, you were both eager to explore each other under the celestial canopy.

The two of you were snuggled up together, swapping stolen kisses and quiet confessions. However the cuteness from earlier today was starting to fade into something deeper.

Billie's hand reached out, gently caressing your cheek. Her touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into her palm, savoring the warmth of her skin. Her fingers traced the line of your jaw, and you closed your eyes, letting her guide you into a world of sensual pleasure.

“I want to explore every inch of you,” she murmured, her breath hot against your ear.

Her lips brushed your earlobe, sending a wave of goosebumps over your body. You couldn't help but let out a soft moan, encouraging her to continue.

With slow, deliberate movements, Billie began to undress you, her fingers deftly unbuttoning your shirt. Each piece of clothing she removed revealed more of your soft, supple skin, and her eyes darkened with desire as she took in the sight of your almost naked body.

“Pretty girl,” she murmured mainly to herself, your soft smile revealing you had heard it too.

You returned the favor, sliding your hands over Billie's curves, feeling the softness of her skin and the firmness of her muscles. Her breath caught as you unhooked her bra, revealing her breasts. You cupped them in your hands, marveling at their fullness, and she arched into your touch, craving more.

“God you drive me crazy,” she moaned into your ear.

As you kissed and caressed each other, the tent became a sanctuary of passion. The sounds of your lips meeting, the soft sighs and moans, filled the enclosed space, blending with the gentle rustling of leaves outside. The warmth of your bodies and the flickering light from the campfire outside created an intimate atmosphere, intensifying your desire.

Billie's hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and crevice. She traced her fingers along your collarbone, down to your breasts, and then lower, teasing your sensitive nipples. You arched your back, offering yourself to her, and she responded by taking one nipple into her warm mouth, sucking gently.

“Oh God Billie...” you gasped, your voice laced with pleasure. Her mouth felt incredible, and you couldn't help but reach down to stroke her hair, encouraging her to continue. She alternated between gentle sucking and soft bites, driving you wild with desire.

In response to your pleasure, Billie's own need grew. Her breathing became more rapid, and you could feel her heart pounding against your chest. You slid your hands down her body, cupping her ass and pulling her closer, feeling the heat between your bodies.

“I want you, baby,” she whispered, her bright blue eyes meeting yours in the dim light.

Your fingers found the waistband of her pants, and with a swift motion, you slid them down her legs, leaving you both completely exposed to each others gaze.

Billie's eyes traveled the length of your body, taking in every inch of your naked form. Her gaze was filled with admiration and longing, and you felt a surge of power, knowing the effect you had on her.

With a gentle push, Billie guided you back until you were lying on the soft sleeping bag, the ground beneath you forgotten. She hovered over you, her hair falling like a curtain around your faces, creating an intimate cocoon.

“I love you sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her declaration sent a rush of warmth through your body, and you reached up to pull her down for a kiss. Your lips met in a passionate embrace, tongues dancing and exploring, tasting each other's desire.

“I love you more,” you replied between kisses.

As you kissed, Billie's hand found its way between your legs, her fingers gently stroking your wetness. You gasped into her mouth, your body arching off the ground as her fingers found your sweet spot. She knew exactly how to touch you, and you couldn't help but move against her hand, seeking more pleasure.

Much to her surprise, you snuck your own hand down to Billie’s wetness, swiping your fingers through her folds making her moan out, nearly falling on top of you.

You snuck your arm around her waist pulling her further down and onto her side so you could face each other.

“Hi love bug,” you giggled.

“Hi mama,” she replied with a smirk, grabbing your thigh and pulling it over her hip, nestling her thigh between your legs while she straddled one of your own.

You both began grinding on each other in sync, gasping and moaning into each others mouths as you practically forgot how to kiss.

“You feel so good, baby” she whined out against your lips. You continued your sensual dance on each others thighs and you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation.

Just as you were about to climax, Billie slowed her movements, drawing out your pleasure. She wanted to savor every moment, prolonging the exquisite torture. You whimpered, pleading for release, but she only smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Not yet my love. Want this to last babygirl.”

Her words contrasted her actions however as her own hips sped up, sliding easily on your soft skin. Seeing her brows furrow and hearing her soft little whimpers lit a fire in you; you were determined to get her to cum first.

You grabbed her hip, now guiding her movements faster, making head breath hitch and her moans jump up in pitch. Her blue eyes wide and glossy as she silently pleaded to you to make her feel good.

She quickly grabbed own hip pulling you closer if that was even possible. The both of you now riding each other furiously, grabbing, and scratching, and pulling each other as close as humanly possible, bringing each other to ecstasy.

“Let go f’me mama. Know you wanna feel so good baby,” you whispered in between wet kisses to her cheek.

Billie grabbed your face and pulled you away from her cheek to see your face fully. Your golden green hazel eyes locked in with her crystal ocean blue ones, mouths open in bliss and brows furrowed as you both finally found your release.

As you climaxed, your body shook with the force of your release. You clung to her, your nails digging into her back, as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Her head dropped to your shoulder resting there while she rode out her own orgasm.

When your tremblings finally subsided, your movements slowed on each other. Billie moved her head, nuzzling further into your hair, and she smiled, her eyes filled with love and satisfaction.

The air was now thick with warmth, your bodies were still tangled, skin slick with sweat, the scent of pine and earth mixing with the remnants of what you’d just done. Your chest rose and fell against hers, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against yours. Neither of you spoke for a long while—there was no need.

This had been different. It wasn’t just fiery touches and whispered teases, not the playful urgency that usually defined your nights together. No, this had been something deeper, something unspoken that left both of you clutching at each other as if the world outside the tent didn’t exist.

Billie’s arms tightened around you, her fingers tracing slow, aimless patterns on your bare back. “You okay, princess?” she murmured, voice hoarse, breath warm against your hair.

You nodded against her. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You?”

She exhaled, her lips pressing softly to your temple. “Yeah.” A pause. Then, quieter, more vulnerable, “That was… something else.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your fingers brushing damp strands of hair from her face. Her eyes—drowsy, soft, still full of something indescribable—met yours, and at that moment, you felt it all over again. The way she had looked at you. The way she had held you.

“Magical,” you murmured.

Billie’s lips quirked, her fingers tilting your chin up so she could kiss you, slow and lingering like she never wanted to stop. “Yeah,” she agreed against your lips. “Magical.”

You lay there for a little while longer, just breathing each other in, neither of you ready to move, despite the stickiness of your skin and the slight chill creeping in through the tent’s mesh lining. Eventually, Billie sighed, reluctant but amused. “Alright, baby, I did in fact come prepared.”

You let out a soft laugh as she rolled onto her other side, rummaging through one of the bags you had tossed into the corner earlier. A moment later, she held up a pack of baby wipes with a triumphant little grin.

You snorted. “I love that you think of everything.”

“You love me,” she teased, gently tugging you closer to start wiping you down.

“Yeah,” you murmured, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “I do.”

Her hands stilled for just a second before she swallowed, nodding as if she had known it all along but still needed a moment to process hearing it so plainly. Then, with a soft smile, she kissed your shoulder and resumed cleaning you up, her touch nothing but careful and tender.

By the time she had wiped you down and you had returned the favor—giggling when she shivered at the coldness of the wipes—you were both exhausted. Your limbs felt heavy, your legs a little wobbly as you helped each other into fresh clothes, and the once-cool night air now felt almost too brisk against your flushed skin.

Billie reached for the oversized sleeping bag you had brought, unzipping it just enough for both of you to crawl in together. The moment you settled in, she pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you as if she was afraid you might slip away in the night.

You nuzzled into her, pressing your lips to the bare skin of her neck before murmuring, “Best camping trip ever.”

She chuckled, her fingers trailing up and down your spine. “Told you I’d make it romantic.”

You hummed sleepily, already halfway to drifting off. “Love you, angel,” you mumbled.

Billie pressed a kiss to your forehead, her voice soft, filled with something deep and endless. “Love you more.”

And under the stars, wrapped up in each other, you fell into the kind of sleep that only comes when you know, without a doubt, that you are exactly where you’re meant to be.