#yellow-eyed grass

[rubia-peregrinart]

two more darkloids to wrap up the season... not enough energy left for full refs but some Thoughts always

[thebotanicalarcade]

n48_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: Wild flowers of New York. Albany,University of the State of New York,1918. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/40795103

[a-leg-without-fear]

No Fucking Way (pt.1)

have some absolutely adorable interactions with you and the students at the mansion (and a surprise guest)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: cursing, mentions of animals neglecting their babies, and a story so sweet my teeth hurt

Inspiration: This scene from X2: X-Men United

Series: No Fucking Way

Your feet pounded against the gravel path beneath you. Small rocks and dirt were kicked up by your well-worn sneakers. Warm sweat dampened the cloth of your sweatshirt around your arms and chest. The sun beat down on your flushed face as a cold breeze bit across your nose. 

It was an absolutely gorgeous, autumn day. Occasional spotted clouds glided at a snail’s pace across a great blue sky. Soft breezes made the great trees surrounding the mansion dance like sheets of amber linen. Red and orange leaves skittered across the yellowing grass fields.

You saw a handful of students out on the lawn enjoying the early morning air. Sybil, a brunette with the ability to see through others’ eyes, sat beneath a large willow by the fish pond with a notepad in her hands. Vienna sat beside her. A strawberry blonde, bright eyed girl who could channel electricity into the palms of her hands. The two exchanged ideas about whatever Sybil was jotting down in her notepad.

Yuna sat not too far from the whispering pair, fingers twirling above a quickly constructed tower of stones and blades of grass. Her usual deep brown eyes now glowed a subtle violet. The maroon hijab she wore wrapped around her neck matched the crimson hues of the changing leaves in the trees around her. 

Jane, a kind-eyed tracker, Matt, a red glasses-wearing fighter, and Mads, a short-haired plant bender, sat in a circle, enjoying their morning coffee and tea together. You gave Mads a quick wave as you jogged past, receiving a warm smile and a shower of flower petals left in your wake.

The gravel path led along the left side of the mansion. Emerald ivy crawled up the brick walls like arms reaching from the earth. An occasional window broke up the light colored bricks. Most had their curtains drawn, which you attributed to a large portion of the students being late risers. One or two had the curtains open to allow fresh sunlight into the shared rooms.

You caught a glimpse of Sapph through one of the windows. Her bright smile and blue eyes were almost radiant as she basked in the streams of sunlight. Vases of sunflowers sat on the windowsill in front of her. The light seemed to bend, refracting from Sapph’s palms and hitting the sunflowers’ leaves.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The students were happy, the day was beautiful, and you only had one more lap of the mansion to jog before you’d call it a day.

“MAAAOOOWWW!”

You stopped just short of the empty basketball court. The crimson asphalt was covered in crunchy leaves and green brush from the nearby bushes. Corded nets hanging from the steel hoops swayed in the breeze. You looked around you, trying to find the source of the noise.

“MaaooOOW?”

There it was again. Closer than before. It sounded like it came from an incredibly small source, whatever it was. Your sneakers crossed onto the asphalt, toes kicking at leaves and twigs. You let your eyes scan the area around you. The court was surrounded by a wall of hedges. About waist high to you, it helped keep the court clear of too much debris from the trees. 

The mansion sat against the hedges. Large, bay windows looked into a sitting area. Hira, a telepath, sat in one of the plush leather armchairs with a novel in her hands. A white hijab wrapped around her head, glasses peeking out over light brown eyes. Daniel, a light-haired strongman, and Jacob, a bearded speedster, sat on the green-clothed couch across from Hira. Dice and rulebooks laid on the coffee table in front of them.

A rustle in the hedges to your left drew your focus from the students inside. The lowest branches shuddered, small green leaves shaken off and falling to the ground below. You knelt on the asphalt and strained your eyes to see through the dense foliage.

“MoowwWOAAOW!”

That was the only warning you got before a tiny gray and white fur ball burst out of the hedge and landed five feet in front of you. Pointed ears folded back, blue eyes widened, arched back covered in long fuzz.

A kitten. A small, angry, fluffy kitten. No more than a few weeks old. 

You remained where you kneeled on the asphalt, palms upturned and resting on your thighs. You kept a neutral expression on your face as you blinked slowly at the small creature.

After a few moments the kitten relaxed. Its ears faced forward, tail sticking straight up as it approached you. You gingerly extended a hand for it to sniff. Its tiny, pink nose ran across the tips of your fingers as it grew acclimated to your presence.

“Hi, little one,” you said through a barely subdued, ecstatic grin. You had always wanted a cat. Ever since you were a kid, you dreamed of a tiny ball of purrs curled up in your lap and effortlessly improving your mood. Not to mention they were ridiculously easy to take care of.

The kitten took a few more moments to sniff at your fingers. Its tiny eyes squinted as it seemed to devote its entire being to assessing your threat level. Once it seemed satisfied, it rubbed its chin across your thumb. You could already feel the purrs rumbling in its throat.

It took everything in you to not explode from the cuteness overload. This little thing, this tiny itty bitty little thing, chose you. You could feel a swell of pure adoration overtake your chest, the gentle warmth spreading from head to toe.

The cat continued to rub on your hand, occasionally nibbling on your fingers with the sides of its mouth. You lifted your free hand in an attempt to pet the kitten. Moving slowly to not startle it, you gently ran your fingers across its fluffy back. An explosion of purrs, like a hive of angry bees, met your affection. The cat dug its little head into the palm of your hand. You took the hint, giving it gentle scratches on the soft spots by its ears.

“You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life,” you breathed in astonishment. The cat seemed to enjoy the compliment, pawing at your hands and attempting to climb closer to your face. You scooped its tiny body in your hands and lifted it to your chest.

Tiny paws kneaded at the fabric of your sweatshirt. Little needle-like claws pulled at the threads. The kitten looked up at you with squinted eyes. You carefully rose to your feet, doing your best to not jostle the miniature creature cradled to your chest.

The cat nestled into the crook of your neck. Its tiny nose puffed against your skin while a category-5 purricane buzzed in your hands.

You would die for this cat and you just met it a minute ago.

Mentally saying “fuck it” to the rest of your jog, you began to gingerly walk back inside. You avoided walking on the gravel to make as little noise and sudden movements as possible. The cat seemed to appreciate the gesture, with what miniscule amount its tiny brain could comprehend, as a small lick from its rough tongue passed over your neck.

You garnered a few sideways looks from the students on the lawn as you walked by again. Mads cocked her head, fairy themed earrings jingling, at the gentleness in your step and the backtracking in your path.

“You alright, ma’am?” she called out. Jane and Matt perked up at Mads’s exclamation. Jane looked up at you with curiosity written in her features while Matt’s dark brows furrowed.

A quick gesture to the buzzing fur ball in your hands was all the trio needed. Their expressions quickly shifted from confusion to utter joy. They whispered among themselves about the newest addition to the mansion as you passed by.

That method is how you seamlessly moved through the bustling early-risers inside the foyer. One perplexed look was met with a nod to the kitten in your hands and the students parted like the Red Sea. Excited murmurs spread through the students like wildfire. “Is that a cat?” “Oh my god, kitty!” “It’s so cute!” “I hope we can keep it!”

The last student you passed before reaching your destination was Bella, a time manipulator. She was just on her way out of the professor’s study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. A kind smile met yours when she looked in your direction. 

“Morning, ma’am. Need to see the- Wait, is that a cat?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Shhh. Yes, it is. Could you open the door for me?” you whispered. Bella lifted her first finger to her mouth, winking to indicate she understood, then twisted the brass knob and swung the door open before you.

“Good luck,” she whisper-yelled after you.

A grand office stood before you. Comfortable leather settees were positioned in front of a solid, mahogany desk. Rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brim lined the walls. Trinkets and remembrances decorated available surfaces and empty wall space.

The professor, or Charles Xavier as you knew him, sat in his motorized wheelchair behind the large desk. His hairless head was lowered, blue eyes darting across the pages of a copy of House of Leaves. A single finger raised next to his aged face to acknowledge your presence.

“One moment, please. From both you and your new friend,” he said. A minute passed, seconds counted by the paws kneading into your shoulder, before Charles closed the book and met your gaze. A warm smile matched your enthusiastic one, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I found this little guy outside,” you began. The cat perked up at the mention of itself, eyes blinking up at you then looking at the professor. You ran a finger under the kitten’s chin as you continued, “He was an angry little fella, all bushy tailed, but he warmed right up to me. He was hiding in the hedges by the basketball court.”

“Ah, I see,” Charles replied. He lowered a hand to maneuver his wheelchair. The low buzz of the machinery heralded his movement as he rounded the desk to sit in front of you and the cat.

“I didn’t see any other cats around, but the good news is he seems to be old enough for solid food,” you said. The cat blinked slowly at the professor, its little nose sniffing the air in front of it.

“It seems his mother abandoned him. Weaned him off her too quickly and left him stunted. Poor thing,” Charles said, head tilting and lips pulling into a slight frown. You gawked at him.

“You can read the cat’s mind, too?” you asked. The abilities of the mutants around you never ceased to amaze. Especially one as powerful as Charles Xavier.

He smiled at the kitten, oblivious to your gawking, stretching out his hands to you, “May I?”

You gently lifted the cat off your chest, prying the tiny talons from your sweatshirt, and placed the furball in the professor’s hands. Charles lifted the cat to his chest and ran a gentle hand down its back.

“You’ll need to wake Rogue and Bobby, have them run to the pet store down the road. This one will need plenty of love and nourishment if he’s to thrive,” he said. You stared at him, dumbstruck.

“We can keep him?”

“He can stay, as long as he likes. Much is the same with the rest of those who live here,” Charles clarified. The little gray kitten nuzzled against Charles’s chin, the professor’s smile growing.

“Okay. Okay! Yes! I’ll go get Rogue and Bobby,” you said, absolute jubilation filling your lungs. 

You left Charles and the cat to continue their telepathic conversation as you raced up the giant, double staircase. Ornately carved wooden banisters ran along the edges of the stairs, polish shining in yellow circles from the chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. When the stairs divided into two sets, running opposite directions, you cut to the right. Your feet skipped over carpeted steps in your haste to reach your destination.

Once your sneakers landed on the second floor, you broke into a jog down the hallway. Door after wooden door flew by you on both sides of the hall. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and glowing sconces lined the wooden walls. A large window sat in the white wall at the end of the hall. Daylight streamed in and cast golden spots on the wood floors.

You stopped at the last door on the left. Rapping three quick knocks on the door, you bounced on your toes. There was a cat in the mansion. A cat! One that would live with you! You silently thanked whatever god it was that decided for you to be next in the cat distribution system.

It took another set of knocks on the door for you to hear movement on the other side. Bleary groans and rustling sheets leaked through the cracks in the door. You bit your lip in an attempt to quell your excitement.

The doorknob turned and a ruffled-looking Rogue appeared in the doorway. Dark hair just barely smoothed down, eyes squinted, robe hastily thrown over a nightgown.

“Vampire? Shit, what time is it?” she asked, grogginess laced in her tone.

“Doesn’t matter. We have a cat,” you said. Your smile widened as you waited for her response. Rogue eyed you, up and down, as she assessed her living alarm clock.

“Logan’s not a cat. We’ve been over this,” she said. She exhaled a puff of air through her lips to blow at the white bangs that fell over her eyes. You rolled your eyes playfully at the jab.

“Not Logan this time. An actual cat. A kitten,” you explained. Rogue’s eyebrows rose as her eyes widened.

“Wait, there’s a cat?” Bobby called from beyond the door. His blonde head popped up beside Rogue’s. The couple seemed to be much more awake now.

“Yup,” you said, annunciating the p. Bobby and Rogue looked at each other, smiles growing, before looking back to you. 

“Where is it? Can we see it?” Rogue asked.

“Charles needs the two of you to run and get cat stuff first. Like food, litter, toys. Anything you can think of,” you replied. At the first sign of them objecting, you continued, “You guys can get literally anything you want. Treats, cat towers, little obstacle courses. Just make sure it’s safe for a younger kitten.”

“We’re on it, boss!” Bobby said, happiness palpable and blue eyes sparkling, as his hand clapped on Rogue’s clothed shoulder.

“100%. This cat will be spoiled rotten,” Rogue confirmed. With that situation squared away, you gave the pair a quick nod, beaming at them, then took off back down the hallway.

The run back to the professor’s office was an even shorter journey due to you jumping down several steps at a time. A few students looked gravely concerned at your acrobatics. Especially Ash, who helped Jean with patching students up by being a walking pain-reliever.

Your hand caught on the doorframe of Charles’s office and you swung into the doorway, breathless. He and the cat were much like how you had left them. Tiny gray body tucked against his neck, both having their eyes closed.

“Bobby and Rogue are on their way out,” you said. Charles hummed in response, eyes falling open.

“This one’s taken a shine to you, my dear. Says you’re the first to treat him kindly,” he said, a proud smile painted across his face. You let out an incredulous laugh.

“Guess he really is one of us, huh?”

“More than you know,” Charles said through an amused chuckle. You approached the professor and ball of cuddles carefully, attempting to not disturb the little creature.

“Mrrpp?” the cat trilled. It squinted at you from beneath Charles’s chin, paws kneading into the back of the professor’s hands. You could almost hear its purrs from where you stood.

“Does he have a name?” you asked. You scratched beneath its furry chin as the cat stretched out its jaw into your hand. 

“I was hoping you might know one,” Charles said. He pressed the cat into your hands and you gladly scooped the little ball of love into your arms. You could feel the purrs emanating from the cat’s belly vibrate against your chest. Tiny, thin whiskers tickled along the underside of your jaw.

“Jeez, uh. I don’t know. Let me think on it,” you responded. It was hard to think when all of your focus was drawn to the fluffy creature cradled in your hands. Charles chuckled at your indecision.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, our newest student will happily respond to it,” he assured. He used his now free hands to dust cat hair off his crisp, navy blue suit. As you turned to walk out, Charles said, “Make sure to give him a bath. This young one’s lived outside for far too long.”

“Will do,” you said. You shifted your arms so you could better support the cat on your chest, then set a course for the upstairs bathroom closest to your and Logan’s room.

It seemed the news of a cat on campus had spread throughout the student body. A large crowd had gathered outside of Charles’s study. Students, an array of ages and stages of dress, craned their necks over their peers to try and catch a glimpse. 

“I wanna see!” Addie, a platinum blonde seven-year-old who could speak any language, called up from the space next to your hip. Your legs were framed by her and Ryan, a nine-year-old brunet with impenetrable skin. 

“Guys, the cat is very small. He needs quiet!” you said, voice coming out as a stage whisper. A hush fell over the group in front of you. Wide, hopeful eyes blinked up at you. You sighed, untucking the cat from the crook of your neck and holding him in front of you. At the sight of the small bundle of fur in your hands, a buzz of excited whispers passed from ear to ear. 

“Does he have a name?” Ryan asked. An echo of agreement sounded around the crowd.

“Not yet, so everyone start brainstorming!” you said. A renewed vigor filled the conversation as names were debated back and forth between students. You used the distraction to slip away, climbing back up the stairs and baring left this time.

This hallway was nearly identical to the one on the opposite side of the stairs. Wooden paneling covered the walls, patterned red carpet stretched down the middle of the floor, potted plants sat here and there. You knocked once on the first door to the right. Receiving no answer, you pushed it open.

Inside was a full bathroom. White tiles lined the walls and floor, the grout a cool gray. Warm patterned shower curtains hung from a steel rod suspended between two walls. A vanity mirror hung on the wall opposite the door. You flicked on the light switch, making the three globes above the mirror glow and send dancing reflections throughout the bathroom.

“Alright, fella. Let’s get you clean,” you said as you sat the cat in the sink. His little, furry body looked like a small sponge sitting in the white porcelain. A confused face looked up at you through squinted eyes.

“Mraow?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not gonna like this part,” you responded. You leaned over, opening the white cabinets below the sink, and pulled out the unscented shampoo Logan liked to use. Straightening up, you noticed the cat had remained where you sat it. Prim, proper, posture like a little gentleman.

You smirked, scritching the top of his head between his ears. His face tilted up into your touch. 

“Such a sweet little guy,” you cooed. You gave him a few more well deserved pets before scooping his little body and turning on the faucet. You made sure the handle was turned to a warm, not hot, setting and the pressure was nice and low. 

The cat startled a bit in your palm at the sudden rush of water. A little paw raised, batting in the air between him and the running water. You dipped a finger in the water and brought it to his nose for proper inspection. A few sniffs, a couple licks, then his chin was rubbing on your fingertip again.

You took it as a good sign, dipping the same hand back under the faucet and letting the water coat your skin. Once enough water had gathered in your hand you lifted it to the cat’s back. He tracked your movement. Small, squinted eyes followed your hand as you placed your palm on his back. You felt the water droplets sink into the fluffy, gray fur and soak into his skin.

“This ok?” you asked, like the cat could give you an answer. The small creature blinked up at you. He seemed unbothered by the moisture. You gave him another palm-full of water to get him adjusted to the temperature, the sensation. Not a peep from this little sir.

You set the cat back in the sink, just the tail end of his back beneath the running faucet. He hunkered down into the smallest loaf you’d ever seen. Front feet tucked under his fuzzy chest, tail curled around his side, eyes blinking slowly up at you. You cupped water in your palm and let it run through his fur. Before too long you had a drenched, buzzing kitten in the sink.

“You are the strangest creature…” you wondered aloud. You popped the lid open on Logan’s shampoo and lathered up your hands. Thankfully, you didn’t spot any fleas or other parasites hopping on the kitten’s body. Washing out the dirt and grime shouldn’t take too long.

“Why are you hunched over the sink with my soap?” a gruff voice said from behind you. You smiled, looking over your shoulder.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted. Logan leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He wore his trademarked white tank top and loose jeans buckled with a brown belt. His dark hair was fluffy and unstyled, long strands hanging in front of his wrinkled eyebrows.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. He pushed off the wall and stepped up next to you, his boots clipping on the tiles.

“Right. So, funny story,” you began. You ran your soapy fingers through the cat’s soaked fur. Logan’s hip leaned on the counter as he continued to stare at you. Jutting your chin down at the sudsy feline, you continued, “I found this guy outside and he made me think of you.”

“Made you think of…” Logan trailed off when his hazel eyes landed on the kitten.

“You know, with his cat ears,” you explained. You scrubbed at the kitten’s purring body while Logan spluttered next to you.

“Cat ears?!” 

“Yeah. Those hair floofs you get when you style your hair. They look like cat ears,” you said. You pretended to ignore the pure indignation spouting from the man next to you. A knowing smirk stretched across your lips.

“I do not have cat ears,” Logan argued.

“Yes you do!” Rogue shouted, voice echoing down the hall.

Your indifferent mask broke as you doubled over, cackling. The cat’s head tilted as it watched your face disappear below the counter. Logan huffed, arms folding over his chest again.

It took you a few moments to regain your composure. Giggles bubbled up your throat everytime you glanced back at Logan next to you. He rolled his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he grumbled. But, because you knew him so well, you could see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to rinse off the cat sitting patiently in the sink. Warm water trailed through your fingers and washed away the suds gathered on the kitten’s body. Squinted eyes watched you, blinking slowly and serenely, purrs vibrating against your hands.

“Happy little fuzzball, isn’t he?” Logan said. The kitten turned its head to peer at Logan. You ran a wet finger between its ears, smoothing the fur back and washing soap away.

“He certainly is,” you hummed. When an idea popped in your head, you felt your grin widen and your gaze slip over to Logan next to you, “You know, he still needs a name.”

“So name him,” Logan replied instantly. A tentative, large hand reached into the sink and ran two fingers down the cat’s soaked back. The kind and delicate gesture only further solidified your idea.

“Actually… I was hoping you could name him.”

Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, relaxed expression melting into pure confusion.

“What?” he asked.

this short story is kind of a tribute to the lovely, lovely folks in the murdock tuna team. i have nothing but love and an endless stream of thanks to give to them. you all have inspired me to be a better artist, a better author, a better person. love you, blob blob 🐟

Want to be on the taglist? Fill out this form!

[bigintorobotsrightnow]

Just Ted and AM enjoying the flowers, I wrote a little fic to go along with this art piece as well if anyone wants to read it— A gentle breeze cascaded across open fields of wildflowers, where AM laid peacefully amongst petals and blades of grass. His head rested upon his arms, dozing off to Ted’s delicate touch as he strung flowers into his circuits. So meticulous with the colors and arrangement. AM couldn’t help but watch from the corner of his eye with interest. 

“And what purpose does it serve for you to kill the flowers and put them in my wires,” AM pointedly asked with a chuckle in return from Ted. He plucked yet another flower, this time a black eyed susan that he perched atop AM’s beak. His fingers traced along the sharp, metal ridge and AM raised his head from his arms to glance back at himself and observe Ted’s handy work. 

“Don’t put it that way— I mean, you’re not wrong I just I thought you’d look, well… pretty,” Ted whispered the last part, a bashful shift of his eyes. 

“And?” AM inquired then stood and craned his neck to put the arrangement of flowers on full display under the sun. They shone bright against the dark chorded circuits, a bloom of color against a dreary mechanical form. And Ted awed at his vibrance against a blue sky. A warmth quick to dance across his cheeks. 

“And…I was right,” Ted uttered so breathlessly and AM could only scoff to himself at such a ridiculous notion. Pretty, only Ted would think to call a machine, pretty. 

“You’re a moron,” AM quipped back and scoured the field of flowers for the perfect one to embellish Ted with in exchange. He found himself drawn to a cluster of bright yellow coreopsis, in which his long, jagged talons reached to pluck the flowers from the earth. Only for them to crumple and tear under their razor sharp edge. He hissed through his speakers as petals fell from his claws.

“It’s alright, you just have to be gentle. Here let me help,” Ted chortled then scooted forward to take AM’s hand with his own. The computer recoiled initially then eased into Ted’s grasp. He allowed him to carefully bring his talons back underneath a nearby blossom. He eased them closed to snip them from the stem, then followed through to bring AM’s hand back to his hair where he neatly placed the flower for him.

His hold on AM’s hand sank back to his wrist and he smiled. While AM stared at the bright yellow flower that stood in stark contrast to Ted’s dark locks.. Pretty, the word echoed within his processors and he craned his neck around to find another cluster of flowers. Pristine ones that he plucked just the way Ted had shown him. He arranged them neatly into Ted’s hair, and Ted began to laugh again as they fell out shortly after he’d placed them.

“Hold on, they won't stay like that,” Ted uttered and collected the flowers back from the grass, “God I haven’t done this in… well over a hundred years at least.” 

He pulled both of AM’s hands into his lap and AM followed closely as Ted began to weave the flowers together one by one. “There, just like that, then you can make a crown,” Ted explained then left the rest to AM. He struggled at first, as his big, clunky talons lacked the tact for something so small and delicate. But AM was determined to get it right, and Ted was there to nudge him in the right direction. 

The finished product was by no means glamorous, but when AM lifted it to place on top of Ted’s head, it was…perfect. AM admired his work in silence a moment, gazing down at Ted with a warmth he wasn’t even aware of himself. But Ted’s face darkened and he turned away from him. 

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s creepy,” Ted teased and AM blew a raspberry at him. 

“What, I just thought you looked, pretty,” he echoed Ted’s words and butt him with his head before he nuzzled his beak to the side of his face.

“Oh shut up,” Ted laughed and pressed his cheek back against his.

—

[gaysindistress]

Imagine Bucky with a partner who isn’t quite….right (pt. 2)

part one

“The Death will mark the end of Angelic peace within and thus will begin the reign of Chaos.”

A prophecy that has haunted me since she uttered the words.

A yellow eyed, wide mouthed demon with razor sharp claws and a sickening sweet voice relied it to me in a dream when i was only a few years old. I’d kept the words to myself in fear that i would be made into an example for consorting with demons. I’d swore to never tell another soul in fear that my life would be made into a mockery and i would wish for death to come. I’d condemned myself to a life of isolation and confinement so that no one would find out what the demon told me.

However promises cannot be kept for long when innocence and manipulation are at play.

I should’ve known that telling that boy would wind up with the town turning against me. He smiled so prettily at me as he took my hand in his and led me away from town. He knew what to say as he stroked my cheek and pushed my hair behind my ear. He guessed my reaction to a perfectly timed kiss to the corner of my lips with the promise of more. He knew how to get me to confess the words carved into my heart by the demon without me even knowing.

As he laid me down in the grass meadow miles behind the church and slid between my legs, he asked me to tell him all of the secrets I’ve never told a soul. His lips blazed a path of holy redemption down my neck and across my chest as Hell touched words spilled from mine. Faintly I could hear the crunching of grass and mutters of angry townsfolk but nothing could tear me away from the false sense of safety he gave me. His warmth left me when my final sin was confessed.

Disgust filled eyes bore down into me.

Sharp nails dug into my jaw bone.

Acidic spit burned my skin as he spewed his God’s teachings and condemned me for my transgressions.

Ancestral screams shredded my soul and throat as I tried to beg him to stop.

No tears found their way down my face, possibly the thing that solidified my fate in these people’s eyes.

For a moment as he pushed away from me as if the mere touch of my skin would soil his purity, I caught a glimpse of her.

Standing in between two pine trees, the creature that was responsible for all of this lurked and did nothing.

Hair wet with a black substance that smelled of all that is foul and vile was piled on top of her head in a haphazard manner. A few clumps of it fell around her face in a way that might’ve been conveyed innocence if it were anyone other than this yellow eyed abomination.

Her smile, lined with rows of dagger like teeth, stretched from cheekbone to cheekbone as she observed the scene before her.

“The Death, my child. The Death is upon us.”

“Chaos. You have to be Chaos,” the pale Asgardian gasped in admiration and astonishment after several moments of contemplation.

The golden haired one I’d come to know as Thor visibly shrunk away from me. Steve shared a look with Anthony. Dr. Banner’s head dropped to his tablet and he began to ferociously type away. Sam pulled a bewildered face and looked to Bucky for clarification but received nothing.

A smile, well a predator’s grin more like it, pulled at my lips. The familiar motion released a burst of vile delight that began to flood my mind.

A sudden rush of such twisted energy at the idea that he knew who I was proved to be more than my resolve could handle in that moment.

My cheeks began to ache in an effort to prevent it from reaching cheekbone to cheekbone. The sickening sensation of sticky mist pricked at my skin. The eye that the boy had cut out blurred for half a second, indicating that the facade of normality there faltered as I regained control of myself.

All of this was well observed by the pale Asgardian as he kept his eyes trained on me and waited for my answer.

“Must I be?” Is what all I could manage in a moment where I knew much else would result in a complete loss of control.

“Hesiod wrote that you were an endless void of nothingness in which the universe sprang from.”

Steve cleared his throat, possibly in hopes to distract everyone from realization of what I truly am. Sam kept quiet with the two scientists muttered amongst themselves about what Loki meant.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Thor’s hand twitch, no doubt willing his prized hammer to his side should he need it.

Bucky, from where he had been reading on the couch, chuckled under his breath and nodded in agreement.

“If only you knew.”

Such simplicity to his words. To his appraisal of both the Asgardian’s knowledge and his understanding of me.

Such simplicity to his underlying notions of me. To his feelings regarding me. To the love that he feels for me.

“And what do you think, Asgardian? Do you believe Hesoid? Am I an endless void of nothingness in which the universe sprang from?” I posed with a twitch of that demonic smile gracing my face.

A cold hand touched my lower back.

My name was called once, twice. Perhaps a third them before I turned to find Bucky at my side. His hand moved from my lower back to grasp my hip and draw in. He pressed a kiss to my ear before whispering, “let’s get you out of here.”

I narrowed my eyes at him in confusion when he pulled away. I went to ask him what he meant but the look of concern in his eyes stopped me short.

I only nodded in agreement and allowed him to bid our joint farewells so I could regain my composure. I cared not for the social rules that I broke as I slipped away and found the stairs where I waited for bucky to join me. Tendrils from the shadows surrounding me stretched and reached out until they could touch me. If you listened carefully, more often than not their nearly silent song could be heard.

“The Death has marked the end of Angelic peace within and thus has begun the reign of Chaos.”

[willowwithaheart]

|| Kick ass!♡︎

|| pairing; Isagi Yoichi x GN! Reader

|| summary; you and Isagi had been friends since childhood, and yet, he always seemed to be giving you mixed signals. When he left for blue lock, you thought you'd lose him for good. Then, in his match against Japan's U-20, he proved you wrong.

|| cw; fluff, a little bit of angst, miscommunication, reader is a little dumb and doesn't realise Isagi likes them, kissing in public, reader's life is described as 'dull', just teenagers being too in love to realise it

|| wc; 2.4k (whoops...got carried away...)

|| note; first post!! I love Isagi so I thought this was a good place to start. Got a little bit rushed at the end, so please let me know if there are any mistakes!

You still vividly remembered the day you met–it was like a permanent mark on your memory. Not a stain, but a stroke of brightly-coloured paint that brought meaning to your dull life.

The both of you were young, around the same age, give or take a few months. The sun was going down, painting the sky with reds, oranges and yellows in its wake. You stood in the middle of a field, looking down at your scuffed sneakers and grass-stained socks. The ground was still slightly wet from when it rained earlier in the day.

It was cold, you remembered. The crisp evening air nipped at your skin and made the tips of your fingers and nose feel numb. The wind blew softly, ruffling your hair as the cold seeped through your clothes and sunk its dull teeth into your skin. It was nice, in a way. Even if you didn't have a jacket to keep you warm, the cold was still comforting. It reminded you that there was still something out there. You gazed off into the distance, slowly zoning out into whatever dreams a child could conjure up.

And then…

“Watch out!!”

The sudden voice made your heart lurch out of your chest, a jolt of electric shock going down your spine as you whipped around to face the person who called out to you, opening your mouth to say something back.

Then a sudden pain burst through your skull, one that made you lurch backwards as a force made contact with your face. Before you knew it, you'd hit the ground, forehead feeling oddly tender as you gazed dizzily up at the sky. Your vision was all blurry, and you felt something warm drip down your nose.

A head of disheveled black hair came into your view, and you squinted as the figure wobbled in your hazy vision.

“—re —o -kay?”

You furrowed your brows, wincing at the dull pain the action brought you. You watched as the figure leaned down, and your vision finally corrected itself. A boy with wide, concerned blue eyes and blue-toned black hair looked down at you with an expression of what could only be described as horror.

“…what?” You croaked, blinking multiple times as you tried to figure out what just happened. You turned your head to the side, and you were met with a soccer ball.

“Are you okay?” The boy repeated, and you turned back to him with an expression of mirth. Suddenly, it all made sense. That boy hit you in the face with a soccer ball. You reached up to feel the liquid running down the lower half of your face, collecting some on your fingertips and bringing it to your view. Blood.

“I’m…” you began, watching as the sticky blood on your fingers slowly dripped down. The blue-eyed boy let out a hesitant exhale. “I’m fine.”

You lowered your hand, looking the strange boy in the eye. He swallowed thickly, and slowly, you sat up. A wave of dizziness washed over you, but you ignored it in favor of reaching out to the boy's ball, cradling it in your lap for a few seconds before holding it up to him.

“I think this is yours,” you muttered, voice raspy and quiet, and you weren’t sure if he’d heard you for a moment before he suddenly started giggling. He reached out for the ball, a dopey grin on his face as he held it gently against his chest.

“You’re funny,” he giggled, holding the ball against his hip with one hand as he stuck out a hand to help you up. “I’m Isagi Yoichi. What’s your name?”

You took his hand, letting him pull you up with surprising strength. You tried your best to muster up a wobbly, thankful smile in response.

“[Surname] [Name].”

—

The morning was a cold one, and you found yourself tugging your school uniform closer to your body. In your hand you held the strap of your bag, letting it swing along with your arms as you walked down the sidewalk.

You had school today. You still had a bandage on your forehead, but you still wanted to go to school. It’d be a dull day if you’d chosen to stay home, so you decided to power through the headache you were getting in order to make it to school on time.

Turns out you left a little too early, since you still had half an hour before school was supposed to start by the time you arrived. You sat in your classroom, absentmindedly tapping your foot on the ground as the minutes ticked by. You only looked towards the door when you heard a faint gasp.

You were met with the sight of Isagi, looking absolutely bewildered in the doorway.

“We go to the same school!?” He shrieked, and you couldn’t tell if he was excited or horrified. Did he not like you? Or did he enjoy your company? You had no idea, so all you did was raise a brow at him.

“I guess,” you shrugged, looking back down at your desk. You grimaced as Isagi’s loud footsteps met your ears, and he sat down right next to you with a big, dopey grin on his face, still donning some childlike chub in his cheeks. You were so confused.

“[Surname],” Isagi grinned, deep blue eyes shining as the morning sun reflected off them. “Let’s be friends!”

You stayed silent, staring at him in quiet contemplation. The stupid grin still didn’t leave his face, and you found yourself fighting back a smile of your own. His childlike joy was contagious, but something just felt…wrong. Why on earth would he want to be friends with the person he’d hit in the face with a ball? You still had a huge bandage on your head. Maybe he just felt bad…

For now, you decided to ignore him. Instead of facing his impossibly bright smile, you looked out the window, gazing at the trees. The leaves were all shades of pretty reds, browns, oranges, and yellows. You observed as some slowly twirled in their descent to the ground, the light of the morning sun reflecting off them as they danced in the wind.

You continued to look out the window as your teacher entered the classroom, waffling on about some kind of math problem you had no interest in solving. You kept your gaze out the window, almost scared to look the other way just in case Isagi was still trying to get your attention.

This continued for the rest of the day. You made a point to blatantly ignore Isagi whenever he tried to strike up a conversation with you. And yet…something told you he wasn’t going to give up anytime soon.

You eyed the clock. It was three minutes until home time. You could hear Isagi blabbing about something beside you. After a few seconds of contemplation, you turned to look at him. For the first time today, you paid attention to what he was saying.

“—and then, my dad gave me a jacket with my name on the back!! I didn’t even know he could do that, and then- and then he told me that I would be the worlds best soccer player one day, and- and- and I really hope that’s true!! I mean, don’t you think it’s just so—“ Isagi stammered through his little story, deep, captivating blue eyes shimmering in the afternoon light. You looked a little hesitant before cutting him off.

“Isagi,” you began, feeling a little nervous as he stopped talking and gazed at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Yeah?” He answered, his story completely forgotten as he leaned a little closer to you. Now that you thought about it…he was kind of pretty. And nice. And he had a really cute smile.

“Let’s be friends.”

—

“I’m leaving,” said a breathless Isagi on your doorstep. You gave him a bewildered look, ushering him inside before he got too cold.

Both of you were seventeen now. You had to admit, he’d grown into a wonderful person. Sometimes he gave you mixed signals, like when he didn’t answer your texts, or when he just stared at you instead of talking to you sometimes. But other than that? He was an amazing friend, and you couldn’t be happier.

But for him to suddenly appear on your doorstep, talking about leaving? It made something heavy and horrible ache in your chest. What was he even talking about?

Now, the both of you were sitting on your bed. You clasped the material of your pants tightly as you leaned over to look him in the eye.

“What do you mean, ‘you’re leaving’? When? Why?" You questioned, barely able to keep your chin from quivering as you fought back the urge to cry.

Isagi—Yoichi, now—had been your only true friend all throughout your childhood. You weren’t sure how you’d cope without him brightening up your unbelievably dull life. You didn’t want to feel alone again. So…so why would he leave? What on earth could have been more important than his friends, his family, his everything?

“It’s a program called Blue Lock,” Yoichi explained, avoiding your gaze. “You know how we…I…lost the game that was supposed to get our team into nationals? Well…I’m getting another chance. Blue Lock is a program for aspiring athletes, and…I really want to go. I want to become a professional soccer player, [Name].”

You bit your tongue. So that was it. He was just leaving for a while to get a better chance at life. If that was true, then…why did you still feel so sad? You should have been happy for him. But for some reason it just felt like you wouldn’t see him for a very, very long time.

“When…when are you leaving? For how long?” You inquired, shuffling a little closer to the blue-eyed boy. Warmth radiated off him, and you found yourself wondering if you would miss it. If you’d miss him. Maybe you’d figure something out. Make some new friends while you waited for him to come back home.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” said Yoichi, “and…I don’t know how long I’ll be there for. But if I can, I’ll try my best to keep in contact with you.”

You swallowed thickly. If this was what he wanted, then…you’d support him. You’d be happy for him, even if you felt sad for yourself. All you could do was pray that this wouldn’t ruin your friendship, since he really did mean so, so much to you.

Mustering up a small, wobbly smile, just like the one you gave him on the day you met, you spoke.

“Just make sure you come back to me, Yoichi. Kick ass out there, okay?”

–

It'd been so, so long.

You missed Yoichi terribly. He'd been gone for months, and the only way you found you could cope was to hang out with his parents. You practically lived in his room now, and you picked up on all of Yoichi's chores around the house.

His parents adored you, and you adored them too.

But still, you were a little surprised when they invited you to Isagi's first public match in Blue Lock.

You…could see him again? You'd see him play? Before you knew it, you were embracing his parents and saying ‘yes' so much you almost forgot it was possible to say anything else.

Then, you found yourself in the stadium, in the front row seats watching Yoichi and his teammates play against Japan's U-20 team. Your heart hammered every time a goal was scored, and your eyes never left Yoichi.

He looked so…different. He was bigger, you could tell. More confident. Happier. You smiled every time he celebrated with his friends, even if it made your heart lurch.

So what if he made new friends? It didn't matter if he forgot about you. Soccer was incredibly important to him, and you'd be damned if you let yourself ruin that for him.

You'd watch from the sidelines, if that was what he wanted. You didn't care anymore. All you wanted was for your dearest friend to be happy.

The match was at a stalemate, now. Both teams had equal points. There wasn't even a minute left…was this it? Would it be a tie? You, along with the whole stadium watched with bated breath as Yoichi managed to get his hands on the ball.

Your eyes were wide, glimmering with a thin layer of hopeful tears as Yoichi lined up for a shot, and…

SCORE!!

The stadium erupted into loud cheers, and the noise would have bothered you if you weren't screaming yourself.

“Yes!! YES!! YOICHI!!! YOU WON!! YOU WON, YOICHI!!” You cheered, cupping your hands around your mouth as you celebrated their win. His win.

You didn't even know that he heard you until his eyes locked onto you while he was in the middle of celebrating with his teammates. And without missing a beat, he sprinted in your direction.

He didn't stop, not even when a teammate of his rushed after him, and not even when a reporter tried to get his attention.

Your first thought was that he was running towards his parents. That was quickly proven wrong when your name left his lips.

“[Name]!!! You're here!!” He panted, rushing up to the stands and grabbing your hand. He sported that same dopey grin he'd shown you so many times throughout your childhood.

“You…” you stammered, looking a little bewildered as his parents ooh'd and aah'd from beside you. “You did it, Yoichi…you won!”

“Yes,” he affirmed, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. He didn't seem to mind, and instead, pulled you closer so you were leaning over the guard. “And I came back to you, [Name],” he muttered, voice low enough so that you were the only one to hear.

And then his lips crashed into yours. Your heart lurched, and before you knew it, you were reciprocating.

It was as if fireworks had gone off inside your head, lighting up your world as Yoichi smiled against you before pulling away. He held your face in his hands, and in the moment, his deep blue eyes were all you could see.

“I'll always come back to you, [Name].”

|| note; I wrote all of this is one sitting, so sorry if it has any mistakes!! Also, just in case no one noticed, every time a scenario ended with something reader said, it's something that Yoichi remembers and holds dear to him. So whole time he was in blue lock...he was remembering reader telling him to kick ass lol.

Please do not repost, translate, or copy my work without credit.

[nyoomfruits]

after this race can we please get landoscar 15 or 24?

15. squeezing them tightly + 24. cuddles of reassurance

Here's the thing. Knowing you're driving a literal death machine on wheels and knowing you're driving a literal death machine on wheels are two entirely different things.

Logically, Oscar knows his job is dangerous. Logically, he knows it can all be over in a second. But weirdly, in a way, he forgets, sometimes. It becomes background noise. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the car you drive could kill you.

But then sometimes, sometimes there are these reminders, like the 2024 Brazilian Grand Prix, where he has to witness yellow flags turn into safety cars turn into red flags so often he pretty sure he forgets how to breathe.

Everytime there's a yellow flag his heart jumps, thinking please. Please not him. Please.

It isn't. None of them are. But they could be, and that's what's keeping Oscar's heart in his throat for the entire race. He keeps getting flashbacks to Las Vegas, to Lando's car flying into the barriers, Lando nothing but a helpless passenger.

Keeps seeing Lando's weak, loopy smile after, the one that hadn't quite reached his eyes. They hadn't even been a thing, back then, but the memory still haunts Oscar to this day.

The race ends in dissapointment. But Oscar doesn't care, because the race ends, and Oscar's still in his car, and Lando is still in his car, and nothing happened.

Oscar makes a beeline for Lando when they exit the car, shakes his hand in a friendly bro-y 'we're definitely just teammates and definitely not madly in love and planning to buy a house in Monaco together' kind of way, and looks at his crinkly eyed smile through the visor of his helmet, and breathes a sigh of relief.

It isn't until they're back in the McLaren Motorhome, after slugging through Press and debriefings, that Oscar gets to properly wrap Lando up in his arms, pull him close and bury his face in his hair, taking in the familiar scent of sweat and car and boy, that he can properly, truly breathe again.

"Hey," Lando says, a little wheezy, because Oscar is definitely squeezing him a little too tight, but he's too glad to hold him to really care. "I'm okay."

"I love you," Oscar says, mostly in the crook of Lando's neck.

"I know," Lando says, pressing his smile against the side of Oscar's face. "I love you too. Now, come on, let's get back to the hotel, yeah? We'll have like, a proper cuddle."

Oscar, who was honestly planning on never letting Lando go again, has to concede mainly on the fact that never letting him go again would be much more comfortable in a bed.

And so he pulls away, if ever so reluctantly, and gets rewarded with Lando's soft, tired, race worn smile. "Okay," he says. "Yeah. Let's go."

[p0orbaby]

Moral Support

summary: spain loses the bronze medal match to germany

warnings: bit of angst, bit of fluff

a/n: first piece for aitana thanks to this request !

word count: 1.4k

-

You’re sitting in the stands at the Groupama Stadium, sunglasses on, pretending like you’re just another fan in the sea of red and yellow. You’re about as subtle as a brick in a haystack, but no one’s caught on. Yet. The heat’s intense, but nothing compared to the way your heart's been pounding in your chest since you got here.

Spain’s playing in the bronze medal match, and the entire stadium’s fizzing with anticipation. Your stare is locked on the field, or more specifically, on a certain number 6 darting around with the kind of energy that makes you wonder if she’s secretly a wind-up toy.

You’d laugh if you weren’t so nervous.

The match is tense, more so for you than anyone else. You’re here for one reason, and one reason only: Aitana Bonmatí. The same Aitana who made you promise to keep things quiet because “our careers come first” and “we can’t be distracted.” You’ve been doing a damn good job of it too, not even flinching when people speculate who you’re there to support.

Is it Alexia? Maybe Jenni? Hell, some of them even think you’ve got a thing for the coach. That last one makes you shiver, but you let them wonder and throw out a casual shrug or a polite smile whenever someone asks. If only they knew.

The game’s not going well, though. Germany’s up by one, and you can feel Aitana’s frustration from your seat in the stands. It’s palpable, a heavy weight in the air that presses down on your chest. You hate it, hate not being able to do anything about it. But all you can do is sit and watch, like everyone else. Well, that and nearly bite your nails to the quick.

When the final whistle blows, the score is still 0-1 to Germany. Spain has lost, and they’ve lost the chance at a medal. The whole team looks devastated, but none more so than Aitana. You watch as she drops to her knees, hands covering her face.

You should stay put. You really should.

But your feet have other plans, and before you know it, you’re on your way down from the stands, weaving through a crowd of confused and curious spectators. You ignore the murmurs, the pointing, the whispers. You only have one destination in mind.

Her teammates are still milling around in a daze when you get to the edge of the stands. You hesitate for a split second—just a split second—before climbing over the barrier and striding onto the field. Security doesn’t even stop you; maybe it’s because they recognise you, maybe it’s because you look like you’re on a mission and not even a stampede of wild horses could stop you.

Aitana hasn’t moved. She’s still on her knees, staring blankly at the grass. It breaks your heart in ways you didn’t know it could break.

“Tana,” you say, voice soft but firm. She looks up at you, and the moment her eyes meet yours, something in her crumbles.

“Y/N?” She sounds confused, like she can’t quite believe you’re actually there. You don’t blame her; this wasn’t part of the plan. None of this was.

But plans be damned. You’re here, and so is she, and that’s all that matters.

You drop down beside her, pulling her into your arms. She doesn’t resist, just buries her face in your shoulder and clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping her afloat. Maybe you are.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you murmur, rubbing soothing circles on her back. You can feel her shaking, can feel the tears soaking through your top, but you don’t care. You hold her tighter, letting her cry it out, letting her release all the frustration and disappointment she’s been bottling up for weeks.

Her teammates are staring now, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. You can practically hear the gears turning in their heads, trying to piece it all together. You’re Y/N L/N, the Y/N L/N, famous actress, singer, whatever—they’ve probably got your IMDb page memorised better than you do. And now here you are, comforting their star midfielder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Which it is, but that’s none of their business.

Aitana sniffles and pulls back slightly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice raw.

“For what?” you ask, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“For losing. For... everything”

You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologise for. Not to me, not to anyone”

“But I—” she starts, but you cut her off with a soft kiss, right there on the pitch, in front of everyone. You can almost hear the collective gasp from the stands, but you ignore it.

Aitana melts into the kiss, her hands gripping your arms like she’s afraid you might disappear if she lets go. When you finally pull back, her eyes are wide, but there’s a tiny, grateful smile on her lips.

“We’ll deal with the fallout later,” you tell her, trying to keep your tone light. “Right now, I’m more worried about you”

She nods, looking like she might cry again, but she doesn’t. Instead, she leans her forehead against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“For what?” you ask again, because you really don’t know what you’ve done to deserve her gratitude.

“For being here”

You chuckle softly, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Always”

By now, the rest of the team has gathered around, their shock slowly giving way to amusement. You hear someone—probably Patri—mutter something about “well, that explains a lot,” and you can’t help but laugh.

You glance up to see Alexia raising an eyebrow at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “So, this is why you’ve been hanging around so much,” she teases.

“Guilty as charged,” you admit with a shrug. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag now”

Aitana looks up at you, her eyes still red but now shining with something other than tears. “Are you sure?” she asks, her voice small, almost scared.

You nod, squeezing her hand. “I’m sure. Let them whisper all they want. They were going to find out eventually, anyway”

“True,” Alexia chimes in, ever the voice of reason. “Better to just get it over with”

Patri grins, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “You know, I had a bet going with Irene about who you were here for. Looks like I owe her 50 euros”

“You bet on us?” Aitana asks, incredulous.

“Of course we did,” Patri replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you have any idea how many times we caught you staring at your phone and smiling like an idiot?”

Aitana blushes furiously, and you can’t help but laugh. “I wasn’t that obvious,” she protests weakly.

“Sure you weren’t,” Alexia says, rolling her eyes. “But don’t worry, we won’t hold it against you. Much”

Ona, who’s been quietly observing the whole exchange, steps forward and claps Aitana on the shoulder. “We’re happy for you, Aitana. Both of you.”

“Thanks, Ona,” you say, genuinely touched.

Aitana nods, looking like she might actually smile for the first time since the game ended. “Yeah, thanks”

Alexia claps her hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, enough of this sentimental crap. Let’s get out of here before the press catches wind of what’s going on. I’m not in the mood to deal with them right now”

Everyone agrees, and as you help Aitana to her feet, you can’t help but feel a surge of affection for this group of misfits. They might be nosy, annoying, and prone to making bets on their teammates’ love lives, but they’re also fiercely loyal and supportive. You couldn’t ask for a better bunch of people to be in your corner.

As you make your way off the grass, Aitana stays close to your side, her hand never leaving yours. You can feel the tension slowly leaving her body, replaced by a sense of calm. She still looks sad, still looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but at least she’s not doing it alone.

You’re in this together now, for better or worse. And no matter what comes next, you know you’ll face it as a team.

The stadium is nearly empty by the time you make it back to the changing rooms, but you don’t care. You’ve got everything you need right here. Aitana’s by your side, her head resting on your shoulder, her hand still clutching yours.

“You okay?” you ask, softly.

She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. I am now”

You smile back, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Good”

[sorapricots]

My Yellow

Summary: Break up sucks. You thought you lost your yellow person when you broke up with your ex. Not until Logan pulled you to a hug and showed you your truly yellow person.

Pair: Logan Howlett x Mutant!AFAB!Reader 

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, fluff 

Warning: Curse words, Reader’s power inspired by Scarlett Witch or Wanda Maximoff, a messy break up, mental issues mentioned, blood mentioned, Suicide mentioned! Read it at your own risk, mention of smoking, reader have panic attack, non-sexual intimacy, a suggestive ending.

A/N: Very self indulgent because I just broke up with my partner a couple weeks ago and it kinda disturbs my daily routine. This fic is a bit inspired by my own yellow person. I hope you guys enjoy this. Also do you think I should add a mood board on each fic?

W.C: 3,8k 

You gasped as your eyes shot open. With a groan you quickly sit up as you try to calm yourself. Your mental states have been slowly deteriorating as the day you decided to break up with your ex keeps haunting you in your dreams. Your breath is uneven as things around your room start to shake. 

An angry grunt rumbling from your chest as you share at your palms that is covered by a subtle red glow. You blinked as tears and sweats gathered in your trembling palms. Stuff around your room starts to violently shake before someone swings your bedroom door open.

Logan was holding the door knob tightly. He let out a sigh of relief as he rushed to you. You watched in silence as he sat beside you and gently cupped your cheeks. His thumbs gently wiped your tears away as you dazedly blinked your eyes.

“You are okay, doll. Breathe with me.” your fingers circled around Logan’s wrists as your breath matches Logan’s calm breath. The red glow around the stuff in your room and your hands start to die down before fully disappearing. Logan let out a hum as he carefully helped you to lay down on your bed again.

“Don’t worry, bub. You know where to find me if you need me.” Logan gently caressed your cheek before he left your bedroom.

You blankly stared at the already closed door. Part of you wants to ask for Logan to stay but there’s an invincible line that the both of you are scared to overstep. Your friendship with Logan is always a hit or miss kind of friendship. There’s times like this, where you comfort each other like lovers do, but there’s time where you buttheads like mortal enemies. Your friendship is blanketed with this tension of wanting to be with each other but also don’t want to cross the boundary you both have as friends.

Especially you, your mind wandered to the time when you randomly asked Logan about his type of woman. To which he immediately answered with no second thought that his ideal woman is Jean. You close your eyes as you try to bite back your sobs. An imaginary cracking voice playing in your head when you feel your heart shattered to pieces as you push your body to sit up.

You lift your hand as the drawer from your desk opens. A lighter and a pack of cigarettes flew to your hand. Followed up by a black box. You quietly walk out from your room with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and the black box in your hands.

Your feet bring you to the empty, cold and quiet yard. You exhale softly as you sit down on the grass, your lips carefully clamped the cigarette stub before you burn the other end of your cigarette. Gently you close your eyes as you draw a deep puff from the cigarette, letting the smoke gather in your lungs before you let out a gentle huff.

You eyed down the black box before carefully opening it. Inside the box there are multi-colored multi-shaped beads, thin metal rods, various sizes of chains and pliers. You let out a soft smile as your hands skillfully start to pick out a bunch of beads and arrange it. A soft sad tune flows softly from your mouth as your fingers work on the bracelet. A puff of cigarette smoke escapes from your lips every once in a while.

“How long have you been sitting here?” you jumped out and almost dropped the cigarette stub from your lips before you quickly caught it with your power. Logan sighed before he took a seat beside you. His eyes trained on the half done blue and yellow beads bracelet. Three small spikes neatly arranged in the middle caught his eyes.

“Looks familiar,” he teased. You let out a puff of cigarette smoke before you lifted the already finished bracelet with your power. A sad smile shows up on your face before you carefully store the bracelet in a small velvet box. You gently grab Logan’s hand before you drop the velvet box to his palm.

“It’s inspired by you. Give it to Jean, it will look good around her wrist.” your words laced with sadness as you looked intensely on the box. Little did you know Logan furrowed his eyebrows as he frowned at your words. The atmosphere around you falls to a comfortable silence as you tidy up the tools you use to make the bracelet.

“You know… your ex requested to meet me yesterday.” Logan’s words make you stop your movement. The new stub of cigarette stuck between your fingers as your eyes slowly moved to find Logan’s face. Giving him a silent request to continue his story. Logan chooses to stare back at your eyes.

“What did he want from you?” you asked as you lit up your cigarette. Logan grunted softly as he grabbed his own cigar. Your hand that is still holding your lighter quickly helps him to light up his cigar. Logan draws a long puff before he exhales the smoke from his lungs.

“Kid asked me to take you to the psychiatrist.” a soft snort escaped from his nose. Your eyes narrowed at your ex’s request. Carefully you turn your body to face him.

“Why?” you asked. Logan’s eyes linger a second too long on your lips before moving up to stare at your angry eyes.

“Said you were not in the right place of mind when you asked for a break up.” he answered in full honesty. You let out a soft curse as you harshly rubbed your face. Tears welling up as you draw an angry harsh puff from your cigarette. 

“Am I a joke or what?” you muttered angrily, voice dripped with venom before you let your body fall back harshly to the grass. Your brows furrowed as you felt something cushioned your head. Logan looked at you as he softly shook his head. His eyes narrowed at you as a silent warning. You rolled your eyes as you put your cigarette between your lips.

“Don’t you even try to hurt yourself, doll.” he warned you. You huffed out the cigarette smoke towards his face which he playfully rolled his eyes before he gently flicked your forehead. You hissed in pain as you softly rubbed your forehead.

“Dramatic,” he teased. You jabbed his ribs.

“Your bones are infused with metal. Obviously it hurts.” you retorted back as you pushed your body to sit up. Both of you and Logan quickly put out your own cigar and cigarette before you stand up.

You nervously gulp down when you feel the unspeakable tension between you start to creeped in as you stand chest-to-chest with Logan. An awkward cough escapes your throat as you give Logan an awkward pat on his bicep.

“Thanks for the company.” you gently whispered. Logan awkwardly nodded his head as his hand clutched to the velvet box you gave. You give him a gentle smile before you walk back to the mansion. Leaving Logan alone with his thoughts.

.

.

.

Your eyes shoot open as your body that is drenched in sweat shot up when you hear someone harshly slam your bedroom door open. A tired sigh of relief escaped your throat when you realized it was Rogue that barged in. Her face looked pissed as she silently took a seat on the corner of your bed. 

“Is it about Bobby and Kitty?” Rogue quickly snapped her head toward you as your question hit the bullseye. You softly smile at her as your hand grabs your coat and drapes it over her before you pull her to a hug.

“It’s okay, sweet girl.” Your voice is gentle as your hand rubs her back. Purposely avoid touching her skin as you know she is still uncomfortable and afraid with skin-to-skin contact due to her mutation. Even though you don’t really mind it.

“What’s going on?” Logan’s head popped in from the doorway when he heard a soft sob from your room. His expression softened at the sight of crying Rogue in your arms. Logan carefully sits down on the other side of Rogue, making the dual colored hair girl sit between him and you. His hand softly patted her head.

“Boys can be sucks sometimes.” your words earned a giggle from Rogue as Logan playfully rolled his eyes. You smile as you watch Rogue start to smile again before you let go of her and stand up. 

A groan was heard from your lips as you stretched your body. Logan’s eyes trained on you as he saw your shirt get lifted out, exposing your stomach. You walk to the bathroom, being oblivious with Logan’s stare. Logan’s grunt and Rogue’s giggle were the last thing you heard before you closed the bathroom door.

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Frown deepens as you look at your dark eyebags. Thoughts of how you will never be enough and will never be pretty enough for your ex and Logan start to cloud your brain. You slapped your cheek hard enough it left a red mark as you watched tears rolling down your cheeks.

You took a deep breath as you quickly set your shower to a hot temperature. Dazedly you peel off your clothes before jumping into the shower. You bite your lips as you feel the skin scalding boiling hot water run down your skin. Mindlessly your hand starts to grab shampoo and soap to clean your body as fog covering your whole bathroom.

.

.

.

“Holy shit. What the fuck did you do, bub?” Logan quickly rushed towards you when he saw your almost sun-burned state like skin. You shook your head softly as you put an arm-length distance between you and Logan. You quickly grab the fluffiest hoodie you have before you put it on. A hiss rolled from your lips as you felt the sting of your skin touch the hoodie material.

Logan helplessly watches you from the side as he lets out a huff of desperation. His hands can’t stop twitching as he has to hold back the urge you hold you and cradle you close to his chest. Your eyes softly moved towards his figures.

“I’m fine.” your voice is barely audible if Logan doesn't have his enhanced hearing. But he heard you. He shook his head in disapproval.

“You are not, princess.” your heart skips a beat at the nickname he has for you. Logan carefully walks closer to you. His eyes locked to yours. Gently and carefully Logan grabs your hand.

“Let’s bring you to Jean. She can help you ease the pain.” you mentally rolled your eyes as Logan mentioned Jean’s name. But you do nothing but nod your head. Let him guide you to the med bay where Jean usually stays.

Jean widened her eyes when she saw how red your skin is. She quickly ushered you to sit down on the bed as she started to grab meds for you. Logan decided to stay outside. Jean let out a frown as she helped you ease the burning pain from the hot water.

“You should take a break from the mission for a while.” Jean gently said as she examined the rest of your skin. You shook your head in disagreement. 

“Don’t wanna. I will go crazy if I just stay in the mansion doing nothing.” you answered as your eyes wandered to Jean’s wrist. Only to be confused when you realized Jean didn’t use the bracelet you made last night.

“But you really can’t go with this mental state. How many night terrors do you have already?” Jean voiced her concerns as she heard a couple times your room shaking violently. You let out a sigh as you smile softly. Your hand gently holds hers.

“I will be fine. I promised… I just need time to adjust. Two year relationship is not long but not relatively short either.” Jean sighs as she gives up making a mental note to herself to talk to Logan later about your stubbornness. She quickly cleans up as you put back your hoodie.

“Lunch, doll?” Logan suddenly showed up again. You softly smile at him before you nod your head. Slowly walking towards him. 

“Can we eat lunch in the yard?” you asked as you and Logan walked to the kitchen. Logan looked at you with a smirk before he nodded his head.

“Sure we can, sweet.” Logan said as you both quickly grab lunch and walk to the yard. The two of you sit in silence as you start eating your lunch. Your eyes once in a while will watch the kids play basketball before flickering back to Logan.

“Take a picture, sweetheart. It will last longer.” you choked on your food as Logan quickly helped you by giving his water to you. A chuckle rumbled from his chest as he watched your face getting red. Your face inches away from Logan when suddenly a cough makes you both pull away.

"Of course it's someone you told me not to worry about." Your eyes flickered in anger as you heard your ex's voice. Logan let out a groan as he looks like he's so done already.

"What do you want?" Logan's voice obviously is not welcoming as he propped his arm behind your small back. Your ex let out a huff before they rolled their eyes. Making Logan arched his eyebrow at the attitude.

"What is so good about being with an old man like him?" Your ex triggered something inside you as you stood up and walked to them. You quickly swing a punch to their face as your breath ragged.

Your ex looked at you full of surprise as they tried to regain their control over their body while you watched them unamused. You quickly grab a cigarette with your lips and light it up.

"You promised me, you are not gonna smoke! I told you before if you smoke we are pretty much done!" Your ex screamed in anger. You huffed out the smoke out of your lungs as you started to relax. Your ex coughed a bit as you directed the smoke towards their face.

"Fuck you and your promises and your manipulation! You ruined my life! I'm done being manipulated by you! I am tired dealing with the thought of wanting to die with a bullet through my head because I have spent the rest of my life becoming your plaything!" You huffed harshly as tears streamed down your face. Your nails dig deeper into your palms as adrenaline pumped through your veins. 

Your ex looked at you full of surprise which made you annoyed as you started to strangle them with your power. Your ex starts to struggle. Logan carefully walked towards you and softly reached your balled fist. 

"Princess… let them go. It's not worth it." Logan calloused hands carefully opening your palm pulling your fingers away from your bloodied palms. A grunt rumbled out from your chest followed by a frustrating scream from you. Logan let out a sigh as he gently caressed your bloodied palm.

"The more you hurt them the more it shows you are no different from them. Come on, sweet thing. Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you." Logan leaned in as he whispered against your ear. One of his hands is still holding your bloodied one, refusing to let your hands go. His other hand grabs the cigarette stub between your lips before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it.

Sobs escaped your lips as you fell on your knees. But Logan is quick enough to pull you towards him. Finally he chose to cross the invincible line you both created. His arms protectively circling around your small frame as his eyes narrowed at the sight of your ex staring at you both. 

Logan carefully helps you sit down to your previous spot as you start to hug your knees and wail. Logan's heart aches at the sounds of your cry. He quickly walked back to your ex. Harshly he grabbed their collar pulling them with him.

"You did not disrespect my princess like that. Ever again. If I smell you even 10 miles away from here, I'll cut you to pieces." Logan throws your ex harshly to the ground. A growl rumbling from his chest. While your ex scrambled away. If it's not because you are busy crying yourself out, you probably will be all flustered when Logan calls you his princess. 

"Sweets, it's okay. They left already." Logan's voice is gentle as he puts his warm hand on your back. You looked up to see his face. Logan softly smiled as he tucked the stray hair away from your face. You whimpered before you tackled him to a tight hug.

"I don't know what to do without you, Lo." Your voice is hoarse from all the screaming and crying. Purrs rumbling from Logan's chest as he pulled you to sit on his lap. His hands protectively circled around you as he rocked your body gently.

"I'm always here for you, baby. Not gonna go anywhere to leave you alone." His words were spoken with a gentle voice making you at ease. Logan gently puts his palms under your thighs before carefully standing up. Letting you cling to him like a koala.

"Let's clean you up and rest." You nodded at Logan’s words. Letting the rugged man bring you back to your room and take care of you. The walk back to your room was covered in comfortable silence as your mind started to wander back to the scene just now.

“We’re here.” You blinked a couple times as you realized Logan sat you down on the bathroom countertop. His stare is soft as his hands gently cup your cheeks. Carefully Logan starts to clean your face with your makeup remover. He frowned a little when he noticed how dark your eyebags are. Gently kiss your eyelids as his hands still securely hold your cheeks. His actions bring you to tears as you never feel like you have been taken care enough when you are with your ex before.

You choked on your sobs as hiccups erupted from your throat every once in a while. Logan, opting to keep quiet as you finally are able to cry your heart out. Your trembling hands weakly hold on his shoulders as his hands now protectively circled around your waist. So many memories of you and your ex start to rush into your mind as your breath becomes irregular. Your eyes flickered fastly as you felt a panic attack start to creeped into your system. 

“Doll, look at me.” Logan’s voice is calm and collected as he holds your cheek with one of his arms while the other slips under your shirt. You force yourself to look at his eyes as you try to regulate your breath. 

“Tell me 5 things you can see, princess.” you blinked the tears away as you tried to get a better view of the bathroom. With a trembling voice you told him you see the almost emptied shampoo bottle, some rubber ducks you have, your loofah, his eyes, and his lips. He hummed as a soft smile creeped out on his face.

“Good girl, now what 4 things you can touch, baby?” you closed your eyes as your hand gently cupped his cheek. His rough beard gently scratches your palm, you feel the coldness of the bathroom countertop, your back feels the warmth of Logan’s palm, and lastly you feel his pulse on his chest.

“Attagirl, 3 things you can hear?” a soft sigh escapes your lips as you open your eyes again as you let yourself drown in his deep and gentle gaze . His calming voice, the soft hum of the bathroom vent, and water dripping from the faucet. 

“Good job, darling. A bit more. 2 things you can smell?” Logan gently encourages you. Your bathroom refresher, and his own scent engulfing you. You lean your body closer to him as you start to calm down from your panic attack.

“One thing you can taste?” Logan whispered as his face was an inch away from yours. You gulped down as you leaned closer to him. Your lips are right in front of his.

“I want to taste you.” you whispered against his lips before you softly kissed him. Logan’s hands immediately cupped your cheeks as he slotted himself better between your legs. 

You let out a sigh of relief through your nose as you can taste Logan in your mouth. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth as you pulled him impossibly closer. Your hands immediately circled around his neck. A groan escaped from Logan’s throat when you tugged on his hair. His calloused hands are now actively gripping your thighs.

You quickly tapped Logan’s back as you pulled away. Your breath is ragged as your face is flushed red. Logan, equally ragged breath stares at you lovingly. His hands are busy grabbing something from his pocket as you try to control your breath and your very fast heartbeat.

“Fuck it. Be mine, doll. Spend the rest of your life with me. Please, I'm begging you.” His words are desperate as you furrow your brows. You stare at him confusedly as you gaslight yourself that Logan didn’t mean what he said.

“What about Jean?” you confusedly asked Logan. The rugged man rolled his eyes before he pulled you to a more hungrier kiss. You gasped as Logan tugged your hair making you expose your neck. He quickly nipped at your neck as you shut your eyes and tried to hold back your moan.

“It’s always been you that I want, princess. Always you and never Jean.” he said with his lips against your neck. You choked out a gasp as Logan bit your neck. Leaving a very obvious bite mark on your skin before he licks your neck to ease the pain. 

“Do you… mean it?” your words are dripping with doubt. Logan pulled away from your neck and cupped your face. His forehead is against yours. 

“I mean it. I’ve been waiting for a long time but you keep going out with stupid people and get yourself hurt. I can take care of you better than any of your exes. Let me take care of you pretty girl.” His words are soft and secured as he grabs one of your wrist and clipped the bracelet you made last night. He carefully pulls your hand towards his lips and kisses your knuckles. His eyes never leave yours.

“I am yours, Lo. Always been yours.” Logan smiled as he pulled you closer. His hands skilfully peel off your clothes as he brings you out from your bathroom and towards your bed. Gently he lay you down as he nestled himself between your legs. 

“Let me show you how precious you are in my eyes, sweet thing.” he roughly whispered against your ears before he nipped at your neck again. Leaving you breathless as you let him show how much he craves for you.

[florvaine]

lost comfort and found familiarity.

Escaping the prison was a mess, and Carl is devastated when he can only find his girlfriends red jacket, but not her. (afab! reader)

genre: heavy angst to fluff

warnings: death, blood, gore, panic/anxiety attack, !carls’ SA scene!, kissing.

-— DREAD BEGAN TO FILL THE PIT OF CARL’S STOMACH WHEN THE HEAVY REALISATION SET IN. That realisation was that the prison was overrun, the Governor and his goons having broken down the wired fencing with a tank and brought in dozens upon dozens of brain-deteriorated, famished walkers into the previously safe confines of the prison.

They had killed Hershel in cold blood using Michonne's katana, leaving his severed head to pool a red sheen on the grass. Somewhere in the time of his beheading bullets began to ring out around the borders of the prison.

Cars, trucks and military-grade vehicles began to fill the courtyard, Rick and the Governor are beating each other bloody with their bare hands by the overturned bus.

“Holy shit.” He hears you say, and once he looks to his left to find you, his heart hurts a little more.

You’re typically comforting smile has vanished like the peace had just a few hours ago, instead pulled in an open-mouthed look of pure shock and horror. Your eyes are blown wide, brimming with a small collection of tears. There’s dust and debris flying everywhere, staining your cheeks. A shotgun is tight in your grip, ammo stacked in your pockets and an army knife clinging on your belt.

He’s only ever seen you this devastated when the farm got set up in flames, and when you had been told that your brother had been bit.

Carl gulps, pulling you closer to him via the strong grip he has on your hand. Both of your palms are sweaty, but it was barely even registered as the tank that the Governor had hijacked shot another bomb into the crumbling, brick walls of the prison.

“We gotta go!” He says, running in the opposite direction of the explosion. You follow behind him, still holding his hand as an anchor to keep you aware of reality.

Your eyes drift around the series of events around you. The obliteration of your home, the snapping jaws of the decaying walkers that drooled and reached to take a chunk of flesh from either of your bodies. Bullets rain hell on everything that moves, sparks of orange and yellow shining from all directions, the scent of blood, gunpowder and dust is heavy as it clings to your clothes and hair.

You stumble, tugging on Carl's hand, "We have to get your Dad!" You point to where Michonne is helping him up, and the blue-eyed boy falters.

A loud bang followed by the sound of debris hitting the floor, a flash of heat passed over each of your skins. Between the flash, he sees his dad covered in splatters of blood, bruises and cuts stumbling towards a break in the metal fence.

Every sense in his body is muddled, an annoying, high-pitched ring in his ears makes his clammy hands raise upwards to press against them, sounds muffled as dust coats his tongue like thick, chalky medicine. His eyes flutter as the light passes, debris clinging to his lashes and dirtying his freckled face. Carl sniffs, his head turning around rapidly to see you again.

Except you were gone.

Just like the flash of orange light and thermal blast, you had seemingly dissipated into thin air. His first reaction is panic, in a form that roots his body into the concrete floor at the thought of you being hit by the bomb, therefore disintegrating instantly.

Carl feels sick to his stomach and he removes his hands from his ears, picking up his gun that clattered to the ground and spinning in circles to catch even a glimpse of you.

"Y/n?" He shouts even if his throat was aching from the particles in the muggy air.

There's no response, "Y/n!" He calls out with more urgency, his feet moving quick against the ground as another round of bullets pass beside him.

The shaggy, brown-haired teen dashes through a gap between the cell blocks, keeping as low as he could whilst running, pressing the sheriff's hat his father gave him just a few days prior against him skull.

Then everything stops. It's practically silent if you ignore the echoes of the snarling walkers that invaded the space. His eyes brim with salty tears, scrambling to pick up a too familiar red cloth discarded on the floor.

His heart is put on pause for a few seconds as he kneels down to claw at the jacket. Your favourite jacket. Bright red stained with black smudges and bloody hand smears, an open hole passes cleanly through both sides of the left sleeve, encircled in a deeper scarlet that dripped in a sickening curve of an open wound.

Time passes slowly, as if God himself was providing him time to grieve. You had slipped through the cracks of his callousing hands, the blood trapped under his fingernails suddenly more obvious as he scratched at the drying liquid on the jacket. His heart hurts. So does his head, a throbbing pulse that matched the pants and trembling breaths that exited his chapped lips. His body washes out any adrenaline or happy emotion an refills it with dread and mourning.

He feels like crying. Sobbing, screaming your name until his lungs collapsed and his throat was raw. Vocal cords torn, shattered like his heart that would no longer beat with the same life he had with you. His thoughts turned from joyous hope of a future with you and Judith outside the crackling prison to disbelieving hurt at the realisation you were not near him anymore.

With no body, their could be no funeral. Nobody in the limited black attire they collected throughout their time in the apocalypse. With no grave to bury you under, you could not rest.

But without a funeral or a tattered corpse of your being, Carl refused to believe you were dead.

The sound of bullets restart his heart again like a defibrillator, and he's back in the moment. There's shots in the courtyard, the boy scrambles up, clinging onto your jacket with harsh breathing.

There's two walkers further along the cell block. Carl ties the jacket around his waist. Rage slowly drips into the building acceptance in his mind, and the shotgun that he held previously was snagged up off the floor.

The gun is raised, aimed perfectly for the decaying heads of what used to be morally guided people. His breathing picks up slightly.

One shot rings out, bullet shells hitting the ground. Chunks of skin, bone and rotting organs spills over the floor and the walker hits the ground with a dull thud. He steps over the remains with what could only be described as a bitter mixture of anger and sadness on his face.

The second shot is fired, and the first victim is joined by the other. A mess of liquid ruby changes the grey hue of the floor, the sound of blood spilling like tossed water would usually sicken him.

His gaze drifts towards the bodies, and he is repulsed at the image of you, your hair splayed against the concrete and your eyes wide open yet unseeing, glossed over in grey as your plump lips turn blue, skin cold. Your chest does not rise. You are still, graceful and dead.

He blinks, and yet again you were gone. Carl looks up from the meaningless corpses.

His own dad looks back at him.

"Carl," It doesn't sound like him, there's a hint of liquid that gurgled in his throat as he spoke, and Rick gulps it down. He's breathing heavily. A collection of red patches adorn his beaten face, curls from his hair and stubbly beard pressed against the sweat gathered on his skin.

The two of them limp away from the remains of the prison, trauma and sorrow tossing and churning in their minds and stomachs. They had lost not only you, but Judith as well.

One of the only memories of his mother that he had. And the only hope that Rick had of raising one of his children without any fear even in the apocalypse.

That night the two of them exchanged no words.

-—-

1 month, 27 days and 17 hours.

That's how long it had been since Carl had last heard your voice. Him, Rick and now Michonne occupy a two story house in a leafy road surrounded by woods. They visit the neighbouring homes further down, once he even found a 112 ounces worth of chocolate pudding, and ate it in one sitting. Alone.

The words 'alone' has never been in the forefront of his mind this much before. He wonders if you would've enjoyed the pudding with him, or comforted him on his worst nights as his dad slept on the sofa barricading the front door. Maybe you would've stopped him shouting at his unconscious body.

He was terrified, that night. Because the sleeping body of his dad would sometimes look like you - except there's a bite on your shoulder and a bullet wound punctured between your closed eyes.

Now there was no resting body on the sofa as his dad was awake, alive and moving whilst Michonne helps the two of them work with their slightly tense familial relationship.

Sometimes he'd get bombarded with questions about you. He'd still answer with one phrase.

"She's alive."

The same tone, the same memory starting to form before his ocean eyes whenever he blinked. After a while it went from being a quivering statement of hope to an exclamation of law.

Every time you were brought up negativily, it ended in him storming out of the house and sleeping in a different one for the night, and coming back in the morning to his anxious dad who was very close to vomiting and a worried Michonne.

Carl knew you wouldn't just leave or give in that easily. It wasn't in your blood that stained the jacket he kept folded upstairs in one of the rooms.

He had washed it, any trace of what happened at the prison left in a stream of water; the hole from your bullet wound was sewn together as best as he could. No more smudges of soot and crumbling brick smeared down the hood and arms, no more scarlet hand prints that grabbed and tainted your clothing.

Carl had one mission that he would complete - he had to complete it before anything else.

And you were going to get your jacket back - alive.

-—-

Terminus was a horrible idea. It had been advertised as a safe haven for anyone in need of it, offering sickingly sweet luxuries that no other place had before.

Who knew it was run by cannibals that captured, disarmed and intended to eventually eat them? Not Carl, that's for sure.

They had barely escaped with their lives, and Carl could only wonder how many more times he could dodge death until it inevitably caught up with him.

But in the back of his mind, he knew he would avoid it for as long as he possibly could, because if he kicked the bucket then he wouldn’t see you again.

At least they found everyone else - including Judith. That was one miracle that Carl dreamed of, and it was accepted, so the last one was you.

Many nights and days he had spent wondering where you were, if you were thinking about him too, some other days passed with tears and muffled screams of your name; those days he’d be comforted by the tight arms of his dad or Michonne wrapped around him.

Carl would sometimes have nightmares of that grimey, old man that pinned him against the floor, Michonne and Rick having to see him at his most vulnerable in that moment. That was the one time he was grateful you weren’t there. Not because he didn’t want you to see him so shattered and broken, no.

He knew that whatever was going to happen to him, would happen to you too. And with the predator pinning him down, the company of his equally as vile creatures that held Michonne and Rick as captives. Nobody would be able to save you in time.

Part of his innocence was picked up and snapped that night. He fell asleep with your jacket over his torso, and he let his quivering frame curl into yours.

He wanted to see you again, in real life. Not a part of the fractured, twisted part of his imagination. He wished to hold you close against him, kiss you under the stars like you had done too many days ago. Everything Carl found that he thought you’d like was in a small pouch at the bottom on his bag.

A thin-chained necklace, a gossip magazine, a comic book. A small heart shaped rock that he had found. Most importantly, your jacket.

Carl was intelligent, observant. He could tell everyone had already grieved for you, mentioned your name in speeches of motivation saying ‘do it for her’. He hated it.

Another argument happened whilst they were all moving down the abandoned road, towards a new hope of life.

-—-

His father brought you up again when he saw Carl wearing your jacket. They had stopped for a break, sitting in the middle of the road whilst Daryl went hunting for anything they could eat.

“Carl,” He spoke, voice slow and gentle as if he was a ticking time bomb, “I think it’s time you let go of her jacket.”

Everyone’s eyes moved from his father to his son, eyes slightly widened and mouths clamped shut. The air becomes tense as the blue-eyed teen looks up at his father through the corner of his eyes.

Carl swipes his tongue over his lips, “Why’s that?” He spoke, Judith coo’s in his arms, pulling at the strings that tightened the hood.

Rick adjusts his stance, placing his hands on his hips and thinking of what to say to his son. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks.

“I just think, well we just think that,” The curly-haired dad gestures to everyone with one hand, “It’s time to let go, son.”

Carl lifts his head fully, eyebrows knitted together in scrutising disbelief, “You all think she’s dead?” His tone is harsh, accusing and targeted to pierce their racing hearts.

Everyone knew that the mention of you being dead was something that the boy didn’t agree with. Stubborn as ever, Carl points his gaze towards his dad. His gaze as sharp as daggers and Rick knows hes in for the long run.

“She disappeared, Carl. We can only guess what happened to her.”

Carl hands Judith to Carol next to him and she takes her without looking at the boy, “You can guess, but I’m not guessing. I know she’s alive.”

“She’s got lost, nobody saw where she went. She’s alone.” Rick argued, his voice louder.

“She has a gun and a knife!” Carl replies, shouting over his father. Michonne stands up and removes her gun from her holster, as did Abraham and Tara when a branch snaps behind the wooded trees.

Daryl shows himself, empty handed. Everyone internally groans, but they give him a look to tell him to be quiet and point at the arguing boys.

Rick places his hands on his sons shoulder, looking down on him, “People have still died with a gun, kid.”

Carl pushes his dad away from him, face contorting into pure anger and vemon lacing his features, “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m just tellin’ you the truth, Carl.” Rick points at him, eyebrows raised and his voice returning to the soft, almost patronising tone from before.

“But it’s not the truth!” Carl argues, his anger put into lashing out against his own blood, “She’s alive, I know it! I see her, Dad!”

Michonne places a hand on Rick’s shoulder when she hears him sigh and prepare himself, “Don’t-”

“She’s dead! Trust me. She. Is. Dead. If you’re seeing her like I see your mother, then she is not alive anymore!”

It goes silent, a few birds fly overhead with calls of their scratchy language. Even in the open surrounded by trees it has never felt more claustrophobic than ever for the Grimes family.

Carl stiffens at the mention of his mother, the woman that birthed and nutured him through his pre-teen years. The woman he eventually ended up killing.

Rick takes his silence as an opportunity, “Let her go, Carl. That’s my only advice.”

Tears form in his lashline as he stares back at him dad, and the sheriff’s hat against his head has never felt more heavy than in this moment.

“But everyone saw Mum’s body.”

Rick has never turned around quicker than in that moment. The mention of his lovers lifeless body, deep cut in her lower stomach flashes under the glaze in his eyes and Rick swears he can see a white dress move through the treeline.

Carl continues, “We saw Mum’s body,” His voice trembles and he sniffs, “I knew she was dead more than anyone else here.”

It’s deathly silent. Everyone knows what he’s referring to, and everyone is scared shitless to say anything to either of them. Rick takes a deep breath, but doesn’t speak.

A droplet rolls down Carl’s pale cheek, and he looks down to ensure no one saw him wipe it away, “We haven’t seen hers. Until we see her body, I’m keeping her jacket. But when we find her, she’s gonna have it back.”

Rick only nods lightly, picking up the supplies he agreed to carry.

Nobody makes any objections to continuing to move further up the road - towards Alexandria.

-—-

You have never felt so close before. Yes, they were extremely suspicious and afraid of Aaron and his husband, Eric. Having been tricked into a cannibal house just a week ago does that to a group of people.

But walking up yet another road, littered with lifeless corpses of walkers with bullets making their brains paint the pavement. Carl knows only one thing.

He has never been this sure that he was going to find you.

Aaron is rattling on about what facilities they had. Running water, heating, electricity. Promises of necessaries they haven’t heard of for years now.

His dad is on edge, not particularly fond of the idea, but he knew that everyone was so tired and burnt out that they needed just the idea of a safe place to be just to bring more motivation to themselves.

So far, Aaron’s words of a 15 foot, metal wall that bordered Alexandria and protected the insiders was true, and Carl begins to feel more energetic and hopeful than before.

Carol notices this, and questions the boy, “What’s up, Carl?” She looks at him, and he looks back.

“She’s here, I know it.” He replies and then looks forward again, walking ahead of her.

Carol furrows her brows and decides to take harder and longer looks at the walkers on the floor.

The group arrive at the large, metal gate. The journey felt like hours for each of them, but extra long for Carl. He was antsy, and fully compliant to anything any of them told them to do. If Aaron or Eric told them to stop, he would. If they told him to go find a bird, kill it and bring it back, he would.

The gates finally screech open, Carl feels as if his heart is going to burst open. An alarm sounds in the back of his head but not one of worry, but one of intuition that told him she was here.

He looked into the gated community as the gate opened fully, and felt alienated as soon as he entered with his group. They were dirty, hair knotty and unclean against the pristine and organised residents of Alexandria.

People poke their heads out of houses and stare, smiling or looking upon them with apathy. Every face Carl doesn’t recognise.

They get told to hand over their weapons. Their refusal is argued, and eventually they give in. It’s hesitated and unsettling seeing all their guns and knifes piled onto a trolley.

Carl is the second to last person to place anything on the trolley, his handgun is held in his hands tightly as he walks over to the collection, placing it down and reaching for his knife-

“Carl?”

It’s a voice further along the pathway into Alexandria, and he looks up in slight confusion.

His blue eyes meet hers, they’re as recognisable as ever. Finally.

His body is practically overflowing with emotion - relief, joy, sadness and the most overpowering feeling of love.

The knife clatters to the floor, there are hands reaching for him, tugging on his clothes to hold him back and the leaders that he didn’t care to remember the names of tell him to stay put.

Instead he runs. It’s a run of desperation. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t run fast enough, you’ll disappear again in the aftermath of an explosion. You’re running too, a hand against your mouth to cover sobs.

The two of you meet halfway, arms wrapping around eachother as a form of physical touch to ensure that the other that this is real.

“You’re alive,” Carl whispers, breathing heavily and clutching the back of your head that was pressed against his chest, “I knew it.”

You’re both crying, holding eachother in a tight, cathartic embrace that released any inkling of doubt that the others heart wasn’t beating.

Carl’s hands clamber to hold you face in his hands again. You let him, raising your head to look into his eyes. He runs his thumbs against your soft skin, scanning your face.

His head lowers, yours lifts, and your lips meet in a greeting that was way past it’s due date. Eyes closed, experiencing something that has only been a dream for so long. You didn’t care that his lips were chapped, he didn’t care that yours were slightly cut up from you biting at the dead skin there.

It’s messy, teeth clashing and your noses bump one or two times, but all that you care about is that he’s here, and that he finally found you.

You pull apart, and your eyes fly open to witness his still closed like he was still in shock. His lashes flutter, and you make eye contact once again.

There’s a sense of melancholy realisation that slowly ebbs through him. The fact he hadn’t been there to witness you grow up alongside him during the time you were apart. He admires the change in your facial structure, features from before stronger and more prominent to show that you had grown up.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remembered,” His thumb wipes away a few of your tears and rolls over a small scar that streches up from your jawline to your cheekbone and his eyebrows furrowed in slight worry, “What happened?”

You press yourself further against his palms, relishing in the feeling of him again, “I survived, Carl.”

His name has never sounded so good before. His brain feels funny, his heart floating as he pulls you in for another kiss. It’s less messy this time, not that either of you care.

Carl pulls away again as he’s reminded of his mission, his forehead against yours, “Your jacket,” He gives you peck, and departs again, “I have your jacket.”

His hands leave your face to pull the rucksack of his back, and in panting breaths you gasp softly as he pulls the red fabric out of the bottom of the brown bag, holding it out to you.

“I cleaned it, sewed up the bullet hole,” He holds it up, showing the messy threading, “It’s not the best-”

He’s cut off by you taking it from him with a sniffle, pressing it against your heart and clutching it.

“I love you, Carl.” Your voice trembles, and he smiles, pressing a kiss against your forehead, brushing a few loose strands of your hair from your face.

“I love you too.”

You unzipped the red jacket, struggling to get it on; Carl moves forwards to help you slide it on over your arms again.

Where it rightfully belongs.

-—-

[ren-054]

Tiny AIW Excerpt…

(This doesn’t guarantee a bigger story in the future, have mercy on me pls /lh)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

(prologue thing?)

They took away everything I had left to hold onto. Everything but them, at least. It almost felt freeing, a relief, in a strange way.

The scent of flowers was thick and sweet to my senses. My thoughts slowly blur together as I drowned in the heavy aroma.

No longer did I have to uphold myself as a person. In this land, responsibility was merely a word. A silly word, at that. I was being offered the chance to be freed from the pressure of my former life on a silver platter by the people who have unfailingly proved their devotion to me again and again. Who would I be to deny them?

Gentle hands of cool metal joints and warm motors take my own of flesh. There is an unspoken promise in our grasps.

Out there, there wasn’t anything waiting for me. Really, I had submitted to my fate long before I came here. Before I met them.

I would miss the surface.. My friends.. My brother..

If I just stayed right where I was, surely I’d be happy. He said so. They both did. And I believe them, as much as they believe in me that I’ll stay. I have nowhere to run, therefore I’d never think to walk.

Here, I’ll be safe. Here, I’ll be happy.

• • • • •

(Main excerpt)

“Sugarcube!~ It’s time for tea!”

I shift as a voice rouses me awake and I groan in protest. I felt so warm… I didn’t want to get up… Get up…

Get up from where?

Eyes snapping open, I sit up, finding myself on a grass and wool-stuffed mattress. A warm blanket made of soft fibers had been wrapped around my body, shrugged off when I began to scan my surroundings.

The room was dimly lit and the air was crisp, making me imagine the walls were made of stone or perhaps bricks. Unfortunately my vision wasn’t the best without my glasses. Candles were lit about the room. There were no windows, but there was a lone door on the far wall. Was I underground?

“There’s my little sunshine!” The same voice from before warbled, followed by the clinking of porcelain. “Come! Come! Before your tea gets cold!”

With bleary vision, I turn toward the voice. At a small wooden table set in the middle of the room sat a familiarly flamboyant red-clad figure with their knees up to their chest as they tried to sit in one of the child-sized chairs. I began shuffling off the bed, brushing myself off.

“M-Mister Hatter?” I mumbled as I walked over. “Wher—“

The Hatter tutted at me before I could finish, placing a delicate finger up to my lips. “Dearest little dewdrop, I told you, you can just call me Sun!”

“Uh, Sun?” I eyed the liquid the bot was pouring into the cups. Yellow flower petals and flecks of green herbs floated prettily along the surface of the unknown brew.

“Hmmm?” Hatter hummed, the swirls in his eyes seeming to glow with warmth at the sound of his name.

“Where am I? I didn’t fall down another hole again, did I?” I rubbed at my eyes. “And have you seen my glasses anywhere?”

“Oh! Those are right here!” Dodging my first question, the Hatter pointed at the other side of the table which sat the other teacup along with the distinct sheen of my lenses against the candlelight. “Come on! Have a sit with this lonely hatter!”

“Ah, right.” I nodded before taking my seat across from the bot, putting my glasses back on once I sat. Ah, vision at last.

The first thing I realized was the room was dingy, dustier than I expected. Before I could really notice any other finer details, Sun piped up once again.

“Very good, my dear,” he praised with a light laugh that made me nearly blush. “Now then, where you are. That’s a simple one!”

I leaned in with anticipation. With a relaxed—almost smug—gaze, the Hatter answered.

“I brought you home.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Flower

beautiful words with "flower" to plant in your next poem/story

Blanketflower - gaillardia—i.e., any of a genus (Gaillardia) of American composite herbs with showy flower heads

Cuckooflower - a bitter cress (Cardamine pratensis) of Eurasia and North America; ragged robin (i.e., a perennial herb, Lychnis flos-cuculi, of the pink family cultivated for its pink flowers with narrow-lobed petals)

Dayflower - any of a genus (Commelina) of herbs of the spiderwort family having one petal smaller than the other two

Flowerage - a flowering process, state, or condition

Floweriness - of, relating to, or resembling flowers; marked by or given to rhetorical elegance

Foamflower - a spring-flowering herb (Tiarella cordifolia) of eastern North America that has white flowers with long stamens and no stem leaves; also called: false miterwort

Gillyflower - carnation (i.e., a plant of any of numerous often cultivated and usually double-flowered varieties or subspecies of an Old World pink, Dianthus caryophyllus, found in many color variations; also: a moderate red; archaic: the variable color of human flesh)

Globeflower - any of a genus (Trollius) of plants of the buttercup family usually with globose yellow or orange flowers

Nonflowering - producing no flowers; specifically: lacking a flowering stage in the life cycle

Pasqueflower - any of several anemones with palmately compound leaves and large usually white or purple early spring flowers

Passionflower - any of a genus (Passiflora) of chiefly tropical woody tendriled climbing vines or erect herbs with usually showy flowers and pulpy often edible berries

Satinflower - honesty; blue-eyed grass; common chickweed; flannelflower; a plant or flower of the genus Godetia

Strawflower - any of several plants having everlasting flowers

Twinflower - a prostrate subshrub (Linnaea borealis) of the honeysuckle family that is found in cool regions of the northern hemisphere and has fragrant usually pink flowers

Waxflower - a climbing plant (Stephanotis floribunda) of Madagascar often cultivated in the greenhouse for its fragrant white flowers; an epiphytic tree (Clusia insignis) of British Guiana; indian pipe; spotted wintergreen

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Word Lists

[whereserpentswalk]

There was an abandoned church where the faeries used to come out, tucked away in one of those neighborhoods in the city where only residents ever go. It was a beautiful stone building, covered in vines and ivy, half broken, resting between the corner stores and brownstones. They say it's so old that nobody even remembers the name of the god they worshipped there.

And there used to be faeries there. They would come out quite frequently. Nobody maintained the place, but it was ruined enough so you could just walk in through where the door used to be. And you could see them there, the kobolds who would sing their ancient songs in languages long forgotten. And the hollow backed women who would dance in the silver moonligh, and who turned men who tried to touch them into trees. There where spirits who'd look like dragonflies one momment, and than little winged people the next. And great dire trolls at times would come out and brew strange drinks from grass and root. There were mothmen who flew in the skies above the ancient church, looking down with big yellow eyes. There where witches who'd grant strange requests for strange prices, and who'd look like women from a far, and great mantises when near. And there were even darker things, faceless men, and black eyed girls, who'd come, but they never harmed a soul on those old church grounds.

They say it became a place where people who were grateful for such things would come. Urban sorcerers, and cryptid hunters, unmarketable artists, and outcasts and members of forgotten subcultures would come to. It was mostly just a place people in the city knew about, people who knew enough about the fae, people who had respect for the fae. A few faeries would let themselves show up in dim photographs, perhaps to appear on somebody's blog, but most people who would go there knew to ask first. And they say that. In her gratefulness to the ruins, for being a place where the children of Odin and the children of Gaia had found peace, the queen of the autumn faeries had gifted them a magic sword, that shined like sunset amber, planted forever in the ruins of the church's alter.

And once there was a magical sword there, something valuable there, the city decided it had to take notice. It wasn't just some worthless stone anymore, it was something with more money behind it now. They transfered the ruins' ownership from the underfunded historical society, to a successful real-estate company, who would know how to handle it well, and perhaps bring in some tourists.

And suddenly, things began to change. See, the sword needed to be well protected of course, so there were security cameras all over the place to keep out robbers, and guards of course to stand around and yell at people, and of course perhaps to fire iron bullets at any faeries who thought about hurting humans who wanted to be free to touch them and pet them and take pictures without consequences. And there were metal detectors of course, and there needed to be a closing time because suddenly there was a staff that had to be payed.

And somehow there were less and less faeries then, and the people who had used to come so often had gone away too. But that didn't matter, they still needed to turn a profit, and they had started advertising it, so soon tourists with their fancy cameras and expectations, and families with little children on leashes and dogs in their strollers, and fourteen year old boys who giggled because faerie could mean gay, all started to come, and waited on line to see the minority of faeries who were still there. And soon the walls of the old church had signs and ads and the walls were painted a green because the company thought grey was an ugly color, and the entrance had all those little marketable t-shirts and plushes for people to buy.

And soon there were no more faeries. They didn't want to come. The sword had turned black.

They say the last faeries to leave were the toughest of them, and that they didn't like the new type of guest, trolls would put human bones in their last stews, and witches would curse anyone who took pictures of them, and the black eyed girls and faceless men finally dragged people into faeland never to return. But even they left eventually, all of them did. They say the sword healed when it was bright and amber, but when it was black it's magic was no weaker, but it killed, anyone who touched the black sword would rot away. They say other magical creatures, meaner ones, found good homes in the church when it became so filled with the company's things, blood drinking vampires, and howling ghosts, and deal making devils, found the place to be a perfect hunting spot. The faeries never came back, and the church lost its profitability, they tried to rip it down, and use the land for some pretty shot or restaurant, but they could never clear the foundation, nobody could lift the sword.

[winniewritesstories]

thinking about....soldier boy (ben) with a doe-coded reader ⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆.

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ all sfw | can be read as gn!reader ⋆˚｡⋆౨ৎ

⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆

⟡ you're a supe with the power to communicate with animals

⟡ you live in the woods near a small rural town, in the new england area. most people leave you alone - your supe powers aren't the most useful for vought. the locals think you're some kind of witch or woodland nymph and give you space, too

⟡ your little cottage is always full of animals, both domestic and wild. deer, foxes, sparrows on your lawn, cats that come and go, rescued dogs of all sizes lounging on your porch.

⟡ butcher & the boys need your help with finding the deep, hoping you can communicate with sea creatures (you've never tried before) to find him and help then track down homelander

⟡ ben is dragged along against his will, grumbling the whole drive there. when they pull up to your cottage, wisteria growing around the doorway, rose bushes with bees buzzing around, he rolls his eyes.

⟡ the front door opens, and there you stand, wearing a little blue or pink or yellow dress, a small kitten hanging out in the pocket of your apron, no shoes on

⟡ you don't ask who they are or why they're there; you just give them a beautiful big smile and greet them, half a dozen dogs following you out the house

⟡ ben has never seen anything so perfect and pure in all his life

⟡ you invite them inside, make tea and serve it with biscuits you just made. there's a robin living in your lounge and what looks like a domesticated mountain lion laying on the bottom step, eying your guests warily

⟡ you listen intently to butcher, wide eyes blinking earnestly, lips slightly parted, and ben just watches you the entire time, taking you in...

⟡ your cheeks, freckled from spending so much time in the sun; the way animals of all shapes and sizes flock to you for safety and comfort; how you're always padding around your home or garden or nearby forest barefoot, curling your toes into the grass. the way you tend your garden, picking flowers to weave into your hair, greeting the bumble bees, making polite conversation with passing crows. the soft tunes you hum or whistle, or the way you sing softly to yourself and your animals as you go about your day

⟡ ben is a goner. practically drooling at how pretty and soft and innocent you are.

⟡ he's obsessed with you after that first meeting, basically following you around like another dog. if you weren't so gentle and affectionate with everyone and everything, you might find it creepy or unnerving or irritating

⟡ but you don't mind him at all, finding his company nice and his attentiveness endearing (he's not the first wild animal you've tamed, after all)

⟡ he basically never uses your name, resorting to any one of a hundred nicknames - princess, dolly, fawn, sweet girl, kitten, pretty girl, my love, little dove

⟡ as you get more comfortable with each other, he'd lay his head in your lap by the fire or under the warm afternoon sun, and you'd scratch his head, playing gently with his hair

⟡ the first time he here's you giggle he actually melts, his heart thawing at the sound, wishing he could bottle it and replay it forever and ever.

⟡ when it gets cold and you wrap yourself in a soft sweater which is too big for you, sleeves covering your hands and he wants to wrap you up and whisk you somewhere warm (although he secretly loves the cold now, getting to hold you close - 'here, dolly, i'll warm you up', he says, pulling you back to sit in his lap, big, strong arms wrapped around you)

⟡ you don't get angry or upset often, but when you do ben thinks it's the most adorable thing ever, the way you huff and pout and stomp around lightly, whining at ben 'don't be mean' and he melts and kisses your nose and says 'i'm sorry, princess', because he can't be teasing or angry with you when you look so sweet

⟡ he finds himself talking to the animals the way he'd seen you do, even if he couldn't understand them. one morning he's sat on the porch, watching you pick vegetables, and he starts talking to the dogs by his feet about the weather and wonders if he's finally cracked

⟡ he basically becomes another feral dog that you tame and becomes an added guard dog to your already large pack. growls at people in the street if they bump your shoulder, stares down frenchie and butcher when they visit, and if he had a tail it'd definitely wag every time he looked at you

⟡ learns how to make tea just the way you like it

⟡ loves, loves, loves to make you blush, watch you get shy and flustered over the silliest little things. drives him mad the way you bite your lip, looking down at your feet or fiddling with your hands, cheeks flushed pink

⟡ never considered himself an animal guy before, but now he befriends all kinds of creatures, thinks twice about buying leather or wool, and even brings home a stray cat he found in a dumpster once

⟡ your favourite love language is physical touch, and you absolutely adore showering ben with affection; butterfly kisses, nose kisses, pressing your forehead against his. sometimes you'll be lay under a willow tree or in bed, and you get all smiley and giggly and plant kisses all over ben's face, shoulders, chest, anywhere you can reach. as you sit back, face blush, hair tousled, slightly breathless with a giddy smile, ben's heart twists almost painfully in his chest, realising how much he loves you and how much that scares him

⟡ he secretly loves the fact he can be gentle and laid back with you, dare i say soft. after a lifetime of fighting, he likes to unwind with you and your animals, and you make him feel much more human. you don't want to use or abuse him, don't need him to be soldier boy, or a hero, don't need him to be anything other than just ben

⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆ ✦ ✧ ⋆

notes -

thank you for reading!! first little h/c set like this, please let me know if you like it!! ᡣ𐭩

[not proofread]

[r3linx]

⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⁰⁰'²⁵ ━━●━━───── ⁰²'⁰⁸

╰┈➤ characters... •`HAYATO SUO´•.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ SYNOPSIS... silly smoker yn thinking she could get away with that nasty habit but suo catches her and yeah... lectures her?? ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ WORDCOUNT...0,9k ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ WARNINGS...: tw! smoker yn, suo quite literally licked your hand, sfw, fluff, comforting, slight angst [if u squint enough trust me you'll see it], nonbinary reader ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ OTHER... reblogs, likes and requests are appreciated!

a/n: like i said. yeah. sorry i let my inner demons decide what i write and i really needed to do this cuz i want to quit smoking so bad and i need smth to give me reassurance >-< (also i didn't read the whole in the end, just finished it cuz i had a rough day and im lazy for that so im just posting it,sorry if there's any errors in it or sounds dumb sometimes)

birds chirping. everything quieted down around you, almost as if the world stopped spinning. the cold breeze brushed against your skin, leaving goosebumps scatter all over your arm. the sun almost disappeared on the horizon, making the sky glow with orange, yellow and different but incredibly warm and beautiful shades of pink.

knees pulled up to your chest, all alone in the whole school you sat outside on the cold, gray concrete stairs, ragged by time and weather. here and there weeds peeking out through the cracks which was already stomped on by others till it was barely visible.

‘finally.. some alone time, all I could wish for..’ no one to listen to, no one to talk to, no one to match their standards. just you and your own train of thoughts.

holding the roll of tobacco in-between your pointer and middle fingers, raising up it to your dry lips and taking a long, final puff. the cigarette slightly warming up the end of your fingers by its light but also leaving a nasty essence behind. then tossing it aside, nothing left in it as you watched the smoke still pouring out from it between the strands of thick grass.

you pressed out a long exhale from your lungs, this time letting your eyes flutter close and just for a quick moment trying to forget everything. your ears ringed louder and louder by each second, feeling like passing out then and there—

“hey.” you snapped you eyes open at the sudden voice. gentle, yet carrying a lot of depth in his tone. without a question or remark, the person simply just taking a seat next to you. ‘great..’ you huffed, following his movements with your eyes till he comfortable positioned himself beside you, now being on eye level with you. you said nothing. he remained silent.

“are you just gonna sit there?” you spit out, irritation filling up your blood to which the individual took a simple glance down to you lap, where your hand was resting.

“may i?” questioning, you couldn’t find the usual warmness in his words this time, instead replaced by bitterness. again, just before a reply could be formed, ghosting his hands over yours, placing it on his with care, bringing it up to his mouth. the one you held the cigarette with.

soft, lips. softer than yours at the moment. grazed the top of your hand, your knuckles, the end of your fingers -eyes widened, you watched him.. and so did he. not with a smile. his eyebrows lowered. his gaze abused your soul, piercing it through from the inside.- still, carefully but with stone hard determination, pressing a kiss to your hand. and another. the third, with somewhat open mouth. hot tongue joining his lips on your skin, just for a quick moment, taking in the taste of your skin. then lets your limb down, releasing from his grasp.

suo eyed your features with interest. taking note of your shocked state and crimson red color dancing across your cheeks, reaching up to your ears. his gaze still heavy on you, he tucked an unruly lock behind you reddened ear.

“just needed confirmation.” no explanation, no apologies. he wouldn’t apologize for a kiss on your hand, why would he?

“confirmation of?”

“of you still damaging your body.” he replied, patience running thin. he wasn’t born today to know and realize, seeing through all your lies and poker faces like it was thin paper, held up in front of the bright sun. “no need to for the poor acting of yours. ever since I first saw that between your fingers, you kept me on my toes.” you were aware of what he told you about smoking, it played on repeat all the time you lit the cigarette. but it was one time, no harm, right? or you thought. you weren’t aware of the fact how he knew your promise was a lie. the promise to quit it. the rumors echoed into his ear, you sitting here every single day after school, alone in your peace. alone, until this day.

looking everywhere but him, one of your legs started tapping on the ground, searching for a new and believable lie. your leg still shaking, he took your chin in his hand, forcing your eyes on him. his strong grip made you wince in discomfort, fear setting in as his face contorted into anger even more by now.

“your body isn’t fixated on it. you can change. but you don’t want to.”

“it’s not-”

“it is true! it is, goddamn!..” crows screeched as they flew up from the ground, high in the colorful sky as suo's voice ringed louder this time.

the sudden change made you flinch, now averting his gaze even if for yourself to make it less awkward.

“why can’t you try and rely on me?” the question shocked you to the core, how could he even- “let it be me what you’re fixated on.. be addicted to me..” the more he said, the more quiet he became at the end, you could almost see his usual put together behavior and expression crumbling away into nothing. instead, he too felt the atmosphere between the two of you change into a more deep and sensual one.

taken aback, you sat there in silence staring with a dumb expression, suo couldn't help but let a smile pass by his lips, now his arms snaking around your side, head resting on your soft shoulders. you let the sensation of his closeness consume you, relaxing yourself into his embrace.

"have faith in me.." with a final murmur suo found a warm place to rest his head in the crook of your neck.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈 ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶜᵒᵖʸ, ᵐᵒᵈⁱᶠʸ ᵒʳ ᵘᵖˡᵒᵃᵈ ᵐʸ ʷᵒʳᵏ ᵃˢ ʸᵒᵘʳˢ!

[florencemtrash]

Brown Eyed Beauty — Lucien x Reader

Fond, childhood memories are few and far between for Lucien. But he's reminded of every good thing when he looks at you.

Author's note: DAMNIT! Brown eyes deserve to be treated with the same tender reverence as any other color. This one is for all the brown eyed beauties (and Lucien lovers) out there.

There was a hidden stream Eris had taken him fishing once, back when he was a stringy child with two eyes and soft hands.

“You’ll need to build up your strength and the calluses on your palms, then the fish won’t be able to slip out of your grasp so easily.” Eris told him, standing up to his knees in the gentle current, pant legs rolled up with the ends dripping. His body was slim as a reed, but strong, and on the cusp of adulthood. Pale bruises were scattered across a pale, freckled chest, purple, green, and yellow.

Lucien watched with bated breath as Eris tracked a shiny, silver-pink body darting between the rocks, his eyes untricked by the bending of sunlight as it dove into the water. 

There. 

Eris leaned down and dipped his hands into the stream with lightning swiftness. “Gotcha.” 

His hands broke the water. The salmon writhed, fighting with every gasping breath and splashing water onto Eris’s already soaking trousers.

“Here.” Eris stretched his arms out to where Lucien stood in the shallows. The salmon was giving up, the rhythm of its whipping body slowing. “It’s tired. Try holding it now.” 

Lucien held on for five seconds before the tail slapped him across the face, startling him so much he dropped the fish and its scaly, sleek body began to race downstream.

“No!” Lucien dove for it, red hair slipping under clear waters. The current was stronger than he expected, or maybe it was just that he was weaker than his brother. He felt something pulling downward, keeping him submerged.

His first response was to panic, to flail his arms and legs out uselessly. But then he stopped. It was peaceful down here, the water so clear that he could catch every grain of sand splashed over brick-brown rocks like stars. Tiny fishes, silky smooth with beady eyes, darted in and out of crevices. Light behaved differently underwater, fragmenting and casting lovely golden shapes on stones the color of fresh-pressed coffee. 

Here it was calm. Here was a place where Beron’s power couldn’t touch him. Here he was safe. 

A strong hand grasped the back of his shirt, hauling him up soaking and sputtering with a brackish taste sliding down his throat. 

The bruises on Eris’s cheekbones stood out on his pale skin, the fright in his eyes turning to anger. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Eris yelled and all but tossed his sopping body onto a yellowing patch of grass. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucien mumbled. He sat, shivering in the Autumn chill until Eris caught another salmon and assembled sticks in a neat circle of sand, lighting it with a snap of his slender fingers. 

“Tomorrow we’ll come back,” Eris promised as Lucien sank his teeth into the juicy, pink flesh. The skin was perfectly crisp and grease dribbled down his chin hot and slick. Eris wiped it away with a soft swatch of moss. “I’ll teach you to swim properly.” 

He didn’t seem to mind the descending cold, and for that Lucien was grateful. It meant he would get to keep Eris’s shirt until his was finished drying on the cracked log. 

But unbeknownst to them, Beron had come home earlier than anticipated with their other brothers. Eris was whipped ten times for leaving the Forest House unattended and Lucien was locked in his room for three days. They never went back to that stream — at least not together — and Lucien learned to swim on his own in less forgiving waters. 

Lucien still clung onto the memories of that day. Good memories from his childhood were far and few between. 

“You’re staring again.” You sighed contentedly and shifted in the little cradle of earth you’d claimed for youself. Yellowing, waist-high grasses swayed above you, occasionally bowing down with slender fingers to tickle your cheeks. A hundred yards away the Sidra tumbled over stones, rolled onto gray-sand beaches. The air tasted of salt and seaweed. Crisp, tangy, clear. 

“How did you know?” Lucien asked, and you could hear the gentle caress of his smile in the words.

You cracked open your eyes against the sun’s assault high in the midafternoon sky. Sure enough, Lucien was staring at you, golden eye whirring. You ran a languid finger down the bond, light and airy as a kiss. He braced his arms by your head, sinking down until his body was pressed flush against yours. 

You smiled. “I can feel it. It’s my special talent.”

“Oh?” Lucien chuckled.

“I’ve cultivated it over the years. A product of having a brute like you chase after me like a hound goes after a fox.” Not that you’d ever gone far. 

Scarlet strands of hair slipped out of the braid you’d arranged hours ago. They hung around his elegant, scarred face like liquid fire, casting a warm glow onto his already tanned skin. You tucked them back behind his sharp ears. Traced the curve of his bones until he was leaning into your touch.

“You wound me,” he murmured, kissing your palms. 

You blushed, feeling the brush of his full lips against your sensitive skin. “I didn’t mean it.” 

He smiled — a crooked, boyish smile. “I know.” 

He looked into your coffee eyes. The light bent differently when they touched your irises, curving around the bends like honey, cutting amber crescents at the edges of their rich color. You closed and opened them slowly, letting the light pour in like cream into coffee, swirling and setting them aflame. 

Lucien was back in that stream. The world was still. There was nothing that could hurt him. Just clarity, peace, and the riverbed glittering beneath him. 

“I love you, Y/n.”