#Half baked thoughts of a bird

[ryderdire]

The thought that were probably closer to Deltarune chapter 3 releasing then we are to when chapter 2 did it’s literally wild I could be playing chapter 3– 5 this time next year and I know that doesn’t sound like it’s close but you have to keep in mind, it’s been THREE years relatively a year is not that much compared to 3 to 4 and that’s just like it could’ve already been out for months by then who knows I certainly don’t

[skyheld]

also, not related to the movie but the fade has to look different in different places right? not just in the sense that it reflects a literal place like solas talks about, but I feel like the fereldan fade overall would look and feel and function different from the tevinter or frostbacks fade. Some spirits would reflect the orlesian game and some would reflect the antivan crows. Spirit of valor aming the chasind is different from a spirit of valor at weisshaupt. In rivain the fade might be mostly water. The kirkwall fade is horrifying

[firewasabeast]

I wanted to write a little something with Chimney, Hen, and Tommy. Also decided to make it a fix-it fic. Enjoy!

Chimney clapped his hands together. “Look at us,” he said, smiling over to Tommy, then back at Hen. “The original gang, back together.”

“The original gang?” Hen questioned, her voice staticky through the mic.

“Yeah! Me, you, Tommy, all on a mission to save the world… or LA, at least.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow and shrugged, otherwise staying quiet.

“Wouldn’t ‘original’ indicate I was there from the beginning?" Hen asked. "I’m not part of your original gang, Chim.”

“Yeah, and technically neither of you are part of mine,” Tommy added.

“Okay, party poopers,” Chimney huffed. “I’m talking about my original gang that I started hanging out with first.”

“Hm,” Tommy hummed. “Wouldn’t that have been Eli?”

Chimney glared. “You know what, I’m not talking to either of you the rest of the time we’re up here.”

Hen rolled her eyes, but reached up to give him a pat on the shoulder. “We’re just messing with you, Chim. We get it.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “The 118 was a very different type of gang until you guys came around anyway.”

Chimney perked back up at that. “See! Like I said, the gang is back together.”

“Trying to prevent terrorists from blowing up half the city,” Hen reminded him.

“And trying not to make ourselves targets in the process,” Tommy added.

“Once again, party poo-”

“So,” Hen interrupted, “Tommy. How’s life been lately?”

“Fine,” Tommy replied, immediately suspicious.

Chimney pulled a fresh piece of gum from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. “We heard about your little tryst with our lover boy Buckley."

Tommy sighed. “Oh good. I was hoping my private life would be a topic of discussion for you all.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m married to the guy’s sister.”

“Yeah,” Hen said, “and I can’t help it if I sit in an ambulance with a guy who can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

“Ignoring that.” Chimney looked over at Tommy. “What’s going on there?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay." Chimney cleared his throat. “I’ll ask again, and we’ll try the truth this time,” he said, just like he was talking to Jee. “What’s going on there?”

Oh, how Tommy wished they weren’t still ten minutes out from their location. He could use a nice bomb threat as a distraction right now. “Nothing,” he repeated. “There’s nothing going on. I- I thought… it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing.”

“And you’re good with that?” Hen asked.

“I have to be,” Tommy replied honestly. “Evan… Buck made it clear that he didn’t have feelings for me. It was just a one night thing.”

Chimney and Hen shared a look.

“Wait a minute,” Chimney said. “Buck told you he didn’t have feelings for you? Firefighter Evan Buckley of the 118?”

“Yes, Howie. Can we drop it now, please?”

“Absolutely not. We’ve suffered through months of this man moping over you being gone, and you’re going to tell me that he said he didn’t have feelings for you?”

If only helicopters came with parachutes.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Tommy said, his grip a bit tighter on the pitch stick.

“You don’t-” Chimney let out an exasperated sigh. “Have you tried buying flour lately? Sugar? Sticks of butter?”

“Howie, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m pretty sure Buck created a shortage with how much he’s been baking.”

“He’s not wrong,” Hen cut in. “Probably spent half a damn paycheck on eggs alone.”

“I still don’t know what either of you are talking about. Can I fly this bird without distractions, please?”

Chimney waved him off. “You’re doing just fine with the distractions. What we’re talking about is the fact that Buck is, for some reason, lying like an insane person!”

“Yeah, you’ve been the topic of most of his conversations since the breakup,” Hen said. “There was a brief window where he was upset about Eddie leaving, but then it was back to you.”

“Every time he thought about calling or texting you, he’d whip up some new recipe,” Chimney explained. “Most of them weren’t any good. I get triggered by the smell of bananas now.”

“The cinnamon swirl muffins were delicious though,” Hen reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, those were a hit.” He shook his head. “But that’s not the point. The point is, Buck is an idiot, and if he’s telling you he has no feelings for you, then he’s lying.”

“Or you misunderstood,” Hen added.

“Guys, this is…” Tommy sighed. “This is a lot of information to take in right now. Why don’t we focus-”

“It’s not like we were much help though,” Hen continued. “We did all kind of keep telling him not to call.”

“But that’s because we thought Tommy dumped him.”

“Tommy did dump him.”

“Tommy is right here,” Tommy reminded them.

Chimney crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you not have feelings for him?”

“What?!” Tommy exclaimed. “I never said that.”

“Well?”

“Ugh! O- Of course I have feelings for him. I wouldn’t have gone home with him that night if I didn’t still have feelings for him. I wanted to get back together.”

“He said no?” Hen asked.

“So you guys got the whole rundown on us hooking up, but the rest of the stuff gets left out?”

“I don’t get it, Hen,” Chimney said, turning to face her. “They both care about each other, both want to be together, but they’re both too stubborn and stupid to talk it out.”

“Hey!”

“It’s like a bad movie,” Hen muttered.

Somehow, they were still three minutes out from their location, and Tommy felt like he was going to go insane. “Listen,” he said. “Evan is… I’ve never had someone like him in my life. He’s funny, and smart, and hot, and he cares about people, and he’s just a genuinely good person. That- That’s why it wouldn’t work. He’s too good for me. He deserves better.”

Chimney stared at him, mouth hanging open with a confused expression on his face.

“Oh my God,” Hen said, shaking her head. “Chimney’s right. You’re both stupid.”

“Guys,” Bobby’s voice suddenly echoed over the line. “Did you all forget you’re on an open channel right now?”

A beat of silence, the group glanced at one another, then Tommy responded. “So, everyone could…?”

“Could hear this riveting conversation? Yes.”

Chimney sucked in a breath. “And everyone includes?”

“Well, the entire LAFD, LAPD, then you’ve got the FBI, NSA, and DHS.”

Another, unrecognized voice came over the radio. “The U.S. Coast Guard is here as well.”

“Oh yeah, and the Coast Guard.”

“And me.”

Buck’s voice caught Tommy off guard, and the chopper dropped a few feet before Tommy quickly regained control. He ignored the yelps from Howie and Hen.

“E- Evan, I-”

“They’re right, Tommy,” Buck began, getting right to the point. “Listen, I- I was angry that morning, and I said some things that I didn’t mean, but I- I wasn’t talking about you. You left before I could explain and I’m not… I don’t even know if I could have explained it right then, but, it’s not true that I don’t have feelings for you. I feel everything for you. You… Tommy, i- it scares me just how much you mean to me.”

Tommy didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet until both Hen and Chim reached over and smacked him on the arm.

“E- Evan," he stuttered, "I- I really wish we weren’t having this conversation with hundreds of government officials listening in. Do you think my fake mouth static could get me out of this?”

Buck laughed. “I told you, Tommy, it’s not that great.”

Tommy grinned. “When I’m done here, and our shifts are over, I’d… Evan, I’d really like to talk to you in person.”

“What are you doing Saturday?” Buck asked in response. “You free?”

Tommy took in a shaky breath. “I’m free.”

“Then be safe, Tommy, and come back to me.”

Tommy nodded, blinking away tears. “Copy that.”

[dadsbongos]

studying birds and bees

3.5 k words / warnings - penetrative sex (i imagined a vag but there's no anatomy listed), riding

summary - viktor, alone and glum, is not comforted by the company of a fellow scientist at a hextech exhibition party. not until you mention taking him home, at least.

Gold drenches each wall in streamers and plates. Curtains shimmer overhead. Silver platters dazzle each passing caterer’s hand -- specialties half the size of his palm gleam fresh and dewy. Clear coupes and flutes pass, full of wheat sparkles. Sour, no doubt, but sure enough to waste a man as thin as he.

So surely, in fact, that Viktor actively avoids drinking anything besides water. He’s a common lightweight, never finding time to flex tolerance between working hours, and he distrusts anything he can’t see through. Anything that has a smell, whether it’s sour or sweet, he staunchly avoids.

Similarly, he refuses to follow conversation: people unreasonable or unfortunate in nature that approach are limited to singular, curt responses. Thankfully he’s smart enough, well-regarded enough, famed enough that it has no bearing on his life outside these miserable hours. Hours he’s sure are better spent down in the lab. Nose buried into his work: he’s most comfortable that way, living as he always has.

Viktor believes his hate is layered beneath several swathes of cool. An expression he believes to be neutral -passive, if anything- is actually a scathing scowl that has many guests rushing off to inform Jayce of his unapproachable partner.

He hears that a lot.

He’s impersonal, strange, distant.

He likes living that way. It makes working easier.

Jayce is everything he is not: warm, talkative, generous. His face is on porcelain mugs.

Viktor would know that, he got one for a generous discount of Free. It’s sitting in his sink at this very moment, coffee dribbling the rim and baked into the bottom. It could risk a stain if he doesn’t wash it before bed tonight.

But then, who knows? Perhaps he’ll be too exhausted from standing all night and straining a smile whenever he makes eye contact with Jayce. At some point, the muscles in his cheeks become too sore, so he begins ignoring the man wrapped around Mel Medarda.

If he’s lucky, Jayce will not try waltzing over to ask for the third time if Viktor is enjoying the night.

And if he’s unlucky, as he suspects he is, then someone else is rapidly crossing the shiny tiles toward him. Two glasses, one in either hand, glinting beneath ball lights. Shoe heels clicking closer and closer until it’s pounding right beside his ear.

“Never saw anything like this back home, did we?”

You say it so familiarly, as if you know anything about Viktor’s home. Maybe you do. But not like that.

“No,” he answers politely enough despite pointedly ignoring the glass you offer him, “we didn’t.”

“I got a real drink for you,” you’re not content to be ignored though, “I noticed you’ve been nursing an empty cup.”

“We didn’t have anything like that in the undercity, I don’t know if I trust it.”

“Then trust me,” you sip from your glass, leaving a dewy smear around the lip, “It’s not bad. Sharp, but not bad.”

Viktor leans more weight onto his cane as he leans, grabbing the glass from you before slanting back, “Sharp, but not bad.”

You swing another sip, watching from the corner of your eye as his arm remains stationary -though you don’t comment, “You seemed incredibly lonely.”

“So you thought it’d be generous to bother me.”

“Practically,” you clink glasses, “You strike me as a man who doesn’t get bothered often. Someone should keep you upright.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” not even he can tell whether he means that genuinely or not. Maybe he does, but only as long as it isn’t you providing the company. His eyes flutter and he imagines: if it were Sky, would he be satisfied?

Jayce?

Mel?

Heimerdinger?

His long disgraced mentor?

“You finally get to leave the lab and you insist on spending the time alone, I wonder why…” you say with enough wisp in your tone to excuse it as a non-question.

Viktor puffs a laugh, weighed down by annoyance -- do you have no eyes? Are you ignorant to your surroundings? Scratch that, his laugh was a total scoff by the time it breached his throat.

“I’m not interested in people,” Viktor briefs, then sighs, “Especially the types that feel the need to keep me company- like I’m some sad thing on the side of the road.”

“You don’t want to feel pitied?”

“Who would?”

“People who’ve never experienced harshities.”

Viktor shakes his head, swirling the glass flute and watching the bubbles twirl, “I don’t care for any of this conversation.”

“Then what conversation would you care for?”

“Why are you here?” he forces himself to remain quiet, afraid that raising his voice could attract attention.

“Like I said, you looked lonely,” you turn onto your shoulder, budding it against the wall to solely stare at Viktor, “I wanted to find solidarity between two Zaunites.”

He shoots you a wary look at that; nobody in Piltover refers to the undercity by that name -it would sling a series of implications the council hasn’t even begun to tackle. Hearing it here, no less, strikes him unpleasantly -- are you being bold or defiant? Is this earnest support of underground independence or are you mocking the Piltover riches that fund his life’s work?

Either way, you’re foolish to declare yourselves Zaunites in the back of this room.

“Sky is also from the undercity,” Viktor jerks his chin toward her, as if you can’t spot her defined curls and moonglasses from where you are.

“I’m not interested in Sky, lovely as she is,” you shrug, “I’m interested in you. I was hoping to see the brain let loose.”

“I don’t get loose.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“So, you’ll die having never gotten ‘loose’.”

“I’ll die having not done lots of things, but I will have been part of Hextech’s creation.”

“That’s all you want to do before you die?”

“I want to give Hextech to the people, anything other than that…” he shakes his head and taps a blunt nail against the glass stem, “I will die in any case.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Dying?”

“Yourself dying.”

“It will happen eventually,” Viktor shrugs, “Probably sooner than others. Heimerdinger says the brighter sparks, they go the fastest,” he lets the sentiment sit a moment before awkwardly flipping it back unto you, “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t think you should ever die.”

“Flattering, but unlikely.”

“Then why do you work like you’ll live forever?” when the only response you get is a single thick eyebrow raise you continue, “Really, you work like a man without time, as if you could just come back into the world after locking yourself away for years. You worry only about the science behind Hextech rather than the humanity in you that wanted you to create it.”

Softly, you cup his shoulder. Regardless of how bold the gesture is he doesn’t find himself wanting you gone.

Perhaps because of the gentle furrow in your brows, your pout accentuated with reddish stains.

“Why don’t you enjoy yourself, Viktor?”

Viktor has so much he needs to do, but nothing as pressing as easing you. He holds his hand over yours, kindly massaging the flat plain across the back of your hand, “I enjoy myself plenty.”

“Alone?” your gaze flicks toward his hand with no subtly, “With only your own hands?”

“Where did that come from?” he gasps, squeezing your hand tighter in shock, eyes widening with stained cheeks.

“Nowhere, I suppose. Just curiosity,” you shrug coyly, about as innocent as your prior question wasn’t, “You have no date, after all. And I never see your arm occupied with anything besides your cane.”

“I’m content with my work.”

Unabashedly, almost sneered, you speak without grace for the first time all night, “What a sad way to live.”

“Excuse you?” Viktor scoffs, “Do you not work for the same goal?”

“I’m a person, too.”

“I’m not?”

“Not as you are,” you shake your head, eyes now downtrodden as you finish off the glass in your hand, swallowing without cringe before saying, “If you’re so dedicated to living for Hextech instead of yourself, then I’ll take your drink for you. My only plan tomorrow was to nurse a hangover anyway.”

Viktor instinctually swivels so his drink is out of reach, which is something he cannot explain. Why does he suddenly want it? Why does he suddenly care?

But, more importantly, when did he decide he should never want it- decide that he should never care?

Was it before or after clawing his way into Piltover under Heimerdinger’s wing? Was it before or after Jayce blew up an apartment? Was it before or after Jayce began leaving his side to become a political head?

Or was it everything -- slowly one thing upon the other before he realized he had a carefully alphabetized and numerically categorized library of all the reasons he shouldn’t and couldn’t abandon Hextech. Maybe it’s not advancement now, but the security of a purpose. A goal he’ll die to achieve, and at the rate he’s burning: die before achieving.

Perhaps, one night as a man rather than a scientist wouldn’t hurt?

Viktor gags the champagne in a single swing, startling you to pat his back as he hisses and coughs.

“Viktor! What’re you doing?!” you whisper with all the venom of an outraged mother.

“I’m living,” he shoulders you off and straightens out. Chin jutting with all the dignity of a man who didn’t choke down alcohol at an expensive gala.

“Is that so?” you giggle, silently expecting him to back away, “And does life have you for the whole night? Or just until the party’s over?”

Viktor looks down at his empty glass, then toward yours. Then to the lipstick marring the rim -- it’s smudged at the corner of your lip. It’s darker than the more neutral shade you swipe on before venturing into the lab. Suddenly, his belly is warming and his head is fuzzy -for once nothing but pleasant thoughts consume him. He smiles to one side and clicks your empty flutes,

“I have no plans tomorrow, either, wouldn’t you know?”

“For once.”

Waving away the bitter thought, Viktor leans just that touch closer that sends your sweet perfume up his nose. He feels like maybe he should get another drink and step a little more into your space, if you’ll let him.

“Let’s make the night of it, then?” he’s the one bravely going forward, certain you’ll trail after as he paves toward the bar, “You sounded eager to get me into the world, now what?”

“Oh, Viktor,” you coo, “Don’t ask things like that.”

“Why not?” he’s a little cocky now with some booze in his empty belly, he forgets how unashamed the new assistant is, “Second thoughts?”

“No, I’ll just tell you that I really wanted you in my bed tonight.”

You’re grinning- he’s blushing now, a little surprised and a little delighted. But you just smile that devilish way that always has him distracted.

A new assistant hadn’t been Victor’s idea, and if Jayce had bothered conferring with Viktor at all then you especially wouldn’t have been the hired candidate.

“Or did you intend to die a virgin, as well?” you lull into the shell of his ear, soft and warm lips just grazing clammy flesh.

“You’re forward.”

“Am I? Is it too much?” if not for the slightest concerned twitch in your brow, he could’ve thought maybe you were just laying another harsh tease.

“I find it incredibly attractive,” finally, finally Viktor says the terrible thing out loud. Vivid and bright and all things he is not -temptress! he declared when you two first met.

***

Viktor paused, eyes widening from the doorway and fingers tightening around his cane, “Who are you?”

“The assistant,” you smiled in a way he was sure you meant as warm and welcoming, “Viktor, right?”

How he stared at you, however, told you that maybe you’d bared teeth too sharp. So your lips shut, hands clasping and shoulders straightening. Your name but a whisper into the lab, bouncing off each wall before awkwardly cluttering to the ground. Melting in chunks into the grouts.

“I have an assistant,” he murmured, sights scattered across the area, “Where is Sky?”

“Her day off,” then you groaned, baffled by how confused such a famed brain could get over a truly simple concept, “I can show you my qualifications, if you need to be convinced?”

Your frustration seemed to snap him straight, his jaw unhinged and he flubbed for a nice way to retract himself, “No. No. I’m…” he cleared his throat and glanced away pointedly, “You’re my assistant for today, then?”

“Of course.”

“Ah, perfect,” it was not, in fact, perfect. Viktor dreaded your stay; lingering over his shoulder and invading between his eyes with your perfume. You’re cursed with curves and full lips and fluttery eyelashes.

A temptress!

***

A temptress without trying- or you are trying and you play dirty. Either way…

“I want to see more of your shamelessness, show me how much I’ve missed not living,” he means the last part as a jest, but it seems to make you happy.

…he wants you so bad it makes his gut ache.

You gnaw your bottom lip and nod, “Shall we leave now then? I can certainly make you a drink at home you’d like more anyway.”

Propriety flies out the window.

If Jayce wanted Viktor to enjoy himself, then he damn well would! And he wouldn’t bother with acknowledgments or goodbyes or gratitude, not when your hand tangles with his. Fingers locking with all the familiarity of seasoned lovers, you even add the tiniest swing though sure to not jostle his balance. Peachy streetlights cast the most flattering flushed glow upon you, stray hairs catching gold beneath the beaming bulb. Shining in stressed loops around your head, not like a halo but just… you. Graceful in all the misaligned strands and smudged makeup.

Whether you’re tethered off in a clinical coat with a clipboard perched on one hip or strapped to the finest in this little black number -something you could never pray to pull out of a dump in Zaun.

“I think…” you muse while sliding the front door open, your home smells like vanilla and the space is so precisely spotless he’s not sure you even live here, “I’ll need some help out of this dress.”

Your bedroom is worse off -or would it be better?- not a single article of clothing on the floor, no crumpled notes or mugs of shame decorating the nightstand. Eerily empty until, then, he notices the faint orange flame twinkling over his shoulder.

“Did you leave that burning while you were gone?” he’s too focused on the fire risk of it all that he doesn’t notice you’re stretching out over the bed.

“I figured I wouldn’t be out long,” you prop your head on a fist, the other hand perking onto your cocked hip, “Whether or not I’d be alone when I returned was the only mystery.”

He swivels in place, a humored so that’s why it’s so clean! dying on his lips as soon as he sees you splayed out. Stuttering back and clutching his chest as if scandalized -- as if he didn’t come here for the exact kind of modeling you’re doing. Viktor clears his throat, heat swelling up from the comfortable bubbly in his gut and all up toward his reddening forehead. Brows shooting upward.

Silken sheets caressing your bare skin. Moonlight carding through the askew curtains and layering you in a thin pale gleam. Your hair cascaded down your forearm. And that rouge smudge at the bottom corner of your lip. Tempting.

Viktor lets his cane drift back until it’s slanted against the wall, kneeling onto your bed. Hands trembling as if he’ll sink through and wake in his own sheets. But the feeling of his cold dress buttons beneath his fingertips is real enough; peeling layers from sinewy limbs feels real enough. Nails scrape wrists and hips as he removes his vest, and shirt, and long pants.

“Can I… “ he pauses, swallows, and assesses the curiosity in your eyes. Then, before finishing the question, surges forward -one hand gluing to either of your cheeks, tenderly tilting your face to press his lips to yours. Brows knotting toward the center of his face and cheeks flaming with embarrassment. His lips are incredibly soft, though, and they slot smoothly against yours like gears rolling into one fluid motion. You wonder how familiar that is to him.

Sliding up onto your knees, you tangle your fingers between his and pry his hands from your face. Squeezing him affectionately before using the leverage to lay him onto his back slowly so as to not break the kiss.

Straddling Viktor with both hands still wrapped together, at least until you slip one of his hands onto your chest and the other your thigh. He squeezes, not not affectionately just with something a little… murkier. Hips jump up toward yours -- he sighs, frustrated, and takes it out on your nipple -rolling the bud around his thumb before sucking it into his mouth. Cheeks hollowing around, tongue searing up, bright gold eyes peek over wetly.

You arch your back into his face, lifting off his lap with the encouragement of his spare hand shifting toward your ass. Something soft and thick twitches between your thighs, ripping an earnest gasp from you. Viktor snorts, you feel him smiling into your chest.

not expecting that?

You yank his hair at the base, curling a whine through his throat.

shut up!

Leaky and hot red at the tip, Viktor only thickens toward the base. Maybe just longer than your palm, but certainly fatter than you can hold in one palm. Reaching down just to rut his tip along your slit, both of you huffy messes as you drool down his cock.

Viktor sags back, glaring at you with his ruddy lips -- juicy with raw saliva.

“Enough teasing,” he grunts, trying to force you down with his grip on your hip, “You bring me here just to watch me squirm?”

“I do enjoy the sight,” you mewl softly, swirling his tip around your hole, “Don’t you?”

His head swivels in a very lumpy circle, caught between nodding and shaking before he attempts pushing you down again, “Not as much as I want to be inside you.”

You’re prepared to tease more when he abruptly snaps up while shoving your hips low. His whole face twinges at the sudden movement in his thighs but it’s soon overshadowed by the complete, all-melting mellow of having his cock sucked into velveteen walls. Head thrown back and chestnut hair splintering across the dark headboard -- he grins as you loudly gasp and scramble to grasp his shoulders for purchase.

“Ah- Vik- !” you hiccup, scratching into his shoulder blades.

He hisses, lips curled with utter bliss and eyes fluttering shut, “Feels much better.”

Now both of his hands circle your waist, coaxing your movement with firmly pressed fingers. You pray he leaves bruises.

Viktor chases your warmth every time you squelch off, the most he can manage without an uncomfortable cringe is teeny jumps focused in the pelvis but it’s more than desperate enough. Any concern he could have of you finding his display anything except arousing is tossed out the window as your pace hastens. Leisurely drags rapidly devolving to full bounces, little splatters of your wetness painting up his abdomen. And he fucking thrives on it: sticky and lewd and thick, hearing each thrust hammers him closer to the purest release he’s had in years.

He can’t even pluck grains of thought to discern when the last time he felt so good was- not when you’re canting and wailing.

On a particular grind, you could feel his dick slam into some open-wire spot inside you. White neon sparks crackling so bright your whole body snaps above Viktor while he watches starry-eyed. Bopping that spot impetuously, clinging to frayed energy if it means watching you split apart again. You moan -broken vowels and breathy vik- vi- uh, viktor! vik- vik- vvvv- and shudder, clutching him like you’ll fly off without such an iron hold. Openly tearing up inside you before his eyes are wetting too, and webs of spend sprawl into you.

Viktor greedily snatches you by the neck and wrings you forward, lips spreading until he can lick inside your mouth. Moaning shamelessly into you as he fucks the last of his orgasm out on you.

Left humming, content and pliant, you and Viktor break the sloppy kiss to play more politely. You peck the corner of his mouth, wiping the dazzling threads of spit tying you two by the mouths. Viktor blinks up at you in a haze, smiling aimlessly.

“Happy?” you unceremoniously roll off the man, grimacing as he and everything he buried slide out onto your thigh.

“Very,” he remains slick back on the headboard, moist skin skidding against wood as he slides onto the mattress.

You twist an arm over his waist, chin piking his ribs as you give the most outrageously sweet, “I’m sure you can stay the night, then?”

And as Viktor’s discovered, trying to deny your power over him is useless. Why not indulge just a little more?

“Maybe even for breakfast,” he muses.

tagging those who asked/seemed interested :3

@lpvmal + @im-just-a-simp-le-whore + @littleenglishfangirl + @fortheharbingers + @duffycrow + @zemosbunny + @urmommt + @crocwork-clockodile + @petti-fry + @sparklygreentrash + @marshy-moo

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for worldbuilding (pt. 2)

ANIMALS

Animal: adult, beast, buck, cat, chicken, cur, father, frog, goat, half-breed, horse, hybrid, litter, mongrel, monster, parasite, pig, stock, young

Bird: bird, chicken

Fish: aquarium, aquatic

Group of animals: drove, herd, insect, pack, stock, team

Insect: bee, grub, pest

Limb or appendage of: bill, coat, feather, fur, mop, pelt, scale, trunk, wing

Mammal: cat, dog, father, goat, hound, mother, pig

CLOTHING

Accessory: bag, belt, buckle, collar, pocketbook, purse, satchel

Clothing: apparel, array, bathing suit, cape, clothes/clothing, costume, dress, dungarees, falsies, frock, garment, girdle, gown, hat, jacket, negligee, nylons, pajamas, pants, quilt, scarf, skirt, suit, swimsuit, thing/things, trappings, underwear, veil, wash, wrap

Part: collar, crown, pocket, strand, tiara

State of dress: bareness, nudity, try on/try out, wear

FOOD & DRINK

Beverage: alcohol, coffee, drink, potable

Beverage, alcoholic: beer, liquor

Change in: curdle, turn

Food: appetizer, bite, brew, bun, casserole, condiment, cracker, diet, doughnut, feed, frosting, grub, helping, hors d’oeuvre, leftover, macaroni, meat, nosh, nurture, nutrition, pastry, produce, refreshment, seasoning, stew, subsistence, support, sweet, treat, vittles

Food part: morsel, nip, taste, tidbit

Meal: banquet, bite, buffet, diet, fare, picnic, repast, spread, table

Produced from animal: comfort food, feed, food, frosting, grub, hero, macaroni, sandwich, submarine, vittles

Produced from plant: condiment, doughnut, loaf, pastry, produce, sweet

Quality of: acerbity, baked, done, edible, mellow, nourishing, perishable, rare, ripe, salty, short, stale, strong, sweet, unappetizing, weak, wholesome

NATURAL RESOURCES

Electricity: beam, spark

Energy: electricity, fuel, nuclear energy, petroleum, power

Expression of energy: blast, bonfire, chill, concussion, discharge, fire, flash, noise, thunder

Natural event: eclipse, meteorology, weather

Resources: fuel, resource, rock, substance

PLANTS

Flower: bloom, bouquet, flower

Fruit: berry, produce

Growth or death of: bloom, bud, germinate, growth, wilt, wither

Part: bark, branch, cereal, flavoring, foliage, grain, juice, limb, nut, pod, scion, shell, stalk, trunk

Plant: algae, bramble, bush, crop, fossil, grass, harvest, hybrid, organism, produce, wreath

Tree: timber, wood/woods

Vegetable: produce

WEATHER

Object connected with: avalanche, breeze, climate, cold, dew, film, flurry, frost, gust, haze, hurricane, meteorology, moisture, puff, thunder, weather, wind

Quality of: breezy, clear, close, crisp, dismal, fair, fiercely, fine, furious, gloomy, hazy, humid, intimidating, misty, oppressive, raw, rugged, soft, stormy, sultry, temperate, thick, tranquil, turbulent, wild, wintry

Type of: blizzard, cloud, drizzle, fog, hail, mist, puff, rain, shower, tempest, torrent, tremor

NOTE

Excerpted from Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, Updated and Expanded 3rd Edition, in Dictionary Form, edited by The Princeton Language Institute.

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[leafbowl]

Sometimes, Tim got so exhausted that he forgot where he was. Then there were the times when he got so exhausted that he forgot when he was. This was something all of the bats were aware of and they tried to accommodate him, reminding him of the correct date.

When Harley Quinn joined the bats, sometimes Tim slipped up in the most horrible way.

"HIYA BATS!" Harley yelled as she appeared out of nowhere in the Batcave. She grinned, hands behind her back as she rocked slightly. Bruce gave her an unamused look. She over-exaggerated a pout. "You're borin', B-man." She turned to the gaggle of birds mulling about. She smiled big at them all. "Hi Birdies!"

There was a chorus of hellos, some of them half-hearted and distractedly. Tim, who was on his eighteenth cup of coffee (he had started over his limit with each person, only ever drinking a cup in front of certain people (his limit was two)), looked at her, furrowed his eyebrows and then made a face like he was arguing with himself. It confused Harley but she didn't mention it. This was normal for the bats, Timmy especially.

Shaking off his thoughts, Tim smiled softly at Harley. "Hey, Mom." He then turned and went back to his work. Harley froze. Bruce froze. Dick paled, starting to shake. The three of them all stared at Tim, Harley with her mouth open in shock. She wasn't disturbed by it, being Timmy's mother was actually one of the good memories she had with Joker. Of course, the circumstances weren't good but Timmy was a good kid.

"Hi," Harley said carefully. "You feelin' okay, sweetheart?" She thought the endearment might make this easier. It didn't. Dick looked like he was going to be sick. He kept glancing between Harley and Tim. Bruce couldn't look away from the now confused boy.

"Mhm," Tim hummed. He took a sip of his coffee and when his eyes settled on Harley again, he tilted his head rather adorably. "Why do you ask?"

"You..." Harley laughed nervously. "You called me Mom."

Timmy's eyebrows drew together. "Okay... I won't call you Mom anymore but... you are my mom." He seemed very confused but he didn't seem upset or traumatised by the fact he had slipped. He also didn't seem to be like JJ in any other way.

So, Harley nodded slowly. "Okay, Pun'kin," she said, smiling again. "Continue with ya work. Ya doin' a good job."

Tim smiled at the praise and nodded, continuing on his case work. Harley turned to Batman. He looked out of it. Harley looked at Nightwing. Dick looked... like he wanted to punch something. Harley ignored them both and went to get what she'd come for: Alfred's cookies. He had baked her favourite because she hadn't killed anyone in three weeks. Three weeks! It was exciting.

Later, after Tim had slept for sixteen hours straight and was finally aware of where he was, Duke pulled him to the side and sat him down, Steph and Cass sitting on the couch in front of him. Tim narrowed his eyes at them, knowing they were up to something. But Duke looked almost... nervous. He sat down on the couch in between Steph and Cass. "What's up guys?" Tim asked warily.

"We wanted to invite you into our club," Duke said slowly. His shoulders sagged. "We have a bit of a 'our parents aren't dead but they're absent' club. Mine are just..." Duke looked off to the side, eyes glazing over as they usually did when he thought of his parents. "Broken. We'll fix them." Cass set a hand on his arm and he snapped out of it. He turned to her and smiled his thanks. Then he turned to Tim who was fucking confused.

"What are you going on about?" Tim asked. "Both of my parents-"

"We're talking bio parents," Steph put it. She slumped back against the couch. "Also, I'm mad at you that you didn't tell me you had a bio mom."

Tim only got more confused. What were they talking about?

"We heard you call Harley 'Mom' the other day," Duke said. He gave a bit of a smile but Tim couldn't find anything funny with that statement. When the fuck had he called Harley his mother? He hadn't done that in years. It was a hard fix when he first got back but he hadn't slipped up in a long time.

"Still love you," Cass promised, reaching over to take one of Tim's hands. She smiled warmly. "Even if Quinn is mother."

Tim just stared at her. He... He didn't know what to say. Even if he told them that Harley wasn't actually his mum, they wouldn't believe him unless he told them why he had called Harley 'Mom' in the first place- and he really didn't want to do that. So he didn't. He just nodded and sagged against the armchair he was sitting in. He could vaguely recall him saying something about it being good to get his secret out.

After that, Tim started going to the club meetings (it was mostly just fucking around on an inflatable course) with Steph, Duke and Cass. He figured that they wouldn't talk about it with anyone if he asked so there was really no harm in correcting them. Besides, Harley had been his mother at one point. And she wasn't a bad mum, she was just... Harley Quinn. She didn't treat Tim any different compared to his siblings other than the fact she held a certain fondness for him that he reciprocated.

Nothing could go wrong.

Something went wrong. He got so used to thinking of Harley as his mum that he started calling her that without thinking about it. At first it was just to her, which she brushed off as him making some kind of joke or it being a way to deal with his trauma, and then it was to other people.

"What did you do today, babybird?" Dick asked as he, Jason and Tim were sitting on a roof. Jason was trying to get Nightwing and Red Robin out of his territory but the two vigilantes didn't care.

Tim shrugged, swiftly side-stepping Jason's attempt as pushing him off the roof. "The usual, I guess. Oh! I saw Mom today. She wasn't doing anything so I went up to her as Tim and-"

"Wait, what?" Dick's eyebrows knitted together and Jason paused his rough-housing with his brother to stare at Tim. "Your... Mom?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah, my mom." He gave them both weird looks. And then he realised what he had done. He looked off and heard laughter echo around his mind. He ignored Junior and smiled at his brothers. "You know, Selina Kyle?"

Dick relaxed. Tim could physically see the tension seep from his body. Jason didn't look as placable. "Why're you callin' her mom?"

Tim shrugged. "She is kind of like our mom."

Tim could tell Jason narrowed his eyes at him even through the helmet. "Not really," he said, voice gruff through his voice changer. "And isn't Selina in Mexico?"

Tim froze. Dick looked between his brothers. "Tim..." He frowned. "Who were you talking about?"

Tim looked away from Dick. He needed to leave. He could feel something gnawing at the back of his throat. A laugh. Him. Tim let out a sharp breath that was close enough to a laugh to subdue the itch. "Doesn't matter," he said. He pulled out his grapple but Dick caught his wrist.

"Tim," Dick said firmly.

Tim glared at him and snatched his wrist back. "Don't touch me."

Dick reared back like Tim had slapped him. Tim gave a small gasp and covered his mouth. He hadn't meant to get angry, he hadn't meant to hiss at Dick. It wasn't his fault. He was just worried about Tim.

"Tim," Jason said carefully. "Tell him."

Tim stared at him. "No," he said. He didn't know how Jason knew but he wasn't surprised.

"He could help," Jason tried but he sounded... wrong. There was something uncomfortable about his posture. Another laugh crawled up Tim's throat and he wasn't ready for it so soon. It bubbled out of him and Dick paled. He went grey, his hands beginning to tremble.

Tim managed to quell the urge and stopped his laughter. He cleared his throat, turned, and fell off the side of the building, deciding running was the better option. Safer. It was best that Dick didn't know Junior was still in Tim's head, still lurking around. He was caged, his hands bound and his mouth gagged. Still, sometimes JJ got out of his binds. Sometimes he had enough influence over Tim that he snuck in a laugh or two, sometimes he pushed out the words Mom and Dad. He hadn't called Joker 'Dad' since it first happened. He wasn't ever going to do it again. He couldn't.

[neeeooon]

Hey hey!!! Love your works ❤️❤️ this is kind of based off of myself, but do you mind writing Blue lock boys with an S/O who is constantly learning new hobbies? And they’re completely different, like one day they’ll be learning how to do magic tricks and the next week they’ll be learning how to brew coffee? Kinda like that kind? Oh and if you could, do you mind including Bachira and Reo…. Thank you and have a great day 🫶🫶🫶

i received your second req and added those characters! i hope you enjoy 🫶

when you’re constantly learning new hobbies

bf bllk x gn!reader

bachira meguru

-> bachira didn’t know you had any interest in painting. honestly, neither did you. but when you went to his house for the first time and saw all of his mother’s works, you were set on making painting your next hobby

-> “mom, have you seen—oh! y/n?” bachira asks when he stumbles into his mom’s “office” to find you painting with her. “oh, meguru! feel free to join us! i’m teaching y/n here about the color theory.”

mikage reo

-> reo used to be like you before settling on soccer as his thing. you haven’t found that yet and still enjoy having multiple hobbies and trying new things

-> “reo, wanna come to archery practice with me?” “archery? i thought you were learning about ancient greek architecture—“ “that was last week. new day, new me!”

isagi yoichi

-> you hate being board and pick up a new hobby whenever you can

-> “did you solve all of those?” isagi asks, pointing to the dozen completed rubik’s cubes on the table. you swipe them away. “yes. now i’m going to teach myself how to skateboard. then maybe roller blade. i’m not sure yet.”

-> he side-eyes you. “and when you bust your head open?” “then it’s a good thing you’re around to call an ambulance!”

kurona ranze

-> in the two months since meeting kurona, you learned how to scuba dive, build a bird house, and bake

-> next on your list? magic tricks, making coffee without a machine, and painting with water colors. “kurona, love? can i cut you in half?” “no.” “but it’s for magic!” “mm-mmh.”

-> you can’t convince him to be your magic assistant, but kurona does volunteer to make coffee and paint with you. you even find a new hobby by combining the two and paint with coffee

[lou-struck]

Sweet Motivation

Diavolo x reader, Barbatos x reader

W.C. 1.3k

~ After being confined to his studies to work through his mountain of paperwork, Diavolo is in dire need of a distraction that only you can provide.

'Even a prince must reap what he sows.'

This lesson was one of the first Diavolo learned from his father when he began the lessons that would prepare him to one day rule the Devildom, and he has really taken it to heart. He understands that in order for him to be the kind of ruler he wants to be, he must go the extra mile and hold himself accountable in all he does.

But now, that lesson is sounding more and more like torture as the usually smiling demon is cooped up in his stifling study, hunched over a speech he will be giving to honor the 1,000th anniversary of the Devildom artwork orchestra. 

A speech he should've written ages ago but forgot about... 

Barbatos, sensing the urgency of the situation, had kindly taken it upon himself to ensure his master was able to work in a distraction-free environment. He excused the Little D's from their duties for today and has even placed an enchantment on the door so that only he and Lucifer may enter in order to prevent the Prince from getting off track.

Now half-finished and thoroughly bored with his speech, Diavolo places his hand on his chin and lets out a prolonged, very dramatic sigh. With his DDD confiscated and his office door enchanted, he has no way of messaging you, even though he had promised his trusty Butler that simply getting to message you would be wonderful motivation. 

Apparently, he is no longer the cute little demon prince he once was because his big eyes and soft pout had no sway on Barbatos whatsoever. 

Reluctantly, he flicks his golden eyes back to the parchment in front of him, noting the slight change in color the ink has in its varying states of dryness. 

Is watching ink dry truly the only source of entertainment he has.

He fiddles with the quill in his hand when his sharp hearing detects a soft rapping sound coming from his glass balcony doors. Thinking it may be a confused bird trying to peck through the glass, he turns his head and nearly has a heart attack when he sees you standing on his eighth-story balcony with a big grin and a basket. 

~

Maybe breaking into the Demon King's castle by way of rose trellis wasn't the smartest idea you have had since coming to the devildom, but the look of bewilderment on Diavolo's face made the life-threatening climb worth it. 

Not to mention, you have found and exploited a very real security risk for the Palace. If a human such as yourself was able to infiltrate its walls without magic, Diavolo may want to do something about it.

The Prince springs from his seat and strides across the room as he gets closer, your tired breath fogging the glass window before he flings open the French doors.

"MC? What? How did you get up here?" he asks, golden eyes scanning your form, widening when they find a scrape on your leg you got during your infiltration. 

"I uhh…climbed. Up the rose trellis." you gesture back to the plants behind you, giving him the sweetest smile you can. "I heard from Lucifer that Barbatos had put you on house arrest, and I wanted to see you and bring you a pick me up. Are you upset with me?"

Any lecture you were about to get gets lost on his tongue when he looks at your hopeful expression. He laughs and pulls you into his strong embrace. "I could never be upset with you, my Love, even if you do have a tendency to put others before your well-being. Did you know that I was missing you?"

"I was hopeful," you smile, holding out the basket for him to take. The Prince inhales deeply, smiling as he opens the basket, revealing the freshly baked rolled mushroom cigar cookies you have brought him. 

"You made these for me?" he asks; you nod up at him. His eyes shine with affection as he places the basket on his desk to give you his full attention. "Thank you so much for such a thoughtful gesture. I promise you these cookies will not go uneaten."

"Good, you have been working so hard you deserve a treat or two." you smile, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he looks down at you hungrily. 

"Then will you be my first?" he asks, your eyes falling from his entrancing eyes to his lips. You nod as he leans down, closing the space between you two, and you shout your eyes, ready to get lost in the wonder that is Diavolo. 

Your bodies are only a credit cards width away when the doors to the office burst open, sending a startled chill down your spine. 

Barbatos stands in the doorway, his smile too large as he stares you down. "Well now, Young Master, it looks like we have a guest," the Butler says, "MC, what a surprise. I didn't realize that you were coming over. Next time, please consider using the front door."

A nervous heat comes to your cheeks, and you nervously look between the Prince and the Butler. "Oh it wasn't planned, just thought I would pop in."

"I see," he muses, spotting the basket on the desk. "And you brought cookies; how delightful."

He takes the basket off of the desk and gingerly picks up a treat with his gloved hand. Raising one to his lips, he takes a bite of the cookie, his eyes never leaving your own. "My, these are delicious. Did you try a new recipe?"

"I did," you say brightly. "I thought Diavolo may want some, and they taste the best when they are fresh like this."

"While that is true, the young master has fallen behind on his work and will have to wait to indulge until he finishes," Barbatos explains, giving you a soft smile. "You make it very difficult to say no to you, Mc, but I'm afraid I have to insist we leave the young master alone for a while."

"I appreciate all of your assistance, Barbatos," Diavolo frowns, clearing his throat. "But Mc has come all this way; it would be rude if we were to just send them on their way now."

There is a mischievous glint of mischief in the Butler's eyes as he pulls his green eyes from you to his master, "I couldn't agree more, young master, which is why I do not intend on wasting Mc's visit. Until you finish with your speech I shall have the pleasure of indulging in their company and keeping their gift safe." Barbatos cups your chin gently, "You don't mind, do you, Mc?" 

The way he looks at you makes you weak in the knees and you find yourself nodding along to his request. 

"T-that would be nice," you say, your skin heating up as he gently places a hand on your lower back and escorts you away from Diavolo. The Prince's eyes go wide, and he opens his mouth to protest but knows deep down that Barbatos is right; he should've finished that speech ages ago.

"Wonderful, then how about you and I head down for a warm cup of tea, and I can take care of that little scrape you have on your leg." he smiles, a look of victory on his face as he passes Diavolo, knowing that the time he will have with you is precious. 

After all, there is no way Diavolo would want to waste any more time cooped up in his office when it means he is missing your visit.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom @i-need-to-go-like-mangogo @starbby @sarah22447 @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf  @ourfinalisation @isaacdaknight @qardasngan @atigerandabear @anjodedesgostoeerros

[sturnioloisland]

Birds of a Feather | M.S.

Pairing: Matt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mmm a little bit of fluff and a little bit of angst here and there. Not proofread tho.

Requested: No

“I want you to see how you look to me”

You were getting ready for your weekly night out with Matt. Your activities varied from week to week sometimes choosing to go watch a movie, gaze at the stars on the beach, or sometimes go to a nice dinner. A nice dinner was the plan for tonight.

You had chosen to get ready at your own place to savor the peace and quiet in the comfort of your own home. You’d gone through almost half of your closet trying to find an outfit you thought would be appropriate for dinner, which had taken upwards of almost thirty minutes to decide — finally settling on one after tearing the closet apart.

You felt a sense of giddiness while you were finishing getting ready. You and Matt had been dating for a while, but he still never failed to make your heart flutter and cause butterflies in your stomach. You smiled to yourself just thinking about him as you finished styling your hair.

The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon when you received a text from Matt that was informing you that he was here causing you to race to the front door to unlock it and let him inside. You opened the door and felt your stomach doing somersaults. He looked so beautiful in the fading light of day.

“Hey.” You said quietly at him, continuing to admire the way he looked.

“Hey, baby.” He returned the smile to you, his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Are you gonna let me in or do I have to continue baking in the sun?”

“Oh right.” You quickly stepped to the side, opening the door wider to grant him entrance. “I just need to grab my purse real quick and then I’ll be ready.” You said as you quickly headed back to your room.

“There’s no rush.” He called out to you.

You made your way back to him, purse in hand, and saw him look you up and down. “Is it okay?” You asked, gesturing to your outfit.

“More than okay,” his smile still plastered on his face, “You look so beautiful.”

Of course you felt a blush race across your cheeks from his compliment. You’ve never been able to avoid it.

You walked closer to him and he wrapped his arms around you in a hug, breathing in the perfume you had chosen to wear for the night. When he pulled away, he traced his hands down the side of your body, resting them just above your hips and placed a kiss on your forehead. “You always look so beautiful.”

You had to break your eye contact in that moment, not being able to hold it any longer from the feeling of just pure joy and emotion coursing through you. He looked at you with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes, and it never failed to almost bring you to tears sometimes. You looked back up and him and tucked a stray piece of his hair back behind his ear. “I wish you were able to see the way you look at me.”

“And why is that, hm?” He leaned his head into your touch against the side of his face.

“Because then you’d understand why I always feel so safe and loved in your presence.”

He smiled and turned his head to kiss the palm of your hand. “I love you.” He grabbed your hand from his face and guided you towards the door, “C’mon, let’s go get dinner.”

──･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“You wouldn't believe if I told ya, You would keep the compliments I throw ya”

“I just don’t understand why you refuse to accept any compliments I give you.” You and Matt were in the midst of a heated discussion that, quite frankly, spiraled a lot faster than you had realized.

“I don’t understand why you have to lie when you give them. I don’t need you making up things just to try and make me feel better.” It had all started when you tried to cheer him up after his was consistently losing in the video games he had been playing.

“Matt, I’m not lying to you. I just don’t know why you can’t take a compliment.” You had an inkling on why he sometimes rejected any compliments you threw at him. You knew he had his insecurities and they sometimes translated into your relationship. Just like you felt you were not good enough for him, he too felt that same way sometimes. When he got in that sort of mood, he sometimes felt you were just trying to trick him into thinking that you loved him. It was a heartbreaking thing to watch Matt trick himself into believing he didn’t deserve your love, but you were always quick to try and help him shut those thoughts out.

“Matt.” You sat down on the edge of his bed near where his gaming chair sat. He turned his chair to face you, and you grabbed one of his hands. “I understand that sometimes you think that you don’t deserve love, but you do. If you saw yourself the way I saw you, you would understand the compliments I give you. You would understand why I am so deeply in love with you that it almost hurts.”

“But-”

“There’s no ‘but’, Matt. I love you so much, and I know you know that I do. Your mind is just playing tricks on you. I love you.”

He avoided your gaze, and stared down at his feet, releasing his hand from your grip to pick at the beds of his nails obviously not knowing what to say in response to you. You grabbed his hand back to prevent him from breaking any skin, and placed a kiss on the back of his hand.

“I love you, Matt. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you too.”

──･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Say you don't see it, your mind's polluted. Say you wanna quit, don't be stupid.”

It was another bad day for Matt, and your heart broke to see him suffering in such a way. You wanted to help him, but you didn’t know the right words to say to help. It was a combination of his anxiety and insecurities. Logically, he knows deep down that you would never do something to hurt him, but his brain refuses to truly let him believe that.

It all started because you had gone out with a few friends. Because you were dating Matt, it was hard to do things in public because your every move seemed to be followed by people online. A picture of you and a male friend surfaced online from that night out. It was a picture of you and your group of friends parting ways, and you had given them each a hug before you left. The picture, however, only captured you hugging the male. After having a really hard day, the picture only sent Matt spiraling even more.

Watching Matt spiral and come up with different scenarios that couldn’t be farther from the truth broke your heart. He threw accusations at you which you denied — remaining patient through it all. He hardly ever became like this, and you knew that once the situation blew over in a day or two, you both would be able to sit and talk it out together.

What threw you for a surprise was when Matt suggested ending the relationship. Your eyes widened and you were quick to shut down the idea. “Don’t be stupid, Matt.”

“You would be happier if we did though. You wouldn’t be tied down by me and all of my issues.” He stood opposite of the room from you, one arm crossed against his chest, the other one up to his face as he chewed on his nails.

“No, no, no,” you walked towards him, almost cornering him against the wall “we are not breaking up because of some picture. I swear on everything that I love that he is just a friend. You are the person I love. You are the person I want to be with. You are the one who makes me the happiest person in the entire world.”

“I just don’t understand how you can love someone like me.” The tears pooled in his eyes, and seeing Matt cry always triggered a tearful response from you as well. You rubbed your hands up and down Matt’s shoulders, swallowing a small sob you felt building in your throat from the words that he had just spoken to you.

“Because Matt, you are the one who brightened my life when you came into it. You are the one who always listens to me and offers me a shoulder when I need to cry on it. You are the one who opened so many new opportunities to me. You, and you alone, have made such a positive impact on my life that I can’t even bear the thought to be without you. That’s how I love someone like you.”

Tears had slowly fallen down his cheek at your words and you pulled him into a hug as you both slowly sank to sit down on the floor. “You don’t see it yet, but one day you’ll understand why I love you so much.”

──･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“And I don't know what I'm crying for. I don't think I could love you more.”

It was Matt who was always there to comfort you on your toughest days. He was the one who would help pull you back up from the trenches of your own mind because you do it for him as well. He knows you hate seeing him so heartbroken and in pain, but he feels even worse when he sees you like that.

He made it his own personal life mission to make you happy in whatever way he possibly could. The times you spent together were the happiest moments of his life, even if the both of you were having a lazy day in bed — which is what the plan for the day had turned into.

Your head was rested on his chest and his fingers ran through your hair as you both focused on the movie playing in front of you. One of your arms was wrapped across his stomach tracing small patterns underneath his shirt and on his skin. You both were at peace in that moment.

He stared at the back of your head, his mind wondering off imagining the life that you guys could have together.

He could see himself marrying you and building a family together. He could see the both of you growing old and still enjoying watching the sunsets together. He could see himself loving you until the day that he died.

He felt the tears burning in his eyes, and when he went to wipe them away, you turned to look at him. You felt a moment of panic seeing him become so emotional, “What’s wrong baby?” You had sat up and turned to face your entire self towards him.

“I just love you so much, and it’s pathetic that I’m crying about it, but I do. I do love you so much, and I can’t imagine my life without you.” You felt your heartstrings tugging at his words and you moved to wrap your entire body around him — causing him to wrap his arms around you in turn.

You peppered kisses all across his face and cheeks that were now wet with his tears. “And I love you even more than that. You are my entire world.”

A/n: I hope you guys like it :) This is the longest thing I have written actually. Let me know how you feel about it!!

[lychgate]

i haven't posted a really poorly drawn thought piece adventure in years so here's a brief update!

hope i hit the read more thing right oh well anyway:

"Spent a lot of time applying for a home loan. I had to pay -fucked up- to have a convincing income for a decent loan. It was very confusing but cody helped me a lot."

"Cody proposed to me It felt wonderful that someone wanted to share their time and love with me. Cody proposed Anthrohio weekend, it's the con we really met at."

"We saw the listing that sunday morning before we had to go to our table to vend."

"It was a perfect house. We were the first people to view it and we immediately put in a bid. And we got the house. Many papers to sign."

"Moving was not easy. It took 2 whole months. Cody was out of town helping their grandma recover from a big surgery and we had to sell their old house/move that as well as move from my apartment. ALSO THE PETS: My cat dick wolf + Cody's 3 birds. Until we could get some doors installed and separate the house, I had to live between two places every day to feed and care for them."

"Still, life was good. I bought my first house! It has a swing in the backyard. I've never had my own backyard. I've never even lived somewhere that had trees (in said yard) It felt nice. Living together with the love of my life and 4 pets."

"Through all this i never closed my shop. How could I? It was my income, and I just bought a house. It needed to stay open. Moving that much inventory, setting up a new office, the house is a nice size but it's not huge, so, very careful organizing had to be executed if I wanted my apparel laid out right. (Which I totally managed to do)"

"but i Did get really good at baking pies. the two are connected."

"sacred_crow on instagram!"

"there's like 25 of u bastards i would absolutely die for, and about 75 more that i would go nearly dead over."

"We have an extra bedroom so I got to turn it into a toy room. There's games, crafts, stuffed animals, movies, a sick loft I painted the shit out of. It rules. It brings me a lot of Joy."

"Under the loft we have a dug out where we can watch VHS tapes. I love to sit with Cody and watch movies and play Donkey Kong."

"I am not good at Banjo Kazooie, but Cody is. Cody is so talented. I love watching them play games. (Depicted is not banjo kazooie but donkey kong country 2 as we are currently playing that. I'm good at DKC but I will still swear and make sounds like im about to throw up)"

"Half the basement is finished, so we turned it into a dual office space. It rules. Cody has a whole side for fursuit crafting, and my side is mostly my gigantic gamer computer area/shipping area. I took a whole wall to put all my non apparel merch like pins charms and notebooks also. for hte love of god someone buy the notebooks they take up more space then i wanted"

"I love to look over from my computer and see cody working. They always look so focused, yet peaceful."

"It's winter but it rains. I miss the snow. I lived by the lakes growing up. I miss piles of snow. It's just wet and cold here. Yes i'm quite aware of global warming"

"I got kicked off both my health and car insurance. I fixed the car one but health insurance still no. All my meds have gone away. The past few months have been hard. I think way too much lately. I can't get myself to do anything. -this is a whole page of downer bullshit and i cropped it!-"

"We had a leaky ceiling that took a month to fix. Cody did all the work because they are smart and kind."

"Oh yeah I had my uterus removed earlier this year. They let me keep it. It's in a jar in my living room."

"We threw a very nice halloween party. I was the green m&m. Cody was the monarch."

"We adopted 8 beautiful kiwis from a crane machine at the mall. we spent over 100 monies to get them but it was worth it."

"

It was a rough year. My health is in decline. Our country may try to end my life for being trans soon (lol?) I am in hte middle of a colossal mental breakdown of my core fundamental behavior (depression advanced) BUT ALSO: I am engaged to my favorite person. We bought a house together. I'm beginning a new chapter of my life. I have a swing in my backyard. The negatives suck but there are also many positives. The cycle of emotions is immense, but there is beauty in it. There is beauty in life, and isn't that wonderful?"

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧.

✦ info: he's so, so in love with you.

✦ warnings: not proofread.

✦ featuring: jing yuan, gepard landau.

✦ notes: please do know i've done no research i only know bits and pieces of actual game lore these are simply self indulgent and silly Thoughts i'm having about them in the middle of the night <3 (i have no clue what this is i js think it's cute)

— smitten! jing yuan, who thinks of you all day, every day, while doing his official duties, while sparring with yanqing, while speaking with officials, even just before his afternoon nap.

(the strangest of things remind him of you: an oddly shaped rock takes him back to the time when you baked something for him, and the dew shining on a leaf brings with it a recollection of the sparkle in your gaze. it is almost as if you've claimed more than half the space in his head, stubbornly refusing to surrender it into the hands of his daily tasks.

well, he's certainly not complaining.)

— speaking of afternoon naps, smitten! jing yuan, who dreams of you while he dozes in the afternoon. he doesn't remember all of them, but he adores the warm, fuzzy feeling he wakes up with.

— smitten! jing yuan, who names one of his birds after you. he tries not to pick favorites, he really does, but there's just something about the way this little one tilts its head that reminds him so much of you, how can he not like this one the most?

(yanqing once caught him affectionately cooing at the bird with your name. he brings it up every game of starchess they play, hoping to distract the general from stealing another one of his pieces. jing yuan knows what he's doing though, and still ends up stealing a piece or two.)

— smitten! gepard, who writes letters addressed to you every single day while he's away. some he sends, some he keeps. but every single one of them is filled with all the things he thinks of telling you while you're not by his side.

(the ones he keeps are the sappiest, full of things he's too shy to say to you— about how he longs to return to your warm embrace, about how he wants to taste your cooking, about how he wants to lie in your lap while you pet his hair. perhaps one day, he'll find the courage to say them out loud?)

— smitten! gepard, who finds himself murmuring your name, over and over when he's idle.

(sometimes, if there's a tune running through his head, he sings out the syllables of your name, before catching himself in the act. he shakes his head at himself, red dusting his cheeks, but a tiny smile plays at his lips nevertheless.)

— smitten! gepard, who doodles your name (and perhaps a drawing or two) on a spare piece of paper whenever he's lost in thought. he'd never dare do that on official paper work, though, no way, none at all.

(except... one fine day, he ends up drawing one of his infamous sketches in the margins of a very important, incredibly serious, highly official report to the supreme guardian herself.

he only notices at the very last minute, right before submission, much to his mortification and relief. thank the preservation, he thinks as he redoes it, for—well— preserving his dignity.

who knows how much his sister would have teased him if she found out?)

taglist: @ilyuu @ineshapanda @supernova25 @kissedbysilk @vixianne

(bold = unable to be tagged!) please fill in the form in my profile to be added, and send an ask to be removed!

[ryderdire]

I think l one of the reasons that so many queer people related to and wanted to be wolves as kids is because their so small and yet so tightly nit there’s somthing alluring about that when your a kid and literally everyone thinks ur a freak somtimes including your parents and the only real positive human connection you get is online which is vast and often non personal and terrifying

[minnie-cai]

okay but hear me out. fucking art in his dorm but you guys have to be quiet because Patrick is sleeping in the same room so it’s soft and slow as to not make much noise and also Art being Art can’t stop making noise so you have to shove your fingers into his mouth.

idk if that made sense-

an: perhaps this ask is from last year, yes but damn god forbid a girl occasionally forgets about her passion for writing

tags/warnings: not proofread, just hope for the best, explicit smut, art is whiny, dubious relationship between artrick and reader, kinda boring, semi-public sex

You were already half-drifting when you felt it — the brush of fingertips skimming up the back of your thigh, featherlight but insistent, like a tide lapping at the edge of your body.

At first, you thought it was nothing — just Art shifting in the narrow, sagging mattress, some clumsy accident of sleep.

But then his hand stayed there, a ghost pressing closer, bolder.

The room smelled like detergent and boys — hot, stale, a little sweet.

Patrick’s faint snores rose and fell across the room, a steady reminder that you were not alone.

You cracked open one eye.

Art was watching you — his pupils blown wide, swallowing up the blue, his hair a riot of blonde curls splayed across the pillow.

He looked half feral — flushed, wrecked — like someone starving.

His hand slid higher, inching under the waistband of your shorts.

The cotton snagged and bunched between his fingers as he mouthed a desperate, silent please? against your collarbone — needy enough it was almost pitiful.

You should’ve said no.

You meant to.

You could still feel the sting of reality brushing the back of your mind — Patrick. Risk. Guilt.

But then Art kissed you — slow and deliberate, dragging his mouth across your skin like he wanted to brand himself into you — and your spine liquefied.

You hitched your hips just enough for him to shove your shorts and panties down in a messy tangle at your knees.

The air was cool and sharp against your newly bared skin, and you felt the tremor race through you — nerves and arousal sparking off each other in a dangerous chain reaction.

Art pressed against you — molten and solid all at once — the heat of him baking into your bones.

You could feel the thick, throbbing line of his cock dragging against the inside of your thigh, smearing dampness, impatient and trembling.

“Gotta be quiet,” you breathed, fingers threading into his hair — tugging just hard enough to make his hips jerk against yours.

He nodded — frantic, eager — but the second he pushed inside you, thick and slow, his body betrayed him.

A sound ripped from his throat — high and broken — and you slapped your hand over his mouth without thinking, panic jolting through your gut.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, heart hammering against your ribs like a bird in a cage.

Art’s eyes rolled back for a moment — lashes fluttering — and then he was grinding into you, tiny desperate thrusts, as if trying to bury himself so deep you’d never be able to pull him out.

You could feel every twitch, every hungry pulse of him inside you — the stretch so sweet and aching you thought you might cry.

Your hand stayed clamped over his mouth, but his noises still leaked out — soft, pleading whimpers vibrating against your palm.

Each one made your belly twist tighter, the guilt and lust tangling into something heady and addictive.

It was filthy.

It was insane.

It was the kind of thing that would ruin you if you weren’t careful.

You rocked your hips against him, chasing friction, grinding so slow and shameless you felt dizzy from it.

The bedframe creaked quietly beneath you — a traitor.

Across the room, Patrick shifted in his sleep — muttering something unintelligible — and you froze for a beat, heart leaping into your throat.

But he settled again, snoring soft, and Art took advantage of your distraction to slip a hand under your shirt, groping at your tits clumsily, hungrily, his thumb flicking across your nipple until you shuddered.

The stimulation was too much — sharp and wet and aching — like someone dragging the tip of a knife across the inside of your skin.

Art’s hand slid lower, fumbling between your bodies, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit while he fucked into you in slow, grinding thrusts — like he was trying to carve himself into your flesh.

You felt it building — a tide swelling under your skin, pulling you toward the undertow.

You bit down on Art’s shoulder — hard enough to leave dents — and he whimpered against your hand, grinding harder, desperate to pull you under with him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he was whispering now, frantic and broken, “baby, baby, please—”

You shoved two fingers into his mouth, slick and trembling, and he sucked them down greedily like a man dying of thirst.

The filthy sound of it — wet and obscene — filled the tiny room, and you clamped your thighs tighter around his hips, riding out the wave.

Art came first — his whole body locking up, hips stuttering against yours, the heat of it flooding inside you.

You followed seconds later — your orgasm ripping through you so violently you had to muffle your cry against his shoulder, clinging to him like a lifeline.

You collapsed together, panting, a sweaty, trembling heap of limbs.

Your skin felt electric, every nerve ending still buzzing.

Patrick snored louder across the room, and you both jolted guiltily, scrambling to tug your shorts back up and yank the blanket over your bodies.

Art nuzzled his nose against your forehead, grinning like an idiot — lazy and blissed-out — and mouthed worth it against your skin.

You wanted to slap him.

You wanted to kiss him until you couldn’t breathe.

You wanted things you shouldn’t even be thinking.

You pressed your hand over your heart, feeling it hammer against your ribs, and tried not to let it mean anything.

[firewasabeast]

crashing that helicopter is out, having a ridiculous conversation in the helicopter is in! Also, I know what they're doing is all very vague, but it's all I've got, okay?!

“You ready?”

“Ready.”

“You can back out, you know? I can go by m-”

“Tommy,” Buck interrupted, adjusting the mic on his helmet, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Tommy nodded, eyebrows furrowing as he focused on getting the bird in the air. “You know,” he started once they had taken off, “before I met you, the total number of helicopters I’d stolen was zero.”

“So, you’re saying I’ve added spice to your life?” Buck asked with a smirk, glancing over at Tommy.

Tommy huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“So, um, h- how’d you get away from Harbor?”

“I flew,” Tommy deadpanned.

Buck gave him a glare. “I mean without half the station on your ass.”

“Oh, well, I offered to fuel her up and make sure she was good to go for our next call and then I just… took her.”

Buck’s eyes widened. “You just took her?”

“Mhm.” He gave Buck a quick glance, then shrugged. “It’s not like last time, Evan! I didn’t have time to make up fake orders. Plus, after last time, I don’t think they’d believe me anyway.”

“So how long do you think it’ll be before-”

“Chief Simpson to Firefighter Kinard, over,” the chief’s voice rang out over the radio.

Tommy winced. “Chief Simpson, this is Kinard.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing this time, or why the hell you’re doing it, but you better think long and hard before you keep going, Kinard.”

“Sir, there are circumstances beyond my control that-”

“No! This isn’t just me. I’ve already been contacted by the damn FBI and the army. You’re in for way more than a slap on the wrist. You can’t fake-mouth static your way out of this one, Kinard. This isn’t a rescue mission in the middle of the ocean. This is-”

Before he could finish, Tommy cut him off by switching their channel.

Buck eyed him, an instant wave of regret washing over him. “Tommy-”

“Don’t, Evan.” He shook his head. “It’s fine. I really thought he bought the mouth static this whole time.”

“You…” Buck felt a tightness in his chest. “You could get fired.”

“I think you mean we could get fired.”

“But you’re the one flying, Tommy, and I asked you to do it. I asked you to steal a helicopter and you didn’t even question it! I mean, wh- what the hell?”

“Technically, I did question it a little bit.”

“You asked me where to meet and at what time! I- I- the chief is right, Tommy, this is different from before. This is directly going against orders not just from the fire department, but from the FBI an- and the army! The army, Tommy!”

“Okay!” Tommy exclaimed, his focus on flying never wavering. “I get it, Evan. I know the risks. I know what I signed up for. I didn’t need anymore information. You needed me, I’m here, simple as that.”

“But-”

“Evan, please just let me fly the damn thing so your team can get what they need.”

Tossing his hands up in surrender, Buck sat back in his seat. He couldn’t keep quiet for long though and, within a few seconds, he was starting again. “I didn’t mean it, what I said that morning in the kitchen.”

“Evan.”

“No, Tommy, let me finish. I was upset, and I know what I said hurt you, and I’m sorry. But I- I didn’t mean it. I mean, it’s true. I- I don’t have to sleep with everyone I have feelings for, and I, well, you know my history. I didn’t have feelings for a lot of the people I slept with. I didn’t mean you though. I- I’ve been thinking about you nonstop. I’ve been baking so much the grocery store put a limit on how much sugar and flour you can buy in a day. I- the idea that you spent our whole relationship thinking that I really wanted someone else hurt me. It was only ever you, Tommy.”

“Can we just… can we talk about this some other time, Evan?”

“No,” Buck insisted. “No, w- we’re gonna talk about it right now, because you can’t run away this time.”

Tommy peered down at the thousands of feet that separated him from the ground. “Got me there,” he muttered.

“You know, it isn’t all on me,” Buck continued, irritation in his voice. “You accused me of using you for six months, like you were some sort of consolation prize.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you insinuated.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to insinuate it like that. It- It came out wrong. I’m sorry. Let’s get your team what they need and we’ll talk later.”

“Mm," he hummed. Another few seconds went by, and then, “And another thing!”

“Oh my God.”

“You keep saying “your team” this and “your team” that, but they’re not just my team. They’re your team too, Tommy.”

“It’s different, Evan. They’re not my team anymore.”

“Oh, please! You know that once you’re part of the 118, you never really get to leave it.”

Tommy shook his head. “That wasn’t my experience there. Not the majority of the time anyway. I wasn’t there for very long with Bobby. It hadn’t become the family that it is now.”

“Yet you’re still risking your job to save them.”

“I told you, Evan. I’d do anything for you.”

Buck swallowed down the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to be distracted by Tommy’s words Not right now. “I- I… See, that’s another thing!” he started.

Tommy rolled his eyes, sighing. “Should I turn this helicopter around?”

“You keep your distance from everyone and everything, like you’re terrified of being happy. What the hell is that about, Tommy? You’re allowed to be happy.”

“Happiness doesn’t last, Evan.” The words spilled out before he had a chance to stop himself.

An array of emotions ran over Buck’s face. From hurt, to sadness, to sympathy, to confusion. “So, what, you- you’re never allowed to be happy because one day it might go away?”

Another sigh. “It just helps it hurt less when it ends.”

“Does it?” Buck questioned. “Does it really make it hurt less? Because it seemed like you were pretty hurt when you left me in my kitchen. Both times!”

“Evan, I…” Tommy paused. “I know I run from things. Especially things that scare me. Loving you scares me. Because all I can think about is losing you, and losing you would kill me. I’m sorry I ran, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry I doubted you. But it didn’t have to do with you, not really. It’s me. I- It’s me.”

Buck stared at Tommy, mouth hanging open, eyebrows furrowed. “L- Loving me scares you?”

“What?”

“You, Tommy, you said that loving me scares you. You love me?”

“I…” Tommy was sweating. He was sweating and he was panicking and his heart was racing. He’d been to war. He’d flown through treacherous conditions. He was in the middle of commandeering a helicopter for the second time in his life. He’d stayed calm and cool through all of that. But now… now he was sweating. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I- I don’t care if you meant to say it, you did say it. You love me?”

“Evan," he breathed out, resigned. “I- yes. It… Yes, I do. I love-” he stopped mid-sentence, eyes darting to the side. “They found us.”

Buck sat up straighter, watching as military and FBI choppers surrounded them. “So they bought it?”

“Well, I’m guessing they’re not guiding us to an impromptu medal ceremony.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“We’re close to the stadium. That’s probably where they’re leading us anyway. We’ll land there.”

“And then?”

“And then hopefully they won’t shoot us on the spot.”

Buck shot him a look. “You really should’ve become a doctor with your fabulous bedside manner.”

Instead of whipping out a retort, Tommy focused on safely getting them to the stadium. With the other helicopters swirling around them, Tommy landed them in the field.

“Did you hear from Athena?” he asked.

Buck checked his phone, showing Tommy her message. A simple thumbs up that told them everything they needed to know. “She made it,” he confirmed.

“And you’ve got the copy at your feet still, right?”

“Karen got me an identical container and everything. They’ll think it’s the real stuff until they test it.”

Tommy nodded, taking a deep breath before flicking a few more switches. “Time to go then. Leave the container there, they might think it’s a weapon. Put your hands up as we exit, and do whatever they yell at us.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah.” Buck glared against the lights that were shining directly at them. He could barely make out all the FBI agents, military personnel, and weapons. “Tommy, I… I love you too, by the way. I- I think we still, um, have stuff to talk about, but I want you to know that.”

Tommy smiled, ignoring the call coming over a megaphone for them to exit the helicopter. “I think we’ll have plenty of time to discuss it from our prison cell.”

“You think they’ll let us share?”

“Maybe if we ask nicely.” Tommy reached over, giving Buck’s hand a quick squeeze. “You ready?”

Buck nodded, squeezing back. “Ready.”

[veephoenix]

until the stars stop shining | noah sebastian

previous part to all that's left, but it can be read as a one shot.

summary: noah and his girl spend an evening by the lake | words: 1.2k | reading time: 5mins

tags & trigger warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff. noah is an illustrator, reader loves baking cookies, mentions of noah having been reader's first, and that's it—they love each other a ton.

This is for the anon that asked for something sweet and fluffy after i posted All That's Left. I hope this does it. It's not actually a standalone work, but a sort of flashback belonging to the same story where All That's Left happens. I have a full plot developed in my head, but I can't tell if I'll ever write it and post it, so here goes this little thing where you get to know a little bit more of those characters and the story.

Thank you for all your constant love and support <3

 ͢ until the stars stop shining

Noah leaned back in the Muskoka chair, one leg lazily stretched out, balancing his sketchbook on his lap. He was shirtless, only wearing his bathing suit. For over an hour, he had been sketching, savoring the tranquil solitude offered by the lake, the warm caress of the late afternoon sun, and the rustling of leaves. Early fall was the perfect time for moments like this, when nature felt intimate and unhurried. Most of the tourists had long gone, leaving behind only the soft chorus of birds and the quiet murmur of waves licking the shore.

The breeze teased the pages of his sketchbook, carrying with it the crisp scent of pine needles and the rhythmic whisper of water against the rocks. Noah’s pencil glided in slow, thoughtful strokes as he tried to capture the scene before him, but his thoughts drifted constantly to his girl.

The door to the cottage creaked open right then, and she stepped outside. She carried a wooden tray filled with oat cinnamon cookies, their powdered sugar dusting glinting in the soft afternoon light. The sweet, comforting aroma mingled with the crisp air, making Noah smile to himself even without glancing back. 

She padded softly down the dock, her bare feet almost silent against the worn wood, and placed the tray on the armrest of his chair, her fingers grazing his shoulder in a brief, affectionate touch.

“I baked something,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar warmth. Of course she had. Baking was her favorite thing to do.  “Something sweet for my favorite artist.”

Noah grinned as he finally looked at her, his eyes catching on the spot of flour smeared across her nose. She had no idea it was there, and he decided not to tell her—she looked adorable like that.

“You need to refill your energy after working so hard for hours on end,” she pointed out as she glanced at the open sketchbook on his lap. 

Instead of reaching for a cookie, Noah broke off a small piece and gently brought it to her lips. Her smile widened as she took a bite, the sweetness melting on her tongue. A moment later, he let out a soft chuckle, reaching to brush a crumb off her lip with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before dropping back to his half-finished sketch.

“I’m not half as good at drawing as you are at baking,” he admitted.

She tilted her head, glancing at the sketch. “This one looks pretty good to me, Noah.”

He smirked, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Wait until you see the one I did last night, after you fell asleep on the couch.”

“Why do you find it so entertaining to draw me?”

His gaze softened as he looked back at her. “Because you’re my favorite subject.”

That’s when he bopped her nose, making the flour stain disappear.

Her grin was bright and effortless as she leaned over the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck. She rested her chin on his shoulder, close enough to feel his warmth. “And you’re my favorite person to bake for,” she whispered.

Noah’s cheeks flushed slightly at her words, a rare blush coloring his usually composed expression. She kissed the warm skin of his left cheek, lingering for just a moment before pulling away with a satisfied smile. She wandered toward the edge of the dock, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden planks. She sat down, her legs hanging off the edge.

Noah watched her for a moment, admiring how the wind gently tousled her hair and the way the light danced off her skin. The contentment in her posture, the way her eyes reflected the colors of the setting sun—everything about this moment felt perfect.

“You ever gonna let me teach you how to swim?” Noah asked.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the water before she responded quietly, “I don’t know... I’m still a bit scared of it.” She dipped her feet a little deeper, letting the cool water lap around her ankles. “But... I love being here. With you.”

The memory of that first visit just the two of them was vivid in both their minds. This was Jolly’s cottage, the same place where Noah and her had meet back when she was still fourteen and he was eighteen. They had spent countless of weekends and birthdays and fourths of July in this very same place. But nothing had been as special as the weekend Noah convinced Jolly to let him stay with her, alone. It had been six years since then, and even now, the memory of taking her virginity—in Jolly’s bed—was still as clear as water.  

Noah watched as the wind played with her hair, blowing soft strands across her face. He picked up his sketchbook again, unable to resist capturing her in this moment—the peacefulness, the effortless beauty. His pencil moved in quick, steady strokes as he sketched her sitting at the edge of the dock, her feet in the water, the sun casting an orange glow over the horizon. He knew that one day, he would marry this girl. There was no question in his mind.

Once satisfied with the drawing, Noah quietly set his sketchbook aside and rose from the chair. He walked over to her with slow, deliberate steps, his heart swelling as he took in the sight of her in this perfect, secluded spot. Without warning, he bent down, pretending to lift her by the underarms as if he were about to toss her into the water.

She yelped in surprise, her heart leaping as she felt her feet lift off the dock. “Noah!” 

Before she could fully react, Noah pulled her back into his arms, turning her around to face him. She clung to him, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her arms tightening around his neck, her pulse racing from the surprise.

“Don’t you dare!” she gasped, breathless from both fear and thrill, burying her face against his neck.

Noah laughed with her, holding her close, feeling her warm breath against his skin. “I wouldn’t let you go that easily,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Still holding her, Noah carried her over to the blanket they had left spread out on the dock earlier. He gently laid her down, her body sinking into the soft fabric, and then settled beside her. 

“Don’t you ever,” she started to say, “ever, let me drown, Noah Sebastian.”

“Never ever,” he promised, showing her his pinky finger. 

She laced it with hers and finally, she let out a heavy sigh and cuddled closer to him, nuzzing her cheek against his bare shoulder. 

They lay close, facing each other, their fingers lazily tracing along each other’s arms and faces. Neither spoke for a long while. Her fingers trailed down his chest while his hand rested lightly on her hip. Above them, the stars began to appear, one by one, until the sky was a dark, glittering canvas. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the water.

“How long will you love me?” Noah asked, his voice barely louder than the breeze.

She gazed at him, eyes warm and steady. She placed the most tender of kisses on his lips.

“Until the stars stop shining.”

[joelscurls]

a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here. 

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking. 

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head. 

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss? 

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through. 

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him. 

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement. 

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles. 

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance. 

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?” 

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.” 

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul. 

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think. 

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.” 

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food. 

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him. 

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him. 

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out. 

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing. 

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from. 

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera. 

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?” 

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes. 

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive. 

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate. 

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles. 

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench. 

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present. 

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3