#I AM ABOUT TO COMPOST AWAY.

[hyunpic]

HYUNJIN X HARPER’S BAZAAR

[the-busy-ghost]

Constantly forget that the ceiling and windows are lower in the upstairs room, and think I finally know what people over six feet feel like

[bowithoutadaemon]

I need to get up in 6 hours for a busy day.

But I can't stop thinking about where I wanna camp at the festival and about what do to in my minecraft world.

[cinnbar-bun]

Kiss the Swordsman (Mihawk x Reader)

Summary: Inspired by "Kiss the Girl" from The Little Mermaid.

Perona is frustrated that Mihawk won't confess his feelings for you, so she hires Zoro to take part in a scheme to get Mihawk to admit his love for you.

Word Count: ~2.9k

Rating: SFW

You can read this on my AO3 here!

Perona glared deeply at you and Mihawk, who were quietly sitting and eating breakfast. You passed him the butter without him asking, and he refilled your cup while you were cutting your food. 

Zoro raised a brow as he stopped shoveling his pancakes into his mouth. “Why’re you so angry?” 

Perona’s frown grew fiercer as she crossed her arms. “I’m mad Mihawk hasn’t made a move!” 

Zoro glanced at Mihawk, who was taking a sip of his coffee. 

“I dunno, he looks like he’s moving just fine,” Zoro shrugged. Perona smacked his shoulders. 

“Not like that, idiot!” She shouted. Zoro picked his ear and continued to eat. 

“Dunno what you mean then.” 

“Ugh! You’re so clueless!” Perona pointed at you and Mihawk. “It’s so obvious they like each other!” 

Zoro swallowed another pancake whole and shook his head. “I know you didn’t just say that while I’m eating.” 

“Well I did!” 

“Ugh… whatever,” Zoro sighed. “Besides, what are you talking about? They don’t like each other.” 

Perona narrowed her eyes and forced Zoro to look at Mihawk. “You’re blind. Look at how he looks at (Y/n)!” 

Mihawk, at the moment, was focused on his breakfast and Zoro grit his teeth. 

“He’s not even looking at them…” 

“Y-you just missed it!” Perona’s cheeks turned red as she wagged her finger. “Trust me, he stares at them a lot!!” 

“So what? Maybe (Y/n)’s just got a stain or something. What do you want me to do about it?” Zoro tiredly responded. 

“I’m not asking you to do anything ab-,” her eyes lit up as she gasped loudly, making Zoro jolt. “That’s it! You’re a genius, Zoro!”

“I am…?” He asked, unsure if he was going to like her next few sentences. 

“Mhm! You just gave me a new idea! We go make Mihawk confess his love for (Y/n)!” 

“But does he even-“ Perona cut Zoro off by placing her index finger to his lips. 

“Shhhh… trust me. It’s foolproof.” 

---

“So, tell me again how this is supposed to make Mihawk confess?” Zoro asked as he held the shovel in his hand. 

“Duh! (Y/n) will just fall into this hole and maybe get injured or something,” Perona proudly smiled as she covered the hole with a net of leaves. “Mihawk will swoop in and realize seeing the love of his life fall into a hole was too much, then he’ll look into (Y/n)’s eyes and be so emotional over their safety and have to confess!” 

“I don’t think that’s gonna pull a confession out of him.” 

“What do you know, lughead?! Have you ever dated someone before?” 

“No,” Zoro scratched his chin. “Neither have you.” 

“Well that’s just- um, ah- just hush! Shhh! I hear them coming.” 

Perona dragged Zoro behind a tree to peek out and see her victims. Mihawk and you were clad in your usual farming attire, with you carrying a bucket of compost for your garden. Perona rubbed her hands and chuckled, waiting for the glorious moment to come when… 

“Oh, wait, Mihawk, there’s something over there,” you pointed out. 

“Hm? Ah…” Mihawk hummed in acknowledgment as you both began walking away from the path where the hole was. Perona gawked and gripped the bark of the tree. 

“No! Those two-!” 

You and Mihawk noticed a small burrow close to the field of root veggies. “A rabbit, I believe,” Mihawk murmurs, crouching down to the small nest. Before he can even take a look, a grown rabbit bolts out of the hole and dashes under Mihawk’s legs. 

You jump as the rabbit runs past you, and Mihawk recovers to quickly chase after it. The swordsman is fast and swift, able to keep up with the animal, while you’re struggling to close the gap due to the heavy bucket in your hands. 

“And, got you-“ Mihawk leans forward to grab the rabbit, but as he does so, his foot makes contact with the nest of leaves that Perona hid the hole with. “Agh!” 

Mihawk lets out a loud yelp as the rabbit slips from his fingers and he plummets to the bottom of the (thankfully) shallow hole. 

You drop the bucket and rush over to him, looking down at him inside the hole. 

“Mihawk! Are you alright?” 

He dusts himself off, examining how his white shirt is now stained with brown mud and crumbled leaves. 

“Yes. I’m quite alright,” he answers smoothly, as if he didn’t just fall face first into a hole. 

“Do you need a hand?” You ask, extending your hand to him. 

“Thank you, (Y/n),” he accepts, pulling himself up with ease. “Are you alright? You’re not injured, are you?” 

You shake your head. “No, not at all. I wasn’t the one who fell into a hole, anyways. I’ll go check on you back at the castle.” 

“Much appreciated. But first-“ he craned his neck to Perona and Zoro’s hiding spot, causing them to shriek and fully hide themselves behind the trunk. His hawk eyes narrowed at them as he slowly made his way over to them. 

It all happened in a blur, as suddenly the two were lifted by their collars as Mihawk made them face the fields. 

“Since you two love playing in the dirt so much, I’ll allow you the opportunity to till each and every field today. And while you’re at it, fill that hole again,” he stated coldly, his voice giving no room for argument or interpretation. 

Perona and Zoro gulped at the massive garden. 

“If you two try this stunt again, I will have you become fertilizer. Do you understand?” 

“Y-yes, Mihawk,” Perona and Zoro nodded and weakly gave in. Given how Mihawk could be, this was perhaps his form of mercy to them. Mihawk dropped them and walked back to you, examining your hands. 

“Ah, you have a small mark. Next time, I’ll carry the bucket for you,” Mihawk commented. 

“It’s not a problem, Mihawk. I can do it just fine,” you chuckle. “Come on now, let’s go make sure you’re not bleeding.” 

“I most certainly would not be injured from that small of a hole.” 

---

Perona growled as she crossed off yet another idea from her list. 

“Maybe you should give up,” Zoro stated nonchalantly as he was taking a sip of his drink. 

“I can’t! I can’t, because if I don’t, Mihawk is never gonna do it and he’ll die alone like a boring old man!” Perona sobbed. “He can’t keep hiding his feelings! I just don’t get why none of these have worked…”

“Gee, I wonder why injuring (Y/n), burning books, breaking glass, and ruining dinner would make Mihawk not confess,” Zoro deadpanned. 

“Shut up, smartass! I just… I just know that deep down, (Y/n)’s the best thing in his life, and I’m not letting them walk away thinking he doesn’t care!” 

“That’s surprisingly caring of you.” 

“I’m gonna get violent!” Perona stomped her foot. 

“Just take it easy! You’ve been bombarding them nonstop and making us have to do so many chores. I’m not gonna clean any more dishes because of your matchmaking.” 

Perona huffed and nodded. She was exhausted from all the punishments Mihawk gave her after the many stunts she pulled, and manual labor was so not cute. She slid to the floor. 

“This is hopeless…” Perona mumbled. Zoro saw how dejected she looked and sighed. 

“Look, I’m not a romance expert, but why don’t we try something a bit smaller? Ya know? Something that doesn’t end up with (Y/n) or Mihawk getting something broken?” 

“Like what?” 

“Well, I dunno, I figured you’d tell me what people to be romantic. Damn, if only I had that cook here…” 

“Cook?” Her eyes lit up. “Cook! That’s it! We can make them a candlelit dinner!” 

---

Another of Perona’s shenanigans. Mihawk sighs as he opens a letter that tells him to get dressed and be outside in the courtyard. 

“Why did she sign it as (Y/n)…” he asks himself, confused why Perona would think he wouldn’t recognize what your handwriting looked like. Regardless, considering she seemingly put so much effort into this, he plays along and does as told, careful to “dress up nicely” as Perona so eloquently wrote. He fixed his hair and made sure to brush his facial hair before heading to the courtyard. 

“Now, Perona, I hope you have a good-,” he stops when he sees you’re the person standing, waiting in the courtyard. You look breathtaking, elegantly dressed up in an outfit that fits you perfectly. For a moment, Mihawk forgets what he was doing and trying to say. You chuckle and step closer to him. 

“You got her letter, too?” You ask. Mihawk nods. 

“I’m not sure what she’s thinking now.” 

“Neither do I. But it’s been a while since I wore something like this, it’s a nice change of pace.” 

Mihawk stares at you unemotionally, and you’re worried he thinks poorly of what you just said or how you look. 

“Yes… it’s a lovely change of pace,” he adds, his face softening. “You look stunning, (Y/n).” 

The compliment makes you smile, and he feels his face get warmer at seeing your gorgeous smile his way. 

“Come, let’s take a seat, I’m sure Perona has some plans for us,” he offers his hand. You take it and he glides swiftly to the small, white table with a beautiful candelabra in the center. Mihawk pulls out your chair and helps you sit, like a true gentleman. 

“I’m honestly surprised she’d done all of this,” you comment. “I wonder why.” 

“I could hazard a guess,” Mihawk replied, before Zoro arrived in a tux. 

“Evening, you two,” he states, holding a notepad. “The uh-“ he flips through the notepad and you and Mihawk see an obvious script that Perona wrote for him. You hold in your laughter while Mihawk looks unamused. “Y-yeah, sorry, the dining room proudly presents… your dinner!” 

Zoro turns around and makes a motion to grab something, only to grab air. “Wait, where’s the food?” 

Mihawk pours you a drink as Zoro fumbles with the notepad and flounders to find the cart full of food. 

“It seems there’s been a technical difficulty,” Mihawk mumbles. 

“Oh, be easy on them,” you tease. 

Perona stomps to where Zoro is and smacks his head with the notepad. 

“I told you to put the cart there!” She hisses, you and Mihawk are able to hear her perfectly. “Now they’re going to have their dinner ruined!” 

“Hey! I’m sorry! I thought it was here!” Zoro whisper-yells back. He thankfully finds the food cart this time and pushes it towards the table. He then places a silver dish in front of each of you and removes the lid. “There we go! Dinner!” 

“Appetizer,” Perona corrects. 

“Appetizer,” Zoro amends. 

“Thank you. May we have some privacy?” 

“Ohhhhh, of couuuurse!” Perona nods, too obvious in her scheming. She grabs Zoro as the two of them hide in a nearby bush. 

“They do realize we know where they went, right?” Mihawk whispers to you so they can’t hear. 

“Just let them have this. They worked very hard for it.” 

“I understand, but their behavior is quite…” 

“Intrusive?” You add. 

“Very much so,” he sighs as he drinks. “It took me until Perona broke three cups to understand this was deliberate.” 

“For a bit, I thought they were trying to kill me,” you joke. 

“They’d know better than to try such a thing,” Mihawk shakes his head. 

“Although, knowing they’re trying to pull this off makes it a bit sweeter,” you comment. 

“What do you mean?” Mihawk raises a brow. 

“It’s sweet that they’re trying to do this for us. It’s rare we get to spend time together like this nowadays. Usually it’s us taking care of them and training them, but now they’re making us a candlelit dinner.” 

Mihawk’s lips curl into a grin. “You are correct. Even though I would not have done it like this, it’s still rather charming.” 

You and Mihawk quietly chatted throughout the three course-meal. Occasionally, you heard the grunts and arguing between Perona and Zoro from their hiding spot in the bushes. Mihawk would urge you to ignore them as you two laughed and reminisced throughout the evening. Seeing Mihawk relax more and more as he continued talking to you was a treat for Perona and Zoro. 

“I think… I think I’m starting to see what you mean,” the swordsman said. 

“See! Told ya!” Perona smirked. “Look at how he’s melting at their words and smiling.” 

“I didn’t think he could do that,” Zoro replied, impressed at how you managed to make Mihawk’s lips form a grin. 

“They’re almost done eating, now for phase two!” Perona pumped her fists and shot up from the bush. You and Mihawk glanced at her as she floated towards the woods, with Zoro following after her. 

“What do you think they’re up to now?” 

“I feel as if I really do not want to know,” Mihawk sighed. You two waited patiently, until Perona and Zoro came back with a pack of Humandrills. Your eyes widened as you gasped, while Mihawk stayed silent, waiting to see what would happen next. Perona forced the Humandrills to stop before she pulled out a box from a nearby bush. 

“Now do what we said!” She demanded as she shoved a violin to a Humandrill. The Humandrill began to make disapproving noises at her commands. She gave a few more Humandrills other instruments before she pointed at Mihawk. 

The Humandrills looked up the Warlord and then forced a nervous grin and nodded, beginning to play their instruments in sync. You were amazed as they played a slow, romantic song. 

“I…I didn’t know they could do that,” you mumble. 

“Neither did I,” Mihawk stared in awe. You were so entranced by the makeshift orchestra that you didn’t notice Mihawk looking at you, as if debating with himself. He heard Perona and Zoro clear their throats and glanced to them. Perona and Zoro pointed at you and nodded. 

“I guess this was their plan from the start…” Mihawk whispered before he stood up and cleared his throat. “(Y/n).” 

“Hm? Yes, Mihawk?” You asked, looking into his eyes with an expecting expression. He extended his hand to you. 

“Would you like to dance?” He inquired, his eyes briefly moving away from yours. A bright smile was on your face as you nodded and took his hand. 

“I’d love nothing more,” you answer, and for a second, you think you notice a red blush appear on his cheeks. 

You two head to the center and Mihawk gently pulls you in closer, an arm around your waist as your other hands are clasped together. He sways with you, careful to not be too forceful or rough. The Humandrills are getting more excited, along with Zoro and Perona, as some of them begin to hum and vocalize. 

Your smile is bright and beautiful as you look radiant, even in the night sky.

“I hope you are enjoying tonight.” “I am, very much. I won’t forget this night for a long time,” you reply. Mihawk closes his eyes and nods. 

“I don’t think I will, either.” 

He twirls you around as you let out a laugh from the thrilling motion. You two continue to look into each other’s eyes, the unspoken feelings you have for the other clear to the both of you. Despite being in such a vulnerable position, Mihawk finds the feeling rather enjoyable. Having you in his arms, dancing underneath the stars to some beautiful music after a lovely meal- he hasn’t felt this carefree in a long time. You lean closer to him and Mihawk enjoys how you’re trying to get his attention. But you already have it. 

He stops dancing, keeping you both locked in an intense eye contact with his arm around your waist. It’s only you two now, as Mihawk gulps and slowly leans his face to you, silently asking for you to reciprocate. You close your eyes and do the same, your lips meeting his in a soft kiss. 

It’s not lecherous or sloppy, but a gentle kiss with you that says everything he cannot verbalize. 

He loves you, loves you so much that he can’t help but be so gentle and yearn for you. How he wishes to protect you and continue to have your presence within his life. How he loves your smile, your voice, your words, your everything that makes you, you in this lonely world. 

He wishes to say more through touch, but the need for air arises as you both move away. 

“I love you,” you say first. He presses kiss to your forehead. 

“I love you, too.” 

Perona and Zoro clap at your confessions and Mihawk remembers that he’s in front of others. 

“Perona, Zoro,” he calls, his voice low. The two jolt nervously, unsure of what he’s going to do. His lips curve upwards as he glances at them and says a simple phrase, “Thank you.” 

[princecroutons]

Hey

My names Catrick "Croutons" Bateman. I am a son and I am orange and white. I'm definitely an adult.

Got questions? ask em.

#ask crout - ask/submission tag #person - posts directed at/by his owners

--

Q: Why are you bald?

A: Before I met my people I lived a rich and fulfilling life outside getting my ass beat relentlessly by other beasts and eating bugs and rolling around in shit on the forest floor like God intended. This was an act of demonic intervention

( He was severely matted and needed to be shaved by the vet! Upon shaving we [his people] and the vet discovered he was an un*neutered male! His matting was so bad we couldn't tell. Also he smelt like compost )

Q: Will you be bald forever?

A: They'll have to do more than stuff me in a crate if they think they can get away with it a second time.

(Unless he has a difficult time grooming himself, and/or refuses to let us brush him, Croutons will be restored to his former glory by summer 24!!!)

Q: Where did your tail go?

A: It's the same as it ever was

( We believe it was either an old break or his mom chewed it off. It's healed strange at the end, and is the reason he has a little white tuft there! )

Q: Who are your people?

A: Heathens who lured me in with the promise of food only to entrap me and call me their ugly white baby.

( @roachemoji (they/them) and @sagevviitch (she/her) )

Q: Cool Blanket/Who made the blanket/Do you have a pattern for the mosaic crochet blanket?

A: (It was a gift from Crouton's Grandmaman (my mom) I do not have a pattern for it, but there are many moasic crochet patterns out there that are extremely similar to this one! Since this is a blog about my cat I won't be answering more questions about the blanket - please send your asks to @roachemoji !!! I'll be happy to answer any there!!!)

[eliluvschan]

Shadow Selfies

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 971

warnings: few curse words & cutie Channie

genre: fluff

a/n: am i writing instead of finishing an essay for my deadline on thursday? no im not👀

i was walking my to my best friend Chan’s house. he’s got i don’t know what hair colour cause the man dyes his hair every two weeks now? i kinda lost count.

we’ve known each other for the past five years, but the thing is i’ve always liked him more than a friend.

i like him. a lot.

i rang the bell and Jessica, Chan’s mother, appeared in the doorway.

“hey dear, Chan’s in his room upstairs.”

“thanks, Mama Bahng.” i always call Jessica Mama Bahng, it’s a habit i picked up from hanging out a lot at Chan’s house.

she smiled as we both walk trough the hallway. “are you hungry?” she asked me.

“a little.”

“come on. i just bought these.” she said, putting a batch of brownies in front of me.

“alright then, but just one.” i smile.

“sure.” she turned away.

i took a piece and ate it.

“oh, this is amazing.”

“i know right? it’s a new bakery called Felix’s Goodies, maybe you and Chan can pick some up for the others?” she suggested.

“sure thing!”

“eomma, is Y/n here already?” i heard Chan calling from upstairs.

“maybe later.” i smiled and got up from where i was sitting, and made my way down the hall and upstairs. i knocked on the second door on the left.

“if it’s Hannah, go away. if it’s Y/n, come in please!” he called from inside.

“ugh, rude!” Hannah called as she got out of her room to go downstairs.

i laughed at her comment as i opened the door to the usual shirt strewn floor and messy bed.

“hey, where are you?” i called.

“oh, hey there cutie.” he said emerging from the side and pulling on a black hoodie. he stopped in front of me. “what’s up?”

“nothing much. you ready?”

“ready for what?”

“science!”

“oh yeah. come on.”

so we sat down on the bed and flicked through our books and opened chapter seven of biology. disease’s & microbes.

“i don’t understand this shit.” he said after five minutes of poring over the same page. he scanned the green page and then looked at me.

“what is that hard about learning the freaking definition of a compost?” i asked after explaining the compost again.

“it bounces off of my head. how did you do it?”

“don’t ask.”

he laughed. omg his laugh.

“okay. one more time?” i asked.

“okay. and then we do something else.”

i rolled my eyes. “sure.”

he smiled and sat a little straighter.

“when rotten plants, are piled onto a heap, the bacteria of microbes act on it, and produce an enzyme that turns into any sort of liquid and then they feed on it. this stupid and disgusting process is called a compost. got it?” i asked.

“the crappy heap of plant shit is called compost?” he joked.

i laughed. “yeah. now Bio degradable’s?”

“we’re doing something else.” he told me.

“you’re going to fail the test!”

“no, i’m not.” he said.

“yeah, you are. you’re not paying attention!”

“look, i’ve done as much as i can. and just one def. of bio- whatever’s left. it won’t hurt to leave one thing. and besides, you need a break too.

i thought for a moment. true, i do need a break.

“why are you trying so hard to make me study?” he asked.

“cause friends watch out for each other, and remember Mr. Lee said he’s gonna change out seats so we can’t pass noted or talk at all.” i reminded him.

“aw, you’re doing this so we can talk? sweet!” he smiled.

“shit up.” i said, returning to the book.

“hey, look at the shadows!” he said.

i looked and saw our shadows on the wall, very clear and sharp.

click!

Chan took out his phone and took a picture. soon, we were posing madly and taking pictures in the mirror. then Chan held up his index finger. i put mine across it and made an x. i took the picture.

he held his palm in the air. i calmed mine against it, forming a weird, but beautiful shadow of two hands joined in mid-air.

both of us took the picture. then he curved his hand into a half-heart shape. i curved mine, completing the heart. we took the picture.

i looked up at him, he looked down, not smiling. his eyes full of passion. he stared at my lips, then he leaned in and the next thing i knew his lips were moving against mine and his arms were no longer suspended in the air but gripping my waist.

a soft sigh and a click!

a camera snapping a picture, and we jumped and broke apart. Chan looked around. his mother was standing in the doorway. she quickly turned around and walked away.

“i, uh, i should get going.” i blushed and turned away.

“no, don’t go.” he whispered, holding me back.

“goodbye, Chris.” i moved away. but i felt a tug at my fingers. i looked back. our fingers were still locked. Chan smiled at them, but i hastened to pull them away.

i made my way home, still thinking about the kiss.

i got a text from Chan as soon as i was inside.

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: i made mom delete the picture.

me: ok, thanks.

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: but i still have it ;)

me: what? why?

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: our first kiss.

me: can u send it to me too?

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: [1 attachment]

me: well…

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: it’s uhh, nice.

me: yeah.

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: will you be my girlfriend Y/n? i mean i’ve liked you forever and i know you kissed me back and we are friends- i’ll take you out this weekend if that suits you?

me: uhh…

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: what?

me: nothing

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: then?

me: yes! :D

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: i had fun.

me: excuse me?

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: excused, girlfriend ;) i was talking about the shadow selfies and science of course.

me: oh yeah. me too >_<

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: so tomorrow night?

me: sure. goodnight boyfriend 🤍

Channie😩❤️‍🩹: goodnight girlfriend :)

~

[strangelittlestories]

I share an allotment with a group of like-minded, similarly afflicted mythics and metaphoricals.

They’re mostly a nice bunch - escapees from legend, myth and folklore, mainly.

There’s a couple of nice ancient warrior men who help me carry bags of compost (when they’re not too busy making eyes at each other).

Then there’s the werewolf who scares a lot of the pests away and grows lovely blood oranges in the greenhouse.

I don’t always get on with the sirens, who keep trying to add salt water to the fish ponds, but I do have to admit they harmonise beautifully. Mainly they sing about sustainable farming and permaculture - but that could just be what I hear…

We get a few brownies and hobs, too - and we’ve agreed a fair percentage of each harvest to be set aside for them, in exchange for their labour and the little magics that they offer to make mundane tasks go a bit quicker.

The main problem I have (other than rare Editor turning up - and we’ve managed to repulse all their incursions so far) is with the seer with whom I share the herb garden.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, we get along okay. I’m what those in the know would call ‘a blindspot in the weave’, which means I don’t show up in prophecies - so she doesn’t need to worry about giving me dire warnings for me to ignore. It saves on foreboding wailings and I Told You So’s and largely makes for a chiller relationship.

But I am nearly certain that she’s been stealing my herbs.

Not the dangerous or esoteric ones, mind. Usually it’s just perfectly ‘literal’ cooking herbs that go missing. And I’m fairly sure it’s her, because the leaves are always plucked right on the morning they’re ready.

I’ll be heading over to the allotment, excited for the day’s gardening, and sorting through my list of the various plants who’ve whispered through their roots (and into my dreams) that they’re ready to be harvested (along with the latest plant gossip).

And then I arrive and the stalk of my herbs are bare and when I sing and croon to them and ask who did this, they keep stubbornly silent.

I mean … it’s not a big deal. It’s a small price to pay for an otherwise very equitable arrangement. It just grates sometimes; sticks in the craw, y’know?

But I guess it’s true what they say:

Prognostication is the thief of thyme.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Burning Hearts Chapter 15

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) OC 

Summary: *THE FIRE IS FINALLY BURNING AND ITS HOT!!!!* You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

**SMUT!!! MINORS DNI!!!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!!**

TW: Mentions of S Abuse, Oral Sex, Kissing?

Taglist: @zoros-fourth-sword @cottoncandyloverrrr @nothing-but-brass @airwolf92

Burning Hearts Chapter 15: A Moment's Peace?

— —

On the way back from training in the morning, Daisy reminded Law to eat. 

Law remembers this moment as he sits at his desk taking notes from old medical journals. The memory is triggered by the loud growling coming from his stomach. He opens his desk drawer to his left to retrieve some candy and a bag of shrimp chips, as he usually does when the hunger pangs hit. Law looks down into the drawer and spies nothing but wrappers and crumbs. Since when did he run out? Not important now…

Law sighs. He pushes his chair back from his wooden desk and rises to his tired feet. He sluggishly roams from his quarters to the galley and pushes the double swinging doors open. He is met with giggling and quiet conversation that abruptly halts upon his entrance. Law looks to his left and see Ikkaku and Penguin sharing a cup of coffee at the dining table. Penguin clears his throat and Ikkaku shifts her chair farther away from Penguin. 

“Hi Captain!” Penguin exclaims as he sees Law enter the kitchen.

“Is there more coffee?” Law asks.

“Yeah, should be some in the pot.” Ikkaku rises from her seat, cheeks a bit pink. “I promised Daisy I’d help in the garden this afternoon since she’s leaving with you tomorrow. See you boys later.” Ikkaku runs her hand through her curls and swiftly slips out of the kitchen. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Law states as he pours himself a cup of coffee. 

“I-interrupt? N-no! Course not! I-I mean, what would you even be interrupting, haha!” Penguin stutters as he awkwardly busies his hands by smoothing out his jumpsuit over his chest. Law grabs an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter and makes his way to the dining table to sit down. Law settles in a seat across from Penguin and takes a bit of the apple, juice spraying onto the wooden surface. 

“I-I have bathroom duty today I should probably-“ Penguin says as he stands up from the table to hard that he nearly knocks the chair backwards. 

“Sit.” Law states. 

“Yes Captain!” Penguin slams his lanky ass back into the seat immediately. 

“I know about you two.” Law says casually as he takes another chomp out of the apple. 

“W-what? Captain I am sure I don’t know what you’re talking about! I can assure you that nothing-” Sweat droplets begin to fall from underneath Penguin’s signature cap. 

“Cut the shit. I’m not mad.” Law swallows his food. “I’ll admit I don’t love the idea. Could get messy, create tension among the crew…” Law leans forward with his elbows meeting the table. “But my place is not to meddle in the personal relationships of my crew. If you’re happy, and if she’s happy, and from what I hear she is… Then you’re free to do what you want.” 

Penguin stares dumbstruck across the wooden dining table at his captain. 

“I.. I mean… T-thanks? I.. how did you…?” Penguin asks nervously. 

“You’ve been terrorizing Ikkaku’s neighbors late at night, from the reports I’ve gotten.” Law finishes the apple and creates a quick “room” to teleport it into the compost bin (insisted upon by Daisy) before dispelling it. 

Penguin’s face turns beet red and he hangs his head. 

“That’s so embarrassing…” Penguin says through his hands that were covering his face. 

Law raises and waves a tattooed hand casually in the air. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just maybe look into in sound-proofing the walls.” 

“Right, I-I’m sorry, Captain.” Penguin sighs. 

“I did want to ask…” Law lowers his eyes to his mug full of black coffee. 

Penguin removes his hands and looks up at his captain. 

“When you… perform these acts… Ikkaku, she seems… to enjoy it?” Law asks, trying to hide his nervousness at broaching this subject. He takes a sip of coffee, attempting to seem casual. 

“I- Um, what do you mean, Captain?” Penguin cocks his head. 

“Does it make her happy, what you do to her?” Law tries to clarify. 

“I… I think so… I mean it seems like it… You’re our captain, I don’t know if I should-“ 

“We were friends before I became your captain, no?” 

“You’re right… But I guess yeah she does enjoy it, now she does at least.” Penguin huffs out a light chuckle. “I was pretty terrible at it at first.” 

“And… and how did you get better at it?” Law’s breathing quickened but tried to keep his cool. 

“Wait, Captain are you-“ Penguin furrowed his brow further. 

“I’m just asking. As a friend.”

“Right… well she really just told me how to do it. It took some practice but I basically just asked her to show me what… feels good, I guess…” 

“I see. Thank you for this information.” Law rises to his feet and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon, call us on the transponder snail if there’s an emergency. Don’t get too crazy while I’m gone, but if you do, there are condoms in the medical cabinet.” Law states with as straight face as he exits the kitchen without glancing at the mortified expression of his loyal crew member. 

— — 

“You have everything you need?” Law inquires as you enter the control room of the submarine. 

“Probably? Even if did forget my wallet, you’re paying for everything right?” You smile and toss your bag onto a metal table. 

“What do you have against going dutch? I’m not made of money.” 

“You’re the one employed by the world government, I’m pretty sure you can afford to take me to dinner.” You chuckle. 

“And who says I’m taking you to dinner?” Law looks up from the ship’s controls and smirks at you. You take off your plaid overshirt and ball it up to chuck it at his head. 

“Asshole.” 

— — 

“Thanks for the new clothes, it’s so weird I always feel like I’m running out of underwear.” You thank Law for letting you stop at the ladies fashion store in town to grab a few essentials. 

“That is weird…” 

“Hey the suns going down. You wanna get something to eat? I’ll even split the bill.” You look at Law and wink as you walk down the cobblestone sidewalk. 

“Sure. There’s a nice place at the end of this street somewhere I think it’s on the corner…” Law squints and tries to find the restaurant sign. “Oh there it is, wait… is that?” 

Standing at the far end of the street were three strangely familiar jumpsuit clad individuals. One of them, holding a black backpack, turns around and waves. 

“Hey! Captain! You forgot your bag! We thought you’d need it so we just used the mini sub to come find you!” Shachi shouts from across the street. 

“My gods…” Law rubs his face in frustration. 

“Hi guys!” You wave back and beckon Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin to cross the street and join you. The three men hurriedly jog across the street and you bid them all hello. 

“Hi Miss Daisy! Enjoying your day out?” Bepo asks as he pats your head with his large paw. 

“Very much so, big guy! We were just about to grab dinner at that seafood place on the corner. Why don’t you guys join us before you head back?” You smile cheerily up at the polar bear. You hear Law let out a huff from behind you and you turn around. Law raises his eyebrows at you and cocks his head, clearly irritated. You mouth “be nice” and turn back around to face the boys. 

“Well we wouldn’t want to interrupt-“ Penguin begins. 

“That sounds great! Let’s go!” Shachi shouts and turns tail to head towards the restaurant. 

— — 

You hold your wine glass up to your face to suppress your giggles. You sat at a white cloth covered table, candlelight illuminating your features, while classical music was performed in the corner of the fancy restaurant. You were seated directly across from Law, who was nursing a glass of whiskey with his head in his hand. This would be a wildly romantic dinner… if it wasn’t for the two men and polar bear that were seated at your sides. 

Bepo was inhaling the complimentary bread basket, of which he offered to Law and was met with a nasty glare. Penguin slammed his glass of expensive wine in one gulp and was looking for the waitress to order another. Shachi was the one waving over the beautiful blonde waitress. 

“My good lady, do you have any specials tonight?” Shachi says confidently as he holds the leather covered menu out in front of him. 

Law audibly groaned from across the table and you catch him roll his eyes. You laugh and sip your wine. It was clear that this dinner was something he had planned for… and planned for it to just be the two of you. You didn’t mind the company, it was actually quite sweet seeing the boys enjoying some luxuries for once. As soon as Shachi finished attempting to flirt with the poor waitress, you order another drink. 

You slip your sandal off under the table and use your bare foot to caress Law’s denim-clad calf affectionately. He notices your touch and looks up to meet you gaze. You smile at him sweetly and his sour expression softens a little. 

Once the food arrives, all other preoccupations are forgotten and the five of you drink and eat your fill of delicious goodies. You’re all laid back in your seats, full as tics, when the bill comes. You snatch it quickly out of the waitresses hand and place your berries on the tray. She thanks you and leaves before Law can even get out his wallet. He shoots you an angry look. 

“We have more business in town in the morning. We’re getting a room, err rooms… We’re getting rooms at the inn tonight. You three need to return tonight to take care of the base.” Law states blankly. 

“Alright Captain, but remember we’re just a snail call away!” Bepo smiles and reminds him.

“Trust me… I am acutely aware of that…” Law sighs.

— — 

“I can’t believe you bought dinner.” Law says, a bit more relaxed after the several whiskeys he enjoyed during the meal. 

“I was the one who invited them to eat with us, and you certainly looked pissed off about it.” You chuckled as you walked together towards the inn. “You can buy me a drink when we get there to make it up to me.”

“I can do that.” Law says as you continue down the sidewalk. “I can’t believe they just showed up here…” He sighs. 

“They love you. They worry about you. So sorry that you have a crew that cares about you!” You say sarcastically. 

You reach the inn and Law holds the door for you as he enters behind you. It was small and cozy, a small bar to your left and a staircase leading upstairs to the rooms to your right. There was a roaring fireplace crackling in the bar area with low hanging candlelit chandeliers lighting the room. 

“Get drinks, I’ll get our room.” Law nods you towards the small bar as he turned right to approach the reception counter. 

You take a seat on a wooden stool at the bar and smile at the bartender. 

“And what can I get for such a beautiful lady this evening?” 

“A glass of chardonnay and a whiskey neat for my-“ You pause. “…partner.” That sounded weird. But he certainly wasn’t your boyfriend… but he wasn’t just a friend either… oh well, you’d never see this guy again hopefully. 

The bartender nods and returns in a few moments with your beverages. You thank him with a soft smile. Law sidles up next to you and sits down, placing the room key on the bar top in front of you both. 

“If you want your own room, you’ll have to pay for it.” Law smirks and grabs his drink. 

“I’m broke after your crew ate up all my money at dinner. Didn’t peg Shachi for a caviar guy. Oh well. Guess I have no choice but to shack up with a dangerous warlord for the night.” You smile and pick up your glass of wine.

Law smiles so wide you almost see his teeth. He raises his glass to yours. 

“To finally being alone.”

You chuckle.  You clink your glass with his. 

“To ditching the kids.” 

You both laugh before you take a drink. 

— —

After a few more nightcaps, you and Law decide it was time to head off to your room. The alcohol in his system keeping him from remembering that he insisted on a low profile, Law grabs your waist as he walks with you up the stairs to your room. You yelp a little, almost losing your balance on the stairs. 

“Careful, Trafalgar.” You warn him in a low voice. 

“Here’s our room…” He unlocks the door and you’re greeted with modest accommodations. A queen sized bed with a fluffy quilt and an en suite bathroom. You enter the room and swing your bag off your shoulder. 

“I’m going to wash up and get into bed. I’m exhausted.” You remark as you head into the bathroom. Law hums in acknowledgment, sitting down in the armchair in the corner of the room. 

Once in the private bathroom you smooth your hair back into a bun and begin to wash your face. You dry your face on a fluffy white towel and strip your clothes off. You pull on a white tee shirt and a light grey pair of boy short panties to sleep in. Upon reentering the bedroom you find Law unpacking his own bag. He looks at you as your reach your arms up to let your hair down. The scruchie was stuck so it took a few moments to remove, your shirt ridden up far over your stomach exposing your brand. 

You meet Law’s eyes. 

“Don’t look at it.” You say sternly as you turn away and finish letting your hair down. 

“I’m sorry…” Law looks down at his things, embarrassed for caught staring at your biggest insecurity. 

A few silent minutes go by as you get ready for bed. 

“I think I could get rid of it.” You hear from behind you. 

“What?” You turn around and face Law, now standing closer to you than he was before. 

“I can heal the scar tissue. It might not completely remove it, but it would help minimize the overall appearance.” 

“Y-you can?” You ask with shaky breaths. Was he really offering to remove your brand? You made a point to never look at yourself naked, knowing what your eyes would be drawn to. Every single one of Grey Jaw’s slave girls were branded with his Jolly Roger on their abdomen, often spreading to their chest or their pelvic region. Yours was particularly large, reaching far down into your pubic area. You hated it so much. Not only did it remind you of your horrid past, but it made you feel disgusting and ugly. 

“You c-can take it o-off?” You move your hands to your lower stomach instinctively. 

Law nods. 

“I can try. Is that something you want?” He asks. 

You nod furiously, tears threatening to spill over at the prospect of finally being done with your abuser. 

“Can you do it now??” You say as you grab Law’s shoulders. 

“I…” Law looks down into your wet eyes, so hopeful and desperate. They sparkled up at him. “I can. Take your shirt off and lay down on the bed.” 

You did as you were told, ripping your t shirt over your head and laying on your back on the quilt. You didn’t even register nor care that you weren’t wearing a bra, fully exposing your chest to Law for the first time since you were unconscious. 

Law’s eyes immediately lock on to your naked breasts and his mouth drops open slightly. He regains his composure and looks down at your massive scar. 

“Room” Law says as he flips his left hand upwards. The entire hotel room becomes tinged in a light blue. He kneels on the bed next to you and raises his right hand over your abdomen. 

“I’m going to begin now, let me know if you’re uncomfortable.” Law breaths out as he places the first touch of his hand on your skin. Freezing cold digits trace the pattern of your brand on your stomach, but you felt no pain. You let go of the deep breathe you were holding in. It wasn’t unpleasant, it was just like a deep massage. You felt Law’s fingers press across your hips and lower stomach, where the details of the Jolly Roger were branded, and you couldn’t help but sigh. Law’s touch felt so deep in your flesh it was like he was squeezing your soul. You let out a groan involuntarily. 

“I-I need to get a better angle…” Law spreads your legs and slots himself on his knees between them. He looks down at your spread thighs and lets out a gasp. The gusset of your grey panties now had a dark, damp spot in them. You were wet. You were wet for him. 

You pull your arm over your face in embarrassment and try to close your thighs but Law’s sturdy body in between them wouldn’t let you. 

“I need to push these down to finish the-“ Law stutters out, in awe of your body beneath him. 

“Just keep going.” You spit out at him, frustrated. 

Law gingerly pulls your panties down to expose your bush and the rest of your brand, leaving the rest of your sex still hidden to him. You hear his breath catch in his chest. 

A few moments go by before Law continues his work on your scar and it tickled a bit when he pressed into the crease of your legs and pelvis. You twitch under his strong hold. 

“Just a bit more…” Law says as he traces the last bits of your scar. “Done.” Law huffs out and his hands leave your body. You instinctively whine as you’re left without his touch, feeling yourself getting further aroused. Before you could thank him for the immeasurable kindness he had done for you, you feel his cold fingers hook around your panties once again, this time pulling them down past your ankles.

“W-what are you..?” You try to sit up and ask what he was up to. 

“I’d like to try…um… I could…” Law sheepishly looks in your eyes after discarding your panties to the floor. “I want to go down on you.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“Oh! I.. I think that would be okay…” Your heart thumps loudly in your ears as you give Law permission to settle himself on his stomach between your thighs. You still try to push your knees together, but Law was keeping them spread wide. He lays there, just staring at your naked sex, so close you can feel his breath on your sensitive bits. 

“Show me…” Law whispers, his gaze never leaving your glistening folds. “Show me how to make you feel good…” 

You swallow hard. You were so nervous just to be naked in front of him, let alone guide him through pleasuring you. You reach a shaky hand down and spread your lip with a thumb and middle finger. You tap gently on your engorged, pink clit and clench in the process. 

“Here… lick me here…” You breath out. 

Law nods and dives in. 

“Oh!” You cry out in surprise as Law flicks his wet tongue up and down over your sensitive little nub. Laws groans at your flavor on his tongue and the vibrations cause you to moan loudly. You bring your hand back up to pinch at your nipple. 

“Suck on it…” You whisper. 

Law obliges and slurps your clit between his lips. 

“Ah! Too hard!” You whip your head up and look down at him, overwhelmed by the harsh stimulation. 

“Fuck sorry, do you want to stop?” Law pulls his head from between your thighs, eyes filled with concern. 

You pant. You were feeling anxious still, but you didn’t want to stop. 

“No… just be gentle honey… It’s really sensitive there…” You brush the hair out of his face and gently tug his head back to your aching pussy. 

He nods again. He softly takes your clit into his mouth and sucks slowly. 

“Yes, just like that…” You throw your head back into the pillows behind you. “Oh fuck, Law, shit…” You moan and you notice him grinding his hips into the mattress below him. Law whimpers into your pussy. 

“Here, put your fingers in me, fuck! Right here..” You reach your hand down again and spread your wet hole for him, showing him the path to your pleasure. 

Law pulls back from your clit briefly to look at where you’re showing him. 

“H-how many?” Law says breathlessly. 

“J-just one… please… it’s been so long…” You breath out. 

He obliges and slips one tattooed digit into your seeping hole. You moan and clench around him. He tentatively pulls it in and out of your slick walls, watching your face to see your reaction to his ministrations. 

“Up… pull it up.. like- OH!” Law hears your instructions and immediately taps against your G spot with his finger. 

“D-does that feel good baby?” Law stutters out, trying out a pet name in the heat of the moment for the first time. 

“Yes, shit! Yes keep going… suck my clit again, please…” You writhe under his touch and use a free hand to push his head towards your sex again. 

Wordlessly, Law dips his head and captures your swollen bud in his mouth again. Along with the feeling of his finger on your sweet spot, you find yourself careening towards the edge of a powerful orgasm. 

“Shit, I’m gonna… fuck Law! I’m gonna-!” 

“Cum on my face.” Law huffs out against your clit and your dam bursts, soaking his goatee with your slick essence. You cry out in pleasure and your legs shake around Law’s head. You shriek incoherently as your throw your head back, Law slurping up the remnants of your release on your outer lips and thighs. 

Your head was swimming still as you felt a body join you in the bed. Law wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his sweaty chest. 

“Wait but you… I can still…” You whimper tiredly as you pull back from his chest.

“No need.” Law stops you. “I’m going to clean up before bed. Get some rest. That procedure to remove your brand went deep into your muscle, it might be painful for awhile. Just relax.” 

You notice a large, wet spot in Law’s pants as he excuses himself to the bathroom. You couldn’t help but smile, endorphins still coursing through your veins. 

“Don’t take too long.” You chide as you roll over and proceed to immediately fall asleep.

— — 

xx

*A/N HI ITS SMUT TIME! Welcome to Chapter 15! It took us awhile but here we are! They haven't hit a home run yet, but it's definitely a thing now! Thank you for any comments and interactions, they make my day! Love yall!*

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

[sea-salted-wolverine]

My garden is apparently sitting squarely on top of the fountain of youth because I cannot kill plants even when I am trying.

All the garden beds are full and I still had plants starts left over so I crammed them in solo cups because they weren't dead yet and the compost pile was another 4 steps away. Then I kind of threw them on the floor of the greenhouse and ignored them for a week and did not water them. Then I remembered my friend had a super busy Spring and started basically nothing for her own garden and was getting a super late start on it this summer so I offered her whatever plant starts I had left over. And then we both forgot about it for another week. So by the time I got around to sorting through what plant starts weren't quite dead yet I just picked the ones that looked nicest and dumped them all in her garden and made a pile of all the ones that I thought would not make it after 2 weeks of neglect.

The pile was supposed to go to the compost this morning but evidently the spilsh splash of water they got last night was enough to perk them up so now they are going in yet another fuck it bucket.

[ijwrite]

Female Orc x Female Reader Part 3

It only took a day for you to be healthy again, which was not just a relief to Hakla, but to yourself and your bees. You would probably never tell her, but the rivalry she had with the bees was one of the most entertaining things you had seen in a long time. And little Qarak was growing so fast too. He was constantly trying to walk, and getting frustrated when his little feet couldn't balance his body. He was still a little menace though, you couldn't take your eyes off him for a second before he was gone. He was currently sitting beside you in the garden, snacking on a carrot as you removed weeds. Hakla was slightly off in the distance, throwing weeds in the compost pile. You smiled to yourself. Life had been good lately. Your animals were healthy, your garden were flourishing and most importantly, Hakla and Qarak seemed happy. You felt a little hand smack your side, and looked down at Qarak. He folded his hand repeatedly in the way you thought him.

"You want some water little man? Okay let's go" You lifted him up and brushed the dirt from his pants. You had the idea to teach him some basic signs to communicate before he learned to speak.

"I'm just getting him some water, be right back" you said to Hakla, who hummed in acknowledgement. She had started to trust you more, and seemed much more at ease. She no longer slept with the axe near her, especially after you had made a bed for her. You had felt bad about the way she slept in a cot on the floor, and despite her protests about a proper bed, she slept much more soundly now.

After Qarak had gotten his water, he started fussing. You knew it was time for his midday nap, so you put him in the little crib. He fell asleep surprisingly quickly and you left the hut to continue your work.

Hakla was still outside, looking intently at one of your berry bushes. She reached out for it, but quickly retracted her hand once she heard you approach.

"There should be some of them that are mature" You plucked a bright red berry and held it out to her.

"They taste really good. Especially in pies"

She took it slowly. You plucked another and ate it. She ate hers too.

"You can eat when you want something, you know? That's why it's here" You went back to weeding. In the corner of your eye, you saw her pluck some more berries.

"You sure? Won't we need them for the winter?"

"Nah, I planted the berries purely as treats. You just eat till you can't"

You smiled again. She sighed heavily.

"It is not often I have had sweet things. They mostly gave us bread and meat"

She put the whole handful of berries in her mouth. You straightened up.

"They?" You asked. She tensed. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I won't pressure you" it would be a lie to say you weren't curious, but Haklas comfort meant more than that.

"They were the ones I got away from. They were to sell Qarak" She grumbled. You nodded silently. "They made us fight each other. For fun. I got free" She looked down at you.

"I am glad you did. I am happy that you are here" You tried. "My life has been significantly better since you and Qarak entered it" This time, she slightly smiled back.

She truly had a beautiful smile, even when unsure, it seemed to lighten your soul just a bit.

More months went by, and soon it was little Qaraks first birthday. He was getting better at both communicating and balance. He could not talk or walk yet, but he was already much bigger than when you first saw him. As his birthday gift, you decided to make him a swing in one of the large trees at the outskirt of the farm. You actually didn't know the exact day that he was born, since Hakla only had a rough estimate of the time. But that didn't matter, a birthday he would get. So you woke up Hakla and Qarak with the smell of fresh baked fruit pie (which you guessed they both enjoyed, seeing as they both got their entire faces covered with sweet filling).

After you had cleaned the mush of Qaraks (and Haklas) face, you told them to follow you out behind the cottage. A little aways, you had hung your homemade swing yourself during the night (you thought the hardest part would be to crawl up the tree in darkness with the rope, but the real challenge was getting out the house without Hakla waking up. She would be awake at the slightest noise, and you didn't want to ruin the surprise) and happily told Hakla;

"I tied it to a strong branch, so you can swing with him!" proudly gesturing to your work. Hakla just looked at it for a minute and you wondered briefly if you had overstepped.

"You made this for... him and me?" She asked with the thinnest voice you had ever heard from her.

"Well, yes. I hope it okay. I think I made some squirrels angry when I hung it up, and I-" you were interrupted as she hugged your close to her with the arm she didn't use to carry Qarak.

"Thank you" she whispered.

"Of course" you answered.

[cinememed]

₍ 🎞 ₎   fight club  (1999)  rp  starters  ! featuring violence, explicit language, unhealthy relationships & mature topics . some lines have been slightly adjusted for rp purposes .

how much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight?

you met me at a very strange time in my life.

i found freedom. losing all hope was freedom.

i want you to hit me as hard as you can.

the things you own end up owning you.

yes, these are bruises from fighting. yes, i'm comfortable with that.

it's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

if i don't say anything, people always assume the worst.

this isn't love, it's sport fucking.

i know everything you do, so if you know then i know.

i no longer have any fear of death. but i am in a pretty lonely place.

i wouldn't feel good about my life, is that what you want to hear me say? fine. 

this is your life and it's ending one minute at a time.

i see all this potential, and i see squandering.

listen to me, i'm giving you a direct order. 

you have very serious emotional problems.

you're sorry, i'm sorry, everybody's sorry, but... i can't do this anymore.

it will hurt more than you've ever been burned before. you will have a scar.

i'm grateful to you. but this is too much. i don't want this.

you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me.

this is probably one of those cry-for-help things.

you're not getting this back. i consider it asshole tax.

fuck what you know. you need to forget about what you know.

is your life so empty that you can't think of a better way to spend these moments?

start a fight. prove you're alive.

you are too fucking... blonde!

you have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh.

all the ways you wish you could be, that's me.

i am free in all the ways that you are not.

i'll bring us through this. like always.

this is your pain. it's right here. look at it.

you are not special. you are not a beautiful or unique snowflake.

i'll carry you, kicking and screaming, and in the end you'll thank me.

you can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.

you're not your job. you're not how much money you have 

we are all part of the same compost heap.

you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake.

when people think you're dying, they really, really listen to you

what do you want me to do? you just want me to hit you?

i don't wanna die without any scars. hit me before i lose my nerve.

on a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.

every evening i died, and every evening i was born again, resurrected.

nobody takes this more seriously than me. 

i didn't create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better.

why would anyone possibly confuse you with me?

without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing.

three pitchers of beer, and you still can't ask.

you wanna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs.

you have to consider the possibility that god does not like you.

i'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that.

i felt like destroying something beautiful.

everything's far away. everything's a copy of a copy of a copy.

[rederiswrites]

Look, I'm well aware that this is a totally opaque thing to be excited about, for most people. But I am kind of obsessed with how totally transformed the soil in my kitchen garden is by just one round of deep layered mulching and a couple years. Hell, I'm blown away by what just a couple years of letting a heavy layer of wood chips rot into red clay will do. It's so fucking encouraging. I can make fertile soil! That's some godlike power there. Like, no, I didn't get shit in the ground for the first couple years but by golly I made soil and that is paying off.

And I didn't make it with magical imported bat guano or primordial minerals from caves or bags and bags of soil builder, either. I made it with cardboard, cow manure, straw, and some of the neighbor's pond dredgings. Four out of five of those were from within a mile of my house, the fifth was literal trash. That's what the kitchen garden got. The field garden, which is much larger, got a heavy application of cow manure and a thick layer of raw wood chips, and in some spots a great deal of bird shit, where the brooder coop sat. It's less transformed in texture, sort of midway between the kitchen garden and the base soil, but over years of adding mulch and compost and cover cropping, I'll bring it around.

(There's never enough compost. I daydream about consistently having the energy to start collecting food waste from the neighbors to compost. I bet the VFW cranks out a lot of coffee grounds.)

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Waiting for the Storm

Prologue

Series Masterlist Chapter 1

pairing: Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader 

summary: "If you spend your whole life waiting for the storm, you'll never enjoy the sunshine." -Morris West

When Michael's release day finally arrives, he isn't too optimistic about his future. The most he's hoping for is a relationship with his daughter and a new path forward. The world, however, has bigger plans for him after he meets a timid, yet lovely, children's book illustrator who has more in common with him than it seems.

warnings: swearing, emotional and physical abuse (very brief descriptions here but these will be recurring themes in this story), descriptions of prison, descriptions of family loss

a/n: Ahhhh! My first Mikey story because I FINALLY had inspiration. I am way too excited about this WIP so I really hope this lil tidbit gets y'all intrigued! The general vibes will be fluff and hurt/comfort because Mikey deserves to be comforted. I hope you all enjoy!

w/c: ~900

There was something comforting about the rain. Peaceful and cleansing. Water vapor rising unburdened by the impurities of the ground to the heavens and falling back again like a gift, washing away the sins below with every splattering drop. 

When she was a child, the other girls bemoaned their hometown’s climate and constant precipitation. “Rain brings noise, and floods, and mud, and worms!” They’d lament to her after every storm. She never knew how to tell them that none of those consequences bothered her. 

Floods were rare, and more a symptom of poor drainage systems than the rain itself. Mud was mostly avoidable, and easy to wash away. Worms were necessary for composting and agriculture, not to mention completely harmless. 

The noise, well, this she understood. When she was a toddler the loud smashes of thunder and cracks of lightning terrified her too—scaring her under the covers night after night, hands clamped over her ears. But then her life became less quiet, and the storms were less loud by comparison. 

See when your home is full of screaming, and crying,  and the echoing slap of skin hitting skin, thunder is a lot more appealing. It’s easy to focus on. If you try hard enough, you can let it drown out the sounds of your father putting another hole in the drywall, of your mother’s car pulling out of the driveway for the last time—the tires screeching as she leaves you behind.  

The spattering of rain against the windows became her anchor whenever the universe was kind enough to offer it to her. When her father rages around the house, destroying every trace of his estranged wife, she would lay in bed—eyes glued to the droplets splashing against the glass. 

On the especially bad nights, she pictured a safe haven: a set of cliffs, composed of worn shale threaded with lush green grass. She could feel the cracked sandstone through the fabric of her pajamas as she sat along the edge. Fat raindrops drenched her scalp, trailing down her face, over her heavy eyelids and exposed collar bone. The ground beneath her grew increasingly damp, each swirl of water wafting the scent of petrichor towards her nose. Somewhere in the distance, waves crested over rocks—the sound getting lost in the patter of the rain. 

As she aged, she continued to dream of this place. Throughout her tumultuous teenage years and every disagreement with her father. Each and every time she felt lonely after moving to another, sunnier, state for her bachelor’s degree. 

The image was especially helpful as her relationship with Xavier turned sour. Every insult, threat, and smack fading into the drum of raindrops on rock. She’d lay awake at night, bruises blooming on her limbs, imagining the rain. 

And it was the steady pounding of droplets on the roof that gave her the courage to pack her things and leave. Trekking across town, over multiple bus routes, until she stood her friendly coworker’s doorstep—soaked to the bone, and more unhurried than she’d been in years, all thanks to the rain. 

Michael had never minded the rain. A symptom of living in Dublin his whole life, he supposed. When every other day brought a shield of clouds over the sun, you adjusted or you fled to brighter pastures. 

He sure as hell didn’t mind it when he was in his cell, listening to the jeers and yelling of the other prisoners night after fucking night. The thrum of raindrops against cinderblock were a welcomed static noise. 

At first, he was grateful for the solitude of his protected status. It gave him time to grieve the loss of his wife, to repent for his hand in her death. His stint in prison meant he was temporarily relieved of the burden placed on his shoulders by the family and it gave him time to grow and reflect. 

But it also meant losing Anna, grieving and spiraling on his own for eight excruciating years, and being closer to his father than he’d ever wanted to be again. It meant that he’d lost everything that mattered, because he’d been too careless to protect it. 

He missed freedom. He missed his family, his daughter more than anything. He missed fresh air, and hot water, and home cooked meals. He wanted to feel the wind against his chest, the rain on his face, anything but the stale breath of hundreds of other prisoners and the bite of the cool cement against his back as he drifted off. 

His release day approached slowly, at first. But after the first few years, the days began to blend together. Seasons rolling by like a strip of film in a projector, bursts of green coming and going as the plants in the sparse outdoor yard sprouted and died. The tunnel was quickly ending, but he wasn’t yet sure if there was light at the end of it. 

Regardless of what lay waiting for him outside of those gates, he’d regain his autonomy, he’d try to see Anna, he’d try to move forward. 

This is what the rain sounded like, when it pounded against the foundation of the prison. It sounded like liberty, like family, like achievable peace. 

If he could feel the rain again, he could keep going. And he would.

[14dyh]

17 from the new list? hange getting rejected

Get Over Her | H.Z.

Pairing: Hange Zoë x gn!reader Summary: You helped Hange get over their rejection. Word count: 1.0k A/N: sorry anon i can't write about y/n themself rejecting hange so this happened :"")

It would have been impossible for you to miss it when Hange acts strangely– even for themselves. Being roommates for over a year, you've known how they take their coffee differently in the morning, never miss checking on Science Daily to tell you something fascinating, or how their footsteps sound when they're trying not to wake you up at night. 

You know Hange. 

Their pain wouldn't pass over your eyes and the way they ruminate in an excruciating manner that you're starting to feel the headache for them. It began with the rejection that happened weeks ago. Hange just came home, throwing over the flowers they failed to give in an empty bin and refused to say anything other than they got rejected, that's all, just kinda unfortunate this time, right? You knew better and recognized right away how the rejection slowly deteriorates them from the inside, even if they're trying to laugh it off by dousing those flowers with an organic-based chemical that speeds up the composting process (as Hange happily announced to you). At some point, you had to try and rip them away from that cruel cycle of never admitting their pain. Sometimes you would spend hours in the arcade, pull them along the quiet garden on the riverside to watch ducks, or watch plays and movies until you both pass out on the couch. From those moments, you managed to glimpse the sparkle in their eyes again which they lost a day later after seeing her. 

You want to shake Hange into reality and yell at them to get over her. But how can you manage to do such a thing when she looks like everything Hange had hoped for? 

She would pass by the hallway and everyone's attention would be stirred. Her grace and fragrance, or how she managed to stand out like a fascinating flower among a field of others. She was what Hange hoped to be the perfect opposite of their ideal paradox. But now they couldn't stand or act like themself whenever in the same room as her or not until they decided to space out and let their ideas absorb them. There were times that they would remain silent in school, but you knew that the sound of their thoughts was getting louder and louder to bear.

You were both in your dorm, studying in the dead of the night when they asked, "Hey Y/N? Do I sound annoying?" And it sounded more like a question out of curiosity than self-deprecation. 

"Well, not really..." you responded. 

"Not really? What does that mean?"

"I mean, why would you ask me? If ever you're annoying, I'll be the first one to get used to it so don't think I would mind that anymore,” you explained, sitting up from your bed as you tried to meet their eyes. Hange’s gaze remained far away. 

"So maybe I do sound annoying..." they pondered loudly before turning to you and continuing. "Was it my voice?"

Hange continued on and on, asking and piecing together information on that topic.

And you were getting tired and hurt from the inside as they thought that maybe their voice was annoying, or their humor, or their hobbies. You nudged their swivel chair with your foot. 

"Hey, stop that now. Why don't we go out? Maybe a midnight stroll or a snack. Anything to stop you from that nonsense."

You pulled them out of those thoughts again, taking the streets at midnight to walk around and get something to eat. To talk about anything else other than their rejection because you know it would make them break. The night faded into a deep dark blue and it was 2 AM. You forgot how you both ended up on the couch, drinking away your thoughts as Hange laid their head on your shoulder. They rambled on about funny anecdotes and fascinating theories that would concern anyone, and then they quieted for a moment before saying, "You know... I grew the flowers I wanted to give to her."

Hange only smiled before finally turning to you, "Heh, I like the sound of that."

They said in a quiet voice as though raising it any higher would cause them to break down. 

Then they chuckled before saying, "Those flowers were a cross-hybrid. And when I showed her, she said it looked like a weird sack of balls and I said noooo, it wasn't quite like that. It's supposed to symbolize how the sun dips on the fabric of space..."

They went on drunkenly, arms around you now as they leaned closer as if any attempt they would make to move away would result in great discomfort.

"And I thought it was a cute metaphor to relate her to the sun but... she only laughed at me. Not in a way you would laugh in amusement with my ideas. Somehow, it sounded mocking."

And that hurt, Hange's voice broke, prompting the sobs that came after. 

You held them close, a portion of your heart aching as someone made them feel ashamed of all the things you love about them. What angered you the most was that the girl never rejected them outright, maybe to keep Hange in a way to use them or entertain herself. You don't deserve any of that, your mind protested. You thought of Hange as everything wonderful that happened in this world, as all the poetry and love in your heart screamed. 

"I made a mistake... And I'm correcting that..." they muttered on your shoulder, on the verge of falling asleep. They held you tighter, their tears dripping down your shirt before they relaxed on your body. For a moment, you tried to make sense of their words, maybe they regretted falling for that girl after all and realized how much they didn’t deserve such treatment. 

As they drifted to slumber, still clung to you, your eyes found the small plant growing on Hange’s table that reminded you of the nebula you always talk about with them.

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Envenomate - 4

Epel and Deuce survived Rush Week and successfully pledged a fraternity, so they can drink with the best of them, and it shows. Ace could, too, but he doesn’t take your dismissal of his concern lightly.

“What’s up?”

You’ve switched to iced tea. “It’s complicated,” you say as you twirl a compostable stir stick through your drink to dissolve the sugar. Floyd taught you to use simple syrup from the bar to avoid this problem, but that would mean approaching the bar, and with the event in full swing, you’d rather not leave this quiet little hiding spot.

“Well, explain it to me like I’m five.” Ace leans forward with his chin on his hands across the table. “I won’t even make you make eye contact.”

You’re grateful for the opportunity to closely study your glass. “I mean…things are great, yeah? Better than great, they’re…amazing.” You don’t know why you feel your throat burning. “But it can’t last.”

“Why the hell not?” Ace tilts his head and frowns. It looks like the heart over his eye is weighing him down on that side. “He’s not, like, shitty to you or anything.”

“No, nothing like that. I’m worrying about nothing and I know it.” You sip your tea. It’s still not sweet enough. “It’s more like, I’m in deeper than I thought I’d be.” You can easily imagine Floyd and Jade’s twin eyes and smiles boring holes into you from wherever they’re slinking around by now. You’re not supposed to talk about The Business™️, end of sentence, no exceptions. You don’t know how to explain to Ace the whole of what you’re feeling - that you want desperately to stay with Azul all the time, that you want to see him happy, to succeed and have everything he ever wanted, and to be one of those things precious to him. That you would never ask him to give up his dangerous ways for you. Even though you like to think - and dare to hope - that, if pressed, he would.

Ace holds up one hand to pause you. “I am listening, I promise, but I have to go so bad right now you don’t even know, I will be right back.” He darts off in the direction of the restrooms.

You laugh a little, though it quickly dissolves into a sigh, like the last few bubbles bursting at the top of a flat soda. You slump forward on the table and hide your face in your hands. The party atmosphere is too much tonight. No wonder he didn’t invite you at first - he probably knew you’d go sour on it quickly. Why didn’t you listen to him? Trust him more? He’s never let you down yet.

“Oh, my, what sadness befalls my perfect sight,” says a voice you don’t recognize.

You force yourself to sit up straight and locate the source. Still a face you don’t know, with a sleek, blond cut that acts less like a frame for the sharply focused eyes and more like a flimsy cage. A pointed chin bears a pointed smile.

“What?” you ask blankly.

The man bows to you with a flourish that might make Jade envious. No, that’s not right, for two reasons: Jade is less flamboyant and more subdued than this, and he would solve any jealousy problems with a bat. “Forgive me, Mademoiselle,” he says, lifting his gaze to capture yours, “but it troubles me to see a beautiful woman drinking alone.”

Your hand descends like a spider to grab your glass and pull it closer. “I’m not alone,” you say politely enough. You’ve never had to pull the ‘celebrity girlfriend, Do You Know Who I Am’ card, but there’s a first time for everything.

“Quite correct, my rose.” He steals Ace’s chair, somehow landing a hell of a lot closer to your face. “Yet still, I may thank whichever of the Fates has brought us together here.”

“Uh, there is no ‘us,’” you say indignantly. “You stole my friend’s spot, and I don’t know you. So you might wanna move along before he gets back.”

The intruder merely laughs and leans in closer still. You lean away automatically. “Such pointed words from such a delicate flower.” He reaches up to stroke your hair, but you shy away from him with a noise of disgust. He grabs your hand in the same fluid motion. You fell right into his trap. “I would venture to say your nectar is all the sweeter for it.”

You launch yourself out of your chair and try to wrench your hand out of his, but his grip is deceptively strong, and he rises to his feet as if you’ve invited him to dance. The hunter-green irises of his eyes thin to narrow rings around his glimmering pupils. Your heart hammers against your bones as your flight response kicks in. His nostrils flare and a wicked grin overtakes his mouth at your futile attempt to flee. Of course, now that you need them, Epel and Deuce are nowhere nearby.

You let out a gasp when you crash into something behind you. Rather, someone. Gloved fingers steeple themselves on your upper arm with just a hint of the strength they possess.

Floyd leans down to your level and crosses his arm over your body with his bony chin on your shoulder. From the way your attacker retreats, Floyd must be giving him quite the expression. You glance sideways at his face and find not the intense, rage-filled darkness you expected, but instead a deranged grin that clawed its way up from the depths of hell.

“Playing nice?” he asks. You can smell fish on his breath. And a metallic sourness you’d rather not think about.

“Merely enjoying the company of an enticingly beautiful young lady.”

You bristle under Floyd’s protective hold. He notices.

“The manager is ready to see you now,” he says with a curled lip that reveals even more teeth. Relief breaks over you, but unfortunately, the message isn’t yours to receive.

The man bows gracefully. “Thank you, my good man. I shall make my way to his chambers presently.” He pins another invasive stare on you. Then he blows you a kiss. “Until next we meet, my lovely rose.”

You wish you could projectile vomit on him, but he’s already vanishing into the crowd. Floyd relinquishes his grip on you and drops his satanic smile in favor of something between pity and disgust. “I’ll give him the squeeze later.”

“Are you gonna tell Azul?” You almost clamp your hand over your mouth for asking. You don’t know why.

“Oh, he’ll find out.” Floyd picks up your drink and gives it a suspicious sniff. “I’ll get ya a fresh one, Seahorse.”

It’s only once Floyd strides away that you realize your drink must have been spiked.

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