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h1nanii · 12 days ago

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I loved your Plug!Law fic omgggg it ateeee!!! that was genuinely the spiciest thing of my day, do you think you could do another modern AU Law fanfiction? Maybe one where he’s a tattoo artist? Or a guitar player for a band? Oh and maybe some inspiration from the movie “Dinner in America” I’m not sure if you’ve seen it, but the watermelon song from John Q and Jane—would totally fit that line!

Maybe some nsfw too😌😏

love your works!!

Ask and you shall receive. I loved that movie btw.

Here’s “Tattooed—on Sheet Music.” Requested by @yvngnanie

Pairings: Rockstar!Law x Vocalist!Reader

Inspired by the 2020 indie film “Dinner in America”

[Genre: ModernAU! Romance, Slight slow-burn, Law doesn’t trust Reader at first. Bandmates to lovers. ]

[ Warnings: NSFW 18+, explicit words, Oral sex (f! Receiving) p in v sex, slight angst. Happy ending. ]

Mysterious!Law x Afab!/Fem!Reader.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・.・。.

It started on a Wednesday. You didn’t like Wednesdays—too close to Monday to feel like progress, too far from the weekend to be hopeful. But your best friend, Shachi, had begged you to come with his to some sketchy-looking tattoo shop across town, swearing it was “super chill” and that his bandmate worked there.

The place smelled like ink, antiseptic, and leather. The kind of place where the walls had stories and the floor had seen more boots than brooms. The bell above the door jingled as you stepped in, nervously fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“This is it,” Shachi said, striding in like he owned the place. “Hey, Law!”

You saw him then—leaning against the back counter, long fingers thumbing through his phone. Dark jeans, ripped at the knees, band tee stretched over a lean frame. Tattoos spiraled up his arms like vines—clean, deliberate. The beanie on his head barely contained dark, messy hair, and his eyes—hooded and unreadable—looked up at you for only a second before flicking back to his screen.

Law.

So this was the mysterious guitarist Shachi was always raving about. And now that you saw him, you understood the obsession.

“She sings,” Shachi blurted, jerking a thumb at you like you were some prized show dog. “Name, I mean. Like, for real. You should hear em.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. “Shachi—”

Law didn’t look impressed. In fact, he barely looked at all. “Cool,” he said flatly, his voice low and almost bored. “We don’t need vocals.”

“Well maybe you wouldn’t sound like a dying amp if you did,” Shachi shot back, teasing.

Law snorted but didn’t reply.

You felt like crawling into the nearest trash can and staying there as Shachi dragged you around, forcing you to meet the rest of his bandmates.

—

A Few Days Later…

You didn’t expect to go back.

But you did.

The shop was closed, but the music behind the building drew you in. You found them in the back room—some makeshift rehearsal space with tattered couches, exposed brick, and amps that hummed with life. Law had a guitar in his lap, fingers dancing effortlessly over the strings, lost in his own world. Shachi was on drums, and a couple others you vaguely recognized filled the space with bass and keys.

No one acknowledged you much. Not even Law. Especially not Law.

You weren’t offended. That kind of aloofness seemed to cling to him like smoke. He only spoke when necessary, eyes always half-lidded, always elsewhere. But you noticed how focused he got when he played. How everything else fell away, except the music.

You kept showing up.

You didn’t know why—maybe the music felt like a language you could understand, even if the people didn’t. Maybe it was how good his inked hands looked against the neck board of his guitar.

—

One Night…

The venue had cleared out. It was just a small bar they used for rehearsal gigs, dimly lit and slightly sticky underfoot. The guys had packed up early, off to grab a smoke or a drink or maybe just to argue about tempo somewhere else.

You didn’t think anyone was there. So you wandered up to the mic, immersing yourself in the spotlight of music.

The guitar was still plugged in. You plucked a single chord—hesitant, shaky—and then let your voice carry.

You sang something soft. Something yours. Low, trembling at first, but steady enough to hold. You didn’t know Law had come back in, standing in the shadows near the door, arms crossed, listening.

Your voice curled around the empty space like smoke.

By the time you stopped, you felt both silly and free.

“That was you?” a voice drawled.

You jumped. Your heart did something complicated in your chest when you saw him—eyes fixed on you like he’d never seen you before.

You nodded slowly, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t think anyone—”

“You wrote that?”

Another nod.

Law stepped closer, expression unreadable, but something had shifted. There was a crack in the stoicism. Interest. Curiosity. A flicker of something alive.

“You should sing with us.”

You blinked. “I thought you didn’t need vocals.”

He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

—

It was weird at first.

You and Law became… something. Not friends exactly, not yet. But he didn’t ignore you anymore. He’d glance at you when you walked in. Sometimes he’d nod. Sometimes you’d find coffee waiting at your usual chair in the studio.

He never said it was from him.

You found out small things over time. He hated small talk, hated superficial noise. But he liked rainy mornings. He always played when it rained. You told him you used to hum to thunderstorms as a kid, pretending you were singing with the sky. He didn’t laugh at you for that—just gave the faintest smirk and said “Figures.”

He’d tell you stuff in pieces. His love of medical science. That he almost went into surgery once. That tattooing was its own kind of healing. You confessed you always wanted to sing, but were too scared. That you were more used to hiding than performing.

“You’re not hiding anymore,” he said one night, quietly, when the others were packing up.

It felt like the kindest thing anyone had ever said to you.

Over time that Cold stoic demeanor of his turned room temperature as you both agreed to be friends. Awkward at first, but then casual. He allowed you to sit next to him in the studio, texted you more often. Sending funny cat videos on Instagram he saw to your account after finding out you shared the same humor.

The rehearsals seemed more intimate than usual lately, maybe it was the pressure of your first concert upcoming in the band. Maybe it was something else.

—

It was your first real gig. A packed underground venue, lights flickering off sweat-slick walls. You weren’t used to this many eyes on you. Law stood next to you onstage, guitar slung low, tuning with precision. When he looked up, he saw the nerves flickering across your face.

He leaned in, close enough for you to hear under the crowd noise. “Just look at me if you get lost.”

You did.

And somewhere between the first verse and chorus, something shifted. You weren’t just singing anymore—you were living. You saw Law watching you between chords as his hands strummed on autopilot, his eyes darker, focused, almost like he was learning your face like a song, reading the notes on your face, his heartbeat matching the tempo.

The high of performing was still in your chest as you slipped into the backstage changing room. You were barely halfway through unlacing your boots when the door clicked behind you.

It was Law.

Still in his all-black gear, shirt clinging to him from the heat, his forearm flexed as he leaned back against the wall, watching you with the same look he had onstage—hungry, unreadable.

“You looked…” He searched for the word. “Alive.”

You smiled, heart hammering. “I felt like it.”

He stepped closer. Tension thick in the air.

You didn’t stop him when his hand brushed your cheek. When he kissed you—slow, deliberate, like he was afraid he’d ruin it if he went too fast—you kissed him back. Harder than you meant to. Months of slow-burn glances and mutual loneliness burning out at once.

His hands were on your waist, sliding under your shirt, your back against the door now, the room spinning slightly. You moaned softly into his mouth when his thumb skimmed your ribs, teasing toward your bra.

But then—your hands stopped his.

“Wait” you whispered, breathless.

Law blinked, frozen, pulling back just an inch.

“I want…” You swallowed. “Not here. Not like this. I want it to mean something if we—”

His eyes flickered, but he didn’t get angry. He nodded, slow and respectful. “Okay.”

And just like that, he stepped back. Straightened his beanie. Like a gentleman trying very hard not to still be very, very hard.

—

Those next two weeks were rough, you didn’t know how to face Law after what’d happened as your friendship awkwardly fell back to square one. The texts stopped, you had to fetch your own coffee and he refused to look at you during meetups.

It was 2:03 a.m. when you heard the knock.

You shuffled to the door in your sleep shirt, rubbing your eyes awake as you got closer, opening the door to the person you wanted last on your list of seeing at the moment.

Law stood there. Hoodie, jeans, slightly windblown. Guitar case strapped to his back. His eyes were wild, but soft. Restless. Avoiding the real reason why he was there as he reached into his pocket, handing you the folded piece of sheet music.

“You left this at the studio, the others don’t know where you lived” that’s a lie.

“Shachi does, I’m not dumb Law. Why did you really come over?”

He paused for a moment, before sighing. Looking back down at you as he confessed.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, voice low. “You’re in my head. All the time. Your voice, your smile, that thing you do when you talk too fast and catch yourself halfway—”

You pulled him inside before he could finish.

His mouth was on yours before the door clicked shut.

You barely had time to process the knock before Law was kissing you, backing you into your apartment like he’d been holding it in for months — because he had. His lips were hungry, but his hands stayed steady, gripping your hips like he didn’t trust himself to go further unless you gave him permission.

You didn’t hesitate this time.

You pulled his hoodie off, fingers brushing warm skin and ink. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even as your shirt dropped to the floor. “You sure?” he asked, voice low, hoarse.

“I want you,” you breathed. “All of you.”

Something in him snapped — a restraint he’d been holding onto with white knuckles. He kissed you harder, almost desperate now, and before you knew it, he had you pinned to the couch, your thighs spread open, his fingers pulling your panties down with sharp precision.

“Fuck” he muttered as he looked at you — your pussy glistening, already soaked. “You’ve been thinking about this too, haven’t you?”

You whimpered when he ran two fingers through your folds, circling your clit slowly, teasing. “Please, Law…”

He sank to his knees in front of the couch and buried his face between your thighs. His tongue was all heat and pressure, licking slow and deep, then flicking fast just to hear you cry out. When you bucked your hips, his strong arms held you down, fingers digging into your thighs.

“You taste so fucking good” he groaned against your pussy, voice low and rough. “I could make you cum like this all night.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging when he sucked your clit just right, sending a pulse of heat through your entire body.

But you needed more.

“Law—” you gasped.

He looked up at you, eyes blown wide with lust. He stood, undid his jeans with one hand, and pushed them down just enough to free his dick — long, thick, veiny, already dripping precum. You instinctively reached for it, wrapping your fingers around the base, stroking once, watching him twitch under your touch.

He hissed between his teeth. “Fuck, princess, you keep doing that and I’m not gonna last.”

You guided him between your legs, and he lined himself up with your entrance, pressing the tip of his cock against your wet heat. He didn’t push in yet — he just looked at you. One last check.

“I want this” you said. “I’m ready.”

That’s all it took.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open, groaning deep in his chest. “Shit… you feel perfect” he breathed. “So fucking tight.”

Your head fell back as he filled you, your walls clenching around him, adjusting to the stretch. When he bottomed out, you both just stayed there for a moment — breathing, shaking, wrapped in each other.

Then he started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts at first, grinding his hips against yours to hit the perfect spot every time. He watched your face, drank in every moan mentally matching it to vocal scales—imagining you as a song, every twitch of your body. He kissed you hard, tongue tangling with yours, all rhythm and heat.

“Say my name,” he growled in your ear.

“Law” you moaned. “Oh—fuck—!”

He snapped his hips harder, driving into you with more force now, fingers digging into your hips to keep you in place. The sound of skin slapping echoed through your apartment, mixed with your gasps, his groans, the slick heat of your bodies.

You were close — he could tell.

“Cum for me” he ordered. “Cum around this dick like you mean it baby.”

And you did. Your pussy clenched around him, orgasm crashing through you like a wave, legs trembling, mouth open in a silent cry.

Law followed seconds later, with a strangled groan, burying himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came inside you, hot and thick.

He collapsed against you, catching himself with one hand, pressing his forehead to yours as both of you tried to breathe.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I should’ve knocked on your door weeks ago.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・.・。.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

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revacholianpizzaagenda · 7 months ago

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97 Poets of Revachol pics!

HERE THEY ARE, courtesy of the event's official photographer, Zuzana Šubrtová. The Elysium-based LARP took place in two runs in Terezín, Czech Republic, in the latter half of September. These are from the second run!

I can't possibly describe what it was like to inhabit the rundown tenement of La Cage with more than a hundred other players, bringing to life a whole slice of society: immigrants, barflies, petanque players, sewer people, Union gang members, Wild Pines mercs, disco people, sewer people, looters, street artists, an inevitable mass of fascists, anarchists, communards (or so I'm told), communards (proper), communards (it's complicated), councilmembers, hustlers, taxidermy enthusiasts, the also-inevitable mass of pale-fried strugglers, journalists, Moralintern creeps, RCM chucklefucks, and so on and so forth. The old military hospital burst to life with small human moments and grand revelations happening in every corner at all time, as the gears of history moved toward our inevitable trial run of Le Retour.

We really had it all. Politics, drugs, creeping mold, more drugs, unseen voices steering us toward our best and worst natures, a metaphysical rave, entroponetic anomalies, precognition (scripted), precognition (just kind of happened?? Several times over?), suzerainist coffin deliveries, sweatshop politics, old reckonings, radiant sacrifices (accidental-ish), three-way divorces (one-upping one HDB), strikes and strike-breakers, political dance-offs and political orgies, and did I mention the drugs, under the greatness of history and the pale.

Thanks to the organizers for the colossal effort they pulled off like it was nbd, and to all my fellow dwellers of La Cage.

A few favourites:

First off, this was basically the entirety of my game:

...with a central heartrending tension between that abandon, that 'something beautiful is going to happen', and my character's earthly loves, the family she loved so much. It was really really fascinating and emotionally moving to get to play out that central conundrum in full (and go die on the barricades for an independent Revachol following the push of History) (and also of Franconegro pulling my strings like a marionette in a chilling scene) (but mostly History)

Case in point: me in the back, the Unseen voice/spirit/skill "Doomsayer" to the left, dear husband Tai in the middle. Sorry Tai!

Moralintern mission

Sweatshop workers strike

Both sides of the barricades, right as the game ended (this is not a spoiler, it said up front on the website that that's where the story would end): independentists (feat. His Fuckery Franconegro with the black wings in the background, but also the Unseen of if it sucks hit da bricks, the street martyr and idk who else) and globalists (Dolores Dei, Doomsayer et al)

speaking of those two - here's them in full rave regalia. I love that two of the collective skills of this place are flat-out "Dolores Dei" and "Franconegro", it's so fitting. Can't have current society without them, so here they are, as a molecular part of it.

RCM peeps predictably being serious, professional individuals

Designer drug guy talking to Corrosion who's kind of the local version of Electrochemistry. I'm sure this was a completely hinged conversation that reached sensible conclusions

Wild Pines mercs +1

Disco downtime. The set design for The Bearded Vulture club and The Second Club was out of this world. I hope my own pics can convey some of it.

sweatshop power dynamics (there were accidents, Union leverage, strikes, corruption... you'd think there would be barely time for anything else to go on AND YET)

possibly my fave pic of the whole thing (go Doomsayer!!!). we had specific graffitable areas on the wall and made VERY good use of them. Well, everyone else. My character wasn't much of a graffiti artist, her greatest contribution was turning "Revachol for revacholians" into "Revachol for mold"...

LARP^2

fascist campaigning at the Democracy Picnic

Petanque club...

...actually playing petanque? I never saw them ingame, I was starting to wonder if it wasn't a front for something else

Pictured - no scheming, plotting or quadruple-crossing here as you can clearly see by "Kras Knezhinisky"'s super normal demeanour and unassuming name, which I can totally believe was on his legit birth certificate)

I mention Kras because here's the theatrical taxidermy show with him in the middle narrating the adventures of his antifascist ferret Kommissar Kunixet. Nice pic, I take the shot. Five seconds later, superstar Frittte clerk Jamie Delaney joins in, and what can I do, NOT have Jamie in a shot? Absolutely not, so I take the same exact shot with Jamie in it as well.

And by sheer twist of technology (and of course the pale, and of course vile censorship in defiance of the Romangorod convention)... Kras Knezhinsky of all people gets kommissar-no-kommissar'd. "Kras, the pale is erasing you from our memories, from images," I warn him, showing him the two pictures. One hour later, he gets taken behind the waste disposal facility and shot.

Hm.

(LARP's haunted. These things KEPT HAPPENING. In the first run, that version of my character went "YOU MURDERER" at the specific merc who'd turn out to be connected with her background, a couple of hours before getting that reveal in-game. What's Elysium without some good old-fashioned precognition after all!)

Poor Flowerseller (red dress here) was kind of my Empathy - many valiant attemps were made, however. Uphill struggle.

HARDCORE anodic club leader Konrad Nilsen doing something not so hardcore here, idk what was going on exactly but then again I never even noticed we had a morgue and I had a plot right next room, so what do I know. I know that the end is near. That much for sure. And that the resolution of history's contradictions goes through the pale. But corpses? Nah.

||||||| 😎

#disco elysium #97poets #my own photos next time maybe!

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tmwcs · 1 year ago

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“Child of the Sea”

A Drabble from the Mermaids Tale series, and dedicated to @hoonieshoney, my little Siren (if yk…then yk.) you did wonderful in your latest Drabble, so take this since you inspired this piece. Enjoy heedam 😈

Warnings: non con smut, dub-con, submissive reader, hesitation, cursing, unprotected smut in detail, breeding kink, baby trapping, unwanted pregnancy l, reader forced into getting pregnant, a slightly whiny Heeseung, this is based of the MT series so it may be confusing unless you’ve read the entire series (which is completed btw). Enjoy.

“Can you hear the ocean, baby?”

His voice submits you into a quivering quake of anticipation and fear. Yet there was something pleasing to the sense of danger in the arousal that forms inside, and he knows it. He creates it and makes you desire more, no matter how hard you try to fight against him.

“Tell me you can hear it.” He gently coos you as he rings his fingers and pushes back the strands of your hair aside, admiring your natural yet extraordinary features. Blessed as the descendant of Poseidon, your turquoise eyes glitter like the jewel itself, while your raving burgundy hair compliments the dark red lips. While many would initially mistake the colors of your DNA for colored contacts and hair dye, they would all drop dead upon finding out that it was all a reflection of your ancestors godly genealogy traits. “My beautiful siren. Sing for me, won’t you baby?”

You both lay facing each other. You didn’t have a choice, since he captured and held you against your will months ago, he’s forced you to sync with his schedule. Due to your recent good behavior, he clipped the chains and allowed you a certain amount of freedom in the room, even when he would be in the next one handling some business. However, no matter how much little freedom he permitted, you would never be allowed out of his grasp or sight. Rule of thumb was for you to remain within one hundred feet at all times, breaking that crucial rule resulted in you being locked away in the underground spa that he had costumed built, where the entire pool was surrounded by a smooth wall that caved the water in, similar to a well. The water came straight from the sea, and only a narrow stoop leading to the front door, escalating out of the shallow end allowed him to stand and watch you during his visits. The last time he had you locked in, forcing your transformation, he kept you as his pet and enjoyed keeping you in secrecy for nearly a whole month. The pool was deep. Below the surface, into the deeper end, the wall transition from brick stone to glass, where he could watch you from the other side in the underground chambers of a luxurious bedroom. Everytime you’d dive down and lurk to the bottom, you could see him sitting in a grand velvet chair, sipping in a glass of wine with his legs loosely crossed as he watched you in awe. How beautiful and magical did you look with your mermaid tail flowing behind.

Sometimes, he’d come up to the glass and press his palm flat against it, beckoning you to come up and flush your own with his. You knew better than to not come up when you’d hear the tapping of his fingers; disobeying him led to other punishments that were far too brutal. So even as much as you hated being treated as his little guppie in the wide aquarium, you had to pick your battles wisely.

All the more reason why you displayed your good girl behavior. You didn’t really realize that it was all part of his tactic in training you to become obedient, and respect the rules he set forth, all so he can keep you isolated and only where he can have you. Initially you behaved as part of a ploy to plot your escape, but day after day you found yourself becoming complacent, never finding the right moment to strike. You’ve attempted to use the Sirens Edge, yet he was far more immune to it than you expected. All thanks to his Adam traits mixed with the Siren DNA from the early ancestors of the clan. You hated to admit it, and still haven’t bend enough to fully do so, but little by little, you’ve come to accept your fate right this man in knowing that you’ll never escape and he’ll always keep you. The worst part? Someday you were going to be forced to bear him sons…all of which will continue the long pure lines of tradition in enhancing the longevity of the Clan of Adam.

Still, despite harboring such hatred and disgust towards him, his gentler and loving moments somewhat appealed to you. That was, after all, the whole reason why you were here. The reason why he caught and kept you. Punishing and training you…it was all because he loved you. Too much…

You hum a tune as he lays closely, his nose touching yours. He joins in as he recognizes the tune of your favorite song and incorporates the lyrics. “Sing either me baby.” Compelled to obey, you softly sing the lyrics. The mesh of both your voices combine a beautiful and harmonious sound that would put the entire world into a state of hypnotic slavery, for the women would abide by his demands under his serenade spell, and the men under yours.

The both of you continue to sing, and that’s when you notice his hands roaming. Please…not again.

“Keep singing.” He speaks against your skin darkly. You had to give it to him, he was devastatingly handsome and the alluring sense of his features only grew more wild as his eyes became darker and more dangerous. They nearly glowed purple, contrasting against your beautiful turquoise gems as he grips a fistful of hair on the back of your head. He pushes you flat against the bed, pressing his lips against yours. It was hard and abrasive, yet the beat of his passion weakened you. It was so contradicting how much you hated and enjoyed the feeling he made you experience.

During the kiss, he grabs on to your bicep and further pins you down, nearly digging you into the satin mattress. His free hand swipes up, riding along your inner thigh and it too, is pinned down against the sheets. He spreads you wide open, preparing you into prime position for him to plow into you, just as always.

Already half nude, he takes advantage of your full nudity as he unzips his trousers and whips out his member offensively. He was past the stage of sensuality and compassion, this was a night of lovemaking through the pure and shameful act of him fucking you into oblivion.

He was long, hard, and entirely too thick. Just looking at it reminded you of the painful sting you were subjected to during the first time, and the second, even the third. Hell, you can’t count how many times he’s taken you, all you know was that there was pain.

“Pl-please! Be gentle…your hurt me badly the last time.” You plead as you raise your hand and palm against his abdomen, gently pressing against it as he leans down and hovers above your frame. “But you ended up loving it, didn’t you?” He teases as he nibbles on your bottom lip.

You shake your head in denial, but he knew. He knew that with the pain, comes great pleasure. “N-no…” you murmured. He ignored your pitiful yelp and kisses you. Taking your hand in his, he drags it against the lean lines of his abdominal muscles and forced you to grab hold of his shaft, ensuring that every single one of your fingers are delicately wrapped around the circumference. All doing so without ever breaking the passionate kiss you enveloped you.

How cruel it was for him to make you feel it, especially since he enforced you to keep hold while he begins to plunge in. “Agh! No! No!” You moan out as the familiar sting bites you. “Shh…yes baby.”

Inch by inch, he slides in. You feel the length of his shaft growing shorter within your palm as he fills you; the strength of its form slipped away from your grasp only to be gripped by another part of you. Your inner muscles clench around his thickness, which sent your mind out of this world as you feel the form of his muscle twitch in response. You felt so good. Too good. The moment he felt your slick muscles clench, his head flings back and exposes his entire throat above you. It became the only view in your sight as you lay under him, forced to watch as he gulps out a moan and groans towards the ceiling while he goes further and further in. “Oh fuck…” he growls out as you squirm and shift, brows furrowed in to an expression of fear, worry, and pain. “Please…it’s too much…”

“Don’t worry baby…I’m going to take care of it in a second. Keep singing.” He winces his eyes shut for only a second before he lowers his head back down and stares into your eyes. “Give me many sons.”

You shake your head negatively as the remaining inch of him sinks into you. His balls kissing your skin as it mashes against your taint. “Please…too soon. I-I cant—“

“You can, and you will.” Was all he relayed before he starts his violent thrusts. Tonight, he wasn’t in the mood to make love, he was in the mood to breed…to mate. To make you carry a part of him and bring it to the world. He wanted to cum, to mix your bloodline with his. “Come on baby, turn me into a daddy. Let daddy’s dick make you into a mommy.”

You scream as he continues to fuck you into the mattress. Your hands fling around as you attempt to escape from under him, only for him to slap them away. But you were relentless, and continued to try and push him away. “Fucking hold still you little—“

He grits his words in slight annoyance as he pauses his thrusts and grabs on to your wrists, pinning them above your head as he takes his other hand and loops it around your upper thigh and pins it against your chest. Now he had more leverage to stroke his cock inside you more openly, and he did.

“Fuck…you feel even better like this.” He words out as he slams into you. The smooth length of his shaft squelches and squeezes its way in and out of you. The sound of his balls slapping into you started to work its magic and sent you into a delirious whirlwind of tingled pleasure.

“Oh my God!” You pant out as you gasp for air. He rests your thigh on his bicep to maintain the levitation of its position while his fingers creep up and gently caress your cheek. “Yeah? Fuck baby…just like that.” Through the ferocity of his act, he pants and groans out his words just as you did. While his lower half becomes more brutal, his lips and hands weee compassionate and sympathetic. There was that gentler tone of him that was lacking earlier. While he was continuously plunging in, he warmed your cheeks with the smooth swipe of his thumb as he wiped away the subtle tears that emerged from your gorgeous eyes.

“Fuck y/n—“ he pants out once more as he pauses to prop his weight on the balls of his kneecaps. Looping his arms around your kier back, he intertwined his fingers as they rest right above your derrière, elevating it off the bed, turning you into a human pendulum. he continued his unlawful movements as gravity takes effect and forces your shoulder blades to sink into the bed as he raises your pelvis higher against his abdomen. “Pleaese-please-please-please—“ you gasp out violently in sync with his thrusts, hoping he would slow down. Instead, he goes harder, faster, and deeper, digging into soft tissue as he penetrates deep into the abyss of your womb as he strikes in and out, tapping that soft spot that causes you to leak onto his shaft, permitting him to slide in and out effortlessly.

He takes a hand and moves it against the center of your chest, smoothing it all the way up against your throat, and under your chin. His thumb reaches up and makes its way into your mouth. You yell out your moans as the image of him using only one arm bridging under your rear and stabilizing your lower frame to fuck into you caused you to grow dizzy. He was strong. So strong.

The sound of skin meshing together with the sticky juices thickening as a result of the constant thrust made you gasp even more. It synchronized with the tempo of his thrusts and you could barely catch your breath. He was not far behind. With his tenacity in going deeper, the obsession of tasting the internal side of you, it was all enough to make his heart stop beating. “Y/n…my beautiful siren.” The last bit came out slightly whiny as his cock twitches violently. You could feel it.

“W-wait! Heeeeung!”

He was close, you could tell. As much as you were forced to enjoy this, and you did, the question of whether you were ready for motherhood became absolute in the sense that you weren’t ready. You can’t, not yet. Because the moment you do become pregnant with this man’s child, that means you won’t be able to escape…ever.

“Please…not-not inside!” You moan out, once again palming his lower abdominal muscles, a pitiful attempt in pushing him away. But it was no use. The second he cupped your own hand and held it in place as his thrusts increased in pace and became sloppy, the loud grunts coming from his mouth matched the momentum of his hips as he kept going in and out.

In and out.

In and…

“Heeseung stop! I can’t be a mother! Please!”

Ignoring your pleading, he takes his thrusts deeper as he shoots his cum deep inside. His head flings back once more, mouth wide open as he faces the ceiling and gulps out a growl as his hand slowly smooths over your mouth to cover your scream. “T-take it…fucking get pregnant.” He stutters as every single muscle on his body twitches while he releases his entire orgasm inside you. His eyes remained closed as he locates your tongue and feeds his fingers into your mouth, rubbing the inside of your cheek as he forces you to suck on them. You hiccup a few sobs as you look down and see him planted deep inside you, still pumping his seeds into your womb. “Y-you…you really tried this time…didn’t you?” You wailed as you quietly sobbed, fearing that he achieved his goal. “U-uh huh….” He lazily tuned out with his face still flushed with the ceiling, leaving only the view of his Adam’s Apple in sight for you to view as you watched it bob up and down when he responded.

Sure, he had never pulled out the other times, but he never railed into you as vigorously like he did tonight. Sighing out a deep breath, he finally lowers his head once more and lays on top of you, mashing his sweaty chest against your breasts. Choking out a chuckle, his fingers, coated in your saliva, trace lines along your face. Smirking, he darkly whispers against your lips…

“Now you’re never going to be able to escape from me.”

He was right. You’re never going to be able to leave, even if you had the chance to get to the sea, you won’t be able to find it within your heart to abandon the child he’s left inside you just now. From here on out, you were no longer a descendant of Poseidon…you were now a mother a part of the clan. Mother of an Adam.

Authors note: take that! 😈

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #enha x reader #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung fanfic #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha heeseung #yandere heeseung imagines #heeseung yandere #yandere enha #yandere enhypen

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ravingxfxbrickxwall · 2 years ago

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Translation: “I’m running away”

The eldest daughter urge to:

#eldest daughter #eldest daughter syndrome #raving of a brick wall #Desi problems #yep #it’s exhausting honestly

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ravingxfxbrickxwall · 1 year ago

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As someone raised by a Mitsuki Bakugo (My Hero Academia) and Chichi (Dragon Ball Z)… I will fight anyone who says they are bad moms

They are honestly very real depictions of mothers who are protective of their kids — overprotective — and want them to have a great life, supportive of their dreams but at the same time very aggressive and harsh.

They aren’t perfect. They are questionable at times but they aren’t bad moms

They are traumatised moms (yes we don’t know Mitsuki’s background) and their first child is always a trial. Don’t treat them as the villains.

Good people who love their kids can have the wrong execution

But as someone raised by a Mitsuki Bakugo and Chichi I’ll always protect these two moms as good moms

#raving of a brick wall #my hero academia #Boku no hero academia #BnHA #MHA #dragon ball #dragon ball z #dbz #dbz chichi #son chichi #mitsuki bakugo #Bakugo Mitsuki

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koolades-world · 1 year ago

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one bed troupe w/ Satan

Satan had the perfect idea. He had heard you rave about the city you had grown up in and all the precious memories it held. You told him often whenever you were reminded of familiar faces, the local bookstores, the bakeries, and most importantly, the beaches. He felt as if he could listen to you talk about your childhood forever. That's when he got the grand idea to take you to see that city again for a day. That way, you could see it all again and he might get the chance to make precious memories with his favorite person.

Upon suggesting this idea to you, you practically began bouncing off the walls, shaking him, asking when you would be able to go. When he told you he could arrange for the both of you to leave that weekend, you began jumping for joy. "I'll be able to show you everything! You're a genius." You hugged him tightly. After pressing a kiss on his cheek, you disappeared, presumably to tell someone else. You hadn't even stuck around to hear the rest of the details.

He laughed to himself, and called Barbatos to let him know they planned to leave that Saturday. Barbatos was more than happy to help them, and glad to hear you were so excited. Saturday came quickly. You gripped Satan's hand tightly and skipped to the palace, dragging him behind you. You had on a small backpack filled with essentials that Satan knew he would inevitably end up carrying at some point, but he didn’t mind. He was just happy that you were happy. Once you reach the palace, and made it to the human world, you were quick to take Satan to all of your favorite places.

First, you took him to your favorite bookstore growing up. You knew he'd be just as obsessed as you were and still was. There were book stacked up to the ceiling, and were somewhat categorized. The tights aisles forced you to walk one behind the other, but you still never let go of his hand. The two of you easily spend an hour along in the section with Sherlock Holmes. Once you were done in there, you took him to your favorite ice cream place. The beach you often watched the sunset on with your family was nearby, and while it wasn't sunset quite yet, you figured the two of you could still get something and enjoy the view.

After a little more wandering around, you were getting hungry since ice cream isn't really filling, so you took him to a cafe that held more memories as a teenager to you. After school, you'd meet up with friends there for projects, or for just in general when you weren't quite ready to go home yet. While the two of you were chatting, cuddled up side by side, enjoying a coffee each, you happened to see a familiar face.

"Mc?" You turned after hearing a familiar voice.

"Mom! What a surprise seeing you!" You got up to hug her. Satan looked at the woman you'd happily greeted. He could see the resemblance. The two of you chatted for a bit, standing beside your table. Evenutally, she turned to him.

"Who's this? Sorry for ignoring you, dear." The tenderness she addressed him with hit him like a brick. He was almost certain that Mc's immediate family knew about the exchange program, but he still looked to them to check. After they gave him a little nod, he introduced himself.

"I'm Satan, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you. Your child is lovely." He stood up to shake her hand, the small backpack falling over since he stood up so fast. She hugged him instead, ignoring his outstretched hand.

"No need to be so formal. Anyone who's good enough for Mc is good enough for me. Besides, demon or not, you're one of the family. That reminds me, the two of you need to spend the night, if you can extend your day trip. The rest of the family hasn't seen you in a while and they'll be excited to meet you, dear." She pulled back so she could hold both of your hands in hers.

Mc looked at Satan, imploring him to agree. "I think I can make that happen." He nodded with a smile. He had never felt so welcome somewhere he'd never been. Mc began squealing and almost jumping on the spot. Satan got his second hug from Mc that day, and his third total. After agreeing to meet up at Mc's childhood home at five pm, you parted ways. The both of you sat back down, and as you began chattering about your family, Satan sent a few messages to Barbatos letting him know they'd be back tomorrow at some time.

Before he knew it, five rolled around and they made the short walk to the place Mc grew up. They skipped up to the doorstep, and he followed at a little bit of a slower pace. He couldn't help but be nervous. But, as soon as that door swung open, he immediately knew he would always be welcome there. After being greeted by a hoard of people that look like Mc at the door, they were ushered in. After being briefly separated to chat with different people, they were reunited at the dinner table when it was time to eat. It was heartwarming to see Mc in their element, surrounded by their family. He felt almost bad to have taken them away from something like this. He got to see his family everyday, but they didn't. It seemed, unfair, in a way. Before they knew it, it was time to head to bed.

"Night guys! See you all tomorrow morning." You waved to the crowd in the living room, and grabbed Satan by the hand to free him from the gaggle of uncles surrounding him. A few of them chuckled at how easily he went with you. Your mom passed you two towels and waved you both after her up the stairs.

"You should still have clothing in your drawers since you didn't take everything with you, and if you need something for him, let me know. I can borrow something from your father's wardrobe. Sweet dreams, angel. It truly feels like a miracal being able to see you today." She kissed Mc's forehead. That simple act warmed him. Sometimes, he considered Mc to be his angel too, someone he didn’t deserve.

"Night, Mom." They smiled.

"Good night, ma'am. Thank you for your hospitality." Satan chimed in, not wanting to seem rude.

"No need for the formalities. You're practically family. Now, go get some rest." She walked off after leaving them in front of a shut door together. Satan had almost assumed he would be walked to a different door.

"This is my childhood bedroom. Promise not to laugh?" Mc put their hand on the doorknob.

"The fact that you had to ask makes me curious, but yes." They swung open the door to be greeted by a colorful, cute room that had been designed for what looks like a toddler. The decor looked like it was for a teenager, but the walls were painted like a forest, with forest creatures scattered. "It's cute in here." He took in the entire room. Mc glanced away, bashful.

"You should go shower quickly, before everyone downstairs moves up to bed." They opened one of the dresser drawers, and passed him a large hoodie and pair of sweatpants. He chuckled, but let you push him towards the bathroom. Once both of you had showered and changed, you were in your room again together.

You pulled back the covers of your bedspread, wiggling under it, and avoiding Satan's gaze. "I can sleep on the floor, if that makes you more comfortable." He said.

"No, no. It's fine. That would be unfair to you." You wave him off and pat the bed softly.

"You could've told them we weren't dating. I wouldn't have been offended, Mc." He tried his best to hide the smile on his face.

"Well, they seemed to really love you. I just couldn't break their hearts like that. Besides, I actually don't mind that idea..." You trailed off shyly.

"Hmm, what was that?" He decided to tease you a little.

"Nothing! Nothing, 'tan." You laugh a little.

“Well, seeing as everything is usually about me, and my dysfunctional family, tell me all about yours.” That seemed to do the trick to ease you. As he settled into bed next to you, you began to talk about family member he’d met downstairs. It was no wonder you fit in with his family so well. You knew each member of both of your families like the back of your hand, down to every detail. It really showed how much you payed attention to detail and cared.

As you fell asleep with a quick apology and a yawn, he remained awake. You were facing each other, so he was able to see your facial features and the awkward way your arms rested. He moved the blanket up higher over your shoulders, studying your features with a small smile.

Despite being a demon, he couldn’t help but feel blessed by some divine power out there to be graced with someone as sweet, and caring as you. Watching your chest rise and fall, he brushed your hair aside a little. The domesticity of this, and of everything that day had entailed made him fall more and more for you. Just being in your presence was enchanting.

He could get used to this. The next morning would be even more fun, since he knew you weren’t exactly an early riser. With a sigh, he shut his own eyes, but not before he put one of his arms around you. He was so grateful for you.

#oneshot #gn reader #obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me satan #omswd #obey me! shall we date #obey me shall we date #obey me barbatos

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ravingxfxbrickxwall · 5 months ago

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I don’t even celebrate Christmas but manifesting this energy for grad school admissions

#ravings of a brick wall

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sacredwrath · 4 months ago

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P14. Be Very Afraid

I feel like this one deserves an extra warning. Not sure I can "diagnose" exactly what's going on here, but for those with mental health issues related to the content warning list, just be extra cautious <3

Masochistic meltdown, !!!extreme self-harm!!! suicidal thoughts, masochism, self hatred, gore, sadistic fantasies/ feelings, referenced torture, touch aversion, PTSD, disorientation, dissociation, sensory issues, nausea, unhinged raving

!!!disturbing imagery/ hallucinations: needles, hands, screaming!!!

Adrian paces.

He tries to count his steps, but keeps losing track as he fumes.

He can still feel her phantom touch on him, fingers light against his neck. On his skin. Exposed. Her fingers grazing the back of his neck. On his neck. exposed- He slaps the spot, hard. Not enough

Rage

He needs to hurt someone. Needs to make them bleed.

She cowers on the floor, clear in his minds eye- no! She cowers from him- no- Not her, not enough. He barely touched her. Not enough. He will hurt her. Make her beg. Beg like he did, like Jesse did- pathetic cringing creature

He sees Jesse's broken body, wet eyes begging, feels their trembling body against his own, feels them holding him. his guts clench. Revolting disgusting pathetic- he banishes the vision

He's hot, dizzy and sick, a loud ringing in his ears, pulsing in time with his racing heart. Each beat sends waves of heat scorching through him.

Someone's screaming again. Screaming in his head. He hates it. Hates their noise, their weakness

“Shut up!!” he roars, clamping his hands over his ears. Fucking disgusting creature

Jesse's screaming. He hears their muffled sobs through his their cell door

Should he open it let them in?

He watches them cower from him. Good

He hears their begging. Desperate pleas for mercy. Little jerks and twitches of pain as he holds them underwater. Yes

He holds them underwater. Yes!

He's burning. Sweat like battery acid on his skin, but no pain. Why doesn't it hurt? It should hurt. He needs it to hurt to feel it

Needs it needs it needs it-needs - Shut up! He smacks himself across the face.

Pull yourself together.

But he burns. Burns with a sickening lack of sensation, a numbness that picks at him like millions of tiny needles. Taunting him. Tickling his skin. Digging gentle points into him never far enough to actually hurt

She touched him and it didn't hurt

It hurts

He shrieks in frustration.

Rage

Humiliation

Whirling, he grabs the cot and smashes it into the wall. Wooden legs shattering against the brick sending shards flying around him. He can't stop the screaming! Not enough!

Fingers in his hair, pulling, twisting, wrenching harder. Tearing. More more MORE! Wetness on his scalp, on his fingers. His hands! Not enough!!!

Every hair on his head, his body, he can feel them. Droplets of acidic sweat. Tiny needless tracing over him taunting, tingling crawling. He slaps his skin, trying to swat them away, but they congregate on his neck, his back, the places she touched him. He feels them under his skin burrowing- He needs them out out

OUT!

He drags his nails across his neck, no pain. Fucking numb itching, making him sick. He needs more! Anything!

Viscious scratching at his neck, OFF OFF OFF he needs her fingers OFF of him! He needs more than that he needs to feel her fingers breaking.

The grind and pop of a joint giving up, the loose ripping of muscle and tendon as parts never meant to hold a finger together stretch past their limits. Further! The sharp crack of bone breaking- screaming- The limp wiggle of a body part broken in half, held together by nothing but frail skin. Her screaming. Yes her screams-

Screaming

He scratches harder, feeling the first layers of skin come away, bunching up under his nails. HARDER

He tears at his neck, his arms, his chest. He digs deeper, trying to claw his way out of himself.

Weak cowardly thing- its what it deserves. What he deserves. needs it needs it so badly it hurts

NEED

Blood on his fingers. Yes

Who is fucking screaming? There's always someone fucking screaming. THERE'S ALWAYS SOMEONE FUCKING SCREAMING!! Jesse again? Someone screaming! in his head? Why can't he tell?

Is he screaming?

He can't fucking take it anymore

His legs, he remembers his legs, the burns, he reaches down for them, but there's something in the way, fabric.

He rips his pants off, hurling them away, collapsing hard to the floor. He huddles there, against the wall, shaking, always fucking shaking!!! Revolting, pathetic, disgusting.

Should've killed yourself years ago. Coward

Nausea churns his stomach

He can't handle it. Never could, never will

He needs someone bleeding. Blood on his hands. Knife in his hand. Screaming to drown out the screams in his head.

He needs someone to hurt. anyone, anything

He brushes finger tips against the burns on his legs, groaning. Sensation, no pain, his stomach turns. Not enough! Never enough! WHY CANT HE FUCKING FEEL IT?!

He digs in, pain, but it's nothing. NOTHING!

He digs his nails deep, gasping as he finally feels, still nowhere fucking near enough!

He drags his nails slowly down his legs, gasping. Lose blistered skin giving way like wet paper. For a second blinding white pain overwhelms him. Finally

He rips a set of stitches open in one brutal motion, falling back against the wall, panting in relief as the agony washes through him. More

He scrabbles on the floor for one of the wood splinters. Desperate, revolting animal-

He jabs it into his leg and the world contracts, narrowing to the pain

Silence

His eyes roll back and he moans, extacy, torture

He digs the spike further, feeling the tip scrape against bone

A string of siliva slips over his numb lower lip

Agony throbs in time with his beating heart

His eyes flicker, his body suddenly very heavy. Almost impossible to keep upright

Fingers search the floor for another spike

He's losing consciousness now. He can feel his brain shutting down. But he needs another, just one more. He feels around for a spot then digs the spike into burned meat. His body convulses, trying to escape the torment, but he forces it still, digging deeper, reveling in its pathetic struggle

The agony is so hot he feels himself unraveling in it. Finally. He whimpers, thoughts fragmenting unable to hold him

Deeper

His consciousness pours out of him like the blood spilling from his punctured body and he collapses like a stone

Prev | Masterpost | Next

Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them @kiichu @whatwhump @jay--o @starsick1979 @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @syncopein3d @fuckcapitalismasshole

#whump #whump writing #action and echo #my writing #oc whump #defiant whumpee #masochist whumpee #torture whump #mental health whump #mentally ill whumpee #feral whumpee #kinda wanna say sorry maybe to the new folks on the taglist heh this is a bit of an interesting spot to jump in on #if you wanna be removed just lmk #im not sure how this parts gonna go over/ if its the kind of whump people like to read #if you made it to the end and are reading this sorry? or not sorry?#it will happen again #hes not a happy healthy stable man

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reverieparacosm · 8 months ago

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Art's Silent Language (Lukai Hwei x GN!Reader)

Warnings: violence, blood, slight torture, kidnapping

Chapter 4: Through the Artist's Eyes

(part 1 here)

Summary: Captured by Jhin, you face a final performance of pain and beauty. Will this be Jhin's last act, or just the beginning of something more?

(Note is at the end of the chapter)

A searing pain lanced through your skull, each beat of your heart a hammer blow against it. You fight to open your eyes, the world a swirling vortex of darkness and pain. You blink, the world snapping into focus, revealing a figure bathed in the dim, ethereal glow of a single lantern.

Jhin.

His lips curl into a smile that holds no warmth, only a chilling, unsettling amusement. He moves with a grace that belies the terror he instills, his fingers, slender and elegant, tracing the outline of a wound on your head.

The cloth he holds, pristine white against the darkness, is a stark contrast to the crimson blossoming on it. He presses it gently against your wound, the pressure a searing agony. But there is a strange, almost hypnotic quality to his touch, a calculated precision that feels more like a surgical procedure than a simple act of tending to a wound. Each stroke of the cloth is deliberate, methodical, as if he were an artist meticulously applying paint to a canvas. The blood, once a vibrant red, is absorbed into the fabric, leaving a dark, ominous stain that mirrors the chilling dread that grips your heart.

You try to speak, to scream, but your throat is parched, your voice a mere croak.

"Shh, do not struggle," he coos, dabbing at your face. You flinch at his touch, feeling scrapes where your skin meets ropes. Jhin examines you with a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and malice, as if savoring discomfort. "You’ll make this worse for yourself," he warns softly, leaning very close.

"Release me," you say sharply.

Jhin throws back his head and laughs, a grating cacophony that sets your nerves on edge. Slowly, he circles you, trailing a gloved finger along your tense shoulders.

"My dear captive, you presume to threaten me?" he croons softly. "It is I who hold power in this dance, not some chirping fledgling gasping in my claws."

Halting before you, Jhin grips your chin in a punishing grip. His veneer of control cracks, exposing raving lunacy beneath.

"No artist lets his muse flee until the opus is complete! I have divined such exquisite torments for our finale. Through your anguished song will I craft my crowning masterwork!"

His long-fingered hand traces your cheekbone, leaving a trail of cold in its wake. You tremble under his gaze, uncertain of what horrors lay in store.

You struggle against your bonds, to no avail. Jhin observes your movements with interest, like a painter studying his subject. Outside, the sunset paints the decaying walls in hues of orange and gold.

"Through art, all things can be transformed," Jhin continues rapturously. "Your mortal flesh will become something everlasting. I will alchemize your essence until only brilliance remains."

He lifts a glinting tool, and you see it is a sculpting knife, its edge honed to deadly precision. Panic rises in your throat as Jhin studies the play of fading sunlight on the blade.

"Diamonds, like humanity, are born of turmoil. Extreme heat and pressure fuse the chaotic cloud into clarity. So too shall you be remade." His voice rings with messianic fervor. "Soon, you will shine eternally as my greatest creation. The transformation begins...let the ceremony commence!"

As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, more details of your surrounds emerge. Crumbling brick walls are papered with faded posters advertising long-forgotten shows. A thick layer of dust covers the worn floorboards; your chair stands center-stage in a decrepit house.

Overhead, tattered curtains sway in the breeze drifting through broken windows. Beams of dying sunlight pierce the gloom, illuminating spinning dust motes like flecks of gold. It is a place suspended between creation and ruin - the perfect setting for Jhin's dark vision.

The artist himself paces before you, muttering excitedly to himself.

"The lighting is perfect, the composition sublime," he muses. "All that remains is to complete my masterwork."

Jhin's hands flit restlessly over his assortment of strange artifacts: gleaming surgical tools, arcane tomes bound in human skin, vials containing viscous liquids and mysterious powders. His meticulous artist’s mind sorts rapidly through options.

Finally, he selects an instrument resembling a paintbrush, but its bristles end in thin blades. He tests the edge delicately against his finger, nodding in approval at the bead of blood welling forth.

"First, we strip away your outer shells," Jhin declares, tracing the blade lightly over your cheek. "Only then can your truest essence shine through, polished to dazzling radiance.”

Jhin steps close, looming over you with the metallic bristles poised at your throat. You thrash against the ropes binding you, heart pounding, to no avail.

"Peace, my subject," Jhin soothes. "Struggle will only prolong your suffering. Remain still, and I can elevate you to glory."

His gaze bores into you. With a surgeon's precision, he drags the blade slowly down your neck. You cry out as beads of blood rise in its wake, crimson against your skin.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the blade presses deeper. You inhale sharply but do not cry out - you will not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

A bead of blood wells and Jhin leans in, tongue darting out to sample your essence on his lips.

"Sweet," he groans, eyes fluttering closed. When they open once more, wild hunger blazes within. Jhin looms closer still, trapping you with his gaze as the knife dances over your hammering pulse.

Jhin makes a small noise of pleasure, tilting his head to observe his handiwork. "Exquisite. The raw material reveals its luster."

"Transformation is seldom pleasant," Jhin comments clinically. "But pain birth beauty, as fire shapes the jewel."

"I knew from the start what lurked beneath your silken words and gifts," you say coldly. "The way you twisted Hwei's heart to suit your depraved games, used his passion as just one more sick puppet in your shows."

Jhin's gloved fingers suddenly wrap tight around your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His touch is cold yet burns your skin all the same.

Jhin cocks his head, regarding you with a curled smile. "The petal thought he understood my art. In time, he too would have become a masterpiece."

His patronizing tone only fuels your fury. "I saw how you fed on his love like some parasite, how you twisted his mind until he was but a shadow, living only to feed the void within you."

Chuckling softly, Jhin runs his thumb along your swollen bottom lip. "And what of you, my feisty little songbird? Do you also fly willingly into the fox's waiting jaws?"

You meet his eyes steadily. "Your acts of violence and violation do not move me. I understand you better than you understand yourself - you who knows only how to feed chaos and feel nothing."

Jhin's smiling mask shatters, giving way to something ravenous and raw. "Feel nothing?" he snarls, seizing your face in a crushing grip. "I feel it all, each exquisite moment - the passion, the rapture, the divine perfection of destruction! Through my art alone do I truly live!"

Releasing you, he draws back, composure sliding neatly back into place. But his eyes hold a new calculation.

"And what makes you think you know my intentions, my dear?" he whispers, voice low and deadly. Bloodlust swirls in his eyes yet something else flickers there - intrigue, admiration for your spirit.

You swallow yet hold his stare, defiant to the last. "I see the emptiness within you. Your 'art' is but a shallow mimicry of passion, meaningless destruction performed for an audience of one."

Jhin laughs softly, a mirthless sound. His flawless mask cracks, revealing the gaping void beneath, the ache that drives him to create through carnage alone.

Leaning impossibly close, he breathes against your trembling lips. "Perhaps you know me better than I thought, my clever sparrow. If shallowness is what you perceive...then let me show you the inferno that consumes."

With that, his mouth slants hard over yours, ravaging with a desperate hunger to feel - to feel anything amid the numbness. You gasp into the kiss, your heartbeat answering his like clashing symbols in a dark symphony.

For a stolen moment, passion transcends intention as you drown in sensation. But when Jhin pulls away, craving and madness have resurfaced in his eyes once more. The tender illusion shatters, and you know - this was but one more manipulating performance in his grisly design.

He rises and paces, gesticulating wildly.

"That kiss was but another brushstroke on the canvas of our drama together. Through it, I sought merely to elicit emotion - yours, and of the audience that surely hangs on our every moment."

Pausing, Jhin gazes down at you. His perfect features twist into a ghastly mockery of affection.

"Did you feel, little songbird, as I tore open your heart? Did you tremble with anguished rapture, swept along in the ecstatic tide of annihilation?"

His mocking laughter rings through the dusty room.

Jhin grips your hair forcefully, pulling your head back as he breathes against your neck, his warm breath sends shivers racing down your spine. You feel your back arch involuntarily.

He leans in closer, his lips grazing your skin as he slightly bites down on your neck, the sensation both pleasurable and painful.

His hand glides down your arms, fingers trailing lightly as if savoring every inch of your skin.

The touch feels possessive, yet there’s a strange tenderness in his movements. You can’t help but feel the tension building between you, a dance of power and vulnerability. He then shifts his attention to the bindings on your wrists, circling your wrist with his thumb in a deliberate manner, as if testing the strength of your restraints. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if he’s loosening them just enough to let hope flicker to life.

But the moment is fleeting. You turn your head away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the feelings swirling inside you. Just as you think you’ve escaped his grasp, he takes your face in both of his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. His thumb brushes softly against your lips.

"That, my dear, is the only 'passion' I know—the opus of agonies I craft through my works," he whispers, his voice smooth and chilling. "All else is but pale imitation. Remember that… should any wisp of feeling dare cloud your judgment."

With a savage grin and swish of his cloak, Jhin is once more lost to his dark imaginings, leaving you questioning all you thought you knew of this depraved artist.

As Jhin turns away to arrange his infernal stagecraft, you gather every ounce of strength and begin to struggle anew against your bonds. The ropes bite cruelly into your wrists, yet you twist and strain with wild desperation.

Jhin pays you no mind, lost in his own deranged mutterings as he lays out gleaming utensils.

Seeing your chance, you redouble your efforts with a frenzied yell. The ropes fray and tear—and with one final wrench, your hands rip free!

Jhin whirls at the sound, anger flaring in his eyes at being denied his dark muse. But you waste no time gawking at the monster—you launch from the chair at him.

Off-balance, Jhin crashes to the dust-caked floorboards. His blade skitters away into the shadows.

Not sparing a glance at him, you sprint for the splintered exit with renewed vigor. Black night swallows your retreating form as you pour every ounce of will into escape.

Laughter and rage and the sound of pounding footsteps chase on your heels.

Your lungs burn as you push your exhausted body further into the desert night. Jhin's maniacal laughter still echoes behind you, though the sound is fading with each step. You dare not look back, knowing his twisted grin will be etched in your mind if you do. All that matters is putting as much distance between him and yourself as possible.

Up ahead, a faint glow peeks through the sparse trees - an oasis. New adrenaline surges through your veins at the sight of what might offer refuge. Sand kicks up with each footfall as you rush toward the glowing pool of water. Palm trees whip past you in a blur, their branches outstretched like beckoning arms guiding you to safety.

Bursting into the small oasis, you stumble to a halt beside the water's edge. Your hands brace against your knees as greedy lungs drink in air. Through the shallow pants, your ears strain for any sign you are still being pursued. Only the gentle lapping of waves meets them, the normal night sounds of the desert serenading the sparse trees.

Slowly, muscles uncoil from their clenched state. The immediate threat seems past, at least for now. You lower yourself fully to the cool sand and let the sight of glittering water soothe frazzled nerves.

Soft moonlight dances across the surface, dappling the shore in an ethereal glow. Clarity returns along with your breathing, allowing reality to truly sink in.

A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with the desert chill.

Pushing to unsteady legs, you shuffle closer to the pool's edge. Your parched throat begs for refreshment after the exhausting escape. Cupping greedy hands, you bring the cool liquid to chapped lips. Too soon, the last droplets fall from your palms. Thirst barely slaked; other needs demand attention in your weary state.

Scanning the sandy shore, your gaze lands on a cluster of palm fronds piled near the trees. With any luck, they might offer cushion and cover for the night. One problem at a time - rest now, plans later. Heavy feet carry you to the pile and you collapse into the fronds with a sigh. Cool surrounds quickly lull frayed senses as lingering adrenaline fades into exhaustion.

Darkness pulls you under like a comforting blanket.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The desert night is alive with the constant song of insects and wildlife. A sliver of moon drifts overhead amid patches of scattered clouds, casting the oasis in a dim glow.

As you drift in the space between sleep and waking, a shiver runs through your body that has nothing to do with the cool night air.

Something is different. An energy tingles at the edge of perception, faint yet familiar. Slowly prying open weary eyes, you lift your head from the nest of palm fronds.

Rippling across the surface of the water is a blur of colors, dancing in hues too vibrant to be natural.

A paintbrush comes into focus, wielded by a figure kneeling at the pool's edge. Colored wisps trail his movements like an artist’s ashes, each strand levitating impossibly in the air.

There is no mistaking Hwei's magical brush at work, weaving ephemeral illustrations that shimmer on the water's canvas.

His eyes, iridescent even in shadow, find yours across the shore. Recognition lights within those prismatic orbs before flickering with an emotion you can’t place. Concern? Relief?

With fluid grace, Hwei rises and strides to your side. Up close, faint scents of oils and pigment cling to his frame. His gaze roams your form, lingering on patches of torn cloth.

"You're hurt." His voice is soft yet carries an undercurrent that raises the hairs along your nape. Fingers gently grasp your wrist to examine your wounds. You suppress a wince at the contact.

"It's nothing serious." Your assurance does little to quell the tempest raging behind Hwei's eyes. Releasing your arm, he pulls his brush from where it is strapped across his back. Colors sprung to life along the bristles at his beckon, bleeding together into a soothing teal wash.

Without a word, Hwei dips the brush’s edge into the shimmering paint. Your breath hitches as cool bristles make contact, tracing delicate lines along your wounds.

Where pigment spreads, numbness follows in its wake, deadening pain.

Fascinated, you watch reddened skin knit together before eyes, leaving fresh and unmarred in the healing liquid’s wake.

Magic, or simple a gift of Hwei’s brush? Impossible to say where abilities end and the artist begins.

You gaze up to find his focus intent on the task, lips parted slightly as his skill purifies damaged flesh. Heat rises unbidden to your cheeks under such devoted care. Your heart, already quickened from your closeness, threatens to burst from your ribs.

The last abrasions disappear under careful strokes. Hweis' eyes lift to yours, their depths reflecting colors and emotions too deep to comprehend.

One arm encircles your waist and pulls you against his slender form, the other brushes tousled strands of hair from your face. His thumb lingers and caresses the line of your jaw with tenderness.

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Hwei’s hushed murmur causes lids to flutter closed, lost in the soothing rumble of his voice.

Lips meet yours then, slow and searching as if committing every facet to memory through touch alone.

With utmost care, he gathers you into his lap to cradle against his chest. One hand soothingly combs through your hair while the other takes up his brush anew. Upon the oasis sands, Hwei begins to paint in colors of serenity.

Lush blooms spill from under his talented strokes—petite lilies burst with dewdrops; morning glories unfurl translucent petals. Their vivid hues shine all the brighter in the shadows of night. As detail after detail comes alive, the flowers' sweet fragrance joins the cool desert air.

Instead of darkness, visions of sunlit gardens dance behind your closed eyes. Hwei watches vigilantly, brush never ceasing until the last stem stands vibrant and whole. Only then does he set the magical implement aside once more. You feel relaxed and calm.

Gently, he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. Hwei gazes for long moments, memorizing each fleeting emotion buried beneath fatigue. His hands cup your cheeks with care.

"Let me share this burden," Hwei murmurs, breath soft against your lips between words. "I would bear it all if only it rids you of pain."

Then slowly, he lowers his mouth to yours in a kiss filled with promise and devotion profound as the stars above.

Art is the highest form of hope.

All thoughts flee under that tender onslaught. Your hands tangle in his tunic, clinging to escape the nightmares of past hours in his grounding presence.

Within the circle of his embrace, reality seems but a distant dream. Here, in Hwei's arms, you know only comfort, protection... and love that shelters your heart, always, from any threat in the waking world.

As the stars light creeps over the dunes, you stir in Hwei's tender embrace. Beneath palms and stars, the remainder of night has passed in comforting solace.

Gaze meeting Hwei's own, you ask in hushed tones, "How did you find me here?" A rueful smile touches his lips, fingers lifting to brush aside disheveled locks. "Worry not over such details, my heart. What matters is you're safe now."

Still the unknowns nag, his knowing eyes betraying depths beyond casual passersby. "Through your magic, wasn't it?” Hwei's nod grants affirmation, though guarded concern now creases his features. A painter's sight can unveil truths better left buried; it seems...

"Tell me what horrors drove you to this place," he bids softly, voice roughened by rising emotion kept barely leashed. And so, haltingly, the tale spills forth —of Jhins plan, his machinations to make you "a creation beyond compare."

How Jhin's maddened machinations seek to immortalize your agonized demise. How by fortune or fate, an opportunity arises allowing escape from dire design. Yet escape is not the end, as horrors haunt memory still...

At the story's close, Hwei grows deafly silent.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The journey back is a somber one. Smoke rises on the horizon long before Koyehn's Temple simple spires come into view, an ominous shroud hanging overall.

But no prayers can prepare you for the hellscape that awaits.

As the temple comes into sight, it is engulfed in angry orange tongues that devour sacred scrolls and timber alike. Embers swirl chaotically on smoldering thermals, borne aloft to spread ruin further still.

Hwei reins in with a sudden gasp, leaving you to brace against his back. You clutch him tight as anguished cries escape his lips, giving voice to the torment writ large across his features. Never do you see such depths of anguish from the stoic painter, who schools his passions into disciplined lines and fluid strokes.

"No..." Hwei's choked whisper tears at your heart. This place is his sanctuary, his home—now reduced to cindering ruins. You grasp his arm for support as much as offering console, finding only tremors wracking his lithe form in return.

His soul bleeds… and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly, swallows him whole.

His brush falls unheeded, magic sparking errant between clenched fingers as if begging release. Yet for all the chaos within, no colors escape Hwei's tight rein—not here, not for this.

Sliding to the ground, you pull him into your arms as tears carve trails down soot-stained cheeks. You stand locked in mournful embrace until the sobs begin to still, the conflagration within banked to smoldering embers once more by love's balm. Lips press against your hair, murmuring apologies for all that can never be regained.

As morning's light lifts the ashen pall shrouding all, the full horror of the night comes into grim clarity. Where once lived and worked over fourscore brothers and sisters, now only broken shells of walls remain amongst the rubble.

You pick your way over the ruins, hoping against hope that some sheltering alcove or secret chamber may offer refuge to even a sole survivor. But as the sun climbs overhead with no signs of life stirring, grim certainty takes root.

You stand alone as the last remnants of an order consigned now to memory alone.

Hwei searched the longest for any survivors, as if refusing to accept the bitter truth laid bare before your eyes. When he finally sinks to his knees in defeat, wracking sobs echo the agonized screams that must have filled the night air as flames claimed their victims. You pull him close, but no comfort of yours can staunch the flood of his grief.

In time, his tears run dry, leaving in their wake an exhaustion of body and spirit you fear no rest can repair.

Hwei wanders as one dead, seeking solace that forever eludes him amongst the ruins. Nights find him waking in terror, reliving each moment of devastation in vivid and gruesome detail no hand can capture.

One such night, a glint of color amidst the cinders draws his numbed feet. Lifted free, it reveals a fiendish trap, its petals splayed open in grinning mockery—a lotus blossom none, but one artist could have crafted.

Understanding dawns in those hollow eyes, a cascade of emotions stirring their murky depths once more: terror, sorrow, betrayal... and a dreadful fascination you know all too well.

The ruins fall silent once more as Hwei gazes unblinking upon that noxious blossom. You dare not break his reverie, dreading what shadows might take root should he linger too long in contemplation of such madness... and the dark allure it holds, even for one whose gift is life and color, not decay.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The crackling fire does little to cut through the tavern's smoky chill. You nurse a mug of ale, staring into the fire as if they might hold answers to questions plaguing Hwei's mind.

It has been moons since you left the smoking remnants of Koyehn behind you. Amongst the ashes, you find renewed purpose—your art brings messages of hope and restoration to weary communities... but sometimes also of destruction. But with each new dawn, fresh mysteries call Hwei ever onwards.

You glance to where he sits apart, brush hovering restlessly as always. His eyes, once home to passion's vibrant spectrum, now seem but windows onto an abyss churning with shadows.

Hwei seeks understanding through revelation of torment—by replicating each scene of suffering until its essence bleeds forth. You fear such intimacy with evil may leech away what remains of his light.

As the sun dips low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the tavern’s wooden beams, you sit beside Hwei, captivated by the way his brush dances across the canvas. Each stroke is filled with emotion, transforming the blank surface into a vibrant landscape of colors. Hwei pours his heart into the painting, bringing to life a sun rising triumphantly over a gentle sea, its rays bursting forth like tendrils of warmth. Hwei is completely absorbed in his painting.

Truly, no artist tolerates reality.

You lean closer, intrigued by the imagery. “Is it a sunset or a sunrise?” you ask, admiring the way the light plays in his eyes. Resting your chin on Hwei's shoulder, you feel a warm connection, as if the moment stretches into eternity.

Hwei pauses, his brush hovering above the canvas as he turns to you, a soft smile blooming on his lips. “It’s a sunrise,” he replies, his voice warm and tender. “A new beginning. I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.”

His gaze lingers on you, and in that moment, the world outside the tavern fades away. You feel a magnetic pull, an unspoken connection that draws you closer.

The ambiance is thick with the scent of paint and the calming whispers of the sea outside.

You close your eyes as his hand comes up to gently cup your cheek. His thumb softly traces your bottom lip. As he leans in closer, you can feel his warm breath mingling with yours.

His kiss is tentative at first, mere brushes of contact that leave you craving more. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against his form.

His other hand slides into your hair, fingers twisting in the strands to tilt your head to a better angle. His kiss becomes deeper, more passionate. When his tongue sweeps along your lip, you grant access eagerly. As your tongues meet, a soft moan escapes you.

All the while, his hand on your cheek begins a slow descent. Over your jaw, down your neck, it comes to rest on your waist. His fingertips graze under the edge of your shirt, sending sparks across your skin. You cling to him more tightly, lost in the bliss of his lips moving with yours.

When you finally part for air, he does not go far. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as you both pant, lost in the moment. His hand never strays from your waist, thumb making gentle strokes across the sensitive flesh. In his embrace, you have never felt so wanted, so cared for. It is here, in his arms, that you are meant to be.

Hwei opens his eyes and whispers, “Some people are artists. Some themselves, are art.”

When you finally pull away, breathless, you look into his eyes, which shimmer with joy and intensity. But as you glance back at the painting, something catches your eye. Dark, shadowy figures seem to writhe within the vibrant hues, lurking just beneath the surface of the canvas. They flicker in and out of existence, vanishing as quickly as they appear.

A shiver runs down your spine. “Hwei, do you see that?” you ask, pointing to the canvas.

His expression shifts, a shadow crossing his features. “I—I’ll protect you,” he says, his voice suddenly serious, his grip tightening around you. The remnants of the massacre at the temple echo in his eyes, a haunting reminder of the darkness he has faced.

“I know you will,” you reassure him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

For a moment, the weight of his past hangs heavy in the air. He leans into your touch, the warmth of your presence grounding him. “You’re my light,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the firelight dances upon Hwei's face, you trace gentle fingers along his jaw, brushing aside an ebony strand fallen askew.

Hwei leans into your touch with a soft sigh, clasping your fingers in his own. "I feel there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. I feel like art and love are the same thing: it’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.”

His lips graze your knuckles, stirring memories as vivid as yesterday's joyous discoveries. For a moment's respite, all traces of grief and care dissolve beneath remembered rapture...

...Until a sharp rap at the door shatters remnants of days past like spun glass.

You open the door. A single lotus flower lays on the ground.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The memories of Hwei's past weigh heavily on him, each loss a haunting echo in his mind. Yet, as he paints, the burdens begin to lift. His art speaks of grief and longing, capturing the essence of his experiences in hues and textures that transcend language. With every stroke, he communicates the inexpressible—an intimate connection to those who suffer alongside him.

While words can falter, art holds the power to bridge the chasms of isolation. It is a silent language, one that resonates deeply within the hearts of those who behold it, conveying feelings that can never be articulated. The beauty of creations offers solace, a reminder that even in the depths of despair, connection is possible through the shared understanding of emotion.

Art can speak for one, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. In a world rife with pain, it becomes a guiding light—a universal form of communication that unites hearts across boundaries.

Though silent, art speaks volumes. In this moment of catharsis through creative expression, one begins to find healing. Art provides an empowering and voiceless language to communicate intimate feelings beyond what words can say.

Especially in times of deep suffering when words fail, art becomes a "silent language" to express the inexpressible emotions of a soul.

Through art, one always finds a way to express the inexpressible, to share a silent language with the world.

Art's Silent Language.

Note: Well, here it is—finally the grand finale of my fanfic! 🎉 Did you notice that this is the fourth chapter and the whole thing clocks in at 14,444 words? I mean, come on, Jhin would definitely be proud of me for that little numerical homage. Four is his jam, right? Haha! So, about the ending... it’s kind of a happy one, or at least an open one. I did toy with the idea of killing off the protagonist—just a little cheeky thought, you know? Hehe. Oh! And I hope you caught the title drop at the end, “Art’s Silent Language.” Subtle, right? Or maybe not so much, but I tried! Now, I did mischaracterize Jhin a tad for my down-bad heart (shoutout to all my fellow simps!), but I did my best to keep him lore-accurate. This chapter is dedicated to all my broken artists out there. 💔 Don’t let life get you down—pick up the pieces and create something beautiful! That’s the real message here. Art can express feelings that words sometimes can’t. As I wrote, "Art is the highest hope." And for the Van Gogh fans, I hope you recognized some of his quotes sprinkled throughout! I love Van Gogh, and honestly, Hwei gives off major Van Gogh vibes. Plus, he has that surrealist flair, so it felt natural to weave in some of that genius. If you’re curious about my theories on Hwei, check out my theory account (https://www.tumblr.com/hwei-theories?source=share). And if you want to see more of my chaotic thoughts, here’s my main account (https://www.tumblr.com/reverieparacosm?source=share). Thanks for reading, everyone! Keep creating! 💖

#hwei league of legends #hwei #lukai hwei #hwei the visionary #league of legends #hwei x reader #hwei lol #jhin league of legends #jhin #jhinhwei #khada jhin #league of legends x reader #jhin the virtuoso #jhin x reader

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wildemaven · 2 years ago

Text

bloom : two | joel miller

-> pairing: joel miller x florist f!reader

-> wc: 4024

-> content warning: lots if fluff and mutual pining, ellie being ellie (terrifying at times), talks of divorce and failed relationships, mention of food, reader is a single mom (adoption) and has zero physical descriptions

-> a/n: excited to share this! everyone is meeting and things are happening. big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being a gem and listening to me stress over this and reading through this and correcting all my mistakes— she’s truly the best!

one / series masterlist / playlist

Sarah keeps asking questions.

She always has, ever since the day she could form coherent sentences. Always wanting to know more, seeking out more information to feel informed and ready for her next move.

So it comes as no surprise that she’s asked him the same question about five different times in the span of 24 hours.

“So, where are we going again?” Sarah’s question floats through the cab in between munching on the tart green grapes she brought along to snack on.

“That flower shop. That one you always comment on when we drive by— Wilder Floral. I got your flowers from them.” Joel glances over to where Sarah is sitting in the passenger seat.

“Hmm. Oh yes, the place you haven’t been able to stop raving about for the last week. Remind me why we are getting flowers?” Popping another grape into her mouth.

“For Nana. Why you askin’ so many questions? I already told ya all of this.”

“Just tryin’ to get a better understanding as to why we’re goin’ to buy Nana flowers. Her birthday isn’t for another 6 months, and there’s no occasion that would require flowers that I know of.”

“Why you goin’ so hard in your ole man? Can’t I buy my mom flowers, just because.”

“Never said you couldn’t. Just askin’ that’s all.” Her exposed hands in front of her show no ill intent was intended.

“Alright, ‘nough interrogating me. We’re here— hey, let’s keep all this talk about me not shuttin’ up about this place here in the truck, ‘kay?” Joel says as he pulls his truck up alongside the curb in front of the floral shop.

“Sure, Dad.” She says before hopping out onto the sidewalk and closing the door behind her.

The bell rings as he pushes the door open, allowing Sarah to walk in, following right behind her. The shop hasn’t changed much in a week's time. There’s new arrangements in the case, some similar to ones he looked over last week, some different. There’s buckets of flowers of all shapes and shades lining the ground near the workbench— trimmings scattered across the top must mean they’re being prepped for use in new arrangements.

Joel continues to scan the space, in hopes to land on a familiar face who has overwhelmed his every thought for the better part of the last week.

“Look what the cat dragged back in.” A voice pulls his attention to the side of the entrance, a spot he hadn’t looked over yet.

“Ellie. It’s good to see you too.” Joel gruffs, shoving his hands in his pockets, wanting to feel less exposed to her cynicism.

“Couldn’t stay away long, could ya?” Ellie snarks, leaning into the broom handle she has in her grip.

“Um, guess not. This is Sarah, my daughter I was tellin’ ya bout last week.” Joel gestures to where Sarah is standing next to him.

“Hey, aren’t you the girl that plays guitar at school?” Sarah asks, thinking she knew she had recognized Ellie from somewhere, then placed her as the girl who sits on the brick wall at lunch with her acoustic guitar, singing an array of classic ballads.

“Uh, yeah. I didn’t think anyone ever really paid attention though.” Ellie seems to have shrunk down a little, a twinge of self consciousness washing over her.

“I thought you looked familiar! Dad, this is the girl I was telling you about the other week, the girl who was singing The Sun Always Shines on T.V.” Sarah reminds Joel. “My dad has been singing that song to me since I was a baby.”

“No shit?” Ellie looks at Joel briefly, studying him, as if trying to imagine how he’d look and sound.

“Yeah, you’re really good. I always stop and listen when you play.”

Joel watches how Ellie absorbs the information, the slight grin that she tries to hide as she looks at the pile of dust and flower clippings she had been sweeping before they had walked in.

“Thanks.” Ellie huffs out, the compliment unexpected since no one at school ever seems to notice her playing, she doesn’t mind, but she’s grateful there’s at least one person enjoying when she does.

“Small world. Anyway, we were in the neighborhood and wanted to get some flowers and thought we’d stop in to get some for her Nana.” Joel breaks the silence, pulling Sarah in front of him, his hands on her shoulders to keep a barrier between him and Ellie’s sharp words. Sarah gives her a meek smile and wave.

“Makes sense, seeing as how we’re a flower shop.” A burst of air snaps from the gum Ellie is gnawing at, her sarcasm fully intact and back in action, her brows shooting up at the obvious reasoning for Joel and Sarah’s visit for flowers.

“Is your mom around by chance?” He asks, peeking in the direction of the doorway that leads to the back room.

His hold on Sarah’s shoulders tightens slightly when she tries to wiggle herself away from his grip, hoping she could free herself from the awkwardness that’s started to simmer.

“Well, seeing as how she owns the place, what do you think old man?” And she’s back, Ellie’s brutal response has Joel speechless. Sarah ducks her head to hide her snickering at her dad being called an ‘old man.’

“Ellie!” Your voice booms through the shop, catching the tailend of what Ellie had said to Joel.

Joel turns to see you frozen in place. You look mortified by Ellie’s bluntness, your grip tight around the buckle of florals you have in your arms.

“What?” Ellie rolls her eyes as she looks over to you.

“Knock it off! Don’t be rude— especially to the customers.” You say as you make your way to your workbench, your calculated steps indicating the contents of the bucket are heavier than they look.

“But it’s not just any customer, it’s Mister I’m sliding into third base Joel.” Ellie snarks, looking at Joel with the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever seen. “Besides, I’m just kidding! Geez— no need to get your undies twisted.”

Sarah pretends to take in the store, avoiding the back and forth taking place around her, biting back the laughter that’s been building in her chest.

Joel takes this as his cue to leave Sarah with Ellie, deciding she’s far less likely to be hit with a barrage of sarcastic remarks based on how well Ellie took her compliment about her singing and guitar playing.

“Here let me help you with that.” Joel says as he jogs over towards you, his arms reaching out for the bucket ready to take on the load himself.

“Oh! You don’t have to do that—“ You start to tell him, but he’s already grabbing the bucket from you, placing it alongside the other ones you already carried out prior to their arrival. “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.” The way you’re looking at him has his heart rate ticking up a few beats, feeling fidgety as he tightens his hands into a fist then releases, trying to release the nervous energy that is flowing through him. “How’s the finger doin’? No other injuries I hope.”

“No other injuries and the finger healed up nicely. Thanks to a wonderful stranger coming to my rescue.” You hold up the finger in question. No bandage. No sign of where the rose thorn had embedded itself into your skin. “It was probably the kiss— you know, that made it better and all.”

Joel reaches out, his hand wrapping gently around your wrist, needing to inspect the injury site for himself. He places your hand in his, his thumb tracking up your exposed palm and the length of your finger, smoothing over the area he had the privilege to be up close and personal with a week ago. He likes the way your skin feels under his touch, silk like and warm, even with how much you work with them. He has to rein in his fiery thoughts, wanting to know how every inch of you would feel.

“Always does the trick.” His voice teeters on a nice balance of gentle and rough.

Joel looks up from where he’s still holding you. Your eyes already fixed on him, beaming and bright, giving your smile a run for its money. He’s not quite sure what convinces him to do it for a second time, but finds he doesn’t really care either when he places a kiss on the pulse point of your wrist. He lets his lips linger for a moment, catching the brief gasp you let out and the way he can feel your pulse quicken as the milliseconds tick on.

“I-I didn’t think I’d see you so soon. A very welcomed surprise to my busy week.” Your voice soothes something within him, seeping into his heart and filling the cracks he struggled to keep from breaking entirely.

“Sarah and I were in the area and thought we’d stop in again— as promised. Need to get some flowers for Nana— my mom, her grandma.”

“Well, I appreciate you stopping in. What’s the occasion?” You ask as Joel gently releases your hand, you pull your clippers from your well worn canvas apron, placing them next to your other tools.

“Uhh, no real reason. Just ‘cause.” But what he really wants to say is ‘Just ‘cause I needed to see you again, and this seemed like the best way to do it.’

He’s not sure what it is, but he felt it the last time he was here too. This blooming effervescent attraction to you. Infatuated by your mere presence in such a short time. He usually runs in the opposite direction when feelings and commitment start to unveil themselves, but something about you has him running straight for the things that scare him the most— wanting to know if you feel it too.

When Joel thinks back on his dating history, post divorce, he can’t remember a time where he actively went out of his way to see someone. It could have been because there hasn’t really been anyone serious since he and Sarah’s mom divorced. There've been a lot of blind dates set up by friends and his brother Tommy, none of them making it to a second date or really establishing themselves as relationships. He’s met a few women that he thought had potential for a future with, one he had even considered proposing to after a year of dating, but it ended when she decided marriage and a kid wasn’t something she saw in her life at that moment. Joel put dating on the back burner, focused on getting his construction company off the ground and Sarah being his main priority as far as he was concerned.

Then Joel walked into your shop last week, and everything he thought he would never have or deserve was gone. And now he finds himself searching for any reason to walk through that front door of your little flower shop, just so he can see the way your face lights up.

“That’s so sweet of you! I’m sure she’ll love Just Cause flowers— everyone always does. I have these new arrangements I just put together if you want to give her one of these??” Pointing to the several arrangements in glass vases that you had been working on all morning. “These protea are my favorite to work with. Their petals are kind of velvety and they’re perfect long after the rest of the arrangement has expired, she can dry them and have them forever. They are kind of cool flowers too, they’re adapted to survive wildfires because their stem contains buds that will produce new growth after fires. And they’re one of the oldest living flowers on the planet, so that makes them double cool.”

Joel studies you as you continue to share random floral facts with him, adjusting and readjusting the arrangement in front of you. Each flower placed with intention, pausing from time to time to take a slight step back, your head tilting to the side as you look over everything as a whole, then back to arranging and rearranging.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to ramble like that.” You say as you look to where Joel is leaning one hip into your workbench, as he hangs on every word you're saying.

“No, don't be sorry. I like it.”

There’s an ease that flows nicely between you. Joel wants to pick your brain, find out what makes you happy, the things that make you sad— all the things in between. He wants to talk to you for hours on end, or not talk at all and just listen— to anything and everything you have to say.

“Like what?”

“Listenin’ to you talk. I like it— a lot actually. And the little facts too. Shows how much you love what you do to learn special details like that. You could be tellin’ me about how mushrooms could start a zombie apocalypse, and I’d find it interesting— terrifying, but interesting.” Joel hopes you can hear that he genuinely means it.

“Well, I won’t tell you how that possibility is more likely to happen than you think based on the research that’s been done over the years.” You both laugh at how ridiculous sounding a mushroom zombie apocalypse would be.

“They seem to be getting along nicely.” Your chin pointing over to where Ellie and Sarah are giggling to themselves at the front part of the shop.

“Sarah’s a pretty easy goin’ kid. Gets along with pretty much everyone she meets, even Ellie it seems.” Joel looks over his shoulder at the girls.

You both share bits about each of them. Their differences, similarities and all the fun little quirks they’ve both had since they were babies.

Joel asks about Ellie’s singing, and you tell him how she taught herself by checking out books at the library to help her master the chords and beginner songs. Joel tells you how he used to play growing up and that he doesn’t play as much as he would like to now, but sometimes Sarah can twist his arm enough to dust off his guitar and strum out a few songs at the end of barbecues or random summer evenings.

He tells you about Sarah’s latest soccer game, how she’s an all-star player and usually helps carry the team to victory throughout the season. You tell him how Ellie had been on the track team briefly, she was a sprinter, but was kicked off the team for punching a runner from another school because she had elbowed Ellie during the 400m race, causing her to trip and lose.

An hour passed before you both don’t realize you’ve been caught up talking about your kids.

“She’s like head over heels in love with your dad. She literally jumps when the front door dings, hoping it’s him again. It’s gross.” Ellie tells Sarah, looking over to where you and Joel are, completely wrapped up in a moment together.

“Hmm. We stopped in to get my Nana flowers.“ Sarah repeats what Joel had told Ellie earlier.

“Your dad mentioned that when you came in.”

“Yeah, well she’s been on vacation for a month and won’t be back for another month. So I don’t think we are here just getting my Nana flowers.” Sarah takes a glance over now to see you and Joel laughing. “I think it’s safe to say my dad is just as head over heels for your mom, too.”

“Well, we’ll get outta your hair. Promised Sarah we’d stop on our way home at The Picnic, get some lunch and ice cream.” Hating that he can’t stay, knowing that he can’t hog all your time— but maybe one day.

“Oh I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ve heard so many great things about all their food trucks. Ellie and I will have to check it out sometime. She’s on a Chef Boyardee kick right now, as one would be when they’re a preteen. Would be nice to mix it up for her though.”

If it wasn’t too forward with it only being his second time meeting you, Joel would ask if you and Ellie wanted to join them. He would even chance the gutsiness and ask you out, spend the evening getting to know you better until both your stomachs and hearts were full. Ellie’s words hit him, “she needs to be wined and dined before you even think about kissing her.”

“Nothin’ wrong with some canned ravioli— lived on that shit in college. But yeah, you both would enjoy it. Definitely take her.” He decides gutsiness isn’t winning today, or it’s his fear of being on the receiving end of Ellie’s wrath that has him wanting to do it the right way, just not today.

“I hope Nana loves these. And feels special getting just ‘cause flowers.” You hand Joel the ceramic container filled with different shades of pinks and greens in varying heights, shapes and textures.

“I’m sure she’ll love ‘em no doubt. How much do I owe you?” He gives the flowers a look over, not in an analyzing manner, but admiring the way you manage to take these flowers and effortlessly pair them all together and create something special.

“You’re in luck! I’m running a special today!.”

“A special?” Joel is frozen in confusion.

“Yes! Free to customers that go by the name of Joel.” You say sweetly, he catches the way you bite at your bottom lip after you say his name.

“‘N what are you gonna do when another Joel walks in wantin’ some of your pretty flowers?”

“Well, there’s limits of course. And it’s only valid for one Joel.” You wink at him, prompting his stomach to flip and knot up. He needs to ask you out!

“No, I can’t let you do that again. Let me pay this time, please.” He insists, setting the arrangement down on the counter he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, flipping through the large bills stashed inside. “How much?”

“Joel— my shop, my rules. There’s no arguing— just take the flowers.”

“Hi! I’m Sarah. Thank you so much for the flowers, my dad and I haven’t been able to stop talking about them. I have been bugging my dad to bring me here, it’s so pretty.” Sarah tells you as she stands next to Joel, arms crossed over the counter.

“You are so welcome. So glad you’re enjoying them.” Even with this brief interaction, you decided Sarah is one of the sweetest teenagers you’ve ever met— Ellie wouldn’t even take offense if you told her such, she would most likely shrug and agree.

“Hey, Dad. Are you almost ready to go? I’m starting to get hungry.” Sarah asks, turning to look up at him.

“Right— sorry, babygirl. We got caught up talkin’ and now I’m tryin’ to convince her to let me pay, but she’s insistin’ we just take the flowers.”

“Sounds like you shouldn’t argue with her. Just say thank you and take the flowers.” Sarah grabs the arrangement and snags Joel’s keys that are dangling from the front pocket of his jeans then starts to head for the door. “I’ll meet you in the truck dad. It was nice meeting you!”

You wave goodbye to her and watch as she stops on her way out to tell Ellie bye, telling her she’ll see her around at school, the bell dings and the door slowly closes as she walks out. She settles herself into Joel’s truck, its engine roaring to life soon after, signaling Joel to say his farewells and head finally head out.

“I guess I’ll see you around then.” Joel slowly walks backwards, prolonging his departure from you.

“I’ll see you around Joel. Hopefully sooner than later.” You wave to him then you’re straight back into work mode, moving buckets of flowers to be cleaned and prepped for your next round of arrangements.

Joel’s hand settles on the door, but releases it and turns back to where Ellie is finishing up her sweeping through the shop, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before he interrupts her.

“If you take a picture it’ll last longer. Although, might be a little weird with you bein’ an old man and all.” Ellie is quick on her feet. Joel hopes that’s the last of her intimidation tactics.

“Hey, umm— don’t say anything to your mom ‘bout this, but sometime this week why don’t you take her out to eat somewhere. Give her a break from cookin’ and what not.” He holds a double folded $100 bill between his middle and pointer finger, encouraging Ellie to take it from him.

“This feels like some sort of thing my mom should've warned me about. We’re not a charity case, we don’t need your money.” She continues sweeping, grabbing leaves and a few days worth of dust bunnies that have collected under display tables.

“It’s not— I don’t think you’re a charity case. I just— I wanted to— umm.” Joel releases a deep sigh. He’s flustered, stumbling over his words trying to figure out what he is wanting to say.

“You wanted to ask my mom out, but you’re too much of a chickenshit. So you’re conning me into taking her out instead. Thinking that maybe I’ll soften up to you a bit.”

“Yeah, pretty much all of that.” Joel huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at how easily she was able to read him.

“I’ll tell ya what— I’ll take her somewhere, but I keep half.” Ellie bargains with him, making sure she still has the upper hand.

“Half?”

“Kids gotta make a livin’ somehow.”

Joel thinks it over, actually contemplates the pros and cons of being worked over by Ellie. Each positive gained him an in with Ellie, not really a guarantee, but he’s hopeful that maybe she would consider downgrading her verbal assaults a notch or two. The only negative Joel can come up with is… Ellie keeps the money and he has to come at this from a different angle, one he’s not really sure about yet.

“Okay, okay. You keep half, but take her somewhere nice-nice.” He holds the bill again out to her, she snatches it quickly and shoves it in her back pocket.

“Yeah, yeah old man. Under one condition. Next time you come in here acting like you’re buying flowers just so you can see her— you ask her out yourself. None of this middle man BS.”

“You gotta deal, kid.” He holds his hand out to her, and they shake on it. A truce cementing the fact that he agrees to not being a chickenshit— something he’s not sure he’s ever been called before. “Maybe go easy on the old man part a bit.”

“See ya around ol— Joel.”

“See ya later, Ellie.”

The driver door slams shut as Joel settles into the seat. The cold air already flowing through the cab, Sarah singing along to The Clash with the flowers secure in her lap. Joel fastens his seatbelt and shifts the truck into drive, his thumb drumming along to the beat as he drives away.

“So, you got a crush on the cute flower lady?” Sarah asks, her infectious smile extending from ear to ear.

“What? I— what makes you think that?” He looks over to her, his brows slightly raised at her suggesting he likes you— he does, he just didn’t realize it would be two teenagers picking up on it. .

“For starters, Nana’s been on vacation for a month, and she won’t be back for a while. But also the way you look at her, it’s so obvious.” She plays with the petals of the flowers, waiting for Joel’s response.

“Anyone ever told ya you’re a smart kid?” He shakes his head and laughs.

“Yeah, you do all the time Dad. So, are you gonna ask her out?”

“I’m afraid if I don’t, Ellie’s gonna have a hit-man out for me.” He’s joking, but also not. “Yeah, I’m gonna ask her out.”

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