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beenbaanbuun · 2 months ago

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cupboard door w/ choi san

words - when do i ever know the word count…

genre - smut/fluff

warnings - dom!san, making out, fingering, big cock san, cockwarming (kind of at the end), unprotected sex, i think that’s it 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

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your eyesight goes blurry, just for a second or two. it makes your head spin and you can’t help but take a few stumbling steps backwards, away from the open cupboard door. the pain of the whole ordeal is pretty slow to kick in, and for just a moment you’re not even sure if it will. but just as quickly as that thought comes to mind, it’s there, splitting and harsh as it shoots through your skull. you groan as your hands fly up to cup at your forehead, catching the attention of the other resident of the flat.

“shit,” you hear movement from the living room; the sound of a game pausing on the playstation followed by someone scrambling to their feet. the thud of his feet hitting the floorboards is loud as he rushes towards you, moving quicker than you think you’ve ever heard the gentle giant move before. “what happened?” he sounds concerned, “what did you do?”

warm hands grab your face and tilt it up until all you can see is him; san. he’s pretty, even when his expression is scrunched up into one of concern. it’s strange, you note, for someone so carefree, it’s hardly taken anything for him to fall into a panic. you’ve seen him calmer than this in much more stressful situations, so why now is he holding you in his hands like some fractured vase that could shatter at any moment? you’re sure it’s nothing; at least that’s what you tell yourself to stop your heart from jumping to any conclusions.

“you left the cupboard door open,” a habit of his that you’ve been trying to work him out of since the first day the two of you moved in with one another, “and i wasn’t paying attention and walked into it,” just like your clumsiness is something that he’s been trying to cure you of. not too long ago you asked him why he cared so much about your susceptibility to bruises; he answered with ‘i worry about you,’ which you could only assume was a joke.

san hums, letting your face slip from his gentle hands. they fall back to his sides and it’s only now that you realise just how close he’s standing. a sigh tumbles from his lips and you feel it on your face, his chest rises as he pulls in a deep breath and it brushes every so slightly against your own. if things were different, you could quite easily lean forward and press your lips to his own. it’s just a silly fantasy, but you can’t help but let the idea echo around your mind like a voice in a cavern.

if things were different, you could kiss him.

you could kiss him.

kiss hi—

“you’re such an idiot,” he purrs with something akin to affection in his voice. it doesn’t help calm your overactive thoughts at all, spurring them on until they’re frenzied and begging you to close the gap between your lips and his. it’s no surprise when you feel your face heat up and a shiver of electricity trail it’s way slowly up your spine. “i’m going to have to wrap you in bubble wrap one day, just to stop me from worrying every time i let you out of my sight.”

there it is again, that cruel joke that has every part of you tingling with glee. you want him to mean it; reminding yourself that he doesn’t hurts your heart far too much. it’s so much effort to recover from your mini-heartbreak quick enough for him to not notice anything wrong, and even more effort to think up some equally flirtatious joke that means so much more to you than it ever will to him. it’s tiring, unrequited love.

“i guess you’ll just have to keep me by your side forever, then,” a fake giggle leaves your lips, just realistic enough to keep him from thinking something is wrong. you want him to laugh too, to bask in this joke with you before going back to whatever he was doing and leaving you to wallow in the heartache of being so painfully close to the man you’ve been in love with since the very day you met him. you want him to rejoice in the thin veil of humour you’ve plastered over the top of your pain. you want him to not care enough to look into your eyes and see exactly what you’re so desperate to hide from him.

but he doesn’t laugh, and the smile that was already there slips from his expression like it wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place. have you said something wrong?

your own giggles come to a halt, the two of you being thrust into an abrupt silence. you watch his expression nervously, scanning for some sort of sign that everything is actually okay, but the way san holds his face is almost statuesque. if it weren’t for his slow blinks and hard gaze flitting around your face, you’d maybe think he was one.

“san?” you can’t raise your voice above a whisper, scared it might break. the sound still makes him flinch out of whatever trance he’d found himself in, and you’re grateful to see just the tiniest bit of life flicker across his expression once more. “san, have i said something wrong? i’m sorry if i offended you, i didn’t m—”

the words are cut off when a pair of lips come crashing down on your own. the speed of it all pulls a squeak from your throat, your shoulders tensing as san’s large hand snakes around the back of your skull to hold you in place. its not that you don’t want it, it’s just that it’s the very last thing you were expecting to come from hitting your head against an open cupboard door. fate works in mysterious ways, you suppose.

it only takes a moment before san is pulling away again, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he lazily blinks at you. there’s a fog covering his pupils, making him look as though he’s lost in a haze. you feel the very same way; dizzy and full of some sort of fuzzy warmth that now you’ve tasted it, you’re not sure you’ll be able to live without.

“sorry,” he whispers as he slips his hand away from the back of your head. he doesn’t look it, nor is his tone remorseful in any way, shape or form, but you don’t really care. you don’t need an apology, anyway; why would you when he’s just given you everything you never knew you needed? you’re on top of the world, right now, thoughts buzzing through your mind too fast to grab hold of one and focus on it. “i wasn’t thinking,” he adds, just as insincere as his apology.

you don’t really care about the insincerity of it all; you just want more.

“i don’t care,” you murmur as you lean in closer, just enough so that he can see your intentions. a wandering hand finds its way to his bicep, squeezing the oversized muscle once before inching its way up to his shoulder, and then his neck. your fingers tug at the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you stare into his eyes with need. if this doesn’t tell him that you want him to kiss you again then you don’t know what will. “i liked it,” you say for good measure.

a few seconds of silence pass you by, san’s vacant gaze flickering around your face as if to search for signs that you’re lying. that for some reason you’re being untruthful about the fact that you liked it. while yes, ‘liked it’ may be a bit of an understatement, it certainly wasn’t a lie. you’ll be replaying that barely-there kiss in your brain for years to come. it was short and weak, and yet it’s left your lips tingling with a desire for more. you need san’s lips on you more than you need air right now; you need him to kiss you again.

and while it takes a little longer than you would’ve liked, he seems to get the message, lips parting in a small smile before he leans down to close the gap. his lips barely brush against yours when they meet; you can’t help but chase them. the chuckle san lets out goes straight to your core, tightening a knot in your stomach that you didn’t even know had been tied. you need him. mind, body and soul, you need him. it’s not hard to tell him as such with a pleading whine against his lips, to which he responds by conceding—he presses his lips to yours once more.

just like that you’re in heaven, floating on a cloud as san gives you the kiss you crave so badly. it’s slow and meaningful, as if he’s been waiting to do this for almost as long as you’ve been waiting to receive it. if that is the case, you regret not showing him how much you need him sooner. it would’ve been so easy to drop a few hints here and there, to tempt him and tease him until eventually, he’d snap. you guess you got there in the long run, and you suppose the wait has made this kiss even sweeter; it doesn’t help quell the what-if’s that float around your brain like fallen cherry-blossoms atop a lake.

you dive in deeper, hoping that it will silence the questions you can’t help but ask yourself. as your lips move against his, breathless moans falling from them each time you part to suck in a much needed gasp of air, your thoughts shift to silence. a fog settles over your mind, blocking out anything that isn’t the complete and utter desire for san to do more. you want his hands all over you, touching and squeezing at every inch of skin you own. you want his arm around your waist, his tongue down your throat, his fingers in your pussy. your thighs squeeze together of their own accord; a desperate attempt to apply pressure to a clit aching with need.

“san,” you whisper as you pull away briefly. he follows your lips, barely letting his name slip out of them before they’re caught in a desperate whirlwind if want once more. it only last a few seconds before you pull away again, but it’s enough to send you into a dizzy stupor. “san,” you repeat his name, “touch me, please.”

another kiss, just as hot and heavy as the others, and equally as short as the last. before you know it he’s pulling away again so he can slip a hand between you to meet with the waistband of your sweats. your breath hitches in your throat as his warm fingers slip beneath the elasticated fabric, brushing against your stomach so softly that you barely feel it. it sends shivers through your body and you find yourself unable to stop your hips bucking forwards in a search for more. he chuckles again, but the humiliation that you should feel is nowhere to be found.

“you’re needy,” he purrs as he slips his hand south, bypassing the waistband of your panties and heading straight to your leaking core. no time is wasted before he’s tapping a finger against your clit, a high pitched keen echoing through the kitchen as he applies pressure to the bud. “i should’ve known, huh baby? you’ve always been this way,” he gives your clit one last kiss with his fingertip before pulling his hand completely free from your sweats.

“san,” you whine, to which he rolls his eyes in jest.

“give me a second, baby,” he grins as he wraps his hands around your waist and hoists you onto the counter behind you. it seems like it takes almost no effort at all for him; a thought that sends your already clouded mind into a frenzy. it makes you feel so small, so insignificant, like a human at the side of a god. if that’s the case then you’re more than prepared to be the head of his temple. you’ll worship him every day, if he lets you. you’ll give him your everything as an offering if he wants.

“san, please,” you pray. he listens with mercy, parting your legs and stepping between them until his pelvis slots against your own. he’s hard, you note as his cock rubs up against your clothed core—big too, it seems. you wonder how it’ll feel stuffed inside of you, dragging deliciously in and out of your dripping hole. it’s all you can think about as you connect your lips with his once more.

only this time you don’t pull away to say anything, or to take a breather. why would you when san already seems to understand exactly what you want? his hands are on you in seconds, tugging at the waistband of your sweats, lifting you up slightly to drag them under the curve of your ass, groping at your newly exposed flesh with hands heavy enough to bruise. the counter is cold against your skin but you can barely feel it amongst the trails of fire his fingertips leave against your skin. they burn you, etching invisible scars against you. you might not be able to see them, but you’ll know they’re there. you’ll feel san’s touch until the end of time.

“want me to touch you?” he growls against your lips, “want my fingers? i’m gonna need to stretch you out for my cock, sweet thing.”

you don’t answer straight away, simply delving in for another kiss. he’s more than happy to comply, devouring any answers that rest upon your tongue. when you pull away seconds later, he’s already panting like a dog.

“i want your cock,” you sigh, “need it inside of me, sannie.”

he chuckles as he trails his lips against your jawline.

“fingers first,” they shift to your core once more, one of them experimentally delving into your weeping core, “don’t want to hurt you.” he pushes it in to its hilt, bending it slightly in a way that rips every shred of lucidity from your mind for just a few seconds. every thought is just him; choi san, choi san, choi san. it’s louder than the moan you let out, your thoughts blocking it from your ears with ease. it’s only when san whispers, “that feel good?” into your ear that you sink back down to earth, nodding fervently in response. he smiles against your ear, teeth softly nipping at your earlobe before pulling back.

he tests the waters with a second finger, barely dipping the tip in before his eyes meet yours for confirmation. “please, sannie,” you whine, bucking your hips a little, “i want you inside of me.” it’s all it takes for him to finish pushing his fingers in, the stretch making your body melt. you’d never taken notice of how thick his fingers are until now, but as they drag against your walls it’s all you can focus on.

he works diligently, pumping them in and out at a fast pace to get you used to the stretch. every so often he pauses, scissoring them open and pushing them against your gummy walls. your whines become less coherent as he works, but he shushes each of them with a kiss, stealing your pretty sounds for himself.

“so noisy,” he breaks away with a grin as his fingers continue to open you up, “if the neighbours put in a noise complaint, i hope you know i’m not taking the fall for you.” if you weren’t drunk on lust, perhaps you would’ve given a snarky response, but as his fingers hammer away at your most sensitive spot, all you can do is take it.

“shut up,” you mewl as he moves in for another kiss, a mocking giggle on his lips.

“you first, baby.”

he draws his fingers from your pussy, wiping them on his shorts before moving to take hold of his waistband. you hold your breath as he pushes them down, his cock springing free and standing to attention. it looks bigger than it felt, and you almost feel nervous as you watch him give it a few pumps with his fist. the way his fingers only just connect around the circumference is daunting, and you can almost feel the ache of it inside of you already.

“can i?” he purrs as he taps the head gently against your folds. precum smears against them, mixing in with your own slick that drips from you like a faucet. you nod, silently begging for him to hurry up and fill the hole his fingers left within you. he hums disapprovingly, “your words, baby; give me your consent.”

words are hard when you’re so needy. “please, sannie,” comes out as a desperate whimper, and your cry of “i want you inside of me,” sounds utterly pathetic even to your own ears. it doesn’t really matter as long as you get what you want from him, and as he lines himself up with your waiting hole, you relax in the knowledge that are. you tip your head back against the recently closed cabinet door and stare him down with half lidded eyes, watching how his face shifts to pleasure as he slips just the tip in.

even that is thick enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, already feeling fuller than you did with his fingers despite having next to nothing inside of you. a hand flies to his shoulder, nails biting the skin as he slowly pushed forward. it burns a little as his cock bullies it’s way inside of you, stretching you open uncomfortably. it isn’t all pain, a wall of pleasure hiding behind the thin veil of pain; you can’t help but moan a little as his cock drags deliciously along your sensitive walls.

“sannie,” you whimper as his tip brushes up against your cervix and causes you to flinch. part of him is still unsheathed, but he halts before he can even try to fit it in. there’s a look of understanding in his eyes as he leans in to press his lips against your forehead and you know that you’re safe with him.

“is it okay?” he murmurs between pressing small kisses to your face, “does it hurt?” you find yourself whispering an affirmative. san pulls back just enough for him to study your face. “too much?” absolutely not, “i can pull out and make you cum a different way, if that’s what you want?”

“no,” you whine, saddened at just the thought of losing that feeling of fullness, “i just need to get used to it. you’re fucking huge, sannie.”

he giggles at that comment, a blush making its way up to his ears. you’ve seen a similar look on his face when the two of you have been drinking, though you suppose right now he’s equally as drunk, just on you as oppose to alcohol. it’s cute, and if it weren’t for the fact that you want to get fucked sometime soon, you’d be more than happy to just sit here and watch him.

“i’ve seen bigger,” he shrugs humbly as his face gets pinker; he looks so pretty with a dusting of salmon across his nose, “but if you need to get used to it then that’s okay. we have all the time in the world, sweetheart. there’s no rush.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez smut #san x reader #san smut

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 4 months ago

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Any fics where Stiles goes to Derek for help or to stay with Derek because he has nowhere else to go? Either he’s been pushed out of his friend group or has a fight or misunderstanding with his father?

I think so.

The Promised Land by StaciNadia

(1/1 I 1,952 I General)

Pushed away from the pack, Stiles has had enough of Beacon Hills.

A Growl-to-English Dictionary by churkey

(4/4 I 14,866 I Teen)

In which Derek finds his words and Stiles learns to growl.

Til We Ain't Strangers Anymore by WriteByNight

(7/7 I 35,994 I Explicit)

Stiles should've expected Derek to suddenly disappear since the werewolf was in the habit of taking off without notice. However, Derek always showed up when they needed him.

As the weeks pass by, Stiles is no longer confused and a little hurt. What started as heartache begins to get worse the longer Stiles goes without seeing Derek. Eventually, his body begins to shut down and his only hope seems to be Derek...but nobody can find him.

There's no cure for a broken heart. Except, maybe, the cause for the broken heart himself.

- - -

Or the one where Derek takes off without warning and Stiles finds out he could be Derek's mate and the distance between Derek and Stiles, along with Derek's refusal to develop the bond, is slowly killing Stiles. Without Derek, Stiles will die, but no one knows where he is or how to contact him. And Stiles is barely keeping it together.

The Moon's Gonna Follow Me Home by turningterrific

(2/2 I 82,866 I Explicit)

Derek doesn’t want to call the window repair guy. He doesn’t want to sweep up the glass. He’ll inevitably miss a few shards and pull them out of the bottom of his bare feet for weeks.

He doesn’t want to try to make this place feel like home when it isn’t.

Derek stayed in Beacon Hills and tried to make it work because he wanted pack, wanted purpose. He gave his best effort and found himself back where he started: alone, with a few begrudging allies. He’s tired, and even though his werewolf body heals quickly, he feels the weary ache down to his center.

He packs his car with the few things he cares about enough to drag them from place to place. He locks the loft and calls a realtor about listing the building he’d bought in a misguided attempt to secure a future.

And then he leaves.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #derek leaves #reunion #angst #hurt/comfort #anon

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sadghostgirl14 · 1 year ago

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#sadgirl #heartache #heartbreak #confession #hoping #little hope #hopelessness #heartbroken #life lessons #secret #cure for me #crashes #burnout #you broke my heart #broke down #heart been broke so many times

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darknixx · 6 months ago

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I am not okay- I just really really REALLYYY WANT TO HUG THE LIVING SOUL OUT OF HIM AND JUST EAT HIM UP. My heart is ACHING from how much I love this man even more.

"From the Start" -König

Play around with the ai :0

#könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #call of duty #cod mwii #and unfortunately there is no cure to this heartache as I self sabotage myself by playing this on loop for 2+ hours already #I kid you not I nearly cried #also I am really impressed they made it using AI

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holdmytesseract · 3 months ago

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moodboard by the wonderful @chennqingg <3

One Last Chance [EoH]

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: Can you give Daryl one last chance and let him back into your life? After all, he never left our heart...

Warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol, swear words, angst? fluff-ish ending

Pre-Apocalypse Era!

Word Count: 2k

a/n: I dunno why, but I truly love this story. It's a very important part of the EoH universe. I hope you enjoy it, too! ☺️

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

And I was there standing outside your door

Waiting for you to show me how to stay

~ 'Ready to Fight' by Roby Fayer & Tom Gefen

"Go home, Dixon," spoke the bartender with dreadlocks, tattooed arms and lip piercings, while she was polishing one of the glasses. Daryl sat on the other side of the bar; fifth glass of Whiskey in hands. "You've had enough, don't ya think?"

The younger Dixon brother shook his head and snuffled. "Nah. Ain't enough. Still gotta numb the pain." Chrissie - the bartender - snorted out an almost sarcastic laugh, before shaking her head as well. "Alcohol won't solve yer problem. Whatever it is."

Now Daryl was the one laughing sarcastically. "Yeah? Well, I learned it from ma old man. Didn't fail ta help him." Chrissie rolled her eyes. "You're not yer father, ya know? Try to be better than him."

Daryl answered nothing for a moment; let her words sink in. The noises around him were so loud... Clinking glasses, loud voices and 'Every Breath You Take' by 'The Police' blaring from the old jukebox in the corner - and yet all he could hear were his own thoughts and Chrissie's words.

He took another sip; swallowing hard. "'S about a girl."

The hint of a smile could be seen on the bartender's face. "Thought so." Her words caused Daryl to frown. "Why?" She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. "'Cause it mostly is. Yer not the first man sittin' here with lovesickness and a broken heart."

Once again, Daryl said nothing and just stared at his glass of Whiskey.

"What am I gonna do?"

Chrissie shrugged her shoulders. "Look, I dunno what the problem is, but I can tell ya this..." She threw the rug over her shoulder, leaned in closer to Daryl, "Go talk to 'er. 'S better than drowning yerself in alcohol." and took his almost empty glass away. The redneck shook his head. "Ain't workin'. Already tried. She ain't believin' me." Once more shrugged Chrissie her shoulders. "Then give her a reason to believe ya."

Those words struck Daryl to the core. Give her a reason to believe ya.

He lifted his gaze to meet the bartender's. "Fuckin' hell, yer right..." Chrissie winked at him. "I know. 'M usually right." Daryl stood up from the bar stool, "'S what 'm goin' to do." threw some money on the bar and immediately turned his back to leave for the door. Chrissie smiled; eyes following his figure vanishing in the crowd.

The redneck quickly made his way home. Well, as quick as possible with being definitely tipsy.

He staggered down the few steps, which led to his and his brother Merle's old, shabby basement apartment - if you could even call it an apartment. It was one room with an even tinier room attached, which served as a bathroom.

Daryl closed the door quietly behind him, but almost stumbled over a sleeping Merle, his empty beer bottles and stacks of Playboy and motorbike magazines with hot chicks on the covers. Merle grumbled and grunted in his sleep, but luckily didn't wake up. Daryl hadn't the nerve to argue with him now.

Reaching his little corner of the room, he rummaged through a pile of magazines, bills and other paperwork, until he found what he was looking for. With a victorious smile, he took the slightly crinkled envelope and made his way to the main door again. Why didn't he think of this right away? The possible solution to the situation he was in and the cure to his heartache was right in front of his eyes for days - maybe even weeks! He just had to grab it. And that's what he did now.

Fifteen minutes later, he sat in a train; heading for Toccoa - your hometown. It took Daryl less than an hour to get to your parental home. He swallowed hard as he set foot on the porch; not exactly great memories flooding his mind.

Running his hand over his face, he took a deep breath and rang the doorbell; praying that you'd open the door and not your mom. Or, if Daryl was very unlucky and your dad would open the door, he was pretty much fucked.

Nervously chewing on his thumbnail, he heard footsteps approaching the door, before it swung open.

Life truly hated him.

Fuck, the redneck thought; fighting the urge to close his eyes.

As soon as your father's eyes met his, the older man's expression hardened. "What are you doing here?" The grey haired man spoke in a harsh voice; crossing his arms over his chest. "I told ya that I never wanted to see your fucked up ass on my yard again - and yet here you are..."

Well, let's put it that way... Your father didn't exactly like Daryl. Neither did your mother. They were convinced that he was nothing but a lost cause. A loser. An alcoholic - like his father. A junkie - and certainly very bad company.

In your mom's opinion he was too old for you and your dad said that he'd rather see you die as a single woman than being together with a man like Daryl.

The chestnut brown haired man clenched his jaw; tried to keep himself together.

"I wanna talk to Y/N. She here?" "Yeah, she is - but I won't let ya talk to her. Never again. Now get lost, before I do something I might regret."

Daryl snorted out his breath. "I ain't lettin' ya forbid me to talk to 'er. She's a grown woman. Ain't a lil' girl anymore. You can't tell her what to do!" Now your dad was laughing out loud, "What do you want to do, huh? Break into the house? Strike me down? Or even kill me right away?" before he gestured around. "Please... Do so. The cops are here faster than you can run - or wait... Are you even able to run? I'm sure you've taken a ship loads of drugs since I lastly saw your sorry ass."

Anger started to boil in the redneck's veins - and he had a really hard time controlling it. But, he also knew, that he could not fuck this up now. He was here to fix things... Not to break them even more.

"You ain't know shit 'bout me or what I do. None of yer business anyways." Your father took a threatening step closer to Daryl. "Oh, I know enough, Dixon. And since you try to get your dirty hands on my daughter, it is my business what you do," the older man snarled; raising his voice.

Daryl also took a threatening step closer; causing the both men to stand mere inches away from each other. The tension was literally cuttable with a knife - but not in the good kind of way...

"Oh yeah?! Well, lemme tell ya this then. I-"

Daryl got cut off by a voice which didn't belong to the man standing opposite him. It was your voice.

"Hey! What the hell is going on here?!" You literally stormed through the door, seeing your (boy)friend and father almost being at each other's throat. "Well, I'm tryin' to tell your junkie ex-lover to move his ass from our property." "I ain't a junkie, you-" "I am a what, huh?! C'mon, say what ya have to say!" Your father immediately cut off Daryl. In return he planted himself straight in front of your dad threateningly; chest puffing.

That was the moment you knew you had to intervene, before something bad would most likely happen. "Stop! Both of you! That's enough!" You yelled and got in between them; pushing Daryl a few steps back - and he let you. Unbeknownst to you, took your sudden touch almost his breath away.

"For fucks sake, we are all adults here! Can we please behave like such, please?!"

Daryl immediately threw you a sorrowful look; while your dad still held his distrustful gaze. You looked both men dead in the eye, "Thanks." before you directed your attention fully on Daryl. "Why are you here, Daryl?"

The redneck swallowed hard. "'M here ta talk. Please." You took a deep breath, but nodded; "Alright." then turned to face your father. "Just a few minutes, okay?" He eyed you critically. "Please, dad?" You added; hoping to get through to him.

Silent second after silent second ticked by until he finally nodded. "Alright. But if he's not gone in ten minutes, 'm calling the cops. Are we clear?" Now you were the one nodding and agreeing to your dad's 'terms'.

With a last threatening look thrown at Daryl, the older man returned inside the house.

Once more, you met the beautiful blue-greyish eyes of the man who had undoubtedly captured your heart. For quite a few moments the both of you just stared at each other, until you cleared your throat. "What do ya want to talk about?" Daryl swallowed hard again; Adam's apple bobbing. "I miss ya..." The man whispered; causing you to immediately inhale deeply. "Daryl..." "No, please... Hear me out." You shook your head; crossing your arms over your chest. "We've had this conversation about a trillion times already..." "I-I know, but..." Daryl stepped closer to you. "Please. This time, 's different." "You say that every time, Daryl. And every time I gave you another chance and every time you fuck it up again," you paused for a moment; already trying to suppress the tears, before you continued. "Look, I really want to choose you, but... You're makin' it difficult."

The chestnut brown haired man squeezed his eyes shut for a moment; feeling the chilly evening breeze brush his bare arms and slip through the holes in his jeans. Chewing on his bottom lip, he nodded. "I know. Shit, I sure know I did. And I also know that I don deserve another chance. Problem is, that I fuckin' love ya, Y/N. 'M life's shit - but it's worse without ya, so please... One more chance. 'M beggin' you."

By now you were really fighting the tears. Still did his words cut deeper than a knife - because you felt the same. "I-I miss you too and you know that I love you more than I can say, but... I don't know how long I can play this game... I don't know if I can trust you over and over again, only for you to break it."

Daryl started to shake his head and took another step closer. "Nah, ain't fuckin' it up this time." He handed you the envelope, which was stowed away in his back pocket. You took it with a frown, "Open it." but did what Daryl told you.

Unfolding the piece of paper, your eyes widened. You certainly didn't expect that. "You... You've got an invitation for a job interview?" He nodded; hope sparkling in his eyes. "I-I- Wow... Didn't expect that, but... It's great for you." The redneck shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly; "Tried ma best, I suppose." giving you the hint of a smile.

"Whatcha sayin', sunshine? One last chance?" You took another deep breath; trying to thoroughly think this through. "I ain't goin' to fuck it up... Please."

What your heart wanted was clear. There was no mistaking, but... Was it the right thing to do?

You closed your eyes for a moment; knowing already that your wit had lost the game. Your heart was stronger. "Alright," you started and reached out your hand to subtly take his in yours. Daryl shuddered at your touch; goosebumps forming on his skin. "One last chance, Mr. Dixon."

Utter relief flooded the man's face - you could tell. He smiled that sweet, crocked smile you loved so much. "Thank ya. I won't disappoint ya. I promise." You lifted your free hand and cupped his cheek; feeling his stubble on your skin. "This was never about disappointment, Daryl..."

Daryl leaned into your touch and moved even closer; his intention clear - but you pulled back. "Not now. Not here. If my dad sees..." You swallowed hard. "We should keep that - us a secret for a while. I dunno what happens if we don't do that..." The redneck took a step back; nodding and lowering his head. "Yeah... Yer right."

You gave his hand a squeeze. "You should go now... Not that my dad really calls the cops. I wouldn't want that."

Daryl knew you were right, so he dropped your hand and walked down the steps leading to your porch. "I'll see ya?" He asked you; voice filled with hope. You smiled; nodding. "Yeah."

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @mischief-dream @whore4romance @bigbaldheadname @stitchintimefan @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @mikaela-granger @sweetz1919 @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @stiveroon @cakesandtom @dixons-sunshine @mayday2007

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misted-dream · 4 months ago

Text

🚲 KNOCK KNOCK (excerpt) neighbour!sungchan & reader

warnings | just some sfw kissing😋

word count | 1k

synopsis | after moving away from your old apartment to escape your last relationship, recovering from it might be harder than you thought—especially since your new neighbour seems determined to cure you of your heartache.

a/n | a little peek at a longer fic i'm working on in light of my recent sungchan obsession😣

“So…”

“So,” Sungchan echoes as you glimpse a smile forming at the corner of his lips. He stands just a foot away from you, and as you come to realise this fact, the urge to widen the gap between the pair of you surfaces. Your right foot shuffles slightly behind you before you stifle the urge.

As you let the silence hang in the air, you begin to feel the pull of the plastic grocery bag on your fingers more and more.

“Thanks for getting me out today,” a slightly sheepish tone in your voice as you lift the bag a few inches higher.

“Of course,” Sungchan pulls his eyes away from yours to the groceries you’re carrying. “Whatever you need,” he meets your gaze again, a warm smile plastered on his face.

Sungchan, as you’ve come to know, seems to be somewhat of a sadist. And you’re convinced he knows it, too. Your only evidence of this manifests in one thing: his eyes.

His eyes. The ones that shine as if they're lost stars from the galaxy up above. The ones that glint every time he smiles. And the ones that he loves to use to discomfit everyone else around him with his piercing stare.

He never looks away first, if not given a reason to. And right now, he's demonstrating this exact skill of his.

Perhaps, this habit isn't born out of sadism. When you look like him, there has to be some innate confidence that comes along with it, surely.

You wave this train of thought away in your mind as you become fully aware of the present again. You breathe out a deep breath, "Uh..." And finally accepting defeat, once again, you drop your gaze to the floor. You lean back, the top of your spine resting against your apartment door. It takes a moment before you mutter, "It's getting late."

You see Sungchan's feet move back a step before hearing a faint agreement with your statement. Regaining the courage to look up at him again, you lift your head.

It's like time freezes every time you do look at him. Even since the first time, the effect hasn't faltered.

Your jaw hinges ajar slightly as you're about to voice something else, but Sungchan beats you to it.

"I should go." He says, still with a tiny smile drawing on his lips.

Your lips close as you nod subtly.

With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, he takes another step back, his gaze lingering on you as it always does. He takes a pace to your right, before he makes his way down the hallway to the apartment next to yours.

Before he can even make it halfway down the corridor, though, something in you calls out his name, quick enough that you couldn't stop it.

He snaps around, his expression attentive.

You mindlessly drop the bag from your fingers onto the carpeted floor, a muted thud being created as a result. Your mind has gone silent as you take step after another towards Sungchan in the middle of the dimly lit corridor.

Your head tilts further back the closer you get to him. His height casts a shadow on your face when you finally reach him.

"I really..." You begin to say as your eyes flicker between his and his lips. Sungchan takes notice of this, as evidenced by his unconcealed smirk.

"You really...?" He prompts, the corners of his mouth not letting up.

You silently curse yourself for embarrassing your own ego, and in such an obvious manner. Forcing your eyes to stay on his, you make up the rest of your sentence. "I really, really needed this."

The reflection of light shimmers in Sungchan's eyes as he smiles gently. "Like I said," he leans in ever so slightly as he responds, "Whatever you need."

Sungchan stays there for a second or two longer before pulling his torso back. When he does, you blurt out the first thing your mind can think of.

"What if I..."

Upon realising what you were about to say, you swiftly stop yourself from any further humiliation.

Sungchan raises his eyebrows in curiosity. Sensing your hesitation, he closes the distance between you with a step. “What is it?”

The lessened distance wraps around your heart like a string, squeezing it tight until you feel the blood rush to your face. You bring your hand up, lightly placing it over his elbow. The contact calls his attention away for a brief moment.

You look into his eyes. So deeply that you can see the clear outline of your reflection on his pupils. Your breath hitches before you steady it with a deep breath in.

“What if I need you to kiss me?”

Your voice comes out merely above a whisper.

This is the first time that Sungchan’s gaze wavers—telling you all that you need to know without him even having to say a word. His lips part open, silent for a split second before a strained chuckle resonates from his throat. “Y/N…” His voice is soft and gentle, as if he’s about to give a response you hadn’t anticipated. Before he can, though, you quickly cut in.

“Tell me you don’t want it.”

Sungchan steadies his expression. “Y/N,” he repeats, this time more firmly. “It’s not about me. This is wrong… for you.”

Your brows furrow a little, “I’m the one asking you.”

“I know. But—”

“Tell me you don’t want to.”

He hesitates before he answers you. “You know my intentions.”

“And you’ve been waiting for the green light. This is the green light,” your hand runs up his arm, giving his bicep a tiny squeeze.

Your faces inch closer and closer with every sentence uttered.

As you part your lips to mutter his name, you’re interrupted by the gentle crash of his mouth on yours. His hand reaches for your face as the side of his thumb grazes against the softness of your cheeks.

You press yourself harder against his strawberry pink lips. It’s as if a boulder has been lifted from you purely because of his touch. A catharsis as you hook your hand over the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

Sungchan pulls himself away with much restraint, his thumb still resting atop your cheekbones, and your lips only inches apart.

"I—" His voice comes out much more breathily than expected.

"Just kiss me."

#📂 - riize #sungchan #sungchan fic #sungchan fluff #riize #riize fluff #riize sungchan #jung sungchan #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize scenarios #sungchan x reader

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brewed-pangolin · 10 months ago

Text

Just a little bit of Soap comfort...

18+MDNI

You didn't have to call him. He was already waiting on your doorstep when you came home.

"C'mere, bonnie." His voice was like velvet. Soothing the open nerves of your heart while his arms welcomed you into his loving sanctuary.

You had cured an unspoken bond when you were together. It was so long ago, yet the tendrils of devotion still pulled at your souls like vines. Stubborn and overgrown.

"I still love ya, y'know." He spoke soflty into the delicate fibers of your hair. Burying your head into his chest, encapsulated within the safety of his embrace as your world shattered like emotionally stained glass all around you.

"I can't do this, Johnny. Not now." Your feigned attempt a reluctance was met by a tighter hold of his arms around you.

"I know. We donnae 'ave to do anythin'. Jus' talk if ya want."

That 'just talk' lasted no more than thirty minutes before Johnny had you splayed out underneath him.

Every thrust fracturing your soul. Every fragmented whimper swallowed by his greedy void. Feasting relentlessly on your heartache, emptying the pain within your chest. Filling the vacuum with his overwhelming tenderness to dull the burn of healing as your mind and body cauterized itself from yet another failed relationship.

"Johnny," you whimpered breathlessly into his mouth.

"I know, bonnie. I know."

His wavering timbre sending you barreling into overstimulatation. Clenching your eyes, digging your nails into his flesh of his back as the pulse of an orgasm radiates deep within your pelvic floor.

"Open your eyes, love. Got'a see ya. Fuck, miss seein' ya like this."

You willingly follow his grunting command. Meeting his gaze, immediately drowning in his cerulean seas as you reach your climax and blissfully convulse around him.

"Joh-" your murmured whine was quickly silenced by his mouth. Defeaning your moans as he slows his pace, his hips stuttering with a growly moan as he abruptly empties himself deep within your welcoming caverns.

"I fuckin' love ya, bonnie. Love ya so goddamn much."

"I know, Johnny." His exhausted proclamation ricocheted off the walls and straight into your heart. Cementing the borders of your soul once more as you found yourself again within the deep recesses of his eyes.

You trail a finger across his sweat covered brow. Curling tendrils of his overgrown mohawk behind his ear, find your voice once more as his body steadily trembles above you.

"You wanna try again, Johnny? See what happens?"

"Aye. I'd try fer a lifetime if it meant I could 'ave jus' one night wit you."

You sealed the next juncture of your renewal with a kiss. Rekindling the flame between your conjoined bodies as the doors of eternity opened in a welcoming embrace.

I don't know what this is, besides a heap of emotional mumbo-jumbo. Whatever. I love writing SoftSoap. And writing this just healed my soul.

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @jynxmirage @glitterypirateduck @homicidal-slvt @astraluminaaa @punishmepunisher @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @obligatoryghoststare @shotmrmiller @writeforfandoms @thetrashpossum @simpingoverquestionablemen @mykneeshurt @haurasha @kkaaaagt @luismickydees

#Soul Healer Soap #SoftSoap™️#Soap Squad™️#comfort soap #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #cod soap #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod

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macfrog · 1 year ago

Text

hits different cowboy like me chapter twelve

oh, my, love is a lie! are we all ready? do we have our coping strategies in place? have we prepared ourselves for impending doom? then gather round, my dear children, for i’ve a tale to tell. and it’s a SORE one

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: still reeling from your fight with joel, you seek out an effective way to deal with it: a night of sambuca shots and no second thoughts

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) alcohol + drug consumption (reader gets hammered), heartache, angst, unwanted touching, intended sexual assault, drink spiking, descriptions of blood and bruising, protective!joel gets into a quick barfight, more discussion of cheating(?), joel won't admit feelings, pain pain and more pain, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 10.9k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

Joel takes a beat to answer. Like he’s waiting for your voice to fill the space, the way it usually would. What’s up, old man? How hard is it to copy an address right? Lois not as good at typing as she is at sucking your – “You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.” The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

Of course he went to see Lois. He’s probably been seeing her for some time now. A nice lady, his own age, his line of work. You’re pretty sure she has a son, too. And your dad would love her, would love to think Joel was shacking up with some plant hire receptionist. She could turn your life around, son, he’d said. They fit together like a couple of jigsaw pieces. What the fuck would he have ever seen in you, past some young, tight thing for him to fuck? Just a placeholder. Just a time-waster.

A twenty-three-year-old; enough energy to keep him on his toes, cure his boredom. Fill his summer with something to do. And close enough to him, too, that he reeled you in with minimum effort. One stupid look at you – one stupid, stupid glance and you were hooked. High as a kite on him. All the touching, all the whispering. That fucking – the fucking bottle. The video. All of it, every second he ever spent near you – it all makes you cringe now.

And then, once the embarrassment of being played by your dad’s best friend passes, there’s the hurt. The aching. Fuck, the aching. The way your chest swells, feels like it might rip at the seams and burst open. The sting behind your eyes anytime you picture his smile, the way he’d look at you. The feeling of your throat closing up whenever you go to speak, windpipe constricting around any words that aren’t his name, and using them to choke you.

And it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it. Can’t have a heart-to-heart with your dad, have him make you a tea and sit him down by your window, ask for advice on heartbreak and getting over his best friend. You’ve been excusing your reclusiveness by telling him you’re on your period. That’s why you haven’t left your bed in four days.

It was just all so fucking believable, wasn’t it? So good, you thought you were dreaming the entire time.

And here he’d just proven you right. You dreamt it all up.

Has he fucked her yet? Lois. Is she one of the ten he told you about the other night? Has she touched him the way you have? Has he touched her, the way he did you?

Does she know how he sounds when he comes undone? How he looks? How he feels? Does she do it for him the way you do it? And what does he call her? Baby? Darlin’? Or something different entirely?

Now you’re wondering when he started seeing her, and then, if they have slept together, when the first time was. Whether or not you cross over with her. Maybe he went and fucked her after you argued. Let off some steam over at her place, while you sat in his house, smelling his shirts and reading his stupid fucking Alcatraz books. While you paced around, practicing the words you’d say to him when he came back.

All you wanted was for him to come back. You wanted him to come find you upstairs, take the book from your hands and lean his head down on your chest, mumble an apology into the material of your shirt and then kiss you, and kiss you again while he pulled the clothes from your body, and kiss you while you were naked underneath him, and kiss you while he rocked his hips into yours.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You think you hate her. You don’t even know her. Don’t know what she looks like, only heard her voice. She’s probably gorgeous. Probably a really sweet woman, helps out on the PTA, the type that stops to read missing dog posters so she can keep an eye out for them. Probably knows Joel well enough that she writes Sarah a birthday card every year. Just a real nice, Southern lady.

And you fucking hate her.

That’s not fair, though, and you know it. She didn’t do anything wrong. Joel’s the one who screwed you over – screwed you both over. Really, you and Lois are one and the same.

Except that she’s taken away the only thing to put a real smile on your face since you got home, and for that, you fucking hate her.

What had he said again? That night he drove you home from Sal’s, the night your dad asked him to stay for pizza. ��said she’d like to go for a drink. I said maybe sometime. Maybe he’d organized that drink, in the midst of whatever you two had been doing. Thought nothing of it – you said it yourself: you were just messing around. Said it, like, three times to him. Good fucking job.

And that adds to the hurt. That neither of you seemed to care enough to call it anything more. Because now, sitting alone in your room, desperately checking your phone for a missed call or a text message from him, ears pricking at every sound your dad makes downstairs in case he’s answering a call from Joel or welcoming him in through the front door – you wish you had called it something.

Wish you had just fucking said it. Told him outright about the feelings you had. You were thinking about them enough – the thought circled your mind any time there was a moment’s silence between you.

Sometimes, the way he’d glance over to you, the way his hand would brush against yours, the way he’d say your name…he felt like…

Yours. He was yours. He was so fucking close to being yours.

You almost said it, once. Almost admitted it to him. Couple times you saw it flash behind his eyes, too. And it’s a damn good thing neither of you did say it, because it would’ve been a mistake. Would’ve been lies.

You don’t love him. You never did. You were in some fantasy, built by Joel. There ain’t no love between you. None from your side. And definitely none from him.

Definitely – none – from –

him.

----------

Anna’s been at you all week. She text you on Monday night, but you were about four layers of blanket deep in your bed, weeping into a box of dry cereal and listening to some sad girl playlist on repeat. You fished your cell out from under your mattress the next morning. Your dad had to call it to help you find it.

Anna: Frank’s again on Friday? Rodeo night round 2!!!

Tuesday, it was Please?? It was so fun on Sat. Cmon, Kara’s coming again. Sam’s working but that means free shots so.

On Wednesday, she tried a new approach. I’ll cover any shift you want.

Any two shifts……

Ok three????

Thursday, she started to get desperate. I’ll spill all your secrets to my dad if you don’t come. And you know he’ll tell them all to your dad lol

By Friday morning, though, she’d decided you had no say in the matter: you were going, and you’d be happy about it. And you didn’t have it in you to fight back.

She’s standing at the side of the mirror, scanning you from head to two.

“All black? Again?”

“I look good in black.”

“You look good in anything,” she agrees, turning to sift through your closet, “so why don’t we go for…?”

“No,” you clip, holding a finger up to the red dress in her hands. “No.”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s hot. C’mon.”

“Why do I gotta be hot?”

“I mean…is Mr. Miller gonna be pickin’ you up again, or…?”

You lob a previously discarded dress at her and she snorts, turning to slip it back onto a hanger.

Even his fucking surname sends a pang of pain through your body. Your heart jumps at the sound of it, like its hopes had risen for a second, but then it plummets with the realization that it’s not really Joel, and he’s still really gone.

You’re in a plain black slip dress, black denim jacket slung over your shoulders. Black lace-up boots, too. It’s like rodeo night, except without the fun and excitement of Joel waiting for you at the end of the night. It’s basically rodeo night’s funeral. And good fucking riddance.

Anna – always glittering, always in some sparkly getup – leads you out of your bedroom and down the stairs. Your dad agreed to drop you guys off, seeing as he’s out working later on.

He’s sat in his armchair, glasses on the tip of his nose, squinting down at the instruction booklet to that fucking Garmin he’s still wrestling with. He looks up and claps his hands once.

“Ready, girls?”

Anna nods eagerly and you lift your eyebrows, thinking about how Joel would laugh at the sight of his buddy still fighting a very obviously lost battle to a GPS. Then you think about how he’d tell you quietly, You look beautiful, darlin’, and ask you to text him when you got home safe.

And finally, you think about how much of an ass he is, and you blink the tears from your eyes before following the two blurry figures out to the car.

Anna snaps a couple selfies as the car winds out of the neighborhood, angling her phone to pull you into shot. The sun setting over the roofs of the houses dazzles your eyes. She tuts, tells you to Look like you actually wanna be goin’ out, and sends them to Kara, letting her know you’re on your way.

You’re watching her reply to a text from some boy she’s seeing when your dad’s ringtone echoes throughout the car, the name on the tiny digital screen the very last name you want to see right now.

Or maybe the very name you’ve been waiting all week to see. Just, on your screen instead of your dad’s.

“Hey, Joel,” your dad calls, and your body instinctively leans in to listen better. Drawn in like a magnet to just the sound of his voice.

“Hey, bud,” he replies. It’s like a punch to your chest. Hands around your throat. Salt behind your eyes. “I just got off the phone with Clark’s, they just dropped that equipment off at the site. Said there wasn’t nobody around to sign for it, so they just left it at the gate.”

“It’s a manned site, what do they mean there wasn’t–?”

“No idea,” Joel says, cutting across him. “Just said there wasn’t anybody to take the delivery.”

Anna’s head slowly turns in your direction, likely to take another dumb selfie or to ask some random question about your outfit, but you turn away, refusing to meet her hazel-eyed stare. Refusing to let her take your attention away from this phone call. From Joel.

Your dad sighs, runs a hand down his cheek. “I hope it’s still there when I get to it. Sure you gave ‘em the right address on Monday?”

“I wrote it down exactly how you text me it.”

Joel’s voice sounds flatter than normal. Less trademark Joel grumbly and more tired, deflated. A little irritated. It bruises your heart hearing him and not chiming in, not teasing him for potentially getting the street name wrong or something. Not letting him know you’re here.

Your dad does that anyway, though.

“Well,” he sighs again, hitting the turn signal, “I’m on my way to Frank’s – girls are havin’ another one of their wild nights out. I’ll head straight from there to the site ‘n make sure everything’s in place. Thanks, Joel.”

“You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.”

The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

No. He was talking to you. He knew you’d be listening. Knew that conversation would mean much more to you than it ever could to your dad. And he knew you’d be hanging on to every word he spoke.

He’s home all night, which translates to: he’s only ever fifteen minutes away if you wind up needing him. If you end up wanting him.

You’ve spent the last four days purposefully stopping yourself from wanting him. Your thumb has hovered over his name in your contacts more times than you’d care to admit. Mostly at night, when your dad goes to bed and there’s eight hours of quiet – quiet you’d usually fill by annoying Joel, striking up a conversation at midnight when he’s about to sleep.

What the fuck would you even say if he did pick up? Would you be mad? Would you yell? Or would you just break down, sob a few incoherent sentences down the line to him and pray that he doesn’t hang up?

But then – would he even pick up? It’s not a thought you want to entertain much. That sound of ringing and ringing, and no gruff, Hey, baby, at the other end.

Your chest hurts. You take a gulp of air.

You’d happily have him never touch you again if he’d just come the fuck back.

Anna slaps your arm and Joel’s face is wiped clean from your mind. “C’mon,” she chirps, and nods out of your window.

You turn to see the faded blue brick walls of Frank’s, clusters of people outside clutching cigarettes and glasses, holding hands up to shield their eyes from the sunlight and tipping their heads back in laughter at one another. Kara stands among them, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. She waves when you catch her eye, stumbling out of the car in a daze.

Anna’s arm links through yours, almost violently, and she skips along the sidewalk to Kara, who joins your chain. The three of you stroll into the bar together and over to Sam, who smiles genially in welcome.

“Hello, ladies,” he sings, leaning in. “What can I do ya for?”

“Get us drunk, Sam!” Anna exclaims, rapping her knuckles on the bar top, and, for the first time tonight, you find yourself nodding in agreement with her.

Get me –

fucking –

hammered.

----------

You get your wish. Sam hands you a cold beer, and within twenty minutes you’re ordering a second. Anna and Kara opt for cocktails, some bright pink concoction that you don’t even bother to ask the name of, you just lean over the bar and tell Sam to make up a third.

And then there are the shots, two each, which are a hysterically terrible idea. You know it as you tip your head back, sickly taste of sambuca spilling down your throat and taking with it the very last of your good sense, apparently.

All the while, that phone call rattles through your head. Joel’s voice swings between your ears like a pendulum. His dry tone, the borderline contempt he spoke to your dad with. The thought of who he’s been with and what he’s been doing either side of that call burns like the drink in your belly, and forces you back up to the bar for another to wash him away with.

You rock against the dark wood, sticky with alcohol, and hoist yourself up onto a stool. “One peer, blease, sir,” you garble to Sam, one finger in the air. “Oh, wait…”

You throw your hand down onto the bar with a roar of laughter and lean back, forgetting there’s no back to your chair. It tilts back, and your hands fumble to grab the edge of the bar, but it’s too far, too late, and you land on the solid floor with a clatter – metal leg of the stool digging into your own.

“Fuck,” you hiss, dragging yourself back to your feet. A thin line of dark red blood cuts from halfway down your calf, streaming down into your boot.

“Are you okay?” Sam yells, stood frozen with the beer and bottle opener still in his hands.

“I’m fine,” you grumble, clambering to your feet. You don’t even convince yourself.

Sam doesn’t let go of the bottle when your fingers curve around it. He looks you dead in the eye and asks, “What’s goin’ on?” and you know he won’t let go until you answer him.

“Nothin’. I’m fine.”

Until you answer him truthfully, that is.

“I’m…It’s just…I got a lot goin’ on up here.” Your shaky finger draws a circle against your temple, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I can see that. Is this really a good ide–”

“Well, howdy, clumsy!”

The owner of whatever fucking annoying voice just shrieked through your ears slaps his hand down on your shoulder, almost toppling you for the second time in five minutes, and you twist around to find a pair of red, blotchy cheeks and almost equally red hair to match, stood before you.

“Hi…?” You squint your eyes to get a better look, the figure swaying with the room behind him.

“Hi.” He’s still smiling. Two huge front teeth, like a pair of overgrown Tic Tacs. “You have no idea who I am, do you? That’s…embarrassing for me.”

“Zack!” another voice screams over the bassline of the music. “Are you fucking coming or not, dude?”

A pale, jittery guy with a dark green t-shirt hanging off of his lean frame barges into the red-haired boy’s side, and a few seconds after his mouth stops moving, you register what he’s said.

“No – f-fucking – way,” you breathe, staring him up and down. His red flannel is tucked into his jeans, sealed by a brown leather belt. There’s a longhorn head on the buckle. “Zack? From Costco? What the fuck’d you do, stalk me?”

He laughs awkwardly, looking from you to over your shoulder, where Sam’s still holding your beer.

“Sorry–” you mutter, shaking your head. “I’m not at my best right now.”

“It’s cool,” he replies, grinning. “You look like you’re having a good night. I’m out with my buddies. This is Eric.”

Eric gives you a nod – his blond fringe jumps, and he jerks his head to sweep it back out of his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says, before rounding again on Zack. “Seriously, bro, he says he’s not waitin’ around this time. C’mon!”

“We were gonna head to the rooftop if you wanted to come?” Zack raises his eyebrows, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as Eric and another two figures make off for the stairs at the other end of the bar.

“Sure.” You blindly reach for your beer and Sam relents, letting it slip from his grasp. He calls your name as you trot off, and you turn for one second to give his worried stare a thumbs up, before swirling back toward the stairs. No second thought.

This isn’t the night for second thoughts.

The rooftop is quieter, less crowded. Background noise made up of passing cars, a siren in the distance, and the muffled music from downstairs. You wander over to where Zack stands with Eric and a couple others: a short guy with wireframe glasses, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, and someone you think you almost recognize.

His black V-neck looks like it might burst at the seams around his chest, swollen with muscle. Thick neck, holding up a square jawline, and a face heavy with features which mirror the broad body below.

And a thick smell of marijuana which follows his every move.

Zack shuffles to the side to let you into the circle. You shimmy in between him and Eric.

V-neck pulls a small metal case from his back pocket and fishes a cigarette out of it. Eyes start to shift around the group, the boys glancing over shoulders to check who’s watching.

“Are we…? Is that weed?” you blurt out.

“Shut the fuck up!” Eric hisses, jabbing his elbow into your ribcage.

V-neck eyes you down quickly. It’s the first he looks at you, and it puts a sickly feeling through your body. Sends the alcohol hurtling over itself in your stomach.

You raise your eyebrows and wrap your arms around yourself, your beer bottle against your lips. “Sorry, jeez…”

“This is Knox,” Zack mutters, as Knox lights the cigarette.

He takes one hit, inhaling deeply with his chin in the air, and passes it to the boy in the hoodie. Another cloud of smoke joins Knox’s, slowly dispersing above your heads, and then it’s Eric’s turn. With a cough, his fist against his lips, he passes it to Zack. Soon, the air around you is thick and white, and Zack’s handing you the joint.

You lift it to your lips and inhale. The feeling hits you instantly; your body feels light, your face warm, your eyes blink in and out of focus, watching as a blurry shadow begins to follow your hand when you pass the joint back to Knox.

A couple more circuits, and the roach is pressed into the ground by Knox’s boot. The group separates; Zack and his friends fall into some metal chairs around a table, sparking up a debate on the best Lord of the Rings film, and you float around nearby.

“You a friend of Zack’s?” Knox asks, downing what’s left of his whiskey.

“Hm…Not really. We met at Costco, ‘cause I was there to get some party stuff for my dad’s friend’s daughter’s– Well, she’s my friend, too, and she wanted this garden party, and my dad’s friend was like, What the fuck is a garden party? you know, so I had to go help ‘im get stuff for it, with my dad, who was kinda a buzzkill, but anyway…Z-Zack helped me lift some sodas into my cart.”

Knox nods once. Fingers locked tight around his empty glass. He’s staring you down like you’re fresh meat.

You purse your lips and stare back, but quickly get bored when he doesn’t speak, and you miss Anna and her selfies and her sambuca shots. As you’re about to wander back to the door, though, Knox steps in front of you.

“So, you’re here often, then?”

Your shoulder knocks into his. “Huh?”

“Saw you last week. You were pretty spaced, don’t know if you remember.”

The memory whips past your eyes quicker than you can catch it, frames lingering only long enough for you to see Knox’s thick arm linked with yours outside Frank’s, the smell of weed in your nostrils, and the bright lights of Joel’s truck. And then it’s gone, before you can get a good grip of it.

“I’m…I remember now. Yeah. No, I’m not here much, I just…Rough week.”

He nods again, and you suspect he hasn’t listened to a word you’ve said since he got you alone. “You want another drink?”

The way he’s looking at you makes you feel more and more nauseous. Makes you want to turn and run back downstairs, slot in beside Anna and Kara, bury yourself between their shoulders and stay there until they decide they want to go home.

It makes you feel the way it felt last week, when he halted you outside the bar on your way to Joel. And suddenly the memory is soaring in front of your eyes again.

Your hand on Joel’s elbow. The frown on his face. Whitened knuckles around the steering wheel. ‘s go, pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl.

“Yeah,” you tell Knox. “Yeah, I do.”

You follow him downstairs where he nods to Sam at the bar.

Sam ignores him, instead glares at you. “Can we talk…?” he asks, but Knox cuts across him.

“Beer, right?” he checks with you, and you nod. “And another whiskey.”

Your friend hesitantly grabs the drinks, glancing up at you every five seconds in a question. You respond by nodding slowly, feeling your head bounce each time you do.

You lazily scan the room for Anna and Kara, who you spot in a booth over by the window. The spotlights overhead reflect in the sparkles of Anna’s dress; Kara’s holding the straw of her drink between her lips, bobbing her head to the music. You saunter over, twirling on your way.

“Where have you been, baby?” Anna calls, giggling when you fall against the booth, palms flat on the wooden table.

“Upstairs,” you mumble, and then feel a tap on your back.

“Forgot this,” Knox says, pushing the beer into your hand. “You wanna go dance?”

Anna’s face twists into one of worry, and you give her an apologetic smile and spin off, following the wide frame to a dark corner of the bar where he takes your wrist and pulls your body against his.

He’s not doing much dancing, rather, he’s just keeping a solid grip on your waist, watching as you rock side to side, taking a couple shallow sips of your drink. You pull on his arm, Fucking move, dude, but he only leans further back, until he’s shrouded in shadows and pulling you into them with him.

When he leans into your space and snakes a drunken arm tight around your neck, you don’t retreat. You lean in, too, and plant your lips on his.

It’s messy, it’s a little gross. He tastes sour, weed and alcohol on his tongue, and it makes you wish you’d never started kissing him. Still, you take it further. You open your mouth more, letting more of him in, soak your own tongue, wet your lips. You barely even feel it when his hands move south and cup your ass, and it’s only when he squeezes that you wriggle out of his grip.

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking hold of his sleeve to steady yourself. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, says something short that you don’t hear, and you lean back against him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s smaller, much shorter than Joel. Your shoulders almost match the height of his. But he’s more built, he’s bulkier, in an uncomfortable way. Like trying to put your arms around a giant balloon or something. There’s no softness, no enclosing feeling when your weight presses against his. Just the huge surface of his chest, the hollow feeling of two mismatched bodies unwillingly pushed together.

Not strong. Not safe. Not secure. Not him.

But you’re kissing him again, because it’s the first time in five days you’ve felt something other than your aching chest and heavy head. You’re kissing him because you feel unwanted and unloved and, even though he seems almost as hammered as you are, it feels good to have someone want to be on you.

You’re kissing him because you’re trying to pretend it’s Joel.

Only he tastes…well, disgusting, and he smells different. He’s sweating from the heat in the bar, and his arms aren’t placed somewhere to make you feel wrapped in his grasp, they’re placed anywhere that he can pinch, squeeze, or otherwise fondle.

Joel’s face swims in and out of your head; a smile as he pulls you in for a kiss, a smirk when he’s telling you off, soft eyes when he’s listening to you talk. It makes you want to throw up.

That might just be the drinks.

Someone taps you furiously on the shoulder, and you push Knox off your body.

When your eyes fail to meet Sam’s, he takes your wrist and drags you behind the bar, ripping the beer bottle from your grasp and almost launching it into the sink. It smashes, and the liquid pours down the drain.

“Hey, what the f–?”

“I’m gonna call your dad,” he yells, deafening to your numb ears.

“Do not fucking call my dad,” you slur, laughing a little. “I’m fine! I’m having fun.”

“You’re fucking wasted. And that guy – he’s bad news.”

“Does it matter?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Who even are–? What the fuck is up with you right now? Yes, it fucking matters!”

“Not my dad,” you repeat as you back away, staggering over to the booth where your friends sit.

Anna storms over to meet you, slipping her wrist around yours and bringing you to a halt. “Did Sam find you?” she asks. Her hands plant on your shoulders, and she dips her head until you’re eye to eye.

She’s blurry. She’s nothing but shapes, and movements, and noises. And she’s fucking pissing you off.

“Can everyone just – get the fuck off of me?” you groan, stumbling backwards, and Anna links her hands with yours to stop you from collapsing.

She pulls you back upright, leaning in close. Her head shakes, you can see that much. But her expression is cloudy, and her hands don’t let go of yours so easily when you try to pull away. The orb-like shapes in front of you mutter your name, only it’s not Anna’s voice, it’s his.

Anna’s babbling, panicked tone drives through your skull. “She’s been drinking, like, a lot, and I think she might’ve had some weed upstairs. But Sam said he saw –”

“C’mon, kid,” his voice says again, and there’s a heavy arm pulling you off to the door.

“Get – off – of – me.” You struggle in his grasp, pushing his body away from yours, fingers expecting to find the V-neck collar of a black shirt and instead finding –

Buttons. The edges of a green flannel shirt. And a soft cotton tee underneath. And then his scent washes over you: warm, sweet, earthy. Grounding.

“Joel…” you whisper, thick with fear and intoxication and need.

His jaw angles down, you catch one fleeting glimpse of his chin, graying beard, tight lips hidden beneath it, and then you’re shoving his chest again, attempting to push him as far away from your own body as he’ll go.

Only he doesn’t move.

“Fuck off,” you seethe, palms flat on his pecs. “Get the fuck away from me.”

He says your name in a hazy blur, says, “We’re goin’ home,” and you almost laugh in his face.

“I don’t f-fucking think so.”

“Yeah? Well, I do. Thanks, Anna, I got her.”

“Hey,” a fourth voice joins the chorus, “hey, you know this guy?”

Knox pushes past Joel’s arm, unlinking your fingers from his, and takes your shoulder with one rough hand. All your anger, all your rage at Joel, and yet, the second you’re separated from him, the only thing on your mind is having his hand back around yours.

Joel’s upper lip twitches, he stares at the back of Knox’s head and then scoffs, reaches by him again to take your wrist. You let him have it. “Come on,” he says.

Knox is rounding on him, holding Joel back with a palm flat to his chest. “I ain’t too comfortable lettin’ her head outta here with some random old man, dude…”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the –

Joel’s jaw ticks. His expression falls blank, narrowed eyes looking up and down Knox’s frame as you tremble behind it, Anna’s steady arm around your shoulders.

“Take your hand off of me, and move aside,” he snarls, voice dangerous. You can hear the threat, and at the same time, the desperate attempt from within himself to hold off.

“Hey,” Anna reaches forward, tapping Knox’s shoulder three times with a glittery nail, “she knows him. It’s fine. He’s fine.”

“Nah, man,” Knox hisses back, “who the fuck even are you? You ain’t takin’ her anywhere.”

You step forward, putting yourself between the two of them, hands clumsily landing on each of their shoulders. “He’s a f…my dad’s friend,” you slur, eyes unfocused.

Knox isn’t listening. He hasn’t listened the entire fucking night. His eyes are set on Joel’s as he wraps a tight fist around your free arm, trying to pull you closer to him. Only he’s hurting you, and your fingers struggle to pry yourself free, so you look up at Joel.

You couldn’t see Anna’s expression. Couldn’t make out the worry on her face that her voice clued you in on. You could barely even see Sam, when he dragged you out of the dark corner of the bar.

But you can see Joel. See the shadow his brows cast over his glower, see his thin lips, see the tightening of his jaw. See the rage inside him like it’s an alarm beacon, flashing red from behind his eyes.

Knox tugs angrily on your wrist. “You just gonna let this asshole ruin your night?”

“Let go of m-me,” you murmur, suddenly feeling the bar’s eyes on you. Your face reddens with heat from the alcohol, doubled by your embarrassment.

When he hears you, Joel’s face contorts into one you’ve never seen on his face in your life. Fury, disgust and fury, twisting his lip and tugging on his brows. He leans in and rips yours and Knox’s hands apart, pulling you free and shifting you behind his body with as much effort as it’d take him to click his fingers. Your weak hand reaches out to take a fistful of his shirt, holding onto him at his spine.

The men square up to one another, Joel at least four inches taller and, despite Knox’s built form, far broader. Knox takes a step forward and Joel matches.

“Joel…” you whisper, catching Anna’s gaping stare over his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Miller?” Sam edges in from behind Knox. “I’m gonna have to ask that you…don’t…do this, but if you have to, can y’all maybe move it out to the street?”

“Do I gotta do somethin’?” Joel asks Knox. You pull in closer to his back, trying to hide your face from the spotlight cast on you by what feels like thousands of drunken eyes staring directly at you.

Knox thinks it over for a moment. You can see Zack watching like a deer in the headlights from behind his buddy. He’s seen Joel before, and you know from the way his eyes stick on him that he recognizes him. Remembers how briskly he swept you out of the soft drinks section, how blunt he was about it.

The V-neck swells with the deep inhale its wearer takes, and then he shakes his head, sighing. Smug smirk thick across his lips.

“Nah, man. I didn’t think she was gonna be worth the fuck anyways, so.”

Joel clicks his teeth, gives his head one quick shake, mutters a resigned, “Alright,” then reaches back, and nudges you gently by the stomach until you’re safely out of reach.

And then he swings.

Once, catching Knox across the corner of his jaw, sending his face skyward. The crowd around the three of you gasps. Knox’s burly chest twists, and he staggers backward. His hands come up to clutch his face before Joel’s taking the collar of his shirt in his fist, reeling him in and holding him steady.

“Joel!” you yell, but he doesn’t fucking hear you.

His second blow lands square on Knox’s nose with a crack loud enough even for your numb ears to hear over the thudding music. Blood sprays from his nostrils and floods down into his mouth, smearing across his cheek as Joel’s knuckles ricochet off the square face. The crimson pours down his chin, spattering onto his shirt, bright and shocking against the stretched black material.

Joel lets him drop and he collapses onto all fours, coughing blood and spit and whatever the fuck else onto the dark floor.

“Fuck!” Knox screams, fingers trembling over his burst nose – thick, dark droplets running down his hands. “You motherfucker, you broke my fucking nose!”

Joel stoops down, takes the back of Knox’s shirt in two rough hands and hauls him up until he’s limp on his knees.

“I ever see you around here again,” he growls, “I ever find out you’ve been anywhere near her, as much as looked in the same fuckin’ direction as her, I’ll do worse ‘n break your Goddamn nose. You hear me?”

Knox whimpers, more blood dribbles from between his lips, and Joel throws him down. He turns back to you, massaging his knuckles with his thumb, and grabs your hand.

Your voice is weak with shock. “What the f-uck was that?”

“Just – come on,” he says, dragging you out of Frank’s without another word.

He leads your wobbly form down the street, past chattering crowds toward his black truck, opening the door for you and helping your unsteady limbs up into the passenger side, before he closes the door over and strides around to the driver’s side.

When he shuts his door – more of a slam – he sighs, head leaning back. His hand clenches and then relaxes, loosening his knuckles, hissing anytime the quickly-darkening skin stretches.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“What you sorry for?”

You shrug. Your mouth trips over words. “…gettin’ you into a barfight.”

He doesn’t look over at you. Just Hms and switches the ignition on, pulling away from the busy curb.

“Where’s m-my dad?” you slur.

“Work. Site inspection, remember?”

You nod, turning back to the road when you start to feel motion sick. Your eyes feel like they’re spinning in their sockets, your stomach flips with the slightest turn. “He get that delivery?” you ask, letting Joel know you heard the phone call earlier.

His jaw turns in your direction. Letting you know he knows you heard it. “Yeah. He’ll be home in a couple hours.”

“Did Sam c-call him?”

“No. Why?”

You lean your head against the passenger window, the cold distracting your brain from the ache in your head. The streetlights sail by in a blur. The engine rattles through the glass.

“Asked ‘im not to.”

“Yeah? ‘n why’s that?”

Your head rolls back onto the headrest as you decide on an answer. I didn’t want him seeing me drunk and high. I don’t care about you seeing me drunk and high. I just wanted to see you.

“’s never seen me drunk.”

“Or high?”

You snort. “I’m not…”

When your head slants to the left to look at Joel, his face turns from yours. He was just looking at you, and you missed it. Probably had that look on his face, that Nice try, kid expression.

“Okay…” you admit, spiritless, “a little high, then.”

“Anna was the one who called,” Joel says. “Said you were hammered, some guy was all over you, ‘n Sam watched him put somethin’ in your drink. They couldn’t find you anywhere. She was fuckin’ hysterical.”

Your head bobs with the moving truck. “When’d he put someth…?”

Joel shrugs. “I dunno. But I believe it.”

So do I, you think. Knox was on you from the minute he saw you. Tight grip around your waist, your wrist, drawing you into him with beer and weed and whatever else he had in his pockets. The comment that had warranted him two bone-breaking punches from Joel all but confirmed the intentions he had in mind. And now you feel fucking stupid.

“I didn’t really…I only had a couple sips of it,” you hear yourself saying, head heating with embarrassment – an attempt to convince him, or maybe more yourself, that you’re not as dumb as leaving your drink to be roofied.

Your voice sounds pathetic, though, and Joel doesn’t say anything to make you feel better. Doesn’t say anything to make you feel worse, either – the silence does that by itself.

You bring your knees up to your chin, nestling a little into the seat. It could almost feel like nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed, except you’re intoxicated, and Joel’s hands are firmly by his person. Not on your thigh, or tangled between your fingers like they usually would be.

You study him. Stare at every part of him like it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see it, until the gentle curve of his nose and the glint of his watch face are burned into the back of your eyelids when you close them over. Face lit red from the brake lights in front, right hand sitting idly on his thigh.

He looks like your Joel. Almost. Just a little closed off. Distant.

But he came to get you, right? Damn near punched Knox’s lights out, took you by the hand, led you back to the safety of his truck. He came straight to Frank’s as soon as Anna called. And he’s taking you home. He’s looking out for you.

So why doesn’t he feel like your Joel?

Well. You can wager a pretty solid guess. It starts with L and ends with comma, Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire.

The dark silhouette of your house looms overhead as Joel pulls into your drive. Sure enough, your dad’s not home.

The engine cuts and your head drops, eyes fixing on your hands clasped in your lap. You know Joel’s watching you. What the fuck is he thinking about?

Fuck that. Don’t think about that. Let’s not dive into that pool of imagination.

“Well, thanks.” You do your best to smile, without really looking at him. Your fingers find the door handle and you tug on it, pushing it open and spilling out onto your driveway.

You hear Joel sniff behind you. “Need a hand?”

“I’m good,” you call back, only just managing to stay on your feet.

The cold air helps a little to waken you up, sharpen your senses, but the world around you is still a whir of dull color and shapelessness, and you wobble across to the house in a route of zig-zags, boots almost tripping over thin air as you go. When you reach your front door, you hear his truck lock and the shadow of him appears by your side.

“I said I’m good.”

“I ain’t leaving you, kid. You’re hammered.”

You roll your eyes and open your mouth to protest, but then he’s taking the keys out of your hand and unlocking the door himself, hand on your back as he ushers you into your own house.

“I’m f-fine,” you repeat, tripping over the doorway.

“Look it.”

You meander over to the stairs, and when your foot manages to find the first step, Joel says your name. Your gaze sweeps across the floor until it meets his boots, travels up his legs, and finally rests on his outstretched hand.

“Water,” he tells you.

“I’m fine,” you say, the word losing meaning the more you utter it. “I wanna go – to bed.”

He shakes his head, and then tilts it in the direction of the kitchen.

You groan, mumble something about him being such an asshole, and walk straight by his hand.

Joel doesn’t react. Just follows you and hits the lights, which burn your eyes when they flicker to life. You wince and point up to them.

“Off,” you bluntly order, and he grunts, stepping back to oblige. You’re plunged straight back into darkness.

You’re holding yourself unsteadily against the edge of the kitchen island, whole body swaying. The room is fucking spinning, the lights out back swirling with it in a blur of white motion before your eyes. You swallow dryly and turn around to focus on Joel.

He’s filling a glass over the sink. “What happened to your leg?” he asks over his shoulder.

You turn your knee, examining the dent in your calf where the stool leg cut into you. The dry burgundy stain like a backwards seam line on your skin, emerging from a bright red bruise slowly fading to deep purple.

“Fell off a stool,” you mutter, angling it in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Joel Hms again. “You got anything to cover it?”

You shrug, having lost any and all energy to barter back with him. He slides the glass across the countertop to you, followed by a bottle of painkillers, then turns back to the open drawer he pulled them from and begins rummaging for a band-aid.

Your shaky hand lifts the glass to your lips. It’s cold and slippery in your grasp, drops of condensation running over your fingers like the blood from Knox’s nose had run over his. The more you tighten your grip, the harder it becomes to hold, until it’s sliding from your clutch.

“Easy,” Joel murmurs, appearing at the side of you and placing his hands over yours, holding the glass still.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you say, eyes focusing and then unfocusing on the marks at the base of his fingers, the dabs of dark red where the skin has burst.

He slowly lowers your hands until the glass is safely back on the counter, and then pulls away from you, drawing his swollen knuckles in to his body.

“They’re bleedin’,” you repeat, looking up at him.

“I know they’re bleedin’.”

“Let me see,” you step forward, “Joel. Let me–”

He catches your hands in his. Pushes them back down. Stares at the counter, sighs instead of replying.

Your eyes sting, filling with tears that crowd your already-blurred vision. The punch you feel to your gut brings you to your senses as if it drains you of every substance in your system all at once.

It’s like he’s broken up with you all over again. And it pisses you the fuck off.

“Fuck you,” you whisper into the dark, and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lift his eyes, doesn’t even flinch. “Fuck you, so much.”

You’re staring him down, what little you can see of him in the pale light cascaded onto him through the shades. The crease between his brows, more prominent with the frown on his face; the line his lips form with the tight clench of his jaw.

Fucking look at me, you think. He can say something back – anything. You can stand and hiss horrible words at one another, yell at each other if that’s what he wants to do. Argue until you’re blue in the face, until the alcohol’s all dried up and the moonlight on his chest is replaced by sunlight. Just fucking look at me.

“You’re an asshole and a liar, you know that?”

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Just stringing me along this whole time.”

You blink away the tears before they can fall, making room for more. They’re forming rapidly, each time heavier, and thicker, and angrier. But fuck it, right? This is over. He’s done, and you’re done. Just ignore the pain of it, stick your finger in the wound and keep pushing until you hit bone.

“That guy you punched? He was all over me. All fucking night.”

Joel’s voice is toneless. He’s already over the conversation before it’s begun. “I know he was, kid.”

“We kissed.”

“I know that, too.”

“Had his hands all over me. ‘n if it hadn’t been him, it woulda been literally any other guy in there.”

The words are starting to bleed into one another in your inebriated state. Anger turning to rage turning to fear turning to shame turning to hurt turning back into anger.

“Woulda kissed any one of ‘em. Mighta let them take me home, mighta let them fuck me.”

His head gives an involuntary shake and he blinks. Like he’s trying to wash the thought away. The image of you under someone else, moaning someone else’s name, pulling someone else into your body.

“That piss you off? It make you hate me?”

And then he looks up. Finally, his gaze locks with yours. And his eyes are just as glassy, just as fucking full of tears as yours. He replies with the worst thing he could possibly come up with. It forces the breath from your lungs in a painful exhale.

“There ain’t a thing in this world that you could do that would make me hate you, you know that.”

And then your tears start to fall. Your façade breaks. Stone crumbles. Dam bursts. They fall onto your cheeks, searing on your heated skin, rolling down onto the front of your dress in dark splatter marks.

Through a sob, you choke out another, “Fuck you, Joel,” and then, when you catch your breath, “you don’t get to – to sleep with someone else, and make me feel like the idiot for it.”

He looks up at you with a dark expression, lips locked tight like he’s refusing to let something slip. He shakes his head, and then says, “Can we not have this conversation right now?”

You scoff. A drunken, angry scoff. “You don’t wanna talk about her? When’s a good fuckin’ time, then? When suits you and f-fuckin’ – Lois?”

He falls quiet. Presses his fingers into his eyes. Sighs. “Baby,” he says into his palms.

“’m not your fucking baby,” you whisper between your teeth.

“Baby.” He drops his hands. Looks you dead in the eye. “I did not sleep with Lois.”

You’re frozen to the spot. Your lips fall apart, coated in salty tears. You’re holding your breath, though you’re not sure what for. The room stops spinning for all of ten seconds until he speaks again.

“I didn’t. I know what that message sounded like. Know how you musta heard it. But nothin’ happened, nothin’ has ever happened. Nothin’ would ever happen,” he says, a little more animated, tossing his hands in the air.

You stare between his eyes. He’s still enough that your fucked brain can focus on them, can see plain as day – even in the dark kitchen, even through your cloudy tears and all of the poison in your blood – that he’s telling the truth.

“Ex-plain,” you say dryly, looking down to his lips.

Joel sighs again. “I told you I had work to do. Had to head over to Clark’s to order that stuff for your dad. Saw her there, said hi. ‘n that’s all.”

Your eyes slowly close over, wet lashes on hot, dehydrated skin. Your ears are ringing, your body aching. You breathe a sigh as what he says sinks into your slow, throbbing brain, and then lull to one side, slumping against the counter.

“You didn’t…you didn’t think this was worth tellin’ me on Monday?”

“Tried, baby. You were gone. You were so angry; thought it’d be better if I let you cool off.”

“You’re – a fucking – idiot,” you seethe, shaking your head. It’s starting to pound again, sharp pain right behind your eyes like they’re being tugged backwards.

“Well, tonight, I guess that makes two of us.”

You grimace at him. “Lettin’ me go for four fuckin’ days thinking that –”

“– thinkin’ that I would actually cheat on ya? ‘s that what you think a’ me?”

“What did you ex-pect? You didn’t exactly try to – c-clear it up.” You step back, lifting a hand to cup your forehead with a groan. A mix of frustration, pain, and exhaustion in the form of a slow-moving ache hauls its way from one temple to the other.

“Baby, I gotta get you to bed,” Joel says, stepping forward. “We can talk about this when you’re able to see straight.”

“I’m fine,” you whimper, but it’s the least convincing you’ve sounded all night.

“Kid–”

“Don’t fucking call me kid. Like it’s some pet name, like you give a damn about me–”

“You think I don’t give a damn about you? You think I don’t care?”

Your head wobbles in response. It sends the room hurtling again, Joel’s figure swimming in and out of your vision. You grab the countertop again in attempt to freeze him in place.

He tuts and turns his jaw. “You know how much sleep I’ve had these last few days? Not a fuckin’ minute. I ain’t slept a single night, worryin’ about you ‘n what’s goin’ through your head. Like I give a damn about you. I wish I didn’t give a damn about you, baby. Make my life a whole lot easier.”

“Then, show me. Fucking prove it to me.”

“Prove it to you how? Break some asshole’s nose in a bar? Take you home when you’re wasted?”

Yeah. And also, no. Not just that.

You seethe. “You know what the fuck I mean. Do something about it.”

“I can’t,” he says, raising his voice. “Can’t take you out on dates, can’t put my arm around you, can’t kiss you ‘less there ain’t nobody watchin’. I can’t do none of what I wanna do. This is – it’s fuckin’…”

“…impossible,” you breathe, thick and slurred.

Joel lifts his head then, sees the look in your eye. He sniffs. “’s pretty damn hard, yeah.”

You tip your head back, feel the weight of your tears and your eyes and your brain slap against the back of your skull, a nauseating pull at the nape of your neck. You’re defeated. Nothing left in you to argue, talk, even so much as breathe.

Your words drag between one another, each one beginning with the remnants of the one before it.

“Just - take me to bed.”

He’s standing inches from you, hands hovering over your own, hesitant or unwilling or fucking afraid to touch you.

You ball your fists against his chest and give him one tiny, ineffective shove. But he’s bigger, stronger, sober. He doesn’t budge. Accepting defeat, you breathe one last, “Fuck you,” and brush past him, staggering out of the kitchen.

Joel – water and painkillers in hand – watches you like a hawk going upstairs, arms braced for you to lean on anytime you begin to tumble backward. When you do, his hand brushes your elbow, and you whip it out of his reach and reel it back in to your body.

He settles you on the bed just like he did six days ago, after your rodeo night. Only he doesn’t kneel, doesn’t take your boots off. Just walks away, grabs a tee from your chest of drawers and hands it to you to slip into by yourself.

You don’t even have to open your eyes. You know which one he’s given you. Can tell from the feel of the material, the cracked lettering on the chest, that it’s his Rangers shirt, the same one he put on you the first night you slept together. Smells more like you than it does him these days, but feels just like he always does. And as he waits a safe two-feet from you for you to change, no hands reaching out to help, to fix your hair, to stroke your cheek – you think the shirt will just have to do.

Everything he does is close enough for you to recognize him as Joel, and yet distant enough for him to be someone totally different. Every move he makes is pre-determined, all outcomes already analyzed and mapped, all risks carefully averted. It’s like he’s walking a minefield.

He hands you a couple of pills and helps with lifting the water to your lips. Then he sits at the end of your bed and applies the band-aid while you drag a makeup wipe clumsily over your face.

His thumbs linger on your fucked leg, rubbing over the padded dressing a few times after it’s stuck on, gentle and slow. Eyes never leaving the spot your skin broke open. And then, when you’re done with it, he takes the makeup wipe and quickly runs it down your calf, cleaning the dry blood from your skin.

Touch as delicate as though he were holding a rose – fingers brushing over your body like you might tear or fall apart at the slightest movement. When he’s done, he makes his way around to the opposite side of the bed.

“There’s a sleeping bag in the hall closet if you’d rather take the floor,” you tell him, rolling back and pulling your knees to your chin.

“Nah,” Joel says with the groan of a near-fifty-year-old man, kicking his boots off and propping his pillows up. “We’re close enough by now.”

He pulls the flannel from his shoulders and tosses it to the end of the bed, then slips in under the covers beside you, clasping his hands on his chest. His entire body a perfectly polite distance away.

Your wrist lifts, weak and limp, and your fingers ghost across his red wine knuckles. He winces a little, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as you trace the curves of his hands, surfing the valleys where the bone drops, then back up to the peaks where the blood breaks from his skin.

“You didn’t have to…” you whisper. “He was just some dirtbag.”

He sniffs. Replies to you in his head, translated through the look in his eye. Wasn’t all about the dirtbag.

And you know it. Knox was just an asshole who took the hit for the last four days. Sure, he deserved it. But his big, ugly face and the uglier words which happened to tumble out of it were simply a punchbag full of sand; Joel’s fist hammering into it was as much about defending you as it was about punishing someone, anyone, the first fucker who wound up on the wrong side of him, for everything that had happened.

He's angry. At himself and at you and at this entire fucking mess. And you’re angry. At yourself and at him and at the very same thing. The two of you lie side by side in the dark, both broken and bruised and bleeding. You let out a small, pathetic sigh, and Joel echoes it.

His eyes close over and you stare at him. Stare at the faint lines on his face that slowly fade as he relaxes more, falls closer and closer to sleeping. Watch his chest slowly rising and falling, and his hands moving up and down with it. His entire body is still. Like it’s the first calm he’s had in a while. The first time he’s been able to settle.

And you stare at him. For hours, feels like. You stare at him until sleep, or alcohol, or something stronger coats over your vision and sweeps him out of focus.

----------

The wall opposite your window is lit with a single stripe of bright, nauseating orange, the sunrise staring in between your drapes. There are birds screaming outside. Your head is still throbbing and your throat feels like splintered wood and the other side of your bed is empty.

He can’t have left long ago. The mattress is still warm under the sheets he’s folded back over. His shirt is sat folded on the pillowcase.

You grab it and haul yourself out of bed – head still spinning, you trip out of your room.

He’s gotta be in the kitchen. He’ll be standing at the counter drinking a coffee, he’ll mumble a Mornin’, then pull you in and kiss the top of your head. He’ll ask how you’re feeling and if you want some breakfast. He’ll be Joel again.

“Joel…?” you call, rounding the bottom of the stairs toward the kitchen. No response.

The clock on the oven reads 5:57. The kitchen is deserted. When you loop around the island – as if he’d be crouched behind it or something – you notice an empty mug sitting in the sink, trails of black coffee at the bottom.

Your shaking hands cup around the ceramic. It’s cooling, but it’s warm.

He’s been in here.

“Joel!” you yell. Come out, now, this ain’t funny anymore.

You hear the squeak of wheels rolling to a stop outside and flee over to the living room windows, daybreak burning your eyes when you peer through the shades.

You’re frantically searching, going blind with the bright rays singeing your corneas, pacing back and forth between each window to get an angle on the street that will show you his truck. Show you him.

You don’t even notice the sound of keys in the door, or the rattle it makes as it pushes open.

“Hey, kiddo.”

You whip around. The owner of the voice lifts a hand to his puffy eyes and rubs them, yawning.

“H-hi, Dad.”

You look fucking insane. Hair all over the place, makeup haphazardly removed, Joel’s flannel shirt hanging from your fist. Wearing nothing but a long tee, a blood-seeped band-aid on your calf.

“Good night?” he says with a sleepy chuckle. “I am pooped. You want anythin’ before I head up to bed?”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Alright, I’m gonn–”

“Where’s Joel?”

Your desperation has reached a new high. Your pride, a new low. You just want him back, don’t care who knows or thinks or suspects what. Just come back.

“Huh?”

“Joel? He brought me home and I woke up and he’s gone.”

“He – Well, I…I suppose he’ll be at work, hon. He can’t stick around here all day.” He smiles weakly, and then swivels on his heels.

“He text you?”

He sighs, his back still turned. “What has gotten into…? Here.”

Your dad twists and throws his phone toward you. It lands on the carpet at your feet. Then he turns back and begins climbing the stairs.

“See ya in a few hours.”

When he turns the corner on the landing and his footsteps fade out of earshot, you bend and your fingers clutch his phone.

He has one unread text from Joel.

You unlock the phone with a click and open up the message thread. Your half-drunk, half-sleepy eyes flit across the screen, leaning back against the arm of the couch to read every word he ever sent your dad.

Joel: She’s in bed. Sat with her for a bit to make sure she didn’t roll onto her back. She’s a little worse for wear. I got a job up in Waco I need to be at in an hour, so I gotta head.

You scroll further back.

Joel: She okay?

Joel: Sarah says she hasn’t heard from her in a few days. We can come over for dinner tonight if you reckon that might help?

Further back still.

Joel: Sure, not doing anything anyway. Sarah in Nashville. Tell her to text me when she’s ready to be picked up. Hope she enjoys her rodeo night 🤠

Joel: Table booked for 6. Get you both at 5:45. Looking forward to it.

You scroll until your eyes hurt.

Joel: No answer. She’ll be home soon I bet.

Joel: You ever seen Grey’s Anatomy? Pretty good TV

Joel: Your daughter available tonight to help me put up stuff for Sarah coming home? I fear what might happen if I attempt it myself

You read the final message, the first thing he sent your dad after you got home. Six days in. He’d driven you home from work.

Joel: No problem, wouldn’t have her walking home in the rain. Was nice to see her again. She’s a sweetheart.

You’re laid back across the couch, your legs hanging over the armrest. You drop the phone to your chest and stare up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling a lot more sober.

She’s a sweetheart.

Your throat tightens around a sob. Like a fist clenching around your neck, crushing your breath to nothing. Your eyes well, tears slowly flood across your vision and then spill over, running rapidly down to your ears and seeping into the fabric of the couch. You’re still silent. Still unable to open your mouth.

You’re doing everything you can to hold back. To stop it from happening. But your chest feels like it could burst, and your eyes are screwing shut tighter and tighter, and your body curls up like an animal succumbing to a mortal wound, and then –

Then, you break.

It forces its way from your throat, hammering against the sides of your mouth before it’s escaping, tearing away from your lips and hurtling skyward. A deep, violent exhale. Broken, and painful, and heavy.

There’s no one to hold back for. Just you, sat in your living room, clutching the flannel of a man who doesn’t want you anymore.

Your breath stammers, shudders against the palms of your hands as your fingertips massage your eyes. You’re crying like a little kid, and it’s not making you feel any better, but no matter what you do, it won’t stop.

And you don’t know why. You tell yourself that: I don’t know why I’m crying. Almost laugh when you think it through to yourself: sobbing at 6AM over someone you were sleeping with, for all of, what, four weeks? I don’t know why the fuck I’m crying.

Except – you do. You do. And you’re totally, completely, undeniably fucked.

You sigh and close your eyes.

You are – fucked.

----------

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fluffyfantasticducky · 1 year ago

Text

How to Cure Pains and Heartaches

☆ Pairing: Loki x Reader

☆ Synopsis: After such a bitter end, Loki has no choice but to fade away. To his surprise he awakens in bed where he will be taken care of. Why? What do they want of him? Who's that lovely mortal?

☆ Word Count: 6,266

☆ Notes: Loki being a swooning darling, he's recovering from injuries in a fix it AU where he survives the attack on the Statesman and he gets to live on earth.

☆ Warnings: Mention of Loki's trauma and torture courtesy of the Mad Titan, fuck you Thanos. Mention of gaining weight (but it isn't given a negative conotation).

No one could deny Loki had gone through a lot of stuff, simply his Asgardian nature and the amount of exposure he had had with war from a young age would (rightfully) horrify most Midgardians, plus the pressure of being royalty and the responsibility it demanded with him.

In retrospect, Loki always knew his amount of responsibility were no way near as high as Thor’s, which allowed Loki to get some relief by following his nature as God of Mischief. But still: meetings, war council, royal balls, and in general trying to keep an image of perfection to most of Asgard other than Thor’s group and his parents who truly knew of Loki’s more playful nature, it was quite draining.

And that was before the true horrors.

That one trip to Jotunheim had been the source of over a decade of disgrace. Knowing all that battle would cause, he never would’ve let those three other Jotuns into the vaults of Valaskjalf.

After that, it was tragedy after tragedy. And the worst of them happened in the Sanctuary II.

At first, he thought some bounty hunters had recognized him, given they seem to know who he was, and the only reason they spared his life was because it would be about a matter of time until they’d bargain his life with Odin.

But after several months where he was starved, and his only contact was to be tortured, where the Black Order tore his body apart bit by bit, breaking bones, tearing skin only to throw him back into an isolation cell, where all that kept him together was his pride and the thought that Heimdall could see him and start a rescue mission, thing he learned years later couldn’t be done.

And when he didn’t cave in, they shattered his mind as well, using the Mind Stone on his scepter, giving him no choice but to submit. Everything bad in his life prior to that point seemed to be blissful field trip.

And for many years later he thought he would spend the rest of his life suffering to atone to the horrors he unleashed onto Jotunheim and New York. And by the time the Sanctuary II intercepted the Asgardian escape ship on its way to Earth, and he felt himself fading from reality… nothing had proved him otherwise.

At least he had protected his brother…

…

Who would’ve thought that the next time he opened his eyes he would be laying in a hospital bed, flowers by his ankles and a cervical collar? He had a thousand questions. Where was he? Who brought him there? Why had he been saved? Why couldn’t they let him just die?

Just when he thought it was another round of the same type of torture the Black Order inflicted on him, the door opened… Only about a few hours after waking up, and just in time when his stomach started growling.

The first time he saw you, you felt like a vision. Beautiful and most of it all, kind.

“Loki how are you feeling?” you smiled at him, as you stepped inside the room with a tray of warm food. The smell made his mouth water. “Were you waiting for long? Sorry, I didn’t hear you wake up.”

Loki was quietly staring at you. Not only because his throat was dry, but because he had no idea who you were or what were your intentions.

But you didn’t seem bothered by his silence. You just let out a little chuckle.

“You seem more active today” you smiled, “Usually you can only stay awake for a few seconds. Are you hungry?”

Loki wanted to be proud and say nothing, but his body’s needs were stronger, and a rather loud growl of his stomach gave it away how hungry he was, making his cheeks flare up in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, I would be hungry too if I hadn’t eaten anything in 5 years” you spoke compassionately, but with a hint of humor.

5 years?!?

“How long have I been here?” he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse beyond recognition, and it hurt to speak.

“Oh, you poor thing, you must be thirsty” you said as you reached his food tray and grabbed a cup of water with a straw and placed it just before his lips. “About your question, a few weeks, a Stark satellite detected a faint life signal and Thor went to find you.”

You spoke in such a humane manner that Loki couldn’t help but lower his guard a bit, and he opened his mouth as you helped him drink.

The water was cold and fresh, it felt so relieving that he couldn’t hold back a sigh when he finished drinking, that only happened when the cup was empty.

You let out a soft giggle at the sight of him. It was then that he recognized you, sort of.

He vaguely remembered your laugh, it was faint, but if he pushed himself to think about it, it was there. He never saw your face, but the sound was familiar, so he concluded it must have been previous visits while he was still unconscious.

It was a pretty sound… innocent, pure.

“You mentioned my brother…” Loki asked. “Is he…?”

As he made his question, you set a table before him and the tray on top of it. It was a huge bowl of soup, and one of mashed potatoes. His stomach growled once again.

“Thor has been visiting you every day practically without exception” you told him. “He talks to you, keeps you updated about his life. Last week he came with Doctor Foster, it seems they started seeing each other again. But we’ve notified him you’re finally awake.”

You sat beside him on the edge of the bed and grabbed the spoon on the tray and started feeding him the soup. It was so warm, and the flavor was rich, that his eyes started watering. What cruel trick was all this kindness? When would this all go South?

His forming tears didn’t go unnoticed, and you cupped his face, your soft fingers caressing his cheeks to clean his tears.

“You don’t have a fever, does it hurt anywhere?” you asked.

“No… I feel per—” he choked on his words, “I feel perfectly fine… all things considered.”

“I’ll monitor your reflex later, but first focus on eating” you said gently. “You need to regain your strength.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, he was so hungry that if he had had more strength, he would just hold the bowl and chug it all down. By the time he was onto the mashed potatoes he was a lot stronger, the second meal was just as tasty, seasoned just right to make him want to keep eating until his stomach popped.

He even let out a soft little breathy burp, which made you giggle again.

“Don’t eat so fast!” you scolded him with a happy tone.

He found it in himself to laugh softly along with you.

“5 years without food, I remind you” he joked back. “I’ll eat as fast as I can.”

“You were blipped 5 years... you didn’t age a day.”

“Blipped?”

You spent the next few minutes filling him in what had happened. Thanos won, and half of the universal population vanished, for them it was only a few minutes at most… while the rest of the universe aged 5 years. Five years, where everyone thought he was dead, where he was dead.

Now, Loki wanted to cry. The amount of relief that washed over him made him rest back.

“Finally… I’m free…” he sighed. “It’s over… he’s gone…”

He tried covering his eyes when he noticed the sting coming from his left arm, he noticed a cast neatly wrapped around it.

“Your neck injury was the most concerning, but your arm and ankle were badly wounded as well” you explained, and he noticed another cast covering his foot from arch to his ankle. “Although your foot is mostly healed by now.”

He put some attention to his bandaged foot and wiggled his toes, which thank the gods responded perfectly.

“It’s a bit itchy” Loki pointed out.

“I’m pretty sure that’s normal” you chuckled and grabbed a pencil from your pocket, and sneaked it in his cast, and scratched his sole. “Here.”

But the touch, while it somewhat alleviated the itch, it had an unexpected tickly feeling that caused Loki to yelp and jerked his foot back.

“Hehe-hey!” he giggled.

“I’m sorry” you apologized with a soft chuckle.

“You’re lucky I’m too weakened to put a dagger to your throat” Loki spoke, but he noticed he couldn’t get rid of the amusement in his voice.

“Perhaps I should take the chance to really make you laugh then.” You smiled, twirling the pencil on your fingers. “Given you can’t do anything to stop me.”

“Don’t even think about it!” Loki blurted out, “If you even dare to… to…”

He felt his cheeks flush. It had been so long since he had been tickled, it felt silly, plus he was quite vulnerable right now.

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to upset you” you assured him, “…yet.”

You let out another soft laugh at the indignation in his face.

“Do you not know the consequences of crossing me?” Loki asked, “Are you that ignorant of the capabilities of the God of Mischief? I have terrorized this realm, Midgard bows before my power! I could finish you with a single hand.”

“What would you get out of it?” you asked bluntly. “You live here now; you would only lose.”

He looked at you and opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. Not only was he too weak right now to even keep that threat, but truly besides that little tickle you had been nothing to but kind to him, and even that had been with the intention to help him.

“Do you truly not fear me?” Loki asked after another moment of silence.

“Should I?” you asked with a happy smile.

Perhaps he found that little grin of yours to be too charming, it could be the fact that you had his food and water at your mercy, or it could be the fact that you were a purely friendly presence, which he hadn’t had in… he couldn’t remember for how long. But he truly didn’t want you to be scared of him.

“I suppose not” he finally said.

“Predictable.”

Loki let out a laugh.

“You’re a funny little one” Loki smiled.

Just then a loud noise came in as if something huge was stomping their way through the hall. Which proved to be not far off because soon a large blond figure tumbled onto the door frame.

“Brother…” both Asgardians said in unison.

The older brother’s eyes filled with tears as he rushed to the bed, and with the last self-control he possessed, Thor didn’t tackle the raven haired into a bear hug. Just… collapsed on his knees by the side of his bed.

“You’re awake…” the God of Thunder burst into messy sobs. “…Alive.”

In other times, Loki would’ve found Thor’s reaction ridiculous, mockable, or annoying… but after all they had been through and seeing the streak of his own hair tangled in one of Thor’s braids… he let out a soft sob as he gently reached to place his hand on Thor’s head.

“Ahem!” you cleared your throat to make yourself present. “As long as you’re careful with his neck, you two can hug.”

You smiled and left the room to give them space. Both brothers let out a laugh and Thor cradled his little brother in his arms, supporting his head as if he was a baby as his other hand was squeezing Loki.

“I told you the sun would shine on us again” Loki spoke softly.

“You idiotic, insincere, irresponsible, impulsive, inconsiderate fool!” Thor scolded him, sounding more relieved than anything.

“Oh, good, you ran out of insults that started with an I” Loki laughed.

“I beg you, brother. Never give me a scare like that again” Thor begged.

“In my defense, I didn’t fake it this time” he whispered.

There was an awkward silence as none of the princes knew what to say to each other, there was so much to say, but… where to start?

“I… heard you started seeing Doctor Foster again.”

That made Thor smile as started telling Loki what he had done with his life, how Asgard was doing, which was what finally broke Loki, hearing Asgard managed to live on was that finally burst into tears as he hugged his brother again.

The two brothers talked for hours, and for the first time in years, if not ever, Loki felt the conversation with his brother be purely lighthearted. He was so lost in the chat that it took him hours to notice…

“You’ve gained weight” Loki pointed out.

“Quiet, you imp…” Thor snorted. “It’s been tough these last 5 years.”

“I… did not mean to be judgmental” Loki assured him. “It just… I’ve been out for so long…”

“Well, don’t get used to this, I’m already exercising again, and I’m renouncing to beer… aside from social events” Thor said happily.

“Oh? I didn’t know you drank” Loki tilted his head. “But… good for you.”

Thor’s face darkened, making Loki immediately regret his comment.

“It was… Very rough five years…” Thor said again. “I suppose time wasn’t kind on me.”

Loki felt a pang of guilt settle on his chest, after Ragnarök he truly had no intention to pull another stunt like that. For once, he had every intention to stick by Thor’s side.

But at the time the Sanctuary II intercepted their ship, all Loki could think was protecting Thor. Because he knew that if anything happened to his brother, no one else would’ve had a fighting chance against the Mad Titan. But he had been reckless.

“I— I’m sorry brother…” Loki apologized, and Thor smiled at him. “How’s Asgard?”

“It’s been difficult as you may imagine… but, you know… us Asgardians are stubborn, we’ve managed.” Thor smile. “Little Asgard is thriving!”

“Oh, I’m painfully aware, you’re all a nightmare” Loki joked, making Thor laugh again.

Despite his sarcasm, something in the way Thor said us Asgardians made Loki smile, by now Thor knew very well his true nature, and yet he still treated him as one of his own, like his brother, maybe not bound by blood, but by something stronger.

The conversation kept going until Loki’s stomach growled in hunger, but by then the sun had set a while ago. And it didn’t take long after when you had stepped in the room with a tray of food and Thor excused himself for the night.

The meals were simple and soft for a good while, porridge, broths and soups, sauce-less pastas, yogurts, Jello, but having a pretty mortal such as yourself literally feeding him and tending to his every whim made his recovery quite pleasant. Especially when he started eating solid foods again and the meals were a lot tastier.

“You’re healing quite fast,” you told him as you checked monitored his ribs for any soreness. “I’ve heard injuries usually take maybe 3 or 4 times longer to heal. …In the best of circumstances, but Stephen said your bones are practically all healed now.”

“If someone can pull out a miracle like that, a god should be the right place to go” he joked as he kept holding his shirt up so you could.

“That’s fair, also having the best doctors and technology at our disposal helps, doesn’t it?” you quipped.

“Do not underestimate my divinity, mortal” he said dramatically.

“Oh, yes, forgive me, your godly-ness…” you bowed just as dramatically.

“You’ve been gaining weight” you said as you prodded your stomach.

He let out a yelp.

“Rude” he said cheekily.

“No, I mean, you were practically nothing but skin and bones when we found you” you assured him, “I mean you seem healthier now. You must be in your healthy weight again by now.”

“Do not flatter me” Loki smirked.

“Flatter you?” you gasped out a laugh. “Nonsense, it’s been my care the reason you no longer look like a malnourished cat!”

He did not expect you to start prodding and squeezing his belly, instantly causing him to burst out laughing. Curse his gut for being this vulnerable to your playful fingers.

“Nohohohoho! Don’t!” he whined between cackles. “Stohohohop!”

“Oh my god!” you laughed and gave him a small breather “I didn’t even have to do anything… But if you insist…”

“W-What…? Insist…?”

“I won’t stop…”

“W-What? N-No! PLEHEHEHEASE! NO! STOP!” Loki begged despite his pride, but the way you kept squeezing his belly, giving his skin soft pinches made him wheeze out shaky laughter was too much. “NOT MY— NOHOHOHOHOHO!”

You started focusing on the patch of skin around his belly button, which surprisingly enough was even more ticklish than his navel itself. He started digging his heels onto the mattress as he arched and squirmed on the bed.

“Okay, okay!” you squeaked out as you grabbed his ankle, forgetting your playful attack, to settle him back on bed. “Easy there… you’ll hurt your foot again.”

He was more focused on catching breath, but he still felt you helping him stretch and move his ankle to check if he hadn’t hurt himself in the middle of his squirming.

“You’re… huff… huff… the worst nurse…” he groaned.

“Ask for another nurse who can deal with you” you chuckled as you gently tickled his sole making him let out a giggle.

You weren’t exactly part of the medical team, but after everything that had happened, the Avengers were understaffed, and every task that Tony’s technology couldn’t fill in were done by the Avengers themselves, his brother and Maximoff twins helped with cleaning, Bruce and Clint cooked, Tony handled the finances (in more than just been the Compound’s sponsor), and so and so.

You were a lab assistant, although, not in the medical field. Yet, given your friendly nature and bond with the God of Thunder, Thor himself had entrusted you to look after his most precious thing, his little brother. But under normal circumstances, you’d be working with chemicals or mechanics by the side of your mentors and the Spiderling.

Although now, you had been tasked solely to look after Loki, given no one else was capacitated to deal with him and you seemed to understand each other, and Loki even had friendly interactions with you. Or well, friendly for Loki.

“Get up!” you whined pulling him by his healthy arm.

“I don’t want to” Loki protested.

“Why not?” you huffed defeatedly as you let go of him.

“I don’t exactly feel excited to be sat on a cold table to be prodded and squeezed and all to get stabbed.”

“Injections aren’t the same as getting stabbed, you big baby” you laughed, as you poked his sides, causing Loki to jump and swat your hand away.

“It’s a sharp metal piercing my skin, isn’t it?” he defended himself as he crossed his arm across his chest. “Call me a baby if you please, but it doesn’t excite me being pierced by your tiny blades.”

“L-Loki… are you afraid of needles?” you asked with an amused smile, he could tell by your tone that you were holding back laughter.

“I am not!” he scoffed.

“Oh! You are!” you smiled immensely.

“Is this funny to you?”

“N-No… Don’t worry, it’s cute. I used to fear needles too, you know, when I was five.” You grinned.

Loki’s ears perked up.

“That was a lie” he smiled cockily.

“What?”

“That’s a lie” he repeated himself. “You either still fear them or just recently stopped doing so.”

“Wha— that’s…” your cheeks turning pink were the last tell.

“God of Lies, don’t bother denying it. I can tell when some lies to me” he grinned triumphantly. “Don’t worry, it’s cute.”

You huffed as you smacked the back of his hand.

“And here I was going to tell you my trick to control my nerves” you huffed.

“Which is…?” Loki asked, partly to tease you, but deep down actually wanting to know.

You shuffled through your bag and pull-out headphones and handed them to him. Loki forced himself to ignore the way your hand brushed against his when you handed them to him.

“Just close your eyes and listen to some music” you smiled, “it helps with a lot of things. But if you need to you can hold my hand and squeeze it if you get scared.”

He smiled at you. “Thank you.”

“Tell you what, if you’re brave, I’ll make sure you have your favorite ice cream for dessert today. How does that sound?” you offered.

“I’m not a child you can’t bribe like that” Loki rolled his eyes, “… Two bowls.”

You nodded and helped him get up and walk to get his check up and vaccine. Given how long he had been in bed, he was still doing some rehab and needed help to walk longer distances.

And he did take your word and held your hand all the time, although he did notice it was you who squeezed his hand when the needle came out. He had even forgotten to put on the headphones by the time the needle was out. And you did keep your word of spoiling him with his favorite ice cream.

“The second bowl is gonna melt, so you might as well eat it with me…” he mumbled between bites.

In a few months Loki was practically fully recovered and soon he was starting his rehab trainings. And of course, he had already picked a sparring partner.

“Do not go easy on me” Loki stated the first time.

“Oh, you like it rough then?” you grinned as you two circled around each other on the sparring mat. “Duly noted.”

He was not one new to flirtatious exchanges. He had been alive for over a millennium, and he had had plenty lovers before. But for some reason your banter made him flustered and tied his tongue into a knot.

“If I wanted it rough, I’d pick literally anyone else, agent” Loki excused himself. “You couldn’t take me if you tried.”

“Couldn’t I?” you grinned, noticing his cheeks flare up.

Damn you, you tenacious and annoyingly perceptive little thing.

“In a fight, you pest” Loki huffed.

“Ah, bummer” you smiled cheekily.

And while it was true that your human strength wasn’t a match for his regular god-like standards, you actually provided an interesting challenge. Besides, he was still recovering so using his full strength wasn’t an option anyway. You were fast, and you jumped around him like a rabbit and landed the softest blows as he spun around you trying to follow or even read your patterns.

“What’s wrong, is the mighty God of Mischief unable to catch up?” you smiled as you poked his ribs lightly before sneaking away.

You didn’t expect Loki to yelp.

“D-Don’t!”

Your face was puzzled for just a second, but as soon as it had happened, you had put two and two together and grinned in an almost cartoonish way.

“I think this training just became more fun” you smile as you poked him again.

“Do not even think about it!” he huffed, as a nervous smile twitched its way into his lips.

“What happened to not go easy on you? I’m just obeying.” you grinned and started chasing him after.

The way you wiggled your fingers with a mischievous in his direction awoke something primally playful. And as a bright smile appeared on his face, he started running away from you.

“You will never catch me!” he called as he ran.

You laughed and ran after him.

He would never admit it out loud, but the way he felt in that moment was rejuvenating, he hadn’t done something so silly and non-transcendent purely for the sake that it was fun. But you were ditching training to chase him around under the threat of tickling him if you caught him. All for the sake of playing with him like a kid despite both of you being young adults. And even more surprising is that Loki found himself eager to play along, even if the idea of getting tickled made him nervous.

Which… eventually did happen, curse his weakened stamina and aching ankle. That day he also learned to fear when you threatened him with tickles, you were devastating when you wanted to be.

“Nohohoho!” he laughed as your fingers dug onto his stomach. “This is ehehehe cruel!”

By the time you had caught up with him you had already reached the living room and he had tumbled onto the couch.

“Oh my gosh, you’re so ticklish!” you giggle, your finger swirling around his navel.

“Ehehehehe! Get away from there!” he laughed. “Oh Norns! Stop it!”

“C’mon, Loki, you’re a big guy, you can take it!” you giggled and kneaded his belly sides with your fingers with terrifying skill.

But you were kind enough to give him a break.

“Gods abohohohohove, I’m begging you, dove!” he whined. “Don’t torturehehehehe me like this!”

But it somehow served to strengthen your bond. Loki already had a good concept of you, you were a kind and generous person. You were one of the few people he could’ve called a friend. But seeing you weren’t completely disciplined and were willing to break schedule to have mindless fun was relieving. He feared that living in a S.H.I.E.L.D. building would mean they expected him to become a soldier.

So, he started looking for you out of the designated times you had together. He had come to really like to come and annoy you when you were working, playing with your pencils, hiding your stuff, and of course tickling you to distract you when he was craving your attention… which happened pretty often.

“Lohohohoki!” you whined. “I’m wohohorking!”

“I’m not saying you should stop” he grinned as he skittered his fingers along your ribs and sides, just gently scratching over your thin shirt. “Take this as a test of your focus.”

“Nohohohoho, Loki!” you wheezed. “Ihihihit’s so bahahahad! Stohohohop ihihit!”

“Mm~ I’m not sure” he purred in your ear, knowing damn well how much it made you curl up in a ball. “I kinda like hearing the noises you make, they’re… what’s the word? Cute~”

You screeched as you hid your face with your hands, muffling your laughter. Norns, you were so precious. He may have been teasing you when he said you were cute, but he meant it.

You were a lovely company, helping him heal by doing his routines and rehabilitation regimes, while he reviewed the files regarding New Asgard. You massaged his healing ankle while Loki read the documents that were handed to him.

“This is absolutely atrocious!” Loki scoffed smacking the files. “What is this, Infinity Conez? Who approved this? Look at this! Thanos getting the Infinity Stones is a universal tragedy, but to my people more than anyone!”

“Well, that’s why Thor created the New Asgard Council” you reminded him. “He gets help ruling Asgard, and Asgard gets a group of capable people leading them. You have voice and vote.”

“They will hear about this” Loki said firmly. “I will not allow my people to see that when they go to the market! That’s just disrespectful and heartless!”

“I agree with that” you nodded. “I’d be hurt to see something that traumatic turned into an attraction, there must be a better way to make an ice cream store. What about B-Ice Frost?”

“B-Ice Frost?” Loki asked.

“Yeah! A rainbow bridge themed ice cream store that actually gives a nod to your culture” you suggested. “The logo could an ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles.”

“Hmm, I’ll notify that suggestion,” Loki nodded as he wrote it down. “Thank you.”

Months into knowing each other and spending a ridiculous amount of time together, and Loki started noticing how being around you boosted his mood, he couldn’t stop thinking about certain details about you, like the way you played with your hands when you were nervous, or how you scrunched up your nose slightly when you smiled at him, how your eyes sparkled when you were assigned a new project you had been excited for, the butterflies in his belly when you placed your hands on him even to greet him or help him stretch before training. And…

Oh Gods… he was falling in love with you.

For a while he didn’t know what to do with himself. He tried carrying himself normally. But it was overwhelming the way he felt about you, it took one look in your direction, and he felt his heart racing. Trying to avoid you didn’t work either, because his entire being craved being around you, so that didn’t last too long. So, at some point, he stopped fighting it. He knew there was no way a being as good as you would even look in his direction, he was a monster, who had done unforgivable things to your planet.

Surely, your kindness had a limit. Surely, once he was fully healed, you’d forget about him. In fact, Loki feared the day he’d be considered fully recovered and you’d abandon him.

“C’mon, lazybones. We’re late for training” you grinned as you pulled him from the couch.

“I do not feel like training today” Loki yawned as he stretched out his arms to you as an invitation to hug him. “Why don’t we watch a movie? You can choose.”

The way your resolve faltered was beyond endearing. Even if you two weren’t anything, it was common knowledge you were what they called a cuddle bug.

“Loki… it’s important you do your rehab exercises” you said softly.

“I am not in the mood for training” Loki repeated.

“Oh, is that how it is?” you said in a playful yet menacing tone. “I’ll have to persuade you then.”

“What? N-No! D-dohohon’t!” Loki burst out laughing when he felt your fingers over his belly. “Nohohoho! Not thehehehehere!”

“Get up!” you teased him as your fingers pinched the sides of his stomach.

“I don’t wahahahant to!” Loki laughed as he kicked the cushions with his heels. “I’m comfortable hehehehere!”

“It’s important you do your exercises, it’s part of your rehab!” you insisted. “C’mon, doctor’s orders.”

“I dohohohon’t follow a mortal’s— ahaha orders!” he wheezed when you found that damned spot below his navel.

“Then I’m not stopping, you’ll spend the evening as a giggly wiggly worm.”

He had to give you something, you knew exactly how to make him squirm. His hips were bucking trying to stop you and his hands were pushing your wrist, but he wasn’t used to dealing with a normal human’s strength, so he didn’t want to risk hurting you.

“Pleahahahase! Cut it— OW!”

Immediately you jolted and stop everything you were doing, cupping your hands over your mouth and looking at him horrified.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” you asked.

“Yes, I’m quite alright. My back aches… that is all.” He assured you as he sat back up.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful, you’re still recovering.”

“Oh no, the back pain has been with me for quite a few years already” he said, wanting to ease your conscious.

“What…?”

“Well, yes. The Black Order aren’t exactly kind when they force you into their lines.” Loki said simply. “The pain comes back every so often.”

“I’m sorry…” you look at him. “Can I help?”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing you could d—”

You surprised him by sitting behind him and started rubbing his shoulders, softly at first, feeling him.

“No wonder you are sore, you’re stiff like a board” you said feeling around his spine, soon starting to add more pressure.

He let out a few groans, it hurt a bit at first as you undid the knots of stress of his shoulders. He sighed as he soon felt himself slipping away.

“C’mere” you spoke with utmost softness, as you helped Loki rest on his stomach just to keep massaging his back. “Hehe, you take up most of the couch, I kinda forget how tall you are sometimes.”

“Sorry…” he yawned no even filtering his thoughts.

“It’s okay” you said amusedly, “it’s not a bad thing.”

Your hands rubbed his back with gentle and caring touch. You were so kind and meticulous. Your skill might be up for debate, you were good, but someone much pickier could argue there were professional masseuse that were much better. Perhaps that was true, but no one else had touched him so lovingly, so selflessly. You took your time, and he even noticed every so often you stopped to stretch your fingers that grew tired, but you didn’t complain, you didn’t stop.

He didn’t know when or for how long, but when he woke up you were still massaging your back.

“You snore when you sleep” you spoke in the softest voice, he didn’t want to get his hopes up, but you seemed endeared. “Had a nice nap?”

“Probably the best nap I’ve had since I was maybe 150 years old.” He said, letting out a chuckle at your confusion. “I was still a toddler by then.”

“I’m glad… you really seemed like you needed it” you said softly. “Do you feel better?”

He let out a yawn and stretch, rolling over on his back to look at you.

“Much better, thank you” he smiled politely.

“No problem…” you said with a shyness that was unfamiliar for him, he even got to see the pleasure to see a lovely blush adorning your cheeks. “Um… w-well… I’ll go to… you know…”

“Ah, of course…” he muttered as he saw you run off.

He was a little bit disappointed, but he tried not to think too much about your attitude for the sake of his sanity. Of course, he failed. It was the only thing he could think about

It made him build up the courage to go out for town and buy a bouquet. He thought about red roses, but he saw a bouquet of violets and purple sweet peas and white roses, he just knew that was the one.

He even used his phone for a change to ask you to meet him in the compounds garden, he hated using his cellphone. He had asked Banner to let him use his therapy flower greenhouse. He calculated the hour for the prettiest sky colors to ensure a romantic setting for his love declarations.

Minutes earlier his heart was thumping so loud it was drumming in his ears. He felt his mouth dry, and he was sweaty.

“Loki?” he finally heard your voice as you walked in.

“Over here!” he called as he set his bouquet, behind him, barely hiding it behind himself. “H-Hi… Thanks for coming.”

“No problem” you smiled. “I didn’t know you wanted to try Bruce’s gardening therapy. That’s really good.”

“N-No… I— Uh… I just wanted to… have some privacy.”

“Oh?” you asked as you sat behind him.

“I just… wanted to uh, give you this… as a thank you” Loki said, handing you the bouquet. “You’ve been exceedingly kind to me for months, helping me heal, keeping me in check, and that massage the other day… it really helped me feel better.”

“It’s been my pleasure. You’ve been a lovely patient” you said sweetly as you smelled the flowers.

“T-That’s not the only reason why I wanted to… see you here…” Loki barely spoke out, his mouth felt dry, and he felt lightheaded. “You’ve been a delightful company and a wonderful friend… I can’t say that about a lot of people, and probably even less can say the same thing about myself…”

“That’s not true.” You cut him off. “You’re funny, well-mannered, smart, educated, charmingly stubborn, and a stimulating company. There’s not a boring moment with you around.”

Loki’s cheeks flushed at your sweet words, you weren’t even trying to, but his heart fluttered.

“T-That’s why I mean, you are… a— uh… this is ah— not easy to say… but you… um… I appreciate you.”

“I like you too, you’re a lovely friend” you said sweetly.

“N-No… I am not trying to be friendly” Loki said in a quick gasp of courage. “I-I would like to f-formally court you.”

“Court me…?”

“I think here on Midgard it’s addressed as dating…” Loki said, bracing himself for rejection.

“I’d love to.”

“What…?” Loki asked.

“I’d love to go out with you” you said, gently kissing his cheek.

Loki grinned happily.

“Tomorrow at 8?” Loki offered, “I— we could go to a nice restaurant, I’ll take you there. I could ask for a chauffeur to take us… we— we could…”

You surprised him with a little poke on the ribs, that cut him off with the urge to giggle.

“8 is perfect, I’ll drive us to wherever you like” you smiled, “Just pick a restaurant. But, how about tonight I take you for a nice dinner inside and a movie on the lounge room?”

“I’d like that, very much” Loki smiled softly as he pressed his forehead against yours.

He saw you intertwine your fingers with his own, causing him to smile. You lovely thing. It was a lovely sensation. As you pulled him up to his feet, so he’d follow you inside. Which he did with a bright smile.

What a lovely life he had found on Earth.

| MASTERPOST |

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