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dilf-docs · 2 months ago

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Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (cause we have a small daddy kink going on here.. hence the blog name BUT I DO HAVE A GOOD DAD), smut, this reeks of corruption kink for no reason other than me being a virgin whore, like he gets stalker-ish for a second but its logan howlett so we forgive him<3 ya está viejito, brief mention of suicide, sub logan edging on praising kink (if u squint), no protection but u gotta put the hat on the cowboy to ride the horse alr, riding, breeding kink??? angst (the depressing vibes are there cause they follow my writing like a shadow ijbol)

word count: 33,577 words (at the v crack of dawn.. i think i've gone insane FR it's 02:07 am and my brain its eating itself like im gonna start seeing logan in the corner of my room)

side note: newbie here after reading so many fanfics on tumblr but never publishing my own!! its hugh's birthday (well, its past midnight so no more but still!!! it was a couple hours ago) so i figured i should give it a try today cause that man does things to me ESPECIALLY as old man logan i can't lie and say the thought of him fucking me good and slow hasn't crossed my mind too many times 😩 we love sad hot old people in here so naturally my inaguration fic had to be done by him. also, i'm tired of scrapping for votes, comments, and interactions on wattpad so please treat me well during our first:// it's me moving to tumblr it's me hi i'm the problem it's me. i'm a feedback whore so pls leave tons of those!! also, english isn't my first language so if i make a grammar mistake pls do not tell me bc i have no respect for this language ―it just makes me cringe less to write smut on a language that isn't mine lol<3 but if there's any other mistake yes pls do tell me thank u OKAY BYE i needa quit yapping ENJOY dilf town<3

So it started something like this.

It was another simple nightshift for Logan. The weather humid, uncomfortably sticking the fabric of his white button shirt onto his skin. Even with the windows down. Those nights that the driving dragged on for long, like those cigarettes that now made him cough more than relax. The roads felt too long; his eyes too heavy.

Nothing new. Just about what to expect: money short, clients and traffic equally annoying. But that was the problem; nothing was new anymore.

He'd just finish dropping a customer close by, and since the tiring feeling didn't seem to leave his body just yet, a coffee wouldn't hurt. As a matter of fact, the need for a boost to make it home makes him get out of the car and limp his way into the first place his tired vision sees.

The rim of his recently adquired reading glasses slips as he climbs the stairs into the decades old diner, the decoration outdated. He understands; he feels the same way.

Neon lights flash his face when he enters the place and sits in the farthest booth he can find. The air is impregnated in grease and cheap coffee, but he waits at least fifty minutes to order, giving his body some time to rest. In the meanwhile, he tries to distract himself with the newspaper resting on the table, but God knows his eyes are too tired and his mind drifts every two words.

He hopes he doesn't get kicked out, judging from the attentive look he's receiving by a waitress resting on the bar. She looks as bored and tired as he does.

Maybe that's why he chooses her, raising his hand with order in mind. A black coffee. The waitress slides from her position and takes some steps to where he sits.

Her voice is sweet when she introduces herself, and Logan finds himself asking her again what her name is, pretending he's half deaf just to listen to it again.

"It's y/n" you repeat, oh so sickeningly sweet, he might have to skip on asking for sugar.

"Y/n" he savours the name on his lips, trying the tender sound, his eyes darting to the name tag, like he's confirming it. Testing to see if the young woman in front of him is real. Maybe his eyes linger a little too long, and the tip of your ears start to heat. Its the way he examines every feature on your face, like memorizing it in a sense, that makes you squirm. But maybe, just maybe, it's the small―brief, peak he gives to your exposed cleavage, pushing itself against the tight fabric of your uniform what truly gets your heart beating fast.

He looks like what your parents would warn you to stay away and your friends would talk behind your back. Rugged in a way that screams heartbreak, rough around edges your kind nature wishes to soften. It's unresonable to feel this way about a client you just met, but his aloof demeanor peaks your interest, so different from your usual costumers and familiar faces that pop up at the diner.

"Can I order you, darling?" his voice comes out deep, almost passing as a grunt. Just what you imagined it to sound. Why he's acting as his past self so effortlessly, after closing himself off to the point of going by entire days without talking more than three words, is concerning. Why the cute waitress who looks at him with doe eyes, expectant to take his order, is making him break the promise he made to himself not to get attached again―just live by enough to make it to the sea and put a bullet in his head.

"Well, that's just about my job" you joke, feeling confident for no reason. "But you can't order me".

"A damn shame" he chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling on his chest. It's been so long since he's laughed like that: carefree, without that pressing weight on his chest, that despite the sinking notion, sometimes feels more like a hole carved where his heart is supposed to be.

"So..." you trail off, unsure where to proceed after that sound that jolted your entire system awake, "what will you take?"

The banter dies, and Logan is dissapointed when she scribbles the dark coffee on her pretty round letter and walks away. He doesn't miss the sway of her hips, and almost calls her back just to hear her voice again. But he stops himself, because it's getting pathetic.

When she returns with her order, he almost regrets the comeback of his enhaced senses, her honeyed perfume mixed with the bitter smell of the freshly brewed coffee, creating an intoxicating mix.

His lips burn when he sips it, but that doesn't stop him from emptying the cup. Again. And again. All in the name for asking for more coffee, a magnetic force pulling him to the ground, making him forget he's a 200 and something year old man begging like a starved man for at least a fraction of her attention. He feels unworthy of your warmth.

He feigns interest on the newspaper when you return again (he's been stuck on the same paragraph ever since he sat down), the pot in your hands. If you've noticed he's emptied the cups faster than a normal person, you don't ask questions. He's thankful, but can see the amusement and confusion laced across your pretty face.

"More?" you ask, but it's unnecesary. He only nods, and you miss the chatter.

The closeness it's a challenge itself, the uniform's neckline practically shoved down his nose while she fills the cup to the brim. He hears his own heartbeat, the sound averting his attention from another "brief" glance at the cleavage. Is it intentional? Is your goodwill and act? Are you this cruel, playing with an old touch starved man like that?

God knows it's been long since he's had a helping hand during his relief hours.

He can't help it; he's a man, after all. So he seizes the moment and steals a glance. But his eyes meet yours, the wary green clashing with the cozy chocolate. There's warmth on your eyes, and he's looking at your tits like an animal. He pulls away, ashamed. The shirt feels a bit suffocating, and there's sweat on his forehead again. Great, you'll think he's a perv.

"Excuse me" you say, leaving his table. Logan is afraid of having fucked it up for thinking with this dick and not with his head. You were messing too much with his head, and now he'll pay the price. Fair, he thinks, for a perverted old man trying to woo a girl younger and far more innocent than him.

There's benevolance on her smile and blood on his hands.

The whole situation is stupid.

But then he's thinking of excuses (like saying it's his failing eyesight's fault) and something close to an apology, as if he cares a little too much about what you think. And then you come back.

"I forgot to bring you a napkin" she lies, leaving the piece of paper in the middle of the table. You laugh, and Logan let's you because 1. He deserves it, and 2. It's a sound as saccharine as the smell the freshly heated pies emit on the table across him.

You leave before he can even open his mouth, so all he's left with is the napkin that seems to have something written on it. Pervert, he reads, on the same calligraphy you scribbled on your bloc. He can't help but laugh, even with your watchful look on him.

That's how it continued.

Even if he had other rides and more energy to drive, he kept coming to the decaying diner just to see you. Almost as if he was forgetting his desperate need for the money, the boat goal further and further.

"You've forgotten about me" complained Charles, although his tone lacked of bite. "But I'm not mad that you've had".

He'd go on, rambling about living life but Logan just laughed. Yet, maybe he was right. Didn't even need his powers to know it.

Now, you? you simply couldn't get enough of your favorite costumer. Of his late stays until you closed, sometimes not muttering more than necessary, yet his company, even if curt, proved to be what you needed to make it through work, giving you a legitimate reason to yearn the before tedious night shifts.

Despite this two month weird relationship, Logan is as a stranger to you as he was the first day, no matter how many times you've tried to get him to talk. In the end, all your conversation efforts feel more of a monologue than a chat.

He knows about your mom and your dad, one strict the other dead. He knows most of your friends names, what you're studying and what you wanted to. Your dreams and your hopes, your aspirations, failures, and some other things you'd never say to anyone else out loud. All and nothing. And he listens, sometimes asking questions, but never about himself. He never takes the lead.

So frustration from the Logan enigma pours into you, the puzzle pieces layed out over your mind, consuming your thoughts. So now you're stubbornly cleaning the same grease spot on a table you've already wipped before, and that, coincidentally, it's the booth in front of Logan, the permanent resident of your head during these past weeks. You might as well make him start paying rent by now, his power and hold over you ridiculous.

"It's not going anywhere. Take it easy" he mocks you.

There's a bit of annoyance when you reply back, although it's mostly superficial. "Don't know what you're talking about" comes out your dry response, earning a low chuckle from him.

"How about you sit for a moment?" he offers, ignoring your apathy. "You're almost done cleaning up".

If his ever changing attitude isn't enough, closing this night's shift is as tiring.

Logan doesn't expect you to obey, but now you're sitting across from him, and a voice in his head says you maybe feel sorry for this lunatic old man.

You're so close, he can see the eye bags and sorrow you are far tired to try to hide.

"I have to finish cleaning" you explain, "we're about to close".

He doesn't know why he says it, or what takes over him when he says:

"I could wait for you"

He surprises himself and surprises you too.

"No need" you assure, and why does he feel so dissapointed. It's stupid. "My friend picks me up".

Ah, yes. The friend with the perfect stupid smile that picks you up every night. Not like he parks his car until you leave and sees the scene unfold each time, his white knuckle grip on the wheel a bit too much when the young boy opens up your door. Makes him see red, knowing he's your age and maybe the breathe of fresh air you need. Not a man far older, who bears too many sins and scars in and out.

"I see" he says after some minutes in silence, retracting his impulsiveness. "I'm sorry if I made you-"

"No!" you clarify hastily, "it doesn't bother me".

He smiles unconsciously in relief.

"Well, me neither. I insist. If you change your mind" he's practically begging, despite his monotone tone.

But you don't.

The place closes and Logan is forced to get in the car. He lights a cigarette, in no hurry to return home. The lighter lights up while the diner's light goes off. You and your boss come out, biding each other goodbye. She leaves and you're is left alone, hugging your body in the early morning cold.

He sees you wearing particular clothes, for the first time. He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes running up and down your bare legs, the fragile fabric of the skirt fluttering in the wind. He exhales, watching as you dials your phone several times, getting no response, obviously frustrated.

He mutters something under his breath, and maybe there is a God after all. He starts the car, approaching her, who has already noticed it, probably because of the noise of the engine.

She looks scared, but Logan rolls down the window so she can see it's him.

"Need'a ride?"

Just by his reverberant sound you could accept. But you try to play cool for a while, despite your aching bones and need to get home.

"He doesn't answer" he was right, "my friend".

I know, he wishes to say, but he's the same hot headed asshole who walked through the doors of the X mansion for the first time, so his tone will be laced with irony. He doesn't want you to see him as an intense hot blooded mouth.

I could take you. His head pounds but he shuts the emotions down.

He shoves the knot on his throat down and asks as casually as possible, "do you live close?"

"Just around the corner" you answer. A beat, your frame bending so he can see your face from the driver's sit, the cleavage saying hello again. How considerate of you. "Do you really want to do this?"

Do you really want to do this?

The question rings on his ears. It holds more than just the favor. Logan knows they have a certain tension between them that he no longer wants to ignore. For the first time it seems to be reciprocated; palpable, and he is surprised to hear his heart beating loudly, so accustomed to hearing others' with his sharp senses, constantly forgetting what his own sounds like. Yours also beats erratically, despite your calm composure.

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "I can't believe you waited for me. Your family must be worried."

Logan realizes you're trying to test waters. So he raises his hand discreetly and places it on the door, so you can see the lack of a ring. As expected, your eyes travel to his free finger, and he can swear he sees you breathe with relief, which is funny, because in case you hadn't picked up until now, Logan is very much fucking alone.

"In case you changed your mind," he answers. "I have nowhere else to be."

That is enough of an invitation for you to get in the car.

"I was going to open that door for you" he protests.

You only laugh as you buckle the seatbelt. "It's not that big of a deal, really. You've already done enough for me by doing me the favor".

"It's not that big of a deal" he repeats your words, "as long as I'm of help, that's enough for me".

He smiles wistfully, remembering better times. A part of him still aspires to be that hero everyone loved and remembered, something that clearly doesn't happen anymore (or if it does, it's rare), given the lack of recognition of his former identity in El Paso. He shakes his head, focusing back on the street in front of him. It's too late to get fucking sentimental.

"I like to help too…" you confess, meekly. Logan sighs, how could he not know? "My father used to say that I had the kindest heart he'd ever met. I hope it stays that way, and that when he looks down on me, he's proud".

It hurts Logan to see you be so hard on yourself, as if he didn't do the same.

"I bet all the customers in the place would say you're the sweetest thing they've met", he sees you smile from the corner of his eye, and can't help but emulate it. "Believe me, you're their favorite".

"Thank you, Logan" you say sincerely. However, the affliction that he hates to see crosses your face. So gloomy that you don't even seem the same person.

You wipe away an unexpected tear, but Howlett is faster and notices. You turn around, looking towards the window. Then, you catch a glimpse of his license.

"So… you're a driver" you try to break the silence that Logan has put without knowing why. Maybe to give you some space after being sentimental and opening up again to this closed off wall name Logan, but he knows it's a lie. He's scared. After wanting so much to be closer to you, he cowers, not trusting himself and what he would do trapped in a small space with such an attractive woman. Besides, the tension from the previous conversation was still there.

"You judging me now, honey?" the pet name rolls off his tongue before he catches it. He tries to play it cool, continuing the banter, carrying the same tone. "The only thing necessary to make you trust me was to give you a free ride?

"I'm in your car, Logan. I got in without thinking" you laugh. "I believe that's enough trust"

"Then, I'll keep doing you favors. Maybe if I do…" he trails off.

Your voice drops an octave, provocative. "Maybe what?"

His knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white.

"Maybe…" he hesitates, "maybe…"

"It's here" you point out. Shit, Logan curses, braking abruptly without meaning to.

"See you tomorrow" you bid as a goodbye, getting out of the car. Logan misses your smell.

So he sticks his head out the window, like a begging dog.

"How about now?" he says a bit forcefully.

Your face shows surprise and something else.

"You're getting attached" you reply, and he doesn't know why there seems to be sadness in your voice.

"I just keep coming back for the coffee" he defends himself.

You laugh, shaking your head "Now, then. For the coffee, clearly."

"I can leave" he says. Yet, makes no move to leave.

You sigh, giving him one last look. Surrender, he reads.

"You're a driver, right?" he nods, taking in every word coming of your pink plush lips. "Then let's drive off. Anywhere" your voice trails off, and you're just so tired of everything, you'll just let go yourself with the flow. "I'll go wherever you go..."

And this is how it ends.

When you wake up, it's almost dawn.

Logan had suggested you to sleep, claming the road where he was taking you to be long. He had covered you with his jacket, even if your body was burning from nerves.

Why had you agreed? Your mom would probably smack your head in search for some sense, and your reckless friends would encourage you to do it for the sake of a story. But something about Logan makes you feel safe, despite not knowing anything from him. It's sort of a sense of protection―like he would never hurt you, that envelops him. Everyone else would call you crazy; only you can understand that.

When your eyes adjust to the light, you realize you're in a line of cars.

"Did you bring me to the border?" you exclaim groggily, still in a sleepy voice.

"Good morning" he answers instead.

You rub yoou eyes, settling into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to kidnap me, right?" you question, half joking half serious.

Logan laughs, "Not only that. I'm also going to throw your body in a mass grave"

"It's not funny," you pout, although you're laughing too.

Once you've crossed the border, Logan drives a few more minutes, until he reaches a restricted area.

“I live here” he answers before you can ask, “saves rent and questions”

After opening the locks, you can better appreciate the place. Well, appreciate may not be the right word.

“It's an abandoned smelting plant” you voice out loud.

Logan just nods. You realize that he didn't like the comment, so you try not to talk about it anymore.

“Come” he gets out of the car, going to open your door. He offers you a hand, and you fail to hide your smile.

“You didn't miss this time, huh? Quite a gentleman” you praise. Then, add jokingly, “if you choose to kill me, at least I'll die taken care of".

“Stop talking nonsense and go inside” he scolds but smiles.

Inside, the abandoned plant is exactly what you expected.

"We're alone" Logan says, after leaving to check. He opens the door to his room, letting you in. There's not much inside, just a bed and scattered things. A yellowish light begins to filter through the broken glass. "I'mma change. Be right back".

You begin to explore your surroundings, to avoid thinking about the impact of the situation. Two things could happen: leave or stay. Maybe everything was going too fast, but you prided yourself on your spontaneity, often confused with impulsiveness. Others would say it was your naive nature: too innocent for your own good.

What had led you to accept without further ado? Was trust enough, that you had even fallen asleep in his car?

"S'rry for the wait"

You notice that Logan's gotten rid of his formal attire, leaving him in just slacks and an old white tank top. His muscles flex with every movement, making you swallow involuntarily. He still retains his extraordinary physique, despite his greying hair. She can't help but stare at the scars that cover his exposed skin, her fingers itching to trace them.

"Haven't they told ya' t's rude to stare?"

You look away, embarrassed. Logan walks over to the bed, bumping into you in the process, bodies barely touching. Still, an electric shock runs through you. You hug yourself, scared, aware of the effect he has on you.

"Logan" she dares to ask, "what are we doing?"

He finally looks at you. You feel naked under his intense gaze.

"What do you want us to do?"

His voice comes out low, like a growl. You stand in place stiff, unable to form a word.

"Come on, honey", the nickname comes out of his lips so easily, it hurts. "Are ya losing your voice now? Got into my car a while ago without thinkin', what's changed?"

You slowly approach Logan, each stride calculated. He watches you in silence, a silence as hostile as the wind hitting the broken windows, watching you remove your clothes, until all that's left is your bra and that skimpy skirt, as if you knew he liked it.

"Logan…" you whisper his name like a prayer, letting yourself fall on his legs. He holds you with his hard calloused fingers, like a promise.

Don't let me fall. Don't let me go. Don't leave me.

The habit of loneliness settles in between, and the flame they thought in deep slumber rekindles, burning with their long time unattended needs.

"Use your words, sweet thing" the trepidation condenses between, "we're grown up now, aren't we? Use your words"

If by words he meant feeling your lips against his, it's enough to have Logan following his impulses, using his strength to embrace your body until they feel like one, the scars on his hands feeling like your own. Your lips move in sync, and it's almost so casual, so learned, so meant to be, that fear appears in Logan, soon forgotten with the symphony of moans that come from your lips.

"Tell me" he pauses, breaking away from the kiss (something you don't like and express in the form of a pout), "what do you want?"

Logan tastes like cigars and whiskey, a combination you hate and the reason you quit your old job at the bar, but on his lips, it's an intoxicating taste.

"I want you, Logan" you whisper, hot breath against his skin, “you”.

He resumes the kiss, an electric shock of hunger and need between you: lips parted, colliding, teeth almost clashing against each other.

His fingers hesitate with a delicacy that belies his rough touch, the tips of his worn fingers lifting the fragile cloth of your skirt first, revealing soaking wet panties he goes crazy just at the sight of. The smell is sugary, sicklingly, so now he's hard and pulling at the clasp of your bra first, exposing your nipples, which he rolls and pinches mercilessly. A gasp escapes you—then another, and another as Logan pushes his thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, almost painful against your pulsing center.

His hand firm up his position, securing itself onyour bare legs as you digs her nails into him. His labored moans turn into a guttural growl.

“You think I’m not capable?” he mocks, stealing another moan from her, “that I can’t keep up with you, you pretty young thing?”

You deny it, but Logan takes it upon himself to show you that he can take you like he's in heat, the ghost of his old self taking over in his almost animal way of fucking you, hips arched, muscles flexed and tense, his teeth appearing every time he opens his mouth, reminding you of fangs. They dig into your exposed skin, leaving bruises that will take time to disappear from your shoulders and neck, marking what belongs to him.

The hardness of his skin meets your soft when he grabs you by the waist.

"Look at you" it slips from his tongue, ecstatic. He's a goner, saliva dripping from the messy and sloppy kisses he leaves through your collarbone, "so good and so pure. I bet you're innocent, that you haven't seen what I've seen..."

His pupils darken, a strange mix between torment and desire in his gaze. Hungry and violent.

"Will you let me show you how's a real man s'ppossed to treat a woman?"

He feels shame settle in his belly, the hunger to possess her almost virgin body fueling his dark desire of errasing her sweet smile until she's an unintelligible mess of sobs. To show her what she would complain about, so she'll never slettle for less. So you can feel what it's to be taken care of―handled. And then he'll fill you up with his seed, so no other man will take what's his. His sweet little thing. Oh, he's so going to hell for this.

But maybe he likes pain.

"That's it, honey" he plays with the fabric of your wet panties, pulling at the loose threads in the delicate fabric. "Let me show you".

You take it off, and Logan lies back against the bed, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his belt and pants―a clear invitation to repeat the previous position, except this time, his hands are on top of your hips, squeezing the soft skin. He doesn't take his eyes off you, his gaze reserved only on you. If the adrenaline from before pushed you, now the confidence gained motions you to finish the task. It's just the push you need, remembering that this is what it feels like to be with a real man as you throw a leg over his hips, sitting your ass right on top of the bulge marked on his underwear.

“Right… there…” he barely manages to formulate a coherent train of words, the years of lack of help in attending to his needs leading to overstimulation, “good girl.”

The compliment makes you increase the pace of your hips, his labored breaths a sound so rich and so manly it makes you squirm.

You need it desperately, rubbing your increasingly wet clit against him, riding the fabric. His scruffy beard barely hides the smug smile that graces his lips.

“Like this?” she whispers, and Logan can no longer contain himself, staring at his sweaty, ripped body failing to please her completely. It feels so good it aches, and he can't believe this is how he's ended. But if that means having your pretty face on top of him, covered in his marks, dripping on your joint sweats, well maybe it isn't so bad.

“How can I repay you, honey?” he pleads. He'll try he's best. He just wants to give you a glimpse of the way his whole world has light up ever since he stumbled in that greasy diner.

“You said you were going to show me” it comes out almost as a purr, expectant, “and I’m waiting”.

Logan takes it as his cue, pulling down his underwear until his member is exposed, chuckling darkly when you swallow at the sight.

"Don't tell me you're scared already" he teases, "look how you have me… you can't leave me like this…"

You stifle a scream as you feel every inch of his thick cock enter your sensible walls, trying to fit his member inside of your needy body.

"So tight for me" he stammers, using his hands to keep you in place, on top of him. The only sound in the silence of that place that smells of death is that of their skin colliding―vulgar, the obscenity highlighted by being the only thing that can be heard in the small room.

Even though his stamina has dropped over the years, he thrusts into you relentlessly. Logan fucks you senseless, his balls buried deep in your dripping pussy, a constant rhythm of avid suction with each entry to your walls.

He takes a moment to see you as you take something from the nighstand he doesn't remember putting there.

"Look what I found" you whisper in the middle of your moans. Logan recognizes the shine of metal in front of his eyes, "so Wolverine?"

You say it so easily, like it's not the first time. With acceptance; it scares him.

Do you recognize him? Are you not scared? Why haven't your eyes go from curiosity and kindness to cold and rejection?

He should panic, rip off his dog tags from your hands and pretend he doesn't know who he used to be, but he's so deep inside you and so enraptured, he can only manage to gently take them from between your fingers and put them around your neck, the cold metal against your warm, bare skin creating an electric shock.

"I want to see them on you"

He likes to watch it hang over his face while you're on top, panting heavily as she repeats his name, slurring her words. It dangles with every thrust, the silver glistens in the seeping sun, just like the sweat that adorns her skin.

"Are you that needy of your old man? " he teases, caressing her. He smacks the curve of his ass, “You want more?”

His veiny length makes quick work of your needy hole, more moans escaping your lips.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at the pain that begins to increase. “Yes, Logan. Just like that. Nobody ever treated me like that, nobody's made me feel like this-”

He moans, pleased with the praise, seeing he isn't as lacking as he thought. Making you feel good is his priority, but he won't lie and say he doesn't want to feel it too.

In an attempt to distract yourself, your eyes try to focus on him: searching his features, memorizing every scar, every wrinkle, every little grey hair.

“You’re perfect, Logan,” you mumble through a moan, the confession hiding more than you want to say and more than he cares to admit.

Before he can process it though, the fire in his stomach signals the arrival of his impending orgasm.

There's something delightful about the way you can barely speak, a mess of moans that sound like his name, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen alongside your messy hair.

He feels almost sick to be consuming something that doesn't and shouldn't belong to him. He doesn't deserve to have such a beautiful, young woman riding him while she clings to him like he's the last thing in this world, him: a worn, old man who can't keep up with her.

His member spasms, and it's got you feeling it all inside your walls, causing him to close his eyes in the process as well.

It's too soon, Logan thinks in shame, but it's been so long and you feels so good, he let's it go:

Thick whips of his cum shoot out of his member, drawing out more than you would've imagined. You don't have much time to think about it, for the orgasm hits you immediately, fingers curling and eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Logan feels his tip getting wetter, and the extra lubrication is a nice finishing touch.

“God,” he gasps, “what a mess…”

You avoid looking at him, taking one of his hands in yours, kissing the red and violet painted knuckles. If you do, you'll give away what you feel, the same way her memory burns in Logan's chest, more now than ever, as his mouth tastes just like you.

Dependency.

Devotion. Absolute. Sick.

Maybe that was what he felt. This weird feeling. That abyss piercing his chest but never killing him (so much for regenerating...), pressing his heart with a crushing force whenever it threathened to beat again. Logan was content with rather nothing, always a man who didn't ask for much, and since the death of his family―the X-men, less.

"You should go" he mutters in defeat, the shame washing over. Even if he'll miss your warmth, even if he doesn't want you to leave at all. "It's for your own good, y/n. Pretend you don't know me and turn around. Go away" he insists yet gets stuck on his words, "you're not stupid. Then you'll know it's good for you and you'll never speak to me again"

He looks at the ground, cowardly, because he wants your lust filled warm look to be the last memory he remembers. Not whatever look you're giving him now.

So Logan closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, you'll be gone. It'll be a dream, something too good to be true. Short lived, like every good thing in his life.

"Logan..." you calls his name. So softly it seems like a breath.

You're still here.

"Logan" you call again, more firmly.

"Logan" you don't give up, cupping with one hand his face gently, "look at me".

When he looks up, he comes across a heartbreaking vision. You cry, tears falling like waterfalls down your cheeks. But that's not the most devastating thing, no: it's the look in your eyes, as if you've shared his pain. As if you've had suffered the same things he had suffered; a twisted reflection of him.

"Of course I understand you" you take his hands, and Logan feels that same strange warmth he felt the first time when your hands brushed his with the diner's menu. "I've also lost people… people I loved. Don't you think it hurts me to see the world go on as if nothing happened? Everyone forgets, Logan. But I can't; there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about them"

For a moment, you stop crying, and the hidden internal turmoil he tried so hard to decipher finally makes sense.

"I don't know what you've been through either, but I can promise you, that I understand you more than you think…" it seems like you'll say something else, but you stop and say instead. "Think, Lo: would these people want to see you like this?"

"It's what I deserve" he murmurs barely, his voice constipated but without shedding a single tear.

"It's not what we want, Logan. Please" you sniff, pained "stop being so hard on yourself".

"I'm not who you think I am" he insists. You're still naked on his bed, and he feels dirty for having you like this. For taking you to his home and fucking you raw out of your innocence. "I'm not a good person."

"No, Logan" you seem hurt by that statement. You trace one of his most recent scars with a touch so compassionate, that he feels your fingertips burn, "you are a hero".

Your words were so sweet, so comforting. He wanted to sink into your lap, which smelled like flowers and tasted like safety. A home; a life that had been taken from him. He wanted to believe everything you said―feel who you believed he was. Not this pathetic, tired and apathetic version of himself, but the old version: the version that inspired respect, that despite his tough exterior, had a family he loved. Because he had a heart. Now he feels like he has no soul: no purpose, nothing.

But maybe you are the answer.

Before he can change his mind, you blurt out “can I stay?”

That morning, in that old bed that creaks under his weight, Logan discovers that feeling alive again isn't so bad.

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kroosluvr · 2 months ago

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the celeste celexcity kroosluvr swap au (i don't have a good name for this yet)

basics bc i haven't decided much yet

UHHH basically what it says on the images... akira is playing on maruki's side and they don't know if it's just to be a contrarian or if he actually believes in it. but akira in this au is very ends-justify-the-means + the fact that he's a dead man so he dgaf that it's the "wrong decision." he won't be there to see it anyways, no matter which route they take, but at least in the fake reality umm One version of akira kurusu is happy!

engine room and stuff plays out as normal i imagine those black mask plot beats r the same

+ post engine room, in 3rd sem akira's personality doesn't rlly change all that much. hes always been Shrewd Scammer Silver tongued untrustworthy bastard type and nothing changes even then. there are moments when he seems more 'vulnerable' but also sumire+goro cant be certain if its an act either

i think akira has a "well if they both hate me thatll make things easier" mindset regardless

shido is still goro's dad and all that and akira works for shido for whatever reason and he learns abt that and holds it over goro's head the same way he grates on sumire abt kasumi

o yeah akira wasnt like Particularly close w kasumi (he isnt particularly close w anyone) but they talked casually. he never rlly met sumire. it's funny when he meets 'kasumi' bc like obviously shes lying LMAO but he just genuinely doesnt care enough to find out (<- akira very selfish and just focused on his own goals on his lonesome). either way his interactions w her are funny bc hes like Hahahh yeah... (What hte hell isgoing on. Whatever)

also i think this goro doesn't meet all the pthieves/confidants in the same Order as canonverse akira, like i feel like he'd "team up" with yusuke first somehow (ake/kita fan THUMBSUP EMOJ)

sumire basically thesame. i changed her earring color frm gold-> silver just for differentiation pruposes (and itll fit better w her pthief design in swap bc itll be differnetntn!!! yay!!) uhhh but shes kinda more sardonic out loud thanks to akira being annoying

shes rlly embarrassed abt being "kasumi" to goro and so shes all like distancing herself like "sorry i know it was stupid of me and i totally get it if u dont trust me anymore bc i wasnt who i said i was" etc but goros also like thats in the past and also we kinda are the only ones in the world rn so we just have to put that aside for now and also kick akiras ass

THATS AL I CAN THINK OF RN it's kinda vibes right now bc im never good at figuring out entire plotlines LMFASOPFJS024320 falls over. Major plot holes probably and shit wont make sense it's a big JUST TRUST ME + i just wanna draw random stuff w them moment ummm uhh uh runs

#swap au #goro akechi #sumire yoshizawa #akira kurusu #persona 5 royal #royal trio #cele draws #long winter

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everyones-least-favorite-bard · 1 year ago

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thinking about the ship of theseus as a concept and how it applies to kdj. how much of yourself can you cut away before you cant be called the same person anymore. how many times can you kill yourself before there stops being enough of you to be killed. how much of yourself can you tear into pieces and throw away before the callousness with which you do it becomes a fixed apathy. how many repairs can be made to the ship of theseus before it stops being his.

honestly feel like it applies to yhk in general really well too. han sooyoung and her avatars in a literal sense since she is quite literally sectioning herself off into pieces whenever she uses the skill; yoo joonghyuk more metaphorically since we see in the 1863rd round whats basically like. the stripped to nothing recognizable ship now returned to theseus (kdj). but i feel like with kdj its just The Worst because we look at the scenarios themselves and like kdjs half performative half genuine flippant reveals of his deepest traumas and at his thinly veiled suicide attempts (sacrifices) are just. hello? i mean each one of those just guts him further and further and we see the literal actual fourth wall continue thickening to the point where (given we observe in kcoms pov) who is kim dokja? whats left after you peel back all the skins hes discarded? what makes the ship of theseus the ship of theseus?

and then you throw in the sucker punch of the 49/51 debacle and the question stops being like a vague overhanging vibe to the story and instead becomes the focal point of it: how much of a person can you strip away before they stop being the person you know? and i really truly think orv answers this. it answers it in the most beautiful way possible and the answer is that if theseus loves the ship. its his ship. the ship of theseus can be 1% original parts, it can be 49%, it can be 99%, it doesnt matter. the ship of theseus is theseus' ship because he loves it and as long as it continues to be loved it will continue to sail under his name.

and idk. i think about that a lot. people love you regardless of how much they know about you and thats the point. being known often precludes being loved but sometimes people know you because they love you. the ship of theseus is his because he loves it. yeah.

#its very late sorry if this doesnt make any sense #im just thinking about it like #a lot. a very lot #kim dokja you are so so loved #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader #kim dokja #kdj #yjh #yoo joonghyuk #orv spoilers #omniscient reader spoilers #han sooyoung #hsy #yoohankim #yhk

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iplayghoul · 1 year ago

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hot tub sex wit ony ? drabble ?? oneshot ?? this longer than i thought it wld be i just cant stop talkin... its 11 am bruh

its soooo obvious that im more into a soft sex kinda vibe, always or rough sex written in the most gentle and soft way possible 🙈

so i cant help but constantly imagine hot tub sex wit ony. in my head at the start of the relationship he constantly gravitates towards our apartment. in his mind he felt it was safer for his partners always, not wanting you to feel yk at danger in a man's house despite how safe he made you feel BUT ofc you have a jacuzzi.

in this universe, like in my head, i imagine both ony and reader have jobs in the medical feild likkee maybe ony is a surgeon and reader is a private psychiatrist who sometimes picks up shifts at the hospital onyankopon works at ???

ANYWHO becuzz of this they sometimes work hard ass shifts, whether theyre long or short, its hard as fuckk and they come home tired. ony gets home first, maybe an hour earlier and he has a key card to your apartment so he can let himself in, feeds your pets and relaxes on the couch, thinking of if he should make you two dinner or order sumn.

then he thinks of the jacuzzi, a nice relaxing hot soak after a hard shift is all he needs so he stops petting your cat or roughhousing with the dog and orders sushi, grabbing a drink of his choice whether it be wine, a light alcohol or sum shit for yall to sip when the sushi comes.

i think you get home not long after the sushi is delivered. maybe 10 minutes later and its still fresh and warm OUU shit i need sum sushi rn 😭 and ony fine ass is in some black swim shorts with the sushi all out on a platter wit the sauces on it, and hes got his feet in the water while he jus sits on the side of the jacuzzi and calls out to let yk where he is

you take a quick rinse off before donning a bikini, a black one to match his b4 putting up your braids and joining him on the edge wit a kiss. i like to think ony loooves kissing. he loves stimulatin his mouth n his lips. its a long, soft kiss and u cant help but lean into each other its like ugghh at last i can relax and let my gaurd down and just be vulnerable after being in this big position at work yk? 🤭

so you share several long kissing before both getting waist deep into the hot tub, letting the bubbling heated fun engulf you both as you down pieces of sushi, feeding each other while staying connected at the hip. i think he cant help but put his hands on u, always letting it rest on ur hip. sometimes i tink he jus likes to be touching you at all times its like a safety thing, sometimes jus resting his hand on your shoulder, ankle, tummy, dont matterrr he wants to kno ur there.

its only a matter of time before talking about each others day becomes nothing more than a whisper of a conversation. and ur eyes cant leave each others lips... necks, chests... and then ur kissin again :) hehee and kissin all over each other so tenderly and meek.

just then hes slipping his hands under ur peachy squishy ass n lifting u to the edge of the tub, kickin ur feet in the air and he sees ur toes are done. pretty pink polish with a baby pink french tip, and baby pink flower designs dancing across a few toes ... hes not one to have a raging foot fetish but it entices him,,, sooo he puts ur toes in his mouth and it tickles a bit ! but feeling his hot tongue caress ur little toes carelessly makes u feel all warm, especially ur cheeks.

eeeeek and then he jus cant help but continue to lick , suck n kiss all about your ankle, i imagine ur gold/silver lil anklet has his name awn it cuz he doesnt want u to tattoo his name :<< , but his lips smooth there way up to your inner thighs and hes pullin ur panties to the side so his thick lips can sink into ur thick lips as he slowly jus... makes out wit ur cunt idk if i can even call it 'eating out' anymore, hes in luv with ur pussy. obsessed wit the way u smell down there actually. fuck a roses and flowers smell bitch he is stealin yo panties after a LONG day at work tf 😭 he jus like me fr ok ok.

i jus luv a soft sex moment, his tongue mixes wit u sooo well and ur whines are of no use to him cuz he's havin fun and everythings jus so... slow and relaxed. ur grindin up into his face slow too cuz what else can u do but relax and just let your man do his thing. hes laying his upper body into you, drinkin ur squirt when u cum and mushin his face all in ur cream when u do orgasm, its long and drawn out and so. good.

then he pulls u back in the water wit him, slippin his dick in u fluidly, connecting u both and honestly yall sit there for a good minute. just basking in each others immaculate warmth. the fuck is dragging , sloww and aching but neither of u care to move faster. ur holdin the edge of the tub and hes holdin ur legs up to your shoulders , usin each other as leverage to fuck into the other slow and deep. low moans r harmonizing wit each other and its just... perfect :(

all thruought the fuck n i cannawwt stress this enuf he is kissin on u , he cant help it. he revels in kissin all over ur face and lips even if ur too far gone to kiss him back , kissin on ur neck and ur tits that are all squished together cuz of the position annnnd kissin on ur thighs and ur legss as theyre so far up he can reach em wit his mouth. he presses kisses on ur head too . u deserve it :(( ohh u deserve it so bad and its moments like these that i luv always.

even when u guys cum , ur lips are locked and ur swallowing each others moans, and breathin hot in each others mouths when ur done.

why is this so long notice how i cant shut tf up ab soft sex ???? bye yall !

#﹒﹒﹒💗 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦: 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 💌 �� !#aot onyankopon #onyankopon snk #onyankopon smut #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon #ony x reader #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x black reader #worrdd vomit!#aot smut #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot x black reader #black coded characters #onyankopon headcannon

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syoddeye · 3 months ago

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the warren, part five - abscond

price x f!reader | 5.1k words | series page | ao3 tags: alcohol, implied domestic abuse, infidelity, unsettling vibes, darkfic. a/n: run, run, run away. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

“How long?”

“Usual.”

“So, two weeks? Three?”

“Does it fucking matter?” The bag’s zipper hisses harshly as it’s drawn shut. “You making plans?”

You take a breath and ignore the condoms sticking out of the duffel’s pouch, smoothing the quilt at the end of the bed. “No, but I’d like to plan the grocery shopping.”

He cuts you with a blank stare, then fishes out his reds and lighter. His brows lower when your lips purse, but you don’t say a word. Smoking indoors is repulsive, but it’s not worth it—not now.

“Three.” The lighter clicks. “Won’t have my phone on me. But I’ll text when I’m on my way back, so you can plan to have dinner ready.”

You rise at the beep of the coffee pot in the kitchen. It’s three am, and the sunrise is a distant thought in the deep indigo sky. You dream of fixing him decaf, of him nodding off and driving off the road. Flipping the car or soaring through the windshield. The scene is crystal clear in your imagination, vivid and visceral. With a smile, you hand him his thermos and lunch box for the road.

“Goodbye.” you murmur as he bypasses you completely, not bothering with acts of affection anymore. You watch him toss his work bags into the truck bed and flinch as he violently yanks the door open.

“And good luck.”

You watch the truck until it disappears around the bend, hand pressed to your thundering heart. It’s not him. It’s not even the same model. It’s just a white truck. There must be dozens driving around the lake right now. It’s guilt rearing its ugly head. A ghost. Of course, things remind you of him, but it’s as if kissing John brought them into focus. One man’s affection dredging the maltreatment of another.

Swallowing hard, you turn and continue. It’s Saturday, the store’s busiest day, and you cannot be late.

Sure enough, there are customers already inside. The radio by the register spouts the weather forecast, a blissful day in the mid-seventies, and transitions into an upbeat song. The smile on your face grows at the sight of John wishing a couple in hiking gear a good time on the trails. His eyes flick over their heads to you as you pass, and you feel them when you duck into the back room to hang your bag on the hook.

“Good morning.”

You turn, finding John filling the doorway, and you cannot stop yourself from glancing at his mouth. “Morning.”

“Sleep well? I know I did.”

You nod automatically, though it’s a white lie, stomach jumping at the smug tinge to his voice. You don’t recall your dreams, but you woke up with a name on your tongue like a curse, hallucinating nicotine.

“I did.” You flirt, eager to move on from memory. “Can’t imagine why.”

John nods in return, quiet for a moment of study. His eyes pinch a fraction. “Don’t s’pose you’ve heard the news?”

Your brows raise. News?

His expression softens, and a hand finds your elbow, tugging you close. “Well…”

It’s terrible, and it happens every summer. As perennial as the balsamroot or beardtongues growing on the mountain.

An inevitability when you mix alcohol, winding roads, and the brand of arrogance unique to young men, so John says. He consoles you, arms encircling you the second your lip quivers. The three faces of the men are fresh, and it isn’t a great leap for your mind to pulverize and paint them bloody. To bend and wrap limbs around their crumpled Jeep. John whispers comforts in your ear and wipes the tears you shed for the strangers, as unpleasant as they were.

Someone raps their knuckles on the counter. John takes the time to kiss you anyway.

It leaves you dizzy when he finally breaks it to assist the customer. You lean on the wall, head slotted between coat hooks, and collect yourself.

Of course, you did not like the strangers and did not care to know them. You admittedly wished them ill or injury, but for their short lives to be snuffed out as gruesomely as they were? No one deserves that.

A steady flow of customers eventually eases the weight, their excitable moods, chattering about their vacation plans. John claps a hand on your shoulder in the afternoon and tells you to take the rest of the day, says it’s sweet you’re so tender-hearted, like a good girl.

In his fashion, he doesn’t leave time to process that.

“Come back at close. I’d like to talk about last night.”

The sound of gravel crunching lifts your head from your book, and you tense at the sight of a dark-colored sedan cruising toward the cabin. Tinted windows obscure the driver, and as they idle, you tuck your bookmark and stand. You wish the screened porch was actually capable of keeping anything out.

The car shuts off as the driver pops the door. It’s no stranger. It’s the man from the Echo. Phil.

Your stomach drops.

His smile is brilliant, even in the shade. A pair of sunglasses rest atop his head, flattening a tuft of sandy hair. “Afternoon, miss.” He calls out, strolling leisurely. With his hands planted on his narrow hips, it’s difficult to ignore the holster. You want to believe he’s simply a local, most of them armed to the teeth, but the tucked-in t-shirt emblazoned with pine trees and the words ‘ I had the pine of my life in Ponderosa ' screams ‘not from here’. You briefly wonder if he sees the same thing, looking at you.

You offer a smile anyway. “Hello again.”

“Hope you don’t mind me butting in on your afternoon, but I was hoping you had a minute for a quick chat.”

How he acquired your address and directions, you don’t know. “May I ask what about?”

He smirks and fishes out a thick wallet. He flips it open and presses it to the screen with a chuckle. Three letters in big, bold print. Your prediction manifest. “An investigation I’m assistin’ with.” He dips his head toward the front door. “Mind if I come in, Miss…?”

The faint blare of a horn echoes from the recesses of your mind. His question slams into you one syllable at a time, and the blank space he leaves for your name grabs you by the throat. He isn’t a backwoods landlord. This is someone who’ll run your name through some database. Who has access to records and resources.

So you give him your name, the real one, and hope for the best.

Phil Graves.

A grim name. Hokey, too.

It feels as though you’ve plunged to the bottom of the deepest part of the lake, blood colder than glacial ice. He hasn’t elaborated on what sort of investigation an agency like the FBI would open out here. Nevertheless, you fix him a coffee with four sugars. It’s tooth-rotting, stirring in too many crystals to possibly dissolve, yet he accepts it with a warm thank you.

You stare, a tiny smile glued to your face. Phil’s handsome, you admit. The scar on his cheek and notched ear give him a roguish quality, an edge to his otherwise clean-cut look. You peek at the kitschy shirt.

“I know, not my color.” He jokes. “Tryin’ to blend in. Act as the locals do.”

Having lived among them for weeks, you’re confident in deeming his efforts a failure.

“Y’know, the coffee shop ‘cross the lake makes a good cup. Ever been?” You shake your head. “Shame. Now…” He sets the mug aside to place his phone on the low table. “Mind if I record our discussion? Sharp as I am, I find listening back to these things particularly illuminating.”

“I suppose, but could you tell me what this is about?”

He takes it as consent and taps record . “Certainly. Repeat your name for the recording, Miss…?” His eyes trace your figure in a study as you repeat it. “Although I cannot divulge the original purposes for my traveling to this corner of the country, I was asked to assist with a crash that occurred at approximately zero two hundred. Normally below my paygrade,” He chuckles, “But I thought, hell, I got the time.”

The Jeep. “I heard about that. I thought it was fairly straightforward from what was said on the radio. Drunk driving?”

Phil nods. “Awful thing and under normal circumstances, yes, it would be straightforward. Open and shut, but due to my other work, we’re exhausting all possibilities before calling it.”

Normal circumstances. The phone’s recorder waveform steadily scrolls by. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Let me explain what I can, sugar.” His smile is as practiced and patronizing as it was at the diner. “Two witnesses. First, a hiker camping near the crash site. They reportedly heard at least two bikes racing before the wreck. Then, they heard them come to a stop, idlin’ for several minutes.”

He pauses, almost expectantly, as if you’re supposed to say something.

“Maybe the bikers called in the accident?”

Phil shakes his head. “No, see, after they apparently stopped, there was—and, I’m real sorry if you’re the sensitive type—screaming. Someone was alive in the wreckage.”

A wave of nausea sinks you further into the cushions. “Screaming?”

“Yep. Then it got quiet, and the bikes continued on their way.”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, tongue drying, uncertain as to why Phil’s telling you all this.

“The second witness called in and stated you got into it with those unfortunates earlier in the day.”

Fear pins you to your seat. As if every tissue in your body calcifies instantly, your heart sinking like a stone, and crashing through your rib cage. A stuttering nothing leaves your mouth, a single sound of panic and disbelief. He cannot honestly believe you were involved. What if he’s already looked you up, and only asked for your name for confirmation? What if there’s a bulletin? If he’s notified—

“Can you verify that claim, sugar?”

“Yes, well, no.”

“Yes and no? Which is it?”

You clear your throat to buy a second to compose yourself, but it comes out in a tremulous flood. You chide yourself for folding so easily. “Yes, they came to the store, um, Grouse Grocery? On the main road? I work there, but we didn’t ‘get into it’. They were rude, but they paid for everything and left within five minutes.”

“How’d they leave?”

“They got into a Jeep.”

“Did anyone leave after them? Did you see anyone follow them?”

“I didn’t watch after they left. I was simply glad they did.”

“You said they were ‘untoward’. Elaborate, will you? They hit on you?” He takes a long, loud sip of his coffee and smacks his lips.

“‘Scuse me, pumpkin.”

Pumpkin. You blink, stepping away from the coolers, water cup crinkling in your hand.

The man stoops to grab a can from the melting ice, flicking his fingers free of droplets. He catches you watching and smirks, standing close when he straightens.

“‘Like your dress.” He drawls.

It’s tangerine. Soft, secondhand, and newly mended. You fixed the zipper that morning. “Thanks.”

You expect him to leave after that, rejoin the throng of bodies crammed into the house. Leave you to your wallflower habits. You might still live in the Iron Range if he did.

Instead, he peppers you with questions. You don’t realize he’s flirting until he plants a hand over your head and smiles. All the other boys you’ve fooled around with were mean first. Teasing. He’s different. Polite, charming, and a little rugged. He asks for your plans for the summer and doesn’t make you feel stupid to admit you don’t have any. There’s no job or dorm room waiting. Your father forbade both.

“What about you?”

He licks his teeth. “Heading west in a couple months. Silver’s coming back. Got the last of my certifications and an offer out at a mine. Plenty of money to be made.” he shrugs. “I’m just blowing off steam ‘til then.”

Embarrassment rides on the butterflies in your stomach. A real adult, a man—one with a future and direction. A ticket out.

“Well, one of them more so than his buddies. He called me ‘baby’ and said I was cute,” You hug yourself, shoulders drawing up. “He said he’d find me at close.”

Phil squints and drapes his arms over his knees. “What happened after they left?”

“I kept working. When my boss got in, he decided to close early so I wouldn't have to see those guys again.”

“Who’s your boss?”

A glint in Phil’s eye suggests he knows precisely who owns the store. This, too, must be protocol. Part of his official investigative record. “John Price.”

His lip quirks. “John Price. I’m familiar. Awfully nice of him, to close early and take you home.”

You smile nervously, though you’re unsure why. John paid you a kindness, which led to another. Your belly warms at the memory of him kissing you, but it melts away like film—you didn’t mention John giving you a lift. Pain blooms in your cheek as you sink your teeth into it. Phil finishes the dregs of his coffee, smirking into the mug, seemingly relishing your look of realization. You reach for whatever bit of nerve you have left.

“Do y’know if anyone in town owns a bike? I’d be interested in speaking with them, too.”

“I don’t.”

“What about dirt bikes? There are trails an hour west, and a fork that’s maybe, what, a half hour out?”

Sweat prickles the back of your neck at the words. It’s a fight to keep your face plain and sweet, to stifle the acrid taste of panic. You do know someone with a dirt bike, a man whose scarred skin and jagged features discourage examination. Whose mouth curled when he got a good look at you, cementing that unexplained aversion. An aversion that eddies out of your head and through your teeth.

“Nope. No one.”

Phil’s scrutiny needles at your resolve, testing for weakness. You think he might find it the longer his silence drags on. Agents and officers are trained for this, and you’re…you. You hold yourself tight enough to bruise.

He sucks his teeth as he stops the recording. The phone disappears as he stands. “Thank you for your cooperation and hospitality.”

You escort him to the front door, but he doesn’t leave. Not right away.

Phil rests on the frame and picks at the peeling paint on the jamb. “Can I ask you something off record, sugar? You do proper research before comin’ out here? I know you’re not from here. You’re not…” His voice trails, scanning every feature. “Like them. The locals.”

You did. You aren’t the most savvy user of the Internet; you mostly peruse message boards for jobs and monitor your meager bank account. The homestead didn’t have Wi-Fi, dial-up, or any other means. The satellite dish on the roof was for cable, which was disconnected during your stints alone. You had managed, made do.

“I don’t follow, Mr. Graves.”

“Phil, sugar,” he corrects. “What I’m getting at is, you might want to consider about pullin’ up stakes. Find somewhere else to bed down for a while. Grouse Bay, Ponderosa—the area’s a breeding ground for bad shit. One too many ‘accidents’ if you ask me.”

You frown. “It’s not that bad. It’s summer. People make stupid decisions.”

Phil’s perpetual smile shrinks and tightens into a line. “I’m not just talkin’ about those boys. You oughta crack a book or take a gander at the microfilm at the library. Learn history.”

Despite your disinclination to listen to him, curiosity stings like a side stitch.

“I can tell you more if you’d like.” His mouth splits into a toothy grin. The severity gone. “How’s about we grab coffee? I could accompany you to the library.”

You immediately think of two men who wouldn’t care for that, but mention only one. Given what you’re doing with John, it's hypocritical, but Phil doesn’t need to know the extent of your transgressions. “Thank you for the offer, but my husband–”

“Husband?” He echoes. “Don’t see a ring on your finger. Don’t see a man around. If you’re not interested, you don’t have to lie. Not to me.”

You hope a sliver of honesty keeps you on his good side and him out of your hair. “I’m not lying. I’m here alone because I’m– we’re going through a rough patch. We decided a summer apart would do us good.”

The bite of his dissection returns, and you debate how genuine his interest is. If all his talk about the towns and apparent concern is legitimate. His nose scrunches.

“Shame. Well, should the rough patch become rougher,” He produces a business card. “And you want that coffee after all, text or call.”

You accept the card and a loud meow interrupts.

Phil looks over his shoulder, and his smile falls. Five ferals lounge on the hood and roof of the sedan. The skinny calico stands, claws extending from her paws as she stretches.

“Fucking flea-bitten…” He mutters and swivels back. “Listen miss, considering the sensitivity of our conversations on both our parts, I’d appreciate it if you kept my visit as our little secret. Can I trust you to do that?”

The insinuation isn’t lost on you. Both our parts. It's not that you need motivation on that front; you have no plans to mention Phil to John, Kate, or anyone in town. Not with that pale brute lurking about. A twinge of worry seizes your heart—you can’t warn John, and he has no clue. “I won’t say a word.”

“Atta girl. Have a pleasant evening.”

You think if he wore one, Phil’d tip his hat. He’d wave it at the cats, who take their time abandoning his car. You watch until he disappears around the curve of the driveway, up the hill.

Alone again, you stew.

You’re as sober as the judge who marries you in the courthouse when you pledge eternity. The strangers you asked to witness the moment clap awkwardly as your new husband reels you in for a kiss, the taste of cheap champagne on his lips. The man admires your whirlwind romance, and you can’t disagree, given you didn’t have time to find a dress. The woman nervously comments about having a daughter your age and squeezes your shoulder a little too tight.

A week later, you flee the plains for the desert and spend your honeymoon camping in the truck bed.

After twenty-six hours of driving, you reach the little white house he told you about. He carries you over the threshold and insists on christening the space. He watches from the floor, wrapped in a sheet, as you scamper through the empty rooms and describe what each one will hold.

He joins you at the mouth of a small bedroom upstairs, across from the primary bedroom.

“Dusty Jr. will sleep right here.”

You beam up at him. “If we’re lucky.”

His hand curls over your nape. “We will be.”

You find John at the bottom of the hill, dressed in a fresh shirt with his hair combed. Your fretting over what to wear seems justified.

“Don’t you look nice.”

It’s a dress he’s seen you in before, a modest dark blue number that falls below the knee. The flattery does little to soothe the buzzing under your skin, but it’s appreciated. You spent the rest of the afternoon in a haze after Phil left, feeling like a mouse batted around by a bored cat. His interrogation dredged memories you’d rather leave buried and roused questions you don’t know if you want the answers to. Your turmoil translates to a meek thank you.

John walks you to the Foxhole, pressing a hand to your mid-back all the way to the usual booth.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” It’s not a complete lie. John’s knees touching yours under the table is grounding, the point of contact slowly leaching your worry. “I needed that break today. Thank you.”

“Yeah? What did you get up to?”

I’d appreciate it if you kept my visit as our little secret.

For all your contemplation, you haven’t thought of how to subtly warn John about his acquaintance in a way that won’t incriminate you. And if you are wrong and it’s a misunderstanding, you don’t want to compromise what you have.

“Oh, nothing special. I finished my last book.” you smile. “I’m excited to open a library account next week.”

His eyes flit over you in an elongated pause. “Right.”

Kate drops off John’s ale minutes later, and you surprise them both by ordering a cider. John smirks as you sip.

“Thought so.”

“Thought what?”

“You don’t drink on the first date, which makes this the second.”

You hide a smile behind your glass, the coolness dampening the surge of warmth triggered by the sound of his laugh. How far you’ve come with him, it’s no small feat. With his rough edges, you’d come to know him as the type of man who’d only soften and yield with time. Someone stubborn and terse, but you’d always know where you’d stand with him. An honesty you need.

“I suppose it is.”

“Which leads me to what I wanted to discuss.” He leans on the table, forearms bracketing its width. His voice lowers to a hair above a whisper. “Last night. I know I said I can be patient and I will be, but I have questions. Things I want to clarify, because I want to know if this,” he gestures between you. “Stands a chance of going somewhere.”

It’s only fair. You’ve never rebuffed a man, at least not successfully, and with the deadline of summer’s end, of course he’d have questions.

“Okay, um, shoot.”

“Did I overstep?”

“No, not at all. I just—I haven’t done this in a long time. Been, um, close with a man.”

His cheek bulges with his tongue, working over a thought. “May I ask why? I find it hard to believe, girl as pretty as you.”

“John,” you laugh softly, admonishing him with a shake of your head. The mirth short-lived. “You’re kind. My situation is...complicated.”

“So there is a situation.”

You stare into the pale gold of your glass, shoulders tightening. You stepped in it now. John’s done so much for you. More than Dusty did in years. “I don’t want you to think less of me.”

“I won’t.”

You don’t deserve his earnestness.

With a deep breath, you confess. “Before I came here, I left my h-husband.” You trace the rim to avoid his gaze. “I left, um, a letter stating that I don’t want money or the house. I don’t want anything except to be left alone. I said that if he files, I won’t contest it.” You glance and sputter at the inscrutable look on John’s face. Each syllable feels heavier and more inadequate than the last. “I’m hoping he takes it as a ‘good riddance’ and proceeds without me.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

You realize the irony of betting on an unreliable man. “If he doesn’t, well, every penny I make will go to a lawyer.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“Not once. I made it clear I wasn’t coming back. I won’t ever go back. He has no idea where I am, either.”

A silence stretches between you and through the din of the bar. Your hands fall to your lap, twisting the hem of your dress, studying him intently for some clue. His expression remains unreadable, calm in a way that makes your stomach cramp and your heartbeat climb to your throat. Each passing second amplifies the tension, the wait unbearable, until finally—

“I can see why you’d hide something like that.” John sighs. “I’m surprised, sweetheart, but I understand. I forgive you for keeping secrets.”

The knot in your stomach loosens with his absolution. You take his hand when he offers it, palm enveloping yours, commanding your undivided attention.

“I’ve learned that at times, a measure of cruelty is necessary, if meted out properly by careful hands. I assume your husband deserves your abandonment. You don’t seem the type to make decisions lightly.”

“I’m not.”

“Disloyalty seems unnatural to you too, at least, not without reason.”

“No.”

“Did he–”

“‘M I interruptin’?”

A deep and rumbling voice nearly startles you out of your chair, hand sliding out of John’s to stop your glass from tipping. Craning your neck, you instantly break into a cold sweat.

“Simon. Didn’t see you come in.”

“Reckon you wouldn’t, with your distraction.”

The man— Simon , is more monstrous up close. His face is a roadmap of scars, twisting like roots across his jaw and over the bridge of his nose. His body eclipses the rest of the room, darkening the table with mass alone. You can’t help but stare, pulse quickening, imagining what it would take to leave marks like that on a person. You desperately hope Phil’s wrong or that his witness proves unreliable. You would not want this beast for an enemy.

You’re introduced, and to your relief, there is no handshake.

“Ran that errand.”

John reclines in his seat, arms crossing. “Any trouble?”

“None. Later?” Simon’s eyes cut to you.

“Tomorrow.”

The big man chuckles, mouth twisting into an approximation of a smile. “Right. Tomorrow. If ya need me….” Simon lumbers away, heading for a stool at the far edge corner where Kate plants a dark ale.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You snap to John, a wry grin on his face.

“Don’t worry ’bout him. Looks that way ’cause of a bad accident some years back.” He nods in Simon’s direction. “He’s harmless. He helps me with the rabbits.”

You fidget with your glass, unable to picture that behemoth handling such fragile creatures. John’s vouching puts you more at ease. “I didn’t say anything.“

He laughs and reclaims your hand. “Sweet girl, I’m only teasin’. Why don’t we get some air, hm?”

You politely jump at the chance—anything to put distance between yourself and the suspect at the bar. John leads you past a leering Simon and into the woods behind the Foxhole. A dirt path cuts toward the lake, and the moon casts a white glow on the water, providing just enough visibility. Lights from campsites and cabins dot the far side of the bay.

John slots you at his side, rubbing your arm with a callused hand. You’re content to remain silent for a few minutes to let your heart return to a steadier rhythm. John’s a solid place to rest.

“I am sorry for lying,” you finally whisper. “But I was scared.”

“You didn’t trust me, and that’s okay.” John corrects. “You learned, didn’t you? That I’m here for you?”

You nod sheepishly, tucking further into him. “I didn’t think you’d want me after you found out.”

Gently, he peels you from his side and chucks your chin. He stares down his nose with an amused glint. “Oh, I want you, sweetheart,” His other hand finds your waist. “Question is, do you want me? Do you want this?”

You haven’t wanted in a long time. You thought you’d forgotten how to, convinced yourself you didn’t want or need anything. But it’s muscle memory, surging up to kiss him, and he meets you halfway.

It’s different from the first time. It’s deliberate, borderline reverent, and encourages you to slow down. Reassuring in how it doesn’t feel like he’ll disappear or change his mind. His beard scratches your face as he gradually deepens it, his tongue sliding over your lips and over yours. You taste the citrus of his ale and tobacco in a way you don’t mind.

Breaking for air, you remind him once more. “Are you sure? I am…married.”

John’s hands flex on your waist and band reflexively in pure possession. “And it sounds like you’re decided on the future of that, depending on what your courts rule.” He touches your foreheads. “I’ve always been of the mind that marriage is a piece of paper. Something neat and tidy for some suit to file, but it interferes with what’s natural. As far as I’m concerned, you aren’t married,” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “You’re with me. If you want to be.”

It isn’t that simple. You know it’s not. Then John kisses you again, and you wonder.

By the time you part ways at the end of the cabin’s drive, your lips are swollen and spit-slick. John stopped you no less than five times to kiss you stupid, chasing every thought of the wreck, the investigation, and Simon out of your head. Shame can’t reach you either, not through the rose-colored haze around your head.

You can tell John wants to follow you inside and share your bed, but despite all your necking, you’re not there yet.

“I am interested, I really am, but I need time.”

“We’ll move at your pace,” His fingers rub circles in your hips. “Gonna spoil you, love. You’ve been good for me, I want to return the favor.”

You huff. “Me? You’re the one who’s employed me, helped me with my car, ferry me around…”

“Easy to do, ‘cause I’m fond of you, pretty girl,” He murmurs into your cheek. “You do so much for me.”

“Like what?”

“More than you know.” He brushes his lips over your forehead, then gingerly turns you around to face the cabin, lit by the light he fixed. “Now. Off with you, ‘fore I change my mind and haul you off like a caveman.”

You laugh but dutifully say goodnight and leave him at the end of the drive. You wave from the doorway, then watch him head off. A contented sigh erupts as you flick on the light and throw the deadbolt, practically twirling into the bedroom.

It’s not until you strip off your dress that a disquieting chill creeps over you. You study the bedroom, uncertain if you’re imagining things or not. If the subtle disarray—a crooked quilt, a drawer left open an inch, your laptop further down the bed than you remember—is real or trivial. But the air feels thicker and heavier, and you can’t shake the sensation as if you’ve arrived late to your own home.

Your footsteps echo too loudly in the uneasy calm. You grab a glass of water, but you pause as you turn from the sink.

The corner of the rug in the living room is flipped. There’s a seam in the floor.

#price x reader #price x f! reader #john price x f!reader #john price x reader #the warren

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slowdivinqs · 6 months ago

Text

I see as you are

Joel Miller x F!reader ( ~ 18+ MDNI ) 1,7K

…….……………

Summary: Joel refuses to change, that only means suffering for himself. He faces the consequences of choices he doesn’t want to admit he’s making.

Warnings: ANGST. This is literally all angst. No happy endings bc we keep things real. Mention of sex but no actual scenes of intimacy. Joel is MEAN! ( he doesn’t want to be though. ) Very detailed negative thinking patterns. Joel and reader sleep with each other, but there’s no real definition of what they are. Just generally a depressing vibe. Joel and reader smoke cigs. no use of y/n

A/N: First ever x reader fic and I’ve decided to come out with emo nonsense lol. I was listening to a song when I thought of this. link is below if you want to listen.

“It’s not good, It will never become good no matter how long you wait.” The words tumble, shaky in their exit, like a secret stolen out of a chest. It’s the truth, in its simplest and barest form. Lying out flat on the splintered railing of his back porch, the blood and the rot of it seeping into the wood.. “This is all I can give you.”

He looks over to you like your mind would’ve changed, like you’d have suddenly understood that he’s a monster. That he is exactly who he is. That you see the blood and the rot of it, too. That he himself is virulent, and cannot provide what you deserve. He finds no such thing in your eyes, or anywhere on your face for that matter. No trace of horror from the truth. No stains to be found. You look as though you’re not surprised in the slightest, blinking slowly. You look as though he’s just told you the sky is blue.

The truth of himself has only ever brought him and those around him pain. It irks him that you don’t seem to fit that standard and fills him with the need to shake you like a rattle by your shoulders until it finally seeps through your skull so you will understand.

He frowns at you instead.

“I don’t want it to be good, I just want it to be.”

Silly, silly girl he thinks. He is certain you do not know what you are asking for, as you don’t deserve it, and neither does he. His frown hardens as you look back out at the garden. The grass is dead and mushy with the rain constantly drowning it, puddles of muddy water with floating, brown grass stands. Dead trees lined up against the fence like a wall. You exhale your smoke. His eyes bore into your side profile, drinking up every minute tick of muscle, every inhale and exhale, every movement of your eyes, and the motion of your hair. He sometimes feels as though he should not even be looking at you. That he does not deserve to take in all of these details, does not deserve to think about you. You’re worth more and deserve more than to be trapped in his thoughts. He doesn’t want you there, anyway. He really really doesn’t.

He’s just so tired. Resigned to the loneliness that surrounds his shoulders. The surface-level happiness that comes when he’s on patrol with Tommy, Accepting the time he gets to spend with Ellie with a smile, even though he wants to scream and cry to have her back.

So, he knows he should force you away. For your own sake and his, but he never says anything to stop you when your molten cunt wraps around him so tightly like an all-encompassing embrace.

“No.” He says it simply, and that makes you laugh slightly before you turn to him. “No?” You repeat in question, blowing the smoke out of the corner of your mouth, the taste sticking to your tongue, the scent clinging to the both of you like dew.

“I can’t watch what I’ll do to you if you give me that.”

“You’re not a bad man, Joel-”

“Quit,” he begs. That’s what it is really. Stop being something he’s never had. Stop fighting for him - he can’t take it. Always the wet dog left outside. Always greeted with a sigh, his name an exasperated breath for most. He doesn’t want to fucking think about it anymore, he doesn’t want to look inwards. It hurts. He’s tired of the choking pressure in his throat every time he finds himself in his own company. No one by his side but his greatest enemy. He’s tired of being left outside, of having to witness the people he’s most loyal to enjoying dinner in a warm home with laughter while he sits in the downpour, staring through the window with not a glance his way. Goddamnit, Ellie brought Cat to dinner at Tommy’s house to ‘introduce her to the family’ - Joel didn’t find out until he accidentally overheard Cat asking Maria for her baked potato recipe, and he still finds himself crying about that every night he hasn’t drunken himself to sleep. He’s wryly impressed that he hasn’t run out of tears. He’s so defeated. His shoulders weigh a thousand pounds. His face is almost constantly crumpled in an uncontrollable display of sorrow.

“I’m not quitting you, Joel.” Insesant, annoying little girl. Stop makin’ this difficult and throwin’ a tantrum. you slowly climb into his arms after leaving the burning cigarette in the ashtray, wrapping your arms around his neck slowly, like he might spook - he probably would. He can’t look at you, not yet. He swallows thickly around the lump in his throat as you lean forward and rest your chin on his shoulder. Hugging him despite him not being able to hug you back. “I only want what you’re willing to give me.”

And you both know it sounds a little too much like love. He’s torn between the churning of his stomach and the temptation of your arms - of comfort that he knows will make him burst into tears and let everything out once he allows it. He’s not ready to face that.

Bristling at the mere thought and caving inwards in shame at the fact that the sharpness of his fear stabs you.

“Please don’t do this, sweetheart..” Because good god, you must have some sense of self-preservation, don’t you? He’s going to bleed you dry, he’s going to drown you in his sorrow and tears, he’s going to snuff out the last bits of shining light in your eyes you’ve managed to keep all these years.

Because that’s what he always does, doesn’t he? He ruined his relationship with Ellie with his selfishness, ruined the girl herself with his actions. He burst into tears when he accidentally caught a glimpse of what she wrote about herself in her journal. How she’s completely lost any light that used to live in her bright eyes. Curious eyes that saved him with their warmth and her golden laughter. Her stupid puns that she doesn’t even laugh at anymore.

He ruined his relationship with his little brother with his violence, his hatred. He remembers the little 7-year-old who thought his older brother was the best thing in the entire world. Who would cry whenever Joel left the house to hang out with his friends, Who would follow him around just to be by his big brother’s side, running through the long grass of Texas fields, playing cowboys and Indians with missing front teeth and scraped knees. Who now can’t even look at him without that look of sympathetic sadness. That look of disappointed acceptance. ‘I know you can’t help who you are, what a shame.’

“It hurts me to see you like this.” and that makes him want to thrash. Why do you care? Why are you grounding him? Why is he taking up space in your mind and being acknowledged? Your awareness of his pain only makes it real.

A ghost doesn’t become real until two people have seen it, not really anyway. The fact that the little girl who he views as his own, hates him. The fact that he’s become a touchy subject - a disappointment - to his younger brother. That’s all real.

Because you see it too.

He feels as though he can’t breathe. If no one cared for him, everyone shut him outside to sleep in the rain, he could find acceptance in that. He could learn to curl himself into a ball and wait for someone to finally step outside so he can follow them until they leave him in the cold again, learn to deal with the nauseating chill. But here you are inviting him into your home, leaving the light on for him and waiting at your open door. Peakin with those bright little eyes and pensive expression. Inviting a dirty, wet dog into your clean, warm home.

“Then don’t look at me.” He knows he’s being petulant now. Knows that your frustration is mounting, and he feels quite happy about it. Yes, be angry with me - and leave me to sit in the rain. But your fingers are gripping the canvas fabric over his shoulders, no longer mourning. No longer soft.

“Why do you keep choosing to suffer?” It comes out as an accusation, and he guesses it is. It’s easier when it’s sharp like this. Mean and aggressive and fiery. It’s better than the putty-like feeling of hollow sadness that sits in his stomach when you try to coax him gently. Try to get him to choose happiness for himself.

“I’m not choosin’ anything.”

“Don’t talk shit to me.” He almost wants to laugh at that, “You’re choosing to stay exactly where you are. You’re choosing defeat, Joel!”

“And what the hell makes you think you’re some damn messiah?! That youre goin’ t’make me so damn over joyed?! You can’t give me anythin’ I want!” And oh, he’s so mean. So childish. He knows full well you could save him if he let you. Knows he’d feel so much better if he eventually mosied over to your open door, leaving that window of everything he yearns for behind, you’d give him a warm bath - turn him from some stinky outside dog into something that shows signs of being loved.

You get up off of his lap, standing still and facing away from him. Guilt immediately gnaws at his chest. His jaw tenses like that’ll chase the feeling away.

“It’s not about me, Joel,” you whisper, and he can tell you’re trying to fight off tears so he doesn’t feel bad.

God, his bottom lip quivers.

He hasn’t hated a single thing more than he hates himself.

“It never has been.”

You grab the slightly bent box of cigarettes, stuffed into your pocket with your lighter. You take two steps away before he speaks, staring at the splintered wood of his porch.

“Please don’t go,” he whispers, and your boots stop padding against the floor.

“You can’t even look at me, Joel.” You say simply, resignation in your voice now. White flag waving.

He doesn’t watch you walk away, he can’t.

a/n : tysm for reading! hope you enjoyed. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

#Spotify #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou x reader #the last of us fic #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us 2 #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n

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genericpuff · 2 months ago

Note

Are there any comics you were into around when LO was first coming out that you still adore and highly recommend? Any comics you wish got far more attention they they have?

There are several artists I used to love the comics of that went on hiatus years back/the artist doesn't make content anymore and I still look at them fondly (Snakes and Ladders by Mulattafury guts me. I would've loved to see it continue 😔)

So LO was kind of one of the first "webtoons" I got into, and by that I mean I was reading tons of webcomics for years prior to it, but the whole vertical format thing was still very new at the time and I wasn't accustomed to it. I spent a lot of the early to mid 2010's reading manga scanlations and indie webcomics, some of which are still ongoing today (though others unfortunately were never completed):

City of Blank (which is now an Originals series and it's in its final season, please check it out!!!)

Monster Pop (this one is actually really similar in art vibes to LO, it's very pastel and fun! idk if the creator still makes comics but she DOES make eco-friendly plus-sized skirts with POCKETS now!)

The GamerCat

AwkwardZombie (i stg this is one of those comics that will probably live to see the heat death of the universe LOL)

A BETTER PLACE (this one was REALLY fun to experience at the time because it pulled off some time travel shenanigans that you literally had to be there to read, you deadass can't read the original pages that got overwritten in the timeline near the end of the story, it doesn't affect the overall narrative at all but it's fun knowing that I was there LOL)

Grassblades

An Exercise in Futility

A Tale of Two Rulers

Theodd1sout (yep, before they were big on Youtube, it was a webcomic!)

Fail by Error (unfortunately it seems the creator of this comic has removed it from Tapas entirely, I'll see what I can dig up through Wayback but until then you might be stuck with Pinterest on finding strips from this one)

A Matter of Life and Death (this one is pretty much cancelled indefinitely BUT the creator is still an active comic creator and just recently started up a new original project! they also make super cool Jojo fanart and AU stuff if you're into that haha)

Two Guys and Guy (same as Fail by Error, its site seems to be long gone now but some of the strips can be found online)

Happle Tea (^^^)

And of course there was all the manga that I used to binge like fucking crack LOL Soul Eater, Death Note, Naruto, Bleach, Full Metal Alchemist, Yotsubato, Sailor Moon, One Piece, Deadman Wonderland, and those were just like, the well-known popular ones, there were a ton others across varying degrees of popularity that I don't even fully remember the names of now.

On the whole, there was a LOOOOT of stuff I read prior to LO, I used to practically live on sites like Tapas. Some of it's still as good as ever, others haven't aged quite so well, but for the most part, I look back on it all very fondly as it's what made up a lot of my formative years as a webcomic creator :'3 If you haven't read any of these, feel free to check them out, maybe you'll find a new favorite! <3

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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luvyurself · 4 months ago

Text

hate you

for @fishsticksloser dity :D I went a little overboard with it but I hope you like it <3

story chosen: there for my final breath

c/w: she/her pronouns, major character death, bad future timeline, babies first angst story, donnie battles with emotions, he’s coping hardcore, kind of rushed (aka I just saw their post about it and got to writing LMAOO)

to set the vibe listen to this teehee:

———

what was a “successful mission” anymore?

was it really successful when a person you loved was killed in battle?

was it really successful when you wake up screaming from nightmares retelling the events of that day? the universe mocking you in its sick and twisted way, in a way that said, “this is your reality, your world.”

“this is your future.”

death was a concept he had to get used to, as unfortunate as it was, it quickly became a common thing he would have to face when the krang invaded new york city.

from when he was a teen, donnie would swear up and down that he emotions were a wast of time, it being the only thing that he genuinely didn’t get. why do we feel random things that change sporadically with no rhyme or reason? a concept so foreign, yet can be so….how to say….comforting.

like that giddy feeling when he completed an invention, the heart pounding in his chest when he rambled on and on to his brothers about a topic for an hour.

the heart melting and wavy smile he would get when she would kiss his cheek every morning.

she was practically his ray of sunshine in the hellscape of the world he came to know. when he would be planning new inventions to take down the krang, she would be massaging his shoulders with her slightly rough hands, a faint reminder of the change she went through.

they would be in the battle field, back to back as they fight against the enemy, then together in the med bay with stupid smiles on their faces as they sloppily put bandaids on their injuries.

she was there to hold him when raph died, humming a soft song as he silently cried into her shoulder, his hand gripping hers in a tight grip. a silent way he expressed it without sobbing out loud. he never cried out loud, her never sobbed so hard until he physically couldn’t cry anymore.

donnie liked it like that.

no matter how unhealthy it was to bottle up the need to let out his emotions, it was always how he moved on, how he could move on.

but not anymore.

not even now.

it wasn’t supposed to happen, he had it all mapped out. even with her on the mission without him, he had eyes on her from inside his lab. the hologram figure of her stared at him as he banged his fist on the table.

“damn it…” he grumbled, rubbing his face in frustration. her voice spoke up, a little bit out of breath, “what? what happened?”

his eyes turned to her, a sharp breath escaping his nose, “there’s practically no way to destroy the place, we can’t do nothing.” he looked over disarray sketches of the technodrome, gritting his teeth in anger, “there’s no way of shutting it down without one of those freaks catching you, I’m calling it off.”

tapping on his arm band to send the information to leo, he heard her soft breathing as she spoke up once more. “what about that?”

he looked up once more, seeing where she was located at. he takes a sharp intake of air once he realizes what it was. “the core! ha! of course the kraang have a core on their ship, that will knock them down a leg greatly!”

he turned his back away from the hologram, “once you come back, we can discuss what we found with the others, that way we can be more prepared.”

“donnie.”

“this will help us gain some sort of advantage with that ship gone.”

“don-“

“have I ever tell you about that keen eye, my love? oh I can practically kiss you through the-“

“DONATELLO!” he nearly flinched at his full name, turning back around to face her, a confused look on his face. “what? you can’t blame me for being excited!”

she was quiet for a moment, clearing her voice to speak. “we can’t wait until another time.” her voice was quieter then usual, her eyes staring down at the floor.

an uneasy feeling began to settle in his stomach, “what do you mean? we don’t have any available resources right now, we can try again tomorrow-“

“tomorrow isn’t promised, donnie.” she said, looking back at the core, and back at him. “we have an opportunity right now, we have to take it.”

he’s quiet for a moment, before he finally got what she was implying. “no. you’re not doing anything.” his voice was serious, brown furrowed as he pointed at her hologram form.

“you will come back right now. that’s an order, that you will follow.” he couldn’t help his heart racing, the horrible feeling coming over him as she gave him a small smile.

she was always stubborn. selfless. an emotion he never understood from her.

“I am forever grateful that I met you in this life, donatello.” she whispered, her hand slipping the communicator off her wrist, “I love you, so much.”

he felt the world fall silent, watching as she muted and dropped the communicator on the floor. his screams falling on deaf ears as he saw her run to the core of the technodrome.

his chest was hurting, his heart was pounding as he quickly grabbed his battle shell. he hated it. he hated it so much. he wanted it to stop.

he transfer the call with her to his wrist tech, at the same time calling for any available assistance on the front lines to stop her.

“I need all available support to the technodrome’s core room, I repeat-“ he quickly flew to where the technodrome is located.

“I need all available support to the-“

BOOM

he’s quickly knocked down from the sky, landing on the ground as he felt the air knocked out of him. he takes a moment to recover before he looked up at the sky, his breath stopping for a moment.

it’s all gone. the technodrome. she had done it. she had destroyed the whole thing. he looked down at his tech, hearing nothing but static from her end.

then he feels nothing. the sounds of the troops unknowingly celebrating become white noise to him as he felt the unwelcome feeling return.

the tears were silent, teeth gritting as his hands dug into his palms. he felt a hand on his shoulder, and jerked violently away from the touch.

“don?” the voice of leo asked quietly, staring at his face. he looked down at his wrist tech, before speaking up once more, “where’s…what happened?”

donnie couldn’t speak. he couldn’t breathe. he couldn’t do anything.

the only thing that came from his lips was a strangled sob. his hand slapping over his lips as he sobbed violently into his hands.

leo held onto him, not saying anything.

and once more, he was stuck with the feeling that he hated. but this time it was worse. way worse.

he wanted to hate her, he wanted to scold her for making him feel this way. she knew he hated to feel this, but yet, she caused him to feel that and more.

it might hurt less, to hate her for what she did.

but he still loved her for everything she ever did.

and he hated to love her for that.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2018 #rise donnie #x female reader #x reader #rottmnt #donatello rottmnt #donnie x reader #bad future rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #{2500 diiys•°}

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notstilinski · 3 months ago

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Kevin Can F Himself Starters !

Taken from season two of the 2021 AMC series, Kevin Can F Himself! Some of these have already been edited. You can change them however you see fit! There may be some light spoilers for the series!

“We’ll fix it together, okay?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve never had a hostage before. I’m not great at it yet.”

“I have no idea. I can’t tell if it’s been twenty minutes or eight hours.”

“Okay. So you’re done trying to kill my best friend. Congrats. You still tried once!”

“How the hell am I dating a cop?”

“Maybe they don’t care when I whine, but he laughs when you bleed.”

“They say ‘we’ all the time like you’re in this together, but, (Name), where are they?”

“They tried to kill them. Can you believe? Bitches tried to kill me, too.”

“Jesus. The nightmare continues.”

“I mean ‘cause you have the general vibe of a sad dog in a cone.”

“I don’t want to be me anymore.”

“I swear to you, I am working on it. Because I really do want you around.”

“I only wish you hit me harder so I could forget all this shit.”

“I’m not in (Name), but the general sense of failure just, sorta, trickles down.”

“Who knew there was a version of death sadder than regular death?”

“It just feels like punishment for dying alone.”

“I’m not like you, I can’t just pretend to like things.”

“You ever think that it’s not that you have a bad sense of direction, you just gotta pay attention to where you’re going?”

“I’ve been squatting in the basement for the past two weeks.”

“The more times you bring up the one nice thing you ever did for me, the less nice it gets.”

“Did a demon just achieve its final, most powerful form in our kitchen?”

“See how I say that with no visible eye roll?”

“It just seems like you’re someone who never had to share.”

“If I play the field, I’ll end up under it.”

“And you don’t like me. It’s fine. People don’t have to like each other.”

“Not when I’ve just been insulted and rejected by a man who I always thought of as my creepy uncle.”

“Yeah, and maybe that stuff was worth it when I thought we might actually be together.”

“Yeah, and I swore I’d never talk to a cop without a lawyer present, but here we are.”

“When I think too much about something, that’s the second I start talking myself out of it, okay?”

“You’re a hazard.”

“Uh, fun is for people with disposable income.”

“I woke up. Another win.”

“Well, they did corner me last night and told me sobriety was the reason I’m not fun anymore.”

“That’s residual priest nervousness, if you ask me.”

“What does the beauty matter if there is no other soul to share it with?”

“Okay. Is that true or is that just what /they/ tell you?”

“I don’t want to have to worry about him, but I can’t stop worrying about him.”

“(Name) will be fine. (Name)’s always fine.”

“There’s a reason that ‘drinking’ rhymes with ‘thinking.’”

“Because you’re just so excited to die?”

“I feel like I dropped something and I feel it next to me. And I’m trying to figure out what it is, and I’m lying there wide awake convinced that if I don’t pick it up, then something terrible is going to happen.”

“Oh, sure, like you’re suddenly concerned about me.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to be alone. And maybe there’s not always a difference.”

“They laughed. They didn’t listen to me at all. No one listens to me.”

“(Name) would have died without you? Maybe you should go home sometimes.”

“I think it’s rearranging deck chairs at the Titanic at this point.”

“I’ll see you for three weeks in February while I work on my tan!”

“I don’t think they realized it. They gave everything up to protect me.”

“And now that I’m left here without them, I don’t feel better off. I just feel… left.”

“I’m not really concerned with protecting (Name). Or anyone like them, really.”

“Well, but you know that we’re not actually better off without you, right?”

“Without me, you will have nothing. Because I will fucking destroy you.”

“I had a terrible, terrible day. And you’re the only person I hang out with now. Is that okay?”

“Let’s die alone together."

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence starters #sentence meme #starter sentences #ask meme #ask prompts #inbox memes #inbox prompts #television sentence starters #i was finally able to watch s2 and it slapped #also if you see any mistakes here ... no u don't <3

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mtkay13 · 2 years ago

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Qi Ye cast poster!!

This had started as a sketch, waaay back as I was still reading Qi Ye. The original is pretty different from this (I considered adding it in the post but I actually don't like it anymore haha), but the plan was already to make this big spread with most of the -more or less- important cast.

I will add here some thoughts about the whole piece, and I guess, Qi Ye itself. My main goal was probably to express my deep and intense feelings for Qi Ye, its grandness, and its awesome cast-- and along with that, flesh out my mental image of each of them, their personality, their style. Here is a table with the names, so we know who is whom, and so I can add some details about my perspective on them and their design.

Jing Beiyuan has always come quite naturally. I just go for the "prettiest face" I ever came with in terms of : my own taste, and the features I find the most delicate. I'd argue he's the easiest character to draw for me across both QY and TYK. On this image, he's probably around 16 or 17. I find his expressions to be very fun to work on in general.

Ping An is also quite an easy character to draw, just for how specific Priest is when describing him.

Wu Xi's design is mainly inspired by a discussion with my friend Hanya, who talked about how, in SHL, Wu Xi more resembled a northern shaman than a southern shaman. It made me want to explore the designs and characteristics a bit more, and come up with more colourful fabrics, patterns, and darker skin color. Same goes for Ashinlae and Nuahar, to have them matching Wu Xi's aesthetic.

Ming Hua was included in this just because of the mess the mention of his name caused in the story. The two jealousy tantrums are just so delightful!!

Su Qingluan was made to resemble Jing Beiyuan, of course. What I wanted to reflect in her face was her frustration, mainly.

Ji Xiang and Hua Yue... Well. Nothing particular about their design either, but they had to be there. Of course, of course they had to be there.

Finally, an opportunity to draw Zishu with his fan and henchmen! Not mad that he kinda looks like a villain, here.

Lu Yu!! I drew him with an Ashinlae mask, since he disguises himself as Ashinlae. I included him because he matters a lot in my headcanons about Siji Manor. (it isn't specified, in Qi Ye, whether or not he's actually part of the manor, but I like to consider that he is for various reason that I may detail if I ever make a Siji Manor post)

I'll skip Jiang Xue and Liang Jiuxiao because their designs are steady for me, now.

I hesitated a lot for Helian Pei's pose, but ended up going for this one (looking bored, out of his depth, lost in the distance with his birds around him). I considered showing him with a bird in his hands, but I guess that's not the main vibe I get from him. And then, well, golden, flashy clothing, suited for an emperor.

Helian Zhao had to be in a showy armor, and I hated making it because it's so much work, haha. I took inspiration from an armor in NiF. I'm quite happy with how he came out in terms of both vibe and showiness.

I tried going full out on Helian Qi. Making him the villain that Qi Ye deserved. Dark, showy, elegant and horrible.

Helian Yi is also pretty solid for me, by now.

About the illustration itself, the main challenge was definitely to make a nice colour palette while still differenciating all the characters. I wanted to go with something intense, eerie, that could also complement the main tones I would go for (= red, purple, blue and green). I'm quite happy with how the golden tones, along with the green and reddish lights, make the whole thing come together. I struggled a little bit with the composition at first, but once I got the flow and the main figures down, it just happened quite easily. Anyway, I'm quite proud of this, and hope it conveys the love and admiration I have for Qi Ye well.

#qi ye #lord seventh #cast #meta #talk about art #七爷

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rascalentertainments · 7 months ago

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Wish Granted AU: Magnifico, Amaya and Sabor 🌟

PREPARE FOR TROUBLE, AND MAKE IT DOUBLE!!! 😈😼

I've been itching to get to these guys for a while! They're probably going to be the most fun to write! Of course, this version is based off the evil Disney villain couple we deserved. (ROBBED) The vibe I want to give here is Team Rocket meets Gomez and Mortica Addams: Elegant, evil yet SO entertaining to watch!

For Magnifico, I actually got inspiration from the Wish movie itself. One aspect that was underused was his tendency to put on a performance during the Wish granting ceremonies, and when he "turned evil" in the third act. Especially when he's a DISNEY villain performing a DISNEY like ceremony! I adore villains that put on a show when they're fighting the hero. Broadcasting the battle, the evil monologue, maniacal laughing while thinking they've won. LOVE that, but they didn't go all the way with him being a hammy villain. So whenever its time for a ceremony, its a big deal. With his wife and loyal lynx, they put on a show worth watching. Plus the way they work together basically splits up watching the kingdom and keeping their cover.

Maginifico is the frontman and keeps the people's wishes in his tower. He promises them a free and happy life in Rosas in exchange for their wishes and dreams. However, the price is that they no longer have a driving force in their life. They're complacent living there and serving the king, but they don't experience pure joy anymore. They're just merely existing and going through life always feeling something's missing in their lives. His apprentice Flazino is supposed to be learning from the king and assisting him by getting the ingredients needed for potions and spells. Magnifico actually has no intention of passing on his vast knowledge to a peasant or even considers giving him the ability to do magic, but he's at least a good errand boy. (Though Mag doesn't know he's a double agent)

Magnifico uses the wishes to gain power for himself, as its his greatest desire, but that desire is never truly satisfied. He takes more and more and its never enough, no matter how many wishes he eats. He once heard from a philosopher named Tomas that the stars themselves are the most powerful things on Earth, and this sparks the idea to pull a star from the sky itself to achieve that undying thirst. Magnifico fails many times, but once he senses that someone else has managed to do the impossible, he knows he must have that star. (Magnifico's voiced by Antonio Banderas in this, because HE WOULD'VE BEEN AWESOME, MAN)

Amaya here works her magic behind the scenes. Like her concept counterpart, she creates the potions and spells for Magnifico. However, she actually taught him about magic back when they first met. Mags became so enamored by it that he wanted to start performing it himself, and the two of them actually grew stronger in their abilities by using magic together. They even created a way to take wishes directly from people's hearts, as the couple discovered they could use the joy from people's wishes to fuel their own desires.

While her husband takes care of keeping the citizens attention on him mostly, Amaya personally goes down to the people of Rosas keep an eye on the people. Ever since the amount of traitors escaped from them. She puts on a warm smile for them, but like a wolf in sheep's clothing, she's looking for any hint of disloyalty in them. If she does, their wish is gone, permanently.

One of her strengths is that if she can't manipulate people with magic, she can do it psychologically. Speaking in half truths and turning the tables on her enemy, Amaya could change the mind if just about anyone if she dug deep enough. So when she does meet Star in a brief one on one fight, she knows exactly where to hit the Starboy where it hurts: his heart. (Amaya is voiced by Salma Hayek in this because yes I must have that same chemistry as The Last Wish, they're so good together)

Lasty, Sabor the Lynx! While he's a ridiculously pampered wild cat raised by Amaya, she still taught him to be cunning and eliminate any enemy at all costs. Sabor casually checks far into the woods surrounding the castle. Sometimes for fresh air and catch a few mice (Scar atyle), but he also works as sort of a watchdog for Amaya. Sabor watches for any suspicions people coming or going and unbeknownst to the citizens and sniff out anyone that doesn't belong. He's mostly the opposite of Valentino in every aspect, aside from their loyalty to their owners. (Expect for Magnifico, he's not so crazy about him) (As for voice, if I didn't use regular Lynx sound effects, I'd go with Dee Bradley Baker, or Alan Tudyk. That makes way more sense than voicing a three week old goat)

The last ones to feature are the 7 Teens, which will take some time, then I'll get to the first chapter to see how it goes. Please tell me to your thoughts, I'd love to hear them! (Plus I....just want to talk to you guys, it feels more fun when you're around. Its sappy I know 😅)

@signed-sapphire @oh-shtars @annymation @spectator-zee @kstarsarts @chillwildwave @flicklikesstuff @uva124 @tumblingdownthefoxden

#rascal entertainments #wish 2023 #disney wish #wish concept art #wish reimagined #wish granted #wish granted au #wish rewrite #wish fandom #wish star #wish movie #wish au #king magnifico #queen amaya #chair #wish amaya #wish magnifico

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kenjiyabuki · 11 months ago

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stuff that made me go 👀 from ep1

Well, gore-y horror from between 70s-90s w queer subtext is one of my most favorite genres ever, so obviously this show is right up my alley. Just the idea of Thai folk horror and 90s slasher fusion w a bunch of tense gay situationships sprinkled on top sounds like a dream to me <3

so OFC I enjoyed the first episode, the gore, haunting past, creepy mask and dick biting and all & now i'm ready to theorize

here are some little details that got my attention and some thoughts that were thunk by me:::::

After Por's (Us) classic setting-the-up-story horror tale gets called out as teasing from White (Fuaiz), Por and Top (Jet) turn the accusation back to his boyfriend Tee (JJay), calling him the best at tricking the younger ones/newcomers to the group.

Based on the trailers, it's safe to assume that in the past, it was Non (Barcode) who was the gullible young one and he was bullied (among other things that will happen to him) even after group decided to utilize him for the short film. Compared to loudmouths Por and Top, Tee seems more on the quiet and stoic side (albeit w anger issues) so this is definitely a clue. Trailers made me think Por was the main terrorizer of Non but maybe Tee played a bigger role.

If Non is the whatever the hell that is dwelling the forest, then why did he cop a feel from Tee while him and White were busy being the couple who chooses the worst time and place to get nasty in a horror? Is it a payback for the tricking the young ones Tee was so good at?

If this isn't a translation mistake, Jin (Copper) calls the movie "his" even though the credits says otherwise.

Firstly, I want to thank my trusty Yandex Image Translator for making this revelation possible:

While Jin says that he made the film for a contest he was in, it's Por who is credited as the Writer/Director/DoP. In fact, Jin's name is only under the cast list, along w Tee, Top and Fluke (Bump).

And maybe even MORE IMPORTANTLY, although we clearly saw him in the movie, taking off the mask just before Por shuts of the laptop & later Top admits he wrote the story, Non's name is nowhere to be seen in the credits. Not only he "disappeared", they also made it seem like he wasn't there in the first place. Uhmm, that's a cunty move to do to an old "friend"...

That really suspicious and ambiguous conversation between Tee and Por.

They might be talking about Non BUT Tee specifically says he doesn't want HIM, which i'm assuming to be White, to get involved and find out more. Por's face drops at first but then he brushes it off w saying it wouldn't matter even if he did because its not relevant anymore.

There are also other new guys who are oblivious to their past but it's White who is worrying Tee. Along w Por's reaction and him constantly teasing their relationship, I think this might be a sign that Tee and Por might have some kind of history??? I am hoping that as messy gay entangled relationships on top of the supernatural horrors would be even more fun!!!!!!!!!

Phi and White's lil sexual tension moment.

Here's the thing: this wasn't even a set up for Jin or Tee to get jealous or anyone to get thoughts because they weren't there to see it. It just happened so quickly and then Phi turned back his attention to Jin to get scolded (as he should) BUT i was stuck on it because what was the reason????????????? Why did White seemed lost in thought over it?

Jin might be jealous of Tan (Mio) for some fucking reason?

Jin gives Phi half a blowjob, BITES HIS DICK (best moment of the ep), chews him out (verbally) and then suggests Tan in his place. Well, Tan and Phi do seem close and Tan knows about their failed FWB. Still, it's interesting that Jin singled out Tan and thinks they had a similar thing, even though Phi assures him that isn't the case.

Honestly, the possibility of tangled relationships is getting to me AHHHH I didnt get that vibe from the trailer at all but I will be glad to see it. Insert the *I'm excited because I love mess* gif I cant be bothered to search rn.

Top being the token salacious fool archetype of this slasher.

Following up on the theme of horror gays being in entangled situationships: A high Top making passes at his friends might not lead anywhere as it just might be him fulfilling his role as the facetious, big mouth guy. But i will just put it aside just in case..... 👀👀

Bonus strays thoughts::

According to character profiles, all the boys are the same age, except Tan and White who are 2 years younger

Por says to Tan "you two got in [their friend group] in 12th grade". I am assuming other person is Phi as White got into the group as the boyfriend. I want to see how they got to be friends tho.

Smoker Tan has asthma and he needs an inhaler which definitely won't be a big problem in the future, right?

It's interesting how Phi wants to be a director and we fittingly saw him being a leader, being levelheaded and "directing" the critical situations, assigning roles to the group etc

Top claims Non is haunting them because they completed his film without him. Babygirl, I dont know if intellectual property theft is enough to turn into an evil ghost, I know you guys did more than that.

Random but I kinda want Fluke to be the Final Girl, surviving until the end w just a puke bag and 2 years of medicine knowledge.......

#dead friend forever

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lokiprompts · 2 years ago

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Appropriate - Chapter 5

"The Grocery Store"

Summary: Loki x Female reader; Loki is banished to Midgard and he has to live an average life as penance...and you, a social worker, is there to help him along the way. Rom Com vibes. Pinning; emotional edging until we can't take it anymore.

Chapter Summary: You take Loki to the grocery store, but he has to face some new, unwanted feelings.

Words. 6k Other chapters on my tag list.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, Sad Loki, some angst. Pining. Anxiety and panic attack.

Song to listen to while reading: Kayak for One

AN: I don't offer taglists anymore. Remember to reblog if you like a writer's work! Comments make my heart go pitter patter.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

It has been almost a week since Loki had seen you last, and the prince was starting to wonder if you had forgotten about him. A couple of days after your shopping trip, you called him on his cell phone and he all but leapt out of his chair to grab the device and hear your voice once again. You had called to inform him that his microwave was going to be replaced later that day and its replacement came just in time. If Loki had to eat one more bite of cold, canned food he was going to lose it.

Much to his dismay, the conversation on the phone was hardly a conversation at all. It lasted all of two minutes and when he tried to ask about your day, you apologized and told him you had a meeting. Still, he got dressed in the hope that he would see you. He put on the slim line, black dress pants he tried on for you at the store and a dark blue button up shirt. When he picked it out and tried it on, you commented how the color brought out his eyes. Emerald is his signature color, but he found himself picking out more blue items just for you. As soon as he heard a knock at the door, he whipped it open with a wide smile, only to be met with another terrified worker holding a large box. Loki sighed, stepping to the side, and letting the worker install his microwave, while keeping his eyes trained on the door. You never came.

Another four days had passed since then and with nothing to do besides sit and think. Think and stare at the photo of you on his cell phone. Granted, he always had the option to wander around the common areas of the Tower, but it was clear that the team did not want him there, and the staff and guests that frequented the building were terrified of him. It was better for him to stay in his room, Loki thought. Every once and awhile Thor would stop by his room and try and convince him to ‘socialize’, but his older brother’s attempts were never successful.

And in the quiet of his room, his mind wandered back to you. It always wandered back to you. The sweet sound of your laugh, the brightness of your eyes, and how you so tenderly cared for him. Every little detail of your interactions, he would think about and analyze to the point of obsession. To the point of wondering why you were the object of his mind. Never had he thought about someone to this degree before. Well, except for one person.

A crush he had when he was a young boy – a young maid named Ingrid. From the moment he woke until he fell asleep, he would think of her. It didn’t matter that this maid was older than him, still he pictured a life with her. Sweeping her off her feet and stealing her away to live a life of finery and royalty. Loki would find reasons to be around her, even though she wasn’t assigned his chambers or even the same wing of the palace and it went on like this for several years, until she no longer worked for the royal family. The young prince never found out why she left, but he always believed his ‘father’, Odin, had a hand in it.

The memory made him grumble with resentment, but also gave him pause – did he have romantic feelings for you? Everything he felt reminded him of how he felt with Ingrid, but was that just an obsession out of boredom? It was a question that plagued Loki to no end. He couldn’t deny how his heart fluttered every time he saw you and how he delighted in your laugh. Every new thing he learned about you, he adored. Your obscene number of plants? Heartwarming. Your overly sweet coffee order? Precious. The way you mouth words to song in the car, thrumming your fingers on the steering wheel? Adorable.

“But a mortal…” Loki grumbled to himself from his perch on his beige chair. He thought back to all his conversations with Thor and his love for the mortal woman, Jane. How it would inevitably fail.

“A mere heartbeat…” The thought of your death brought a feeling of profound sadness that was unsettling and foreign. The god was no stranger to grief, his heart still hasn’t mended from the death of his mother, and it is unlikely it ever will, but why would he be sad about your death? Objectively, he barely knew you and you would be gone in under a century. But he thought of your skin becoming wrinkled and paper thin, your hair gray and the brightness of your eyes faded and tired. It made his whole-body shudder.

He couldn’t deny that he felt protective over you. The smallness of your body, especially compared to his, ignited a flame – no, an unbridled need - to shelter you, care for you, and to keep you from all harm. The very first day he met you and you were frantically writing your notes, he saw how little your hands were. Lifting his own large, calloused hand to examine, he wondered how your palm would fit in his. How his fingers would engulf yours, anchor you and keep you grounded during times of uncertainty. Those dainty hands would grip onto his shirt as he held you trembling body close. Tears would be forbidden to grace your skin, and Loki knew he would make quick work of wiping them away from your face. Would you recoil from him? Never, Loki thought. No, you would bury yourself closer to him, and he would hold you close, impossibly close, as if his touch could ward of your sadness.

Who could hurt a precious soul like you? The thought simultaneously enraged Loki and brought tears to the corner of his eyes. The god’s mind delved deep into a fantasy of a faceless person towering over you. The look of terror that would be painted on your face made Loki’s heart race. His magic would thrum through his body, all his muscles flexing with power and the desire to protect you. How dare anyone harm his beloved, he thought, harm what is mine.

A knock on the door ripped Loki from his thoughts. He stared at the door, his brows furrowed in confusion since he wasn’t expecting anyone, and it is unlike Thor to be bothering him this early in the morning. Slowly, he stood and made his way over to the door. There was another knock, and finally Loki opened the door to see your smiling face.

“Hi, Loki!” Your smile faded, “What’s wrong?”

Loki hadn’t noticed that a tear had escaped while his imagination ran wild with thoughts of saving you. Quickly, he brushed it away with the back of his sleeve.

“I’m wonderful, Dar – Lady Y/N,” Now that you are here, he thought, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I am making a quick trip to the grocery store, and I thought I could invite you – get you out of the tower a bit and maybe show you how it’s done.” You shifted your bag over your shoulder and Loki noted you looked a bit uneasy, "I have a tight schedule today, so it won’t be very long.”

“What is the point of me learning how to shop, when I cannot even leave the tower?” The question, though valid, left his mouth before he could even truly think about it. Why was he questioning the opportunity to leave and spend time with you? You’re an idiot.

You pursed your lips, trying to mask your annoyance and your expression makes Loki switch his gaze from you to his feet, “Well, the goal is for you to be able to not have your dampeners on and to be a part of the Tower and this world. But, if you don’t want to learn, that is fine. You don’t have to come.”

He sighs, “I will go with you. May I change before we leave?” You simply nodded and Loki was quick to turn on his heels. The way you were acting was so odd. Never once have you been short with him, and it brought on a pang of guilt. He never wanted to be the source of your discomfort.

Loki made quick work of getting dressed, putting on tight, slim black jeans and a light blue sweater. He emerged from his apartment, greeting you with a tight-lipped smile and you were off.

“I am sorry for upsetting you, Lady Y/N.” Loki sincerely apologized as you both made your way down to the lobby.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him, “No, you have no reason to apologize, Loki. I am the one who should be sorry. You asked a very valid question, and I shouldn’t have been short with you like that.” During your apology, Loki was able to give you a proper look. Frankly, you looked exhausted. The dark circles under your eyes were a clear indicator of that and your spark, your usual lightness seemed forced. It was a stark difference from the woman who was so sweet and playful on their last shopping trip.

He accepted your apology immediately, “Is everything alright?” Loki knew he may be crossing a line with you and what you considered ‘appropriate’, but he sincerely wanted to know. The more he looked at you, the more worried for you he became.

You sighed, offering your hands to him in a silent signal for him to present his dampeners. He did so without question, and you brought up the hologram to adjust his restrictions.

“It’s been a stressful few days. My work schedule is kind of crazy right now, and I shouldn’t let it affect my interactions with you,” You shook your head after you finalized your adjustments, releasing his wrists, “If it is okay with you, would you mind terribly if I make a call or two on our way to the store? I won’t let it take up too much of our time I promise…and I am sorry, our visit will be a bit shorter-”.

“Lady Y/N”, Loki lifted a hand, halting your rambling, “It’s quite alright. I understand your importance and I don’t mind sharing my time.” It was a lie. Loki hated sharing his time with you, but he would do anything to get that sad look off your face. The soft smile you rewarded him with was enough.

Wordlessly, he followed you out to your car again that looked like it somehow accumulated even more empty coffee cups. Loki didn’t say anything, but it made him wonder how much you have been sleeping and eating these past few days. You cared so much for the wellbeing of others, but who cared for you?

After buckling in and pulling out on the road, you tapped a few buttons on the screen connected to the dashboard. Loki tried to get a look of who you were trying to connect with, but all the names on the list on the screen were just initials. He had no idea.

“Hi! How are you?” You chirped into your earpiece, easily masking your exhaustion. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I was planning on seeing you tomorrow if that’s okay? How about nine in the morning?” There was a pause on your end and Loki strained to hear the voice on the other end. Usually, his godly hearing would make this an easy task, but these damn dampeners affected him more than he thought. Even though he knew you were working, and he had agreed to it, Loki couldn’t ignore the bite of jealous that had started to take hold in his chest.

“Oh! That is great! I am so proud of you!” Loki slumped further down in his seat; his arms crossed against his chest. He felt like a petulant child not getting enough attention, but he couldn’t help the downward spiral of thoughts that seemed to plague him whenever he was around you. Would you ever tell him that you were proud of him? He laid his head against the cold glass of the passenger window, rolling his eyes at his own thoughts. What has he done to earn your praise and pride? He scoffed. You were someone sweet, kind, and thoughtful, and he was a criminal who couldn’t even go shopping on his own. There was nothing about him to be proud of, only shame.

“Have you been around the Tower at all?” Your voice pulled Loki from his thoughts. He hadn’t realized you were off your communication device, “I am sure it can be quite boring in that room of yours.”

Your laugh made his lips twitch upwards in a small smile. It was a welcome reprieve from his self-deprecating thoughts. “No, I haven’t left the room much, actually.”

You frowned, keeping your eyes trained on the road, “Why is that?”

Loki wrapped his arms tighter around himself, “I am not exactly welcome.”

You hummed thoughtfully as your fingers thrummed on the steering wheel, “Well, you know,” You peeked at him out of your peripheral and your slight smile caught the god’s attention, “You do have access to the library at the Tower. From what I recall, it’s pretty quiet there. Not many people go there.”

Loki tilted his head and saw the grin that graced your face, and soon he found a smirk matching your own, “Thank you. I will have to visit.” He was beyond thankful for this information. Maybe if he had something to occupy his mind, he would think about you less. Did he want to think about you less?

Before he knew it, you were pulling into a large parking lot, and you were exciting the vehicle. Loki followed after you and it reminded him of a Midgardian dog, so he made quick work to catch up, so he was next to you. Without a word, you grabbed a large cart, and you offered a piece of paper which he took from you. He tried to ignore the way his heart sped up from just the light brush of your fingers against his.

Finally walking inside of the building, Loki took a closer look at the list. His dark brows were furrowed in concentration and soft lips were moving with each murmur of a listed item: eggs, flour, cereal, milk…

Loki hadn’t noticed that you had stopped, until he looked back over his shoulder and saw you with a smile on your face that almost looked…fond? “I’m sorry,” For what you were apologizing for, he didn’t know, “I didn’t want to disturb your thinking. You looked so focused.”

Quickly, the prince looked away from you in a pathetic attempt to hide the rosy flush that spread across his cheeks, “I just want to be thorough,” To please you, he thought. “Since I understand you are busy today.” Brilliant deflection, Loki.

You stepped up to Loki with your cart and explained to him how important it is to have a list, otherwise you will be shopping with your stomach which is typically a recipe for disaster. He loved the smirk that spread across your face; clear evidence of mischief brewing underneath your professional demeanor. He grinned back at you while letting his mind indulge in a daydream of you filling up your cart with sweets.

The prince followed you around the ordinary Midgardian grocery store, utterly fascinated by everything you did. The god trailed just behind you as you pushed your cart, catching your lingering stare on luscious display of green, indoor plants.

“You should buy one,” Loki suddenly said, making you turn to him with a quirk in your brow, “For your office.”

A laugh bubbled up out of your chest and Loki bit his lip to hold back a bold confession of how much he loved the sound of your happiness.

“The last thing I need is another plant.”

Loki shrugged, “One more couldn’t hurt. You deserve it.” If he could, he would buy you a plant just to make you smile. He pictured surprising you with the little green plant, making your face split in joy at his thoughtfulness. He would buy you whatever you wanted. The once posh prince stuck his hands in his pant pockets, reminding him of how empty they were, and he frowned.

“First, the dress, now the plants! You will be the end to my bank account, Loki.” The tips of your fingers lingered on the leaf of a gorgeous calathea, subtly showing your want. He wondered why you wouldn’t indulge yourself with such a little thing. If you were back on Asgard with him, you would want for nothing. The palace gardens would be yours. Cascades of flowers planted and bloomed in the name of your beauty. But you moved on before Loki could lose himself in that fantasy.

�� Conversation flowed easily between the two of you and he was able to ask questions without fear of judgement or teasing. He helped you find things on your list, offering to reach and get things on the highest shelves after he saw you practically scale the cereal shelves like you were climbing Mt. Everest. Though, he did steal some pleasure in watching your small body struggle as you stretched for the sweet breakfast treat, giving him a delicious view of your ample backside. But what he loved the most was the feeling of his large hands splayed across the small of your back to steady you.

“Th-Thank you…” You stammered, looking a bit flustered at his touch. Loki wished he could have followed it with a smooth purr of ‘my pleasure’, but instead he flashed you a lopsided grin that was equally as awkward. What was that? He chastised himself. Clearing his throat, he went back to the comfortable and easy conversation of Midgardian food.

Thankfully, he found some fruits and vegetables that reminded him of foods on Asgard. He huffed about the quality of foods he was given from the grocery drop and you promised him you would show him how to cook a real meal soon. The thought about spending more time with you making Loki’s stomach flip with excitement. And when you paired your promise with a squeeze of his bicep, he swore you could hear the hammering of his heart within his chest.

Despite the quick nature of the trip, Loki was greedily sucking up his time with you. Surprisingly, he found joy in the mundane task, but what he didn’t enjoy were the other customers.

He absolutely loathed them.

And he figured you did too, with each little annoyed huff when someone blocked the whole aisle with their cart, seemingly unaware of the fact that someone other than them was trying to shop too.

“Excuse me.” You would sweetly say through gritted teeth. Sometimes you would have to repeat yourself when you were blatantly ignored. You seemed to have endless patience, something that warmed Loki from the inside out, you precious thing. But Loki was starting to get annoyed and downright irritated with each disrespectful interaction towards you. By the time he went down a few more aisles with you, his knuckles were white from his clenched fists, and he had a low growl threatened to explode from deep inside his chest.

Loki had walked ahead of you with your list in hand, carefully examining the baking aisle for the foods you desired. You were doing the same, plucking some vanilla extract off the shelf when another customer unceremoniously crashed his cart into your ankle, making you cry out in pain.

Your anguished shriek was Loki’s final tipping point.

He was by your side in an instant, a bag of flour discarded and long forgotten in the grocery aisle. The tall god kneeled by your side, peeling off your shoe to evaluate your injury. You tried to complain about him touching you without permission, but you were too busy sucking in air from the sting that traveled up your calf to even protest. Blood trickled down from the back of your foot and with a quick glance, Loki saw how your eyes watered in pain and it broke a piece inside of him. Tears had no place on your beautiful, sweet face. Without even thinking about it, his muscle memory kicked in and he hovered a hand over the wound.

Nothing happened. Loki’s frown deepened as the feeling of powerlessness washed over him. Healing was never his forte, but his seidr could help with simple wounds like this. Now, here in this hellscape of a Midgardian store, he couldn’t even help you. His glassy, crystal blue eyes stared at the redness that stained your precious skin while his thoughts tormented him.

You are worthless. You have nothing to offer. You can’t care for yourself. You imagine a life where you care for her, this princess of Midgard, and you can’t even protect her. All you can do is follow a stupid list and reach for things, and even the oaf can do that.

“I am so sorry Miss!” The frantic and apologetic voice of the random man who hit you with his shopping cart jerked Loki out of his downward spiral and right onto a war path. If he can’t heal you or protect you, he can at least put this pathetic meat bag of a mortal in his place.

“Watch where you are going, you pitiful brainless worm!” Loki spat, his words dripping with venom and anger for you. His large hands gripped the neck of the man who dared to injure you, and even though his strength was weakened from the dampeners, his iron grip still picked the parasite off the ground. Loki’s lips twisted up in sadistic satisfaction at the garbled choking sound coming from the mortal in his grip.

“How dare you injure her!” Each word masked his shame and feelings of powerlessness, but his anger had taken over. There was no forgiveness for this mortal, but still he yelled, “Apologize! Apologize right no-“

“Loki!” Your scream stopped his tirade and the beating of his heart. The god’s wild eyes turned to you, and he saw something new on your fac. Something he never thought he would see from you.

Fear.

Immediately, Loki dropped the man in his grasp who then tumbled to the ground, wheezing, and clawing at his throat as sweet oxygen filled his lungs.

“What is wrong with you?!” The man yelled at the stunned god who towered above him still, “It was an accident, you monster!”

Loki lifted his eyes from the crumpled man at his feet to see your wide eyes and the terrified look of all the grocery store customers. Every bit of remaining anger was sucked out of him and replaced with shame and disgust at himself. He took a step back from the man he assaulted who was still crumpled on the floor until his back hit the stack of shelves of the grocery aisle. Loki’s body began to tremble as the weight of what he did began to set in. The god’s breath quickened, and he thought he heard your voice, but everything sounded so far away yet everything felt too close. The feeling of being trapped overwhelmed him and his anxiety riddled body all but ran to the front of the store and hiding himself away in a private, family style bathroom.

Loki’s back hit the cold wall of the public bathroom, sliding down until he was slumped on the floor with his head between his knees. His breathing became erratic as the word ‘monster’ replayed in his mind like a sadistic record player. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and all he could hear was his hyperventilating breathing, totally missing the soft click of the bathroom door.

“Loki?” Hearing your soft, sweet voice made him recoil further into himself. He didn’t deserve to be near you.

You crouched down in front of him, a slight frown on your face as you took in the god who looked so small. Carefully, you reached forward and placed a tentative hand on his knee. Loki flinched, initially, but he didn’t pull away.

Your touch felt comforting, yet it burned with the reminder of how undeserving he was of that comfort.

I’m a monster…

“Loki, you are not a monster,” He hadn’t realized he had spoken those words out loud, “Look at me.”

First, he shook his head, the stubborn god he is, but the soft touch of your hand on his made him finally lay his watery gaze on you. Everything was blurry and he struggled to catch his breath. He felt you move his hand to rest on your chest, the firmness of your collarbones running under his fingers.

“Feel my breath, Loki. Breathe like me. You can do this. In and out.” You spoke with such calmness, that he felt a growing sense of peace with each word you spoke. Loki’s chest fought against the tightness that ran rampant there as he tried desperately to copy your movements. In and out. His eyes were trained on yours, examining the different lengths of your eyelashes and the unique flecks of color that were embedded in your iris. The look of care and concern broke him.

“I am so sorry… I- I – I don’t know what came over me.” His hand still rested on your chest, above your heart, but he looked at his other hand like it was covered in blood. To him, it might as well have been, “I tried to fix you. To heal you. And it didn’t work! I couldn’t do anything because of these damn dampeners!”

Each word pressed out of Loki’s mouth earnestly, begging you to listen and each time Loki stole a glance at you, he saw that you were, “I felt weak. Powerless.” The confession slipped out before he even realized what he was saying.

“That is an awful feeling. I am so sorry, Loki.” The gentle touch of your thumb rubbing against the rough skin of his hand felt soothing, yet he turned his eyes away from you. You came to him without malice, without judgement. Each word and each action you took came with an aura of calm that he didn’t deserve. He deserved your wrath. Your hatred.

“You are too kind,” Loki whispered, still avoiding your penetrative stare, “Too good. I couldn’t let someone hurt you like that.”

“You wanted to protect me? That is kind of you, to look after me.” Loki closed his eyes at the sound of your soft, sweet voice, more tears spilling from his eyes. He still didn’t open them when he felt your free hand wiping the salty wetness from his face, but he found himself leaning greedily into your touch.

“I am hardly kind.” He scoffed at himself, the memories of his actions replaying in his mind, “I almost killed someone today. Like how I killed all the Midgardians in New York. I am a monster, YN!” Each word got louder as he spoke, desperately wanting you to see him as the vile, unworthy creature he is. But you weren’t looking at him like that. You never have.

You cupped his cheek, still keeping a tight hold on his hand, “You are not a monster, Loki. I may not know everything, but I know you were under the influence of a tyrant. You weren’t in control of yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

“And you are going to tell me what I just did wasn’t my fault?” He snapped suddenly, his eyes shooting open and looking at you. Instantly, guilt washed over him, but maybe you would finally stop looking at him like that. Like he mattered.

“No, I am not going to say that Loki.” The pads of your thumb rubbed against the sharp edges of his cheek bones, “But I will say that I think this is a result of all the stress and trauma you have been through, but that is something we can work on. You have been through so much Loki, so many unfair and cruel things and I am so sorry this happened to you.”

Loki choked out a sob, his cold heart unable to process your kindness, but you continued, “I am here for you, Loki. Everything will be okay.” He felt you pull away, and he whined at the loss of contact, but then he saw your opened arms. A silent invitation. It was more than he needed to launch himself into your awaiting embrace.

Loki nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling the floral perfumed scent that seemed to follow you everywhere. The god clung to you like a frightened child, as if you would vanish if he let go too soon. Sobs continued to wrack his body and you tightened your hold on him, like you could transfer your calmness into his body. And after a while, it seemed to work.

His breathing slowed and his heart rate returned to normal, but he didn’t want to leave the warmth of your embrace and the comforting touches of your hand stroking his back. It felt safe. It felt like home.

“How are you feeling?” You whispered in his ear, making him shiver. You must have assumed he was cold because you wrapped your arms impossibly tighter around him.

“Better….” He paused, swallowing thickly and still not removing himself from his place within your arms, “What – what happened to the man?”

You moved your hand from his back to the base of his skull, lightly stroking his black tresses. Nothing about the movement felt appropriate as you would say. It felt more…intimate.

“I don’t think he will be pressing any charges. The connection to Stark helps, but I am afraid it may affect our ability to leave the tower. It’s hard to say.”

He hummed thoughtfully, trying to not let the shame and guilt of the situation send him into another downward spiral. Regrettably, Loki pulled himself from your arms and stood up. You joined him and watched as he examined himself in the bathroom mirror. The once proud prince took in his red puffy eyes and the unruliness of his hair. The weight of everything kept his arms at his side, too weak in his heart to care about his appearance.

“Here, let me.” Gently, you turned him to face you and you quickly got to work. With a tenderness that brough a fresh wave of emotion to his eyes, you brushed his hair away from his face with your hands. Your fingers combed through his locks and took out the tangles before tucking the strands behind his ears. Next, you grabbed a piece of paper toweling from the dispenser and still, very gingerly, dabbed the corners of his eyes and dried the remaining tears from his pale skin. Finally, you fixed the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt before brushing off specks of lint and dust his chest and shoulders.

“Good as new.” You beamed, your radiant smile breathing in the possibility that you saw something in him. Something worthy. “Are you ready?” You asked him, but he had a feeling that you would wait for hours in this public bathroom with him if he needed it.

Loki reached for your hands, but ultimately decided against it. Even with the intimacy and closeness he felt, there was still a wall between the two of you. A professional barrier that he knew you would not cross.

“What about, uh,” Loki started, shifting uneasily on his feet, “What about the food? The purchases you needed to make?”

“I arranged for it to be delivered. It’s okay, really.”

He nodded his head and extended his arm, “Then let us go home.”

The thought of the Tower being home brought a foul taste in his mouth, but if there was one place, he decided he hated more – it was the grocery store.

Wordlessly, he followed you out of the bathroom and out of the store. The entire time he kept his eyes trained on the floor and on your back. He couldn’t face the stares and judgement. Every once and awhile, you would look over your back at him to check on him. The little gesture wasn’t lost on Loki and each time he gave you a tight-lipped smile.

Soon, you were back in your car and pulling out of the grocery parking lot. The silence between the two of you lingeried like thick, heavy smoke. It was suffocating and Loki was thankful for your reprieve.

“You know what always cheers me up? Music!” You chirped, making Loki turn his gaze from the passing landscape to your smiling face. Turning the dial on the car, you turned up the music and started to bop along to the lighthearted song. Your fingers drummed along the steering wheel and at first, your mouth moved silently to the lyrics until finally the joy and melody of the song had you singing aloud with a smile on your face. Loki found himself watching you with a smile of his own, noting how you weren’t an amazing singer but every note that left your perfect lips sounded so sweet to his ears. The darkness from the day started to lift and even though he didn’t know the words, the god started to bob his head to the beat right along with you.

“Oh my god!” You cried out suddenly, jerking the steering wheel and maneuvering your car to just barely miss an oblivious driver that crossed into your lane. Your reflexes took over without a second thought and you reached over and slapped your hand across Loki’s chest in a vain attempt to keep a god safe. The tires screeched when you stomped on your brake as soon as you crossed into the safety of the shoulder on the road.

Loki could hear the hammering of your heart, and he was sure you could feel his beating just as wildly under the palm of your hand that still rested on his chest.

“Oh my god!” You repeated, adrenaline barreling through your veins, “Are you okay?!”

Loki’s hand automatically covered yours, his own reflexes taking over, and he noticed your body was shaking terribly, “Ye-Yes, I’m fine. Are you okay?” He squeezed your hand.

“Oh God,” You cried, totally ignoring Loki’s question, “We almost got into an accident! You could have been injured! I’ve been too tired. I wasn’t paying attention. Oh my God!” The thought that you too, harbored guilt made him frown.

“Darling, take a breath. In and out.” Loki parroted your words from earlier when he saw your erratic breathing. You shot him an incredulous look.

“What? I am supposed to be taking care of you! Not the other way around!”

Loki flashed a toothy grin, looking down at your small hand that was still splayed across his chest, “It looks like you did a fine enough job keeping me safe, My Lady.”

“Oh my God!” You ripped your hand from his body like it burned you, making Loki’s grin vanish. Immediately, you flung yourself against your steering wheel in embarrassment, your car letting out a soft beep when your forehead connected with the horn.

“It’s a habit! I am so sorry, Loki!” The skin of his chest still burned hot from your touch, but the god found your embarrassment endearing. She’s cute, he thought. His large palms patted your back, the act of comforting someone else still foreign to him. But he wanted to. He wanted to help you, more than anything.

“It’s quite alright. You saved my life!” He teased, defaulting to the safety of his humor, and knowing full well that if his body was going through the windshield, your tiny hand would not be stopping it, “I would have flown right through that glass if it weren’t for you! You are my hero, Lady Y/N, truly.”

You turned your head, letting your cheek rest against the cool leather of the steering wheel. For a moment, Loki questioned if his teasing was the right move as he stared into your narrowed eyes. But then you burst into a fit of giggles, finally leaning against the head rest of your seat.

“Yeah, there is no way I could have kept you from flying through that windshield, Loki” You wheezes in between laughs, “Thank goodness for seatbelts. But I guess it’s the thought that counts.”

Loki huffed out a breathless laugh right along with you, until the hilarity of the situation died down and gave way to a more serious tone, “It does count. Your first thought was to keep me safe…” He turned away from you for just a split second to gather his nerves before his eyes connected you with earnest intent, “I appreciate it.”

Then you surprised Loki, seemingly throwing away your professional demeanor for one sweet moment. You reached across the car and squeezed his hand.

“Anytime, Loki.”

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