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succinct-assbutt · 6 years ago

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Burn Me Into Smoke (Part 8)

previous parts: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE , SIX, SEVEN

pairing: loki x reader

previous parts: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE , SIX, SEVEN

pairing: loki x reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating (?), jealousy

Summary; the tension continues to build as Loki throws himself deeper into one night stands,forcing Y/N to acknowledge her own feelings

A/N: incase you haven’t noticed my upload schedule is garbage and im sorry

~8~

Different girls come and go—usually by morning, somewhere after the sun has risen while she’s pouring herself a cup of coffee and catches the tail of auburn hair rushing out the door. Sometimes in the middle of the night while she’s training, she’ll hear the creak of a door and the click of heels, and soon enough she grows accustomed to the secrecy Loki hides behind.

She can deal with most of it, she tells herself. Most nights it’s the whisper of goodbye she catches in the hallways or the stray stiletto she finds tucked under the kitchen table, and she can look past that, she tells herself she has to look past that or else she’ll run mad, but she can only keep up for so long, and Friday is proof of that.

Three am and the sky is dressed in a dense fog, most of New York city cut out from sight as Y/N peers out her bedroom window. Her muscles are tired, little flecks of sweat still dotting the trail of her spine, visible proof of her over-exertion. She won’t admit it anyone, but the truth is it’s never been about the training: she’s always running, she’s found. From her problems and her past. From herself. And working out is the healthiest of coping mechanisms at this point, a way to clear her head from the thoughts chasing her.

The moon is her only company tonight.

And she watches it, head resting on her arm, listening to Manhattan’s heartbeat. She’s been thinking of moving. Oregon, Mexico maybe. With everything that’s been going on running away seems like the best option; she could start a new life. She could leave behind this one that’s somehow become a burden, she thinks, dragging a finger down the cool pane of glass.

So caught up in her thoughts, it isn’t until she hears the echo of a moan, a stretch of pleasure that finds her sitting at the edge of her bedroom, that she’s drawn back to reality.

Y/N’s hand stops moving for a second.

Then she freezes entirely, eyes growing wide. She ...it couldn’t have been…? Her face seems to flush as she waits, unmoving. Then the sound rings out again.

Louder this time and more masculine than the last, and Y/N feels the blood drain from her face.

The noise continues from then on: growing more haste and sloppy, a few cusses thrown into the mix to spice things up until she’s under the covers in her own bed, both pillows glued to either side of her head because this cannot be happening…

~*~

The next day, she can barely bring herself to so much as look at him.

Not over breakfast, or the mission, or even the celebratory drinks back at the tower at the end of the day; especially not when he walks through the door with a leggy blonde strapped to his side, the same one, Y/N instantly recognizes, from the previous night.

Her blood just about runs cold.

In the kitchen with Bucky and Sam, she feels the shame rising in her throat and suffocating. She watches as Loki and his friend saunter across the room to where the rest of the company sits, Steve’s reports laid out before them as they try and formulate a plan for the next trip.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, and her eyes flit to him skittishly.

She quirks a brow, trying to play off her restlessness. “Huh?”

“Are you drunk already?” He presses

“N-no.” It’s hard focusing on what he’s saying with the thoughts racing through her mind, but Y/N manages to break out from her reverie long enough to answer, “No, I’m fine. I’m fine, really, just—that’s the girl from yesterday, right? The one we saw him with at the café?” Squinting, she looks to Sam.

His eyes move to their target slung around Loki’s arm and laughing, then back. “I…think so?” He draws out uncertainly, “I don’t know, it wasn’t like I was paying attention.”

“They were having a sale on red velvet, of course you weren’t.” Bucky adds.

“I think it’s her. Yeah—yeah, it’s definitely her. She has the tattoo” As discreetly as possible, Y/N points to a mandala the size of a grapefruit peeping out of the sleeve of the girl’s dress. Bucky and Sam both squint and she turns to them, nodding vigorously. “She’s the one.”

Bucky pulls back, his face screwed up in confusion. “Okay…”He draws out in a way that tells her he’s not sure why he should care—he shouldn’t, truthfully. Neither should she, but it’s hard enough being in his presence without the bonus of one of his flings hovering in the room.

Y/N doesn’t say any of this, though—more out of sheer embarrassment than anything. Her eyes move once more to the pair at the other end of the room. Loki says something to Thor that has his date throwing her head back. Silky brown tresses and an easy smile. There’s no question why he picked her, and with a sigh Y/N then takes to the balcony for some fresh air because it’s dangerous, her thoughts catching up with her like this.

The wind greets her with a sharp smack as soon as she steps outside, sliding the door shut behind her. Muffled music follows her out, but the sound of speeding cars and New York at its finest drowns most of it out as she moves to the edge of the balcony. She spares a glance down at the shrunken streets. Everything below is so tiny from up here. Everyone’s an ant in a hill, running through their routine for the day, scudding along the busy streets. Sometimes she can’t help but miss the simplicity.

She’s always figured that maybe it’s part of the job, the bitterness, but halfway down the road she realizes it’s always just been her—her and her stubbornness, her ego. No amount of exercise or alcohol can stop the onslaught of thoughts now, but Y/N figures at this point the only thing left to do is let them drown her.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of jumping?” A voice suddenly says.

Y/N throws a glance over her shoulder, more worried than startled—the last thing she expected was someone finding her out here; the last thing she wanted was for it to be him.

And yet here he is, drink in hand and eyebrows pulled together.

His gaze shifts from Y/N to the railing she’s only just realized she’s gripping onto tightly, before flicking back up to her face. “You’re the last person I’d expect to opt for an early way out.”

“I’m not jumping.”

“Admiring the view then?”

Y/N isn’t sure what to say; her words feel jagged and sharp enough to cut the walls of her mouth, so she settles for silence as her hand slowly floats off the cool bar. She turns to face him fully, and for some reason Loki takes that as his invitation to join her, holding out the scotch in his hand.

“Here.” He offers.

She eyes skeptically, but takes it either way. “I thought you don’t drink…”

“I thought you know me well enough to not trust my word.”

“Right.”

“Everything okay?” Loki watches her drain the liquid right out the glass, observing the bob in her throat, the way the scotch runs down the column he can’t help but stare at. When she’s done, Y/N lets out a tired breath and meets his gaze.

She bites the inside of her cheek then shrugs, “Everything’s fine.”

“You know you’d be a half-decent liar if you didn’t have such an obvious tell…?” He offers with an arched brow, and it’s Y/N’s turn to play dumb.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She insists.

“That.” Loki does a half-assed shrug and twists his mouth in an almost humorous way, “You can’t trick a trickster.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend to get back to?” Her focus drifts over his shoulder and finds his date through the glass, watching her by the drinks with Natasha. Still just as gorgeous as when she left. He follows her gaze with a brief glance before turning back to Y/N, and she offers him a twisted smile. “Megan, right? She’s really pretty.”

It’s petty—she’s petty, she knows, but Loki doesn’t seem one bit bothered as he shrugs.

“She is,” He affirms. “Although she’s not my girlfriend. Just a girl.”

“One of the many you keep bringing over…” Y/N says as she turns back to her view from before. Setting down the glass, she lets her hands find the railing once again and tries to disappear into herself, but it’s hard with him lingering still.

Eventually, he joins her right at the edge, leaning onto his elbows. She spares a glance at him just for a second; wind tousling his hair, side-profile cast against the kaleidoscope of city lights.

“Not like any of them count.” Loki says. Then he looks at her, and for a fraction of a second she forgets she’s supposed to be mad at him.

Gazes locked, Y/N feels it, the hammering in her chest—the slow build that tells her to tear gaze away before it’s too late. Neither of them say anything for a while, enjoying the white noise swallowing them, the sky that slowly starts to dim. Somehow minutes fly by until finally

“None of them mean anything, you know?” It sounds crude and a bit harsh, but…I always tell them. Before anything happens. The last thing I want is to break some poor Midgardian’s heart.” His words die out towards the end of the statement and if you squint hard enough you can see the sadness in his voice, the way his eyes flicker to his hands for just a moment.

It’s no secret he has regrets; they’ve all got enough baggage to open up their own shop, but the Asgardian’s, Y/N knows, is something else, something he hides from everyone but himself.

Staring at him, she bites the inside of her cheek. She wants to ask why not her; why doesn’t he care enough to tread lightly around her heart instead of always bickering, but the moment passes as fast is came.

Loki straightens out, taking in a deep breath. Glancing at Y/N, he lifts an eyebrow, “I think you’re the only person whom I’d never worry about hurting.”

“Because of our deep rivalry?” She asks playfully.

“Because it’s hard to hurt someone as strong as you—which I hate to admit, all things considered.”

The shock shows in the way she pauses for a moment, weighing her words. Registering his. Y/N blinks and for a second thinks he’s going to disappear, that this is all just a drunken hallucination—somehow she wishes it was, because then she wouldn’t really have to deal with how intently Loki looks at her (or how strongly her stomach knots at the sight).

“Am I supposed to say thank you?” The words stumble from her mouth.

He shrugs. “Not if you don’t want to.” His eyes move back to the bright skyline. “I just felt I had to say it. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but…I don’t know…you get tired of keeping things bottled up sometimes…Sometimes you just want to say what’s on your mind.” The wind ripples through his clothes as he looks at Y/N, a current so strong it looks like it might carry him away, carry her too because suddenly she feels light on her feet and easy and Y/N isn’t sure why, but the next thing she knows her hand is resting on his.

Loki glances down at her fingers curled around his then back up, brow furrowing.

She reminds herself to breathe. She has to breathe, or else she’ll die—he’ll kill her. The breeze kisses her cheeks and for a moment they’re hyperaware of the contrast in their skin, how gentle her touch feels against his, how easy it is for their fingers to slot together.

Y/N licks her lips and hesitates, before sliding her hand away.

It’s a flash of a second; neither of them say anything, because in moments like these there isn’t much to say. Jarring music finding them even this far out. A newfound edge to the air that she can’t help but feel guilty for birthing, because she always gets like this when she’s drunk, transparent enough to hint at what she’s feeling but not enough to give the whole act away.

Loki takes in some air then looks away.

The regret comes in waves, washing over Y/N as she straightens out and tries not to cringe. Too many mistakes made tonight; coming out here, for one, and even talking to him for more than five seconds. The only person she can blame is herself and she twiddles with her fingers idly, clearing her throat.

“We should go back inside.” She says.

“You can go.” The air slowly shifts back into gear as he continues, “I’m not in the mood for a celebration right now—and do me a favor, will you?” Loki looks at her sharply, and Y/N struggles to keep his gaze Send Megan out here, I need to talk to her.”

“Sure.” She nods.

He doesn’t say much else, turning his attention back to the skyline; something draws her focus down to his hand and she watches a glass of gin manifest itself between his fingers, lifted to his lips as he takes a sip. Back to brooding, and suddenly it feels like her fault. Part of her wants to apologize for damaging the peace of night; the other part knows for sure though that if she stays, somehow she’ll find a way of making things worse, so carefully she disappears back inside the house before her heart gets the best of her.

As soon as she steps inside, the distinct change in environment slaps her in the face; here there’s music and people laughing. Clint’s playing some sort of drinking game with Romanoff and the others cheering them on, a sense of celebration that almost feels eerie.

Y/N can’t help it right then: she glances over her shoulder at Loki, a monochromatic blur against the glinting city lights, then looks around for Megan. The contrast inside is evident, but she won’t let it shake her. Drops her glass of in the sink then moves around the floor, peeping her head into empty rooms until she gets to the training room, ignoring the warm lilt of the night that makes her feel even worse—if she’d just kept her mouth shut, then he wouldn’t be out there sulking. He’d be enjoying this. Enjoying his not-girlfriend for as long as the night would allow, and for once Y/N would turn a blind eye.

She stops right then, right at the elevator with her hand risen, when she hears a sound.

It’s a whisper almost—an iciness sneaking up her spine and drawing her hairs on end, and for once in her life, Y/N wishes she could just let it go, but her eyes shoot to the source of the sound right away.

And without a doubt it’s her: Megan, tattooed shoulder, winding black hair, and snaking her hand along Steve’s leg.

Y/N’s heart just about stops.

She moves fast before they can see her; hidden behind the corner of the wall, she peers out from hiding, fists bawled with an anger suddenly coursing through her trembling hands. Megan’s smile is Cheshire and sweet and there’s no surprise she can win all the boys with a face like that—Y/N wants to be mad at her, but more than that her anger is focused on the Captain backed up against the counter. Brow drawn together, hands hovering just above her waist. And then she feels the relief wash over her when he pushes Megan away, face set in a scowl.

They speak in murmurs mostly; Megan’s voice is heavy and lust-soaked and it only brings out the dryness in Steve’s as Y/N listens in. Then she peeks out from behind the wall and they’re still there. Captain’s more confused than angry, she can tell, until a lighthearted laugh fills the air and Y/N watches her from the shadow, grape-fruit-sized mandala and curtains of black hair that sway as she walks off.

When Megan is gone, she immediately looks back. Steve doesn’t notice her until she steps out with a loud scoff. “What the actual fuck?”

“Y/N?”

Her arms cross over her chest as she moves into the blinding light and the challenge is evident in the way she lifts her chin at him, “Explain yourself?”

“You saw that?”

“Explain yourself, Rogers.” She grits; truthfully she doesn’t know why she’s angry—it’s none of her business. Or at least that’s what she always told herself.

Either way she listens as Steve explains everything, before both of them make their way back to the party.

“Loki sure knows how to pick ‘em.” He says as they move.

Y/N doesn’t say anything for a while; her eyes scan the parameter until she finds her target standing by his side, attentive and playing the role of the not-girlfriend so well you wouldn’t know her hand was practically down someone else’s trousers a few minutes ago.

Not that it’s any of her business, anyway.

“Maybe he has a type—pretty and problematic.” She says as the two of them move to the couch littered with pretzel crumbs and beer caps.

“Wouldn’t you fit the criteria then?”

“Are you really trying this right now?”

Steve laughs, even if she doesn’t think it’s funny, and they try to iron the weirdness out of the night with food and conversation. Eventually, things are back to normal. As normal as they can be, anyway. Clint joins them and they discuss the mission. Y/N tells them about Mexico with hopes that they won’t try to change her mind, but even with the banter and drinks she finds herself glancing over at Loki and his friend from time to time.

Her chest stutters for a moment, and she draws in a breath.

(Maybe you can trick a trickster afterall…)

~8~

TAGS: @thegrandmasterschampion , @petalparker , @adaliamalfoy , @strangedarkling , @bit-bot0711 , @malignentmac , @accentsintooblivion , @snailchick , @fandomwritingismylife , @thelovelysoulstealer , @tchilltchalla , @devilbat , @amor67figment-love , @lusty-loki , @missbosstown, @supreme-leader-armitage-hux, @bit-bot0711, @ourdreamsrealized, @jollyfish99, @flowerchild-572, , @smallgloryholes, @honestlyidek-someonehelp , @anonymouscastiel12 , @talinalani , @savkova , @regina-cordibus-vestris , @navybluenicole , @cait3dtl , @aintthatright , @lokisknives36 , @laxarnas

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years ago

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years ago

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hey i really loved ur loki story!! are u planning to update it anytime soon? no rush, i was just wondering :)

Yes! I’m so sorry I’m uploading it so late but the latest installment will be up today (i know i keep saying this but i mean it this time). Thank you for reading! <3

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years ago

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This is probably the shortest thing I’ve ever written and it has reached 1k likes??? Stop clowning people this is so flattering

Hush

Pairing: Jake Peralta x Reader.

Warnings: mild sexual content.

Word count: 650

Summary: Jake and the reader sneak off to handle some “urgent” matters…

A/N:

My server has crashed like eight times, each with an edited version of this i’m so sick of this shit :))

Very short, I know, but I’m only testing the waters with this fandom and writing for this character. I really enjoy the show and so far I’m deeply obsessed with Peralta, so this was my go to cathartic experience for all the feels.

Enjoy!

○°○°○°○°○°○

Y/N can barely contain herself.

In the silent confines of the closet, her breathing is labored, a jagged mess of pants and heaves. Her chest stutters up and down, falling as fast as it rises, and she struggles for breath. There’s none left in the tiny box. There’s nothing but the sound of clothes rustling and sweaty skin sticking together like glue as she goes in for another kiss. His hand slides down her side then to her waist, to the y/s/t skin peeping out from a lilac dress shirt, to her back and down to her ass, because, yeah, this is definitely more fun than filing paper work.

Definitely.

It comes as a whisper. A soft, sweet whimper dredged up from the deep, but it quakes the walls of the building with the weight it holds.

“Jake…”

He groans, teeth clashing, tongue scavenging for hers, heart beating like a bomb ticking. God, it’s ticking. It has been since they stumbled into this closet, as though waiting to detonate and it’s so intense and a little bit disorienting, but heaven be dammed if he’s going to subdue it.

Jake’s hand slithers beneath her shirt and Y/N shivers at the contact. “Y/N…” He manages despite his nebulous mind.

“Jake…” she pants, lips screwed to his and muffling her speech. He flicks his tongue along her bottom lip and she let’s him, his hand clasping her cheek tight like a ripe apple.

“Uh-huh? “

“We shouldn’t be doing this…not here. “ Y/N leans back against the wall and he attacks her neck with his tongue, trailing wet kisses down from her jaw to behind her earlobe. She clamps her eyes shut, stifling a moan. She can’t. She shouldn’t. This is beyond unethical, breaching into pure sin she ought to be repentant for—but, dammit, it feels too good to stop.

Tipping her head back, she stutters a shaky breath as Jake goes to town, working his tongue down to the collar of her shirt and then back to the curve of her jaw. He’s attentive and precise. Within a second his lips are back on hers and Y/N feels the knot in her stomach coil tighter. Peralta .

Only Peralta.

Having been with him for six weeks now, she knows just as well as the sky is blue that only he can spark the fire burning in her belly. Only Jake can make the pulse of her blood run like a river, stir up a tsunami behind her ribs that makes her wonder if she’s sane. She can’t possibly be—the decision to be with him is enough of a an alibi, because who is crazy enough to date their colleague, let alone get steamy with them in the paper room?

“You okay?” His voice cuts through Y/N’s reverie, causing her to flutter her eyes open, meeting the deep brown ones a few inches away almost immediately. Her lips are wet and plump and there’s a heat pulsing in the pit of her stomach she can’t satiate.

Hooded eyes regarding him, she nods frantically. “We should get back. Terry’s probably looking for us.”

“And…?”

“And I don’t want my uncle blowing his top because he caught me making out with my colleague.”

“Well, they don’t call us partners for nothing.” Jake grins. Y/N punches him in the shoulder and his expression immediately consorts, a pout surfacing. “Ouch. Uncalled for.”

“Can we go now?”

“Nope. I’m not done with you yet.” He states. “Nor will I be until our desires are both satisfied. Now….” A mischievous smirk stretches across Jake’s face and, grabbing her hips, he hoists Y/N up against the wall.

Her resistance falters; a smile manages onto her face, and she shakes her head softly. The room is getting smaller and smaller and the temperature is rising, but it’s okay. Jake leans in, his face inches away, warm breath fanning her heated skin.

“…where were we?”

~*~*~*~*~*

This is the closest thing to smut I’ve ever posted my face us still burning hot

As always, thank you for reading, likes/reblogs and follows are much appreciated. more B99 to come seeing as it is my current consuming obsession. I love Jake Peralta, he is perfect, I want him to be my second husband

Have a nice day!

#!!!#thank you guys

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years ago

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Y’ALL

#you already know this is about #my chemical romance #mcr

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years ago

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mcr announcing the reunion on halloween in the year of danger days after their last released song was called “fake your death” in a greatest hits album called “may death never stop you”……… the drama……. the theatrics…………..

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years ago

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Hey, I was looking at the publication date for Play Pretend and noticed it was a really long time ago. Are you still planning on writing a second part, and if so, when do you think you’d have it ready by?

Hi there, I haven’t been really active in the B99 fandom for a while nor have I been up to date with the show either because of school, but I have half of the second part written out; if people are interested I could probably get it done by next week :)

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years ago

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burn me into smoke || Part 7

previous parts: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE , SIX

pairing: loki x reader

warnings: possible language, jealousy?

summary: it’s the push and pull of the tide, the way they go at each other; despite spending his nights in other girls’ beds, Loki can’t seem to get over how really feels...

~*~*~

He goes home with his head hung in shame that night.

Finds half the team in the lounge as soon as he steps out of the elevator, lifting a lazy hand in greeting before rushing to the stairs. The hurry isn’t out of fear of questioning (at this point nobody asks because everybody knows).

He turns the shower on and steps right under the frigid stream. Shuts his eyes. He doesn’t feel the iciness in the water, going about with the routine—he washes the dirt out of his hair and watches the suds dissolve between his toes.

There comes a knock at the door, and Loki has to turn the pressure down to hear them.

“Loki? Are you there?” It’s Thor, the steady baritone of his voice managing to find him even this far.

He rolls his eyes and grabs one of the towels hanging nearby (he hasn’t used this room for so long he’s not sure how clean they are) and answers the door wide enough for just his face to stick out.

“What do you want?”

“Where were you last night?” His brother asks immediately.

“Where am I most nights I’m not here? It isn’t rocket science.”

“With the brunette from the bar? What’s her name—Casey? Christie.”

“I forget, that was a while ago.” And before that Margot, and before that, as ashamed as he is to admit he remembers, Lyanna.

Thor is seemingly the only one out of the whole team who knows just how deep this rabbit hole goes, and Loki, holding tightly onto his pride, hopes it stays that way.

“Why are you here, brother?” He asks Thor, moving about the room—he grabs a pair of black pants and fits his slender legs through them, tossing the drenched towel to the side.

Thor remains at the door, arms crossed like he doesn’t want to so much as step foot into the room—not that he can blame him. There’s no telling what Loki will do, he learnt that the hard way.

“To remind you that I’m not going to keep covering up for you. They keep calling, you know? This morning that redhead tried reaching me like six times.” He informs bitterly. “Some go as far as showing at the building, and I won’t have it, Loki. End this now.”

“A little fun never killed anyone.” Loki tries to remember a redhead he’s talking about, but nothing comes to mind. “Let them call and show up. I’m not here most of the time, anyway.”

“I am, and it gets old cleaning up after you.”

He plops down onto the foot of his bed and runs a hand through his wet hair. He casts a quick glance at Thor—an enviable figure, with his burly arms and golden hair and nobility. He’s the reason Loki’s case was dropped and his freedom deemed a fate rather than a far-fetched dream. It’s admirable, the lengths Thor will go to make it seem it’s all out of good-heart rather than saving face.

Loki tells him this, more out of wanting to be left alone than spite, and it works. His only company is his own for the rest of the day.

He cleans his room and shelves his books, until the sky begins to dim and the noise from downstairs gets louder. Most of the team is back now, he can tell. Wanda’s voice floats up into earshot and with it the laugh of whom he assumes to be Banner. Loki tries to ignore them as he slides an encyclopedia onto his shelf, and dusts off his hands.

Someone knocks on his door, and this time he doesn’t answer.

“Loki?” They insist. He doesn’t move, wordless, but they’re incessant. “Loki, open up. It’s important.”

“I’m busy.”

“There’s someone here to see you.” It’s Natasha, he deciphers.

Almost an entire minute flies by and she’s about to leave, Loki finds, when he yanks the door open.

“This better be good.” He says as he buttons up his shirt then follows her down.

~*~*~~

When he sees Becca waiting for him in the kitchen, Loki’s sure his heart stops beating for a second.

She’s smiling at him, like always, and she’s got a tray of cupcakes in her hand she must have nicked from work.

“There he is!”

Within a second she’s in his arms, lifting herself onto the toes of her shoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. Loki’s winded. He just stares down at her, unmoving. There’s a sudden deadliness hanging in the air.

“What are you doing here?” He manages to ask, and her eyes look even brighter when she pulls away.

“You don’t sound happy to see me…? I figured since we’re always at my place we could change things up a bit. Hang out at yours, y’know? I brought cupcakes for your friends.”

“These are delicious, Becky.”

“Becca.” Hands curled into fists, it’s an effort just getting a breath out for him as his eyes find Stark and the rest congregating at the table. He’s got colored frosting on his cheek and for some reason that only adds to Loki’s annoyance.

It must show. He feels Becca take his hand in hers and looks down at her.

“Was…” Her eyes grow uncertain, and her words carry a care he’s not used to, “…this a bad idea? Should I have not showed up?”

“Why would you even do such a thing? I told you I’d call.”

“You did. I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Or sabotage me, maybe?” Loki rips his hand away from her and takes a step back.

The hurt in her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed; they want him to play the part of the villain, don’t they? Pitch forks and eyes ablaze, chasing the next victory and appraisal for defeating people like him? There isn’t any room for guilt. This, he can feel as the anxiety bubbles under his skin, is what heroes demand from him: this is his reckoning.

A room full of lies catching up with him and the Asgardian can feel the tightness in his chest, eyes flitting left and right. Somewhere amidst the chaos, he finds, is Y/N.

Crossing the room in her usual gym get-up, drenched in sweat and with one of her headphones dangling from her ear, their gazes meet. Bewildered. He can hear the feint drums and guitar riffs playing in her ipod from where he stands.

The earth seems to stutter on its axis. Just for a second. Then Bucky holds out a cupcake frosted in the shape of a cat-face, and her eyes shift from Loki’s.

“Try one.” He watches Barnes hand it to her.

Y/N turns it over, squints at the misshapen whiskers. Her eyes flicker back for a moment before they move to Becca, and it’s a calculating glance, the longest they’ve acknowledged each other in the past two weeks.

Y/N looks back up at the cupcake, then at Loki. Then, bitterly, she laughs and sets it down.

~*~

He tells Becca to leave as soon as everybody goes upstairs, and it’s the first time Loki has seen her cry.

“You need to go.” He insists. “Just go.”

“And then? Are you seriously kicking me out over something like this? I don’t ask for much, Loki.”

“Neither do I, just that you respect my privacy.”

“And that we do it with the lights off, or that I don’t say your name in bed, or that I don’t ask anything past your name—why are you so…so…unavailable! Even when you’re there, you’re—“He stops listening at that point.

She’s babbling and red-faced and for the first time since this started, a guilt has been born inside him, watching a face of rapture melt into an anguish. Becca rubs at her red-rimmed eyes and he feels a pang shoot through him. He misses her smile. The comfort it gave. This? This is the chilling reality that the pep managed to hide, and the illusion is the only reason he signed up in the first place.

He calls her a cab that doesn’t come fast enough then, placing a kiss at the crown of her head as she ducks down into the carj, heads back up to the tower…

~*~

One of the few perks of waking up in his own bed: Loki can actually have coffee for breakfast.

Warm and creamy and laced with the slightest hint of cardamom, it’s a beguiling start to his day, even after the night he’s had.

He finds the pot already made when he enters the kitchen the next morning, bare-chested and groggy-eyed. There are scones and buttered almonds. Some cupcakes from last night sit on a plate on the counter and he resists the urge to bin them as he passes by.

Pouring himself a cup, Loki almost doesn’t hear Y/N step into the room, startled only by the sudden sound of her voice cutting through his tranquil silence.

“That’s mine.” She says, and he glances over his shoulder.

A mixture of surprise—not that she’s here but that she’s speaking to him—rears its head as he gawks at her, frozen. A baggy green t-shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, hiding most of her patterned boy shorts that peep out from the hem.

“Sorry?”

“The coffee.” She says blandly. “I brewed that for myself. I have session later today with Rogers so I’ll need all the fuel I can get.”

“I just want a cup.”

“So make yourself one. There’s more beans in the cabinet.” She plucks the pot from his hand and Loki notes the sourness in her eyes, almost more potent today than rest of the days.

Emptying it into her thermos, Y/N hands him the jug, then screws the cap on.

His eyes narrow, but with her back turned to him it goes unnoticed. At this point they’re past arguing, breached into a higher realm of passive aggressive silences and moments—like this one—of trivial triumphs over one another.

“I just wanted a cup,” Loki watches Y/N grab one of the cupcakes and bite into it. “—not a whole pot. Are you really that petty?”

“Look, I’m not petty, I made that batch for myself so I’m taking it. Besides—“ She turns around, lip frosted pink with cream. “—doesn’t cupcake girl work at a Starbucks or something? Sure she can make arrangements.”

“So that’s what this is about.”

“You said she stood you up yet I remember, very clearly, her serving me a latte and buttered croissant that very day.”

Loki grits his teeth and for a moment he forgets he isn’t talking to her.

A stifled pride rouses in him instead as he watches Y/N, the line of color on her lip almost taunting—it’s a juxtaposition of his two worlds, a kaleidoscope sunset cast against these raging tides and it’s a little further than he’d hoped this situation would climb

But he’s here now, regardless. Bile threatens to rise in his throat at the sight, his fists bawling.

“That wasn’t her I was referring to.”

Y/N’s eyebrows rise. “Oh? So it’s been more than one mystery woman?”

“What interests me is why you’re so worked up by it…?”

He’s trying to keep his cool; there’s still a fleck of pink by the corner of her lips and she grows more ardent with each syllable of her words.

“I don’t like liars, Loki. You play that guilt-trip card to make it look like you’re more than that, but all you do is prove me right.”

“I’m not here to argue with you. If you’re jealous, say so, but don’t mask your envy as care for the truth—green isn’t your color.” The words pour out of him as he inches closer until they’re breaths apart, and for the first time since he’s spoken Y/N’s tongue fails her.

Her jaw drops and the tail of her sentence hangs on her agape lips.

Staring into her y/e/c gaze, Loki’s not quite sure what he’s waiting for. He’s thrown the punch.

And in that moment he knows the force it strikes her with, by the way her brow briefly wrinkles like she’s digesting his taunts, by how her scowl falters, before masking the hurt with an angry frown.

She moves back from him, defiant and a gust of smoke billowing onto him—a flame extinguished.

His eyes follow her and he doesn’t want it to admit the icy fear crawling up his spine—Y/N watches him with an anger, a determination more than anything that he knows he’s going to regret having sparked with his words, but soon his anxiety dissolves into confusion.

She doesn’t pounce on him; instead she fists her hands tighter at her sides, retracts into herself and she’s not going to fight. Not today.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.” She manages to spit out.

And then she’s gone before he can get a word out.

He listens to the heaviness of her footsteps growing softer until he’s sure she’s left the apartment, and he finally lets out the air caged in his lungs.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading!

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