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harley-sunday · 4 years

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Encore [03]

Summary: The new Disney+ show ‘Encore’ brings together former castmates of a high school musical, tasking them with re-creating their original performance in a high school reunion like no other. Emotions run high as you face faded friendships, long-forgotten controversies, killer choreography, and an ex-boyfriend you haven’t seen in eighteen years.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader [unnamed OFC, nicknamed ‘Ace’)

Warnings: Language. NSFW

Word count: 10.3k

AN: This chapter has everything: angst, swooning, smut, you name it. Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

“Hi, Nic,” you answer your phone with a faint smile, wedging it between your ear and your shoulder so you have both hands free to drain the pasta that has just finished cooking.

“Ok, I did something and you’re not going to like it, but-”

“Nicole,” you warn her, because even though you’re not sure what she’s talking about it doesn’t sound too promising.

“Just hear me out, ok?”

You grab the glass of wine you poured yourself earlier and sit down at the kitchen table, “Fine.”

“So I went to go see Chris after you left yesterday and-”

“Nicole,” you draw out, pinching the bridge of your nose, your elbows resting on the table, “what did you do?”

“I gave him your letters,” she says matter-of-factly. “He needs to know.”

“I can’t-”

“It’s been eighteen years, babe,” she cuts in, “and I’m not gonna let you two waste another minute.”

“You had no right,” your voice comes out barely above a whisper, the betrayal caused by your best friend weighing heavy on your, well, everything. You can hear she’s still talking but you hang up anyway, not interested in whatever excuse she comes up with to justify her actions.

Your phone rings again, Nicole’s name flashing on your screen, but you decline the call, the hurt slowly turning into anger and so you empty your glass of wine rather aggressively before you decide you need something stronger. Might as well get the whiskey out, you reason, and so not much later you find yourself on the couch, your half-finished dinner long forgotten, nursing a whiskey and taking a rather painful trip down memory lane.

After you left Sudbury you found a job as a waitress at a diner in Boston somewhere and you were determined to leave the past behind you, taking on every available shift to keep yourself busy. It felt like you actually had your life together for about six months, but then ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ came out and suddenly Chris was everywhere and you had a rather embarrassing breakdown over it at work. Your boss, bless him, understood you needed something more than just a shoulder to cry on and referred you to a therapist who had helped his daughter after a particularly nasty divorce not too long ago.

In the end it was Dr Lipinski who suggested writing letters rather than keeping a diary, because as he told you, the act of writing down your thoughts and feelings and then sending them to your person of choice, would offer you a sense of closure. You chose to send them to Nicole, mostly because, well, you missed your best friend terribly, but also because she was there for most of what happened while you were dating Chris and so she knew your history.

She didn’t reply until after the third or fourth letter, when she wrote to you and told you how hurt she was after you left. You were a little taken aback by her blunt reply but your therapist used her letter to make you understand that when you left Sudbury, you also left Nicole behind and that her feelings were very valid. Your next letter to her was a heartfelt apology that she accepted with grace and after that you started writing to each other regularly.

Most of your letters those first few months were long, endless pages of you trying to understand why this break up had such an impact, why you couldn’t seem to let it go. Sometimes while writing, a happy memory from when you were dating would pop up and you’d share it with Nicole, but most of the time it was just you trying to figure out where things had gone wrong and why Chris seemed so unaffected by all of it. Another popular subject was trying to make sense of why people treated you the way they did after you broke up and why they went to such lengths to make you feel so bad up until the point where the only way out was to leave Sudbury.

After a while, a good two years after you first started writing, your letters became less about Chris and more about whatever else was going on in your life. You kept writing Nicole as you moved from Boston to Pittsburgh to Baltimore before you ended up in Philadelphia almost four years ago. She was there with you for every new job, every date you went on, both good and bad, and during your four-year relationship with Dylan that slowly bled to death even though Nicole already told you to call it quits five months earlier.

Except for the annual Christmas letter there was no telling how often you’d write her, sometimes mailing out as many as three letters in one month and sometimes taking several months between one letter and the next. There was always a peak in letters whenever Chris had a new movie out though, his media presence almost a cruel reminder of why you started writing in the first place.

The Infinity War premiere earlier this year, which took place about a week after you were contacted about Encore, made you write two letters in rapid succession. The first one was upbeat, the words penned down almost in a hurry, as though you were afraid you’d run out of time, and almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of seeing him again. The second letter was way more subdued and took you several hours to write as you suddenly found yourself reliving the years right after you broke up with Chris, which in turn made you doubt if coming back would be a good idea.

Your last letter was sent somewhere during the summer, where you let Nicole know that of course you were doing the show, not only because it would be stupid not to but also because you hoped it would bring you some sort of closure after all these years. She supported your decision and you could tell she was excited to finally see you again and introduce her family to you.

Maybe what bothers you so much about Chris now having your letters, you realize, a few hours and two glasses of whiskey later, is that, even though you made the very conscious decision to go back to Sudbury, things are out of your hands now and you hate no longer being in control of what happens next more than anything.

The rest of the week passes by in a blur, a new assignment with a tight deadline has you working long hours, all while Nicole keeps calling you at steady intervals. You never answer, still too upset and hurt by what she did.

When Friday afternoon comes around you wonder if maybe you should call Dr Lipinski, just to hear what he thinks. You decide it would probably be weird to contact him after you stopped seeing him, what, fourteen years ago and so you don’t, not in the least because you know he’ll probably just say something like, “But how does it make you feel?”

Problem is, you don’t know. There’s a whole range of emotions you go through each day, from angry when you remember what Nicole did, to disappointed that she did it, to hurt that she did it without your consent. Giving Chris those letters was like giving away a piece of you that you’ve kept hidden for all these years and you’re not sure you want him to see now, because what if he no longer wants anything to do with you once he finishes reading them?

Last night you wondered if you should just call him and explain well, what exactly you weren’t sure, and so you spent the better part of an hour staring at your phone, willing for Chris’ name to pop up on your screen. You even contemplated calling Scott, only to realize you don’t have his number, which made you even more upset.

Your phone rings then, interrupting your thoughts and when you see it’s your boss who’s calling you take the call with the push of a button on your steering wheel, her voice filling your car in an instant.

The call is short, but you know more will probably follow over the weekend, because for some reason your boss values your opinion too much not to run things by you before final decisions are made. Before you hang up you tell you’re available should she want you to come into the office, and even though she tells you she would never and to enjoy your weekend, you kind of hope that she does, because you could use some distractions in the next forty-eight hours or so, not particularly looking forward to the time alone.

After a quick stop at the grocery story you finally make your way back to your house, cursing quietly when you see there’s no empty parking spaces along your street and you’ll have to park around the corner. Once you find one not too far away, you sling your purse over your shoulder and grab the brown paper bag from the back seat, supporting it with two hands once you’ve locked your car, because even though it’s not really heavy it’s just easier that way.

Your phone rings then and without looking you answer it, figuring it must be your boss backtracking on her earlier offer to not have you come in, “Linds, just tell me when and I’ll be there.”

“It’s me.”

You’re too stunned to say anything and stop at a bench, putting the groceries down to keep from dropping them.

“I know you don’t want to talk and I know you’re still angry, but I need you to listen for like, two minutes, and I promise I will stop meddling after this,” Nicole says so fast you almost want to tell her to take a deep breath, but then she clears her throat and says, “I gave him your address.”

“What?” You make a face because you don’t understand, “Who did you-”

“Just be honest with him, ok babe?”

“What are you talking about?” You shake your head even though she can’t see you, “Nicole? Who has my address? Did Scott contact you-”

“I want you to know that I love you,” her voice is soft, “and that I’m always here for you.” Before you have a chance to say anything she continues, “Now go. I’ll talk to you soon, ok?”

“Nicole!” It’s too late, she’s hung up already and you can feel yourself starting to get annoyed at her call. What the hell was she thinking, giving Scott your address? You stew things over while you pick up your groceries and continue on towards your house, not particularly paying attention to your surroundings. You’ve just made it to the front steps when you see something moving out of the corner of your eye and then someone steps into view and-

“Hi.”

Of course. You look at him from over your grocery bag, “What the hell are you doing here?” Then, because it’s quite busy out and you don’t want anyone to recognize him even though he’s wearing sunglasses, you rest the bag on your hip and fish your keys out of your pocket and nod towards the door once you’ve opened it, “Get inside.”

He waits in the narrow hallway for you to close the door and so you have to squeeze past him to the kitchen so you can finally put your groceries down. You take a deep breath before you turn towards him and it’s then you notice the duffel bag at his feet, which makes you scoff, “What are you doing here, Chris?”

“I wanted to check on you-”

“Well, you’ve seen me,” you say, gesturing at yourself, “I’m fine.”

He steps closer then, his eyes landing somewhere over your right shoulder, where you know there are four empty bottles of wine on the counter and so you try your hardest not to cringe, before he looks back at you, one eyebrow raised, “You sure about that?”

You close your eyes for a second, trying to not lose what little composure you have left, “If you just came here to tell me my life is a mess, I really don’t-”

“I came here because we need to talk,” he takes his sunglasses off and runs a hand through his hair, which tells you he’s not quite as confident as he tries to make you believe.

“And you thought showing up, unannounced, was the best way to do this?” You scoff and shake your head, “Do you even know me?”

“I thought I did,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You hold up your hand when you see he wants to say something, “No, you know what, never mind, we’re not doing this now.”

“Ace-”

“The living room is on your right, go, make yourself comfortable, examine my life some more, I don’t care,” you tell him as you turn around and start unloading your groceries, “I’m gonna make us dinner first because I’m not doing this on an empty stomach.”

You think you hear him chuckle, but you’re too determined to prove your point and so you ignore him, instead getting everything you need to make a quick chicken stir fry. He leaves his bag in the hallway, almost like he wants you to know he’s not going anywhere, and it makes you go through a whole range of emotions while you cut the vegetables.

Dinner is awkward and silent and so the moment both of you finish eating you pick up the plates and disappear into the kitchen, mumbling something about doing the dishes. While you wait for the sink to fill up with warm water you start clearing away some of the things you’ve used while cooking and it’s at that moment Chris walks in.

Your kitchen is small and definitely not large enough to host two people comfortably and so you can’t help but bump into him when you turn back around, and having him up in your personal space does nothing to improve your mood.

“You need any help with those dishes?”

You shake your head, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave you alone, but either he really doesn’t or simply chooses not to, because he stays, leaning against the countertop behind you. Fine, you think, and focus on the dishes instead.

“You know what I regret the most?” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but his words pierce through the air like a scream and in response you start scrubbing a little harder. He doesn’t wait for your reply and continues, his voice a little louder now, “Letting you go that easily.” He clears his throat, “Did you know I came back for you after we broke up?”

Shit. The plate you were holding slips from your hand, falling back into the soapy water and making some of it splash over the edges, which only adds to your frustration.

“I thought maybe if we could talk and I could explain what really happened at that party, I don’t know. I thought maybe we could work things out, you know, that if you heard my side you’d understand, but-” he pauses for a second, “you weren’t there.” His voice catches on the last word and he clears his throat again, “When I found out you were gone I lost it. I asked Nicole to tell me where you went and when she told me she didn’t know I- Your parents, I called them every single day, begging them to tell me, to at least let me know if you were alright, but they just told me to let it go. To let you go.”

Too much. It’s too much and you can feel the room starting to close in on you and so you try your hardest to just stay focused on the task at hand.

“I think they called my mom at some point, just to get me to back off, and she basically told me the same thing, that I should let you go and that if we were really meant to be together you’d find your way back to me in the end.” He scoffs, “Maybe not the best advice to give a heartbroken nineteen-year old who thinks this is the end of the world. I went off the rails after that and I’m not proud of some of the things I did, but at least the alcohol helped to numb some of the pain, so-” He sighs, “My manager gave me an ultimatum after I missed my third casting call in two months and, I don’t know, I guess that was the turning point, you know? I went back to Los Angeles and focused on work and for a while it helped because that city never held any memories for us so-” his voice drops, “I thought I could finally let you go, but-”

You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear that the past eighteen years have been just as bad for him as they were for you, and it’s almost as if you don’t want to believe that what he just told you is actually true, because it would invalidate so much of the anger you’ve felt for all those years. You drop the glass you were holding back into the water and leave, the living room the only logical option for now because that’s where your liquor cabinet is. Just as you’ve poured two glasses of whiskey, putting one on the dining room table for him to take, he walks in, one eyebrow raised when he sees what you’re doing. You shrug, “I’m gonna need a drink for this.”

There’s a hint of something in his eyes, maybe relief that at least you’re talking again, before he says, “I just need you to hear me out, Ace. Please?”

You don’t say anything but take a sip of your whiskey instead, which he takes as his cue to continue.

“I thought I could forget you, thought that it would get easier after a while but-”

You watch him as he leans against the table, more space between you now than there was in the kitchen. He looks down at his feet and you can see his eyebrows knit together, almost as if he tries to decide what to say next.

He nods then and looks back up at you, “I never believed people who said you never forget your first love, thought eighteen years would be long enough to get over someone- To get over you but,” he tries to smile and shrugs, “then I saw you again last week and-”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“-turns out they were right after all.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you with that half-smile that normally makes you melt a little but now only adds fuel to the fire and so you don’t give him the response you know he’s waiting for.

He runs his hand over his face in frustration, “Well, I guess at least now you know my side.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “I guess I should tell you mine but your new best friend Nicole made sure you already know everything, so-”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t still talk about it.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what people do, Ace,” he says, his desperation clear in the way he drops his hands. “I came looking for you last week, you know that? I went by your hotel because I didn’t want to leave things between us like that but you weren’t there and I-,” he shakes his head, “I felt like that nineteen-year old kid again.”

You don’t say anything, just scoff and take another sip, the amber liquid burning your throat in not an entirely unpleasant way.

“So when Nicole offered me that lifeline, I- Reading your letters,” he says, his voice a little unsteady now, “it helped me understand that I fucked up. Not just eighteen years ago but also last week. That’s why I’m here, you know, I- I really hope we can try to work things out, because I don’t want to lose you again.”

“What do you want me to say, Chris? I don't-”

“I just want to know if the girl I fell in love with all those years ago is still there.”

It’s too much. You’d like to believe you’re still angry. At him. At yourself. At Nicole. Because anger is an easy emotion. Safe even, at least it was for the past eighteen years. But it’s also slowly starting to dissolve, because the faint promise of something more that hangs in the air now makes you feel hopeful, maybe, and it confuses you. So, you put your glass down and walk past him, doing what you do best, “I don’t know what you had planned but if you want to you can sleep on the couch, I guess,” you tell him as you make your way to the stairs, “there’s a linen closet on the landing upstairs, next to the bathroom. Everything you need is in there.”

“Ace-”

“I need some-” You take a deep breath, “Good night, Chris.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy and you spend the night tossing and turning, sometimes drifting off in a restless sleep, but mostly awake, the events of the previous evening never far from your mind. By the time Saturday morning comes around you’re a little sleep deprived and a lot on edge.

You’re still in bed, trying to figure out how to go about today, trying to figure out what to do with everything you found out last night, when you hear the familiar creak of the stairs. For a moment you panic, thinking he’s going to come in to tell you he’s leaving, but then you hear the tap being turned on in the bathroom and you let out a sigh of relief, if only because the inevitable has been postponed a little longer.

The shower turns on then and so you realize now is a perfect time to call the one person who you know will help you make sense of the whirlwind of emotions you’re feeling after last night. You roll over, grabbing your phone from the nightstand, and thumb through your contact list until you’ve found her number, letting yourself roll on your back once you’ve hit ‘Dial’.

She doesn’t answer right away and for a moment you’re worried she’ll ignore your call like you did hers the past week, but then you hear the familiar sound of her voice and it’s like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders.

“You ok?” She sounds worried, must know that you wouldn’t call if it’s not urgent, and you love her for it.

“No,” you answer truthfully, “not really.”

“Is he still there?”

“Yeah,” you pause for a second, just to confirm you can still hear the water running. “He’s taking a shower,”

“So he spent the night?”

“On the couch,” you admit easily, “but yeah.”

“What happened?” There’s some noise on her end of the line and you can only imagine her sitting up on the couch, not wanting to miss anything of what you’re about to tell her.

“I don’t know. It was so awkward at first, Nic,” you let out a sigh and look up at the ceiling, “and then he just sort of started talking, telling me his side of the story and-”

“So you know about what happened when he got back to Sudbury?”

“You mean, after we broke up?”

“Yeah,” Nicole confirms.

“I don’t know.” You run a hand over your face, “He told me he sort of lost it for a while?”

“Oh honey,” Nicole scoffs, “he was a mess. He came by a few times, always asking if I knew where you’d gone, if there was a way to contact you, and each time he looked worse than when I last saw him. He even got pulled over at some point and they threatened to put a DUI on his record, but Michael’s dad was still Chief and knew the history between you two and what had happened, you know, so in the end they just took him home and warned him not to do it again. I think he went back to Los Angeles shortly after that.”

“Oh,”

“Yeah.”

You throw your blankets off and sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, “Why’d you never tell me this?”

She scoffs, “Would it have changed things?”

“No.” You sigh, “Probably not.”

“Exactly,” she replies, and you can just imagine her nodding on the other end, “So now that you realize you were an asshole to him last night, what’s-”

“Nicole!” You try to keep your voice down and so it comes out in a hushed whisper.

“Oh come on,” she says, her voice telling you that she knows she’s right, “like that’s not what’s happened.”

“Well yeah, but I don’t need you to rub it in.”

“That’s why you called me though, isn’t it?”

You nod, because of course it is, “Yeah.”

“Ok,” she agrees, “so then you also know what you need to do next.”

“Probably,” you tell her, running one hand through your hair, “but I know you can’t wait to enlighten me just in case,”

“You need to let him in, babe,” she says matter-of-factly. “All the way. Be honest with him. Only then can you two try to make this work.”

You sigh, “I just hope I didn’t fuck it up too much last night,”

“Babe,” she says, the accusatory tone in her voice very clear, “that man is so-”

“That man just finished his shower,” you whisper quickly when you hear the bathroom door open, “I need to go.”

“You got this, babe.” “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say and push the end call button just as you hear Chris walk by. You wait for him to make it downstairs again before you get out of bed, grabbing some clean clothes before you head to the bathroom as well.

You find him in the kitchen not much later, trying to figure out your coffee machine but so far not succeeding. Clearing your throat to let him know you’re there you lean against the doorframe, “Hey.”

“Hi,” he says and then gestures towards the machine, “I was trying to make us some coffee but,”

“Yeah, no, that requires at least a day of training,” you say with a small smile, the tension you left with last night still very much palpable. “I was thinking maybe we could go out for breakfast?” You were thinking no such thing, but it seems like a good idea. “Get out of the house a little? I know this great place not too far from here, it’s usually pretty quiet there, so-”

“Sounds great,” Chris says while he pushes the coffee machine back to its original spot on the counter.

You grab your purse and keys and wait for him to put on his shoes before you walk outside, telling him your car is parked just around the corner. The drive over to Point Breakfast doesn’t take long but it’s filled with the same awkward silence as during yesterday’s dinner. You try to come with things to talk about but it all seems too unimportant and so you quietly hum along to the radio instead. A quick glance over at Chris tells you he’s nervous as well, flipping his phone in his hand over and over again.

Surprisingly enough there’s a free parking spot not too far from the entrance of the diner and once you’ve filled the meter you lead Chris inside. There are two other booths occupied, and even though none of the patrons pay any particular attention to you, you still go for the booth in the far corner just in case.

The waitress, who introduces herself as Agnes, is at your table the minute you sit down and pours each of you a steaming hot coffee after handing you the menu, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, ok?”

Both Chris and you nod in reply and you busy yourself studying the menu even though you already know what you’re going to get. Still, it’s a nice distraction. When you put the menu down after a while you find Chris looking at you with a half-smile.

“Banana pecan pancakes?”

“Yup,” you nod, a little surprised he still knows your breakfast order after all these years. Then, because apparently you feel like you have something to prove, “Eggs Benedict for you?”

“Always,” he says, smiling for real now.

It’s then Agnes comes back to take your order and you let Chris order for the both of you, watching him as he charms his way into Agnes heart for sure. You can’t help but smile when you listen to the easy banter between them.

Once Agnes leaves to give the kitchen your order Chris turns back to you, “She reminds me of Mrs Linton.”

“She does, yeah.”

He keeps looking at you, the way he’d always do whenever he wanted to talk about something important, and so you sort of know what’s coming next but still he surprises you when he asks, “Are we good?”

“I don’t know.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while and it makes you worried and nervous and you wonder if you’ve fucked it up for good this time, but then he leans forward, “What do you need?”

The last eighteen years back, you think with a heavy heart, but instead you tell him, “I don’t know.” You offer a shrug in apology because you know it’s not a fair answer to give twice in a row.

“It’s ok,” he says, his voice kind, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Breakfast is filled with smalltalk, Chris asking you about your job and your life here in Philly and in return you ask him to tell you more about his life in Los Angeles, which he does, although he admits he misses home terribly when he’s out west and says he hopes to start spending more time in Sudbury in the near future. You don’t miss the way he looks at you when he tells you that, an unspoken question lingering between you that you’re not sure you can answer right now.

You try your best to pay attention to the conversation but his words from earlier keep echoing through your mind and you can’t help but wonder what exactly he meant when he said he wasn’t going anywhere. Nicole’s voice joins the conversation in your head then, berating you for still being way too guarded.

When you finish your plate just a little after he does you check your phone and see it’s just past noon. A bit too early to return to your house, you decide, trying to figure out what you could do instead. It’s then you remember something you would do whenever you had a date in Boston and you smile when you look up at him, “If you want we could go to Morris Arboretum next? The trees there are beautiful this time of year, so maybe we could just walk around for a bit?”

“I’d like that.”

You wave Agnes over and ask for the bill, which Chris lets you pay because well, you tell him to. You’re back in your car not much later, your drive taking you to the other side of the city in just under an hour.

By the time you get to the Arboretum the sun is out if full force and it’s warm enough that you don’t need your jacket and so you leave it in the car. Rummaging through your purse you try to find your sunglasses, putting them on when you finally find them only to see Chris squinting against the bright light. You tell him to hang on for a minute and open the trunk of your car, quickly locating what you’re looking for, “Here you go.”

He eyes the cap suspiciously, and you hold your breath, hoping he might have forgotten about it, but then he turns it over in his hands and looks at the inside where his initials are still visible on the tag, albeit a little more faded now. His eyes widen in surprise, “You kept this all these years?”

“Well, yeah, It’s a nice cap,” you try, hoping it sounds casual enough for him not to comment on it any further, “and I’ll always be a Patriots girl, no matter where I am.” It’s true. When you first started dating you didn’t really care for football but you always tagged along to watch games with either his friends or his family and it wasn’t long before you found yourself immersed in the sport. And even though you don’t keep up as much now, you still find yourself rooting for the Patriots whenever you catch a game.

He doesn’t say anything but you think you see the hint of a smile when he puts it on and you wonder if he remembers the night he gave it to you, on your one-year anniversary, when he got tickets to a game and you spent the weekend in Boston together.

You try to push back the memories, not wanting to find yourself getting lost in the past, and instead tell him, “Let’s go,” and head to the visitor center where you pay the entrance fee. You opt for the long trail, which, if you don’t stop at any of the features, will take about thirty minutes, but you’ve never been here before so you’re sure it’ll probably take you a lot longer. Which is fine, because it’s still early and the weather is perfect for an afternoon outside.

The first stop is a Tree Canopy walk that does exactly what it says and leads you through the treetops. It’s quiet, not too many people around, and at times it almost seems like you’re here alone. You walk side by side, quietly marvelling at the things you encounter being this high up, and there’s a familiarity to it all that both scares and excites you.

The trail takes you through a rose garden next and several other features after, until about an hour later you find yourself at the step fountain and when Chris suggests taking a quick break you join him on the top step, which offers you a nice view of the lawn spreading out in front of the fountain.

There’s some distance between you but still Chris manages to nudge your knee with his when he asks, “Where’s your head at?”

Immediately you hear Nicole’s voice, telling you to be honest and you decide that maybe it’s time to take her advice even though you’re not sure where to start. You take a deep breath and say the one thing it all comes down to, “Us.”

You see him nod out of the corner of your eye and take it as your cue to continue, “I’m just,” you sigh, “I don’t know, Chris, I keep wondering if this would have happened had it not been for Encore.”

“Ace-”

“No,” you hold up your hand to let him know you’re not finished and smile even though you don’t look at him, “my turn.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to gather your thoughts, “I just think that maybe we both got caught up in the moment, you know? Maybe-”

“You’ve kept my baseball cap all these years,” he replies solemnly and there’s no accusation in his voice, it sounds like he’s just stating the facts. Standing up then, he hands you his cap back, and for a moment you worry that maybe this is it, maybe this is where he draws the line and walks away, but instead he takes his hoodie off, which has you even more confused.

“Chris, what-”

He walks down the first few steps then, making sure he’s at eye level with you, and pushes the fabric of his t-shirt aside.

You look at him, your eyebrows knitted together because what the hell is he doing, but then you see the tattoo he’s just revealed and it’s like all the air is being sucked from your lungs. Shaking your head in disbelief, you take in the ace of hearts on his chest and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying when you see the heart in the middle of the card is broken. Without thinking you reach out and let your fingers ghost over his skin, tracing the lines that are tattooed over his heart.

“I got this on what was supposed to be our ten-year anniversary,” he says, the sadness in his voice mirrored by the look in his eyes that you see when you look back up at him. “I’m not caught up in a moment, Ace.”

“I-,”

Something else passes over his features then, but before you can recognize what it is he’s putting his hoodie back on and sits down again, much closer this time, his leg brushing against yours as he does. You much more feel than hear him take a deep breath and then he looks at you, “I meant what I said earlier.” He reaches over then and takes one of your hands in his, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not the same person anymore, Chris.” You look down at where your hand sits comfortably in his, “I’m just scared that you have this idea of me that-” you sigh and shake your head, not sure where to go next. You look back up at him, the tears from earlier starting to spill over slowly, “I’m just- I’m scared.”

“I know,” he says and gives your hand a squeeze, “so am I, but-” he lets go of your hand and throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him, “I don’t want to waste another eighteen years wondering what could have been.”

When, after a while, he suggests continuing the tour through the Arboretum you agree, and when you get up he offers you his hand to help you down the steps, but doesn’t let go once you get to the bottom and so you spend the rest of the trail walking hand in hand, the silence between you now much more comfortable than it was before.

It takes you about an hour to make it back to the entrance, the sun a little lower in the sky now even though it’s still nice and warm out. Once you get to the parking lot he offers to drive back and so you hand him your car keys without too much protest, climbing into the passenger’s seat not much later. A quick glance at the dashboard clock tells you it’ll be almost six once you get back and so you suggest stopping at a Thai place not far from your house and get some takeout.

You give him directions where needed but other than that the ride over is silent, the only sound coming from a radio station that plays eighties rock classics that you always have on when driving. You’re simply too lost in thoughts to start a conversation, and you guess maybe he is too. You wonder where his head is at, because even though he keeps telling you that he’s not going anywhere he hasn’t really told you he wants to get back together with you either. Or is that just your mind playing tricks with you? Is him saying that he doesn’t want to waste another eighteen years enough?

More than anything you want to call Nicole, so you can tell her what happened and ask for advice, but you also know that wouldn’t be fair to her, Chris, or you. You’re going to have to trust yourself to make the right decision even though you’re sure that deep down inside you already know what that is. And you want to tell him, really you do, but it’s not necessarily a conversation you want to have now, driving down Broad Street in the middle of the Saturday afternoon rush, and so you decide to wait until you get home.

When he pulls up to Ameri Thai about forty minutes later you tell him to wait in the car, assuring him you’ll get some extra spring rolls just for him.

Mrs Zhang greets you enthusiastically, a little surprised when you give her your order, but then she realizes what’s going on and throws you a wink, “Ah, you got company, honey?”

You laugh and shrug, neither denying or confirming her question, but you’ve been coming here for at least once a week ever since you moved into the neighbourhood so by now Mrs Zhang knows your order by heart and so she also knows she’s right. To distract her you ask her how her grandchildren are doing and even though she answers rather elaborately, she keeps looking at you from behind the counter, almost as if she’s studying you.

After a while she disappears into the kitchen, no doubt to tell her husband the latest gossip, and when she comes back with the takeout bag not much later, she actually rounds the counter to give it to you. You hold out your hand to take it from her, but it’s then she pats you arm and smiles at you, “You look happier, honey, I like it.”

“Thank you,” you say, a weird feeling in your stomach as you accept the bag from her and wave at Mr Zhang, who has appeared behind the counter, before you let yourself out and walk back to your car where you find Chris quietly singing along to Boston’s ‘More Than A Feeling’. He’s taken the cap off and you can tell he’s tried to get his hair back into shape, but it’s a little tousled and a lot cute. Damnit.

“Ready?” He asks as soon as you’ve fastened your seatbelt.

“Yup.” You nod and point, ‘“Just take a left here and then you’re back on my street.”

Dinner tonight is far more relaxed than it was yesterday, although you’re still mostly sticking to smalltalk, discussing your other castmates and the things they’ve been up to over these past years. Chris tells you he’s been to the ten-year reunion of his graduating class, but has really only kept in touch with Michael, even attending his wedding a few years ago.

All too soon you’re both done eating and so once again you mumble something about doing the dishes, hoping it will buy you some time to gather your thoughts and figure out how where to start.

“Need any help with those dishes?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” you counter with a grin this time and hand him the tea towel. After you’ve drained the sink you watch him dry off the remaining two plates, and when he puts the plates in a cupboard they definitely don’t belong in, you say nothing, too enamored by this weird moment of domestic bliss.

When he’s done he hangs the tea towel on its designated hook and looks at you, almost as if he’s awaiting further instructions, hands back in the pockets of his jeans, trying to act cool even though the red spots in his neck tell you he’s anything but.

There’s so much you still have to say, so much you still want to tell him, but not now.

Not now.

Now, you take a tentative step forward, slowly closing the space between you, and stand in front of him, biting your lip as you look up at him. His eyes widen and there’s a question in them that you answer with a nod and a mischievous smile. Your hands rest on his chest then, but it isn’t long before they move up so you can wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close.

“You sure about this, Ace?” His voice is low and full of promises and you answer the only way you know how, by pushing yourself up and letting your lips ghost against his.

He leans forward then, catching your mouth with his as he sneaks his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer, kissing you with a determination that makes last week’s kiss pale in comparison. It isn’t long before his tongue darts across your lips and you let him in instantly, the taste of him infatuating you even more. His hands travel down then and when he taps your thigh you know what to do and jump up, throwing your legs around his waist.

You feel him take a few careful steps forward, until you bump against the counter and he sits you down on it, now standing in between your legs, his hands cupping your face as you kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him. Your hands settle on his chest, bunching up the fabric of his sweater in between your fingers, wanting more of him, needing him closer. Wrapping your legs around his waist again you press yourself against him, dragging your teeth over his bottom lip at the same time, not missing the groan that escapes him.

He gets his revenge by pulling back, making you whimper at the loss of contact, a little out of breath and a lot turned on. He rests his forehead against yours and chuckles, “That was-”

“Yeah,” you agree, letting go of his sweater so you can run your hands through his hair before you let them settle at the base of his neck, only so you can keep him where you need him most as your mouth finds his again. There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, a want behind it that you know he gets when he takes a step back, his lips still on yours, and gently tugs at your hips, making you slide down from the counter. You have to brace yourself against him because your legs are a little wobbly, your hands now on his chest again, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss when he grabs your elbows to hold you steady.

You feel yourself getting lost in him, but at the same time there’s something so familiar about all of this, about him, that almost makes it feel like you’re coming home. In a rare moment of clarity, you wonder if maybe that’s just it. Maybe you’ve been so restless all these years because you had this idea that home was supposed to be the city you grew up in, or any of the places you moved to after, where you tried so hard to forget the past. Maybe this always was where you belonged, simply because Chris always was your home.

The realization makes you hesitate, just a moment, but of course Chris picks up on it and he pulls back, a worried look in his eyes as he cups your face and makes you look up at him, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you say with a smile, even though you’re not surprised to feel tears coming to your eyes, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of your words hangs in the air until finally it hits him. There’s a whole range of emotions that pass over his face before he seems to settle on relief, when he leans in and kisses your forehead, “God, I’ve missed you, Ace.”

“Show me,” your voice is thick, laced with emotion, and you can see his pupils dilate in response.

His hands grab your legs again, lifting you up, and you wrap your arms and legs around him, your face buried in his neck as he carries you out of the kitchen and up the stairs to your bedroom. He doesn’t let go and so you’re still wrapped around him when he starts kissing you again, until after a while you feel yourself go weak in his arms and let go, trying to catch your breath. There’s not much respite, because his hands are tugging on the bottom of your sweater then, his fingers against your exposed skin sending shivers down your spine.

Breaking contact just long enough for him to push your sweater up and over your head, you find yourself enjoying the way his eyes roam your body before one of his hands cups your breast, his thumb rubbing your already hard nipple over the fabric of your bra, which adds some extra friction. A soft moan escapes you and you can feel yourself starting to get wet almost instantly.

He licks his lips and then pushes the fabric aside as he leans forward, his tongue now replacing his thumb, sucking and licking in a way that makes you a little weak in the knees. You whimper when he lets go but his lips keep ghosting over your skin, slowly making their way up to your neck, where his tongue circles your pulse point before his lips latch on and he starts sucking in earnest.

Tilting your head to give him better access, your hands find their way to his jeans, the red belt you gave him for his birthday all those years ago holding no secrets for you and so you slide it open without giving it too much thought. You unbutton his jeans, tugging them down just a little, and let your fingers run over his abs, marvelling at how much more muscular he is now than he was then.

His mouth finds yours again, one hand in your hair while the other has returned to your breast, softly kneading it while his tongue swirls around yours. He pulls back rather abruptly, eyes dark and full of want as he takes his hoodie and t-shirt off in one go, throwing them somewhere in a corner before he puts his hands on your hips and guides you towards the bed. When your legs bump against it you sit down slowly, looking up at him with your lip between your teeth as you scoot backwards. He wastes no time and pushes his jeans down, the outline of his cock visible against the fabric of his boxes, a bit of precum staining the material a darker colour.

You keep looking at him while you unbutton your jeans, lifting your hips so you can push them down but his hands are already tugging on the fabric. Your jeans get thrown next to his and you watch him as he climbs on the bed, the mattress sagging a little under his weight, and you moan when he slowly lowers himself onto you.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says, his mouth close to your ear and his voice a little rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand sneaks down your side to the hem of your panties and for a moment he teases you, letting his fingers run along the edge of the fabric.

“Chris,” you breathe, hoping it will convey that you need more, pushing your hips up to make sure he understands.

He slips his fingers underneath the fabric, gently pressing them against your mound, his teeth dragging over the skin just below your ear as he does. There’s a trail of kisses then, from your collarbone to the swell of your breast, to the skin on your stomach, goosebumps appearing everywhere he goes. When he finally reaches your panties you help him, hooking your fingers on the elastic band and pushing them down quickly. It earns you a wicked grin from him as he helps you take them off, adding them to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

You reach out, wanting to feel him in your hands, but before you have a chance to cup him through his boxers he gently swats your hands away but doesn’t say anything and instead puts his hands on your thighs and spreads your legs to give him better access. Slowly, slowly, he moves his fingers over your skin, his eyes never leaving yours as he makes his way to where you need him most. His mouth follows soon after, teasing you by leaving butterfly kisses wherever he goes, while his fingers inch closer and closer.

A whine escapes you just as he runs a finger through your folds and so it turns into a moan, because fuck. Your hands look for something to hold onto and you have to settle for the duvet cover, bunching up the fabric between your fingers when he slides one of his into you. He moves slowly, his finger sliding in and out of you in a languid pace, his other hand on your stomach to keep you in place as his tongue finds your clit. He adds another finger then and starts moving a little faster, and you can feel your orgasm starting to build.

Feeling his beard scratch your skin only adds to the sensation and soon, with two fingers inside of you and your clit being sucked, licked, and flicked, you push your hips up in earnest, letting him know you’re almost there. He picks up the pace even more and you let out a quiet, “Fuck,” when the first waves of your orgasm wash over you not much later. He helps you ride it out by keeping his fingers inside of you but not moving them until you let yourself fall back, your eyes closed as he slowly pulls out.

You feel his beard scratch against your cheek and find his mouth effortlessly, a shiver running down your spine when you kiss him and taste yourself on his tongue, and as he pulls back a satisfied sigh escapes you. When you open your eyes he’s there, looking at you with something that goes beyond lust and want, a tenderness in his eyes that you haven’t seen in a long time. You reach up, gently pushing some of his tousled hair back before you cup his face and pull him close for another kiss.

He groans in response, mouth clashing against yours for a kiss that makes you see stars, before he pushes himself off and stands up at the edge of the bed. When he takes his boxers off, his cocks springs free, and you can’t help but bite your lips, suddenly remembering your first time together, all those years ago. He looks at you then, “Do you have a-”

“In the bathroom,” you reply, before you quickly add, “but I’m tested. And on the pill.”

“Me too.” He grins then, running a hand through his hair, “Tested, I mean. Not the pill.”

You can’t help but smile at the blush that creeps up on his cheeks as he stands there, this adonis of a man that has nothing to be embarrassed about. Pushing yourself up you sit down on your knees and hold out your hands, beckoning him over. He joins you on the bed, cupping your face and kissing you again, slower this time, like he wants to savour every second of it. You feel his cock rub against your stomach and can’t help but wrap your hand around it, sliding it up and down his shaft. When you run your thumb over the tip he shivers and pulls back a little, and so you put your mouth to his ear and whisper, “Make me yours again, Chris.”

He reacts instantly, gently lowering the both of you back down until you're underneath him again. Supporting himself with one hand, he takes himself in the other, running his cock through your wet folds for some extra lubrication. He looks at you when he presses the tip against your against your entrance, silently asking for permission.

You nod and watch as he slowly pushes into you, letting out a moan when he stops halfway through, allowing you to adjust to him. “Chris,” you breathe, and he takes it as his cue to push down further, only stopping when he’s fully inside. Your walls clench around him involuntarily, drawing a strangled groan from him that sets him in motion.

Leaning down he catches your mouth with his as he starts to move his hips, his thrusts slow yet deliberate and you marvel at the way your bodies still fit together so perfectly after all these years. You let your fingers run over the muscles in his back, grabbing onto his shoulders when he picks up the pace after a while, and stop kissing him so you can catch your breath.

“Fuck, Ace,” he groans, mouth close to your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin like a forest fire.

You wrap one leg around his waist, needing more of him, and with his next thrust he hits your sweet spot, making your eyes roll back in pure bliss, knowing you’re getting close and so you let out a staggered, “Oh, God-”

“Gonna make you come so hard,” Chris growls before gently biting down on the exposed skin below your ear. Quickening his pace, you know he’s chasing the same high you’re so close to and so you clench your walls again, creating even more friction. He buries his face in your neck, cursing quietly against your skin.

“Chris, I-” you start, but then he hits that spot again and all you can do is let out a quiet, “Oh.” You’re teetering on the edge and of course he knows, his fingers finding your clit and softly rubbing it. “Fuck,” you draw out, panting now.

“Gonna make you mine,” he growls and pulls almost all the way out, holding still for a second. You whimper quietly but then he pushes all the way in, somehow deeper than before, pinching your clit at the same time, “Come for me, Ace.”

Your orgasm is instant, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through your body, your nails digging into his skin when you feel him swell up inside you. “Let go, babe,” you whisper, and he does. You feel him come inside of you, his release coating your walls, and he lets himself collapse on top of you, even though he still makes sure to keep some of his weight off of you. His face is still in the crook of your neck and you move your hands, throwing them around his neck and gently running your fingers through his hair as you both come down from this high.

He pulls out not much later and rolls off of you, pulling you with him, and you let your head rest against his chest after he places a kiss on your temple, your fingers running lazily through his chest hair. You stay like that for a while, a comfortable silence between you until his phone beeps from somewhere out of the pocket of his jeans, letting him know he’s got a new message.

He mutters something about getting that later before he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “Come on,”

You push yourself off him and get out of bed, waiting for him to join you before you make your way to the bathroom.

Like everything in your house, the shower is tiny and so you’re pressed against each other, the warm water finding its way between your bodies as he lathers you up with soap. You’ve got your back towards him, his hands gently massaging the muscles in your shoulders while he softly hums a song you don’t recognize, and you secretly wish you could stay like this forever.

When you wake up on Sunday morning you can’t help but smile when you find Chris’ arm draped across your stomach while he still sleeps soundly next to you. You turn towards him, studying him for a while, taking in his face and his neatly trimmed beard. His brow furrows then and without thinking you place the palm of your hand against his cheek to let him know you’re there.

He smiles when he opens his eyes, “Mornin’,” his voice a little hoarse, the way it always was early in the morning.

“Hi,” you scoot forward and give him a kiss.

Wrapping his arm around you tighter, he nuzzles your neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while his fingers ghost over your skin. After a while he lets out a deep sigh and whispers, “I have to leave soon.”

Even though your heart drops, you nod, “I figured.”

“My flights at two,” he says as he pulls back a little so he can look at you, “and then I’m off to Los Angeles on Tuesday.”

“How long-” your voice catches and so you clear your throat, “How long will you-”

“At least two weeks.”

You don’t say anything and let your eyes drop, trying to decide if you have a right to feel upset about this. Probably not. This was never supposed to happen and so you doubt there’s any time allotted in his schedule for you.

“Ace,” his voice interrupts your thoughts, and he sounds worried, “talk to me.”

Trying to find the right words you just smile at him.

“We will make this work,” he says then, as if he’s read your mind.

“How?”

“Los Angeles is just two weeks,” his hand now cupping your cheek, “after that I’m back home until I start filming again at the end of October.”

You nod, because that definitely offers some possibilities. The idea of maybe moving back to Sudbury flashes through your mind, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself, and so you push it back.

“We’re shooting in Boston, eight weeks tops, so-” he shrugs, “I’ll be back in Sudbury for Christmas.” There’s the hint of a smile playing on his lips then, but there’s a questioning look in his eyes, “Tell me you’ll be there too.”

It’s exciting, this promise of something more, and you feel your lips curve up into a smile when you answer honestly, "I'd like that.”

#Chris Evans x reader #Chris Evans fanfic #Harley Sunday x Chris Evans #Chris Evans #Encore

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junmyeonning · 4 years

Text

Touch me — 1

Type: Series

Pairing: Kim Junmyeon (EXO Suho) X Unnamed OFC

Rated: M (no smut yet)

Summary: He's the manager at the library. Smart, polite, and most obviously, incredibly sexy. She doesn't want the opportunity to pass so she teases the hell out of him. Until he breaks...

Previous: part 0.5

Warnings: a bit of an age gap (30 and early 20s)

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: @fightoh @suhotly @ctc95 @suhowifeuu @smolpeyy @lavellanfriendliness @eggsoyehet @ohsehunxv

—

Monday comes around. Her classes were cut short for the day, so she and her friend decide to grab a bite and hang out.

"So how is it so far? I've heard that professor is no joke."

"Oh god don't get me started," she thinks back on all the crap that's been dumped onto her ever since starting the semester. "It's only week two and it's been hell... I don't know how I'm gonna pass this subject."

"Well unfortunately you know how it is. And if I'm being honest, his tests are even harder." Her friend Jenna grimaces.

"Ugh you're kidding me..." she sighs in defeat, regretting how she didn't take up this general subject earlier and got it over with. But now she has no choice.

"-go back over notes after each class or you'll totally be screwed." She listens to the last part after unintentionally blocking out Jenna's voice, her eyes widening at that last statement.

"But I don't wannaa... not my style." She whines, taking a small bite from her sandwich. Jenna raises her brows at her friend's childish manners.

"...'Style'..."

"Fine okay, whatever I guess. Let's talk about something else." She shrugs it off, changing the topic for now. It stays at the back of her mind though, wondering in what ways can she make this situation a bit more tolerable. She has other classes after all, a shit ton of assignments, and it can be depressing to her if she forces herself and she knows it... that's just the way she is. Maybe a change of scenery while studying?

She thinks back on different places she's been recently, places with a calming atmosphere, possibly quiet...

All of a sudden she's reminded of the library and that one encounter with its attractive manager. It has almost slipped her mind, but now looking back at it she feels more eager to revise today's lecture.

She makes up her mind to stop by the place before heading home.

—

She enters it once again, getting butterflies in her stomach when recalling what happened the last time she was here.

Technically nothing really happened... but she saw this insanely cute guy. And he smiled. And waved. That's something right? To her longer than admitted relationship-less life, it is actually considered something.

She doesn't see him at first glance, so she tells herself to stop acting like a teenager. Later, time to study now. She promises herself.

She takes a seat at the same place as her previous visit, settling down and pulling out her book and notes in front of her. She can't stop herself as she raises her head a little to look, and it's not too hard to find him this time while he's standing by the shelves talking to a customer.

Their eyes meet by chance, and he flashes her that gorgeous smile yet again. She notices how extra warm he's looking today, wearing a sweater this time with some shirt under it. And of course, those damn glasses.

She smiles back 'casually', an exact opposite from what she feels on the inside. Why is her heart jumping like this? She blames his cute looks and that attractive gentleman aura of his.

She forcefully peels her eyes away from him, telling herself to seriously calm the fuck down.

Five minutes go by, nothing changes. Then ten minutes. Then fifteen. She's re-reading the same lines yet to no avail, her mind refusing to absorb any kind of information for the time being.

She feels frustrated when she looks up again, this time not finding him anywhere in sight. She looks right and left, wondering where he had disappeared when suddenly someone from behind her speaks.

"Looking for something ?" She almost jumps when she hears his voice. He comes into view and grins at her reaction.

"Huh? No nothing, I'm studying." She laughs it off, pointing at her displayed papers.

"Ah okay then. Good luck!" He gives her a cute little thumbs up in encouragement then turns to leave. She feels disappointed, knowing this could've went on for a little longer, but no unfortunately it's time to focus back again on her school work.

Fifteen more minutes pass by, and she starts to feel irritated with her lack of accomplishment. She's basically wasting her time doing nothing, and the library itself is so boring and empty, so she decides to just leave. She can't stay here when her mind is this occupied, it might've been a not so good idea in the first place.

On her way out she passes by him leaning against the front desk holding his phone. He has a surprised look on his face when he sees her.

"Oh, finished already ?"

"Well to be honest," she hesitates on telling him what's bothering her, but whatever. "I was trying to go over what I've taken today but I'm just so out of focus. I guess i'll go home and look it up or something."

"Hm..." he locks his phone and puts it away, giving her all his attention. "Maybe I can pull you out a book in here that'll help explain better ?" he offers.

"Sure, if you have anything on this." She shows him her book, making him raise his brows in acknowledgment as he takes it in.

"Ohh." He lets out a laugh, clearly amused. She's confused and he sees it, so he explains.

"I remember studying this subject back in college." He chuckles. She makes an 'oh' face in realisation, and that's when it clicks in her mind. Let's give it a shot.

"Ooh, how was it for you?"

"Hmm, I was pretty good at it actually." Perfect.

"What if... you help me out a little then? I don't think more reading will do me anything at this point." She subconsciously gives him a cute puppy face, and it's not hard to convince him to agree to her.

"Sure. As you can clearly tell," he gestures with his hands around him at the deserted library. "It's a very busy day today."

She giggles at his sarcasm. Wow he's a joker too.

"Hey watch over the place a little, I'm just gonna be over there helping her." He instructs his co-worker, then turns around and heads in front of her to where she was sitting earlier. She skips behind him, mentally cheering herself for her successful plan.

He goes over the pages for a little, quickly getting reminded of the topic before starting to point and explain some key points.

His voice is gentle and his tone is so calm, speaking like he knows what he's saying and putting it into words perfectly. One minute into it and she feels like she's in a trance, the only thing she's focusing on is him.

Then her eyes start wandering, looking down at his lips while they're moving and forming words. She doesn't understand what he's saying at this point, just nodding along mindlessly and agreeing with whatever he's talking about. Until he asks her a question on the topic.

"...Huh?"

"What I just explained now."

"Oh yeah yeah! That..." she thinks for a second, having zero idea on what he just said. He notices and closes his eyes in disappointment.

"Was I not clear or..." he wonders genuinely, in which she quickly starts denying with wide eyes.

"No no no! It's actually the opposite, you're so good," she stumbles, not knowing how to say it. "I guess your way of explaining is..."

"Yeah?" He replies in a lower, more careful tone, and she almost melts under his gaze.

"Um," she laughs lightly, almost nervous, but she dares say it. "...distracting maybe?"

She feels time go by so slowly at that second, waiting for his reaction.

"Oh... I'm sorry then," he rubs his neck in embarrassment and looks down at the book. "Then our time was just wasted."

What? She's shocked that this is just what he understood from her. After throwing all these hints and signals towards him, he's apologising?

"Hey, manager Kim you were literally perfect. I'm the one who should apologise here I told you I'm having trouble focusing today," she feels bad for putting him in this situation, she's the one who wasted his time, just because of her silly crush. "I'm sorry."

"No it's okay, don't worry about it." He gives her a reassuring smile, and her heart does that weird jump again. For the love of god stop being so cute. She says in her head.

"Okay, see you later?" She smiles back at him. He nods and they both get up, she starts putting her stuff away.

"Wait, what is your name?"

"Oh, it's Junmyeon." She tells him her own name, then leaves her things for a second to wrap her arms around him in a hug.

"Thank you Junmyeon." He staggers a little in surprise, standing there taken aback with his hands still in the air. He reacts then and pats her back with a laugh.

"No problem, I was entertained actually." She steps back from him and looks up in confusion.

"Huh? What's so entertaining about teaching."

"Uhm," he glances away with a small smile, before chuckling and shaking his head. "It just kind of reminded me of my college days."

She giggles at the way he's acting like a grandpa, when in reality he looks exactly like a cute little bunny with those cheeks of his.

"Stop I bet it's not that far."

"Oh but it is."

"How far?" She asks him and he takes a moment to think back on it.

"Hmm I don't know, nine years maybe?" She couldn't help herself from gasping, making him laugh in response. "Wow I look that young huh."

"So you're like thirty? Is that right?"

"Yep." She's struggling with keeping her thoughts in her head, her mind running a million thoughts per second. Something about this new info of him being in his thirties makes him more appealing to her, she doesn't know why but she feels even more attracted to him now.

"Thirty is still young by the way." She comments on what he said, and he shrugs it off with a 'sure whatever'. They share smiles and laughs during the whole exchange.

She takes her bag and waves him goodbye, heading back home while her stomach is still feeling all jittery.

She can't stop thinking about him even when she's unlocking the door to her apartment, having spent all the ride home recalling their now second encounter. She remembers how sweet he was to agree help her (even if she was a little shit who kept staring at his mouth), and how gentle and mature he sounds when he talks, and the way he has smiled at her multiple times by now. Seriously? Those precious looking smiles directed at her? What is the intention, to melt her heart into a little puddle at his feet?

She bites her lip from smiling too big, feeling like a complete idiot just standing there in front of her wardrobe still in her day clothes.

Her mind is telling her she needs to see more of that cute library manager.

—

Unfortunately for a week or so, that didn't exactly happen.

Of course life got in the way, and for the past few days she couldn't even think of anything else with how busy she's gotten. Now with an important quiz coming up, she's extra nervous about it and studied it to hell and back.

She leaves all her papers and gets up, wanting to get a breather and just get the hell out for a little bit. It's nighttime, she's still in her pyjamas, she doesn't even know where she's going, hut all she's thinking is fuck it as she grabs her phone and keys. It is kind of reckless to just leave like this, but in her head she says maybe she'll just go to her close-by usual café or whatever.

Just as she arrives at that spot, she looks a little down the street at the familiar place she hasn't thought of these days. What has he been up to? Did he think of me at all? She wonders.

She figures seeing him will instantly make her mood better, so she crosses out her initial plan and heads to the library.

She pushes the door open, looking around and seeing it practically empty again at this hour. What if he's not on his shift? She clearly didn't think it through, but she ignores the voice in her head and gives it a try as she struts around casually.

She passes the aisles one by one, until she finally lays eyes on what she was looking for. Or more specifically, who she was looking for. She wants to sigh in relief, he might just be the highlight in her otherwise miserable week.

"Oh, manager Kim!" She walks up to him as he was apparently arranging some books. He looks up when hearing his name, quickly recognising her and smiling in her way.

"Oh hey," he continues his work on the shelf. "Haven't seen you for a while."

Damn you, heart. Calm. Down.

"Yeah you know, college, life," she stands beside him, attempting at any sort of conversation. "What are you doing there ?"

"Stocking some new books, almost done with my shift now," he puts up another one. "Did you come here to talk to me or to actually study ?"

He says it jokingly without even looking, so she decides to muster up and just say some of the truth.

"Umm, both I guess?" He pauses and looks at her now. She smiles innocently at him, biting her lip subtly, which in return makes him glance down at her lips before looking back into her eyes. He clears his throat awkwardly and looks away, putting up the last book in his hand.

"So you want something from here or can we just..." he means to leave but she quickly comes up with a lie.

"Wait, uh I need a book from there actually." She points at a place behind him randomly. He turns around to look, then looks back to her confused.

"Where?"

"Oh right there I think..." he goes along with her and walks over to where she pointed, somewhere farther behind aisles close to a corner.

"What exactly-" he spins back to face her, only to find her directly standing in front of him. He laughs in surprise. "When did you follow me this fast ?"

"I walked up right behind you." She smiles, now very much close to cornering him against the wall of books.

"Are you sure you meant a book..." he laughs it off, looking visibly more nervous now.

"Yeah, what else ?" She casually pulls out a random book from beside him. "Found it."

She opens it and stares a little, pretending to have interest in whatever the hell she just pulled out on a whim. He furrows his brows as he takes the book from her hand, looking at the title and stifling a laugh.

"10th grade physics. Interesting."

"Does it matter ?" She lets out a little laugh, taking it back from his hands and throwing it to the side.

She's getting more serious now as comes closer to him, looking up into his eyes and giving him that look. Her bottled up feelings are coming up and she just can't stop them, her mind clouded and her frustrations from everything in her life right now is making her act out more than usual.

"Junmyeon..." he looks back at her, not saying a word as she comes closer and closer.

Their faces are so near from each other now, her eyes darting down to his lips then back up, her intentions very clear.

"What are you doing..." he whispers just as their lips almost connect, eyes closed by now.

"Isn't it obvious?" She whispers back, and finally goes in for it.

Their lips touch softly, staying still for a few seconds. She begins moving her mouth so slowly, kissing him and testing the waters. Before realising he still hasn't moved a centimetre.

She pulls back a little, looking up at him while his eyes are still closed. She calls his name in a careful tone to see his response, and he opens his eyes and looks down at her.

"...you shouldn't have done that." Her heart sinks a little.

"Why not ?" She gets closer again, their breaths hitting each other's faces as she tilts her head up to the side, waiting for him to make the move this time. Their lips are so close, all he has to do is press his down onto hers like she did earlier

But he doesn't. He's not pulling away, but he doesn't move in for it either.

When she sees he's not initiating anything, she moves back away from his personal space and looks at him with disappointment.

"What is it?"

"You know... it doesn't work." He looks at her with pleading eyes.

"What doesn't work? Give me a reason." She presses. He seemed into her enough to not pull away, and she caught him a few times eyeing her, specifically her lips, it doesn't make sense that he backs off this way.

"I... you're too young." He murmurs, not making any eye contact whatsoever. She crosses her arms.

"I'm twenty one... if that's your reasoning, remember we're both of age here and we're free to make our own choices." He looks conflicted, like he agrees with what she's saying but still holding himself back. She holds both his hands in hers, leaning in close to him once again and tilting her head.

“Come on, do it," she whispers. "Kiss me..."

Time is moving so slow as he leans down his head finally, getting his lips closer to hers. It is clear that he wants her too, and she awaits the moment that their lips touch once again, but he just stops there.

"I-I'm not sure..."

"Okay then hear me out," she stands back away from him, sighing as she gives it a thought. "Let's go on a date. If you're still unsure, we'll leave it at that for good."

The eye contact feels too strong, and he takes a few second to make a decision as he nods slowly.

"Okay ?"

"Yes, okay."

They exchange numbers and go to part ways, but not before her giving him a sweet smile in reassurance as she's leaving. The corners of his mouth lift up slightly as he smiles back at her, growing more and more convinced in his decision of agreeing to go on this date with her.

In his mind, he has never went for women who aren't within his age range, so this is definitely very new for him. He knows nine years isn't really the smallest number, but like she said it won't hurt to give it a chance since they're both adults here.

He is still looking at where she left with a small smile, shaking his head as he can't believe what had just happened. She knows what she wants... and it's damn hot. He admits to himself.

Finally snapping out of it, he attempts to push all thoughts of her out of his mind for the time being. It's way too early to try and guess what's going to happen on their date...

He continues to pack some stuff up and close the place for the night, with her still lingering at the back of his head against his own will. He might just enjoy their time together more than he initially thought, and he can't help but look forward to it.

So being the person that he is, as soon as he enters his home he types her up a text.

'Hey there, did you get home safely?

Just wanted to say that even though I wasn't sure at first- you shouldn't worry about anything now. I actually can't wait to see you again.'

He looks at it and frowns. Too wordy, very unnecessary over-explanations. Why the sudden nerves?

'Hey there, did you get home safely?'

He goes with just that for now, leaving his phone on the bed as he starts changing into something more comfortable for the night. Just when he pulls off his shirt, he hears the familiar new message sound making him leave his closet open and go check her reply.

'Yup.' He reads her simple answer. He starts typing again but she beats him to it, a picture of her suddenly popping up in a message bubble.

She's lying down on her bed in the dim lights of her room, holding up a peace sign while flashing him her pearly whites in a cute smile. He catches himself smiling back instinctively, quickly typing up a reply.

'Good.'

Send.

'Just wanted to check in on you.'

Send.

He locks his phone momentarily and throws it back on the bed, taking off his pants now and deciding to wear just some sweatpants to sleep. His duvet is pretty thick so he didn't bother.

He lies down finally, checking his phone again to see two new messages from none other than her.

'Aw seriously?'

'Well let me check in on you too... where's my cute pic :('

He laughs out loud at that. That little...

He looks down at himself, very topless, and that gets his mind going.

'Sorry, can't do cute pics atm.'

'Can I ask why, mister?'

'...sure you wanna see ?'

Over at her home she's reading his text once more, her heartbeat accelerating when she thinks on the possible meanings behind what he's saying. He's flirting back, holy shit-

'Bring it on, manager Kim.' And send.

She picks at her nails as she waits in anticipation, and that damn 'ding' rings in her ear as she quickly opens his newly sent photo.

He's mimicking her own picture, lying down on his back as well and holding up a peace sign. But what's very different is his obvious naked upper half, the covers coming up at just below his chest. His chest to her surprise looking muscular and very toned.

Her eyes also take in his shoulders and arms, feeling herself about to drool with this rather suggestive picture. She already found him pretty sexy before in all these baggy sweaters and shirts, but now knowing all of this is underneath takes it to a whole new level.

Her hands start to sweat as she ponders what to say next, feeling her body getting hot overall.

'Saved. ✅'

He smirks to himself at her response, having noticed how long it took for her to type it. Oh well she asked for it.

Time goes by unnoticed as they continue this playful/flirty texting back and forth, feeling more at ease with each other and for him a lot less tense.

Later on they find themselves going to sleep that night with a clichéd smile across their faces, the instant click between them being something of a pleasant surprise. The start of a beautiful and exciting thing perhaps.

—

(A/N): obviously I apologise for how late I posted this. I swear i have commitment problems to projects… dw it’s because we haven’t got to the good stuff 😈 can’t wait to show you what i have in mind

Comment if you wanna be tagged in all future parts! ♥️

Thanks everyone! Xx

#exo smut #suho smut #junmyeon smut #kim junmyeon smut #exo fanfic #suho fanfic #junmyeon fanfic #kim junmyeon fanfic #exo #suho #junmyeon #kim junmyeon

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amandaoftherosemire · 5 years

Text

Lightning Strikes Part Eight

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Thor Odinson X Reader

Characters: Thor Odinson, Loki Odinson, Valkyrie, OFC Astrid, OMC Halvar

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,692

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language, angst

Summary: Thor spends some time brooding and missing you. You deal with Loki and a gift you’re pretty sure you don’t want.

A/N: I don’t know if marijuana helps creativity, but I do know I was high when I wondered what it would look like if Korg and Miek tried to put together IKEA furniture. I also know that imagining it made me laugh so hard I fell off my couch.

Part Seven: Sublimation here

Aphelion

Thor sat in the giant leather executive chair behind the enormous oak desk in his office, staring resentfully out the window. He liked this chair. Tony had sent it to him in pieces for some reason, but Miek and Korg had managed, over the course of a week and with only one bout of tears, to assemble it into a sturdy throne.

He was grateful, both to Korg and Miek for the assembly, but also to Tony for the thoughtfulness. He hadn't understood why Tony had laughed so hard when he'd thanked him for the chair that shared a name with one of Thor's great-uncles, but he appreciated the gift regardless.

He especially liked that he could put his hands behind his head and rest them against the wings of leather around him. It was the most comfortable way to hate Tuesdays.

Thor despised Tuesday afternoons with every fiber of his being. The only thing keeping the clouds from smothering the hated sunshine pouring through the window was Thor's determined effort to not call them. His mood would have drawn the thunderstorm long before otherwise. Still, he couldn't punish others for his mistakes.

Even the pilot of the jet from New York, the cause of all this hate and resentment.

Tuesday afternoons the jet from New York came, unloaded, reloaded, then left. He knew now that hadn't been the plan. The plan had been for the jet to stay, along with the only joy he'd found after the loss of his home. He hated Tuesdays because it was supposed to be the day you came back to him. Instead, because he had been a fool and a coward, that jet held nothing he wanted anymore.

He was especially infuriated with himself because he’d known better. He'd known you were even more loyal than you were beautiful within only a few days in your company. If he'd asked himself, he would have been certain he could trust you, down to his bones. But he'd allowed the poison his father’s advisers had dripped into his ear to convince him to assign his newly appointed spymaster to the task.

Thor had already decided to ask you to live with him when the final report had been submitted along with a snotty lecture about hypocrisy. Loki had concluded that your loyalty to Thor was unassailable and suggested that those who had been so worried about a human spy in their midst might perhaps have things to hide.

If only he’d told you the truth before you’d found out for yourself in such an awful way. You were so amazing, so understanding of all the fucking bullshit that went hand in hand with his birthright, his burden. If he’d told you the truth, explained the why of it, apologized, perhaps you’d be coming home right now.

“What time is it?” The lump currently taking up space on the couch under the window spoke from under the purple and yellow baseball cap. Her long legs were tightly encased in jeans and crossed at the calves stretched out across the couch. Her arms were crossed, and she’d pulled the cap down to cover her eyes.

Until she spoke, Thor had thought she’d been asleep.

He glanced at the clock, then answered with a sigh, “Five after two.”

To his astonishment, she sat up immediately, pushing the cap back to reveal the dark beauty underneath. “Shit, she'll be here soon.” With that, Valkyrie jumped to her feet and headed with long strides toward the door.

Thor shook himself out of his brood, suspicious of her sudden leap into action. “Who will?”

“The jet from New York should have something for me.” Valkyrie wasn't going to stop, but the look of astonishment had her pausing at the door and rolling her eyes. She adored Thor, but he had a weird habit of dissociating when he was depressed. Not a terribly great characteristic in a king, but at least he wasn't a homicidal maniac.

Still, she considered it part of her duties to kick Thor in the ass whenever he needed it. She'd decided.

He needed it.

He'd brooded long enough. He was obviously not going to get over you, so it was time for him to try to win you back. To be truthful, Valkyrie liked you immensely. Your reaction to what had happened had earned her respect. Spending time with you had earned her friendship. Bringing her delicious top-shelf liquor had earned her undying love.

“Your majesty, you might want to actually look out that window from time to time," she sneered, "or actually talk to your people." At this, pure disdain settled onto her face and had Thor fully paying attention to her. "You know, instead of only listening to the idiots that appointed themselves the people's representatives.”

The next second, she was gone, the door closing with a slam behind her. Thor turned his chair back to the window and stared at a cloud that hung perfectly framed by the panes of glass. He frowned, mulling over Valkyrie's words, her tone, her expressions. He started to wonder what he would see if he walked to the window and looked out. What could be happening out there?

Not much later, Thor was getting to his feet and wandering over to the window. As he did, the Wakandan jet that had been meant to bring his heart back to him was settling down on the helipad at the back of the manor house. To his surprise, a crowd of Asgardian children were running toward the jet cheering, with his brother, Astrid, and Valkyrie following behind at a walk.

When the hatch opened and you walked out, lovely legs in tight jeans and boots, a t-shirt with Captain America's shield emblazoned across your breasts, and a bright smile for the crowd there to greet you, Thor felt the loss of you like a physical stab to the gut, a spasm of pain rocking through him. Had he been sitting here hating the world every Tuesday when you were right outside his house the whole time?

Part of him wanted to run outside, snatch you up, and imprison you in his bedroom until he could convince you that he hadn't meant any of it. He wanted to apologize, swear he hadn't needed a shred of proof to believe in you. He wanted to show you he regretted it more than almost anything he'd ever done, promise he'd never hurt you like that again. He held himself back, knowing that he had no right to even a moment of your time. He also had a healthy respectful fear of you and was certain you'd find a way to make him regret such high-handed behavior. In all the realms, he'd never met another like you.

In all his centuries, he'd never loved another the way he loved you.

That you stood in his kingdom despite it all gave him hope that you would listen if he ran outside and begged for your forgiveness. Whether you'd forgive him or not, you'd at least hear him out. You were too fair, too kind to do otherwise. But Thor had decided that fate had spoken. He was meant to let you go. He could never give you everything you deserved. As such, he would not be so selfish as to beg you to return to him. Even if he deserved you, you deserved more.

Thor frowned when you embraced all three adults, even as the children milled around you. You even took Loki's face in your hands and pulled his cheek down for a kiss, smiling into his eyes.

How the FUCK had his brother weaseled his way back into your good graces when Thor hadn't even known you were in his kingdom?

You ducked back inside the jet only to emerge a few moments later holding an open box. Fascinated, Thor watched you start pulling out items from said box and passing them to the children who still circled you expectantly.

This had become one of your favorite parts of the week. Despite the fact that visiting New Asgard sent a spasm of pain, anger, and regret through you every time you arrived and every time you left, there was still joy to be found here.

After you and Thor had broken up, Pepper had made it clear that they could easily assign another pilot to the New Asgard run. She’d have worked with you in any way you needed to make things okay after what had happened, feeling responsible since she’d asked you to entertain Loki. You’d considered letting her rearrange things for you once again, though you didn’t blame her at all. She had only been concerned with keeping the peace and would have never knowingly put you in such a position.

You thought about walking away from New Asgard and everyone in it. It would have been easier.

Easier wasn’t better, though. You’d wanted the new job, the new responsibilities. You’d been excited to take on new challenges and you didn’t see any reason to let Thor stand in the way of that. You’d never let a failed relationship dictate your behavior in the past; you didn’t see any reason to start now.

Which is how, over the past few months, you’d made an odd little place for yourself on the periphery of Asgardian society. At first, it had only been Astrid to come greet you every Tuesday. Then, Halvar had come with questions about Midgard candy.

Halvar was a small child with a shock of blond hair, bright blue eyes, and ridiculously charming dimples. He looked to be about seven years old, but you weren’t sure how Asgardian aging worked so he could be older than you in years for as far as you knew.

He had surprised you on your fourth Tuesday run when he’d tapped gently on your arm. You’d been supervising the cargo trade and pointedly ignoring the dark god that grinned at you from the balcony. You’d been trying not to notice the other conspicuous absence.

Halvar had been designated by the children as their representative. As such, he had come to ask what the King’s Midgardian lady might know of something called chocolate.

You had been delighted to tell him everything you knew. The following Tuesday, a small group of Asgardian children were waiting for you to ask further questions. Instead, they were rewarded with their first taste of milk chocolate. You’d started simple, with high-quality plain chocolate squares from your favorite chocolatier in New York.

The look of wonder that crossed each sweet little face as the flavor hit made up for the fifth week in a row that you’d seen neither hide nor hair of Thor. Astrid’s near sexual moan of pleasure as she sampled the sweet had you laughing out loud and lifted some of the clouds that still hung around you. That had been the beginning of a routine, and a new place for you on the fringe of Asgardian society.

You’d somehow become their connection for Midgard specialties. You were more than happy to help with special requests, which is why your cargo on this day included first edition books for Loki, insanely expensive moisturizer for Astrid, hundred-year-old scotch for Valkyrie.

And a box full of packets of Fun Dip for the children.

You'd discovered when looking for a retail outlet that sold candy in bulk that you could not simply buy the dipping sticks by themselves and found it offensive to the point of heresy. Why did we even invent the internet?

The children, under the watchful eye of both Astrid and Valkyrie (Loki didn't care, and the children knew it), were waiting patiently as you tore the tops off and placed the lik-a-stik in each little hand. Halvar received an approving look from you when he nibbled a little at the end once you had the children taste them. You and that kid were simpatico, for all you were born on different planets.

When he placed the stick covered in powder in his mouth, then looked at the sugar stick like he preferred it by itself, you laughed out loud. Halvar was a pistol; you could tell he was going to be a force to be reckoned with based on the streak of stubborn you could see in the set of his chin. You wouldn't be surprised if he ran his parents ragged now.

Thor couldn't tell what exactly you were doing, but it looked like you were sharing some treat with the crowd that assembled around you. Even the Asgardians unloading the jet stopped to try whatever you had brought. To their king's astonishment, they seemed to be easy with you, their body language speaking of joking and the good-natured jostling of camaraderie.

As the cargo trade finished, the children wandered off, little paper pouches in their hands. He watched you trade hugs with Astrid, the housemaid, and Valkyrie, before they walked away, both carrying boxes you'd given them. Loki dawdled, however, making Thor's eye narrow in suspicion.

Once the two of you were alone, Loki stepped forward. He'd noticed your gaze avoiding the house and inwardly smirked. Even you had your tells. Your stubborn affection for his idiot of a brother gave you away when little else did. Loki knew you were still in love with the oaf, though you no longer scanned for his approach with anxious but hopeful eyes.

Loki was well aware that Thor could win you back easily. All he'd have to do is be honest about what he'd done, why he'd done it, and how he felt about it and you'd end up forgiving him. He'd never met a harder bitch with a softer center. You loved Thor. You hadn't stopped.

Loki had absolutely no intention of telling Thor any of that. He also hadn't told Thor that you visited New Asgard every Tuesday. Nor had he told his brother that you and he were friends again. He'd kept to himself his suspicions that you were slowly being absorbed into the soldier and his feral dog's relationship. There were worlds of information he hadn't shared with Thor when it came to you.

For example…

"Your turn, dear one," he said with a wicked smile and a flourish, bringing a box of his own into view. His, however, was made of wood almost black with age. The surface was carved over its entire surface with symbols and sigils that could be read by only a few people even within the borders of New Asgard.

You looked at the box that had shimmered into being in Loki's hand with a skeptically raised eyebrow. Whatever was in it, you already felt like Pandora just looking at it. "Uh-huh, what's in it?" you asked, a half smile curving your mouth, and made no move to take it.

Loki's smile widened. He loved how affectionate you were in your complete mistrust of him. You believed nothing he said without question, but you also seemed to always react with humor rather than anger. At least since you'd stopped punishing him for his earlier deceptions. Truthfully, you'd been remarkably forgiving for that considering that he hadn't apologized.

"A present for you, love." Loki had stopped bothering to pretend he didn't adore you. He could have maintained the pretense that he had only befriended you to spy for Thor, but he saw no reason to deprive himself of your company.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. "Is it a present I want? Or are you fucking with me?"

"Yes?" Loki looked earnest, but you could tell by the twinkle in his eye that he was teasing you.

Still a touch reluctant, you reached out to take the box. Hopefully, you weren't going to regret this. You examined the box, discovering when you went to open it that it appeared to be one solid piece of wood. "What is this?"

"A choice." Loki's eyes were dancing and making you vaguely nervous. "I'll tell you how to open it later."

"Okay." You scowled at him, tucking the box under your arm. "It's not gonna blow up or anything, right?" You were asking mostly for form; you didn't really think Loki would put you in harm's way. You were pretty sure he had a soft spot for you, but you couldn’t be certain of anything when it came to the Odinson brothers anymore.

Loki's eyes softened ever so slightly and reassured you before he even opened his mouth. He was thinking it was a shame that remaining loyal to his brother had meant betraying you. He didn’t mind that you didn’t trust him, but he disliked that you were no longer sure of his affection for you. He would not have had it so.

“Of course not, dear one," he replied with a slow, wicked smile. "How would that entertain me?"

"I'm not going to give you ideas for how to make blowing me up entertaining." You turned with a roll of your eyes and began to walk toward the jet. Loki followed you, laughing, to place a hand on your shoulder. Spinning you around, he gave you one of his rare hugs.

"Don't try to open it without me," he said as he pulled back to frown sternly at you. "Promise me."

"Okay," you retorted, sneering a little, "weirdo, I promise."

Loki smiled again, knowing you, at least, could be counted upon to keep your promises. He reached out to brush the backs of those long, artist's fingers down your cheek. "I'll see you soon, love." Once Loki had started calling you 'love', you'd realized that the tone, the timbre of his voice was the same as it had been on the word 'pet'. You weren't sure to feel worse about the new endearment or better about the old.

Because it made your heart hurt, you opted not to think about it. If he didn't care for you, nothing about your current situation changed. If he meant it, if he truly did have a soft spot for you, to call it into question would hurt him unnecessarily. You didn't want to hurt Loki, or Thor for that matter. You just wanted to stop hurting, yourself.

"I can't wait," you said, sardonically, a wry half-smile on your lips to soften your sarcasm. "I gotta go. I want to get ahead of the storm."

For a fraction of a second, Loki didn't understand. When he did, he wanted to laugh aloud. His brother's timing was almost perfect, as per usual. He leaned in and brushed his mouth quickly, chastely against yours. You didn't respond, simply stared at him in astonishment. He smiled wickedly, causing your expression to shift into amused exasperation.

You didn't know what Loki was up to, but you were sure you wanted no part of it. You decided not to get in any deeper than you already were. "Goodbye, Loki," you called out as you turned away again. The last thing you heard as the hatch closed behind you was the sound of the god's mischievous laughter.

As Loki walked back to the manor house, he looked up to meet Thor's furious gaze in the window on the third floor.

Loki smiled.

Thor sat on the cliffs, watching the clouds boil. He knew he should rein it in, that his people as well as those across the fjord didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his foul temper. He couldn't do it, though, too lost in bitter pain and rage. He'd held off as long as he could, but the storm in his blood would be denied no longer.

He wasn’t the sort of man who enjoyed dwelling on the mistakes of the past. He knew he’d go mad if he spent too much time looking back. As long lived as his kind was, they had ample opportunity for regret. The only way to survive was to look forward.

Considering the mistakes he’d made in recent years, why this one should plague him so was a mystery. Even before he’d laid eyes on you once again, he’d been tormented by the loss of you.

Now, however, he'd been reminded of the sparkle of your smile, the arrogance in your walk, that sexy hip-shot stance in response to any challenge. He missed you so much it was like a physical ache. Knowing you were only a quick flight away had been torture. To now know that you visited his home every single week was agony. The temptation to go crawling back to you, begging for another chance was going to be excruciating.

The only reason he hadn't yet was he'd thought you'd be happier away from him and the insanity that followed him. Only now he'd discovered that you had remained friends with Astrid, become friends with Valkyrie, and become friends, again, with his blasted brother. Thor had been denying himself the pleasure of your company only to discover that not a single member of his household had done the same.

The confrontation with Loki had been ugly, for a lot of reasons, not least of which was that Loki had the moral high ground for once. He'd never pretended to be anything but what he was, an unrepentant liar and trickster, which is why, apparently, you had let him back into your good graces. Thor doubted he'd find it so easy to win you back.

Because for all his brother's flaws, he'd been absolutely correct. Loki had been oddly honest with you, proving his affection. He would not have bothered to give you what honesty he could in the midst of a deception had he not cared about you. Thor wasn't the least surprised that you could see that. You saw Loki more clearly than most.

Unfortunately for him, you'd seen only what Thor had wanted you to see. The day you'd found out he'd asked Loki to spy on you for him was etched with painful clarity across his memory. You had been utterly blindsided, had not even considered suspecting him of subterfuge before that moment. He had seen the betrayal on your face, was so intimately familiar with the pain of that emotion, he'd been unable to offer any defense beyond the weakest expression of remorse.

You had been unimpressed, and rightly so. If he had it to do over again, he'd tell you he never really distrusted you. He'd heard no end of mindless fearmongering from his father's advisers and had believed none of it. He'd fully expected Loki to prove you true, had in fact counted on it. He'd wanted to quiet their groundless terrors once and for all.

And that was all information he should have shared with you long before you found out by overhearing he and his brother arguing about it. If he had it to do over again, he'd have faced you with the truth as soon as Loki had given the final report to said advisers. He'd betrayed you twice; you'd been right to walk away.

Thor had let you go for a reason, and that reason hadn't changed. He carried nothing but pain with him. He'd already hurt you enough; he wouldn't risk hurting you again.

"Okay," you sneered at the man that had just shimmered into being on the couch in the living area of your quarters at the Avengers compound. "What bullshit are you up today?" You nodded at the piquant box he'd given you earlier in the day on the coffee table in front of the couch. You'd set it there and waited, knowing Loki would be paying you one of his hologram visits before your day was over.

You weren't disappointed, though it was much later than you expected, closer to midnight. You wondered what could have happened in New Asgard that could have had him occupied until nearly dawn his time. He didn't offer an explanation, simply smiled indulgently.

"I beg your pardon, dear one," he demurred, his eyes twinkling with good-natured mischief. You narrowed yours in response. "It is nothing dangerous, I promise." He was laughing, but you could see the tension around his eyes.

"To open it, you must trace the waxing crescent moon to the ridge of the mountains. From there you follow the path through the valley into the winter sun." His lips were twitching, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

When he had appeared, you had been pouring a much-needed glass of wine. You could have sworn you'd seen Thor earlier that day in a third-floor window, watching you. Your heart had raced, but you'd been able to resist the urge to run inside and punch him until he hurt as badly as he'd hurt you. You'd vowed to hold on to your temper and your tears on the day you'd decided to keep the New Asgard run.

Swirling the pinot noir in your overly full glass, you sat casually on the couch next to Loki, crossing your legs with a dubious smile on your face. "Uh-huh." You lifted an eyebrow. "What's in the box? And it better not be a head."

"Why would it be a head?" When you opened your mouth to explain the reference, he lifted his hand to stop you. "Don't answer. I don't care. Open it and look."

Your eyes narrowed even further, your lips twisted in suspicion. Still, he seemed to be having fun-fun, not mean-fun, so you figured you could risk opening the thing. You leaned forward and set your wineglass on one of the agate slices that served as coasters to protect the dark oak of the coffee table. You grabbed the dark box Loki had given you earlier and sat back, settling it in your lap. You shot Loki a look from under skeptical eyebrows.

Turning your attention to the box, you were taken by the beauty of the thing. It wasn’t large, but rectangular in shape and a little smaller than a brick. Its surface was shiny and nearly black with age. But for the symbols and sigils carved deeply into the wood, you would have thought the object made of obsidian, so smooth and glassy was the surface between the carvings. Almost immediately, your eye was caught by the elaborate crescent with the horns facing left along one of the thin, long sides.

Your finger reached out and delicately traced the curling pattern within the crescent. When you reached the end, the entire symbol began to glow a white-edged blue. Your finger followed a jagged line that reached around and ran along the edge of one of the thin, short sides. From there a winding, curving line through symbols and runes that you couldn't translate across the other long, thin side through a dipping 'U' shape. Finally, your finger followed the line into a spiral on one of the large faces. The spiral itself nestled into a symbol strangely reminiscent of a sun within a snowflake.

Once the line that traveled through all the symbols was lit with that bluish-white light, a seam in the wood appeared. Feeling very much like Pandora, you slid the lid out from the groove in which it sat. Inside, on a bed of silk, lay a small, crystalline bottle full of a vibrant blue liquid that seemed to shimmer in the light as it faded from the symbols. Tendrils of steam swirled out of the box where the chill of the bottle met the warmth of the air.

"Oh, what fresh hell is this?"

At your acerbic response, Loki burst into full-throated laughter. "Only you, dear one, could find a king's ransom an irritant."

"It is when you're offering it." Lifting a brow, you gestured toward the bottle, silently asking if it was okay to remove it from its nest. Loki inclined his head in assent with a knowing smile. You carefully lifted the bottle, your fingers chilling the moment you touched it, wondering at both the container and the liquid within. "This isn't glass, is it? What does the liquid do?"

"Glass couldn't hold it, dear one." Loki's smile had taken on a slightly sinister edge. You'd noted his smile took on that particular cruel edge preceding a half-truth. He always looked a little cruel whenever he was about to give you an answer that was technically the truth but omitted a lot of important information. "A capful will extend your life by fifty times its normal length."

"And the catch?" You reluctantly set the bottle back in its nest, the chill starting to hurt your fingers. You continued to examine it, however, as once you'd lifted it to the light, you'd been able to see delicate patterns etched into the surface of the bottle as well. "I age at my normal length so that when I die several thousand years from now, it's from crumbling apart?"

"No, you will age proportionally to your lifetime." Loki was vaguely exasperated, but thoroughly amused. You were the only person he'd ever thought to offer this secret to. Part of that was exactly this, that you were one of the few he'd ever met who wouldn't immediately drink it but would ask a dozen questions first. He was starting to think you weren't human; you were too clever. "Remember, I actually like you, dear one."

That touched you a little. You were pretty sure that was the truth. Still… "There has to be a catch."

Loki's smiled widened. "It will change you physically. You will become much harder to kill, among other things." That cruel cast came and went once more on his ascetically pretty face. "You might not like some of the changes."

"Huh." You sat for a moment, thinking over all of the information he had both volunteered and carefully hidden. You couldn't help but notice that he hadn't entirely answered your question. You knew there had to be more of a catch than he'd revealed, but you could also tell he didn't want to tell you. Whatever was going on here, you could see clearly that Loki was not being entirely honest with you, surprise, surprise. You were certain there were aspects that you would not like should he tell the truth. Until then… "No."

"No!?"

You burst out laughing at the sheer insult all over him. His face was a study in umbrage, his body recoiling in horror. He was genuinely shocked that you wouldn't leap at the chance to extend your life without thinking further. You were genuinely amused that he thought you'd jump without thinking about the consequences first. You hadn't survived this long in the odd world you inhabited by being either naïve or reckless.

"No, I will not drink your I’m-an-obvious-trap-and-if-you-drink-me-you’re-an-idiot potion." You closed the box with a snap, then leaned forward to place it on the coffee table once more. You picked up your wineglass and sat back to continue. "This has Faustian bargain written all over it. ‘Drink this mysterious liquid that does not have a label and you have no idea what’s in it and you’ll have life, health, and youth for the next 4,000 years, no strings attached.’" You scowled good-naturedly at the now smiling god. "Sure! Nothing insanely wrong here! I mean, if you can’t trust the God of Mischief and Deceit."

Loki tilted his head back and roared with laughter. You'd never seen him laugh like this, open and unguarded. It occurred to you that Loki hid a lot of himself away, and you wondered about the why of it. Today, however, you were just grateful to see him enjoying himself so thoroughly. Your face softened, and you teased gently as he calmed, "Well, come on. This might as well have a sign that says, ‘Free Bird Seed’ on it."

"I do not understand," he answered, still chuckling. "Is bird seed terribly precious on Midgard?"

"I cannot figure out where to even begin to explain Wile E. Coyote to you."

"If it is another ridiculous Midgard thing, don't bother." He lifted a dismissive hand and you laughed again. "I don't care." His expression shifting to one of amused temptation, he slid forward on the couch. Though you knew you couldn't touch him, you weren't certain if Loki could touch you in this form. You forced yourself to stay relaxed and not retreat. Loki would immediately take advantage of any sign of weakness. "When you change your mind, love," he smiled that enticing smile of his, the one that crossed his face when he was up to something, "let me know. Do. Not. Drink it without me. You'll need my help."

"I'm not drinking it." If Loki had been a study in insult, you were now a study in doubtful challenge. You leaned back, one arm casually draped across your lap, the other swirling your wine as it lay along the back of the couch. "But I still want to know why you're even offering it to me."

"It has become clear that it is going to take you forever to stop pining for my oaf of a brother." Loki slid closer and you felt that odd push-pull you always had with Loki, the urge to run coupled with the temptation to get closer. "I want you to still be alive when that happens so I can steal you once and for all."

The last words were spoken almost against your mouth and you would swear you could feel it. Your lips seemed to tingle, as though his had been only a breath away, but you weren't sure you weren't merely hallucinating the sensation. In the next instant, Loki was gone, undoubtedly concluding that a strategic retreat was best to accomplish his aims.

He wasn't wrong; you were certain you'd be thinking about the box, and him, for a long time coming. How could you not? Even his reason for offering would prey upon your mind. It was so weirdly sweet.

Didn't matter, you thought to yourself. You weren't a fucking idiot, and you did not know what that potion really did. You weren't fucking drinking it.

Part Nine: Ablation here

Taglist:

@lbouvet @rocknroll-is-thewaytogo @chook007 @quickies-with-quicksilver @deinopis @daylight-saver @rishlo @pebblesz892 @bibliophile1773 @bojabee @knightofreaders @pancake-pages @666nunslut666 @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @lilulo-12 @tabbytyler @sunigyrl @suz-123 @cheekygeek05 @hellzzzbelle @jewels2876 @innerpaperexpertcloud @miraclesoflove @irritated-bisexual @diinofayce @fashionworld12

#Thor Odinson x reader #thor x reader #thor odinson fanfiction #thor fanfiction #thor fanfic #mcu fanfiction #marvel au #lightning strikes #pantswrites #angst #series

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distressedpanda · 5 years

Text

Her Song (Loki X OFC) Part 6

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Blood

A/N: I actually made it on time guys! Hooray!

As always let me know if you want to be tagged.

Tags: @whosaidididthat

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

"So how is my brother?" Thor's voice boomed across the training room.

Iloa had been training with Thor for the past few days, Natasha having gone out on a private solo mission. Not having to hold back against him, she had enjoyed the change of strength and pace, until today. Now he was incessantly asking questions about her and his brother's non-existent relationship. It had been almost two weeks since he had opened up to her, in this very training room. The evidence still present on the wall, to the disappointment of a very disgruntled Tony Stark. Eleven days, six hours, three minutes and no telling how many seconds, since the mission that had both pushed them closer together and had somehow torn them further apart. But hey who's counting?

She panted from the exertion and hurled a Kunai at Thor's head to get him to shut up. He flicked the blade away effortlessly with Mjölnir, "Touchy subject?" he asked nonchalantly, grinning ear to ear.

She blew her hair out of her face, "I wouldn't know, Thor. Haven't spoken to him since the Russia assignment."

He chuckled, "I thought he would have spoken to you by now," he jabbed at what, he was unaware, was an open wound.

She screamed at him and he went down on one knee holding his head. She was on him in an instant, Kunai at his throat, "I am not his keeper, you asshole!" Moving the dagger, she shoved his head down and walked back to her side of the room squaring off at him again.

He chuckled again without mirth, returning to his feet. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"Again?" she asked. Extracting a new Kunai from her belt, she lifted her arms adopting a fighting stance. She watched his muscles tense, preparing to charge.

Lifting Mjölnir to his side, he let out a fierce battle cry and was on her in a few steps. Dipping and sliding under his swing, she slashed at his side narrowly missing doing real damage. Instead, the dagger tore a large hole in his shirt.

He righted himself, pulling at the hem of the shirt to inspect the damage. "I really liked this shirt," he whined, but was still grinning.

"Quit pissing me off and I won't do the same to your jeans," she baited him.

He attacked again, swinging the hammer down at her. "Have you told him yet?"

He was trying to distract her and it almost worked, she narrowly missed the swing. Spinning her body away, just in time. Of course, there was no real danger. Anytime Thor saw that she couldn't escape getting hit, he would halt the hammer short of making contact with her.

She stood up a few feet away from the God panting heavily but not from the fight. She was agitated to say the least. He was the only person in the tower that knew her full story. Where she came from, what she was. “Don't you think if he knew, we wouldn't be having this conversation?” She snarled at him, then tried to reign in her anger, “I dropped a hint once, but he didn't take the bait. I even told him point blank that I wasn't a mortal. Twice. I am just not interested in fighting him to let him know.”

“You are his Disir, you most know that now,” he argued.

“Stop,” she screamed, Thor crumpled again. Holding his head in his hands, Mjölnir falling heavily to the floor. She breathed heavily, fighting the anger building in her mind. Taking deep steadying breaths, her hands trembled, gripping the daggers in a white knuckle grasp as she fought for control. She couldn't lose control, not here. She was afraid of hurting everyone in the tower, not just the pig-headed man on the ground before her that couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Thor looked up at her, “I am sorry,” he apologized, leaning back to a seated position. Still messaging his temples, the pain didn't stop him from adding, “But you know it's true.”

Iloa had had enough, turning on her heels, she ripped the belt from her waist tossing it and the Kunai in her hands on the ground next to the door. Exiting the room, she heard him call one last time, “You are only mad because I am right!”

She grit her teeth, grumbling under her breath about how he could take his damned prophecy and shove it up his ass. Rounding a corner, she came up short.

Loki, was at the other end of the hall, nose buried in a book. His brow furrowed in concentration, as he was reading and walking towards her. In a green button down the same shade as his eyes, black slacks, and patent leather shoes, tapping lightly on the floor. Beautiful just wasn't a strong enough word for the vision of elegance before her.

Her breath caught in her throat, Thor's words ringing in her ears. She wasn't even sure she understood what a Disir was anyway. When Thor had first met her, he had told her what she was. She had spent far too many years on this earth wondering why she had stopped aging. She was stronger, faster, more agile and durable, with quicker reflexes and more stamina than anyone she had encountered before. Then her ability had shown itself, throwing her into even more confusing territory.

It had never made sense to her, until Thor had forced her to let him explain. But now standing there with a quickly approaching Loki, this information meant nothing if he wouldn't even talk to her. She crossed her arms over her chest, stepping into his path. But as he got close to her, he stepped around her never looking up from the book in his hands.

She dropped to her knees, hands on the floor barely holding herself up. He couldn't have hurt her more if he had actually hit her. Acting like she didn't exist was so much worse. She curled in on herself, her heart ripping from her chest and following the man walking away from her.

She didn't bother fighting the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. She was so angry at Thor, confused about Loki, hurt by his actions and the fact that she could very well be his Disir. She was a raw ball of mixed emotions and she couldn't fight them anymore. She sat back against the wall, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She sobbed, bowing her head into the private space her curled body created.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, it felt like an eternity. She had stopped sobbing, reducing herself to small sniffles, a while ago. Slowly she lifted her head, wiping at her eyes.

Thor and Loki were sitting across from her, the former staring at her with sad eyes. While the latter with his arms and ankles crossed, looking anywhere but at her.

She yelped at suddenly seeing them there, and both men groaned in pain. She couldn't make herself feel sorry though. She ducked her head and looked away from the two, letting her hair shield her face. “What are you doing here?” she croaked out of her emotionally raw throat.

Thor cleared his throat, “Loki has something he wishes to say to you.”

She scoffed at the idea.

Silence reigned in the hall and she was having none of that. Abruptly rising to her feet, she headed down the hall away from the pair. Her wrist was grabbed, and she immediately yanked herself free, whirling on whichever of the two had touched her.

Loki stood there, his arm still outstretched. The familiar electricity unable to reach her through the raw mixed emotions thrashing around her brain. Like living creatures trying to tear her apart. He slowly drew back, sliding his hands in his pockets awkwardly. He started to chew on his bottom lip, which aggravated her further. She crossed her arms, glaring at him, “What?!” she shouted.

Loki felt that single word with all the force she had delivered it with. He actually stumbled back reaching out to the wall to keep himself up right. He didn't want this. It was better for them both, if they had nothing more to do with each other. He couldn't bear to lose her in any form. But he knew that because she was just a mortal, if he allowed himself to let these feelings form fully in his heart, it would hurt even more when she died. The mission had made that perfectly clear.

He tried to form a sentence, to tell her these things. To be truthful to this woman that meant so much to him already. Unfortunately, he just stood there gaping foolishly, unable to utter even a syllable.

She turned again, but Thor had overtaken her and was standing in her way. Her hands formed fists at her sides, “Thor, you are already on my shit list. If you don't get out of my way this instant, I will kill you,” she breathed the warning.

Thor raised his hands defensively taking a step back, “Okay, but listen,” he didn't get to finish, because Loki scoffed.

Iloa turned her burning sapphire gaze back to him and this time she was eerily calm. Loki was unnerved by her appearance, flinching away.

“Hey, back over here,” Thor begged, trying to keep his voice calm and assuring despite the tremble there. “Focus on me Iloa,” she drew her steely gaze back to him and he flinched too. “You have to calm down or you are gonna tear this entire building apart.” He kept his voice soft and gentle. She started to breathe more evenly, closing her eyes and concentrating on stamping out the raging fire burning through her veins.

Loki's brow knitted together, his brother was not just scared of the girl, he was terrified. He opened his mouth to ask but Thor cut in again, “Brother, please stop talking, unless you want us all to die.”

He couldn't stop the question from falling from his lips, “How can she kill us? We are Gods.”

There was just enough snark in that question, to reignite the fire in Iloa. She turned to him again but Thor stepped between them just as she began to hum at Loki. Loki crumbled to the floor, holding his head and screaming in pain. The walls around them, started groaning and shaking. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickering, as the ceiling started to splinter and crack. Loki could hear the building protesting at her power. All this did was further confuse him, as he fought to save his life with his seiðr.

Thor started over, “Iloa, look at me please. You have to stop or you will kill him,” Thor looked down at Loki writhing in pain on the floor. Blood had started flowing from his ears. “Please, Iloa,” he begged. “You will never be able to live with yourself, if you hurt him. If you bring this building down, you will kill everyone here. Don't think about him. Focus on, Tony and Steve, Banner and Natasha. She is back home now. I know she is you best friend here, right? You don't want to hurt all of them do you?”

A tear rolled down her cheek, she exhaled loudly. Everything stopped moving and Thor breathed a sigh of relief, crouching to check on Loki. His pain had stopped but Thor had no way of knowing how much damage had been done. He looked back up to Iloa but she was gone.

“How did she do that?” Loki asked through grit teeth, “She is just a mortal.”

Thor rolled his eyes, deciding whether to leave the idiot on the ground or not. “She isn't a mortal, you fool,” exasperated, he knew it wasn't his story to tell. But he'd had enough of this repetitive fight between the two.

That seemed to clear Loki's mind enough to be astonished, “What?”

Thor chuckled, “She is an Asgardian, just like me. Well, not just like me,” he admitted.

Things started to make sense to Loki. She had mentioned that there was more to her than he knew. Had even stated that she was more than a mortal, more than once. But of course, being true to form, he had stubbornly never allowed her to explain. He hadn't bothered to earn the answers either. She had lived through being mortally wounded, only needing a 'nap' to fully recover. He sighed, sitting up slowly. Wiping the blood dripping down his neck, off with his sleeve and the back of his hands.

Thor watched him with worried eyes but Loki waved him off. “I was able to keep her from doing permanent damage with my seiðr.” He dropped his head into his hands, “I am a fool.”

Thor lent his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, absently inspecting the fissure cracks that had formed there, “Yep,” was all he had to say to his brother.

#loki #loki x ofc #fanfic #angst #tom hiddleston loki #slow burn

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lunarfox22 · 4 years

Text

Bloodied and Broken - Part 12

Pairing: Loki x OFC (of color)

Warning: Violence, language, blood, mentions of suicidal thoughts, angst, fluff

Words: 3020

AO3: Bloodied and Broken by lunar_fox22

FFN: Bloodied and Broken by lunarfox22

Summary: Loki has fallen from the Bifrost, a disgraced prince. He meets Angela Lawrence, a SHIELD agent who helps him, but can he let go of his scorn? Or will he betray the only person who is on his side?

Part 11 - Part 13

Masterlist

AN: *TRIGGER WARNING* : MENTIONS OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND LOKI’S ATTEMPTED SUICIDE AT THE BIFROST! If this bothers you please feel free to skip this chapter. This chapter contains a lot of dialogue as well.

I'm moving these over to my new writing works tumblr. Please forgive any confusion!

---

The car ride back to the house was silent, not even the radio was playing. The only sound was the sound of Loki’s fingers thumping against the dashboard in a furious rhythm. He stared out of the passenger window. Not at anything in particular, but just so he couldn’t see Angela.

There was a time where Loki was the one making fools out of everyone around him. He was known as the Trickster for a reason. Now it seemed that everyone around him was making him out to be the fool. First Odin, then Thor, and now Angela. He had been fooled by a Midgardian no less!

He said nothing to her as she drove the car. He could feel the worried glances she shot at him every once in a while, but still he said nothing.

‘Why in the Allfather’s name would she allow him to stay with her?’ he wondered. Then the answer came to him in a flash. ‘She means to turn me over to SHIELD.’

He had often marveled at her kindness. Loki wondered how in the Realms she could offer her home to a complete stranger - let alone one from another Realm - without any qualms. She gave him food, a warm bed, clothing, and entertainment without so much of a complaint. Yes, she teased him about it, but she never complained. She was wonderful company, as well. But like all things in his life, it was too good to be true.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. Of course she was kind. Of course she tried to befriend him. She was using him.

He should have known too. It was all in her file that he read on her laptop; An assassin and an undercover spy. Angela was a liar just as he was. Trained to manipulate and gain the upper hand in a situation. To gain intel, and bring it back to her employer.

This was all a ploy to get him to let his guard down.

‘Just like I’m doing to her,’ he realized. Wasn’t this hypocritical of him? He was upset she lied, when he was lying himself?

He steeled himself against his thoughts. Yes, he was using Angela. But the difference was she got caught, and he wouldn’t.

She pulled the car into the driveway, and he exited it before it fully stopped and slammed the door shut. He made his way inside the house and rounded on her the moment she shut the front door.

He didn’t yell, but his voice was sharp and cold. Like a dagger. He spoke through clenched teeth. “What was your plan here? To gain my trust? Get me to lower my guard so you can take me back to your boss? Perhaps make yourself more powerful in the long run as I helped you with your powers? Then you toss me aside?!” he ranted quickly.

Her eyes widened, and she looked taken aback at his outburst. She placed her hands up defensively against his verbal attack. “Loki, that’s not –”

But he wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise. “Well,” he laughed bitterly, “you almost succeeded. I thought you a wonderful, kind soul. I trusted you,” he sneered. He ripped his gaze away from the hurt look on her face, and he began to pace back and forth across the living room. Anger flowing through his veins.

Angela tried to speak once more, but was cut off again.

“So, when can I expect SHIELD to be here, hmm?” he asked bitterly, turning to face her again. A dark sneer set in his visage.

The hurt expression on her face slowly fell, as she prepared herself to answer him. He folded his arms behind his back, and braced himself for whatever was to come.

She stood unmoving, unblinking in the face of his anger now. “They’re not coming, Loki. I’m not handing you over to them.”

That… was not what he expected to hear. He expected that she would inform them and they would be here within the hour. Or the next couple of minutes.

No, she lied once before, she could do it again. It made no sense not to turn him in. Not after what he had done to Midgard against his battle with Thor. Surely she knew about that.

He needed to stay on his guard around her. His green eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he lifted a brow in question. “You’re not?”

“I’m not handing you over,” she repeated carefully. “If you would just listen to me –”

He scoffed loudly at the idea. He couldn’t trust her. “To give you the chance to manipulate me?”

Anger slowly bled into her features, but she schooled them back into a neutral expression quickly. “I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

“Like you weren’t when you told me you only knew of me from your love of mythology?” he mocked with a laugh.

A look of resignation settled on her face. “Okay, so I misled you with that, I’ll admit,” she relented, “But I haven’t lied about anything else.”

His answer to that was a disbelieving stare.

“Oh don’t act like I’m the only one in the wrong here!” she snapped.

Any retort he had died on his tongue. He had been caught.

“An accident? Really? You expect me to believe that? I know what you did to Earth! You leveled an entire town! And now I’m assigned clean up duty!” she ranted at him before taking a deep breath. “I swear to you, on my momma’s life, I wasn’t going to turn you over. Did the thought cross my mind once? Yes. But I decided against it. I just–”

“Just what?” he interrupted.

“Just wanted to help,” she sighed out. “I’m not sure what exactly happened, but I know how it feels –”

“You know? You KNOW?” he roared, “What would you know of me? Of what I have been through?! How I was betrayed and lied to?” he stalked over to her bookshelf and grabbed the picture of her and her family off of it. “You have this! A perfect bloody family. How would you, a Midgardian, know what I have been through?”

She went over and snatched the photo from him, “I didn’t always have this!” she snapped. “You’re not the only person in the universe to be lied to and betrayed, Loki. Like I said, I don’t know what you went through. But I’ve seen the look in your eyes before. Staring straight back at me in the mirror. Not that long ago, I –”

She paused, trying to collect her thoughts. Her eyes unfocused as the memories of her past resurfaced from where she buried them.

“Is this not your birth mother? Is this not your blood family?” he questioned harshly, breaking her out of her daze.

“Yes,” Angela admitted slowly, “but she didn’t raise me. Hell, I didn’t meet them until I was seventeen.”

The adrenaline that filled her at the start of this whole thing was quickly slipping away, and she took a seat at the far side of the couch. Loki watched every step she took, but still unwilling to stand down. He wasn’t going to trust her easily, and she understood that. Loki’s trust didn’t come easily, nothing with him came easily.

With a breath she begins to explain, “The way my mom tells me is that one day my dad - my real dad - took me to go shopping with him when I was around two years old. Neither of us came home that day. My dad was killed, and I was taken.”

Loki stopped short, astounded at what she just revealed to him. His defensive posture drops.

Angela’s gaze drifted from him to the floor, unable to keep eye contact. Her memories were vivid, she could remember every detail. She continues softly, “The man who took me - Marshall Corbain was his name - was a horrible, horrible man. He raised me to believe he was my father. I was so young I didn’t question it. I was still just a baby.

“And let’s just say he was abusive. I wouldn’t even say he raised me, it was more like he trained me. He trained me to be a weapon, not a person. I never had a childhood. I only had training, and the expectation to be perfect at everything. I finally got away when I was fifteen,” she swallowed the lump that grew in her throat, “SHIELD helped me get rid of him, in exchange for something. But at the last moment I got scared and ran. I gave them what they wanted and when they - Director Fury - offered me a chance, I ran. I thought it was a trap. That’s all I ever knew. So for two years I was on my own. I had never been on my own before. I was always given orders. I was so scared, and lost.”

By this time she had curled into herself, her knees pressed against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her voice wasn’t very loud, but it somehow felt louder than when she had her voice raised earlier.

“At first I wanted nothing of the life I had before,” she resumed her story when he says nothing. “But I found myself on the streets soon enough. I had to beg for food and scraps. It starts to fuck with you, you know? I went to homeless shelters, but they weren’t very helpful. I refused to go to an orphanage, I was scared of them putting me with someone like Marshall. I tried to get a job, but without an address it was basically impossible. I couldn’t stand not eating anymore, so I fell back into what I knew. And I hated myself. But I never wanted to be hungry and cold again, so I continued. And doing hits paid good money. And honestly, at the time, I truly believed that’s all I would ever be good at.

“I made a name for myself. Soon enough SHIELD came back, but for me this time. And this time when Fury offered, I accepted. It was that, or prison for everything I had done. And I deserved prison, but I decided to go with them. And that was the best decision of my life. After a few months, they found my mom. Turns out she never gave up hope I was still alive and out there somewhere. SHIELD put me through college, and I got to turn things around.”

Angela finally looked back up at him, unshed tears in her eyes. That stupid ache in his chest that had appeared the night of her nightmares returned. “All I wanted was to help you do the same, Loki. Or help you in any way I could. I was never going to turn you in or anything like that,“ she whispered.

The anger that he felt earlier had left him completely, and left behind in its wake was a deep feeling of shock. Shock, and remorse. She had been right, she did know what he had been through. Almost exactly what he had been through. And he treated her as if she was inferior, and unable to even comprehend the pain he had gone through.

He slowly made his way over, sitting next to her. Silence had filled the space between them as he contemplated what to say. What did one say to that?

He would have to apologize. Apologizing never came easy to him, usually he would rather die than to admit he was the one wrong, but she was owed at least that.

“I believe you,” he began, “And I am terribly sorry, Angela. You may be Midgardian, but that does not exclude you from suffering as I have. It seems we’re more similar than I previously believed.”

She shifts slightly to look up at him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? I wasn’t assigned to this until recently, I only know about your attack on Puente and your brother.”

He flinched slightly. “He’s not my brother.”

“I don’t understand. I was told that you two were brothers.”

Telling her what had happened before his fall had never been a part of his plan. But after everything she had shared, she might be the only one to understand him.

With a heavy sigh he began to speak, “We were raised together by Odin and Frigga. Both of us were led to believe that we were blood kin. And that we both were born to be king. But growing up, I lived in Thor’s shadow. Odin always preferred him to me. All of Asgard preferred him. He was the perfect warrior, the perfect golden prince. I used my seidr instead of brute strength. And so they called me the Dark Prince.

“I knew Odin would choose Thor as king. But Thor wouldn’t have made a good king. He was arrogant, impulsive, reckless; more apt to destroy everything in his path in the name of glory rather than solve the problem. I had just wanted to show Odin what a mistake it would be to make Thor king. I didn’t want the throne. I just wanted to show that Thor wasn’t as perfect as everyone made him seem. That I too was worthy of the throne, that I was Thor’s equal. So, I set up a plan to interfere on Thor’s coronation day.”

“What did you do?” Angela asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

“There are ways going to and from Asgard. They are long forgotten, but I learned of them during my research one day. I led one of Asgard’s greatest enemies, The Frost Giants, to one of the passages. I knew they would take the bait; Asgard and Jotunheim despised one another. The war that waged between us has been spoken of often. A cautionary tale, one told to children to tell them how terrifying Frost Giants are. We are told how monstrous they are, and how brave Asgard was for defeating them and protecting Midgard. I knew the Frost Giants wouldn’t be able to do much against Asgard, they only breached Odin’s Vault. But it was enough for Thor to do exactly what I knew he would. He wanted to go attack the Frost Giants.

“I ordered a guard to inform Odin of Thor’s plan to attack Jotunheim. I didn’t want anyone to be harmed. Our small group of five was no real threat to the entire Jotunheim army. So, having Odin come would save us. In the end… it didn’t matter. When we arrived, one Frost Giant touched Volstagg’s arm, giving him frostbite instantaneously. However, when one grabbed me, I wasn’t harmed at all. My arm began to turn blue, the same shade as the Frost Giant I was fighting.”

Angela gasped sympathetically at the revelation. He paused, emotions welling up within him. He closed his eyes, only to open them when he felt her lay her hand on his shoulder. He gazed over at her, she had shifted closer to him, offering him comfort.

He continued, “Odin came and saved us all, just as I planned. But what I did not plan for was when we returned to Asgard, he banished Thor. How was I to know he would banish him? Thor had hardly ever suffered any punishment when we were growing up. Not as I had. Odin punished me for every singular thing I did wrong, but never Thor. And for Odin to banish him? I never imagined Odin would go to such an extreme. Nor did I plan on finding out that I was not Odinson. I was Laufey’s son, abandoned during the war; left to die. Odin took me in, and raised me so I could claim Jotunheim’s throne, not Asgard’s. It was no wonder I was never considered, no wonder I was treated the way I was. He could never have a Frost Giant on the throne. A monster could never be King of Asgard.

“Odin fell into the Odinsleep during our confrontation, which left me the only one to be king. I tried everything in my power to prove I was worthy. I killed Laufey, I could have ended the war with Jotunheim. But in the end it wasn’t enough for Odin. In the end, he still preferred Thor. The Bifrost broke, and Thor and I almost fell. Odin awoke and tried to catch us. But I was unable to hang on… and I fell.” he finished softly, quietly.

He could remember clearly Odin’s words as he was dangling on the precipice of the Bifrost. ‘No, Loki.’ He was never enough, even then.

It was silent for a moment once again. They each took in what was just told. It was Angela who broke the silence this time. “You didn’t fall though, did you?”

Loki lifted his head from his gaze on the floor to look over at her; startled that she quickly saw through his words. “What?”

The tears in her eyes had returned. They did not fall, but they were building up at the corners. “You didn’t fall, you let go.”

“And what makes you say that?” His voice was hard, defensive.

Now the tears did fall, “Because that’s how Fury found me. On the roof of a skyscraper, ready to let go of it all. I know exactly what you mean.”

Oh. His face dropped. “Yes, I let go. And I didn’t plan on surviving the fall, but here I am.”

If he would have said that earlier, it would have been spoken in a bitter tone. But now? Now he was enjoying his time with Angela. For the first time in a long time, he felt connected with someone other than his family.

She may be the only person in the Realms that he had by his side.

Angela squeezed his shoulder and gave him a soft smile that made his heart flutter in his chest.

“For what it’s worth Loki. I’m glad you’re here.”

“As am I, darling.”

#loki x ofc #loki x oc #loki/ofc #loki/oc #loki #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #bloodied and broken

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were-cheetah-stiles · 7 years

Text

The Recruit (Chapter 25) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 103″

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Stan Hurley, Irene Kennedy, Aiden Breen & Reader/OFC

Warnings: This is the last god damn chapter in which I label for cursing. THERE WILL ALWAYS BE CURSING.

Author’s Note: I would watch this or this (Or both) before reading any further chapters. Just a nice brush up, you know? Also anyone who loves The West Wing as much as I do should catch the shout out to a super fake terrorist organization.

y/f/i = your first initial

Chapter Twenty-Four //-// Chapter Twenty-Five - Chapter Twenty-Six

"Y/n!" Stan knocked loud and hard, making sure to announce his presence as he opened the door without permission from his niece. You snapped up in bed and reached for your Glock, pushing your hand next to your bed, your new hiding place for it while you slept, only to pull away when you realized that it was just Stan waking you up abruptly. You looked around the room, it was barely light out.

"The fuck is going on?" You said groggily, pushing your hair back from your forehead and rubbing your eyes, a permanent frown living on your face.

"You've got a half hour to pack a go-bag with moderate climate gear." Stan told you.

"What is this? The Assateague Island camping trip? Isn't it still a little too early in the year for that?" You questioned, not fully grasping what was about to happen.

"No, kiddo, this isn't the camping trip. Training is over. You've been called up to the big leagues...” Stan glanced down at his watch, tilting his mug almost too far to the side, just to check the time. “And now you’ve got twenty-eight minutes to pack and meet out in the driveway." Stan nodded, with a fake half-smile. "I gotta go get your partner up." Stan didn’t close your door all the way and you heard him make the same demands across the hall. You smiled as you realized that Mitch was your partner and you didn’t have to worry about finding a way to warn him that you had gone on a mission.

"Shit." You sprung to your feet, after you heard Stan’s footsteps growing fainter in the hall. You began ripping through your bedroom to find the proper gear for the vague tip of 'a moderate climate'. You placed The Great Gatsby on the top of your go-bag and zipped it up. You threw the black, lightweight duffel over your shoulder and walked down to the driveway. Stan opened the door to the large indistinguishably black, American-made SUV idling in the dirt driveway in the front of the Main House. You, turned and saw Aiden descending the stairs behind you, and you snapped your head back when Stan said your name and gestured for you to give him your bag. You stepped up into the car and saw Mitch half-smile at you from a seat in the last row, and Irene turn her head to smile from the front passenger seat. You climbed in the back with Mitch and had to fight the urge to take his hand in yours. Aiden and Stan loaded in after you and before you knew it, the car was moving on the gravel road that led in and out of The Barn towards Williamsburg, Virginia.

"Does anyone want to fill me in?" You broke the long silence in the car.

Irene turned around, and gave her best calm and reassuring smile. "The two of you have been tapped for a mission. Mitch has already been briefly caught up, but you'll both get your packets with the full parameters on the plane."

"The plane? Where are we going? How have we been tapped for a mission? Neither of us are technically agents yet." You were not usually this questioning of authority, but you were very caught off guard by all of this news and you knew this was not how this sort of thing worked usually. A large part of you never thought that Stan would ever actually let you leave The Barn, and if he did, you were certain you would be stuck behind a desk at Langley.

"Y/n, when you get back from this mission, Irene is going to put you in with the next graduating class from The Farm and you will be a full-fledged member of the Central Intelligence Agency." Stan explained, and you glanced over at Mitch, who was boring holes into the front of Stan's skull trying to keep his mouth shut, but curious what this meant for him. You glanced back at Stan.

"What about Rapp?" You asked.

Stan shook his head. He was certain he was right, and Irene was wrong, but she was his superior and what she said was what was going to happen.

"Mitch, you're also done with training at The Barn. You've been done for some time, we just needed to wait until the mission was ready for you. You are Orion now. We'll make that official on the plane." Irene said to him confidently.

Mitch nodded once at Irene. He felt that he was ready too. You were feeling less prepared somehow. Maybe because Mitch seemed to have a better grasp on what was going on. You continued with your line of questioning. "What plane ride? Where are we going? What is this mission? Someone has to tell me literally something, anything."

"We're going to Istanbul." Stan explained, finally giving you some insight into what you were pretty sure that Mitch already knew.

"Why Turkey?" You asked.

Irene spoke up again. "Four days ago, fifteen kilos of plutonium went missing, weapons grade. We think a catastrophic attack is imminent."

"We've been tracking an arm's dealer named Hamdi Sharif, who has ties with the Bahji terror group-" You couldn't help but allow those names to elicit a quick reaction from you. You glanced over at Mitch, who remained stoic, and you quickly mimicked his expression. Stan continued explaining. "-who have had a vendetta against Israel since the creation of the state in the 40s. We think that he is trying to smuggle it into Israeli state borders, set it off, and hold Palestine responsible..."

You cut him off. You understood Middle Eastern relations, and suddenly, you also understood how you fit into the mission. "...Essentially setting off World War III and basically, wiping the Middle East off the fucking map." Stan nodded grimly at your deduction.

"We're trying to make sure that the sale is not final." Irene interjected.

"Who's selling it?" You asked, catching an odd exchange of glances between Stan and Irene.

"We're pretty certain that a man by the name of Ghost is the seller." Irene explained. You glanced up at Mitch, who, for a nanosecond, glanced back, and you realized that this was the mission that Mitch had been training for for months.

"You have forty-eight hours to track Sharif and Ghost and make sure that the sale is not completed." Stan explained. "The rest of the details and your exact assignments are in the files that I'll give you on the plane."

"There's a fucking nuke in play. Don't fuck this up." Irene warned as they pulled onto the tarmac at Andrews Airforce Base in Virginia.

Irene dropped you all off and Stan and Aiden sat on one end of the small private jet, while you and Mitch sat across from each other on the opposite end of the plane. You were somewhere over the Atlantic, five and half hours into your ten and half hour flight to Turkey, when Mitch leaned forward and closed your mission folder.

"Y/f/i, you've read it, like, thirty times. I know you understood and memorized everything after the first. You need to sleep." He reached forward and gently cupped your hands in his, eliciting a soft smile from the woman across from him.

"I'm nervous."

"I kind of gathered that." Mitch smiled, one side of his mouth curled up a little higher than the other, the kind smirk that always made you feel woozy.

You couldn't help but smile back at him. You loved that he knew what was going on in your head without you having to say. "I've wanted this for years... to be in the field, to be on a mission... to be a real agent, and now it's happening and I'm fucking nervous? It's frustrating as shit."

"I know it's nerve-wracking, but Y/n/n, you've trained longer than any other CIA recruit. You've trained longer than me. You're one of the best, and they wouldn't have brought you on this if they didn't think you were ready." Mitch tried to ease your nerves.

"You've actually been out there though, Mitch. You've been in the field without the backing of the Agency. All the training in the world can't compete with actual field experience."

"And now you're getting your actual field experience. Plus Stan and Aiden are here, I doubt you and I will even get any real action." Mitch hoped that wasn't true. He had a lot of pent up aggression after everything that went down with Brunski, and he was pleased with the person that was going to be the target of his violence.

"You're probably right.... although, Sharif.... how are you so calm about the fact that he's the one that we are going after?"

Mitch shrugged and leaned back, breaking his physical connection with you as his thoughts went to the beach the day that Katrina was killed. The weapons used by the terrorists on that sandy expanse that day were supplied by none other than Hamdi Sharif. This was the first step in Mitch’s plan for revenge. "I've been prepared to kill him and wipe out the Bahji terror cell for years. If that day is today, then I'll be ready." Mitch said clinically, trying to hide the fury and inclination towards violence bubbling underneath the surface.

You nodded and went to open your mission folder again when you saw Mitch close his eyes. Mitch snickered and quietly slammed his hand on top of it, keeping it closed. He gathered your hands up in his once again. He glanced behind you to check if he had woken Stan or Aiden, but they were still asleep. "Let me just go through it once more. Last time, I promise."

Mitch smirked and shook his head. "You don't need to. Listen, Y/n/n, it'll be alright. I've got your back, always." Mitch swore, holding your hands up to his lips, so you could feel his promise.

"And I've got yours." You replied, in a calmer and more confident whisper.

"Always?"

"Always."

Twenty-Four <- -> Twenty-Six

Please please please let me know what you thought of this chapter and also, please go see American Assassin. :)

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