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mycupoffanfiction · 5 years

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His Second Chance Part 8

Bucky x Reader

His Second Chance Masterlist

Bucky comes back from Wakanda with Steve, ready to begin his recovery from his days as the Winter Soldier, but there’s one thing he doesn’t take into account - you.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language.

Word count: Approx 2300

Masterlist

Bucky starts to find out the Reader’s past. Is this part a bit all over the place? Yes. Is this possibly a bit rambly? Yes. But there we go 😅

Please don’t hesitate to leave suggestions or thoughts! TAG LISTS ARE OPEN! (Permanent list and His Second Chance list)

IF YOUR TAG ISN’T WORKING PLS MESSAGE OR ASK 💖💖

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“How did it happen?” Bucky asked as he ran alongside Steve. He’d finally felt comfortable enough to start venturing out more often and this morning it was on a run with Steve, while you and Sam trailed far behind on your much slower jog. “The day you found (Y/n).” Bucky clarified. “Oof, that’s a multifaceted story, Buck.” Steve remarked as they rounded a corner. “It was around three years ago, just before we discovered you.” Steve began, not even breathless at the high speed they were running at. “We wanted to find her; Fury was interested in her being on the team with her powers so we tracked her for a couple of years.” Steve explained. “She’s hard to find, as soon as you think you’ve found her, she’s disappeared again.” Bucky glanced over his shoulder at you, giggling away to something Sam was telling you. “What was she running from?” Bucky asked, turning his attention back to Steve. “Mm, it’d be best to hear it from her, not me pal.” Steve shook his head. “Anyway, took us a year to find her, she was living in this shitty basement under a gym. It was damp and cold and dark.” Steve pulled a face that Bucky quickly mirrored.

She lived in a crappy basement? Poor girl.

“I sorta scared the shit out of her, she came back to her basement to find me in the middle of the room, poor girl freaked out so bad she almost shot me.” Steve sighed. “You have a bad habit of doing that.” Bucky rolled his eyes, remembering when Steve had found him in Bucharest. Steve snorted at his remark before continuing the story. “It didn’t take her long to trust me after she saw the shield and the suit.” Steve went on. “I managed to convince her to come back with me and she stayed in my apartment for a while. We grew so close that she joined me when SHIELD was compromised and we discovered you.” Steve explained. “Then she went away for a while after Ultron, needed some time to put herself back together.” Steve finished.

So that’s why I never met her before I came back from Wakanda. Poor girl’s been through a lot too.

“Do you- uh- do you like her?” Bucky asked, glancing back at you again, berating Sam as he laughed about something. “Of course I like her, Buck.” Steve said it as if it was the most obvious thing. “No, I mean really like her.” Bucky pressed. “Do I love her?” Steve tried to work out what Bucky was getting at. “Not the same way you do, Buck.” He smirked. What? Excuse me, is it that obvious? Fuck me. It is, isn’t it? “What, you’re surprised? C’mon, we see the way you look at her, the way you always gotta be near her, holding her hand.” Steve looked back at you fondly. “But no, she’s like a sister to me, always has been. I might kiss her goodnight and pick her up and cuddle her and call her sweetheart, but she’s not my girl, not like that.” Steve glanced over at Bucky. “I think she’s into you as well, Buck. I’m pretty sure she’d wait for you her whole life if she had to.” Well, if Steve seems to think so… Then he’s probably right.

“It’s called a supermarket, I know, wild concept.” Sam teased Bucky in the back seat while Steve drove his sedan into the carpark. Bucky delivered a half-hearted slap to Sam’s chest with the back of his hand as he stared straight ahead.

You went ahead and got the trolley as the boys caught up with you. Perhaps it was childish, but you quite enjoyed being the trolley pusher, also it was a bit of a get out of jail free card since you didn’t have to do any of the actual work. “We had fuckin’ supermarkets in the forties, Sam.” Bucky frowned at Sam as the three soldiers followed close behind you. “Yeah, but they weren’t this big!” Sam gestured wildly, almost hitting Steve in the face as you all walked through the entrance together.

Sam leaned in to Bucky’s ear as you immediately coined Steve to help get you some herbs from the top shelf. “Also it’s fun because you get to look at (Y/n) while she struggles to reach things and boss Steve around.” Bucky elbowed Sam in the stomach, winding him a little. “Shut up, would ya?” Bucky growled. Don’t talk about her like that… Wait is it any different than me thinking it? Yes, I admire quietly. “Relax, I’m just trying to wind you up.” Sam chuckled. Steve walked off with the list and Sam started examining what you and Steve had already put in the cart.

Urgh this guy knows how to get under your skin, don’t let him annoy you, deep breath, count to five. One… Two… Three- Bucky looked up to see you, as Sam had described, struggling to reach something. Oh it was cute. Seeing you stretch up, standing on your tip toes, moving onto one foot to elevate yourself a bit. The little bounce you did- and oh good fucking lord her butt jiggles when she bounces on her toes, only slightly but good god. I’m weak, a weak, weak man. Bucky cleared his throat before walking up behind you, resting his flesh hand on your shoulder as he reached up to grab the item your delicate fingers were trying to grab at. “Here you go, doll.” Bucky hummed into your ear, his voice deep and vibrating through your back as his chest pressed slightly up against you. You practically melted from the name he used for you; god did it make you feel things. But no, you restrained yourself because it wasn’t fair on Bucky and you just shyly giggled, feeling your cheeks burn up as you turned to face him.

Doll, oh Barnes, it’s coming back! Wait, what if she doesn’t like it? Bucky examined your flustered features, the way you almost hid your gaze from him. Oh I think she liked it, either that or she- you smiled up at him sweetly. Nope, no, she liked it.

“Doll, huh?” Sam was quick to jab Bucky about it as soon as you and Steve paired back up again. “Do you need to have a running commentary?” Bucky groaned, glancing over at Sam who just smiled widely and patted Bucky gently on the shoulder. “You know I only comment on you and her because I like you two together.” Sam gave him a genuine smile before parting with Bucky and moving up to help you out with some of the shopping.

“Please, sweetheart, it’s just an hour.” Steve practically begged you. “Please.” Steve gripped your hand gently. You let out a huff and glanced over at Bucky who was getting ready to go off to his therapy session. You’d said you’d go with him but now Steve was begging for you to join him with training the new recruits since Nat was having a day off. “But I promised Bucky I’d go with him.” You motioned over at your best friend; he gave you a gentle smile as he slipped on his boots. “It’s alright, I can manage by myself.” Bucky reassured you as he pulled his laces tight. “See, Bucky doesn’t need you.” Steve said, his remark not quite coming out the way he meant it and you pouted a bit. That hit a nerve deep down, but you tried not to let it get to you and breath through it.

I do need you. Bucky looked on at your disappointed expression and sighed. “Smooth.” Bucky grumbled. “You know what I mean, I’m sorry sweetheart.” Steve gripped your hands. “Please, just one time and I’ll never ask you again.” Steve tried to convince you. “Fine! Fine, I’ll do it, but only if you promise.” You poked him sharply in the chest. “Promise! Captain’s honour.” Steve gave you a lopsided grin and you smiled up at him, defeated. “Alright.” You nodded.

Steve went down before you to get everything set up and you were left alone with Bucky for a moment while he got his things together. “Just so ya know,” Bucky looked over his shoulder at you as he grabbed his backpack and then turned to face you. “I always need you.” Bucky gave you the sweetest smile and you felt your cheeks burn up. In your flustered state, you weren’t quite sure what to say, but you grinned up at him, completely taken aback by his words. “Oh Buck.” You whispered, walking towards him and wrapping your arms around his middle. Yes! You’re getting some of your confidence back, Barnes. Bucky embraced you for a moment before moving away and running a hand through his hair. “I gotta go, see ya later.” Bucky smiled down at you before turning away and leaving you alone.

Training with the recruits was taking a lot longer than just an hour and you were starting to get antsy. You were pretty sure Steve had given you a nice sounding time estimate just to convince you into doing it.

Three and a half slow hours passed and training finally ended. You made your way up to your floor, exhausted and about ready to collapse in a heap on the sofa with Bucky to watch something or play a game.

You walked into an empty living room, Steve trailing behind you. “Buck, we’re back!” Steve called through. Sam popped his head out of his room and looked at you for a moment before pointing at Bucky’s room, pulling a face. You frowned and strode across to Bucky’s bedroom, knocking before letting yourself in. “Bucky?” You asked softly before opening the door wide. There he was, sat on the edge of his bed with a folder in his hand. Your heart leaped into your throat when you see the folder he was holding. Bucky has seen you bare, seen the hard truth of your past in the pieces of paper held between the sickly orange folder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asked. “You never said you were ex Hydra.” He mumbled. “Buck, I was never Hydra by choice.” You sighed, entering his room and closing the door behind you, Steve looking a bit dejected that you’d just closed the door on his face. “Just like you.” You almost kicked yourself for saying that, but Bucky glanced at you, sadness replacing the bitterness in his eyes and he gave you a guilty look. “You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you everything if you want.” You offered. Bucky just nodded and you slowly approached his bed and sat down next to him.

“My parents were running low on money, really low on money. My mother knew some shady people in the drug trade and she volunteered to have a drug tested for three hundred dollars cash.” You began explaining. Oh god, I can see where this is going already. “So an older guy shows up, Alexander Pierce.” You fiddled with the hem of your top as you spoke. God the fucking bastard hurt you and her. “My mother strapped me down on the dining table and they injected me with a serum. They conned my mother out of the deal and she never got her fucking money. But that serum messed with my DNA, it burned my entire body for hours. It felt like I was on fire, like there was fire in my veins for four hours until I passed out from the pain.” You explained. Bucky looked absolutely disgusted. “Oh god, no doll.” Bucky whispered, taking your hand in his. Why did I have to overreact? This is horrible, she’ll think you blame her for her own pain. “The serum caused my powers. My dad walked out on my mother, but he couldn’t take me with him. I went through a lot of stuff when I was alone with that woman, she would scream at me about how I was worthless and a freak, a waste of space.” You almost choked up when you remembered how she’d hurt you. “You’re not any of those things, doll.” Just wanna hug you better, hug us better. You gave Bucky a watery smile and he saw all of the pain in your eyes, it made his heart break.

“I ran away, I went to Canada and I was safe for a while, but Hydra caught me.” You cried, tears streaming down your face at this point and Bucky pulled you tightly against his chest. “Shh, doll, I’m sorry, god, I’m so sorry. I should never have brought it up.” Bucky cradled your head against his chest. In truth you were happy to get it all out in the open so that you and Bucky were on the same page. “I never should have assumed you were in Hydra by choice.” Idiot, so stupid, god you were so over dramatic and you should have known. Idiot, idiot, idio-. “Bucky.” You interrupted his self-deprecating thoughts and Bucky turned to look at you. “I’m out. I escaped, I was with them for around six months before I got out and got back to New York and then I moved around for a while before Steve found me.” You finished explaining and Bucky nodded. “Hydra fucked us both over.” You whispered. Bucky held you tighter. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Bucky apologised against the shell of your ear. “I’m not upset at you, if anything, I’m sorry you found out through a piece of damn paper.” You sniffled. “Please don’t cry.” Bucky squeezed you a bit more. “I’m sorry I made you cry.” Bucky practically pulled you onto his lap and buried his face in your shoulder.

“We can do this together.” Bucky whispered. “You and me, we can heal together, doll.”

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Forever Tag List:

@shygirl-00 @swanlakemikey @scuzmunkie @paintballkid711 @lovelylilia @mapreza1 @love-bucky-3000 @cals-cigarette @scarlett-berserker @2407zzz@mercurybarnes @mywinterwolf @geeksareunique @fairislesheets @wendaiii @mochibarnes

His Second Chance Tag List:

@socialheartbreak @whatsupbucky @yesno18 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @crystallstaircase @megantje123 @fantua @lady-x-red @buckys-islandgirl @chipilerendi @butteryoptimisticpeanut @wowitsemilysblog @dark-night-sky-99 @marvel-ous-bucky @rand0mfangurlstuff @tfandtws @vxidnik @books-baritones-bucky @bluerorjhan @calwitch

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thebifrostgiant · 5 years

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If You Know Where to Look - Part 8 (2/2)

Summary: in which Loki hunts, and you listen. Thunder rumbles from a distance

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 2,888

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Chapter 8: A Crown’s No Cure (cont.)

Strangely, you haven’t seen Loki at all in the time you’ve spent around his intended. It’s not a fact that you resent in the slightest, but you’d prepared yourself mentally for having to spend time uncomfortably in his presence when Ülle wished to be with her groom, and yet you’ve seen no trace of the man since he’d left you in Eir’s halls without so much as a backward glance. It’s somewhat conspicuous, the lack of the young prince, at least to you, although Ülle seems to pay it no mind, for if she’s even noticed his absence, she’s unbothered by it. Which in and of itself is weird, since Ülle is an inherently bothered person, best you can tell.

What’s even more interesting is this one such excursion you’re on, scurrying after the tails of Ülle’s dress, when the prospective princess stops in some quiet corridor to talk to a man you don’t recognize, but must be some sort of guard or warrior judging by his substantial size and metal-plated armor. She smiles at him when she greets him, and you stare, momentarily struck by how delighted she seems, and how much different she looks because of it.

The man grins back, looking a tad confused but no less polite as he raises her hand to deliver a kiss to her knuckles.

“My Lady.” His voice is a soft, deep rumble, and he dips his head to her, red-golden hair swaying aside his bearded face.

She giggles — actually giggles! — looking quite charmed as his whiskered lips brush against her fingers, and tips her head back to blink demurely up at the man, who you won’t deny is quite handsome in a rugged sort of way. But still, you’re not sure which is more shocking, Ülle blushing, or the fact that she’s flirting with someone who isn’t the man she’s promised to.

“You know,” she says, sounding thoughtful and a bit too pleased, as she pointedly looks the man up and down, eyes lingering a beat too long on his muscular chest and exposed, sinewy arms, “You look nothing like your brother.”

And you stiffen where you stand as the words click into place, and you realize abruptly who your mistress is talking too. Then you make yourself scarce, slipping away unnoticed to wait behind a pillar.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious, because he does indeed look very much the way the rumors describe him, from the generous span of his shoulders to his lopsided smile, which looks far too endearing on someone so imposing in stature.

Prince Thor, for his part, begins to look slightly awkward, like he isn’t entirely sure what to do, and he laughs in a way that sounds kind of forced to your ears, but seems not to affect Ülle in the slightest, other than causing her face to light up, if possible, even more.

“We get that a lot,” he says, rocking back on his heels and fidgeting with a leather strap on his arm.

Ülle continues coquetting the crown prince for several long minutes, making his strained small talk seem tremendously funny and engaging, occasionally touching his arm or his hair, despite his increasingly clear discomfort.

You’re not really sure what to do. You could find some way to interrupt, to put an end to what is sure to be the biggest scandal Asgard’s had since Bor married a Jotun, but you’re acutely aware that it’s not exactly your place to do so, both because you’re little more than a glorified errand girl, and because Prince Thor is certainly capable of excusing himself, and yet has chosen to stay his feet. But do you... do you tell someone? You’re not just meant to ignore it, are you?

Caught up in your fretting, you don’t notice when Ülle leaves, but you jerk your head up at the sound of approaching footfalls and realize she is gone just as Prince Loki strides into view.

He doesn’t seem to see you, fixated as he is on Thor, and you duck further behind the marble column, hoping the loud thudding of your steadily climbing heart rate doesn’t give you away.

“Loki! There you are! Where have you been these past days?” Prince Thor all but yells as he catches sight of his brother, moving forward to intercept him and blocking your sight somewhat. You have to lean out to peer around his shoulders to see Loki’s face, and you hold your breath and mentally ask the Norns for both forgiveness and their blessing.

Loki halts, and frowns for a second, like he’d been cut off from what he was about to say, but he humors Prince Thor anyway.

“I was overseeing a personal matter,” he says smoothly, a note of finality in his voice as he opens his mouth to no doubt change the subject. But Prince Thor, sounding unimpressed, cuts him off again.

“And what matter would this be?”

Prince Loki actually rolls his eyes in a decidedly unprincely manner, irritation coming off of him in waves.

“Did I not just say it was personal?” He huffs. “If you must know, Thor, I was busy finding new homes for some rather unsavory people I’ve recently made the acquaintance of. I do hope they find the dungeons suitably hospitable.”

Prince Thor takes a step backwards, turns slightly and you can see the surprise and worry clear on his face.

“You were dealing with criminals? By yourself? Are you alright? Have they hurt you?” he asks all at once, comically looking his brother over, grabbing his shoulder then removing his hand just as fast as if he might have accidentally jarred a wound and letting it hang uselessly by his side.

Prince Loki puts up with it with a look of long-suffering.

“I’m here aren’t I?” he asks facetiously, “Alive? In one piece?” He cocks his head to the side. “I certainly feel alright, but perhaps I should double check.”

Prince Thor shifts again, and you can’t see his reaction, but you can perfectly well imagine the look of mingled fondness and exasperation.

“And what of you?” Loki asks suddenly, his posture straightening and his tone bleeding into cool amusement. “What business did you have here in this secluded corridor with my lovely future wife?”

“Loki,” Prince Thor begins warily, taking another step back and running his fingers once more along the band of leather on his wrist. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

And yeah, that is the truth, and you know Prince Thor did nothing untoward moreso than letting himself be pawed at, but he’s not exactly helping himself out by projecting an air of guilt so loudly.

Prince Loki frowns in an exaggeratedly confused way.

“And what did it look like, exactly? I didn’t see. But I did hear a few things that one would be hard-pressed to interpret as anything other than dallying. Are you next going to tell me it wasn’t what it sounded like either?”

“Brother,” Prince Thor tries again, putting his hands up to show his innocence, or perhaps to hold Loki back if necessary. “If you’re worried that I’ll sleep with her- “

“Of course I’m not,” Loki interjects smoothly, a sharpness underneath. “Sif would never forgive you if she found out.”

Surprisingly, Prince Thor snorts, inelegantly, at this, not at all as if reacting to the threat those words sure sounded like. Instead, he shakes his head like they’re sharing a joke. When he speaks, though, he is unquestionably sincere.

“I wouldn’t do that regardless of my devotion to her.”

Loki meets his eyes.

“I don’t doubt that,” he murmurs.

“Good,” says Prince Thor, just as quietly.

“Not that I’d particularly care either way, but I’d prefer to save myself the trouble of that inevitable fallout.”

Wait. He can’t mean-

“What do you mean, Loki?” Prince Thor asks, sounding far more keen than he’d been as of yet.

“You don’t think I’d willing bind myself to that woman if I had a choice, do you?”

Oh. That is what he means.

Prince Thor tugs at one of his braids.

“I’m sure Father- “

“Oh, I’m sure, too,” Loki cuts in tonelessly, a strangely burning look in his eyes. “You’re lucky, Thor.”

And he walks away, leaving Prince Thor staring after his retreating back and the sound of his boots filling the space he left behind.

Then Prince Thor is turning, and your eyes go wide as you scramble back behind the pillar, but you know it’s too late. He stalks over to your erstwhile hiding place and crosses his arms as he glares down at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, and you falter under his looming presence and loud voice, unable to meet his eyes as shame sinks in.

“I- I- I- “ you stutter, failing to come up with anything to say in your defense. “I’m sorry, my prince, so sorry! It won’t happen again, I swear it!”

You fold your fingers around your sleeve ends to stop them trembling, and then wrap your arms around yourself when that doesn’t work.

Prince Thor is silent for so long, you look up anxiously, hoping doing so isn’t the wrong decision, but needing to have some idea what he’s thinking.

And he does appear to be thinking, if the bemused crease in his brow is anything to go by. Then his startlingly blue eyes land on your scar and something like recognition passes through them, and he relaxes his stance a bit.

“See to it that it doesn’t,” he says, more curt than angry now, and he too leaves, taking the hallway opposite the one Loki had gone down.

And then you’re alone, completely alone, in an unfamiliar corridor of the palace, with no idea which way to go, every fear you had of being lost here rushing back with a vengeance, and additionally, you’re in for a thorough dressing down from Ülle, one you’ve actually earned, on top of the scolding you’d already received from Prince Thor. And you’re still reeling from all that you’ve heard.

But, at least, you don’t have to make any decisions just yet, since it seems Prince Loki knows about his betrothed’s would-be infidelity.

And as you take the hallway to the right, that’s another decision taken care of.

***

You’ve been wandering the halls long enough for true alarm to set in, still without the faintest idea where you are in the palace to even have a frame of reference as to which direction to go in next. The only clue that you might be on the right track that you’ve found so far is the statue of the eight-legged horse, only you’re pretty sure it had been facing the window and down on all fours (eights?) when you’d seen it before, and now it’s the other way around and rearing, and you’re not certain if it’s a different statue altogether or if it somehow moved, because it looks like the same recess as before and-

You breathe, forcing away the panic. You turn around and continue your thus far fruitless search.

You pass several doors that are starting to look a bit familiar, and then one opens and someone lurches out and grabs you.

“There you are!” Ülle hisses out before you can scream, and well, it’s not exactly a relief to see her, but at least things can stop getting worse now. Her nails dig into your shoulder as she hauls you into the room with her and all but throws you forward as she hastily pulls the door shut.

You freeze, seeing unfamiliar faces staring at you from inside this unfamiliar room. You stare back. Your brain has not yet caught up enough to process what exactly is happening, but it appears these people are discussing something severely important, looking as they do as if they’ve been interrupted and eyeing you with clear mistrust. You don’t have long to ponder it before Ülle is shoving you again toward a cart with a jug of some sweet smelling wine and ordering you to serve everyone.

You comply wordlessly, and uneasy conversation trickles back up, sotto voce, as you fill each of the strangers’ goblets with the scarlet liquid. When you finish, you move to stand behind Ülle, hands folded and awaiting further instructions.

“What have you found out about the elder prince, Ülle?” asks a man with hair an almost preternaturally pale grey despite his semblant youth as he leans forward in his seat toward the woman in question.

Another woman, old enough for wrinkles to touch the corners of her eyes, holds up a veiny hand to stave off an answer.

“What of the girl?”

She turns suspicious eyes upon you, and you keep your head down, trying to be inconspicuous.

Ülle laughs and waves a hand.

“Her? She is mute, she does not speak. She will not be a problem,” she says dismissively, and you can’t believe it.

It’s fortunate that your face is downcast, because surely the raw shock on it would have given you away. Mute! As often as your tongue has gotten you into trouble, the idea would be almost laughable if you didn’t astutely know that you were about to hear something critical.

The old woman scrutinizes you for a long moment. You can feel her gaze burning into you, and you let your thoughts and hidden face go blank, just in case.

“Very well. Ülle?”

“Thor is easy,” she says confidently, leaning back and taking a sip of her drink. “He does not feel attracted to me, but he is honor-bound and dutiful to a fault. He will marry me if his father tells him to.”

“And a child?” the man who had spoken before questions.

Ülle grins, all teeth and no real humor.

“Like I said: easy. And what about you, Bǫlverkr? Have you procured a befitting gift for my dear husband?” The poison that drips from those last words indicates that there is no love lost between her and the prince. You wonder what this suddenly terrifying woman would consider befitting. The way she says it makes you fear it could be actual poison.

A different man tosses her a small pouch in reply, and her smile sharpens even more.

“You can deliver it to him without drawing attention or his notice?” the old woman asks Bǫlverkr.

Bǫlverkr nods, looking coolly unconcerned as he twists the stem of his chalice between his fingers, churning the wine within.

“Yep,” he drawls. “The idiot has been searching the forest for something these last few days. Alone. It is no trouble to overpower him and bestow it upon him.”

The first man who had spoken, the one with the ashen hair, raises his eyebrows, disquieted by his fellow caballer’s apparent carelessness.

“Loki is crafty in manner and speech,” he warns. “You would do well not to underestimate him.”

Ülle laughs again at this, a harsh and wholly unpleasant sound.

“The snake only hisses!” she cries, mockingly shrill. “I saw it in his eyes when I first arrived. A fool’s hope, the yearning of a child. His naivety blinds him. He believes himself the only one capable of laying a trap; he will not suspect a trick from without.”

They seem to mull this over, taking sips of their wine and measuring the weight of Ülle’s assurances. Acceptance wins out over doubt, and the old woman turns to Bǫlverkr once more.

“And when the time comes, you will be prepared to make the loss of the golden prince seem like a tragedy?”

“You know me, Siánialik.”

You blanch, and search desperately for something to do with your hands, something to make you look busy and uninterested and not at all scared. You begin clearing up the used goblets and piling them on the cart, biting at the inside of your lip to distract you and help you focus on not giving yourself away.

But you’re lightheaded in the wake of this conspiracy, this treason. Oh, fuck. That’s exactly what this is. You’re now an accomplice to proposed treason. You, now more than ever, don’t know what to do, and you think you’re entitled to be freaking out about it but you can’t right this second since you’re pretending to be an unimportant little umb servant.

“Very good,” the old woman, Siánialik, pronounces. “Vanaheim will have the throne.”

And that seems to be everyone’s cue to rise and make their way from the room, and you begin wiping the table with a rag, trying to move at a normal, unperturbed pace, and Ülle approaches you.

“When you’re finished with that, bring the cart back to the kitchen. I trust you know the way? You won’t get lost again?” she says distractedly, and you shake your head even though you’re not sure she’ll even see it, but you can’t slip up and give a verbal answer now.

As soon as she’s out the door, you let your head sink into your hands, gasping in deep breaths. You give it ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. And then you bolt from the room and fly in the direction you’d been lost before, hoping that you’ll run into Prince Thor or Loki or anyone at all who can deliver a warning.

Part 9

#loki fic #loki fanfic #loki/reader #loki/you #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki imagine #loki fandom #if you know where to look #bifrostgiant writes

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scootsaboot · 7 years

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AO3 refuses to load and let me post this there so I’m posting it here instead

Timothy Lawrence/Rhys

Valentine’s Day fluff. Tim gets some help picking a gift for Rhys.

If Tim’s honest, the explosion of bright pinks and reds when he walks into the convenience store is a little overwhelming, if not intimidating. Valentine’s Day isn’t exactly his strong suit—that’ll happen when you’re single for over five years—and normally around this time of year he’d walk past the overcrowded and overpriced displays without a second glance.

But not today.

Today they’re exactly what he’s in the store for.

Balloons, he thinks are a bit much. He and Rhys have only been dating for six months (five months and twenty-three days, but who’s counting really), and while the ‘L-word’ has slipped out of his mouth on more than a handful of occasions, he doesn’t think Rhys would appreciate having a huge balloon declaring it to anyone who decided to visit.

Plus, balloons would eventually deflate and that is a relationship metaphor Tim really doesn’t need right now.

Chocolates, then.

Tim turns his attention to the shelves of Holiday-themed sweets. Some of them are cute, with little cartoon pictures decorating them, while others are more elegant, with dark ribbons wrapped around them and finished off with bows.

He reaches out for one of the more expensive looking boxes, only to pause when he realizes he has no idea what kind of chocolate Rhys likes. Milk chocolate is a classic, right? He hesitantly reaches toward a box of milk chocolates, only to pause again. Sure, it’s a classic, but that doesn’t mean Rhys likes it. Maybe dark chocolate? White? Did Rhys like caramel filling, or would he like cherries?

Tim lets his hand fall. How has this never come up before?

Okay, okay, no, it’s fine, he reassures himself. Chocolates are…too easy anyway. Cheap, even. The last thing Tim wants is for Rhys to think he just bought him something without putting any thought into it. Even at half a year, their relationship feels so…tentative, and Tim doesn’t want to do anything to put in jeopardy…like buying Rhys the shittiest Valentine’s Day gift imaginable.

He is definitely overthinking this—

“Excuse me, sir?”

Tim blinks, his thoughts clearing as he glances beside him. A young girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen is smiling at him. The nametag pinned to her shirt says ‘Gaige’.

“Do you need any help?” she asks, still smiling. “You look a little lost.” Her voice is high and cheery—very obviously her ‘retail voice’. Tim feels a pang of sympathy for her. He remembers those days well.

Tim smiles sheepishl. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you have been staring at those boxes for a good five minutes. Buying a gift for someone special?”

He nods, “My, uh, boyfriend. This is gonna sound bad but I don’t even know what he likes—“

“First V-day, huh?” she says knowingly. Gaige clicks her tongue and shrugs. “No biggie, we’ll figure something out. How long have you guys been dating?”

“Er—six months—“

“Is it like a serious six months,” she continues, her hands moving along with her speech. “Or is it like a I don’t think is going anywhere and I wanna get out soon six months? Cause we got breakup cards too, y’know. They’re further down the aisle.”

“No, no,” Tim says, a little more defensively than he means to. “Definitely will not be needing any of those, thank you. It’s serious. Very serious.” He winces a little once the words leave his mouth and tries very hard to ignore the amused smirk that appears on the girl’s face.

“Alright big guy, I hear ya loud and clear,” Gaige holds her hand up in mock surrender. “Well I think we’ve got just the thing for your very serious relationship.”

Turns out, the thing they have is flowers.

There are dozens of bouquets in every color, though most prominently are the red roses wrapped in heart-patterned paper and ribbons. When they reach the counter, Gaige effortlessly slides over it and lands on the other side.

”Alright,” she slaps her hand down on the counter, and the sudden loudness makes Tim realize it’s a prosthetic, not unlike Rhys’. “You don’t want any of these pre-made ones,” Gaige says, waving her other hand flippantly. “Boring, right? You want something special. Something serious.”

Gaige slides a piece of red tissue paper onto the counter before turning and plucking flowers from the baskets behind her.

“Let’s see, obviously, we’ll throw in a couple of red roses. Those mean passionate love—pink roses for admiration.” She places the flowers on the counter. “Ooh, yellow tulips will be good...some larkspur aaaaaand a couple of pink days.”

Effortlessly, Gaige wraps the flowers together into a beautiful bouquet and ties a matching ribbon into a neat bow around them.

“Wow,” Tim blinks, gently taking the bouquet from her when she hands it out.

“Oh, here,” she grabs a little white card and scribbles something down on it. When she slides it over, Tim sees that she’s given the meanings for all the different flowers. “You can write a personal message on the other side.” Gaige grins. “So…is that gonna be card or cash?”

Tim leaves the store feeling vaguely like he’d just been swindled, but the gorgeous bouquet in his hand helps lessen the blow. The gift is thoughtful, simple but not lazy, and…he really really hopes Rhys will like it.

They have dinner plans for later tonight—nothing too fancy, just a quiet homemade meal at Tim’s place. Tim wasn’t too keen on going out to an overcrowded restaurant, and Rhys’ face had lit up a little when Tim mentioned he could just cook for them. He’d have to thank Jack for teaching him the recipe if it all went well.

Dinner was still a good five hours away though, and Tim realizes he doesn’t know how long it’ll take these flowers to wilt without some water. He doesn’t want to take the bouquet apart to put them in a vase either—the girl at the store had done such a nice job with it.

He looks down at his watch again.

Maybe he can just swing by Rhys’ work and surprise him. The flowers would no doubt brighten up his office a little. He’s only…a fifteen-minute drive from Rhys’ work, and okay, yeah he’s already settled on the idea. He’s already grinning at the thought of seeing Rhys right now.

God, he has it bad.

Tim shakes the smile off his face, glad that Jack and Nisha aren’t around to make fun of him for it.

He’s never actually been up to Rhys’ office before, so he has to ask the secretary on the first floor where the marketing department is. After a short trip up the elevator and wandering around on the 6th floor, Tim spots Rhys through the glass windows of his office.

Rhys looks ready to fall asleep at his desk, his chin resting in his palm as he stares at his computer.

Tim hides the bouquet behind his back and gently knocks against the open door. Rhys jerks in his seat, eyes going comically wide as he sits up.

“Tim! What’s—what are you doing here?” he gets to his feet, one hand wiping at his chin while he rounds his desk.

“Hey,” Tim grins, stepping into the office. “Thought I’d stop by—sorry, you’re not too busy, are you?”

“Nope,” Rhys returns the grin with a lopsided one of his own. He steps in close and kisses Tim, who happily responds to it.

“Uh—happy Valentine’s Day,” Tim says when they part. Rhys laughs, his eyes crinkling with it, and Tim feels his heart flutter at the sight. “I—here,” he pulls the flowers from behind his back and offers them out to Rhys. “I got these for you.”

Rhys blinks. “Roses?”

“Oh, uh, yeah there’s a few roses in there,” Tim says quickly, hoping the look on Rhys’ face is just surprise and not disappointment. “But there’s a few others too. Tulips, and, uh—“ he fumbles for the little card Gaige had given him.

“Tim, I—“

“The red roses are for, um, well love, obviously,” Tim starts, keeping his eyes on the card as he feels heat start to creep up his neck. “And the pink ones are for admiration. Here.” He hands the card over to Rhys, so he can read the meanings for himself.

“I know, it’s so cheesy,” Tim keeps talking. “The girl at the store helped me put it together, I didn’t really know what I was doing—“

“Tim,” Rhys says, curling his left hand around Tim’s. It’s soft and warm and the rest of Tim’s awkward excuses dry up in his mouth as he looks up into Rhys’ mismatched eyes. “Thank you,” Rhys smiles. “I love them.”

“You do?”

Rhys rolls his eyes and takes the bouquet from Tim’s slack hands. He brings it close and inhales, his eyes briefly closing as he smells the flowers.

“Ah shit,” he says a moment later. “I don’t have your gift with me. It’s at home.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Tim holds up his hands, “I totally dropped by unexpectedly, and—you really didn’t have to get me anything—“

“And you didn’t have to get me anything, but here we are.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

Rhys sniffs and rubs at his nose. “Ughh, god, okay. I have to get to a meeting. See you tonight?” He smiles. Tim nods and fondly smooths out a crinkle in Rhys’ collar before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“See you tonight.”

An hour before dinner, Rhys calls him.

“I am so so so sorry,” is the first thing he says when Tim answers the phone. “My boss just dumped a huge project on me—I don’t think I can get out of here any time soon. I’m so sorry.”

“I—oh, so, dinner…?” Tim looks out at the table he’d started to clear, and tries not to let the disappointment sink into his voice.

“We’re gonna have to reschedule,” Rhys says. “Maybe tomorrow? I’m really sorry, Tim.”

“It’s okay, Rhys, it’s fine, really. Are you…I mean, maybe I could just bring you some dinner, if you’re gonna be stuck there—“

“No!” There’s a quiet shuffle and a cough on the other end. “No, it’s fine. I think my boss would be…um, well, not happy if I have a visitor.”

“Oh.”

“Tomorrow night? Please? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tim runs a hand through his hair. It’s a good thing he hadn’t started cooking yet.

“Okay. Okay, I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you!”

“Ah—I love you too. Bye.”

Tim sighs as the line goes dead. He flops down on the couch and tries not to feel too bummed out. At least there won’t be a shortage of movie marathons on tonight.

Sometime around lunch the next day, Tim’s phone buzzes.

< please don’t hate me

It’s a text from Rhys.

< I came down with something gross. Im gonna have to cancel again

There’s a little crying emoji following the sentence, and Tim can’t help the stab of disappointment he feels. Cancelled on twice now—but it’s not Rhys’ fault, he knows. Sometimes shit happens.

> Are you okay?

> should I bring some medicine?

The ellipses blink on the screen as Rhys types out a response.

< No, its ok

< I wish I could give you ur present tho :<

> It’s okay. Feel better. Maybe we’ll try for this weekend instead?

< that would be great!! Im sry tim <3

> no worries, get some rest <3

Tim sets his phone aside. Rhys said no to medicine but…Tim could still check in on him, right? Bring him soup or something? Would that be too overbearing?

He pictures Rhys, lying in bed with a head cold, miserable and alone.

He’s in the car ten minutes later with a bag of fresh ingredients and box of tea.

“Rhys?” Tim calls through the closed apartment door, gently rapping his knuckles against the wood. Silence greets him from the other side and he wonders if Rhys had managed to fall asleep in the time it took him to drive over here. He knocks again, a little louder.

He hears muffled shouting from behind the door this time, and then the lock clicks and it swings open. Rhys is in a tank top and a pair of sweats that looks suspiciously familiar, but that’s not what makes Tim stare.

“Tim?!” Rhys looks like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and bloodshot. All along his face are red, irritated-looking splotches, like he’d been scratching at his skin for too long.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Tim blurts out.

Rhys quickly buries his face in his hands and turns his back on Tim. “Oh my god,” he says, voice muffled. “Don’t look at me! I—ahh—“ he sneezes.

“Rhys, wha—“ Tim reaches out for Rhys’ shoulder. “That didn’t look good. Wait, let me see—“ Tim tries to get him to turn but Rhys refuses to budge, keeping his face buried firmly into his hands.

“No! You weren’t supposed to come over here.” He sniffs. “I look like a creature from the black lagoon.”

“No, you don’t,” Tim sighs. He steps into the apartment and shuts the door behind him. “Rhys, come on.” Tim sets his bag on the counter. He notices happily that the flowers he’d gotten for Rhys were sitting there as well, now in a clear vase of water.

Tim turns and gently wraps his hands around Rhys’ wrists, tries to pry his hands away from his face. “Do I need to take you to the doctor? Seriously, cause that is uh…not normal for colds, I’m pretty sure.”

“Don’t have a cold,” Rhys says miserably into his hands. “…m’llergic.”

“Allergic? Allergic to wh—…oh.”

Rhys sniffles, and peers between his fingers.

“You’re allergic to flowers,” Tim says, feeling like an idiot.

“Roses, specifically,” Rhys sighs, and a moment later he slowly pulls his hands away from his face.

“Rhys…why didn’t you just say so?” Tim glances at the bouquet on the counter. “And why do you still have them?”

“Because you put so much thought into it!” Rhys whines. “It was so sweet and nice and all I got you was a stupid wildlife adoption thing—“ he presses his nose into his elbow and sneezes.

“Rhys…” Tim grabs a tissue from the box on the counter and hands it to Rhys, who mumbles a thanks and wipes at his red nose. “…That is so, incredibly stupid.”

“Hey.”

“I’m serious. I’d rather you tell me you’re allergic than be dead.”

“I’m not that allergic,” Rhys huffs.

“You look that allergic.” Tim leans in and kisses the pout on Rhys’ lips.

“Augh, no! No kisses, I’m so gross.” Rhys scrunches his face up and tries to push Tim away, who just laughs and pulls away.

“I’m gonna throw those flowers away,” Tim says, continuing over Rhys’ protests. “And then I’m gonna cook us some nice soup. Not exactly the romantic evening we had planned, but better than nothing, right?”

The pout is already back. Tim pats Rhys on the shoulder and takes the flowers to the dumpster outside.

When he returns, Rhys is cleaning up the kitchen, his face pink from what Tim expects is embarrassment and not allergies.

Later, when they’re pressed up against each other on the couch, and their bowls are empty, Rhys hands Tim a gift bag.

He pulls out the pink and yellow tissue paper to uncover a cute grizzly bear plush, a picture of a real grizzly bear, and an adoption certificate. The certificate had his name and the bear he’d adopted (Sebastian) written neatly, with an official seal at the bottom.

“Rhys, this is so nice,” Tim grins, running his hand over the soft fur of the bear plush. “Thank you.” He wraps his free arm around Rhys’ shoulder, pulling him in close to press a kiss to his temple.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhys mumbles, leaning into Tim. “…You better not tell anyone about the flower thing.”

Tim laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

#rhysothy #scoot fic

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