We contain multitudes

“You got dumped,” he repeated gently.

“Hm-hm.” 

He furrowed his brows. “I’m very sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine why, you seem like  a very lovely person.” 

“You’re sweet to say that, for someone who just met me minutes ago. Honestly…” You took another drink of Coke.”I guess we were just wrong for him.”

“Wrong for him, but right for you?” 

“Okay, now that you put it that way, it probably wasn’t right for me either. It wasn’t right at all, but it still hurts. I hate being dumped.”  You tried to look him in the eye, but the fact that his eyes had the kindness and the color of a calm sea under sunlight did not make it easy. God, how was it possible for someone so used to being fawned over and cheered for to be so…attentive? To him, you were just a stranger who…did some audacious stuff directed at him. He didn’t have to be nice to you. He could’ve been downing pints with his mates, yet here was across the table from you, listening to you complain about the aftermath of your breakup. “I should thank you,” you continued, “for helping me take my mind off of him today. You and my friends really kept me from going down a sort of rabbit hole - whether he called or texted.”

“You really do have great friends. You’re lucky.” He tucked one of his reddish-brown curls behind his ear. “I don’t know if you, uh, need some time…I don’t know if you’d like a boyfriend right away, or you’d like to wait before you get back out there, but whatever you do, make time for your friends. Especially the ones who’ve been there for you during your worst moments.” 

“Thanks. I will.’ You stood up from the table with your now-empty glass. “I’m going to get myself a refill. Can I - I mean, would you like anything, Six - I mean, sorry. That’s not your name, that’s just what I called you because of your number.”

“It’s Tom. I’m Tom Hiddleston,” he introduced himself with a chuckle, “and no, I’m fine for now. But could you do something for me before you walk away?” 

“What is it?”

His gaze softened, “Blow me a kiss before you turn around. Do it really loudly like we’re back at the stadium.” 

“What?” Oh my goodness, he actually noticed that? He…remembered that? You looked down, clutching your glass to your chest and biting the inside of your cheek. But then, you did exactly what Tom asked you: you puckered your lips and blew the loudest kiss before turning around to walk to the bar. 

‐---------‐------------------------------------------

Hiddleston lifted the pint to his mouth in an effort to hide his smile, watching her walk away. She’s the one. That’s her, universe. I just know it.

He flagged down a waiter, and asked for a food menu. "I think I'll be having dinner tonight here. I'll order when the lady returns to the table. "

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While you waited for the bartender to refill your soft drink, you quietly checked on your friends. Samira was on Wilson’s lap, the two of them laughing and kissing like excited teenagers. Get it, girl. You nodded with respect. You’d always liked that about Samira - if she wanted something, she’d want it with full faith that it would fall into her lap. And lo and behold, it would be hers. She was a master in the law of attraction.

To your right, Monique and Catherine set aside their people-watching in favor of conversation with Saliba and Ødegaard. Catherine was showing them her wedding ring, with the footballers asking her questions. Maybe one of them was planning on proposing to a long-term partner. Your mind drifted to the idea of the entire football team gathering as groomsmen in suits as opposed to their uniforms. What kind of groomsman would Six - no, Tom be? Probably the kind of groomsman to make every bridesmaid thank the universe that he wasn’t the groom. He’d probably dance with all of them just so each one would get to feel included…but why were you thinking about this anyways? That was none of your business, at least not tonight. 

You thanked the bartender for your Coke and made your way past a player you recognized as Saka. As you searched for your table, your phone vibrated with a new text message. It was from your ex Justin, and it read,

Look outside.

Wandering towards the front door of Tottenham’s, you saw Justin’s car across the street with the freak himself leaning against it with his fiancée Janine. “Hey.” Justin waved with a megawatt Cheshire grin. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood and saw you through a window.” 

He let himself off the car while Janine threw her arms around you in a cloying hug that lasted too long. “Hey!” She chirped, “how are you?”

“I’m alright,” You forced out a “congratulations” before Janine waved her engagement ring around and chatted about how her and Justin were always meant to be.

“So,” Justin began, “are you here by yourself? I mean, we can stay here if you’d like some company tonight. You shouldn’t be out here alone.” 

“Actually, I’m - “

“Darling?” Tom couldn’t have appeared at a more perfect moment beside you like a knight in shining armor. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. I’ve been worried sick.” He gave your ex-boyfriend a stern look, sizing him up within a second. Then, Tom unzipped his Arsenal jacket and draped it over your shoulders with the team logo proudly displayed on the front. 

Without so much as a simple “good night”, Justin backed away with his jaw dropped. He hustled Janine into his car before driving off into the night, the engines revved to the maximum level. 

And just like that, heartbreak had never felt so good. 

The End

Author's note: Thank you so much to all who've read this series and have liked, reblogged, and commented. I can't believe in all of my years of being on Tumblr, this is my first ever completed multi-chapter work. So thank you all for being a part of this, maybe we'll see our favorite Arsenal player again sometime!

“Liverpool.” Monique pointed to the field while their goalkeepers threw the ball to one of the players who scored the first goal for the team.

“So, Izak has the ball. Fuck him,” you declared, with Monique and Simra agreeing , Your eyes then went to Hiddleston, who was blocking a Liverpool player on the other side of the field. “Oh come on, he’s nowhere near the main action!” 

“Relax,” Catherine tried to assure you. “I’m sure they have a plan for this.” 

“You told me we were trying to possibly win this thing.” Turning to the field, you raised your voice, “I thought you boys wanted to win this game!!”

Monique shook her head while Izak kicked the ball past an Arsenal player who slid shoulder-first into the grass. “They could if they could actually get the ball first.” 

Another Arsenal player shared the same fate. But when Wilson was shown a yellow card by the referee after kicking the air near Izak’s ankle, you rose to your feet again and yelled, “Get your damn shit together! Playtime’s over, boys!” If you could have it your way, that referee would’ve been replaced five minutes ago after he allowed Izak to tackle your guy with no consequences whatsoever. “And hey, Six! I know you’ve got sexy legs! Use them and kick the ball!” 

When someone in the audience waving Liverpool’s flag booed, you sank into your seat with every muscle locked in and tense. “I cannot believe I said that.” Here you were in London, fresh from a breakup, at one of the city’s most popular stadiums, completely immersed in a game where you had a special relationship with a player you called Six. “Sorry!” You cupped your mouth and leaned forward, thinking he could hear every word from you. “ You’re still my favorite!”

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Hiddleston turned his head at the familiar voice coming from the stands. That same voice which told him he was great with kicks and called him by his jersey number. And if Lady Luck was in this very stadium right now, that voice probably belonged to the same person who blew him that audacious kiss in front of everyone. “Your favorite?” He echoed for his ears only. “I’ll be your favorite, love.”  

Jogging towards Saka, who was blocking Liverpool’s attacking midfielder, he watched with bated breath as Liverpool’s winger Mohamed Salah dribbled the ball until he could attempt to score a goal.

To the audience’s awe and relief, Arsenal’s goalkeeper David Raya caught the ball with both hands just in time before the ball could hit net.

“Okay,” Hiddleston heard Saka tell him and a few other of their teammates, “spread out on the field, spread out.” He reluctantly shuffled in front of Liverpoo’s centre who was unguarded, and leaned over to Wilson.

The large blond full-back squatted forward. “Don’t look so upset, They weren’t expecting this.” He explained, “They thought they could easily score a point with time to waste, but we’re not letting them. They’ve just given the ball to us. So now that we’ve got the ball, all we have to focus on is getting the goal.”

On the referee’s whistle, Raya threw the ball to Wilson, who wasted no time in kicking the ball past Hiddleston and two Liverpool attackers to Saka. The Arsenal winger, for his part, juggled the ball between his knees and the sides of his feet, buying time for his next move. He spotted Ellis being tackled by Gapko. Meanwhile, Arsenal’s centreback Saliba and sweeper Arrizabalaga were too far to pass the ball to; any attempt to kick the ball in their direction would be intercepted without question. He might as well have handed it back to Liverpool’s control. Saka bounced the ball on his left knee and kicked it towards Arsenal’s attacking midfielder Ødegaard, who was actively distancing himself from Liverpool’s defense.

The announcer could be heard praising Saka’s move as ‘brave’, pointing out that as they spoke, Ødegaard was being quickly surrounded by three Liverpool players.

Ellis and Hiddleston joined Saliba in covering Ødegaard at different directions. But Liverpool seemed to quickly catch onto their strategy, with Leoni becoming Saliba’s shadow and Gapko attempting to block both Ellis and Hiddleston at the same time. The team probably wanted to save most of the players for attempting to score a goal rather than simply stealing the ball from Arsenal. However, Izak appeared behind Ødegaard, which was enough for the attacking midfielder to decide against passing the ball to Ellis, Hiddleston, or Saliba. Instead, he dribbled the ball down the field, dodging Izak’s attempt to wedge his foot in between Ødegaard’s legs. Eventually, the exertion caught up to him and it grew harder for him to keep track of his distance from Liverpool’s goal while simultaneously outrunning Izak. 

“Fifteen seconds remaining in the second half,” spoke the announcer. “Great defense from Liverpool’s Izak, it’s going to be real hard for Arsenal to score a point in so little time.” 

Ødegaard’s cleats skid into the grass, causing him to lose his balance and any control over the ball. Ellis jumped into action, parrying the ball away from Izak while Tom ran in parallel with them to the goal. “This is it” Ellis managed to say as he pivoted away from Izak’s kicks. “Five…four…”

“Three…two…” Hiddleston drew in a quick breath after he received the ball from Ellis. Step one, locate the blindspot of the goalkeeper. Step two, pivot and aim. Step three, follow through and pray to whomever was listening. The ball aisle over the shoulder of Liverpool’s goalie Becker and bounced into the net for all to see.

“And that’s one point for Arsenal, just in time for the end of the second half. With a score of 5 to 4, Arsenal is declared the winner of today’s match!” 

Hiddleston could barely believe the announcer’s words. Ellis and Wilson each grabbed one of his legs and hoisted him onto their shoulders while red and white confetti shot from cannons in the perimeter of the field. Their teammates gathered around him, patting him all over his thighs and backside, congratulating him. 

And when they lowered him to the ground after what sounded like a countless number of chants, he reached for the nearest bottle of water, gulped several mouthfuls, and poured the rest over himself to cool off. Pushing his wet hair back, he breathed in and breathed out deeply. The match ended with a victory for Arsenal, a victory for North London, and a victory for the fans. He looked up at the stands. Was she still here, his admirer?

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“I don’t think we should still be here.” With one hand on the railings, you gazed over the field in its celebratory glory, with some of the Arsenal players running laps and accepting high-fives from the fans. What you really wanted to say was, “I don’t want to leave just yet because if I go away now, then I’m back to being the woman who got dumped and right now, I’d rather be the girl who got “Six”  - the man who scored two goals for Arsenal - to fall for her.” 

Samira rubbed your back. “Do you want to go to the gift shop and see if they have one of his jerseys for sale?”

You shook your head and turned away. Monique followed Catherine and you down the stairs to the nearest exit in the stadium. “We should get something to eat, though. I’m ravenous.” 

“What do you feel like having - Chinese, burgers, pizza?” Catherine held the door open for all of you. 

As soon as the four of you had left the stadium, Samira opened her compact mirror and touched up her makeup. “We’re not going anywhere except for Tottenham’s.” She added, “It’s apparently where the players like to have drinks after their home games at Emirates Stadium.”

“Alright,” Monique agreed. “But they’d better have a good selection of burgers, thick chips, and more than one kind of beer. I am not twenty-two anymore.”

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He didn’t mind being the last of the team to arrive a the post-game celebration, as long as he wasn’t the last to leave the pub. But that was usually because on the times Hiddleston was the last to leave the pub, it was usually after making sure the most pissed members of the team got home safely, away from paparazzi, which was a very taxing ordeal. 

After today’s game, there was no way that he’d be able to just take his third shower of the day and leave with the rest of the team to Tottenham’s. First, there was the post-game medical checkup, the purpose of which was to ensure that his falls today hadn’t resulted in any concussions or internal injuries. Then there was the post-game interview which the coach and team manager wanted him for. The reporters present had all kinds of questions for Hiddleston about the last fifteen seconds of the game - how he felt, whether he’d ever dreamed of making the winning shot of a match, and what kinds of thoughts were going through his head the whole time. And he was happy to answer all of them. Of course. He’d been trained by the new PR team properly to handle all kinds of questions, even the slightly invasive ones. But if he could speak freely, especially in response to the thoughts going through his head right now, he’d talk for at least a whole minute about his own curiosity about his admirer in the boxes.

Get a grip on yourself, man. He said to himself as he sat in the back of the black town car hired to drive him to Tottenham’s after the interviews. God, if he ever did find himself face-to-face with her, he’d have to choose between chiding her for impudently dismantling him with an air-kiss in front of hundreds and thousands of fans, or falling to his knees and imploring for her to explain what exactly made her choose him out of all the players she could cheer for. Or he could choose to do neither, and simply ask her out to a proper dinner - provided that she was single too. 

And as to how and when he’d meet this admirer of his? Perhaps the universe would find yet another way to surprise him. 

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Catherine texted her wife that she’d be late tonight while Monique took a large bite out of a medium-rare burger with melted Swiss, caramelized onions and mushrooms, and peppercorn sauce. She then helped herself to one of the thick-cut chips ordered for the table. “So three years ago, I’m at this pub in Bristol for one of my university’s alumni reunions,” Monique narrated. “The same one I used to go to when I was getting my degree. They had nothing but tap beer, which was fine when you’re a student and all you want to do is get pissed and forget about all the assignments and revision you’ve got to do. And I thought I’d start the night off with a pint for old time’s sake. Well, two pints later, I’m throwing up like mad. Hence my rule of never drinking tap beer again.” 

“You don’t think it might’ve been because you were drinking on an empty stomach?” Catherine asked as she began eating her order: a veggie burger with guacamole and whole-grain mustard. 

“Definitely not.” 

You arrived at the table with two fizzy drinks and two bottles on a platter. “Alright, we have a lager for Samira, a ginger beer for Cathy, a Stella Artois for Monique, and a large Coke for yours truly.” 

Monique used her keys to open her chilled beer. “Any reason you’re not drinking tonight?”

“My idea,” Samira answered for you. “I didn’t want her to end the night accidentally texting her ex.” She then raised her beer, “A toast to Arsenal, and to every Gunner in the world!”

“Here, here.” All of you clinked your drinks together. You glanced at the photographs of all of the Arsenal games dating back to fifty years ago, including championship wins and major matches with Manchester United, Chelsea, and a team called Paris Saint-Germain. The Arsenal players celebrating were talking amongst themselves in another corner of the pub, a few of them looking appreciatively at your friends. But it didn’t matter, none of their numbered jackets had six on the back. Energized and refreshed by the cold soft drink, you cleared your throat to get your friends’ attention. 

“I say we make a second toast,” you began. “To the players, the ones we picked out at the game today. Who we’d like for ourselves. We’ll start with Samira’s guy Wilson, the blond Hercules with the number twelve on his jersey.” They hesitantly agreed and raised their drinks while you continued, “Then there’s Ødegaard, Monique’s guy with the number eight on his jersey. And finally…” You took a large drink before finishing, “here’s to Six. My guy who scored two goals for Arsenal with his damn sexy legs and his kicks.” To your surprise, none of your friends raised their glasses or took a drink with you. Instead, they were either looking down or covering their mouths in an effort not to start laughing.

“I think I’ll drink to that too,” spoke a new voice from behind you that belonged to a tall man in an Arsenal jacket. The number six shone underneath the yellow lighting of the pub as he turned around to wave to his teammates. 

 Arsenal’s attacking midfielder Ødegaard dribbled the ball the down the field, switching between his right and left foot for control. 

Thrilled to see her guy in control again, Monique was on her feet and screaming at the top of her lungs, “Come on boys!!! Keep the ball away from those Liverpool fuckers!” Which was supported by a few Arsenal fans below telling Liverpool to go fuck themselves. 

Ødegaard moved towards Saliba - Arsenal’s centre-back - only to pivot unexpectedly and kick the ball to Wilson, the fullback waiting for Ødegaard’s play. Wilson used his head to send the ball flying in the direction of three of his teammates  - Ellis, Saka, and Hiddleston - who’d clustered at the other side of the field.

Out of the trio, Arsenal’s winger Saka secured the ball under his left foot. By swinging his other foot in front, he blocked Liverpool’s midfielder and decided to run with the ball until he could find the safest person to pass the ball to. Saka kicked the ball to their striker Gyokëres after about thirty seconds of running, defending, and searching, who immediately sent the ball straight to Hiddleston as soon as Gapko from Liverpool tried to steal the ball from him and block him in every major direction.

“Oh my god! YES!! Go, Six!!” You jumped up from your seat as soon as Hiddleston bounced the ball on his knee, and began kicking it down the field. He was back in control! He was totally going to score this one, all he had to do was just keep going and forget about…“Wait, wait, what’s happening?” Your hands flew to your mouth as Izak - the same player who scored Liverpool’s first goal - body-slammed into Hiddleston after chasing him. The Arsenal midfielder fell face-first into the grass while a Liverpool player stole the ball, and passed it quickly to a teammate. “How. Dare. They.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------

Fuck, fuck, fuck, how could he have been so careless, losing the ball like that? He completely forgot about his surroundings and just focused on dribbling the ball as far as he could. Shit idea. Hiddleston coughed away a pain in his sternum as best as possible, scrambling to his feet. 

“Whoa, whoa there.” Ellis blocked him with a hand. “Gapko’s already surrounded.” 

Right, Gapko already had all of Arsenal’s offense players covering him. There wasn’t time for Hiddleston to continue thinking about his latest. Mistake. He looked at the two closest Liverpool players to Gapko, and rushed to cover one while Ellis blocked the other. 

Luckily for them, Ødegaard was able to prevent Gapko from effectively passing the ball with a swivel kick and interception. Then, Ødegaard moved the ball under his heel for a quick second before kicking it backwards to Hiddleston. 

“Yes!” His moment for revenge arrived, but he needed to avoid making the same mistake as before. Hiddleston dribbled the ball quickly enough to outrun the two Liverpool players behind him. Then he crossed his left leg over his right to kick the ball behind him to Wilson, watching as the fullback slid past Izak and Liverpool defender Leoni. Barely keeping the ball under his feet. Wilson had his eyes on Hiddleston as Hiddleston ran in parallel with Gyokëres.

“What the hell - “ Ellis stumbled over himself when Wilson finally kicked the ball vertically into the air, missing the heads of Leoni and Izak. The ball spent at least twenty seconds airborne before nose-diving into the ground, square between Hiddleston and Gapko.

The same way he did before in the first half when he seized the ball from Liverpool’s defender and goalkeeper, Hiddleston sprinted like his life depended on it. This time, he slid into the grass on his side after he swung his leg forward at the ball with enough force and speed to push the ball far away from Gapko. The ball sailed right into the shin of Liverpool’s goalkeeper Becker and ended its journey right where it was supposed to be: inside Liverpool’s goal. 

“That’s a point for Arsenal,” cried out the announcer before he could be drowned out by applause, “making them at a tie again with Liverpool, and the score now 4 to 4. We’ve got about eight minutes to go in the game, let’s see if this time can be broken without going into overtime.” 

Hiddleston’s chest still felt like it was being punched by an invisible fist, but the announcer’s voice and the roars of applause from all over relieved him. He rolled onto his back and punched the air before Ellis helped him up.

“Well done, mate. But if you think this is getting any easier, you’re wrong.” 

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 “Did you see that?!” You pointed to the field again and again so intensely you could hear your arm snap. “Did you see THAT? THAT’S my guy! That’s my guy right there!” 

“Yes he is, love!” Samira applauded.

He was definitely handsome stretching at the beginning of the game, but he’d just taken it to a new level of hotness, laying on the grass with his chest rising and falling through that jersey of his, gasping and panting like he’d just been on the ride of his life. If he wasn’t sweating right now - how could he not be? - you certainly were just watching him recover from the intensity and exertion. 

Catherine popped her second piece of gum into her mouth while Monique clicked a few candid photos of everyone. “I think it’s a great time for a selfie. What do you think?”

“Perfect!” You lifted your phone and leaned into Monique’s shoulder while Samira blew a kiss and Catherine waved to the camera. “We should really go to more football games. I owe you one, Samira. Actually, thank you all for taking me out. I had no idea how much I needed this.” 

“We’re glad.” Catherine gave you a side hug. “Now I think your guy might need you out there too. We’ve gone from catching up to Liverpool to possibly winning this.” 

Catherine fished a piece of peppermint gum out of her purse, and popped it into her mouth. “So Arsenal’s got the ball now because Liverpool just scored, which means now…Arsenal has a chance to score too?”

Monique held out her hand for a piece while the players spread out across the field. “Yes, in the most elementary sense.” 

On the referee’s whistle, goalkeeper Raya threw the ball to one of his teammates. “Looks like Arsenal’s full-back Timber has the ball, and already he’s being pursued by Gakpo and Chisea like a pair of two sharks,” said the commentator over the speakers. “Chisea’s right by Timber’s side, and Timber’s just barely keeping the ball between his feet.” 

You shook your head while your friends studied the field intently. Last night, you wouldn’t have pictured yourself being so invested in the success of a football team, let alone Arsenal. Maybe it was the sheer enthusiasm surrounding you in the stadium, or the fun from being with your friends and pretending to flirt with footballers, today’s success mattered on Arsenal winning this game. “I bet Gapko thinks he’s the fucking MVP of Liverpool just because the announcer said his name and he helped score the last goal.”

“Why Gapko?” Samira finished her Coke.

“Because he’s unguarded, ready to help defend the ball when Chisea gets it from Timber. If Timber doesn’t find someone to pass the ball to, Gapko’s going to - what did I just say?!” 

The Arsenal fans in the audience groaned when Gapko took advantage of Timber being distracted by Chisea’s chasing. Gapko ran ahead of Timber, and intercepted with a curved shot at Timber’s blind spot. 

Monique wrought her hands. “Fuck, they’ve lost it!” 

“Fuck Gapko,” you grumbled, eyes on Six wherever he was on the field before focusing on the ball. Gapko dribbled the ball for about ten seconds down the field before making a shot towards Izak. As the ball sailed across the grass, Arsenal’s Ellis jumped in front of it and blocked the ball with his entire body just before falling onto the grass. Immediately, the referee blew his whistle and raised a yellow card. 

“What was that for?” Catherine’s eyes widened like saucers as she leaned forward in her seat.

Samira pointed in the direction of the speakers. “Apparently because the player’s arm accidentally touched the ball, the referee’s paused play.” 

“Horseshit.” Monique smacked the gum between her teeth. “There’s no way they could’ve known that. This referee’s playing favorites, I know it.” 

When gameplay resumed, Gapko scanned the field and bounced the ball on his knees amidst boo’s from Arsenal fans. Gapko decided to pass the ball towards the left side of the field. But mid-shot, Arsenal’s winger Saka successfully intercepted with a sharp kick as quick as a bee sting that send the ball straight to Ellis. 

Standing at least ten meters away from Liverpool’s goal, Ellis refused to waste a second more of game time and attempted to score when the ball arrived under his heel. The ball rolled through the grass, moving closer and closer to its intended destination until it stopped in the center of an imaginary triangle between Liverpool’s goalkeeper Alisson Becker, Liverpool’s defender Giovanni Leoni, and Arsenal’s midfielder Tom Hiddleston.

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The minute the ball halted in front of him, Hiddleston didn’t think, he just ran. He ran for it like he was on fire and that ball was the only source of water in sight. He pumped his legs and pushed forth, swinging one leg forward at lightning speed to kick the ball back to Ellis.

“What the hell?!” Ellis exclaimed just before he dribbled the ball away from Liverpool’s attacking midfielder and winger. “Shit, Saka’s surrounded.” 

“I know that!” Hiddleston zig-zagged between Liverpool’s striker and defensive midfielder, waving one arm in the air. “Here!” One of Liverpool players chasing Saka ran to him with anticipation.

Ellis kicked the ball to Gyokëres, Arsenal’s striker in jersey 14, before jogging to Hiddleston. “I know what you were doing. You were trying to distract the guys surrounding him by making them think that I would give the ball to you. And that I’d take advantage and pass the ball to Saka instead. Well…coach did say that we needed to play some tricks with them but - “ Ellis stopped talking as they watched Gyokëres kick the ball past Gapko and the defender Hiddleston seized the ball from earlier.

The ball arrived under Saka’s heel just as the clock reached the last ten minutes of gameplay, and flew straight past goalkeeper Becker into nothing but net.

“And that’s one point for Arsenal!!” The announcer declared, “With now eight minutes left of the first half, the teams are now at a tie.” 

Hiddleston and Ellis clapped their teammate on the back, congratulating him on scoring their first goal of the game. And just as they were getting ready for their next play, Hiddleston could hear that familiar voice screaming from the same place as before the game.

“Go, Six!!!” 

It wasn’t his goal, he didn’t make the shot that scored Arsenal a point. But she still saw something in him worth cheering for. Why? Maybe he’d never know, and that was alright. Hiddleston turned to the direction of the cheering and waved. “Thank you!” 

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“Go Six!! Whoo-hoo!” You waved at the field, grinning from ear to ear after Arsenal had scored. 

Monique took a snapshot of the field with her phone. “Should we tell her she’s cheering for the wrong player?” She asked Catherine and Samira while you were still on your feet. 

“It’s alright.” Samira dismissed, wiping the prawn cocktail-flavored dust from her fingertips. “She’s having a good time. Besides, it’s all one team.” 

“I think the Arsenal players are wearing red jerseys and Liverpool’s wearing white.” You scrolled through your text messages, re-reading the one that ended your relationship. 

I value our relationship and all of the time we spent together. I know this is coming suddenly, and I’m sorry you feel like I don’t care about you. You might think I’m selfish, but this is something I need to do on my own. My therapist says I have to take some time to reflect on who I am as a man so I can be a better partner. I’m not looking to solve everything right away, we don’t have to. I just really need to be honest about my feelings, for your sake. Maybe, if you see our relationship as something pretty good, we can circle back in a month or two about us. 

Bye.

“And what if someone thinks we’re here for them and not for Arsenal?”

“Then we let them know.” Monique surveyed the stadium seats directly across the field, housing spectators holding up signs for Liverpool. Then, she yelled as loud as she could, “Arrrsenal, Arrrsenal! We’re by far the greatest team the world has ever seen!” 

“Oh, okay.” Catherine lifted herself onto her tiptoes, cleared her throat, and shouted, “Fuck off, Liverpool FC! You’re a shit team!” 

The four of you held onto the railings and listened with excitement as a few people boo’d and shouted back trash talk about Gooners. Then a stout man in his fifties wearing an Arsenal jersey stood up in the middle of the audience and bellowed, “Slot’s mother is a whore. Yeah, she’s a whore! Yeah, she’s a whore!”

The four-year-old was swiftly brought down from his father’s shoulders and bribed by his father with a pack of Haribo gummy bears.

“Slot?” Catherine sat between you and Monique.

“Liverpool’s manager.” Samira pointed at the crowd saying obscene things about Arsenal’s manager Mikael Antera and his mother. And something about a cannon firing shit everywhere. 

Monique passed around four cans of Coke, and at least five different flavored bags of Walker’s Crisps. “It’s about to get very thirsty here, ladies.” 

The stadium rose to a new level of fervor with nearly everyone rising to their feet, clapping and screaming from the tops of their lung as the players jogged onto the fields. The spectators surrounding you hollered, 

“Hello, Hello! We are the Arsenal boys! Hello, Hello! We are the Arsenal boys! And if you’re a Liverpool fan, surrender or die. We all follow the Arsenal!”

And the Arsenal players, for their part, drank the attention form their beloved Gooners like it was nectar and they were the gods of Olympus. 

“Whoa, cool it! Save some energy for the game.” Monique smirked with Catherine as Arsenal right winger Bukayo Saka ran a lap around the perimeter of the field, arms out with his face to the fans. 

“I bet he’s a firecracker in bed with all that energy.” Samira leaned back in her set, taking a drink. She then pointed to a player named Saliba. “Look at the arse on that one. Like two fresh oranges, juicy and ready to get picked.” 

Monique spotted a player named Ellis, who had his hands behind him while he did butt-kicks across the field. “How about the arse on him?”

“A five on ten. I’ve seen better.” Samira replied after a deliberate pause. Monique rebuffed it, insisting that she was just saying that to look “hard-to-please.” 

You reached for your phone while your friends continued to check out various footballers, even the Liverpool ones. No new messages from your ex-boyfriend. But before you could open Instagram to see if he’d posted anything new with his fiancée of less than twenty-four hours, Catherine swiped your phone and passed it to Monique, who gladly gave it to Samira. “No,” Catherine declared. “Not here, not now. He is not worth ruining this moment.” 

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” When you reached for your phone, Samira held it over her head. “Come on!” 

“Pick one.” She pointed to the field, with players from both teams still warming up. “Pick one of those footballers you’d spend tonight with, if you could. I’ve got number eighteen, that’s Wilson, and Monique’s got number eight Ødegaard. Handsome attacking midfielder.”

“What about Catherine?”

She held up her left hand and flashed the ring on her middle finger. “I’ve got a wife at home. This lady’s got her eyes for only one arse. Sorry, lads.”

Taking your time, you tried to find Samira’s guy - Wilson - who was waving to the crowd. He was build like Hercules himself, with broad shoulders and golden hair tied into a little bun. “What is this guy doing here?” You asked, “he should’ve been in rugby instead, he’s big!”

“Maybe I’m just that lucky.” Samira cheered out loud, “Hey, Wilson! Are you going to show me a good time today?” 

To your surprise, the player named Wilson turned around and proudly threw his chest forward like a lion. “Maybe you can find out tonight, love!” He then blew her a kiss, causing Catherine and you to squeal.

“I’m counting on it!” Samira quipped before she turned to you. “Come on. Try it, you’ll feel really good.” 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Added Catherine.

“That he’s not single?” You bit your lip and scanned the field again. Anyone but number eighteen or number eight, anyone but number eighteen or number eight. “How about that one?” Your eyes went to the player with the number six on his jersey under the name ‘Hiddleston’. Alone in the right edge of the field, he had his arms out with one foot in front of the other in a lunge. The edge of his shorts rode up as he leaned forward, exposing the muscles in his thighs. And when he adjusted his position, his shirt moved with him, giving the slightest tease of a chiseled torso. 

Monique nodded in approval with the other two. “You know what to do.” 

Yes, I do know what to do, you told yourself. I’m supposed to be a lady for Arsenal and cat call a footballer who is never going to know me, and who I’m never going to see again. You drank a sip of Coke for false courage and took a long look at player six before finally screaming as loudly as possible, “Hey Six!…Sexy legs, I bet you’re great with kicks!” Six…kicks. That rhymed. Why did it have to rhyme? And of course he’s good at kicking, he’s a footballer.

“Don’t lower your head now.” Catherine held you in place while player six looked up from his lunge, his expression like a deer in the headlights.

Monique grabbed your shoulder. “He’s looking at you. Do something else, say something!”

“Uh…” You stood up with shaking legs and waved frantically like an air traffic controller, eyes on Six and only Six. “Oh my god, he’s waving back.” 

“Come on,” Monique edged, “You’re doing good, now finish it off with something he’ll never forget.”

Watching him jog backwards to his teammates, you lifted your fingers to your mouth. puckered your lips, and blew a loud kiss in his direction. “Mwah!” 

Almost instantly, the footballer - with his jaw dropped - lost his balance and fell back-first into the grass. 

Samira handed you back your phone with a look of pride while Monique and Catherine cheered, “There she is, Miss Sexy Lady!” 

“Is he going to be okay?” You asked, returning to your seat and watching number six slowly get back onto his feet.

“Let’s hope that he never will be.” Monique managed to say before the stadium began a collective rendition of “North London Forever”.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Hiddleston should’ve been upset with his teammates that Liverpool won the coin toss, but he was too busy rubbing the back of his neck in the seconds before game time. During “North London Forever,” he was craning himself, trying to look anywhere but that one place in the audience where his not-so-secret admirer was. Somebody, somewhere had definitely recorded his fall on their phone and already posted it somewhere on the Internet. But he had a game to play, a game that would hopefully end in a victory. 

He locked eyes with Wilson and Ellis, who looked over at the defensive center-back William Saliba. Closest to the ball, Saliba rushed to attempt to intercept Liverpool forward Cody Gakpo only to be hoodwinked. Gakpo passed the ball to Federico Chiesa, a Liverpool winger who trapped the ball between his feet and effectively kept the ball there as he parried one-touch tackles from Hiddleston, Ellis, and Ødegaard. 

With about ten meters between him and Arsenal’s goal, Chiesa made a curved shot across the field towards Liverpool defender Joe Gomez. This time, Arsenal was prepared with Wilson practically blocking Gomez as the Liverpool defender caught the ball under his heel. He froze for at least three seconds in this position and Hiddleston - along with his teammates - started counting aloud in hopes of intimidating him into a decision. Swallowing after a look at the referee and a look at Wilson, Gomez pressed the ball between his two feet, flipped the ball into the air with a jump, and used his head to launch the ball towards the Arsenal goal. 

“Fuck!” Wilson watched their goalkeeper David Raya deflect the ball with a sweeping kick, sending the ball back into play.

Hiddleston followed the ball as Chisea dribbled the ball along the edge of the field, just barely within fair play. If he could be lured just slightly to the left, he would be past the bounds of the field and the play could be restarted with Arsenal having a greater chance of controlling the ball. Hiddleston swung his right foot forward for the ball as bait for Chisea to run out of bounds, but Chisea pivoted too quickly for Hiddleston and changed directions.

He kicked the ball into the direct center of the field, where Gakpo - joined by Liverpool’s striker Alexander Isak - was waiting for him. Like two wheels in a bicycle, Gakpo and Isak moved together and dribbled the ball between them while warding off defenses from Saliba and Arsenal sweeper Kepa Arrizabalaga. Finally, when they found a defenseless line towards the goal, Isak launched the ball straight into the net of Arsenal’s goal. 

“That’s one point for Liverpool!” The announcer spoke over the referee’s whistle. “Starting off the game strong, looks like Gakpo and Isak from Liverpool FC had quite the coordinated plan of attack with that shot. Let’s see if they can keep up that momentum with over thirty-five minutes left of the first half.” 

Hiddleston looked over his shoulder to find Ellis frowning. “Come on," he muttered to Hiddleston, " coach needs a huddle.” 

Nothing hurts like heartbreak, and no heartbreak hurts the same way. You woke up Saturday morning, ready to claim the award for Worst Friday Evening Ever when you moved chocolate wrappers and empty crisp packets away from your pillows. Underneath one of them was your phone, cast aside after you’d fallen asleep doomscrolling on Instagram thanks to one person and one person only: your two-faced, entitled, technology startup co-owner of an ex-boyfriend named Justin. 

It had been over sixteen hours since Justin texted you that there was something on his mind, something that he needed to say now or that he’d never be able to say it. Apparently, he had been doing some thinking with his therapist, and they agreed that he should take some time off to be single and reflect on who he is, as a man. But maybe he would circle back to the idea of a relationship in a month or so. No explanation why, or what was it about your relationship that was so awful it needed to be ended. And all of this wouldn’t have hurt as much if you didn’t find on Instagram four hours later several new reels of him proposing to his childhood friend Janine and her saying yes. The same Janine whom you met at Justin’s birthday party, where she spent the evening talking about how she and Justin were mistaken for a couple so many times in their twenties. The same Janine who got the first bite of birthday cake at the party. And the same Janine who was never seen not wearing a sweatshirt of his. 

“I bet he was probably cheating with her too.” You mumbled that night before doomscrolling yourself to sleep, searching for hints in her profile, hints in his profile, and all kinds of stuff on the internet about how to get over an ex. 

How the hell could you have not seen this coming? Were you just that stupid at picking guys to date? Avoiding the sunlight as much as possible, you buried yourself underneath your comforter before being startled by knocking outside while three familiar voices called your name.

“Ladies, it’s serious. We’re going in,” declared Monique, a tall woman with brown eyes and black dreadlocks twisted into an elegant updo. She was the no-nonsense one of the bunch, working as a lawyer representing doctors and surgeons across London, with a hobby of cooking like an Iron Chef.

You groaned into your pillow, while the three of your closest friends unlocked your front door and made their way into your bedroom one by one. Monique wore a bright red halter top with white, wide-legged pants, accessorized with gold hoop earrings and white wedges. Following Monique was Catherine, a petite blonde with almond-shaped brown eyes who wore a Venetian red and white floral dress with a sweetheart neckline from Carolina Hererra with beige Louboutins. Born and raised in London’s high society, she was ingrained in the social circles of minor royals and currently managed an art gallery in Knightsbridge as a supplement to her trust fund. And behind Catherine stood Samira - a PR agent whose firm had recently signed a partnership with Arsenal Football Club, a member of England’s Premiere League. She wore a scarlet red romper under an off-white blazer, accessorized with gold bangles, red lipstick, and a braid of shiny, thick black hair down her right side. 

“I gave you guys a key for emergencies…” You rolled over in bed,  accidentally landing your arm into an empty crisp bag.  

Samira almost ripped the blanket from over your head. “Babes, this is an emergency.”

 “Why weren’t you answering your phone?” Catherine placed her shoes by the entrance of your flat. She gingerly removed the wrappers from your bed, grimacing as though they were dead mice. Meanwhile, Samira invited herself into your closet and had started examining various pieces in your wardrobe with both concentration and criticism.

You searched for your phone again. “Sorry…” In your notifications were seven missed calls from Catherine, all left within the span of twenty minutes, and messages from all three of them in your WhatsApp group chat that were some variation of “where the hell is she???”

“It’s not because of him, is it? Justin?” Monique frowned. “Is he still here right now?” She started to boil a kettle on your stove, and Samira continued to go through your wardrobe with Catherine. 

You told your friends about the break-up, and about the things he immediately did afterwards.

“That wasn’t just a post on Instagram, you do realize that?” Monique placed four empty mugs with tea bags on the kitchen counter. “The whole thing is typical male idiocy - wanting to have his cake and eat it too. I mean, if you’re into someone else, just say there’s someone else. Don’t make up bullshit that your therapist said.”

“Is there anything not linked to male idiocy?” Asked Catherine, who placed slices of bread into a toaster while Monique heated a skillet and cracked eggs into it. The two of them divided the preparation of breakfast while Samira held up a red scarf over a white top of yours. She quickly put it back into your closet, pursing her lips.

“Every good thing in the universe.” Monique adjusted the heat and used a spatula to lift the solid egg white from the hot surface. “There’s going to be food at the game?”

“No, so we probably need to eat beforehand. We’re definitely going to dinner after.” responded Samira. Catherine handed you a plate with eggs and buttered toast. 

“Thanks. But what’s with all of the red and white?” You asked after three mouthfuls of marmalade toast and fried egg. 

Samira could be heard slamming your closet door shut. “Okay, I am going to kill your ex-boyfriend if you don’t. It’s bad enough that he wasted your Friday night, and he made you forget your friends. But he’s totally zapped your brain? I hate this guy.” 

“Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize for him,” she reminded. “Today’s the Arsenal match against Liverpool, the first game my PR firm got tickets for.” She waved four of them from her red Yves. St. Laurent faux-leather clutch.

“Still not getting the read and white…,” you mumbled before it suddenly hit you. “Red and white are Arsenal’s colors!” 

Samira nearly rolled her eyes while Monique bit into her third piece of toast and Catherine tried not to laugh. “Get there slower next time, would you?”

You picked at the rest of your fried egg. “I guess that could be fun. Who’s Arsenal playing against?” Not that it would matter.

“Liverpool.” Samira tilted your plate towards your mouth. “And eat quickly because we have to be at the stadium in two hours.” 

“I thought the game didn’t start until three pm,” Catherine wiped her mouth. 

“London traffic, ladies. Okay, shower first, change of clothes, and Catherine can do your makeup. Then, we are off to the games, ladies.” 

Monique and Catherine perp-walked you to the bathroom, where Samira had kept a red and white outfit for you on the door. “I love you with all my heart,” Monique began, “but do you smell like you need a shower.” 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Tom Hiddleston stepped out of the locker room shower and wrapped a towel around his lower body. Taking one of the hair dryers from the wall, Arsenal’s oldest middle fielder shook drops of cold water out of his chestnut curls. The whirring noise calmed him as he steadied his breathing, four counts inhaling and four counts exhaling. 

“You’re the second person that’s showered after we got off the bus.” Isaac Ellis, one of the team’s forwards, leaned against the mirror already in his uniform with the number 17 on the back. He stood at six foot one, with short black hair and blue eyes three shade darker than Tom’s. “But probably not for the same reason as Wilson.”  Ellis pointed to a man in his early thirties with an eight-pack and shaggy blond hair stepping out of the shower. “You know you don’t have to do that right? We’ve already warmed up.”

Hiddleston turned off the dryer and began to dress himself in uniform. His jersey had a number 6 on the back underneath his last name, with the Cadbury logo on his side and the rest of Arsenal’s sponsors on the front.  “What did Wilson do?” He asked about their full-back for today’s game.

Ellis leaned in, whispering. “Did you see the audiobook he was listening to on the way here? One of those crap novels with a shirtless duke, prince, whatever on the cover, holding a girl in his arms.”

“How did you know he was a duke?” Hiddleston sprayed cologne onto the insides of his wrists before moisturizing his arms with a shea butter lotion. 

“I don’t know. But I heard those have got a bunch of shagging and some dirty talk in them.” Ellis started to scroll on his iPhone.

“Well good for him. I needed something better than coffee to wake me up after sitting on a bus for seventy minutes.” He took out his own phone to show Ellis a fifteen-second video of a golden retriever puppy lapping water out of a teacup with roses painted on the sides. And next to the cup was a plate of dog biscuits neatly arranged. 

Hiddleston let the video play a few more times before putting it into the team’s group chat. “I can’t wait to have one of my own. Ever since I started unpacking and settling into my new place, I’ve just felt this new sense of possibility.” He lifted one leg onto the bench and adjusted the sock covering his shin guard. “Like I could see myself having a life there. I look at the front entrance and I picture taking my dog out for a walk at sunrise, get a chance to clear my head before the day starts. The kitchenette makes me think of having breakfast, just me and my girl - “ he corrects himself, “My lady, my other half. Maybe we give the dog a few pieces of bacon if he’s being a good boy - which he will be.” He adjusted his other sock and started tying his cleats. “I think this house could be where my life really begins. It’s only a matter of time.” 

Wilson had joined them now in his number 18 jersey, and put a coat of honeycomb-flavored chapstick on his mouth. “A matter of time until you what?” 

Hiddleston closed his locker, following the two of them into the inside of the stadium where the rest of the team was already beginning to huddle. “Until I’ve got every piece of the puzzle. The great home, the dog, the cozy breakfasts, and the love of my life to share it all with.” 

Ellis adjusted the waistband of his teammate’s shorts and gave him a smack on the backside. “Well, don’t hold your breath. It’s not like you’re going to meet them here at this very game.” 

Nervous chirps fill your ears as you look up from your book, sitting up in the xenonite chair of the small porch of the house Rocky and Adrian had kindly made for you and Grace. Suzy, as you had named the pink Eridian nurse you’d taken a liking to after she’d cared for you and Ryland when you’d arrived on Erid. “Hey, Suze… what’s going on?”

“Runt! Pebble is a runt!” Your brows furrow softly, eyes following the movement of her pink claws as she frantically moves in front of you.

“What do you mean? Is there a new litter?” Her carapace moves in a way that mimics a nod. “Why are you telling me?”

“Needs mother.”

“Oh…kay?”

“You should be mother.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Why would I be the mother? I’m… human!”

“Eridians not have time for motherhood of runt. Human have time while Grace teach.”

“How often does this happen? Runts?”

“Every two hundred years. Statistic.” You nod slowly, thinking over your options.

“Can I get back to you? Talk to Grace after class and then give you an answer?”

“Need answer by end of sunlight cycle.” You nod.

“Come back to the house later this evening, alright?” The eridian purrs happily and nuzzles against your leg before walking off.

✶

“Do you want a baby?” Grace almost trips over the top step as he reaches the house, dropping his books and snapping his head up at you.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been… offered a baby?” His brows furrow as he stands and fixes his glasses.

“Offered… a baby?” He looks at you over his frames.

“Suzy visited today, asking if I want the runt of the litter.” 

“I mean… do you? Can we even… do that? It wouldn’t be able to survive in our atmosphere?”

“Mini zenonite suits?” His hands envelope yours as he looks down at you where you’re sitting. 

“Are you being serious?” You burst into laughter, making him smile.

“I am! I swear! Suze should be by in a few hours for us to give her an answer.”

“Not a few hours! Here now!” The soft melodies of the alien ring out, making you smile.

“Hey, Suze!” Grace smiles, moving to sit, back against your knees as your fingers drift to his hair. “I’ve heard you’re trying to make us parents.”

“Runt pebble needs parents.”

“What happens if we say no?” You ask gently, feeling Ryland’s nod beneath your fingers.

“Runt die.” Both of you frown at the words, heart twisting uncomfortably.

“How are we supposed to feed it? Human babies need a lot of emotional connection, skin-to-skin contact.” You explain softly, watching the eridian purr and curl up in front of Grace.

“Pebble understand feeding. Born with ability. Not need skin-to-skin. Runt possible deformities, could possible survive in human atmosphere.” Grace’s brows furrow.

“You guys think it could survive in our atmosphere? Here in the dome?”

“Is possibility.” The eridian chirps gently.

“How are we going to get the food?”

“Deliveries.”

“Do you know anything else about it?”

“Human equivalent of male. Missing leg.”

“He’s missing a leg?” Grace muses gently, lifting a hand to grab and squeeze yours.

“Yes. Without help, we will die. Statement.” Grace looks up over his shoulder at you, and you give a shrug and soft smile.

“What do you think?” He muses.

“I think it could be fun. We can see if it’ll survive in the dome and then go from there. And we can’t just… let it die. We might as well try.” Grace nods, leaning in to kiss your forehead tenderly.

“Human say yes?” Suzy jumps up happily, jittering and making you grin.

“I don’t see why not.” 

“Bring tomorrow morning! With food!”

✶

“You ready to be a mother?” His arms come around you as you make dinner, grinning softly and leaning against his warmth.

“I don’t see why not. She said this only happens every two hundred years. I don’t want him to die… I really hope it doesn’t when they get him in the atmosphere.”

“Got a name?” You pause for a long moment, stirring the food in the pot.

“Hmmm… Sebastian?”

“Sebastion? Really?” He snorts softly, making you laugh.

“Ken?”

“Like the doll?” Your laugh gets louder, making him smile and press a kiss to your cheek.

“Jacob?”

“Are we raising a frat eridian? Some kind of Playboy?” He muses, squeezing you tighter.

“Zimmer?” He pauses for a long moment, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

“I don’t… hate that.”

“Just alien enough for us? We can call him Zimm.”

“Zimmey? Zizi?” You giggle, turning the makeshift stove off.

“I like Zimmer.”

“If you like it, I like it.” He hums, making you turn to face him and press a long kiss against his lips.

“Dinner?”

“Please.”

✶

You stand beside Grace and watch as the small alien is delicately set in the box and pushed into the dome. You and Grace hold your breath for a long moment to see if the pebble starts to smoke, but as the second slowly passes, a grin breaks across your face as you approach the box and reach in to grab the purple creature.

Grace watches as the small alien shifts in your hold and makes a soft noise, probably equivalent to a babble, and shifts in your hands. “Hi, Zimmer.” You whisper.

“Is anomaly!” Rocky cheers happily as you nod.

“It seems that it is.”

“What’s the probability of that, hm?” Grace smiles, one of his hands meeting your hip.

“Probability is 0.0000000003–”

“I was being hyperbolic, Rock.” Grace grins, watching the pebble move happily in your hands.

“Need word.” Rocky hums, making you laugh.

“Later, Rock.” Grace grins, pulling you closer. You glance at him over your shoulder.

“We’re parents!” You giggle, making the small creature tilt its carapace in curiosity at the unfamiliar noise.

“We really are, hm?” He presses a kiss to your lips before pulling away and looking back at the pebble.

✶

You sit in the sand, watching as Zimm tries to climb around and explore his surroundings, clumsy with only four legs. Frustrated ‘babbles’ leave his carapace as you smile. “Tired?” The alien crawls into your awaiting palm with a content thrum. “You’re doing well, hm? Lots of practice.”

“How is pebble?” Adrian’s tones ring out behind you.

“Zimm’s doing great. Can I ask you something, Adrian?” The alien nods.

“Yes, ask please.”

“How do I know he’s tired? He can’t fully speak yet. I don’t know when he’s hungry or tired.” Adrian moves closer, the xenonite suit pressing against your arm as she observes the smaller alien.

“I will mimic noises.” You nod and listen closely as two melodic tunes leave the alien a few times, slowly nodding. The pebble mimics the noise of hunger, making your eyes snap towards the pebble.

“So that’s what you want…” You grin.

“Need food?” You nod softly. “Adrian can get.”

“You sure?”

“Adrian happy to help.”

“I think there are still some on the porch of the house.” Zimm curls up in your hold with a soft noise that makes you smile. “Adrian’s getting you some food.” You pout softly, gently petting a smooth part of the purple carapace.

It’d only been a few days, but you already couldn’t stomach the thought of ever leaving your baby behind. Sure, he was clumsy, and the language barrier was proving a struggle, but you could also tell the affection was reciprocated. A terribly unharmonious sound would escape the small creature anytime you left him alone or moved to a different room.

You watch as Adrian reuters, carrying the small xenonite bowl, filled with the necessary foods, Zimm happily chittering at the sight. You set him down to eat, smiling softly before looking back up at Adrian. “Adrian?” A noise leaves the alien for you to continue. “How codependent are Eridians?”

“Not very. Not raised with nourishment such as humans.” You nod slowly, watching Zimmer play with his food.

“Can you promise me something?”

“Eridians no promise.”

“You get what I mean.”

“Humans too absolute.” You can hear the ‘scoff’ in Adrian’s tone, making you snort.

“Promise you won’t experiment on Zimm. Sure, I’ll report back the things he does, but no taking him off to labs, doing tests–”

“Adrian understands. Promise will be upheld.” You nod, reaching out to gently tap the top of their carapace. Zimmer lets out a happy grumble to let you know they’re done before clambering back into your lap and twirling around before nestling against your hip, body slumping. “Pebble is ready for sleep.” You grin.

“I’ll watch him the whole time.” Adrian purrs happily, settling beside you in the sand, warmth radiating through the xenonite suit.

✶

“How's the baby?” Ryland asks, kicking his shoes off and immediately enveloping you in a tight hug. You grin, cupping his cheeks and planting a gentle kiss against his lips with an affectionate hum.

“He’s happy. At a big lunch today, and has been asleep ever since.” Grace looks over at the small xenonite ‘bed’ the eridians had made and dropped off, Zimmer’s purple carapace stark against the dark metal. 

“Y’know… I never thought I’d be a parent… thought I had enough students to cover that… but I can’t say I hate this.” You shake your head, burying your forehead against the side of his neck and taking in his warmth. The sound of Grace’s voice makes Zimmer purr happily as he wakes, clumsily jumping up and rushing to happily greet Ryland. The jitters are like the noise of an excited dog as Ryands lifts the aliens to his face. “Hey, you!”

You grin as Zimm babbles happily, probably trying to talk about their day, watching as Ryland nods and gasps at certain parts for dramatic effect. “You were meant for this.” You murmur, making his eyes move to yours.

“What?”

“Fatherhood.”

“Even though it’s not quite traditional?” He grins, walking back over, making Zimm jump into your hold.

“This… is perfect.” You hum, his lips meeting your temple, Zimm’s vibrations strong in your palms. 

Part 2

The false sunlight of the biopdome begins to filter through the window, and you watch with an affectionate smile as Zimm slowly wakes, stretching out clumsily. Ryland shifts as the weight on his chest moves, eyes fluttering open as he glances between the two of you with a smile. “G’morning.” His voice comes out raspy with sleep, making you grin and curl closer.

“Hi…” Your lips meet his, and Zimm lets out a displeased noise at the sight, making the two of you pull away with a laugh. The moment is interrupted by a pounding on the door, making your smile grow. “It’s open!” 

Two xenonite suits echo through the house before Rocky and Adrian step into the space, watching your family. “How is Zimmer?” Rocky asks, making you grin and gently lift Zimm from Ryland’s chest, settling the small alien on your shoulder.

“He’s doing wonderful.” You feel Ryland’s arms move to wrap around your middle, face smushed against your back.

“Eridians would like to take Zimmer for a doctor checkup. Promise no extreme tests, just want to make sure Zimmer is ok.” You look over your shoulder as Grace perks up, grabbing his glasses off the beside table.

“That sounds fine.” You feel Grace nod against your shoulder. The aliens communicate, and you feel Zimmer shirk in fear against the side of your neck, a whine-like noise leaving his carapace. Matching frowns paint your and Grace’s faces, and you reach up to softly stroke one of the small legs.

“Zimmer is scared, statement.” Rocky lets out, making you nod.

“Doctors can be scary. Especially because Grace and I can’t come.” You murmur, Grace’s warm hand against your side. 

“Zimmer will be taken care of very well. Adrian promise and be there whole time. Will bring back to home.” You nod slowly, taking Zimm from your shoulder and bringing the alien face-to-face. Unpleasant tones leave the small creature, making you frown.

“I know it’s scary, my love… it’ll be ok. It’ll be fast, and Grace and I will be right here waiting.” You gently pet Zimm’s back carapace, the one you found most soothing when touched.

“Mommy and daddy will be right here.” Grace murmurs, reaching up to gently grasp one of Zimm’s claws. A long silence follows before Zimm lets out a defeated sound mixed with what you had come to recognize as a cry. “M’sorry…”

“Will take now. Will be safe. Promise.” Adrian purrs, making you raise a brow.

“I thought Eridians never promised.”

“Promise important to safety and human family.” 

“Thank you, Adrian.” You gently hand Zimmer off to the Eridian couple, gently waving them off. You can’t help but tuck yourself into Grace’s chest, covering your ears to drown out Zimm’s retreating cries.

“It’s the same as if we took a human baby to the doctor. The shots are the worst for us to watch, but the most necessary for the baby. Just remember you’re keeping him safe, alright? You love him enough to keep him safe and healthy.” You nod slowly, feeling a few tears fall down your cheeks.

“I hate when he cries.” Grace pulls back at the weakness in your voice, frowning and moving to wipe your cheeks.

“Me too. Me too.” He huffs, pulling you back into his chest and laying both of you down. 

◈

The second the door opens, you swiftly stand from the bed, finding the three Eridians in the doorway. “♩♫♪𝅘𝅥𝅰!” Gasps leave you and Ryland, equally surprised noises leaving the Eridians.

“Did he just–”

“Zimm!” You grin. “Say it again, say it again!”

“♩♫♪𝅘𝅥𝅰!” A sob leaves Grace’s lips as you lift the baby alien into your arms.’

“Is Eridan word for mother!” Rocky squeals happily, making you nod as tears fall down your cheeks, Zimmer pressing happily into your chest.

“It sure is, pal.” Ryland sniffles, bringing both of you into his arms, forehead falling to your shoulder. Another word leaves Zimmer, making you give a sympathetic smile.

“It was scary, hm? Didn’t like the doctor?” You pacify gently. His carapace shakes in your hand.

“Thank goodness you’re home, hm?” Grace speaks beside you.

“With mommy and daddy!” Another heavy sob is ripped from Grace’s lips, and you can’t help but smile at the disgust radiating off Adrian and Rocky before they shuffle out of the house. “Want lunch!” Laughs echo out from the three of you.

The afternoon sun in London didn't shine so much, as it filtered through a perpetual, heavy gauze of silver cloud, casting long, soft shadows across the cobblestones of Soho. It was the kind of day that felt suspended in time, smelling faintly of old paper, rain-soaked brick, and the rich, roasted bitterness of nearby espresso machines.

For you and Ryland, it was a rare, precious pocket of absolute stillness.

Ever since the Petrova Task Force had dissolved and the world had settled into its post-Astrophage reality, life had become a whirlwind of peer-reviewed journals, and endless commendations. Ryland—who was once a disgraced junior high school teacher who had accidentally stumbled into saving two entire solar systems—was now Dr. Ryland Grace, a globally renowned molecular biologist. His face had been on the cover of Time, Nature, and Scientific American. But, today, he wasn't a savior of humanity. Today, he was just a slightly rumpled man in a soft, oversized gray sweater, his fingers intertwined with yours, dragging his feet with deliberate, content laziness as you walked.

"I’m just saying," Ryland murmured, leaning his head against your shoulder for a brief, affectionate second before straightening up, "there is a statistically significant correlation between the quality of a bookstore and how much it smells like a Victorian attic. If it doesn't smell like decaying leather and ancient dust, they’re just selling me vibes, not knowledge."

"You just like old paper, Ryland," you teased, squeezing his hand. "And you're looking for a very specific, out-of-print botany text that you absolutely do not need because you already have the digital scan."

"Ah, but the digital scan doesn't have the tactile feedback," he countered, his eyes bright, that familiar, childish enthusiasm lighting up his face. "Science is a sensory experience! Besides, we promised ourselves a completely work-free weekend. No Astrophage culturing, no emails from the UN, no lecturing. Just books. And you."

You smiled, a deep, warm feeling settling right into your chest. It was still a miracle, sometimes, just looking at him. To have him back from the stars, whole and safe, sitting at your kitchen table every morning making terrible puns over burnt toast—it was more than you had ever dared to hope for during those dark years of waiting.

You stopped in front of a storefront that was colored with a mint, decorated with windows, the type that looks like it was a sanctuary for all things vintage. The sign beside the door read, in elegant, slightly faded gold script: Till's Est. 1955

"Perfect," you whispered.

The brass bell above the door gave a light, cheerful ting as you pushed it open. Instantly, the noise of London vanished, replaced by a profound, reverent chatter. The shop was a labyrinth of towering oak shelves, packed so tightly with leather-bound volumes that they seemed to be holding up the ceiling. The air was warm, thick with the scent of vanilla, old parchment, tea, and a subtle, indefinable hint of something like ozone and expensive cologne.

"Wow," Ryland gasped, his inner nerd instantly enchanted. "Okay, you win. This place is magnificent. I might never leave. If I die here, just bury me under the encyclopedia section."

As you wandered deeper into the maze of shelves, you caught the murmur of voices from the back of the shop.

"...absolutely not, Angel, I am telling you, the man was a fraud. He didn't even know the difference between a comet and a standard meteorite. I had to personally ensure his calculations were—"

"Now, now, Anthony, do be gentle. He was doing his best with the instruments of the century. Not everyone has your... unique perspective on the cosmos."

The first voice was a sharp, hissed drawl—a voice that instantly triggered a cascade of memories from your university days. It was a voice that had once paced back and forth in front of a chalkboard, snapping chalk between long fingers, wearing sunglasses indoors, and casually explaining the lifespans of main-sequence stars as if he had been there to watch them ignite.

You froze. Ryland noticed, stopping beside you and tilting his head. "Sweetheart? What is it?"

You peeked around a stack of heavily books.

There, sitting in a cozy alcove lit by a stained-glass lamp, were two men. One was exceptionally neat, dressed in a light-colored, slacks, dressed in a striped button-down, paired with a simple dijon coloured vest. He had light-blonde hair, and an expression of profound kindness, and was delicately holding a porcelain teacup.

The other man was practically draped over a velvet armchair, defying all known laws of human anatomy with how loosely he slouched. He was dressed entirely in sharp, slightly baggy black suit, paired with a black coat on top of it all. His hair was a dull, faded-out orange, and his face was obscured by his trademark, black-rimmed glasses.

"Dr. Crowley?" the name left your mouth before you could stop it.

The slouching man froze. Slowly, like a snake uncoiling, he sat up. He lowered his glasses just a fraction of an inch, revealing a pair of earthy-brown eyes that narrowed in confusion before widening in sudden, sharp recognition.

"Well, I’ll be damned," Crowley drawled, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face as he pushed the sunglasses back up his nose. "Look what the wind dragged into the orbit. It’s my star pupil! The one who actually understood my final exam on stellar nucleosynthesis."

He stood up in one fluid, graceful motion, sauntering over to you with a swaggering hip-roll walk that you remembered all too well from your undergraduate astrophysics lectures.

"Professor Crowley!" you exclaimed, a genuine laugh bubbling up. "I can't believe it. You haven't changed a bit. Literally. You look exactly the same as you did a decade ago."

"Good moisturizing routine," Crowley waved a dismissive, long-fingered hand, though he did looked secretly pleased. "And please, it's just Crowley. Or Anthony. Never did care for the 'Doctor' bit. Too much paperwork involved in keeping up the credentials."

The gentleman in the dijon vest had risen from his chair as well, setting his teacup down with a soft click. He walked over, his face beaming with a gentle, radiant warmth that made the entire room feel ten degrees cozier.

"Oh, hello!" the blonde-haired man said, his voice a rich, comforting melody. "Any friend of Anthony’s is most welcome here. I am Asa Fell. I co-own this little establishment."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fell," you said, shaking his hand, which was remarkably soft and warm. You turned to Ryland, who was watching the interaction with an expression of intense, analytical curiosity. "Ryland, this is my old university astrophysics professor, Crowley. Crowley, this is my husband, Ryland Grace."

Crowley’s hidden gaze shifted to Ryland. He tilted his head, studying him like a fascinating new specimen under a microscope. "Ryland Grace. The Ryland Grace? The molecular biology chap who figured out how to breed those nasty little light-eating bugs in a kitchen blender?"

Ryland blinked, a sheepish, familiar blush creeping up his neck. He rubbed the back of his head. "Uh, well, it was a bit more complicated than a blender, and it was actually a lab aboard a spaceship made of Xenonite, but... yeah. That's me. Nice to meet you, Professor."

"Oh, my word!" Mr. Fell gasped, his hands flying to his chest in genuine delight. "You’re the young man who saved the sun! Anthony here told me all about it. He was absolutely beside himself during the solar dimming—muttering about 'amateurs ruining the local ecology' and 'unregulated stellar parasites.' We read all about your return in the papers!"

"Did you now?" Ryland grinned, instantly warming up to the sweet-faced bookseller. "Well, I had a lot of help. A very smart, very scary spider-alien did most of the heavy lifting with the engineering."

"A spider-alien," Crowley muttered, a look of profound, dark amusement crossing his face. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. See, Angel? I told you biology gets interesting if you just leave it alone long enough to mutate."

"Anthony, do not call Mr. Grace's alien friend a mutation," Asa scolded gently, though there was an undeniable look of deep affection in his eyes as he looked at the taller man. He then looked at you and Ryland, noticing the way you two stood close together, your fingers still lightly brushing. "Are you two looking for anything in particular? Or just browsing?"

"We were just having a day to ourselves," you explained, looking around the magical little shop. "But honestly, seeing you both... we were just about to head home to make dinner. If you two don't have any plans this evening, we would absolutely love to have you over. It’s the least I can do for the professor who gave me an A on a paper I wrote while entirely sleep-deprived."

Crowley made a face, gesturing vaguely out the window. "Oh, dinner? Out? In London? The traffic is a nightmare, and frankly, people—no offense—are incredibly loud on weekends."

Asa placed a gentle, calming hand on Crowley’s forearm. The effect was instantaneous; the sharp, tense lines of Crowley’s shoulders immediately softened, melting like wax under the sun.

"I think a dinner invitation sounds perfectly lovely, my dear," Asa said softly, looking up at Crowley with a small, knowing smile. "And besides, you've been complaining all week that there hasn't been any decent conversation since the Royal Society changed their guest policies."

Crowley groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. "Fine. Fine! But only if there's wine. Good wine. None of that cheap supermarket stuff that tastes like fermented vinegar."

Ryland laughed, his chest rumbling warmly against your side. "Trust me, Crowley. We have access to the diplomatic cellars now. I can guarantee the wine will be excellent."

"Excellent," Crowley smirked. "Lead the way, Dr. Grace."

An hour later, your cozy townhouse in North London was filled with the rich, mouth-watering aroma of garlic, rosemary, and slow-roasted chicken. The kitchen was a chaotic masterpiece of warmth. Ryland, wearing a ridiculous apron that read 'Stand Back, I'm Going to Try Science', was happily humming a song as he mashed potatoes with a vigor that could only be described as academic.

Crowley and Asa had arrived via a pristine, vintage black 1934 Bentley that sounded like a purring panther. The moment they stepped into your home, the atmosphere shifted into something incredibly comfortable.

Asa had brought a bottle of wine from his "private collection"—a vintage that Ryland had stared at for three full minutes in utter disbelief because it theoretically shouldn't have existed outside of a museum. Crowley had immediately gravitated toward your living room bookshelf, scoffing at your arrangement of physics textbooks but meticulously straightening a few fiction novels.

Now, everyone was gathered around the rustic wooden dining table. The candlelight flickered softly, casting a golden glow over the empty plates and the half-empty wine glasses.

"So," Ryland said, leaning forward, his eyes shining with the specific intensity of a scientist who had found someone willing to talk shop. "Astrophage. From an astrophysics perspective, Crowley, how did the scientific community miss it for so long? I mean, it was literally a red line cutting through the solar system."

Crowley took a slow, elegant sip of his wine, leaning back into his chair and crossing one long leg over the other. "Because, my dear doctor, scientists look for what they expect to see. You look for dark matter, you look for gravitational waves, you look for cosmic dust. You don't look for a microscopic, single-celled organism that breaks every known law of thermodynamics because it feels like having a snack."

"Exactly!" Ryland pointed a fork at him excitedly. "Thank you! It completely defies standard entropy model expectations. It stores energy via mass-energy conversion with a ninety-two percent efficiency rate! Do you know how insane that is? I spent months staring at the data thinking my equipment was broken."

"It's not insane," Crowley murmured, his voice dropping into a lower, almost reverent register. "It's elegant. Cruel, but elegant. A self-contained ecosystem operating on a quantum level. It’s the kind of design that makes you want to... well, find whoever designed it and have a stern word with them about safety protocols."

Asa chuckled, reaching over to pat Crowley’s hand. "Anthony takes these things personally. He prefers his stars to be neat, orderly, and untampered with."

"They're supposed to just burn, Angel!" Crowley argued, turning to his husband with an expression of comical outrage. "You fuse hydrogen, you make helium, you move up the periodic table, you collapse, you go supernova. Simple! Clean! You don't invite a bunch of glowing space-algae to come along and suck the heat out like a cosmic parasite."

You laughed, leaning your head against Ryland's shoulder. "I have to admit, Crowley, your lectures on stellar evolution were the only reason I didn't switch my major to English literature. You talked about stars like they were your personal friends."

Crowley paused, his expression softening for a fraction of a second behind his glasses. He cleared his throat, taking another sip of wine. "Yes, well. They're loud. Bright. Hard to ignore."

"And what about your alien friend, Dr. Grace?" Asa asked, his eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity as he helped himself to another serving of potatoes. "The... Rocky, was it? How did you manage to communicate?"

Ryland’s face completely lit up. Whenever anyone asked about Rocky, he transformed into a beacon of pure joy. "Oh, it was incredible, Mr. Fell! He doesn't see light—he uses sonar. Like a dolphin, but incredibly precise. And his language is entirely musical notes. Chords, actually. I had to write a software program on my laptop just to translate his speech into English text, and then I had to speak back to him using a microphone and a synthesizer."

"Fascinating," Asa murmured, looking genuinely moved. "A language of pure music. How beautiful."

"It was beautiful," Ryland said softly, his gaze drifting for a moment, a look of profound nostalgia in his eyes. "He’s a good guy. A really great engineer. He kept calling me a 'smart creature' even when I was making terrible mistakes. I miss him."

You reached under the table, finding Ryland’s hand and squeezing it tightly. He looked at you, his eyes softening, and squeezed back.

"Well," Crowley said, his sharp voice breaking the tender silence, though there was a distinct lack of malice in his tone. "At least you didn't let the sun go out. Would have ruined my afternoon. I hate the cold."

"Anthony, you survived the Little Ice Age perfectly fine," Asa pointed out with a wry smile.

"I slept through most of it, Angel! There’s a difference!"

The conversation flowed easily into the late hours of the evening, drifting from the complexities of orbital mechanics to the absolute joy of finding a first-edition book hidden in a dusty basement. You found yourself watching Crowley and Asa, noticing the silent, profound language shared between them. A slight tilt of Crowley’s head, a gentle touch of Asa’s fingers on Crowley’s sleeve—they moved around each other with the absolute certainty of two celestial bodies locked in a perfect, eternal orbit. It was beautiful. It reminded you so much of the way you and Ryland had learned to navigate the world together after his return.

Eventually, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed midnight.

Asa gasped softly, looking at the time. "Oh, dear me. Look at the hour. We’ve kept you two up far too long. And after you cooked such a magnificent meal!"

"Nonsense," Ryland said, standing up to help Asa with his coat. "This was the best evening we've had in months. Seriously. It’s nice to talk to people who don't want to interview me for a government panel."

Crowley stood up, stretching his long limbs like a cat. He walked over to you, looking down through his dark lenses. For a moment, he looked quite serious.

"You did good," Crowley said, his voice quiet, meant only for you. "With the science. And... choosing a partner. He’s a bit of a madman, but the good kind. The kind that actually looks at the universe and tries to fix it."

You smiled, feeling a sudden wave of warmth and gratitude for your eccentric old professor. "Thank you, Crowley. That means a lot. Especially coming from you."

Crowley nodded once, a brief, sharp movement, before turning to Ryland. "Right. Well. If you ever want to see some real star charts, Grace—none of that digital nonsense, actual historical records—bring this one by the shop. I might let you look at them. If you promise not to spill tea on them."

"It's a deal," Ryland grinned, extending a hand. Crowley shook it, a surprisingly firm, quick grip.

Asa smiled warmly, giving you both a gentle, affectionate wave. "Goodnight, my dears. Please do come visit the shop anytime. The door is always open for you."

You walked them to the front door, watching as they walked down the stone path. Crowley held the passenger door of the sleek black Bentley open for Asa, his hand hovering protectively over the shorter man's head so he wouldn't bump it. Once Asa was safely inside, Crowley climbed into the driver's seat. With a low, powerful roar, the car pulled away into the quiet, misty London night, its tail lights vanishing around the corner.

You closed the door, leaning your back against it with a soft, contented sigh.

The house was quiet again, save for the ticking of the clock and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Ryland walked up to you, his apron now hanging loosely around his neck, his hair delightfully rumpled from where he had been running his fingers through it all evening.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. He smelled like garlic, rosemary, and the faint, sweet scent of old books.

"They were... remarkably strange," Ryland whispered into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple. "In the absolute best way possible. I'm pretty sure Crowley's wine glass refilled itself twice without him touching the bottle."

You laughed softly, burying your face in his sweater. "I noticed that too. I think it’s best not to question it. When it comes to Crowley, normal rules don't really apply."

"Fair enough," Ryland murmured, his arms tightening around you, holding you as if you were the center of his gravity. He kissed the top of your head, a slow, deep, lingering kiss. "Thank you for inviting them. And thank you for this day. I love you."

"I love you too, Ryland," you whispered, looking up to meet his warm, brown eyes. "More than all the stars in the sky."

"Even the ones infected with Astrophage?" he teased, a wicked, boyish smirk playing on his lips.

Taglist: @strigiform-titan @whats-my-hyperfixation @negativefoursanity @everythingismadeofchaos @t0nystank @greenlalianime @my-cat-can-slay-dragons @gardenavenue @whore-msc @goslingcore @rivercattail @ambertiger5 @starsbelongtotheworld @emmyishere77 @wayward-avenging @rocktthehouse @unabashednightmarepizza @lowbudgetdoll @lastminutescience @anixszci @lov3lanuage @hailholyground

Fifteen years ago…

You weren't usually one to do touch ups on your appearance throughout the day; you'd pick your outfit and fix your hair before you even left the house, and that was that. Today, though…today was different. And so were the last few days.

Ever since your Science class teacher Mrs. Matthews made you lab partners with Justin, currently the most popular guy in your year after he helped the football team secure a spot at Nationals as a sophomore. The girls were practically tripping over themselves the day the pairings were announced, bribe presents in hand for your teacher to hopefully partner him up with them.

But then she produced a piece of paper from her satchel, revealing that not only could she not be swayed, but she'd already determined who would be paired off with whom for this particular project. And by her decree, Justin was your partner.

So for the last week and a half, you took it upon yourself to dart off into the girls' bathroom before your Science class and make sure that you didn't have any strands of hair poking up and out of your ponytail. After all, it never hurt to make yourself presentable. You swiped on a thin coat of Chapstick and pinched your cheeks, deciding you were ready for the class ahead, and giddily walked to Mrs. Matthews' classroom with a spring in your step.

"Y/N, can I talk to you a minute?"

Turning around, you came face to face with Sydney, a girl you shared both History and English with. She seemed uneasy, hands gripped tight to the strap of her crossbody bag and her lips pressed together in an awkward grimace.

"Sure," you told her, glancing at the wall clock nearby. You had time before class started.

"I heard you're partnered up with Justin in Science?" She gave you a tight smile as you vigorously nodded your head. "Something you need to know. I know that right now he's been like super sweet to you, acting all interested. Probably even had lunch with you once or twice since Mrs. Matthews paired you up?"

"Hang on, what is this, Syd?"

"Just--Yes or no, Y/N."

"I--I mean, yes. We've been getting to know each other since Mrs. Matthews partnered us up, there's nothing wrong with that, what the fuck."

She took a breath, her knuckles going white as she gripped her bag strap even tighter. "God damn, I was hoping that this wasn't the case."

"You know, jealousy really isn't a good look on you," you said through gritted teeth, squinting your eyes at her. You could feel yourself freakishly getting warmer despite your hands starting to get clammy. Great. Now you had to go to the bathroom again and make sure your face wasn't splotchy before going into the classroom.

You were gonna be late for Science.

"Girl, trust me?! This isn't jealousy." Her voice grew a bit more shrill, her stance getting defensive. "I was partnered with him for a book report last semester. He did the same thing. Had lunch with me, even asked me to hang out with him one weekend. He would say things that made me think he was reading the book and actually putting in the work, and before I knew it, I unknowingly wrote our entire book report without him putting in a single word other than his name. And then when we got our papers back and he got his A+, suddenly it's like he couldn't even be within six feet of me. Like I was contagious or something."

You took a few breaths before answering her, smoothing your hands over your clothes and straightening your posture. "Well that's nothing like this project. He actually helps, he's just not that good with the actual writing, so he sends links."

"Links?" she repeated, snorting at the word. "That's it? Not even some notes about what he read on the page? Like at least tell me he did that."

If you were a cartoon, your ears would have been steaming by now. "This is nothing like that," you insisted, turning on your heel and stomping into Mrs. Matthews' classroom.

Justin was already inside, and when he saw you he waved you over, patting the back of the seat next to his. The cheerleaders he was talking to threw you a snarky look before turning around with a flip of their hair and catwalking out of the room to their own class.

"You okay?" he asked you once you set your bag down. "You're looking a bit red."

"Huh?" you said dumbly, shaking your head like a dog, as if that would help in shooing away your irritation. "Yeah, yeah, of course. It's just…warm." You tried not to cringe at your lame excuse.

"It really is," he said with a smile, reaching into his own bag and pulling out a bottle of Gatorade. "Here. It should help."

"What? No, no, it's okay." You made a motion with your hands to politely decline. "You need it. You have like…practice later."

Your breath audibly hitched when he reached over and took your hand, placing the bottle in it and closing your fingers around it. He gave you one of those wide shining grins that always had the girls swooning. "We have water fountains, I'll be fine. Really, Y/N, I insist."

"Okay," you said, your voice smaller than usual. Almost squeaky. "Thank you."

"By the way I found a few more links that might be useful for our paper."

You tried to silence Sydney's words to you from earlier, forcing a smile on your face as you tried to keep yourself checked in to this conversation. "Ohh, yeah…just send it over to me after school. Honestly we're making really good progress, we might be able to turn our paper in by like…next week, probably."

"Oh sick! You're awesome." Your heart did a little flutter at his words, followed by a big flutter when he placed his arm over the back of your seat, leaning in a bit closer to you. "What're your plans for the weekend, by the way?"

"Uhh, I--Ahh--uhm…" you stammered, words suddenly failing to process between your brain and your mouth. "Nothing, really. I don't like making plans for my free time, I usually just like to keep it…you know, free." You capped off your bumbling answer with a lame chuckle. Though it felt a little less lame when he let out a little laugh along with you.

"Well, I'm throwing a little pool party on Saturday. You should come. Maybe spend some of your free time there. With me."

The widest smile stretched across your face at his words. "I'd like that."

"Great! I'll see you there. And listen, just because it's a pool party you don't need to feel pressured to wear like a bikini or something. Casual dress code, I promise."

You drove like a madman straight out of the school parking lot to the mall the second the final bell rang for the day, spending about a month's worth of your savings on an outfit for Saturday. That morning, you received a text from him that the party would start at around 4 in the afternoon, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you there.

For most of the morning, you worked your brain to a screeching halt finishing up the paper and printing it with both your names on the cover page. You figured it would be a nice surprise to present the paper for him to sign -- as per Mrs. Matthews' instructions for submitting this particular assignment -- perhaps sometime after the party was over.

Giving yourself another once over in the mirror, you made a few final adjustments to the dark evergreen two-piece swimsuit you'd chosen before draping the sheer black caftan your mom lent you over your shoulders. You decided to follow your parents' advice and drive to the rather opulent neighborhood that Justin's family lived in. "That way you don't have to wait for us in case you need to make a quick exit," your dad said before tossing you the car keys.

When you pulled up to the Vergazo family's home, there were already a handful of cars parked in the driveway. You slung your little crocheted satchel across your body and walked through the towering double doors, a member of the house staff pointing you toward the backyard where thumping music was coming from.

You were quickly drawn to the fire pit, and you decided you'd go over there to mingle with a few friendly faces from your other classes before you went around to look for Justin. On your way there, you crossed paths with Syd, and you gave each other a small smile, both of you hoping that the ugliness from earlier this week was something you could easily get past.

The way you saw it, no friendship was worth throwing away over a guy. Any guy.

"Damn girl, you look good!" Shane, another one of your and Syd's friends, exclaimed. He slowly clapped alongside his boyfriend Isaac, scooting over on the curved bench to clear up some room for you. "Where the hell you been hiding all that?"

"Under my fear for getting dress coded," you shot back, raising your voice so he could hear you over the loud music. "You know how some of the teachers get if you show so much as an inch of clavicle."

Both boys threw their heads back, laughing as they quoted one of your teachers in a mocking tone. "You're distracting the boys' learning!"

"Honestly though, I swear one of them has it out for you," Shane said. "Didn't I hear like last week that Health teacher tried to code you for showing too much neck?"

"Ugh, you mean Miss Boom Shaka Laka?" That made the boys let out a laugh again. "I'm not even gonna bother knowing her actual name, I'm putting in a request that that hateful bitch never becomes my teacher, she's gonna fail me on the spot. But yeah…and I remember last semester she tried to code Syd too. And I shit you not, it was for her sleeves being too short."

"Someone should report her," Isaac spoke up. "That feels…like, I don't know, a bit vindictive."

"Feels like that bad guy from Totally Spies," Shane quipped.

"She's bald! She's bald and she's torturing people with hair!" you all said in unison before breaking out into another fit of laughter.

The music started to quiet down and the DJ's mic began to pick up a conversation that came through on the speakers. Shane made a motion for both you and Isaac to stop talking, tilting his head toward the speakers. Two voices were getting picked up by the mic. One was Rianne, captain of the cheer squad.

The other voice was Justin's.

"Can't believe you even invited that freak here. She's gonna kill the whole vibe when she gets here," she complained to him.

"Ohh hey that's me," you deadpanned at the guys, waving your arms toward each other like goofs. "Too late, byotch. Already here."

"Come on, baby," he cooed at her. "Don't be like that. Every girl deserves to be Cinderella for a night."

"You're too fucking sweet to her," she hissed. "Pushing your goddamn luck, I'm two steps away from making turning Cinderella into Prom Queen Carrie."

"Ohh this mega cunt needs to be put down," Isaac seethed, already making a motion to stand up.

"Don't even bother, she's not worth it," you told him, reaching over his boyfriend to grab onto his arm and make him sit back down. "In a couple years we're gonna be out of this hellhole and we'll be free of bitches like Rianne. And she's gonna be whining about the next girl whose mere existence offends her, and whatever we're doing? My hand to God we will be killing it."

"Yeah, but Ri you know the best part about Cinderella, right?" Justin's voice came through on the speakers again. "Eventually the clock strikes midnight, and then everything that was going right with her life turns right back to shit."

You and the boyfriends gave each other a look, as if telling each other 'Are you hearing this shit?'

"But baby how long do I have to wait for fucking midnight already?"

"She said we're ready to turn in that paper to Mrs. Matthews this week, baby." Your stomach dropped at his reveal, and Shane grabbed on to your hand, Isaac moving to sit on your other side. "Almost time to turn back into a pumpkin." A few moments passed and then his voice came through again. "Ohh hey Sydney. I asked Y/N to come here today, do you know if she's gonna be here soon?"

"She's already here." You could hear the amount of restraint that Syd was exerting in just those three words. "Friendly advice? Try not having incriminating conversations when you're like two feet from a microphone."

A collective 'Ooooh' broke out all over the Vergazos' backyard, and you stood up from your seat, facing Justin and Rianne's direction. Even from this far you could see a bit of the color leaving his face when he locked eyes with you.

"Dumb fucking jock," Syd muttered before walking back toward the fire pit.

Once she made her way over to you and the guys, all you managed to say as you felt your fingers go numb was, "You were right. And I was wrong. I'm sorry."

"Babe, you have nothing to apologize for. He's the asshole in this," she reassured you, taking hold of one of your hands. "Let's just get out of here."

"No, I should get to be the asshole, too," you said, your tone detached as you reached into your bag, pulling out your joint research project. The one you worked like a dog to finish before you left the house. The one he didn't do a damn thing to help with because he "wasn't any good with the writing bits".

You didn't break eye contact with the football player as you side stepped toward the open fire and tossed the paper in there. His expression quickly turned panicked as the flames grew nearly as tall as you for a split second, the stench of burning paper filling the air.

"Now let's get outta here," you told your friends, already walking out of the fire pit and maneuvering through the people so you can get back to your car.

You all let out a collective groan when you heard Justin's frantic words following after you. "Y/N, I'm sorry--"

"Fuck off," the four of you said in unison, walking through the open front doors. You settled yourselves into your car, and once you were seated you finally felt your shoulders slump forward, your head thumping against your steering wheel as tears began to roll down your cheeks.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," you said weakly.

"You're not an idiot, babe. Justin's just an asshole and then some," Syd reassured you, rubbing circles on your upper back.

"Hey, why don't we just go over to my place and we can hang by our pool?" Isaac offered, giving you directions to his family's house just a few blocks over. "I can get our projector set up outside and we can watch Twilight?"

"Deal," you said with a sniffle.

"One more thing? That green looks bomb on you," he said, motioning toward your outfit. "You have to wear it more often. We're gonna make it like 'your color'."

That had you feeling a bit lighter, a laugh bubbling up out of you. "I'll make a note of it."

When the bell rang for Mrs. Matthews' class the Monday after that disaster of a party, you were nowhere to be found. Justin's eyes darted around nervously, hoping that your display from Saturday was nothing more than an outburst, and he could apologize.

With the weight of this project being a solid twenty percent of the class's final grade, he needed to get a decent score if he wanted a chance at a grade good enough for talent scouts to consider him for football scholarships in a few years. He couldn't afford to piss you off enough that you would choose to leave him hanging.

He waited as your other classmates filed in slowly, making a point to secure the seat next to him. He even got you a pink rose, following his older brother Joshua's advice on what he could do to seem sorry and get back on your good side. But as the second bell rang for this period, and Mrs. Matthews stood up to close the door, he knew it was safe to assume you'd chosen to not show your face at school today.

"Guess her tail's still stuck between her legs," Rianne hissed, the sound of the metal legs of her chair scraping the floor filling the room, followed by the clickety clack of her heels as she made her way to the seat next to her boyfriend. "Is this seat taken, baby?"

Justin merely gave her a half-hearted shrug, dismissively waving his hand at the empty seat. "Have at it, Ri."

"Oh." The sound of Mrs. Matthew's voice along with the rapid knocking on the door had his attention snap back to the classroom door.

But the teacher opened the door, you didn't walk through it. Sydney did. Folder in hand.

"Miss Howard, I assume you would be the one to know something about Miss Y/L/N's uncharacteristic absence today?" Your friend quietly nodded, and Justin couldn't hear what she was saying as she handed the folder to your teacher. And then followed by a folded up piece of paper.

Sydney then walked out of the classroom, and his head began to pound as Mrs. Matthews unfolded and read through the paper, a satisfied smile slowly stretching across her face. "Mister Vergazo, you will be accomplishing your final research project alone. Miss Y/L/N has turned in her paper."

"Mrs. Matthews, I thought your decisions on research partners were final--"

"Please save your advocating for your boyfriend's plight for someone who can be swayed, Miss Jacobs," the teacher cut Rianne off. "If you wish to help him, perhaps you can write his papers from now on. According to Miss Y/L/N, he seems to be excellent at sending links."

Her cutting judgment at the couple had the rest of the students in the classroom breaking out into laughter. Some of them even backing up your words and going "Ain't that the truth." Some of them even called him some rather biting terms. Freeloader. Leech. Parasite.

His grades were fucked.

"Mrs. Matthews, do you know where I can find Y/N? Talk to her? Come on, this is our final grade she's playing with."

"Your final grade, Mister Vergazo," she emphasized. "Miss Y/L/N has secured her grades. And you will no longer find her in school today. She's tested out."

"Of our year?" Rianne asked, her voice going up an octave from the incredulity.

"Of High School," the teacher clarified, the classroom filling with mixed reactions. Some awestruck. Most shocked. And then Justin felt his blood go cold at her next words. "It seems, Mister Vergazo, that midnight has struck. But she was never a pumpkin. She was a diamond. And it seems that the cruelty she survived at the hands of you and your peers was the fire that forged her."

Rianne let out a haughty scoff at those words. "Puh-lease, she's a loser. Always has been. Always will be."

"Okay you know what, mega cunt?! You're gonna be a has been in three years," Isaac's voice boomed from the back of the class.

"Mister Richards!" The class fell quiet as Mrs. Matthews shouted. "I will not stand for that language in my classroom. Detention!" She reached into her drawer and pulled out a lanyard attached to a clipboard with "SCIENCE" drawn on it.

Isaac was undeterred, walking to the front of the room with a sway of his hips, making a show of presenting his neck as if he were being given a medal.

"Loser," Rianne muttered.

"Ah what the hell, I'm going to detention anyway." He stood up straight and faced the class again, locking eyes with the cheerleader as he jutted out his hip, smacked his jean-clad butt, and gave her a middle finger. "Future washout."

He passed the principal's office on the way to the designated Detention classroom, and was able to catch you as you were on your way out, clenching and unclenching your writing hand. He had no doubt it was sore from having spent the whole morning completing admission forms and answering qualifying exams.

Your mouth fell open when you saw your friend walking towards you, pointing at the "lanyard of shame" around his neck. "What did you do that had Mrs. Matthews give you that?"

"I called Rianne a mega cunt." You let out a borderline witchy cackle at his answer. "So that's it? You're all done with Augustine?"

"Yeah. I'll probably pay y'all a visit in a few years for your graduation. I refuse to miss out on seeing you guys march." He took the lanyard off and held out his arms, and you happily stepped into the embrace. "I'm gonna miss you goofs."

"Oh don't be such a drama queen, we'll see each other on the weekends. And holiday breaks. And in a few years we'll all be at Columbia together." He placed his hands on your shoulders and gave you a reassuring squeeze. "And we'll make sure to video call every few days to make sure you're not just running on Red Bull and burgers. Don't be a stranger, babe."

"I won't, I promise." You could feel your throat close up. You didn't think that you were gonna get emotional finally leaving these cursed halls. "And I'll make sure to take some extra units in a few years if that's what it takes to share a class with y'all again." You motioned your head towards the Detention room. "Now go. Before you get into more trouble."

When you got to your car, you gave the vast campus of Augustine High School one final look, not surprised that you didn't feel particularly sentimental about this part. Other than Syd, Shane, and Isaac, you would miss nothing and no one within the school's gates.

"Good riddance," you muttered as you drove away.

Today

"Jellybean, we're throwing you a party."

Your head snapped up so fast the motion nearly cricked your neck. Tony's announcement was more than enough to break your focus out of the braid you were practicing on Morgan's hair. "The fuck? What for?"

"Teehee…fuck," the small child squeaked beside you, an adorably toothy grin stretched across her face as she looked up at you. "I sound like you, Auntie Y/N."

"Uh uh," Tony quipped, snapping his fingers first Morgan's way, and then towards a jar in the middle of the common room. "Swear jar, little lady. You know better than to repeat your Auntie Y/N's no-no words."

You rolled your eyes at the billionaire, reaching into your pocket and handing your goddaughter a few bills. "No way that's coming out of your allowance, baby." She happily took the bills from your hand, giving you a kiss on the cheek before she skipped towards the swear jar. You addressed her father next, "Party's really not necessary, Tony. Can't you just do that pseudo-knighting schtick you did with Parker?"

"'Course we can." He made his way over to you, touching his hand across your shoulders before making a blessing motion like a priest. "Agent Y/L/N, you're officially an Avenger."

"Thank you."

"First order of business is to have you inducted."

"Press con," you told him. You really didn't want a party.

"Press con with music. And drinks. And food."

"That's a party, Tony," you grumbled. "There's really no need."

"Nonsense, Lady Y/N," Thor's booming voice filled the common area before he even physically stepped into the room. "There is always a good reason to throw a party." He walked toward the pantry with a large wagon stacked high with boxes in tow. "My brother and I have fulfilled our grocery duty for the year, Stark. Remove our names from that wheel of yours now."

You were on your feet the second he mentioned his brother, quickly busying yourself with unloading the wagon so you could avoid interacting with him.

The last thing you needed was the raven haired god sussing out that you had heart eyes for him if he so much as threw a "hello" your way. No good ever came from someone that drop dead gorgeous knowing what kind of effect they had on you.

"Thank you, Point Break. Finally someone who sees reason. Come on, Y/N, it'll be fun. Think of it like having another Prom."

"Didn't go to Prom, Tony," you called out before lifting the first box off the wagon with a loud grunt.

"What the--Why the hell not? Dressed to the nines? Time capsule of what music was 'hip' at the time? Spiking the punch bowl? How could you miss that?"

"Tested out of High School on my sophomore year," you told him, letting out little grunts of frustration when your box cutter's blade kept on snagging on the packaging tape. "Turned out to work in my favor because on what would've been my Prom night, there was a Taylor Swift concert in my town, so I got to see her live and sit in the VIP section back when tickets didn't cost two thousand dollars a pop."

Just then, Shane walked in to the room, shrugging off his lab coat and putting it on the coat hanger before rushing over to where you were standing, looking like he was bursting at the seams to tell you what fresh bit of gossip he'd become privy to. "Babe. Babe babe babe you're never gonna believe this--"

"Wait, before that, tell Tony about Prom. His face is still giving denial."

"What about it?"

"Me at Prom," you clarified.

"Ohh yeah, no. Y/N didn't go, Boss. She got VIP for the Speak Now tour for under two hundred dollars. Lucky bitch."

"Teehee…bitch," Morgan repeated. You didn't even hesitate to reach into your pocket and put down a couple more dollars on the counter for her swear jar.

"Sorry…" your old friend trailed off, grimacing in Tony's direction. "We still wrote in her name for Prom Queen, though."

"Girl, what do you mean 'we'?" You lightly hit his arm with the back of your hand.

"The three of us," he told you. "Plus some other ones that refused to vote for those god awful cheerleaders. Pretty sure you were runner up."

"But like…she doesn't even go here," you said in a goofy voice, mimicing Damien from Mean Girls, which had both him and Stark breaking out into a laugh. "But anyways…what were you gonna say?"

"Ohh, right. Remember Rianne Jacobs?"

The name had you standing up straighter, visibly on edge. "Wish I didn't," you answered him. "What about her?"

"So remember when my husband called her a future washout?" You nodded, prompting him to continue. "Well it looks like she's been struggling to get a job, so she had to humble herself and now guess who's the new receptionist for the receiving area of the Avengers Compound."

"No fucking way," you blurted out, automatically slapping down another couple dollars before Morgan even repeated the words. "But like…isn't receptionist supposed to be an entry level job? For fresh grads? We all graduated about a decade ago, what is she even--"

"Unhand me, you foul human," you heard Loki raise his voice at someone near the Compound's main entrance. His tone had everyone in the room standing ramrod straight and alert.

The last time he spoke like that, he was in Stuttgart and commanding everyone to kneel before him.

He walked into your view, a look of pure revulsion on his face at whoever he was talking to, before his eyes scanned the expanse of the common area. That look of disgust faded and turned into something decidedly more friendly when his gaze reached the kitchen and pantry area where you stood.

"You okay?" you asked him, trying to keep your tone casual. From the corner of your eye, you could see Shane giving you a knowing look, wordlessly teasing you. You kicked at his dress shoes in response.

"I demand words with whosoever hired that disgustingly promiscuous woman at the front desk." He visibly shuddered before walking towards you.

"Let me guess," you quipped, looking over at Shane. "Rianne?"

"Right on the money, honey," he confirmed with a little snap.

"You have the displeasure of knowing that woman, darling?" Loki asked you, lightly touching his fingertips to the inside of your wrist.

"Uhm…yeah," you answered him, your voice coming out in a little squeak. You cleared your throat before speaking again. "Yes, unfortunately. Shane and I, we went to school with her." You tried to subtly move your arm away from his hold, clasping your hands together instead, and you immediately started picking at the sides of your nails. "Anyway uhh…what did she…do exactly that got you ticked? I mean, whatever it is you were probably in the right. She's the absolute worst."

The way your words were tumbling out of you had the god breaking into a soft laugh. "Right. She has no regard for physical boundaries and kept on trying to press herself against me. And she kept insisting on taking your drink."

Your brows scrunched together at his statement. "Uhh--I don't remember…I--" You clamped your lips shut, composing yourself before talking again. "I didn't leave a drink at the front desk."

The god's face broke out into a soft smile, the kind that had your heart doing somersaults, as he stepped closer towards you. Shane took that as a cue to back away. "No, of course. I simply meant that…I brought a drink. For you." That was when you caught sight of the can he was holding in his other hand.

You fought to keep your expression fairly neutral, ultimately failing as your eyes widened and you started smiling ear to ear like you were a lovestruck teenager all over again. "Ohh! Uhm…y-you didn't have to do that. I saw a whole case of them at the bottom of the wagon, it's all good, really."

Unbeknownst to either of you, Morgan walked up to the blond Asgardian, pulling on his pant leg and asking him point blank, "Uncle Barbie, does Prince Loki like Auntie Y/N?" Thor simply nodded at the small child, unable to help but smile as he watched the scene unfold before him. Morgan walked over to Shane next. "And does she like him back?" When he nodded, she held her tiny hands over her mouth and started pitter-pattering her feet on the floor.

"No erm…I know, I placed the case in myself," he clarified. The onlookers all gave each other a knowing look, clearly amused that the god seemed to be equally tongue tied as you. "I just noticed this flavor seemed new and only got the one for you to try. And perhaps if you found it to your liking, we could get more?"

"Ohh…" you squeaked, your smile getting wider. You watched in awe as his hand and forearm turned cobalt blue for a split second and suddenly the can was frosted over. "That's…that's really thoughtful, thank you." When you moved to take the can from him, he gave you a soft smile, holding your forearm with his free hand and then closing his other hand over yours once you were holding the near freezing drink.

"Mister Laufeyson, I'm so sorry about my behavior earlier, maybe we could--" The sound of Rianne's shrill voice broke you out of the moment, and both you and Loki moved to look at her standing at the threshold of the common area. Her face went from lustful to downright loathsome the second she saw how close you two were standing together. And how he held your hand. "What in the flying fuck are you doing here, freak? Pretty sure this area of the compound isn't for staff."

Before anyone could speak up and read her for filth, you snapped at her. "I live here, receptionist," you hissed her way. "And it's Agent Y/L/N to you."

The color left her face and she backed away from the doorway slowly, mumbling an apology you knew she didn't mean. Despite all the time that had passed, that short interaction showed you she never had and never would possess a remorseful bone in her body.

"Okay so maybe I left out a tiny detail earlier…" you trailed off, turning to face the god again. "We didn't just go to school with her, she was my bully. Well, one of my bullies. The main one, really."

Tony made his way over to Morgan's swear jar, already placing a few bills in before reacting. "That raging bitch was your bully? Ohh she's fired." He tapped on his tablet furiously before making a swiping motion as if he was sending something out into the world. "And if she tries to file a complaint for unlawful termination, we've got footage of how she acted around both you and Reindeer Games." He then clapped his hands together and addressed everyone in the room. "But anyway. Party. Two weeks from now. To celebrate Y/N officially becoming an Avenger. And Jellybean, just think of this like a do-over for the Prom you never had."

"Sorry, what is a 'Prom'?" Thor asked, raising his hand into the air.

"It's basically a ball," you answered him, every part of you still acutely aware that to this moment, Loki was still holding your hand. "When we reach a certain age in school, we have one for our whole class. But I qualified to graduate from school before I reached that age, so I never went to my year's Prom."

"A ball, you say?" You turned your head and stifled a gasp, seeing how intently the god of mischief was staring at you, opting to just nod your head at him. "Perhaps we could share a dance, then?"

"Uhh…sure." Your voice grew small again, your breath hitching when he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before finally taking a step back from you.

As you went about unloading the wagon, insisting that you could proceed with the task on your own and politely declining Loki's offer of assistance, questions began to bubble up in Thor's mind. He noted how despite the relationships you'd built among the team, you still behaved as if you were alone on your own isolated island.

How whenever his brother would show you even the smallest fraction of his affection for you, you would flinch away. As if you were resisting against accepting even the simple gesture of the prince getting a beverage for you.

How when he offered you his dagger once he saw how your own blade had turned pitifully dull, you hesitated. And moved with great caution, your stance defensive. As if you were bracing for an outburst akin to how his brother reacted to the advances of your childhood tormentor.

And seeing as he had a unique opportunity to gain some insight from the Stark Industries scientist who had known you for a rather sizable portion of you life, he seized it. "Why does Lady Y/N behave like that?" he asked Shane.

"Like what?"

"With my brother," the blond Asgardian clarified. "It is clear to anyone that looks upon them that he carries a great affection for her. And I can see even with her peculiar behavior that she returns his affections. So why does she behave as if she's readying herself to be rejected by him?"

As your old friend recounted your experience at the hands of an insipid boy named Justin from a decade and a half ago, his heart began to hurt. Not just for you, but for his brother as well. He knew of your experience far too well, having to watch Loki go through something similar during their youth back in Asgard.

From multiple individuals. Striking up a friendship, feigning romantic interest -- some even going so far as to turning the false relationship sexual -- all with the intent of leveraging his social status as an Asgardian royal to further their own selfish agendas. Using the younger prince as a stepping stone for their narrow and paltry ambitions.

"When she plays with Morgan, do you ever notice how she practically runs away from playing Cinderella? Short of kicking and screaming?" Thor quietly nodded at Shane's question. "Well that's because that's what Justin called her. Because, and I'm directly quoting from the son of a bitch here, 'the best part about Cinderella is eventually the clock strikes midnight, and she turns back into a pumpkin'. So I'm only gonna tell you this because that girl right there is like a sister to me, and I want her to be happy…having a literal prince pursuing her? She will try to run. Kicking and screaming. Your brother needs to be ready to run after her."

When you were finished unloading and flattening the first box atop the large grocery wagon, the Compound's office manager walked into the common area, relieving you of the task and unwittingly pushing you into continuing your conversation with Loki devoid of any distractions. Shane took that as his cue to announce his departure for the night.

"Okay babe, I'm off. How's about we make a date for this weekend to find you a dress for this party?"

"Fine," you grumbled, giving him a quick hug before he walked out of the common room. "Drive safe, okay?"

"Always," he shot back. "Let's find you something in that dark green you look so good in. Swear to God, babe, that's your color."

You made a "no" motion with your hands. "Not my color, babe. Not anymore. It's his," you said in a rushed tone, motioning your head towards Loki.

He gave you a playful look before disappearing down the hall, blurting out, "I know…".

"Come to think of it, we should all get going," Stark spoke up, lifting his daughter into the air. "I gotta put little Maguna to bed, and two of you have mission briefing in the morning with Rogers. And knowing Capsicle, it's at oh-seven-hundred." He bounced the little girl in his arms. "Say bye bye, Maguna."

"Bye bye Maguna," she repeated with an endearing toothy grin. When she passed by where you and Loki stood, she threw her arms around your neck, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Goodnight, Princess Auntie Y/N."

"Not a princess," you told her, kissing her hair. "Goodnight, baby."

"Not yet," she giggled as her father carried her away.

"May I walk you to your chambers, darling?" Loki offered, presenting you his hand to take. Thor watched fascinated as your hand instinctively raised to accept, but stopped midway. It seemed that urge to "run away kicking and screaming", as Shane mentioned, ran deep inside you.

"Ohh uhm…it's okay, you don't have to," you answered, your voice barely audible even with the god's comparatively more advanced hearing. He gave his brother a look, wordlessly urging him to insist.

"I want to," he pressed, seeming to take his brother's cue. The blond Asgardian watched on with a smile as his brother gently took your hand and you walked out of the common room with him.

It seemed he wouldn't have to coach his brother on how to prove his intention to you. Loki looked more than ready to chase after you regardless. No matter how long it took.

A/N: To say this got away from me is the biggest understatement of the month 😂 And this is only part 1 of 3…

Also if it wasn't that obvious…this is another one of those "vent" pieces that draw from my actual experiences. I am so annoyed to tell y'all that Justin Vergazo and Rianne Jacobs are based on actual people I've had the displeasure of knowing.

Anyways…this was actually enough to get me out of my writing slump (kind of) so I'm gonna see if this is finally the jump I needed to start working on 'relinquish the crown'.

Fifteen years ago…

You weren't usually one to do touch ups on your appearance throughout the day; you'd pick your outfit and fix your hair before you even left the house, and that was that. Today, though…today was different. And so were the last few days.

Ever since your Science class teacher Mrs. Matthews made you lab partners with Justin, currently the most popular guy in your year after he helped the football team secure a spot at Nationals as a sophomore. The girls were practically tripping over themselves the day the pairings were announced, bribe presents in hand for your teacher to hopefully partner him up with them.

But then she produced a piece of paper from her satchel, revealing that not only could she not be swayed, but she'd already determined who would be paired off with whom for this particular project. And by her decree, Justin was your partner.

So for the last week and a half, you took it upon yourself to dart off into the girls' bathroom before your Science class and make sure that you didn't have any strands of hair poking up and out of your ponytail. After all, it never hurt to make yourself presentable. You swiped on a thin coat of Chapstick and pinched your cheeks, deciding you were ready for the class ahead, and giddily walked to Mrs. Matthews' classroom with a spring in your step.

"Y/N, can I talk to you a minute?"

Turning around, you came face to face with Sydney, a girl you shared both History and English with. She seemed uneasy, hands gripped tight to the strap of her crossbody bag and her lips pressed together in an awkward grimace.

"Sure," you told her, glancing at the wall clock nearby. You had time before class started.

"I heard you're partnered up with Justin in Science?" She gave you a tight smile as you vigorously nodded your head. "Something you need to know. I know that right now he's been like super sweet to you, acting all interested. Probably even had lunch with you once or twice since Mrs. Matthews paired you up?"

"Hang on, what is this, Syd?"

"Just--Yes or no, Y/N."

"I--I mean, yes. We've been getting to know each other since Mrs. Matthews partnered us up, there's nothing wrong with that, what the fuck."

She took a breath, her knuckles going white as she gripped her bag strap even tighter. "God damn, I was hoping that this wasn't the case."

"You know, jealousy really isn't a good look on you," you said through gritted teeth, squinting your eyes at her. You could feel yourself freakishly getting warmer despite your hands starting to get clammy. Great. Now you had to go to the bathroom again and make sure your face wasn't splotchy before going into the classroom.

You were gonna be late for Science.

"Girl, trust me?! This isn't jealousy." Her voice grew a bit more shrill, her stance getting defensive. "I was partnered with him for a book report last semester. He did the same thing. Had lunch with me, even asked me to hang out with him one weekend. He would say things that made me think he was reading the book and actually putting in the work, and before I knew it, I unknowingly wrote our entire book report without him putting in a single word other than his name. And then when we got our papers back and he got his A+, suddenly it's like he couldn't even be within six feet of me. Like I was contagious or something."

You took a few breaths before answering her, smoothing your hands over your clothes and straightening your posture. "Well that's nothing like this project. He actually helps, he's just not that good with the actual writing, so he sends links."

"Links?" she repeated, snorting at the word. "That's it? Not even some notes about what he read on the page? Like at least tell me he did that."

If you were a cartoon, your ears would have been steaming by now. "This is nothing like that," you insisted, turning on your heel and stomping into Mrs. Matthews' classroom.

Justin was already inside, and when he saw you he waved you over, patting the back of the seat next to his. The cheerleaders he was talking to threw you a snarky look before turning around with a flip of their hair and catwalking out of the room to their own class.

"You okay?" he asked you once you set your bag down. "You're looking a bit red."

"Huh?" you said dumbly, shaking your head like a dog, as if that would help in shooing away your irritation. "Yeah, yeah, of course. It's just…warm." You tried not to cringe at your lame excuse.

"It really is," he said with a smile, reaching into his own bag and pulling out a bottle of Gatorade. "Here. It should help."

"What? No, no, it's okay." You made a motion with your hands to politely decline. "You need it. You have like…practice later."

Your breath audibly hitched when he reached over and took your hand, placing the bottle in it and closing your fingers around it. He gave you one of those wide shining grins that always had the girls swooning. "We have water fountains, I'll be fine. Really, Y/N, I insist."

"Okay," you said, your voice smaller than usual. Almost squeaky. "Thank you."

"By the way I found a few more links that might be useful for our paper."

You tried to silence Sydney's words to you from earlier, forcing a smile on your face as you tried to keep yourself checked in to this conversation. "Ohh, yeah…just send it over to me after school. Honestly we're making really good progress, we might be able to turn our paper in by like…next week, probably."

"Oh sick! You're awesome." Your heart did a little flutter at his words, followed by a big flutter when he placed his arm over the back of your seat, leaning in a bit closer to you. "What're your plans for the weekend, by the way?"

"Uhh, I--Ahh--uhm…" you stammered, words suddenly failing to process between your brain and your mouth. "Nothing, really. I don't like making plans for my free time, I usually just like to keep it…you know, free." You capped off your bumbling answer with a lame chuckle. Though it felt a little less lame when he let out a little laugh along with you.

"Well, I'm throwing a little pool party on Saturday. You should come. Maybe spend some of your free time there. With me."

The widest smile stretched across your face at his words. "I'd like that."

"Great! I'll see you there. And listen, just because it's a pool party you don't need to feel pressured to wear like a bikini or something. Casual dress code, I promise."

You drove like a madman straight out of the school parking lot to the mall the second the final bell rang for the day, spending about a month's worth of your savings on an outfit for Saturday. That morning, you received a text from him that the party would start at around 4 in the afternoon, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you there.

For most of the morning, you worked your brain to a screeching halt finishing up the paper and printing it with both your names on the cover page. You figured it would be a nice surprise to present the paper for him to sign -- as per Mrs. Matthews' instructions for submitting this particular assignment -- perhaps sometime after the party was over.

Giving yourself another once over in the mirror, you made a few final adjustments to the dark evergreen two-piece swimsuit you'd chosen before draping the sheer black caftan your mom lent you over your shoulders. You decided to follow your parents' advice and drive to the rather opulent neighborhood that Justin's family lived in. "That way you don't have to wait for us in case you need to make a quick exit," your dad said before tossing you the car keys.

When you pulled up to the Vergazo family's home, there were already a handful of cars parked in the driveway. You slung your little crocheted satchel across your body and walked through the towering double doors, a member of the house staff pointing you toward the backyard where thumping music was coming from.

You were quickly drawn to the fire pit, and you decided you'd go over there to mingle with a few friendly faces from your other classes before you went around to look for Justin. On your way there, you crossed paths with Syd, and you gave each other a small smile, both of you hoping that the ugliness from earlier this week was something you could easily get past.

The way you saw it, no friendship was worth throwing away over a guy. Any guy.

"Damn girl, you look good!" Shane, another one of your and Syd's friends, exclaimed. He slowly clapped alongside his boyfriend Isaac, scooting over on the curved bench to clear up some room for you. "Where the hell you been hiding all that?"

"Under my fear for getting dress coded," you shot back, raising your voice so he could hear you over the loud music. "You know how some of the teachers get if you show so much as an inch of clavicle."

Both boys threw their heads back, laughing as they quoted one of your teachers in a mocking tone. "You're distracting the boys' learning!"

"Honestly though, I swear one of them has it out for you," Shane said. "Didn't I hear like last week that Health teacher tried to code you for showing too much neck?"

"Ugh, you mean Miss Boom Shaka Laka?" That made the boys let out a laugh again. "I'm not even gonna bother knowing her actual name, I'm putting in a request that that hateful bitch never becomes my teacher, she's gonna fail me on the spot. But yeah…and I remember last semester she tried to code Syd too. And I shit you not, it was for her sleeves being too short."

"Someone should report her," Isaac spoke up. "That feels…like, I don't know, a bit vindictive."

"Feels like that bad guy from Totally Spies," Shane quipped.

"She's bald! She's bald and she's torturing people with hair!" you all said in unison before breaking out into another fit of laughter.

The music started to quiet down and the DJ's mic began to pick up a conversation that came through on the speakers. Shane made a motion for both you and Isaac to stop talking, tilting his head toward the speakers. Two voices were getting picked up by the mic. One was Rianne, captain of the cheer squad.

The other voice was Justin's.

"Can't believe you even invited that freak here. She's gonna kill the whole vibe when she gets here," she complained to him.

"Ohh hey that's me," you deadpanned at the guys, waving your arms toward each other like goofs. "Too late, byotch. Already here."

"Come on, baby," he cooed at her. "Don't be like that. Every girl deserves to be Cinderella for a night."

"You're too fucking sweet to her," she hissed. "Pushing your goddamn luck, I'm two steps away from making turning Cinderella into Prom Queen Carrie."

"Ohh this mega cunt needs to be put down," Isaac seethed, already making a motion to stand up.

"Don't even bother, she's not worth it," you told him, reaching over his boyfriend to grab onto his arm and make him sit back down. "In a couple years we're gonna be out of this hellhole and we'll be free of bitches like Rianne. And she's gonna be whining about the next girl whose mere existence offends her, and whatever we're doing? My hand to God we will be killing it."

"Yeah, but Ri you know the best part about Cinderella, right?" Justin's voice came through on the speakers again. "Eventually the clock strikes midnight, and then everything that was going right with her life turns right back to shit."

You and the boyfriends gave each other a look, as if telling each other 'Are you hearing this shit?'

"But baby how long do I have to wait for fucking midnight already?"

"She said we're ready to turn in that paper to Mrs. Matthews this week, baby." Your stomach dropped at his reveal, and Shane grabbed on to your hand, Isaac moving to sit on your other side. "Almost time to turn back into a pumpkin." A few moments passed and then his voice came through again. "Ohh hey Sydney. I asked Y/N to come here today, do you know if she's gonna be here soon?"

"She's already here." You could hear the amount of restraint that Syd was exerting in just those three words. "Friendly advice? Try not having incriminating conversations when you're like two feet from a microphone."

A collective 'Ooooh' broke out all over the Vergazos' backyard, and you stood up from your seat, facing Justin and Rianne's direction. Even from this far you could see a bit of the color leaving his face when he locked eyes with you.

"Dumb fucking jock," Syd muttered before walking back toward the fire pit.

Once she made her way over to you and the guys, all you managed to say as you felt your fingers go numb was, "You were right. And I was wrong. I'm sorry."

"Babe, you have nothing to apologize for. He's the asshole in this," she reassured you, taking hold of one of your hands. "Let's just get out of here."

"No, I should get to be the asshole, too," you said, your tone detached as you reached into your bag, pulling out your joint research project. The one you worked like a dog to finish before you left the house. The one he didn't do a damn thing to help with because he "wasn't any good with the writing bits".

You didn't break eye contact with the football player as you side stepped toward the open fire and tossed the paper in there. His expression quickly turned panicked as the flames grew nearly as tall as you for a split second, the stench of burning paper filling the air.

"Now let's get outta here," you told your friends, already walking out of the fire pit and maneuvering through the people so you can get back to your car.

You all let out a collective groan when you heard Justin's frantic words following after you. "Y/N, I'm sorry--"

"Fuck off," the four of you said in unison, walking through the open front doors. You settled yourselves into your car, and once you were seated you finally felt your shoulders slump forward, your head thumping against your steering wheel as tears began to roll down your cheeks.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," you said weakly.

"You're not an idiot, babe. Justin's just an asshole and then some," Syd reassured you, rubbing circles on your upper back.

"Hey, why don't we just go over to my place and we can hang by our pool?" Isaac offered, giving you directions to his family's house just a few blocks over. "I can get our projector set up outside and we can watch Twilight?"

"Deal," you said with a sniffle.

"One more thing? That green looks bomb on you," he said, motioning toward your outfit. "You have to wear it more often. We're gonna make it like 'your color'."

That had you feeling a bit lighter, a laugh bubbling up out of you. "I'll make a note of it."

When the bell rang for Mrs. Matthews' class the Monday after that disaster of a party, you were nowhere to be found. Justin's eyes darted around nervously, hoping that your display from Saturday was nothing more than an outburst, and he could apologize.

With the weight of this project being a solid twenty percent of the class's final grade, he needed to get a decent score if he wanted a chance at a grade good enough for talent scouts to consider him for football scholarships in a few years. He couldn't afford to piss you off enough that you would choose to leave him hanging.

He waited as your other classmates filed in slowly, making a point to secure the seat next to him. He even got you a pink rose, following his older brother Joshua's advice on what he could do to seem sorry and get back on your good side. But as the second bell rang for this period, and Mrs. Matthews stood up to close the door, he knew it was safe to assume you'd chosen to not show your face at school today.

"Guess her tail's still stuck between her legs," Rianne hissed, the sound of the metal legs of her chair scraping the floor filling the room, followed by the clickety clack of her heels as she made her way to the seat next to her boyfriend. "Is this seat taken, baby?"

Justin merely gave her a half-hearted shrug, dismissively waving his hand at the empty seat. "Have at it, Ri."

"Oh." The sound of Mrs. Matthew's voice along with the rapid knocking on the door had his attention snap back to the classroom door.

But the teacher opened the door, you didn't walk through it. Sydney did. Folder in hand.

"Miss Howard, I assume you would be the one to know something about Miss Y/L/N's uncharacteristic absence today?" Your friend quietly nodded, and Justin couldn't hear what she was saying as she handed the folder to your teacher. And then followed by a folded up piece of paper.

Sydney then walked out of the classroom, and his head began to pound as Mrs. Matthews unfolded and read through the paper, a satisfied smile slowly stretching across her face. "Mister Vergazo, you will be accomplishing your final research project alone. Miss Y/L/N has turned in her paper."

"Mrs. Matthews, I thought your decisions on research partners were final--"

"Please save your advocating for your boyfriend's plight for someone who can be swayed, Miss Jacobs," the teacher cut Rianne off. "If you wish to help him, perhaps you can write his papers from now on. According to Miss Y/L/N, he seems to be excellent at sending links."

Her cutting judgment at the couple had the rest of the students in the classroom breaking out into laughter. Some of them even backing up your words and going "Ain't that the truth." Some of them even called him some rather biting terms. Freeloader. Leech. Parasite.

His grades were fucked.

"Mrs. Matthews, do you know where I can find Y/N? Talk to her? Come on, this is our final grade she's playing with."

"Your final grade, Mister Vergazo," she emphasized. "Miss Y/L/N has secured her grades. And you will no longer find her in school today. She's tested out."

"Of our year?" Rianne asked, her voice going up an octave from the incredulity.

"Of High School," the teacher clarified, the classroom filling with mixed reactions. Some awestruck. Most shocked. And then Justin felt his blood go cold at her next words. "It seems, Mister Vergazo, that midnight has struck. But she was never a pumpkin. She was a diamond. And it seems that the cruelty she survived at the hands of you and your peers was the fire that forged her."

Rianne let out a haughty scoff at those words. "Puh-lease, she's a loser. Always has been. Always will be."

"Okay you know what, mega cunt?! You're gonna be a has been in three years," Isaac's voice boomed from the back of the class.

"Mister Richards!" The class fell quiet as Mrs. Matthews shouted. "I will not stand for that language in my classroom. Detention!" She reached into her drawer and pulled out a lanyard attached to a clipboard with "SCIENCE" drawn on it.

Isaac was undeterred, walking to the front of the room with a sway of his hips, making a show of presenting his neck as if he were being given a medal.

"Loser," Rianne muttered.

"Ah what the hell, I'm going to detention anyway." He stood up straight and faced the class again, locking eyes with the cheerleader as he jutted out his hip, smacked his jean-clad butt, and gave her a middle finger. "Future washout."

He passed the principal's office on the way to the designated Detention classroom, and was able to catch you as you were on your way out, clenching and unclenching your writing hand. He had no doubt it was sore from having spent the whole morning completing admission forms and answering qualifying exams.

Your mouth fell open when you saw your friend walking towards you, pointing at the "lanyard of shame" around his neck. "What did you do that had Mrs. Matthews give you that?"

"I called Rianne a mega cunt." You let out a borderline witchy cackle at his answer. "So that's it? You're all done with Augustine?"

"Yeah. I'll probably pay y'all a visit in a few years for your graduation. I refuse to miss out on seeing you guys march." He took the lanyard off and held out his arms, and you happily stepped into the embrace. "I'm gonna miss you goofs."

"Oh don't be such a drama queen, we'll see each other on the weekends. And holiday breaks. And in a few years we'll all be at Columbia together." He placed his hands on your shoulders and gave you a reassuring squeeze. "And we'll make sure to video call every few days to make sure you're not just running on Red Bull and burgers. Don't be a stranger, babe."

"I won't, I promise." You could feel your throat close up. You didn't think that you were gonna get emotional finally leaving these cursed halls. "And I'll make sure to take some extra units in a few years if that's what it takes to share a class with y'all again." You motioned your head towards the Detention room. "Now go. Before you get into more trouble."

When you got to your car, you gave the vast campus of Augustine High School one final look, not surprised that you didn't feel particularly sentimental about this part. Other than Syd, Shane, and Isaac, you would miss nothing and no one within the school's gates.

"Good riddance," you muttered as you drove away.

Today

"Jellybean, we're throwing you a party."

Your head snapped up so fast the motion nearly cricked your neck. Tony's announcement was more than enough to break your focus out of the braid you were practicing on Morgan's hair. "The fuck? What for?"

"Teehee…fuck," the small child squeaked beside you, an adorably toothy grin stretched across her face as she looked up at you. "I sound like you, Auntie Y/N."

"Uh uh," Tony quipped, snapping his fingers first Morgan's way, and then towards a jar in the middle of the common room. "Swear jar, little lady. You know better than to repeat your Auntie Y/N's no-no words."

You rolled your eyes at the billionaire, reaching into your pocket and handing your goddaughter a few bills. "No way that's coming out of your allowance, baby." She happily took the bills from your hand, giving you a kiss on the cheek before she skipped towards the swear jar. You addressed her father next, "Party's really not necessary, Tony. Can't you just do that pseudo-knighting schtick you did with Parker?"

"'Course we can." He made his way over to you, touching his hand across your shoulders before making a blessing motion like a priest. "Agent Y/L/N, you're officially an Avenger."

"Thank you."

"First order of business is to have you inducted."

"Press con," you told him. You really didn't want a party.

"Press con with music. And drinks. And food."

"That's a party, Tony," you grumbled. "There's really no need."

"Nonsense, Lady Y/N," Thor's booming voice filled the common area before he even physically stepped into the room. "There is always a good reason to throw a party." He walked toward the pantry with a large wagon stacked high with boxes in tow. "My brother and I have fulfilled our grocery duty for the year, Stark. Remove our names from that wheel of yours now."

You were on your feet the second he mentioned his brother, quickly busying yourself with unloading the wagon so you could avoid interacting with him.

The last thing you needed was the raven haired god sussing out that you had heart eyes for him if he so much as threw a "hello" your way. No good ever came from someone that drop dead gorgeous knowing what kind of effect they had on you.

"Thank you, Point Break. Finally someone who sees reason. Come on, Y/N, it'll be fun. Think of it like having another Prom."

"Didn't go to Prom, Tony," you called out before lifting the first box off the wagon with a loud grunt.

"What the--Why the hell not? Dressed to the nines? Time capsule of what music was 'hip' at the time? Spiking the punch bowl? How could you miss that?"

"Tested out of High School on my sophomore year," you told him, letting out little grunts of frustration when your box cutter's blade kept on snagging on the packaging tape. "Turned out to work in my favor because on what would've been my Prom night, there was a Taylor Swift concert in my town, so I got to see her live and sit in the VIP section back when tickets didn't cost two thousand dollars a pop."

Just then, Shane walked in to the room, shrugging off his lab coat and putting it on the coat hanger before rushing over to where you were standing, looking like he was bursting at the seams to tell you what fresh bit of gossip he'd become privy to. "Babe. Babe babe babe you're never gonna believe this--"

"Wait, before that, tell Tony about Prom. His face is still giving denial."

"What about it?"

"Me at Prom," you clarified.

"Ohh yeah, no. Y/N didn't go, Boss. She got VIP for the Speak Now tour for under two hundred dollars. Lucky bitch."

"Teehee…bitch," Morgan repeated. You didn't even hesitate to reach into your pocket and put down a couple more dollars on the counter for her swear jar.

"Sorry…" your old friend trailed off, grimacing in Tony's direction. "We still wrote in her name for Prom Queen, though."

"Girl, what do you mean 'we'?" You lightly hit his arm with the back of your hand.

"The three of us," he told you. "Plus some other ones that refused to vote for those god awful cheerleaders. Pretty sure you were runner up."

"But like…she doesn't even go here," you said in a goofy voice, mimicing Damien from Mean Girls, which had both him and Stark breaking out into a laugh. "But anyways…what were you gonna say?"

"Ohh, right. Remember Rianne Jacobs?"

The name had you standing up straighter, visibly on edge. "Wish I didn't," you answered him. "What about her?"

"So remember when my husband called her a future washout?" You nodded, prompting him to continue. "Well it looks like she's been struggling to get a job, so she had to humble herself and now guess who's the new receptionist for the receiving area of the Avengers Compound."

"No fucking way," you blurted out, automatically slapping down another couple dollars before Morgan even repeated the words. "But like…isn't receptionist supposed to be an entry level job? For fresh grads? We all graduated about a decade ago, what is she even--"

"Unhand me, you foul human," you heard Loki raise his voice at someone near the Compound's main entrance. His tone had everyone in the room standing ramrod straight and alert.

The last time he spoke like that, he was in Stuttgart and commanding everyone to kneel before him.

He walked into your view, a look of pure revulsion on his face at whoever he was talking to, before his eyes scanned the expanse of the common area. That look of disgust faded and turned into something decidedly more friendly when his gaze reached the kitchen and pantry area where you stood.

"You okay?" you asked him, trying to keep your tone casual. From the corner of your eye, you could see Shane giving you a knowing look, wordlessly teasing you. You kicked at his dress shoes in response.

"I demand words with whosoever hired that disgustingly promiscuous woman at the front desk." He visibly shuddered before walking towards you.

"Let me guess," you quipped, looking over at Shane. "Rianne?"

"Right on the money, honey," he confirmed with a little snap.

"You have the displeasure of knowing that woman, darling?" Loki asked you, lightly touching his fingertips to the inside of your wrist.

"Uhm…yeah," you answered him, your voice coming out in a little squeak. You cleared your throat before speaking again. "Yes, unfortunately. Shane and I, we went to school with her." You tried to subtly move your arm away from his hold, clasping your hands together instead, and you immediately started picking at the sides of your nails. "Anyway uhh…what did she…do exactly that got you ticked? I mean, whatever it is you were probably in the right. She's the absolute worst."

The way your words were tumbling out of you had the god breaking into a soft laugh. "Right. She has no regard for physical boundaries and kept on trying to press herself against me. And she kept insisting on taking your drink."

Your brows scrunched together at his statement. "Uhh--I don't remember…I--" You clamped your lips shut, composing yourself before talking again. "I didn't leave a drink at the front desk."

The god's face broke out into a soft smile, the kind that had your heart doing somersaults, as he stepped closer towards you. Shane took that as a cue to back away. "No, of course. I simply meant that…I brought a drink. For you." That was when you caught sight of the can he was holding in his other hand.

You fought to keep your expression fairly neutral, ultimately failing as your eyes widened and you started smiling ear to ear like you were a lovestruck teenager all over again. "Ohh! Uhm…y-you didn't have to do that. I saw a whole case of them at the bottom of the wagon, it's all good, really."

Unbeknownst to either of you, Morgan walked up to the blond Asgardian, pulling on his pant leg and asking him point blank, "Uncle Barbie, does Prince Loki like Auntie Y/N?" Thor simply nodded at the small child, unable to help but smile as he watched the scene unfold before him. Morgan walked over to Shane next. "And does she like him back?" When he nodded, she held her tiny hands over her mouth and started pitter-pattering her feet on the floor.

"No erm…I know, I placed the case in myself," he clarified. The onlookers all gave each other a knowing look, clearly amused that the god seemed to be equally tongue tied as you. "I just noticed this flavor seemed new and only got the one for you to try. And perhaps if you found it to your liking, we could get more?"

"Ohh…" you squeaked, your smile getting wider. You watched in awe as his hand and forearm turned cobalt blue for a split second and suddenly the can was frosted over. "That's…that's really thoughtful, thank you." When you moved to take the can from him, he gave you a soft smile, holding your forearm with his free hand and then closing his other hand over yours once you were holding the near freezing drink.

"Mister Laufeyson, I'm so sorry about my behavior earlier, maybe we could--" The sound of Rianne's shrill voice broke you out of the moment, and both you and Loki moved to look at her standing at the threshold of the common area. Her face went from lustful to downright loathsome the second she saw how close you two were standing together. And how he held your hand. "What in the flying fuck are you doing here, freak? Pretty sure this area of the compound isn't for staff."

Before anyone could speak up and read her for filth, you snapped at her. "I live here, receptionist," you hissed her way. "And it's Agent Y/L/N to you."

The color left her face and she backed away from the doorway slowly, mumbling an apology you knew she didn't mean. Despite all the time that had passed, that short interaction showed you she never had and never would possess a remorseful bone in her body.

"Okay so maybe I left out a tiny detail earlier…" you trailed off, turning to face the god again. "We didn't just go to school with her, she was my bully. Well, one of my bullies. The main one, really."

Tony made his way over to Morgan's swear jar, already placing a few bills in before reacting. "That raging bitch was your bully? Ohh she's fired." He tapped on his tablet furiously before making a swiping motion as if he was sending something out into the world. "And if she tries to file a complaint for unlawful termination, we've got footage of how she acted around both you and Reindeer Games." He then clapped his hands together and addressed everyone in the room. "But anyway. Party. Two weeks from now. To celebrate Y/N officially becoming an Avenger. And Jellybean, just think of this like a do-over for the Prom you never had."

"Sorry, what is a 'Prom'?" Thor asked, raising his hand into the air.

"It's basically a ball," you answered him, every part of you still acutely aware that to this moment, Loki was still holding your hand. "When we reach a certain age in school, we have one for our whole class. But I qualified to graduate from school before I reached that age, so I never went to my year's Prom."

"A ball, you say?" You turned your head and stifled a gasp, seeing how intently the god of mischief was staring at you, opting to just nod your head at him. "Perhaps we could share a dance, then?"

"Uhh…sure." Your voice grew small again, your breath hitching when he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before finally taking a step back from you.

As you went about unloading the wagon, insisting that you could proceed with the task on your own and politely declining Loki's offer of assistance, questions began to bubble up in Thor's mind. He noted how despite the relationships you'd built among the team, you still behaved as if you were alone on your own isolated island.

How whenever his brother would show you even the smallest fraction of his affection for you, you would flinch away. As if you were resisting against accepting even the simple gesture of the prince getting a beverage for you.

How when he offered you his dagger once he saw how your own blade had turned pitifully dull, you hesitated. And moved with great caution, your stance defensive. As if you were bracing for an outburst akin to how his brother reacted to the advances of your childhood tormentor.

And seeing as he had a unique opportunity to gain some insight from the Stark Industries scientist who had known you for a rather sizable portion of you life, he seized it. "Why does Lady Y/N behave like that?" he asked Shane.

"Like what?"

"With my brother," the blond Asgardian clarified. "It is clear to anyone that looks upon them that he carries a great affection for her. And I can see even with her peculiar behavior that she returns his affections. So why does she behave as if she's readying herself to be rejected by him?"

As your old friend recounted your experience at the hands of an insipid boy named Justin from a decade and a half ago, his heart began to hurt. Not just for you, but for his brother as well. He knew of your experience far too well, having to watch Loki go through something similar during their youth back in Asgard.

From multiple individuals. Striking up a friendship, feigning romantic interest -- some even going so far as to turning the false relationship sexual -- all with the intent of leveraging his social status as an Asgardian royal to further their own selfish agendas. Using the younger prince as a stepping stone for their narrow and paltry ambitions.

"When she plays with Morgan, do you ever notice how she practically runs away from playing Cinderella? Short of kicking and screaming?" Thor quietly nodded at Shane's question. "Well that's because that's what Justin called her. Because, and I'm directly quoting from the son of a bitch here, 'the best part about Cinderella is eventually the clock strikes midnight, and she turns back into a pumpkin'. So I'm only gonna tell you this because that girl right there is like a sister to me, and I want her to be happy…having a literal prince pursuing her? She will try to run. Kicking and screaming. Your brother needs to be ready to run after her."

When you were finished unloading and flattening the first box atop the large grocery wagon, the Compound's office manager walked into the common area, relieving you of the task and unwittingly pushing you into continuing your conversation with Loki devoid of any distractions. Shane took that as his cue to announce his departure for the night.

"Okay babe, I'm off. How's about we make a date for this weekend to find you a dress for this party?"

"Fine," you grumbled, giving him a quick hug before he walked out of the common room. "Drive safe, okay?"

"Always," he shot back. "Let's find you something in that dark green you look so good in. Swear to God, babe, that's your color."

You made a "no" motion with your hands. "Not my color, babe. Not anymore. It's his," you said in a rushed tone, motioning your head towards Loki.

He gave you a playful look before disappearing down the hall, blurting out, "I know…".

"Come to think of it, we should all get going," Stark spoke up, lifting his daughter into the air. "I gotta put little Maguna to bed, and two of you have mission briefing in the morning with Rogers. And knowing Capsicle, it's at oh-seven-hundred." He bounced the little girl in his arms. "Say bye bye, Maguna."

"Bye bye Maguna," she repeated with an endearing toothy grin. When she passed by where you and Loki stood, she threw her arms around your neck, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Goodnight, Princess Auntie Y/N."

"Not a princess," you told her, kissing her hair. "Goodnight, baby."

"Not yet," she giggled as her father carried her away.

"May I walk you to your chambers, darling?" Loki offered, presenting you his hand to take. Thor watched fascinated as your hand instinctively raised to accept, but stopped midway. It seemed that urge to "run away kicking and screaming", as Shane mentioned, ran deep inside you.

"Ohh uhm…it's okay, you don't have to," you answered, your voice barely audible even with the god's comparatively more advanced hearing. He gave his brother a look, wordlessly urging him to insist.

"I want to," he pressed, seeming to take his brother's cue. The blond Asgardian watched on with a smile as his brother gently took your hand and you walked out of the common room with him.

It seemed he wouldn't have to coach his brother on how to prove his intention to you. Loki looked more than ready to chase after you regardless. No matter how long it took.

A/N: To say this got away from me is the biggest understatement of the month 😂 And this is only part 1 of 3…

Also if it wasn't that obvious…this is another one of those "vent" pieces that draw from my actual experiences. I am so annoyed to tell y'all that Justin Vergazo and Rianne Jacobs are based on actual people I've had the displeasure of knowing.

Anyways…this was actually enough to get me out of my writing slump (kind of) so I'm gonna see if this is finally the jump I needed to start working on 'relinquish the crown'.

"I do not understand why we must be the ones doing such a menial task, Brother," Loki grumbled, walking through the large aisles of the marketplace that Thor all but dragged him to. "We are Asgardian royalty, and we are gods, we should not have to procure our own supplies."

"Stark says it is important that Midgardians perceive us as more than gods and heroes, Brother," the blond explained. "We do have staff in the Compound tasked to perform these duties for us, yes. But every now and again, there is a rotating schedule wherein we perform them. So that we may lessen the perception that we are a sort of enigma to them that only makes our presence felt when there is crisis. They can see us living our respective lives when we are not saving theirs."

While he could see the logic somewhat, he still wished that he would have been assigned to do this with you instead. It had been a few days since you two got back from your mission in California, and since then he outright refused for you to spend a night alone. And all he wanted at this moment was to finish with this drudgery and make his way back to you.

"This may be menial to you, Brother, but let me offer you the same advice that Jane once gave me when I expressed a similar sentiment on my first time," Thor continued on, walking down an aisle filled with those Pop Tarts that he favored munching on and tossing a half dozen boxes into his cart. "Find a semblance of fun in the exercise. Personally, I see this as my opportunity to include more my favorite Midgardian snacks, since staff don't put nearly enough and they expect me to share them. I get some of Jane's favorites as well."

Loki mulled over the seemingly basic advice, grabbing some of your favorite drink and tossing some extra into the cart. "I think I can begin to see the appeal," he conceded, he was still relieved when they finally crossed off all the items and brought the carts to the register, however.

"And another appeal for the unattached…" his brother murmured, not so subtly nudging him in the direction of the cashier. "This is a prime place to meet some stunning Midgardians who are also performing their own duties."

"Well hi there!" the woman greeted him. "I'm Sandy." She started ringing up the items with a peculiar stance that had him quite uncomfortable where he stood, always angling her body to offer him a few of her breasts down the wide neck of her shirt. "Thor's told me all about you."

"Brother…" Loki hissed the word through gritted teeth. "What in Norns' name are you doing?" Was this oaf trying to play matchmaker with him? Fully knowing that he was already happily committed to another? To you?

"Oh come on, Brother. It's clear that your current entanglement with your mortal will go nowhere if she refuses something as basic as laying with you. You've had many lovers back on Asgard, so I am not mistaken in assuming that this is her issue, and not yours."

"And may I say what. A. Shame," the clerk Sandy interjected. "In my opinion anyone that doesn't know and appreciate what they have don't deserve--"

"Hold your tongue," he snapped at her. "It is not your place to impose your opinion on me, you vile woman." She began to cower where she stood, suddenly becoming shifty in her stance. "You know nothing of her and yet you stand here pretending as if you have the higher moral ground. And you." He turned to address Thor now. "You call yourself my brother and yet you attempt to mastermind me away from my beloved and you haven't the slightest clue who you dare to offend--"

"Brother she is not your beloved. This woman isn't even willing to--"

"This woman's name is Y/N Y/L/N. You have regarded her as someone brilliant and fierce and yet you disrespect her so sickeningly." He gave his brother one last sneer before handing over the little plastic card that held Stark's money. "Not another word from you. I wish to be done with this task as soon as possible."

The clerk nodded wordlessly, the faintest hiccup coming out of her as she tried to temper her fear.

"Brother, my deepest apologies I did not know you and Lady Y/N had been--"

"Not a word from you, either," he hissed. "Lest you have forgotten the extent of my rage, Brother, allow me to put it into perspective. I would repeat my actions from over a decade ago in a heartbeat if it meant making her happy. Worse even, if she asked it of me. And of the two of us, she is the one that deserves your apology. She is the one you so flippantly disregarded with your words and your actions."

His oaf of a brother stayed silent the entire way back to the Compound, only uttering a simple sentiment that attempted to convey the remorse that he was trying to process.

"This time I might actually deserve you stabbing me, Brother."

That got him a singular mirthless chuckle. "I will do much worse if I ultimately lose her."

"Morgan, sweetie, be honest with me and your Auntie Nat. You're not doing your homework, are you?"

The little girl looked up at the two of you from her side of the table with wide eyes feigning innocence, looking the spitting image of her father. "I am, Auntie Y/N. Promise…"

"You sure, baby? Because…I know it's been a while since I went to school. You know, in the Bronze Age?" She let out a tiny bubbly giggle at your antic of placing your hand on your back and hunching over, pretending to hold yourself up by an invisible cane. "But baaaaaack in my day, my teachers would've smacked my hands clean off my arms if I was doing my math homework in crayon."

"This isn't my Math homework, silly Auntie Y/N," she giggled again, putting the crayon down and turning the paper around to push it in your and Nat's direction. "It's for Art class. We're supposed to draw our family. Look it." She threw her little body across the table, reaching out with the eraser end of her pencil to start pointing at the parts of her drawing. "There's Mommy and Daddy, and then Auntie Nat and Gruncle Bucky--"

"Wait hold on, Morgan, what did you call Bucky?" the currently platinum blonde assassin asked Morgan, trying so hard to hold back her amused smile. And failing.

"Well, he's an old man but he doesn't look it, so I got confused if I should call him Uncle or Grandpa, so now it's both. Gruncle."

Nat pursed her lips, her body beginning to shake from the laughs begging to escape her."That makes so much sense, sweetheart," she said, holding her hands up as if in surrender. "Keep going, baby Stark, who else you got in there?"

Morgan pointed to the next couple. "Auntie Wanda and Vision, and then Uncle Thor and Auntie Jane, then me…and right next to me." She pointed her pencil at a final couple, the drawing of her holding the woman's hand. "There's Auntie Y/N and Prince Loki."

A lump formed at your throat, combing back through all of your memories in recent months if there was something that the child might have seen that revealed your relationship to her way too perceptive eyes. "Uhh…why'd you pair me up with Mischief, sweetie?"

"Oh…well, because you're alone all the time, and Prince Loki's alone all the time, and if I drew you both alone it'll just look kinda sad so…I drew him next to you."

You had to fight against the urge to sigh in relief. "That makes sense. That's really thoughtful, baby."

The ding of the elevator effectively stopped the conversation, Morgan bringing the piece of paper back to her side of the table so she could finish coloring in everyone's hair. "We've returned!" Thor's voice bellowed as soon as he stepped into the common area.

"Welcome back," you droned, typing a reply to Shuri's message that just came through. My friend, I found something on these reports that I think you should see first. "Wonder what Shuri found…"

Nat leaned over your shoulder to see the message, her brows furrowing together after giving it a few passes. "You want, I could come with you when you go see her in case it's something real bad, Babes." All you did was nod at her, giving her a soft smile before tilting your head to lean against hers.

She had no idea what went down with you when you were in your late teens, in those years roaming the halls of that campus. Nobody except Loki knew, and if you were being completely honest with yourself, part of you regretted being so vulnerable with him because now he treated you like you were so fragile the tiniest little poke could break you apart.

And you'd spent so long doing everything in your power to make yourself stronger, more guarded. So that no one would ever be able to hurt you again.

"Y/N?" You sat up straight at the sound of Loki's voice filling the common area, the three of you at the table looking at each other with questions in your eyes.

"In here, Mischief," you called back, giving both Nat and Morgan a signal to act normal and stop watching like they were sat in front of the TV with a soap opera playing. You tried to finish up your reports from your mission in California when a familiar large hand placed a can of grape soda next to your water bottle. "Oh…Thanks, Loki." You looked up at him, giving the god a tiny smile before going back to your reports.

What he did next had both the assassin and Stark's daughter dropping their whole schtick of 'acting normal', taking your hand in his and gently tugging you to your feet. He didn't seem to care that there were very curious eyes intently watching on, brushing your hair back to tuck it behind your ear.

"What's wrong?" you blurted out, your heart at your throat from his actions. Before you could say anything else, he closed the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. You melted into his embrace, the gasps and squeals around you blurring into the background.

When he broke the kiss, he pulled you into an embrace, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath, as if he was grounding himself. "I'm so sorry, darling. I've been a terrible partner to you, treating our relationship as if it were a secret to be hidden away. I never meant to--"

"Hey hey shh it's okay…" You wrapped your arms around his neck, doing your best to not sound like you were on the verge of tears. "It's okay, sweetie, you didn't know. And I didn't tell you, so that's on me, too."

"Absolutely not," he grumbled. "No part of this was your fault." He pulled away to frame your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Nothing that ever happened to you was your fault. I love you, little mortal."

"I love you, too, Mischief--"

"Hold up, you're Reindeer Games' girl?"

You pulled away just enough to look over and address Stark, placing your hands over Loki's. "Yeah, Stark…I'm 'prim and prissy'." His face visibly paled at your confirmation, remorse immediately coloring his features. "You got some more genius barbs to throw at me for not sleeping with my boyfriend?" You gave Nat a signal to cover Morgan's ears, which she quickly followed much to the child's visible pouting dismay. "What've you got this time? Tits sagged up? I'm probably dry like the goddamn Sahara in the nether regions? What if there's actually nothing down there and I'm built like a goddamn Barbie doll?"

"Goddammit, I really put my foot in my mouth this time, huh?"

"More like you decided to put all that yoga to good use, bent over and gave yourself a rimjob and then started running your mouth, but sure, Stark. Let's go with that." 

Tony flinched at your words, visibly biting his tongue from what was undoubtedly his instinct to dish out some snark just as good as he just got it. "You know what, I totally deserved that. I'm really sorry, jellybean, I never should have said anything."

"As am I, Lady Y/N," Thor spoke up as he joined the rest of you. "I never should have imposed in on your and Loki's life together. He has told me in numerous ways on our way back that my careless actions have jeopardized his happiness, and for that I beg for your forgiveness."

You and Loki shared a look, both of you arguably right for questioning the sincerity of both apologies. Neither of them had any hesitation subjecting either of you to their opinions when they didn't know that they were throwing verbal darts at your head.

Ultimately you decided not to double down on your own barbs. At least until Thor apologized some more for his mega oaf behavior. "And I sincerely apologize for attempting to introduce another woman to my brother in hopes that he'll be lured away from his current partner, truly I had no idea it was--"

"Hold the fucking phone there, Blondie, you what?!" You could feel your blood rushing to your head, all your irritation toward both imbecilic men bubbling all the way up to the surface after Thor's confession.

"It was moronic and--"

"You're damn straight it was moronic," you seethed, your hand itching to risk potentially permanent injuries just to take a swing at the god that pulled the buffoonery. "I get that you want the best for your brother and all that, trust me I want that, too. But you were all the way out of line for that one."

"Yes, I know," he mumbled, his head turned down in visible shame. "Loki if you wish to stab me for my idiocy you're than welcome to--"

"Fuck that, I'm gonna stab you," you seethed, the god next to you holding you a touch tighter and trying to rub small circles into your skin to calm you down some. "This was none of your business. Even back when you didn't know it was me, you were both out of line for the jabs you took at Loki's private life. And honestly if you're so remorseful about it, you owe Bucky an apology, too. Y'all were dogpiling on his girlfriend way before you started going in on me."

With every word that came out of you, it felt as if there was still something completely blocking you from the truth. A question that went unanswered even by you and the memories you held ever since college. Ever since Simon.

"I don't…I don't know why I'm like this," you said more softly this time, turning to Loki and trying to find the words that could convey at the very least what you showed him a few nights ago. "It's been like this since I was a student in that damn campus. I don't know why but every time I've been in a relationship since then, if things start moving…physically, I--"

"Shh darling…" He pulled you into an embrace again, placing a kiss to the top of your head. "You need not elaborate. You were wronged, none of this was your fault."

"Your god is right, my friend," Shuri spoke up, announcing her presence, a grim look on her face as she held her tablet. "I have combed excessively through the reports for the compounds you found in your college building, and I have…distressing news."

"Yeah…Nat and I were about to come find you, Shuri. What'd you find?"

"This will be…quite an uncomfortable question, Y/N, are you certain you wish to discuss this with all this company?"

"They'll find out anyways. Most of them are nosy like that." You threw a pointed look Stark's and Thor's way, both men immediately looking away in shame. "But I suppose we can spare some innocent souls. Morgan, sweetie, go find your mom, we have to discuss bad guy things now."

The little girl pouted but followed your request, making her way to the elevator to go and find Pepper.

"My friend, what can you tell us about your former relationship with Simon Richardson? Only what you remember and what you are comfortable with sharing. We can start there."

Loki led you to sit on the couch, keeping his arm around your shoulders and rubbing up and down your arms to ground you as you started to recall. "He was…kind and sweet. Until he wasn't. It started with him offering the faculty lounge for me to hang out in during my free periods, then…coffees…lunches. The days when I had a class during first period, he'd be there and we'd grab breakfast together. Then came the first dinner together and he kissed me, told me he was falling in love with me."

"Hold up there, jellybean, this Richardson…he was your professor, right?" You nodded at Stark's question. "Add that comment I made about saying hi to your old professors to my list of things I have to make up for then, I'm so sorry, Y/N."

You just shrugged. "As with most of the things you're gonna have to apologize to me for, Stark…you didn't know." You took a sip of your soda before continuing your story. "The next few months after that were…confusing to me. Every time we had a moment alone he was so sweet and doting, always staying close to me, kissing me, regular degular boyfriend things, you know? And then the second someone else would come in the room he…pulls away. Becomes distant and…almost clinically professional. Drops my hand, immediately puts three feet of distance between us. Tells me it's to protect our relationship. That if people found out, they'd take him away from me and I'd be punished somehow. Told me he was protecting me."

Loki placed a soft kiss to your temple, keeping his forehead pressed to the same area as he spoke. "My love, I'm so sorry. My actions toward you in our time together have brought your memories of your time with him up to the surface."

"You didn't know," you sighed, leaning in to his embrace. "I never told anyone and…nobody ever really bothered to stick around to find out what was actually going on with me the second they realized they weren't gonna 'score'." You took a few deep breaths, finally finding a bizarre sort of relief now that you were talking about the memories that plagued and taunted you for so long.

"And when did you two end things?"

You let out a sound between a scoff and a chortle at Shuri's question. "Generous of you think there was a concrete 'end' to things, sweetie." There was a faint whoosh somewhere to your right, the new silhouettes in your peripheral alerting you to Jane's  and Wanda's entrance. "Hey, Babes."

They both offered you some form of greetings before pulling up a seat, the Sokovian speaking up first. "Morgan mentioned something about you looking angry and hurt. Something about Thor doing something idiotic?" She addressed the blond god next. "I mean, a bit on brand for you, but really? Introducing Loki to someone that's going to start bad mouthing his partner? Shouldn't you know your brother well enough by now that that'll get you a stabbing? You know…after a thousand and a half years?"

"Wait hold on, you what?" the scientist spoke up, swatting her boyfriend upside his head. "You know that just got you kicked off the prospects on wedding officiant, right?"

"Well considering my brother is no longer King of Asgard, I surmise that the Valkyrie would be the one that performs that particular duty regardless," Loki shot back before turning back to face you, a soft smile gracing his features. "One day, I mean. When you're ready."

"You sure you want that, Mischief? Considering I might just be a lousy non-existent lay after all this?"

"About that…" Shuri spoke up again, prompting you to continue your story.

"Right, sorry. The ending…I suppose that started when he suggested we'd go away for a weekend. Somewhere farther away from campus where we could actually be a couple outside his apartment. We got a hotel room and…I'm sure you can all fill in those particular blanks." Everyone grimaced at the mere thought, looks of sympathy thrown your way from every direction. Loki pressed another kiss to your temple, his embrace pretty much the only thing holding you together. "We spent a few more nights like that over the next few weeks. Then the academic year ended, a new batch of students came in, and one day I got to campus and…someone new was at his arm. He stopped answering my calls, my texts weren't even left on Read. One day I asked him point blank what happened and all he said was I don't know what you mean, Miss Y/L/N. You're not my student anymore."

"Bastard," Wanda hissed. "He should be locked up. Maybe have Strange throw him in one of those mirror dimensions so all he'll see for the rest of his miserable life is his own ugly lowlife mug."

"And even worse, he's still doing this. We saw him in that reunion. Fucker even had the brass balls to exchange words with me like it was no big thing. He had one of his current students clinging to him like a barnacle. Chances are he's gonna do her what he did to me and that girl from so many years ago. And who knows who else. Anyways ever since then, something always felt kind of…fucked up with me. Every time things got too physical with someone it's like my body recoils. Even when I don't mean to it's like…it closes up shop without consulting my heart. Or my brain."

"I may have an explanation for your body's behavior, my friend." Shuri tapped away at her tablet, projecting the screen's contents into a larger holographic rendering in the center of the room, showing you all a photo of one of the compounds you'd come across in the lab. "This is PM-19, a substance that can mentally and emotionally enslave a subject to the closest source of pheromones and leave them more open to be controlled. Manipulated. When the connection between subject and administrator is severed, the effects…well, the reports all say that the effects are varied."

"Varied on what?" Nat spoke up, moving to sit on the other empty seat next to you and grabbing hold of your free hand.

"Potency of the compound in the subject's system," Loki answered through gritted teeth. "They experimented with dosage, form of administration, wear-off time…"

"O-Okay but what does this have to do with my shitty predatory ex?" you butted in, your voice shaky with the fear that you knew exactly where Shuri was going with this.

She flashed a set of log reports next on the screen. "I isolated the reports that took place while you were in your relationship with Richardson," she explained, waving a hand at the screen. "Going on to the reports that reference all test subjects from this period moving forward. I will let you all read at your own pace."

Nat handed you a large glass of water, telling you to down it before going into the reports. Thankfully you heeded her advice, or else your body might have forgotten how to function reading through the various statements.

April 15, 2013 -- Potential test subjects found. Administrators have been granted permission to pursue and administer PM-19 at their own discretion.

April 20, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A initiated into PM program. Mode of Administration: aerated by means of cologne. Precautions were taken to ensure that Test Subject 13-31-A and Administrator BG were at a safe distance from bystanders that could have been exposed to aerated PM-19

April 22, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A exhibited signs of withdrawal from engagement. Subject has been administered aerated PM-19 again. If pattern continues, dosage for aerated PM-19 should be every 24-36 hours to sustain potency in Subject's system.

April 30, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-B initiated into PM program. Mode of Administration: ingestion by means of beverage. Administrator MP notes instant shift in 13-31-B's receptiveness and an increased eagerness to comply with Administrator MP's suggestions regarding trivial lifestyle choices.

May 2, 2013 -- Administrator SR has attempted administering PM-19 to potential Test Subject 13-31-C via aerated form through body spray, but 13-31-C has shown no tangible effects. Will administer stronger dosage via ingestion if effects are still negligible.

May 5, 2013 -- Administrator SR has successfully initiated Test Subject 13-31-C into PM program. Mode of Administration: ingestion through beverage and food. Shift in receptiveness is incremental. Will observe effects through continued dosage.

May 7, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A actively seeks out Administrator BG and displays an obeisance toward him. She seems to rely on his approval of her decisions. Administrator MP has considerable control over Test Subject 13-31-B's food and clothing choices by means of simple suggestions and the slightest form of positive feedback. Administrator MP to proceed with furthering connection with 13-31-B.

May 9, 2013 -- Administrator SR has been continually administering PM-19 to Test Subject 13-31-C via ingestion. She has begun to gravitate toward him during free periods. Administrator SR to proceed with furthering connection with 13-31-C.

May 13, 2013 -- Administrators BG, MP, and SR have been granted permission to administer more potent dosage by means of injection. Will use the campus' free vaccination as the means of delivery.

May 15, 2013 -- Test Subjects from batch 13-31 have been administered PM-19 directly into bloodstream and collectively show visible ardency toward their respective Administrators.

May 20, 2013 -- Test Subjects 13-31-A and 13-31-B showing more agitation when respective Administrators BG and MP are not by their side. Test Subject 13-31-C appears visibly calmer but shows significant internal disquiet when away from Administrator SR.

May 21, 2013 -- Administrator SR has officially begun to engage romantically with Test Subject 13-31-C to observe if she will exhibit the same signs of agitation that Subjects 13-31-A and 13-31-B possess when away from their respective Administrators.

May 25, 2013 -- Administrator BG has severed the connection with Test Subject 13-31-A after significant increase in agitation after having PM-19 introduced to her bloodstream. 13-31-A created a spectacle in Science Building cafeteria and was escorted by Administrator BG to campus clinic. Subject displayed alarmingly elevated blood pressure and was immediately admitted to nearest hospital to be put under HYDRA monitoring until subject recovers.

May 26, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A has been terminated after waking in hospital and repeatedly threatening to pursue all avenues of action against Administrator BG and put PM project at risk of being brought to public awareness. Action sanctioned by all active Administrators. Administrator BG now evaluating new potential test subjects.

May 27, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-D initiated into PM program. Mode of Administration: ingestion through food and beverage. Administrator BG has been instructed to keep careful watch of 13-31-D and tasked to increase dosage every 3 days and observe waning time. Administering via injection no longer viable due to window closing to guise under free vaccination.

May 30, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-B shows little regard for caution and attempted flagrant display of affection when crossing paths with Administrator MP whilst surrounded by both colleagues and other students. 13-31-B has been thoroughly admonished for her actions.

June 1, 2013 -- Administrator MP began distancing from Test Subject 13-31-B. Subject is now displaying visible signs of distress and is aggressively seeking him out even outside of campus grounds. Increasing frequency in initiating correspondence. Administrator MP expresses concern that 13-31-B's behavior will require intervention if no improvement shows in next 30 days.

June 1, 2013 -- Administrator SR notes increased obeisance in Test Subject 13-31-C since compound PM-19 was introduced to her bloodstream. Administrator SR has been granted permission to proceed with next stage of relationship: Consummation

June 3, 2013 -- Administrator MP has placed a request for the termination of Test Subject 13--31-B after a spectacle in the campus parking lot where subject was shouting at MP for not answering texts and calls. Administrator MP will remain inactive for batch 13-31 and will resume his duties when evaluating for Test Subjects for batch 13-32.

June 6, 2013 -- Administrator BG notes that Test Subject 13-31-D is more aggressive and attempts to initiate contact with BG. Administrator has placed a request to speed up timeline to romantic engagement to observe if 13-31-D will become more submissive and deferential.

June 7, 2013 -- Administrator SR has begun final stage of PM program for Test Subject 13-31-C. No other task will be assigned to him other than observation of 13-31-C's behavior once connection is fully severed. He will resume his duties along with Administrator MP when evaluating for Test Subjects for Batch 13-32.

June 8, 2013 -- Test Subjects 13-31-B and 13-31-D have been simultaneously terminated after 13-31-D disclosed details of relationship with Administrator BG and both subjects agreed to report this behavior to campus faculty board. Only remaining active Test Subject is 13-31-C.

June 13, 2013 -- Frequency in Test Subject 13-31-C's initiation of correspondence after Administrator SR has begun final stage.

June 15, 2013 -- Administrator SR has fully severed the connection for Test Subject 13-31-C

June 20, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-C has been notably absent in classes. Administrator SR has placed a request to send a HYDRA representative to check on 13-31-C's status.

August 20, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-C shows signs of detachment from her peers and current relationship. Potential side effect of PM-19 after severance of connection between subject and administrator seems to be physical recoiling upon implication of intimacy. Subject's body seems to perceive this either as a threat or as a breach of her loyalty to Administrator SR.

April 15, 2014 -- Test Subject 14-34-E initiated into PM program. As mentioned in preliminary notes for batch 14-34, test conditions from Test Subject 13-31-C's case will be replicated in hopes of replicating the only surviving case of batch 13-31.

April 22, 2014 -- Unexpected and unaccounted for circumstance occurred. Test Subject 14-34-E shares a class with Test Subject 13-31-C and has asked questions on how to gain better favor with Administrator SR. It seems that test subjects that were connected to the same Administrator are also drawn towards each other.

April 24, 2014 -- Administrator SR initiated contact with Test Subject 13-31-C to extract information about what she may have told Test Subject 14-34-E. 13-31-C remains adamant that no details of their prior involvement were divulged and answers remained strictly academic. Administrator SR's feedback for her elicited positive reaction. It seems even after prolonged period since severing their connection, submissiveness and deference to Administrator SR remains. Hypothesis: If connection is severed at peak potency of PM-19, Test Subject's actions post-severance are subconsciously geared to seek the approval of their Administrator.

April 25, 2014 -- Administrator SR has been instructed to hasten timetable for Test Subject 14-34-E after subject witnessed SR's interaction with Test Subject 13-31-C and created a spectacle demanding to know what his history with 13-31-C was. Noting that subjects may be prone to increased irrational tendencies and paranoia while connection with Administrator is active.

May 1, 2014 -- Administrator SR has placed a request to terminate Test Subject 14-34-E after threats of her escalating him to the faculty board for their involvement. SR notes that 14-34-E has mentioned the existence of video and audio recordings containing indisputable evidence of their interactions. Directors of PM program have considered close monitoring of Test Subject 13-31-C to determine what differs in her case compared to the rest of the test subjects from Batch 13-31 as well as the replication attempt with 14-34-E.

May 2, 2014 -- Test Subject 14-34-E successfully terminated. Her belongings have been incinerated. All potential evidence of involvement with Administrator SR destroyed. Test Subject 13-31-C once again the only surviving test subject under this specific set of test circumstances. Replication of scenario will not be attempted again until further studies have been conducted on 13-31-C. Actions to be taken to closely monitor and intercept hospital records, therapy session notes and/or recordings, and all other documentation that will provide better understanding of 13-31-C's physiological and mental make up.

March 10, 2016 -- Administrator SR has expressed concerns regarding Test Subject 13-31-C becoming a SHIELD Agent. He has been reassured that there is no cause for concern as long as she stays a low to medium ranking Agent and does not become involved in high level operations.

September 16, 2019 -- Test Subject 13-31-C has been put on High Alert List. Her status as an Avenger warrants the action of capture on sight.

August 10, 2020 -- Multiple mentions of jilted former entanglements of Test Subject 13-31-C have surfaced online, detailing a 'frigidness' that the team is confident in surmising is due to the amount of PM-19 in 13-31-C's system when connection between her and Administrator SR was severed in 2013. It would seem that Test Subject 13-31-C's physiological reactions are tethered to Administrator SR's pheromones and can only successfully sever the connection on her end when the source of the pheromones ceases to exist. Or when she does.

November 16, 2023 -- Administrator SR expresses grave concern given Test Subject 13-31-C's current status of being romantically involved with highly dangerous individual Loki, Asgardian God of Mischief.

Your vision began to blur from the tears flooding your eyes as you read the reports over and over again, your mind stubbornly denying what you were seeing on the screen. Test Subject 13-31-C. You'd seen numerous log reports about her when you first perused the files a few days back but it never occurred to you that you knew her much better than you could have ever expected.

She was the girl in the mirror. The one with the haunted gaze and the smile that struggled to reach her eyes no matter how hard anyone tried.

You'd been so haunted by your worries that history would repeat itself and what Simon did to you, discarding you as soon as someone even incrementally younger came along and not giving you a second thought, would happen again the second you gave yourself fully to Loki. And now it turned out that your refusal to let the dark thoughts that plagued you when Simon left you all those years ago take over your life…turned out you haunted him right back.

"There is one more thing," Shuri spoke up, flashing a message on screen that came from Simon himself. "Our duplication of their machine seems able to receive their correspondences in real time. Simon Richardson has begun to explore requesting for termination of Test Subject 13-31-C. He wishes to see you dead, Y/N."

"Over my putrid rotting corpse," Loki seethed, tightening his hold on you. "He won't be able to touch you, my love. I swear it."

"Could you…" you tried to speak through the sobs you were trying to hold back. "Would you be able to send a message back? Make it seem like it's coming from his bosses?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Child's play, my friend. What do you wish to send?"

"I want you to arrange a meeting." You adjusted your hold on Loki's hand, lacing your fingers through his. "And I want you to come with me."

The god raised your joint hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Of course, my love. I would have come with you regardless." He pressed his forehead against your temple again. "I'll never leave your side."

"Okay am I in a position to say that seeing Reindeer Games being affectionate is giving me fucking whiplash?"

"No," everyone collectively said in unison.

"Personally I think it's adorable," Jane quipped. "And I know your brother has a real crappy way of showing it, but we really are happy for you."

"'Tis true, I am happy for you and Lady Y/N, Brother--"

"No no, Macho Barbie, you don't get to talk, either," Nat spoke up, throwing a balled up piece of paper at his head. "If Tony deserves the time out on the steps, you deserve the goddamn dunce cap for your antics."

If there was ever a moment that could solidify beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were practically tailor-made by the Norns for Loki, it was this precise moment here. Watching in the shadowy corner of a room as the culmination of your flair for the theatrics almost eerily mirrored his.

You were sat at a desk situated in the middle of a dark seemingly empty warehouse, with only a single hanging lamp serving as a light source. Positioned in a way that your face was still mostly shrouded in the darkness until you wished to make your identity known.

And in your respective positions, you two waited in silence for Simon Richardson to arrive. The unsuspecting pathetic bastard thinking he would be meeting with the higher ups at HYDRA to rectify the situation that he'd been raising with them regarding the safety of their project now that your status on their watchlist has been raised to the highest alert level due to your relationship with the god.

Loki's enhanced hearing allowed for him to hear the shaky breathing and the faltering steps before the wretch pounded his fist at the entrance. "Showtime," you sighed under your breath, taking a moment before calling out in an accent that vaguely resembled the Valkyrie's, "Enter!"

The professor looked around the warehouse, visibly irritated upon seeing that almost the entire place was pitch black, and made his way slowly toward your desk. When he got close enough, another light switched on, illuminating a rather uncomfortable looking stainless steel chair.

"Sit." He did as you told, nervously running his hands up and down his thighs. A quick whiff in the air told the god that the weak mortal was already sweating bullets and barely any words have even been exchanged yet.

Good, he inwardly seethed. You don't deserve to know peace after the lingering damage that you'd dealt to the woman I love.

"Speak," you commanded, the faintest creak of the leather from your hand gripping the armrest being the only indicator that betrayed your facade of "cool and level-headed".

"Have the council agreed to a course of action regarding Agent Y/L/N? You told me before that you allowed for her to continue on with her life due to being the only survivor of batch 13-31. That her situation fascinated you. But now I fear that she is too dangerous to let live given her current romantic associations with the Asgardian that tried to raze New York."

"You never stated on the request your reasoning," you told him through gritted teeth. "How come you are so intent on the expedience of Subject 13-31-C's termination?"

The fidgeting man let out a nervous chuckle. "All due respect, ma'am but are you new? Maybe you didn't hear me? Her boyfriend tried to lay waste on New York! I don't wanna give her the time to open up to him and realize that the reason she can't get with him in the sack is because of PM-19! Who knows what he'll do to me?"

"Well we can start on breaking every joint in your body as an appetizer," you answered back, dropping your accent and leaning forward to let the light illuminate your face. "And from my understanding, the only way to sever the connection from my end is for the source of the pheromones to cease existing. All I have to do is kill you."

Richardson visibly relaxed in his seat, letting out a haughty chuckle as he tsk'd at you. "Silly girl, you didn't actually think it's that simple, did you?" He stood up, making his way to your desk and slamming his hands down on the tabletop, making you flinch at the sound. "Should've known you really were more beauty than brains. Then again it looks like even that is fading away. You really should use some of that Stark budget to take care of those lines on your face because aging does not become you, sweet thing."

"Whatever remnants of PM-19 I have left in my system physically inhibit me from killing you myself, is that it?"

"Maybe there's still some brain left in you after all," he mused in a condescending tone. He grasped the bottom half of your face harshly, your face twisting in horror as you tried to twist his hand off you, finding that you couldn't. "You can't harm me, sweet Y/N, let alone kill me. You literally don't have it in you." Your form began to visibly tremble in his hold, disgust now coloring your expression as he gave you a once over. "It's just you and me here. Maybe we could take a walk down memory lane. For old time's sake."

"Go to hell," you spat at him, jerking your head away from his hand with a sickening crack that Loki took note of to heal once everything was taken care of here. "And I'm not alone, you sick fuck." Richardson turned around, terror finally entering his eyes once he caught sight of the god's silhouette.

"You can't kill me," he tried to threaten. "You kill me and they'll come after you. All of you."

"HYDRA coming after us?" you quipped, giving Loki a tiny nod as he stepped menacingly closer. "Sounds like a regular Tuesday, doesn't it, sweetie?"

"To quote my brother, at least make it a challenge for me." He couldn't help but let his mouth stretch into a wicked grin as he watched the pathetic man start to shake where he stood.

"You kill me and that won't stop the project," he blurted out, most likely in a final desperate attempt at some form of a bargain. Or a threat. "Aren't you hero types all about the greater good and all that shit?"

"Normally we are," Loki answered, a dagger materializing in his hand in a flash of green. He grabbed the back of Richardson's head, poising the blade at his throat. "But I'm not a hero. Not today. Not for you." He pressed the blade harder against his throat, looking to you for his cue to follow through. You gave him all the answer he needed with a little nod of your head, wincing from the minor injury you'd given yourself just moments earlier. "As far as you're concerned, I'm the god you made an enemy of the moment you laid your grimy hands on the woman I love."

He could have made it quick, almost relatively painless, but after the prolonged impact that his vile actions had on you, it would have been a mercy if he were allowed to shuffle off this mortal coil with little suffering. And Simon Richardson was undeserving of mercy. He ensured that he felt every agonizing second that the blade dragged across his neck, and that he stayed lucid until the last possible moment that the light faded from his eyes.

When the late professor's body went limp and fell to the ground, you doubled over in what seemed like shock, bracing yourself by slamming your hands down on the tabletop, your arms shaking with the effort of holding yourself up. The god was by your side in a heartbeat, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you upright.

"What is it, my darling? Are you alright? What are you feeling?"

"I feel--" you tried to say between shallow breaths. "It's like…I just won tug of war."

"Is that…is that good, sweetheart?" He found it rather difficult to tell with the panic setting into him from your shortness of breath. He rubbed circles on your back, trying to guide you to take deeper breaths and standing upright on your own.

"It's like I got all the air knocked out of me from being flung to the ground because the other side finally let go, and I'll probably have a few battle scars, but at the end of it all…Yeah. It's good. So good." You suddenly stood up straight, turning to face him and throwing your arms around his neck. "It feels like I can finally breathe."

You pulled away, pushing back locks of his hair and looking over the blood that spattered across his features. There was such an innocent, almost disoriented look in your eyes. Something that eerily reminded him of how he felt when he was finally free of the mind control the mad titan Thanos had him under. As if he was trying to find his footing again. Learning how to live in his skin and mind without the presence of another lurking in the darkest corners.

Freedom, he realized. You were free.

"Come on," you told him, smiling as you reached for his hand, your whole hand engulfed so easily by just his palm. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"You need not trouble yourself, little mortal. I can simply wave it all away--"

"I want to," you insisted, starting to tug on his hand. He relented rather quickly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth from your suddenly playful nature. Was this what you were like before you were shackled by that repugnant drug?

And just when he thought he couldn't possibly fall even deeper in love with you.

You led him to the car where Hogan was waiting for you both. Loki gave him a singular nod and he spoke into an earpiece calling for someone to dispose of Richardson's body. When you were both settled in to the back seat, you tore a strip off the shirt you were wearing, dousing it with water to start wiping away at the blood on his face.

"We have rags here for exactly that purpose, Y/L/N," Hogan quipped. "You didn't have to go all book boyfriend."

"Okay first, what have you been reading that you know that reference because I want recs. And second, I have no idea how Tony organizes stock in this car, and I didn't wanna wait. You're more than welcome to put the divider up if it makes you uncomfortable, Happy."

The bodyguard put his hands up, as if conceding in the exchange. "Fair enough, fair enough. I'll send you a list of those books when we get back. Right now I'm just gonna put up the divider, let you two get some rest. I'll let you know when we're at the Compound."

"Thanks, Happy. Maybe send it through FRIDAY. Just to my tablet. Morgan likes playing with my phone and I don't want my goddaughter near those books until well after drinking age."

You'd finished wiping away the blood from Loki's face moments after the divider fully went up, giving the god a playful satisfied little smile before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"There you go, all done." You settled easily into his embrace as he wrapped his arm around you, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "I know that…now that he's dead, the PM-19 doesn't have a hold on me anymore but…mentally…" Your brows knitted together, your frustration visible as you struggled to find the words.

"It still feels as if there's a lingering presence in your mind," he offered, his heart aching for you when he heard your sniffle as you nodded against his shoulder. "I'm all too familiar with that feeling, my love. I wish I could tell you it goes away completely with time but…I cannot be too sure. Some days will be better than others, as if the presence has been kicked into the farthest darkest corners of your memories but…they remain."

"Right now it feels like it's in a car just behind us so…doesn't feel too far." You tilted your head to look up at him, relief flooding him when he saw in your eyes that you no longer seemed as distant. As if whatever journey you would embark on towards healing the wounds that Richardson left you, you knew and you welcomed the notion of not going through it alone. "I hate to say it, Mischief but…killing him didn't kill the fears he left behind."

You did not need to say more; he could surmise which fear you meant. The one he saw when you allowed him into your memories. The fear of being replaced as soon as you laid with him. The fear of leaving him dissatisfied and forcing his hand to look to another to fulfill what you couldn't.

Perhaps even a fear of being touched altogether.

"I want you to know that I am here for you, little mortal." He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, and another to your jaw, using his seiðr to heal the slight fracture from your altercation with that wretch of a professor. "Always." Another kiss, featherlight, to your lips. "You need never worry of pressure coming from me, I swear it."

"Maybe a little pressure wouldn't be too bad," you mumbled against his lips, kissing him back a with a touch more passion than he'd ever seen coming from you. "Maybe just…baby steps?" Your next action stole every bit of breath from his lungs, keeping his gaze while you moved his hand, placing it on the bared skin of your stomach. There was only the slightest tremor in your breath as he tentatively caressed your skin, but you no longer flinched away.

"Baby steps," he breathed out, pulling you closer to his side. You nestled your head into the crook of his neck and he felt you steadily succumb to your exhaustion, relaxing against him.

Loki finally allowed himself a moment of rest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. It would be a long and arduous journey as you healed from the prolonged damages that your time with Richardson wreaked upon you, but he would be with you throughout every step. Through every nightmare, every frustration, and ultimately every victory.

And then perhaps one day you both would wake and the step to be taken would be toward an altar.

But for now the god was more than content exactly where he was, holding you close with his hand on your skin, following at whichever pace you would be comfortable taking.

A/N: Another request from the pile done! 🎉🎉 Next up is gonna be a fluffy lil thing that I'm gonna turn into an outtake for one of the first stories I wrote, 'a heart like yours' 🥹

But before we get to that, we've got a good bit of RTC and OLTK and 'the final Lady Sharpe' coming…and whatever else my silly lil writer brain decides to start on 😳👀

October 2025

It was the middle of the day when your phone rang, the loud notes echoing and filling your study, displaying an unknown number. You let out a whiny groan, only having laid down on the day bed a few minutes ago to take a nap, not even making a move to sit up on the edge of the bed quite yet as you brought the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" you spoke, the syllables slurring together as you fought your way out of falling asleep.

"Uhm, hi." The voice at the other end belonged to a woman. She sniffled before taking a deep shaking breath and speaking again. "Is this Y/N Hiddleston?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is. May I ask who's calling?"

"Ohh, right." She sniffled again; and you could recognize the audible pattern of a woman crying. You already dreaded where the conversation was going without even knowing who had called you yet. "My name's Alba. We met a few years ago at an event for Marvel?"

Oh, fuck, you thought to yourself. You pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead, already feeling the oncoming headache. It was at that moment that Tom appeared at the doorway of your joint study, making a motion to ask you who you was calling.

"Right, right. Alba…Evans' wife, right?"

"Yup." She sniffled again, sounding like she'd just choked back a sob. "Yeah that's me. Uhh I'm really sorry did I call at a bad time? I'm not really that good with timezones and--"

"No no, it's fine, really. It's more my own body clock than the timezones. Second trimester and all."

"Been there," she said dryly. "You started missing sushi yet?"

"Sweetie I've been missing sushi since I found out in April." She let out a chuckle on her end, but something about it sounded wrong. When you met her she'd had a rather infectious laugh, kind of lilty and melodic, even. This was just…hoarse. Like her throat was scraped beyond belief and she was forcing the sound out anyway. "But I have a feeling you didn't call to compare notes on pregnancy cravings."

"No," she confessed, a touch of defeat in her tone. "No I didn't, I'm so sorry." More sniffles. "Uhm, I was told you were someone I could call if I wanted information on people quickly? That you were well-connected?"

"Yeah, I am," you confirmed. Your husband made his way over to you, offering you his hand so you could stand up and walk over to your desk. "What do you need to know?"

Tom took a paper from your memo pad, scribbling down a question. What's going on?

He handed you the pen and you scrawled your answer. I don't know yet, but whatever it is, it's nothing good

"I've been getting these messages and reading all these blinds and I need to know if there's any truth to them," she started, tearing up toward the end. "That my husband might be…damn it I can't even say it. That Chris might not be…entirely loyal right now?"

Your hand clenched tight around your phone, holding it away from you while you mouthed 'Fuck!' soundlessly. You wrote down on the paper again. Evans might have cheated on his wife.

He tensed as he stood up straight, starting to pace around the room.

"I am so sorry, Alba. No one deserves to have to go through this," you said slowly, taking deep breaths while you waited for your machine to power up. "I'm gonna put you on speakerphone for a bit while I reach out to my contacts, is that okay?"

"Yup, yeah sure that's fine," she said in a rush. "Your contact, are they gonna take long to get back to you? I could just call back later, maybe?"

"Won't take long at all. For what it's worth, I hope they're all wrong," you reassured her. Considering that the whole 'Y/N is well-connected' bit was simply a red herring to put some more degrees of separation between you and your 'other life' as Evangeline, finding the answer to her question took next to no time.

A quick look at the actor's phone activity and location tracking all but painted a red neon sign to what exactly he'd been up to these past few weeks. Actually, what he was currently up to. And hacking into the CCTV footage of nearby establishments had you borderline hysterical you were halfway tempted to take screenshots and send them out to any and every tabloid that wanted them.

"Dammit," you hissed. As soon as she heard you, she began to cry harder on the other end. "Sweetie, I am so so sorry."

"So it's true," she said, her voice getting louder. "Fucking hell, what am I gonna do? I only just had my daughter. I can't leave her here to live with him just because he keeps saying he's always wanted kids more than I did. I mean what if he brings home an absolute cunt that despises babies?"

"Do you want to stay?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"If you're going to make life altering decisions, you're gonna need to start asking yourself every possible question. Even the ones that sound stupid on paper. Starting with do you want to stay?"

"N…No! God I can't do that to myself. I can't do that to my daughter. I can't have her grow up in a world where she even remotely thinks it's okay to stay with a fucking cheater."

"Okay, you've got your lines drawn, that's good. Did you sign a prenup?"

"No…No we didn't."

"Okay, that either means he never planned to do something like this, which doesn't fucking matter. That or he was arrogant enough to think you'd never be able to walk away even if he put you through some warped humiliation ritual like this. That's good, that means this is gonna hit him completely out of left field. File for divorce and sight infidelity as your reason. None of that irreconcilable differences bullshit."

"That document will become public record, though. People are gonna talk and so many of them already hate my fucking guts because I was a stupid kid." Maybe it was your maternal side starting to kick in due to being pregnant with your own daughter, but you felt a dull ache in your heart over how genuinely concerned she sounded.

You knew full well what having a small but vocal portion of the online world hate you felt like, and it made you feel uniquely equipped to help her navigate this change her life was about to take.

"It will be. And you're right. People will talk," you told her, opting not to soften the blow. "But the right people will see the situation for what it is, and maybe you won't have their undying love and support, but you'll have their respect. File the papers, take your daughter, and go home. Be with your family."

"He's not gonna just take this sitting down. He'll fight this."

"I'm sure he will. But my contact will reach out to you, send over everything they found today that will systematically prove your claim. They'll also get in touch with a good divorce attorney that can help you get out of this with at least half his money. And a sizable bit of child support. Breathe, Sweetie. You won't be facing this alone."

She sounded so overcome with emotion when she spoke again. "Thank you."

"And hey listen, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here. I might not be in that kind of situation anymore but…there was a time when I was. And I faced it virtually alone." The next moment, Tom stopped furiously typing on his phone and made his way over to you, wordlessly taking your hands in his. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone, so if you find yourself needing to--I don't know, maybe go into lurid detail on a revenge fantasy, or just cry your heart out with no judgment? Just call. It's okay."

The two of you exchanged your goodbyes and ended the call, your husband moving to stand behind your chair and soothingly rubbing your shoulders as you compiled the evidence you'd collected in your brief phone call. Once you'd anonymized the source enough times that not a soul -- not even your 'blood brother' in this murky seedy online underbelly Grey -- could trace this investigation back to you, you sent the info Alba's way from a throwaway account.

Tom helped you up to stand, keeping his arm around you as he walked with you from the study to your bedroom. "Just so we're clear," you spoke up once you were seated on the edge of your bed.  "You try any shit like that, they won't even find your body."

He gave you a tender smile, pressing his lips to yours. "I know, goddess."

"Not even your skeleton, I got really good at disposing bodies in my time." You couldn't hold back the giggle when he framed your face in his large hands and kept at kissing you, unfazed by your words.

"Wouldn't even dream of it," he told you, laying you down on your side of the bed and pulling the blanket over you. He crouched down to be eye level with you and stroked your hair. "The only time I'm going to be out of that hospital room is when I go and get you sushi. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"I was really hoping that he was just in some warped disorientation phase and he'd get over it," you mumbled, letting out a deep sigh and turning to your side. "Such a disappointment."

"What do you mean?"

"A few years ago he hit on me, asked me if our relationship was 'open'. We weren't married yet, but he was. And when I told him exactly that, he just said 'So? My wife shouldn't mind'. Shouldn't. Not won't. Like he knows that the actions would hurt her, but he's confident that it's not gonna be enough for her to even do anything about it. Like she's stuck with him because he's holding something over her head or something."

Your husband's expression hardened, his jaw tense as he processed the words. "And what did you tell him?"

"I said that to some level, I can understand that there's a part of him protesting over the change that's coming into his life, since he's got to hang up his ways of the fuckboy because he swore vows. But if he knows what's good for him, and if he's actually serious about wanting to build that family that he's been talking about ad nauseam for the better part of a decade, then he's gonna reel it in and actually be a decent loyal guy because that's the least that his family deserves."

"Guess he didn't listen to you. Now look where he's headed," he said dryly. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Get some sleep, sweetheart. I'll wake you in a few hours."

"M'kay," you mumbled, hearing him let out a soft chuckle when you couldn't hold back a yawn. "I love you."

After the exchange you just had leaving you feeling cold, relief washed over you when you could feel your body warming when your husband pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "And I love you." And then another kiss to your growing belly. "Both of you."

The group chat that housed majority of the primary actors in the MCU was rarely ever active, save for the occasional barrage of "Welcome" messages when someone knew was brought in. Chris knew this much when the group name popped up on his phone after a few months of complete inactivity, so his mind immediately went to Oh, someone new must have been added.

Another thing that Chris knew was that Tom rarely -- never, really -- initiated those messages. And that was his first clue that this wasn't a regular message.

His next clue was that Tom was quite direct with his opening message into whatever this whole group was about to be witness to. He even went and mentioned someone directly.

T. Hiddleston: Evans, what in God's name were you thinking?

C. Hemsworth: Whoa hey, what am I missing?

C. Evans: I don't know what you're talking about, Tom.

T. Hiddleston: Please spare me the bullshit. Your wife called mine in complete hysterics. She literally just gave birth to your daughter a few days ago and you're out picking up college girls?!

R. Downey Jr.: Dude, what the fuck. Nasty work. I'm judging you. By the way Tom, how's Y/N?

T. Hiddleston: Pregnant and furious, but still radiant. I can't even explain.

B. Larson: Evans, that's just gross. You keep talking about wanting a family and the second you have it, you chuck it out like it's nothing?

C. Evans: I'm not throwing shit away, I love my wife

T. Hiddleston: Obviously not enough to want to be loyal. God, when we all heard you say you wanted multiple children, I never thought you'd mean by different mothers.

E. Olsen: Careful Tom, your wife's sarcasm is rubbing off on you. Actually wait no, don't be careful, it suits you. Also Evans, the actual fuck. Sleaze ball behavior.

C. Hemsworth: Hang on I'm on the phone with Y/N now, she's reading me in. Apparently he also hit on her a few years ago back when he first got married.

S. Johansson: Ohh so he's a bigger idiot than advertised, then.

T. Hiddleston: Pray that when we see each other I won't dislocate your jaw for that, by the way. And for the record? We have not and will never be "Open".

C. Hemsworth: Same goes for me, Evans. This is my baby sister we're talking about. Also she said if you ever ask her anything like that again, she's breaking your ring finger so it swells and you'll have to get your hokey wedding ring sawed off.

T. Hiddleston: You're still on the phone with Y/N now?

C. Hemsworth: Yes and she was talking about how much she missed energy drinks and sushi before Elsa took the phone from me so they could talk about what else she has to avoid for the next few months.

S. Johansson: Been there. I'm sending a case of Alani Nu your way when your baby's born, Tom. Send her my love.

T. Hiddleston: Will do. Now if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to go make my wife some tea and confiscate her phone, she's supposed to be taking a nap.

Just as Chris clicked off the chat, a new text message popped up on his phone, and he failed to resist the urge to roll his eyes seeing that it was from none other than the cheating soon-to-be former husband and father. The other Chris. Venting.

Okay, the whole "Y/N's well-connected" schtick we all had was fun and useful back then when those contacts helped us to find out who was leaking set production details, but this is serious. Do you know who it is? Her contacts? I mean, everyone has a price right? These hackers are fucking with my marriage.

Not even bothering to type out a response, Chris tapped on the microphone symbol on his phone and sent out a voice note.

"Okay firstly? Whoever Y/N's contacts might be, they're not the ones that ruined your marriage, you root rat. You did that all on your own when you chose to step out and throw away the family you've told us time and time again you're excited to start. Secondly, I don't have any idea who the contact is, but I"m pretty sure they're not in this for the money. Your future ex-wife was lucky enough to get someone that's just in it for the love of the game. I hope she wins. And I hope she gets sole custody. And thirdly, being a husband and a father isn't something you're owed just because you want it, it's a privilege, something that you earn because someone trusted you enough to want to build a life with you, and you wasted it. You're vile, mate."

Late February 2026

"Sorry, you want what?" Tom spoke into the phone. On the other end was Mike Flanagan, calling him about an opportunity to perform his dance from The Life of Chuck once again. On a stage. At the Oscars.

"I know it's the epitome of 'last minute', Tom. Really, I get it. But they said a spot opened up last minute and they would love if you could fly to LA and perform the dance as a special number."

At that exact moment, you walked into the study, cradling Eloise in your arms. You jerked your head at the phone, wordlessly asking him who was on the other end and he scribbled the name on a paper.

"Now, here's the other thing about this performance," Mike spoke up again, the phone now on speaker mode. "I called up Annalise and turns out she won't be able to make it. She's off in Italy with a prior engagement. Is it possible to get Y/N on the line?" 

"Hey Mike, I'm here," you quipped, keeping your tone low so as to not wake your daughter as you placed her in your husband's arms. "What's up?"

"Long story short, a slot opened up at the Oscars and they want Tom to dance as Chuck Krantz, and Annalise can't make it. If your husband says yes, my next question would be…if you would be willing to do the routine with him?"

You sucked in air through your teeth, already assessing your physical ability to move about, thinking through the logistics of it all since now you had to consider how to go about the whole routine while nursing Eloise. "Mike, buddy…I literally just birthed a whole human being a few weeks ago. That's a massive ask."

"I know, I know." He sounded a touch mortified even asking them, so you at least gave him that. "I want you both to know that this is absolutely something that you can say no to. No hard feelings, I know you're both navigating life as first-time parents and--"

"You know what, what the fuck, I'm in," you cut him off, a shocked sound coming from both the director on the other line and your husband seated not even two feet away from you.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" He adjusted his grip to hold Lulu in one arm so he could reach over and place his free hand on your knee. "I don't want you to over exert yourself."

"Yeah, I'm positive," you told him. "I've been working out the logistics in my head and it's completely doable. You know the dance, I know the dance, we can practice while Eloise is sleeping throughout the day, and in a few weeks the three of us can fly over to LA. And if for some reason I can't find a babysitter willing to sign an NDA so they don't tweet or vlog about looking after her? I know a tall leggy blonde that lives in the area and loves kids, no NDA needed."

A brilliant smile spread across your husband's face, and he grabbed  your hand to bring it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I adore that brain of yours, my love."

You scrunched your nose at him, a similar smile stretched across your face as you mouthed to him, 'I know'.

"Well in that case, I guess I'll see you in a few weeks. Take care, you two."

It took a bit of doing, but after a couple weeks of rehearsing the routine in your home gym at least three times a day -- only derailed on the day that Doctor Samson gave you the all-clear for certain bedroom activities -- you and your husband found yourselves standing on the Oscars stage, The Pocket Queen starting that all too familiar beat that you both knew in your bones, at this point.

You were able to just stand backstage for a good minute and just appreciate how your husband moved on stage with such grace and precision, matching every step with the beat like it was second nature to him.

Right as the performance started, your phone had begun to blow up with multiple messages from both Taylor and her fiance Travis, both wishing you luck as well as sending photos of them looking after your daughter. There was even a comical message from your years-long friend telling you she had to be careful because spending time with Lulu might give her future husband a bad case of baby fever.

You put your phone down as the stage manager motioned to you to take your place on stage. You walked out, sure to keep your face just out of the camera's view and stood with your back facing the audience. Straining your ears a touch, you could hear some of the seated actors vaguely recognizing you.

And then there was a distinct "Ohh fuck yeah, let's go" from Downey. And then you heard Suki and her partner Rob exclaim, "Ohh my God it's Y/N" right as you hit the shoulder shimmy on PQ's four-count beat.

Once you executed the spin that twirled your skirt in a cute little flourish, your face was fully revealed to the camera, and you could hear a mix of excited applause and a collection of groans throughout the attendees. You didn't need to wonder why they had that particular reaction; some people in the industry still acted quite viscerally every time they were reminded that Tom was married.

You met your husband's eyes, the mischievous twinkle in his gaze matching your own, as he step-danced his way to you, holding out his hands as he spoke close to the microphone situated by PQ's setup. "May I have this dance, wife?"

He chose to go a touch off-script, and you loved him all the more for it. You didn't think either of you would be able to get through it with a straight face if he stuck to the "little sister" line. You placed your hands in his, speaking close to the mic as well. "You may, husband."

Tom pressed a kiss to your knuckles before leading you to the center of the vast stage, and you went through the remainder of the performance without a hitch. When you reached the bit in the routine where Chuck would abruptly stop due to getting a sudden migraine, he chose to instead ad lib another moment between you two where he pulled you into his arms before dipping you, placing a soft kiss to your lips.

"I'm so glad I got to do this with you," he murmured against your lips. "I love you so much."

"And I love you," you murmured back, smiling into the kiss as he righted you back up on your feet before heading right back into the routine, not missing a single drum beat.

When the number was finished, you stood hand in hand, taking in the applause. You could see from where you stood that some of the actors you'd worked with before, Rob and Downey included, had stood up, clapping harder than the rest.

"Okay now I can see why you love the stage, sweetie," you told Tom with a smile. You both received a cue to make your exit, and you walked hand in hand with your husband toward the lefthand curtains.

"Considering another career change, then, goddess?"

"Ohh fuck no," you answered him with a laugh. "I'll only ever say yes if it's with you. That's my hard rule."

Tom playfully insisted on helping you change back into your gown for the night, pressing soft kisses to your cheek and neck as he did your zipper up before you walked back into the hectic backstage area hand in hand. There you bumped into a few of your husband's costars.

Downey and his wife Susan, who applauded and pulled you both into a hug as soon as they saw you. And then once you walked past them…you saw Evans. Walking arm in arm with Alba. Looking the picture of marital bliss, wedding rings still gleaming on both their fingers. Well, at least she looked the part. He looked like he'd rather be in the pits of Tartarus.

"Stellar dancing," he told you both, the slightest remnant of a smug smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. "From both of you." He held out his hand toward your husband, putting on a show of good faith. "No hard feelings, right? I mean we all get our wires crossed, get things wrong every now and then?"

Your husband was tense as he stood still, refusing the gesture. "Asking my wife if we were in an open relationship isn't exactly what I'd call getting your wires crossed."

Evans took his hand back, making a whole show of shifting his stance over to face you before presenting it again. "Look Y/N, I'm sorry about that ugliness from before. Life was changing real fast for me and my feet got a bit chilly, you understand, right?"

You tried to mask the sneer that instinctively pulled at your mouth with a halfhearted smile. "Not really, never been there before. But I can see why some people could find it a struggle."

He squinted his eyes at you, probably mentally smacking you clean across the mouth, before plastering on the fakest possible smile he could muster. "You know what, I probably deserved that." He stretched out his hand a bit more, his arm muscles visibly strained even through his tuxedo jacket. "But what d'you say? Misunderstanding?"

You raised a single eyebrow his way, before giving the same look to his wife. You could see even from that fleeting glance that there was a tinge of regret in her wide eyes. Almost apologetic, even.

Like she was silently telling you I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough.

And it took everything you had in you not to react. Not to step in and tell her that this wasn't her fault. Not to directly intervene.

"Sure," you told Evans through gritted teeth. "Must have been a misunderstanding. Shit happens, right?"

You chose to shake his hand, and the Boston actor made the mistake of trying to put some extra pressure into the handshake with his thumb, attempting to cause you some discomfort. "Good to know we can all stay friends, then."

"Of course." Your smile didn't falter as you shifted your grip, mirroring his botched attempt at an intimidation tactic and applying pressure from your end as well. He broke the handshake, making it seem like static electricity got the better of him, and you visibly wiped your palm down the side of your dress. "You all have a good night."

As you and Tom walked away, you could hear the philandering husband whining and moaning, murmuring about how "that bitch broke my finger". You could also hear Downey stepping in to your defense, insisting that he didn't believe any part of you was built to be able to deal damage like that without anyone seeing.

"Wait…sweetheart, did you actually do something to his hand?" your husband asked you when you got far enough away, making your way around the outside of the theater so you could return to your seats.

"Maybe," you answered him, throwing a somewhat guilty look his way. "Sprained his ring finger. Probably gonna swell." He didn't bother to hold back his laughter, putting his arm around you and pulling you to his side as you walked in near perfect sync towards the theater's front doors. "What? Bitch had it coming, he was trying to do the same to me."

That was enough to stop him in his tracks, the soles of his shoes audibly scuffing on the concrete before he reached for your hand, his whole body tensing as he inspected every square inch of skin only to find the slightest trace of a bruise steadily forming on the space between your thumb and forefinger. "I'm going to break his jaw."

"Careful, sweetie, you're starting to sound a little too much  like me." You took his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to his wedding band. "I'm okay, and eventually one day he'll get what's coming to him. Now whether it's by nature finally taking its course or it's because he finally pissed me off enough that I decide to have a direct hand in it, time will tell. Now come on, let's just get back to our seats."

He held you a touch closer to him as you started walking again, a stronger air of protectiveness coming from him that had your heart melting. "I just don't understand. The information you gave her was more than enough to get her a good deal in a divorce."

"Guess she changed her mind," you sighed. "I mean, I can give her all the information and connections. And from what I saw, she even got as far as filing the actual divorce papers. But ultimately the decision to follow through is hers alone. And much as I feel bad for her, short of me directly intervening, I can't make those choices for her."

You made a mental check of how much longer the ceremony proper was as you walked through the main doors of the theater. The usher guided you through the lobby and pointed out which doors you should walk through next.

Before you reached the next doors, though, Tom led you down into one of the narrower side halls, your back pressed against the wall, his hands placed on either side of your head, loosely trapping you in the tight space. "Sweetie, what're you doing?" Your question came out in a swooning exhale, your heartbeat kicking up several notches from the vision of him towering over you.

He only responded by taking his hand to cup the side of your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb before he leaned down to give you a soft kiss. It had you damn near melting where you stood. Especially since you could feel with every brush of his lips the sheer restraint he was using to not take things further in such a public setting. Not with all the press and paparazzi a literal stone's throw away the second you step into a main corridor.

"What time did you mention we were picking up Eloise?" he asked you when he broke the kiss. Your mind wasn't quite all there yet, what with Tom still tracing the raised embroidered patterns of the bodice of your dress with his fingers.

"Told Taylor I'd stop by after the afterparty. Why?"

"I was wondering…perhaps we could forego the afterparty?" he whispered the question into your skin, lips ghosting along your jawline and up the shell of your ear before lightly nipping at the sensitive skin.

"Ohh…" you breathed out. "And what do you suggest we do instead?"

He pressed a featherlight kiss to your ear before he said in a low voice, "I was thinking we go back to our suite, and you still change into that exquisite dress you have saved for later tonight." He then moved to press his lips to the base of your throat, softly moaning against your skin as he wrapped his arm around you, pressing you against him. "Purely so I could peel it off of you. And we could have our own private afterparty."

Your husband kissed his way up your neck, smiling against your skin before he pressed his lips to yours. Knowing he'd suggested just enough that it painted a vivid picture in your mind just how the rest of the night would go if he could have it his way.

And he most definitely would.

"What do you say, Mrs. Hiddleston?"

You brought your arms up to his shoulders, crossing your hands behind his neck to pull him into another kiss before you gave him your answer. "I say…I love the way you think, Mr. Hiddleston."

A/N: Hello hello 👋 I'm on a four-day weekend thanks to Holy Week, and I'm determined to knock some stuff off my todo list. Hopefully one of them is getting some stuff off of my queue for The Gallery, but time will tell. Maybe I'll finish another item off of my 129301823 WIPs.

So…yeah…Evans is now in this series and he's a sleaze. I read some stuff late last year about him behaving almost beat for beat the way I wrote in the first part of the story. So that's why this chapter was written. And then the Feb 2026 stuff came in the last few weeks after I saw the Oscars. 🙃