story type: hella angst (sorry)
characters: female reader, thor odinson, sam wilson, and Steve rogers
trigger warning: i curse like a sailor I'm so sorry
A/N: Hi, everyone! This is my first writing piece I’ve uploaded here- I’m trying to get back into creative writing and what better way to find my way than through Marvel fanfiction. I appreciate any and all feedback! Sidenote: I did Samuel Wilson so dirty here I am so sorry. Sam deserves the WORLD and I absolutely did not give it to him in this story, but I wanted to make this as heart-wrenching as possible. Thanks for reading!
“The second time I ever saw you I learned that what I had read in books but I never had actually believed: that love and suffering are the same thing and that the value of love is the sum of what you have to pay for it and anytime you get it cheap you have cheated yourself.”
-The Wild Palms, William Faulkner
The lingering touches, the stolen smiles from across the room, the late nights staying awake talking about god knows what for hours on end; the daily “I made you coffee because you were still asleep and I know you hate everybody and everything until you’ve had caffeine and I didn’t want you to wake up angry” cups of coffee on each other’s bedsides, the delicate “you’ve got something on your face, let me get it for you” touches that are just excuses so you have a chance to finally touch each other- it’s all too much and you can’t breathe.
The rational side of your brain screams at you to lock these feelings back up and throw them to the bottom of a lake somewhere inside yourself and never acknowledge they even existed in the first place, but your brain is getting increasingly smaller by the second and pretty soon you will not be able to tell the difference between good and bad- right and wrong, and god this is wrong. But you have been holding your breath for far too long and he feels like fresh air and it’s far too painful to deny yourself breath any longer than you already have.
You realized this the third time you had acknowledged your feelings for the God of Thunder: you realized that love and the sacrifices you make for it walk hand in hand and any time you do not have anything to lose, anything to risk, you have cheated yourself of what love should be. You, yourself, have absolutely nothing to lose. You do not deserve the love- the honest to God real fucking love you crave so badly. You have too much red in your ledger for someone like him.
Your world before the Avengers was confined to the walls of the Red Room, knowing rarely of life elsewhere. You weren’t stolen from your beloved parents, you weren’t kidnapped off of the streets- you don’t have- no, you don’t get a sob story. You were selfish. The reality of the situation is that you wanted to be something better- something bigger than what your life had to offer. Your greed and pride and lust for recognition drove you over the edge of insanity; you ran off to the Red Room of your own accord at the age of twelve, naïve to the life awaiting you inside its concrete walls. Your intentions were to become the best goddamn weapon the world had ever seen, morals be damned. And you achieved your goal- you had made yourself a name by the age of nineteen; hell, you even popped up on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar, finally getting at least some of the recognition you craved. But all victories come with a cost.
Your cost rang up to be watching your parents being lowered six feet underground, murdered by the very people who made you into the monster you wished to be. No weaknesses, right? After the murder of your parents, you went spiraling. You left the Soviet organization and turned yourself into S.H.I.E.L.D. Following months and months of training, therapy, and conditioning, you were again utilized as a weapon, but this time, for the good guys- for the Avengers.
Now, here you stand, gripping your glass of water so hard it might shatter, angry with yourself for believing for even a second you deserve to love and be loved by someone so kind and so… free, for loving someone you didn’t have to settle for. Clearing your throat, you set your damn-near-forgotten drink on the kitchen counter beside you. You press your back against the cool marble of the counter. Your hands go to your face as you take a deep breath in, trying to steady yourself from the crashing waves of nausea hitting your stomach.
Heavy footsteps echo through the hallway filtering into the kitchen where you are currently situated, cuing you to stand up a little bit straighter and look a little bit happier. Thor strides into the space, carrying himself as if he had wings. That confidence, that strength he possesses is something you’ve admired about him from the moment he stepped onto the grounds of the compound from the Bifröst years ago. The world could be crashing down around him and he’d still stand tall amid the chaos. His strong stature was and is formed by his kingship over Asgard undoubtedly; if not for himself, he must be strong for his people regardless of the circumstances. He never makes himself small.
“Good morning, little dove. Has sleep been kind to you in the night?” Thor’s tired, raw voice rings through the air as he mirrors your position against the countertop opposite of you. A small smile crosses your lips as you take in his sleepy appearance. A similar smile takes its place on his.
“Yeah, um…” your eyes catch his for a fleeting moment, waves of emotion threatening to spill over. You can’t have him, (Y/N). “You could say that…” you trail off. You shift your weight to your arms as you push yourself to sit on top of the counter. “How about you, dove?” you reciprocate with more enthusiasm, poking fun at the term he used mere moments ago.
The god lets out a breathless chuckle with a shake of his head, “Sleep is always no stranger to me.”
His looks, however, betray him. The darkness surrounding his usually-bright eyes, the shallow wrinkles making a home ever-so-subtly in the contours of his face not slipping your mind. It’s no coincidence thunderstorms paint the skies during odd hours of the night- hours in which only you are awake, or so you ignorantly presumed. They always let up before morning, of course.
You sigh, locking your eyes with the god’s.“Thor, you don’t have to hide from me-”
Your sentence is interrupted by the ding of the elevator opening just a few meters from you and the god. Neither you nor Thor move from your places, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer as you shift your attention to the pair of bodies stepping out of the elevator. You shut your eyes momentarily as your heart drops at the sight of Sam and Steve making their way towards you and Thor. How foolish of you to drift so far from your reality for even one fleeting moment.
“There she is! There’s my favorite girl.” Sam hooks his arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “How’d you sleep, sugarmama? I didn’t have the heart to wake you this morning when I got up. You just looked so peaceful and shit laying there.”
You clear your throat and plaster a smile of feigned affection on your face as you turn to look at Sam. “Just fine, thank you, babe.” Little did he know you had been fully awake as you pretended to sleep, your mind running marathons and jumping hurdles as you tried to figure out how to fucking get yourself together.
Steve’s hand makes contact with Thor’s shoulder as he laughs at something he said, Thor not paying much attention to him at all. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the interaction playing out between you and Sam, anger and jealousy and loneliness flooding his veins all at the same time. You, however, catch this- his change in demeanor. Before, the atmosphere surrounding the two of you was light and safe and now the tension is so thick between the two of you it can be cut right in half. Your eyes meet his again and you give him the saddest smile he thinks he’s ever seen and it just about sends him over the edge.
The god clears his throat and mutters a polite “excuse me” to Steve as he seemingly drags himself out of the kitchen and down the hallway, a small rumble of thunder shaking the skies; it’s faint, but it’s there and it hurts. The boys shake it off and start to discuss their post-run workout. You bite your lip and close your eyes, taking a deep breath in through your nose as all of your self control keeps you nailed to the counter. I’m sorry.
“Hey, (Y/L/N), wanna join us for the workout?” Steve’s voice snaps you out of your daze. “I promise we won’t go easy on you.”
Sam snickers, pulling at the baggy shirt hanging around your body. “C’mon, babe. Training’s always fun with the chococino...” Steve laughs at Sam’s remark as Sam wiggles his eyebrows at you.
Please don’t. You offer a small smirk, shoving your emotions further down your throat and into your stomach. “As tempting as your offer is, I think I’m going to take a rest day today, boys.”
You hop off of the kitchen counter and grab your glass of water. “Oh, okay, babe. I see how it is. I’ll just have to work for it today, then.” Sam snakes an arm around your waist once more as he speaks, pulling you in for a quick kiss shortly after. As your lips graze his, you feel like you want to vomit. Everything is suddenly too much and you feel as if you’re being hurled into the fucking Sun.
You’re quick to pull away and excuse yourself from the room only to find yourself standing in front of a bedroom door- Thor’s bedroom door. Before you can talk yourself out of what you’re about to do or calm yourself down at all, your knuckles rap one, two, three times on the hard wood of the door, the knocks seemingly deafening in the silence of the hallway.
“I am in no mood to converse at the moment, Rogers.” Thor’s gruff voice sounds through the door, muffled by the heavy wood of the door.
My god, you’re going to regret this. “It’s just me.” your voice comes out shakier than you had hoped it would.
Silence. There’s silence, but just for a moment. On the other side of the door, Thor has his head in his hands, gripping and pulling at his hair hoping to make himself just fucking snap out of it. He can’t have you. You. You. You. No. Thunder cracks and crashes against the sky outside. The best of him left as soon as Sam touched you.
You flinch at the sound, cursing your feet for bringing you where you obviously aren’t wanted. Your eyes fly shut. A shaky breath escapes your lungs as the doorknob twists with a creak. The door opens and Thor is met with your terrified expression. You’re not terrified of him, god no. You’re terrified of how you and he are going to get through this because you know damn well he feels the same way you do and you know damn well he’s just as scared.
“Oh, my love, come here.” Thor gently pulls you into him as he closes the door behind you, hiding the two of you from the whirring cameras lining the hallway.
You press your forehead into Thor’s chest, your hands going to his hips. One of his hands is solid on your back, the other weaving its way in your hair, holding you against him. Thor’s eyes flutter shut as he tries to memorize the feel of your body pressed against his, praying to all the gods above he gets to do this every day. How the hell is this so wrong?
“What are we doing here, Thor?” your voice breaks, loneliness and longing seeping through. Just like you hoped it wouldn’t.
“I don’t know, little one.” He tucks his chin on top of your head. “I don’t know.” The god presses a kiss to the crown of your head, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, silently saying “this is where your crown should be sitting, my queen”.
germansingergirl
vaporwave
2087
