Summary: You decide you want out, but ultimately, it’s not up to you. It never was.
Warnings: Implied murder, referenced violence, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Smut, Dubcon, Dead Dove: Do not eat
The train station is too empty.
You hadn’t realized the lobby was gradually hemorrhaging people, losing them one or two at a time until only you are left until you look up and see the lobby empty, quiet.
Something’s wrong.
You sit up straighter, casting a nervous look around. The big clock above the empty station attendant’s desk reads 10:35. Ten minutes until the Amtrak arrives. Ten minutes until you’re out of this city forever.
Thor thinks you’re with Molly—it’s the only reason he isn’t with you. Normally he’d be right, Tuesdays were always Girl’s Nights—but she was covering for you. Holding him off until you could get on that train and leave it all behind. Leave him behind. You glance at the clock again.
Five minutes.
You’ve always looked the other way with Thor, averted your eyes from the things you know you shouldn’t know—the nights he’d come home bruised and bloody, nights he didn’t come home at all. But you couldn’t look away from that. Still can’t—you see it every time you close your eyes, the man’s head splitting like ripe fruit, the dark spray of blood in the air.
You clutch yourself.
The station is still shockingly empty, not even the attendant has come back to check on you, and you wonder if he’s already off for the evening.
I should leave. Wait outside.
You grab your duffel bag, hefting it over your shoulder as you decide you’ll wait on the platform where the conductor can see you. The waiting room is too small, too close. The bag is heavy, digging into the meat of your shoulder through your shirt. You had packed as light as you could—only the essentials, the things you couldn’t replace. You rise from the bench with a sigh, turning to glance at the attendant’s counter, just to see if he’s back yet, and your chest goes cold and tight at the sight of Thor.
He’s there in the doorway, like he’d been waiting for you to see him. He leans casually against the frame, arms crossed and eyes dark, watching you. You begin to tremble, fear knotting in your belly. No. No, no, no—
“Hey, Baby.” He peels off his motorcycle gloves as you watch, pulling off one finger at a time. “Going somewhere?” He takes a step toward you and you take a mirroring one back. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Love. You know me.” He inches closer, hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal.
Your eyes flick from him to the exit, and you wonder fleetingly if you’ll make it, if you can be fast enough. Thor clucks his tongue at you.
“I wouldn’t.” It’s like he can smell your doubt. “You won’t make it ten steps.”
“We’re gonna talk about this like reasonable adults, Love.” You can hear the train, still a ways off but chugging steadily closer. The clock behind his head reads two minutes. “Don’t—”
You run.
Legs pumping, sprinting wildly for the exit and the platform beyond. The train horn sounds, it’s pulling in—and the strap of your bag goes taut as you’re yanked painfully back against Thor’s chest.
“Well, color me surprised,” he says, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “that was twelve.”
—
“What did we learn, Love?” Thor asks, fingers digging into the curve of your hips. He hums as he moves you back and forth across his cock, sliding your soaked and clenching cunt along from tip to base and back again. When you don’t answer, he nudges aside your hair and nips at the base of your throat. You whine in response.
“T-that we make big decisions t-together.”
“That’s right.” He laves the stinging bite mark. “Fuck, no I in team, right Sweetheart?” His cock pushes hard against your swollen clit and you gasp, hips twitching. Thor tilts your head and when he kisses you, you taste yourself on his tongue. His fingers find your nipples, twisting and tugging as you pant into his mouth.
The apartment is dark, lit only by the streetlights outside, and occasionally the headlights of a passing car. For just an instant, you see Thor’s face in the mirror, eyes hungrily intent on your own. You are glad when the darkness falls across his features like a curtain again, because it means you don’t have to see him.
Or yourself. You don’t want to think about what you know—what you have learned about him, about you.
You keen as he begins to press inside, hating the way you relish the delicious stretch and burn as you’re parted. It’s always felt like putting together the pieces of a puzzle when Thor fits himself between your wide-spread thighs. It still does, and you hate how right it feels as he forces himself so deep inside you feel like you might be choking on him.
“Even if you’d gotten on that train, Love,” he pants, “did you really think you could keep me from my baby?”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
You've just come off a bad breakup where your ex-boyfriend accused you of being boring, safe, and predictable, so you resolve to immediately go do something completely out of character to prove him wrong: you decide to visit the infamous biker bar known as Hel. However, you bump into a drunken reprobate outside and in the ensuing brawl, you meet the bar's owner, none other than a biker by the name of Thor Odinson. To make up for the drunkard, he invites you inside for free drinks and you find out that Hel is actually paradise, full of good mead, good music, and a rather hunky biker that seems to have his eye on you. Biker Thor/Reader AU two-shot.
Still thinking about that thorki fic where bikergangleader!Thor kills a member with his bare hands for deigning to touch Loki. And his biker gang just rolls with it. And when Loki realizes it, it turns him on so much they have crazy sex with Thor still covered in the guy's blood.
Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness.
This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.
Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down
Note: Another random update of a series for y’all as I toil away at drabbles in between!
Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
Masterlist
Your skin crawled as you walked to work the next morning. The memories of the night before made you cringe and tuck your chin down as you kept your eyes ahead of you. You feared if you looked around, you might summon the incessant biker from his hole.
The library was as empty as any other day and you claimed your seat at the curved desk. You booted up and sipped from your thermos, the coffee bitter on your tongue as you watched Melissa appear from the non-fiction section. She sat in her own chair and yawned as she signed on.
The monotony of Birch was sobering after the night in the dank bar. The bikers and their own little world, a microcosm of the worst types all in one place. You went about your usual tasks, there were a few returns on the cart to put back on the shelves and you walked the shelves and checked for out of order codes.
The hours slaked by like the peaks of a mountain against ancient gales. The stale lights made the days stretch to tedium and the grey without added to the sense of listlessness. Colin’s low snores escaped the back room and Melissa sorted through bent paperbacks in a far aisle to put out for the Sunday penny sale.
As the windows darkened, Colin gave his usual grumbled farewell and further mussed his wavy hair as he tried to smooth it out. It didn’t matter much as he covered it with the old faded Leafs toque and left through the automatic doors. His shadow was soon followed by Melissa as she looked forward to seeing her daughter and watching some new program on the local channel.
You were the last as you walked the aisles before final lock-up. The automatic doors were off as you checked for unlikely stragglers. You came back to the round desk and flipped off the lights for all but the entry way and the back office. You pushed open the door and locked the outside ones with a jangle of keys. As you turned back, you gripped the big key to the back door and shook your head.
You stepped through the space between the inner doors and stared at the man behind your desk. He sat in your chair, your purse sat before him on the counter as he shoved a large hand inside. You crossed your arms and watched Thor as he pulled out your coral coloured wallet and unsnapped it.
“What are you doing?” You asked harshly. “How did you get in here?”
He snickered and pulled out a card and lifted it up to look at it closely. He leaned back and flicked it with his thumb. “I knew you were a city girl.” He said.
“Get out. We’re closed.”
“Sorry, I’m late. I’m a busy man.” He slid the card back in place and searched the rest, uninterested by the few bills inside the fold and your various reward cards and outdated alumni ID.
“Late? You don’t seem the reading type. We don’t have that many audiobooks.” You neared and grabbed the other handle of your purse. “There’s an app for that now.”
Again, he laughed and dropped your wallet into the depths of your purse. He released it and pushed his shoulders back as you dragged the bag off the desk. He tilted his head and held up your phone in its shiny lavender case. He smirked as the screen lit up and he swiped it open. You never should have added the library as a trusted location.
“Hmm,” he turned it to face him and scrolled with his thumb, “I think you’re missing a number in here.”
“Give it.” You reached for the phone and he held it away from you like some annoying teenager. “Hey… Thor! Give me it. It’s mine!”
His blonde lashes flashed and he looked at you with delight. “Oooh, I love it when you say my name.”
“Stop. You can’t be in here and you certainly can’t--”
You swiped for the phone again and he caught your arm. He yanked you so hard you almost left the floor and you dropped your purse and keys. He held you over the counter as he twisted your wrist just a little.
“And who exactly is going to make me leave?”
He kept his thick fingers locked around your wrist as he searched your phone. You struggled with him but it only sent a violent jolt up to your elbow.
“I can do whatever I want and you can’t do anything to stop me. In fact, there’s no one in this town who can.” His jaw clenched and he locked your phone. “Well, kitten, I’m going to hold onto this.” He let go of you and stood as you retracted your arm and rubbed your sore wrist. “And when you want to be a good girl for me, you can come find me and ask for it nicely.”
“Ask? You’re crazy. It’s mine. You’re--” you sputtered.
You swallowed as his hand balled to a fist and his brow twitched. It was the first hint of anything but amusement. It was much more troubling, a slight tell. He was angry.
“I’ve been nice, kitten. I like you and your claws but don’t scratch too deep.” He warned as he backed away. “I’ll see my way out unless of course… you would take me up on my offer from last night.”
“Go. Keep the fucking phone.” You snarled and reached for your purse and the keys.
You stood and watched as he ran his tongue just below his teeth and turned away. He snaked his way through the back office and you heard the heavy metal door whine in his stead. You locked the inner doors and grabbed your jacket from the rack.
You went to the same door and hit the lights. You activated the security system and stepped out with a cautious look around the vacant parking lot. You locked the door and headed around the side of the brick building and out into the glow of the streetlights.
You could get a new phone, that was nothing, just a chunk out of your check. He could search your contacts, your apps, your phones, he’d find nothing but the pathetic life of a thirtysomething wash out. That wasn’t what worried you.
He was watching you. He had to be. He knew when you were alone and he knew how to get in. You might not see him but you were certain he could see you. You shivered and pulled your hate over your head and puffed out a cloud.
💀
You went home angry but slightly addled from the encounter. You watched over your shoulder the entire way home and locked your door with the tarnished chain. You found it hard to settle as you debated marching over to the bar and demanding your phone back and opening the wine you hadn’t touched since your impulsive purchase. You really hated Thor but you knew you could push him much further before he did something much worse.
You ignored your wrath and ate your dinner in front of the television before hiding under your covers and watching the snowfall until you fell asleep. Every night was as dull as the one before and the morning always came too quickly.
You woke and readied for your day with a cup of home-brewed Colombian roast and packed your lunch. You searched for your phone for two seconds before you remembered where it was. Your neck prickled as you thought of Thor with access to all your information and the barren social media accounts.
The snow was even deeper that day and you fought through the thick carpet. The library felt twice as far by the time you reached it and you were panting as you entered and shook off the powder. You took your usual spot at the usual time with your usual thermos and usual disillusion.
You whiled away the hours without the distraction of your phone. You realised how easily this man could torture you and not even be in the same place as you. You went searching in the aisles for something to do and scraped the gum off the bottom of the tables. A disgusting task but work nonetheless.
When the end of the day came, you were all too happy to go home and hide under your duvet with a tea and a sitcom. You hated this. You would go to the city and get a new phone if you had too. God, how much would that cost?
💀
The days slogged by and on your first free day, you were too tired to make the drive out of town. You resigned to your procrastination, instead taking a short walk down the main street to Babs’. Your usual order, but cinnamon instead of caramel in your latte, and a scone to enjoy at home.
The snow remained as thick as days before. You looked out the bakery window in dread as you awaited your order at the end of the counter. You still caught yourself reaching for your phone. If you waited too long, you might not even be able to make it into the city. Well, you could always order something online.
The door chimed as Steve’s girl came to the other side of the counter and placed your latte out for you. She smiled and you thanked her but her eyes rounded as you heard boots come close. You turned, barely surprised by the man who was better described as your shadow those days.
Since his visit to the library, Thor had made himself known in several instances, every day as you walked home he was outside the asp, watching. Other times, he’d be waiting by the steps of the library, mocking you silent as he pulled out your phone. You had too much pride to ask for it back and you knew that it would take more than asking.
You tried to sidestep him and he blocked your path. The foam pushed out through the hole in the plastic lid and you sighed.
“What do you want?” you hissed.
“I should ask you. I don’t know many girls these days can go days without their lifeline,” he taunted, “You know, it’s dangerous how much of ourselves we keep on these little things.”
He patted his jacket where he no doubt had your phone hidden. You looked down at your latte and thought of popping the lid off and tossing it at him. That wouldn’t be any good. You shrugged and looked past him.
“I gotta go--”
“Is there anything I can get you, Thor?” Steve’s girl eked out as if her voice could barely fit through her windpipe.
“I’ve come for something sweet but I think I found it,” he smirked, his eyes stuck to you.
“Give it up,” you scoffed and elbowed past him. He chuckled and followed you to the door as you sped up, your treads squeaking on the salt-stained floor.
“On you? Never,” he purred as you pulled the door open and he caught it behind you.
“You can break the phone for all I care,” you snarled, “just leave me alone.”
He kept up with you as flakes gathered on your scarf and you peered down the street and ran across. His boots crunched in time with yours as he lingered in your peripheral. You spun as you came to a stop on the other side and scowled.
“Jesus, I thought dogs were supposed to be obedient,” you snapped.
“I can be,” he winked and reached to brush the snow from the hair poking out from under your cap, “I’ll gladly get to my knees for you, kitten.”
You snapped at his hand and he pulled away with a surprised laugh. You gritted your teeth and took a step back.
“I won’t tell you again and I’m getting real tired of this.”
“You keep forgetting who you’re meowing at, kitten,” he stepped closer and you backed away again.
You turned and flitted away from him. You had not planned for him in your day off and you weren’t going to let him ruin it. You wanted to go home and enjoy your coffee, alone. However, that meant leading him to your front door. You stopped again.
“Go,” you pointed across the street at the Asp, the town’s marquee.
“Oh, kitten, you’re so cute,” he tugged on your scarf and you swatted him away.
“Alright, that’s it!” you smashed your cup against his chest and the hot liquid steamed as it splashed across his front and dripped down his leather jacket.
He held out his arms as he looked down at himself and slowly back to you. His blue eyes dilated as the ends of his golden hair sopped with caffeine. It was too late to apologize, too futile. You sputtered and quickly turned away.
You were thankful when you didn’t hear him behind you. You stopped and peaked back at the corner of the next side street. He watched you still and even at a distance you could see his rage.
If you hoped he’d lose interest, that optimism was dead.
💀
A snow storm stagnated the already stale town and you could guess that the highway was even worse. You could replace your sim online but that would take at least a week to arrive and with the weather, likely longer. It might be quicker to wait out the blizzard. You stayed in limbo, reluctant to pull the trigger.
You kept to your apartment for the rest of the weekend, with no reason or want to leave. On your way, you didn’t see him. You sighted a few figures through the falling powder but they were faces familiar to the streets. You kept an eye over your shoulder, glancing around every few steps.
You avoided the cafe. He might look for you there, he might even be waiting for you. You sat down at your desk but felt out of place. He could walk through those doors like he had only days before. He could taunt you and tease you. What made you so antsy was that he could do worse than that. You knew it but you’d let your temper get the best of you. A wasted latte might have cost you everything.
By the end of your shift, it was decided. You were leaving Birch. No one could know until you were gone. Not Melissa, not Colin, no one. You old all-weathers would have to get you down the highway, just to the city so you could lose yourself there until you had a real plan. Even as the snow piled higher and higher, there could be no delay. You’d waited long enough.
Paranoid, you were certain you’d be met again on your path home. The town was dead as the soft blanket covered the ground. The flakes turned to mounds and the tops of your boots let in errant clumps of snow. The store may as well been closed for the day, the library had been little different but its lethargy was expected. Even The Asp seemed to have dulled with the pale gusts.
You packed a bag. One. The apartment came furnished and you never cared much for miscellany. Anything you left behind was replaceable. You went down the back stairs and cleaned off your small Focus. Used but reliable. You were out of breath as you climbed into the driver’s seat and threw the brush in the back.
You drove carefully down the side streets, snaking around as you knew the main fair would give away your escape. You stopped at the sign that pointed to the highway ramp and wondered.
What if he had got the clue? What if you were running from nothing?
You remember the look in his eye and shivered. No, that glimmer assured you that return to your mother’s was as wise as it would be torturous. You followed the arrow and took the curve steadily with your foot planted on the gas. The traffic was slow and cautious as headlights were barely visible through the snowfall.
You gripped the wheel tightly and let out a breath. You would be gone before he knew. You’d get a new phone, a new job, a new life. Even if it was just pay-as-go, a McDonald’s visor, and your mother’s couch for a while. What good was a job in a place like Birch anyway? Just as good as your irrelevant degree.
You were startled and nearly lost control as a set of lights appeared behind you in the next lane. They were dangerously close to dinging your rear bumper as the reckless driver took a u-turn right before the upcoming barriers. You wrinkled your brow as you glared at them through the white haze. What kind of maniac was pulling shit like that in this weather?
And then, they did hit you. A nudge but enough to send you veering in the thick lines of snow. You clutched the wheel and tried to steer into it, tried to right yourself as you were knocked again. Your heart was in your throat as the engine revved and you hit your brakes, not knowing what else to do as a third collision came.
You spun out and hit the cement wall along the far lane, narrowly missing another car as it pulled ahead. You stilled, your seatbelt saving your face from a smack against the wheel, and stared down the highway as you stared at oncoming traffic. You were completely turned around on the arm.
You caught your breath and reached for your purse. Fuck, you had no phone. What was that asshole thinking? It didn’t seem like an accident.
The car that had bullied you into a crash pulled up along the barrier. You watched in the rear view as the barely visible tail lights glowed and a dark figure appeared between the car and the concrete. You squinted as the man neared, a long coat flapped around his tall figure as he held his hand to his face.
He came up beside your car as you heard his voice muffled through the glass and tapped on your window. He bent and knocked again as you shot him the finger. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind. You rolled down the window with the manual crank and growled, “what the fuck!?”
“Can I have your name, darling?” he asked in a sinisterly familiar accent.
“Screw you! You almost killed me!”
He turned his phone out as you screeched at him and quickly put it back to his ear, “that sound like her?”
A deep voice rumbled in the speaker and the dark-hair man nodded as he shielded his face from the blowing snow, “you owe me, brother.”
“Who the fuck are you?” you spat and reached to your glovebox. You grabbed the heavy flashlight and swung it at him, “get away--”
He caught with a leather-gloved hand and glared back at you. He tucked away the phone in his jacket. His nostrils flared and his green irises caught fire.
“Let’s not do this, darling,” he warned, “my brother has given me clearance to use whatever force necessary…” he pushed the button and pulled open your door as he wrenched away the metal flashlight, “and while he seems the bigger brute, I assure you his cruelty cannot match mine.”
It’s dark. Thor groans and waves a hand in front of his eyes. He’s dizzy. His head is cloudy. Where the fuck is he anyway?
As his eyes adjust to the light (or, rather the absence of it) he starts to remember everything: The unexpected escort, the talk, Hela, a gun fired at his head (tranquilizer?)... and then, darkness.
How long ago was that, he wonders. With total silence and the only light coming from a small line on the floor beside the door, it’s hard to tell. He browses his pockets for his phone, only to find it gone. Thor chuckles, bitter: of course they’d take it. Hela’s wardogs might be a bit on the dumb side, but even they aren’t that stupid: leaving him with means to communicate would be too big of a mistake.
Thor searches for his pockets. No knife. No gun. Even his car keys are gone. He crawls over to the door and tries to shake it: to no avail of course. Not that he was expecting anything different.
He slumps with his back to the door and closes his eyes.
Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness
This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.
Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down
Note: So, I’ve made some positive changes in my life. I am working away at original work, I’m drinking more water, I’m taking my dog on big walks and being more active, and I’m doing my best. So, I was struck with an old yearning to return to Birch. I’ll be updating here and there as I feel and won’t be pushing myself like I did before because I realise how unhealthy and stressful it was on me.
Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
Chapter 1: It gets so sticky down here
A city girl in a small town. What could be sadder than that?
In the city, life went fast. In a place like Birch, the days dragged by as if to remind you of how helpless you were beneath the unyielding and inevitable tick of the clock. The hand wound around and around as you waited for what would never happen. The dreams of your childhood eroded beneath the rolling years leaving trail of crumbs you could not follow back to the beginning.
A woman just beyond her prime trapped in an antiquated career. The empty aisles between the shelves full of books bespoke of a bygone era. The forgotten library at the far end of the main street rarely saw a new face and those familiar were fewer by the day. The staff had thinned to three of you; Melissa was older than you with a daughter nearly your age and Colin was close to retirement if not well past.
You got on well enough, as well as you could given Colin’s faulty hearing aid, and Melissa’s wandering mind. They meant well but they shared the lethargy of the old small town.
You weren’t nostalgic for the smog or the flashing lights of the city, but there was no life to this place. Only the impending reach of death rattling closer in the roar of the motorcycles and the rumble of the old railroad that ran through the middle of town.
The air nipped at your cheeks as you approached the library. A morning of yawning had you craving a latte from the bakery and the quiet girl behind the counter cheerfully steamed the foam before handing it over. Everyone in this town was familiar, everyone knew everyone else, and yet, you still felt like an outsider.
You felt the heat of the cup through your glove and you looked up as you sensed two figures by one of the thick columns of the library façade. Melissa stood chatting with her daughter, hugging her sweater around her as she’d left her coat inside. You peeked up at the grey sky as snow threatened at any moment with the mid-November bite.
As you thought to pass them and leave their conversation uninterrupted, your name drew you back.
“I was just telling my daughter,” Mel began as she waved you over with a chatter of her teeth. “About that podcast you mentioned. She loves those old Hollywood stars.”
“Oh,” you blew the steam away from the lid of your drink as you neared, “It’s alright. The stories are worth the narrator’s schtick.”
“Yeah? I’ve been closing at the bar and I like to listen to something once it clears out.” Mel’s daughter said. “You wouldn’t mind giving me the name?”
You told her the title of the podcast and helped her find it on Spotify to follow for later. Mel shivered and stood closer to her daughter who was bundled up against the onslaught of Birch’s blustering winter. You knew about her too.
She was friendly but you saw in her a cynicism more common to city folk. You got along but you were weary of her associations. The local club of crass bikers were neither subtle nor savoury. In the city, it was easy enough to ignore the patch and all that came along with it. The seedy figures were distilled by the broader population but not in Birch. There, the club was the town.
“Mom, you can’t stay out here.” She poked her mother’s arm. “It’s too cold.”
“Little better in the library.” You grumbled and sipped your latte. “The radiator’s broken again.”
“You mean Colin broke it trying to fix what wasn’t broken,” Melissa shook her head, “and I’m fine, dear. I’ve spent more than fifty winters in Birch and been through worse than this.”
“Yes, but you were younger then--” Her voice dwindled as she turned her head to listen to the distant roar of exhaust.
You followed her gaze and noted the way her forehead creased at the noise. She swallowed and turned to watch as a dark rider turned onto the main road from the highway. It was the man who kept her entwined with the club, the one who marked her latent authority over all others. The only one who outranked her.
She swore and looked over her shoulder at her mother. Her mother touched her arm. It was a telling and surprising moment. Her expression read of all the disgust you felt for the bikers.
At least a dozen bikes followed the first and Bucky raised his glove hand to signal the others to slow as he pulled up to the curb just before the library steps. You backed away as his breath clouded around him and he waved Mel’s daughter closer. He craned to kiss her as she bent, her fingers picking at her jeans as she did, then he nodded his greeting to Mel.
“What are you doing?” He asked tersely.
“Can’t I see my mother?” The daughter challenged and the biker scoffed.
“Of course,” he killed his engine and the others mimicked him in fine order. “I wouldn’t keep ya from her but you didn’t tell me you were going downtown.”
“You were gone.”
You listened to the conversation as you stayed close to the column, thinking of sneaking up the steps into the library before you heard too much. Your curiosity had you searching the crowd of leather jackets as their wearers tried to conceal their impatience with their boss’ impromptu halt.
Among them, a large man sat casually in his seat, his feet planted on the cold pavement as he rolled slightly back and forth. Strands of his thick blond hair were drawn back beneath his helmet into a thick braid as the rest hung around his shoulders. His patch was different from the rest, an old Norse symbol you didn’t know the meaning of. There were several others who wore the same cut, including a dark-haired woman who chatted with another golden-haired rider.
You tasted your latte again, it cooled quickly as the cold air battered the cardboard. As you sipped and sidled around the column, your eyes were caught by another pair. The very man you’d just been watching was now focused on you. You stopped, hoping like some frightened animal that your stillness would ward off his attention.
“Barnes,” the broad blonde man spoke as he finally looked away. “You’ve not even introduced me to your woman. I assume that’s why we’ve stopped.”
Bucky shifted on his bike and sighed. You hadn’t expected the man to have an accent. His voice was deep but the subtle lilt defined his tone as unforgettable. The dark-haired biker of Birch rolled his eyes before he pointed to his girl and gave her name, then to Melissa as he explained their relation.
You sidestepped around the column to the stairs of the library and turned away. You were stopped again by the same voice.
“And that one? The quiet one?”
You spun back slowly and looked at each biker, many unconcerned with conversation, as a few stared back at you or at the viking-like rider. Bucky shook his head and furrowed his brow at Melissa’s daughter. She hesitated before she gave your name coolly referred to you as just another librarian. She was trying to deflect the focus and you were thankful for it. You wondered at her own blatant spite for that breed of man.
“No one important,” Bucky grabbed his keys. “Come on, honey. I’ll give you a ride back.”
“I can walk.”
“Get on.” He said gruffly and turned the keys.
The motorcycles thrummed back to life in a cacophony. You flinched and turned back to the library doors. Your lunch was almost over as it was and the cold was starting to make your head hurt. You heard the bikes tear off as you reached the door and you turned back to watch as Melissa ran up after you.
You held the door for her and paused as you watched riders tear away. The blonde remained and watched you with a smirk. He winked as he slowly rolled after the others and pushed off. You followed Melissa inside and pulled the door shut tightly behind you.
“I’ll finish the returns,” you slipped past her, “you should try to warm up.”
“Thanks, dear,” she rubbed her hands together as she neared the curve desk you all shared, “God, that man makes my skin crawl.”
“But your daughter--”
“She handles him as well as she can,” Melissa sat and logged onto her boxy PC, “she’s stronger than me, that’s for sure.”
You sat and chewed on the thought. You just assumed her daughter leaped at the opportunity to date the most powerful man in town. What else could a girl from Birch hope for?
“She doesn’t…”
“He keeps her safe, I guess,” Melissa muttered, “I don’t say nothing against it. I won’t, for her sake as much as mine.”
You lowered your lashes and turned to the stack of unscanned books. You took the first and opened the cover.
“I didn’t mean to-- I don’t really know anything about the… bikers.”
“Hope you never do, dear,” she said listlessly. “Those men, if you can call them that, are the lowest form of humanity.”
💀
You always took the same route home. It wasn’t very far. You lived in the studio apartment above Tammy’s, the clothes shop where all the local seniors got their outdated outfits. The store itself smelled like a retirement home but you were not often disturbed by the activity below. Like everything in Birch, it wasn’t very exciting.
Your walk took you past the diner and along the stretch across the street from the town’s sentinel, The Asp. The bar was the only place in town which always seemed to be bursting with life. You had an old Chevrolet parked behind the building but you never drove to work, only on your odd trip to the city to get away from the suffocation malaise of main street.
That day as you fumbled to get your earbud back in, you heard a whistle. You got a few comments now and again about your habit of blocking out the townsfolk and the town itself with your music. In the city, you didn’t just say hi to every person you walked by and you had little inclination to change that habit.
You kept going and the whistle came louder. You heard boots hammer across the street and you stopped as the earbud once more fell out of your ear.
“Eh, kitten,” you turned to the long-haired biker. A golden hammer hung from a chain and peaked out from the open collar of his jacket. He tucked his hands in his pockets as you faced him with blatant irritation. “We didn’t get to meet properly, did we?”
You stared at him and let out a foggy breath. You leaned on your left heel and shook your head with a scoff.
“No.” You said and turned back along your path.
“No?” He repeated and his footsteps followed closely. “I’m only being friendly, kitten. I’m not from around here and I’m just tryn’ ta make a few friends.”
“I’m not interested,” you march onward and stop short.
You realised if you went any further, you’d lead him straight to your door. You didn’t need him knowing where you lived. You veered off and crossed the street, he stayed close just like your shadow. You’d stop by the liquor store and wait him out there.
“Where are you going, kitten?”
“Can’t you take a hint?” You nearly tangled your own legs as you pivoted sharply. “I’m sorry for your luck that you’ve ended up in Birch but I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you.” You grasped the handle of the liquor store door. “Oh, and my name isn’t kitten.”
“I know your name. I remember it.” He grinned and you swung open the door. He caught it behind you and you let out a frustrated sigh as he trailed you inside. “It’s almost as gorgeous as you.”
“Do those work on the women where you’re from?”
You stared at the shelf of fruit wines and tried to ignore him. You were starting to build a real thirst for the bottles.
“I don’t meet a lot of women like you, kitten.”
“Would you stop it--” You blinked and stomped further down the aisle.
“Thor. My name’s Thor.” He offered gallantly. “But you can call me whatever you wish.”
“I could think of a few things.” You bent down to read the label of a wine from the Maritimes.
“Mmm, my thoughts run wild, kitten.” He purred and you looked up at him in confusion.
You swiped the bottle from the shelf and stood straight. His eyes clung to your ass and as you turned, they swiftly found your chest. Neither were well-hidden by your jacket, even as thick as it was. Your weight often deterred the whistles and the leers, but not this time.
“How many ways can I tell you to go away?” You hissed and move to step around him. He turned and watched you pass. He shivered as you brushed against him unwillingly in the narrow aisle.
“So, you got a man?” He questioned as again he tailed you to the counter. You grabbed a small bottle of Vodka from the rack beside it and dug out your wallet.
“Does it matter?”
He bent and leaned on the counter beside you and you ignored his attempt to look you in the face. You paid and took your change as the clerk bagged your purchase.
“To me, everything about you matters, kitten.”
You shot him a sharp look and took your paper bag. You hugged it close and glared at him as he straightened. “Stop calling me that.”
“Here,” he gripped the top of the bag, “I’ll help.”
“I’ll smash this bottle over your head,” you threatened. “Now I’ve told you to leave me alone.”
He chuckled and dipped his head. His hair slid down the leather and he scratched his thick beard.
“Don’t worry, kitten, I like to play.”
He looked at you again, his blue eyes twinkling. You were startled as suddenly he ‘woofed’’ at you. You backed away and he kept close as is to chase you, ready to salivate like the dog he mimicked.
“Get away!” You shouted and raced for the door.
His barks turned to laughter and the bell announced your stagger out onto the street. You didn’t look back as you charged across the street and narrowly missed being mowed down by Linda Karling. You reached the other side as you heard the liquor store door clatter a second time. You sensed his shadow as you turned down a side street.
You walked until you were certain he wasn’t following. The cold blew up your jacket as you mapped out your way back. You could sneak around the back of the clothes shop and sneak up the metal escape. You peered back and forth, the old house just at the town limits nearly faded into the dimming sky and main street shrouded by brick walls.
“Hey,” a small voice surprised you as a woman neared, walking the same route as you. “Whatcha doing all the way up here?”
You stared at her dumbly. It was the woman who worked at the bakery. She hung out with the club too.
“Nothing, I…” You grabbed your earbuds and put them back in your ears. “I was listening to my music and got carried away.”
“Oh?” she chittered like a mouse. “No one comes this way. Only me to see my ma.”
You nodded at her and gave an awkward smile. “Mmhmm. Well, thanks. I probably would’ve wandered right out of town.”
“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said forlornly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“For your latte. And you always get the banana loaf when it’s on special and tomorrow’s Tuesday.”
You sniffed and rubbed your neck. You hated that. You hated that everyone knew you, that everyone knew what you did, and that they assumed they knew everything else. But she was sweet and you couldn’t hate her for never being freed from the prison of Birch.
“Oh yeah,” you squeezed the paper bag so it crinkled and pulled out your phone with your free hand, “tomorrow.”
“So,” Loki says and walks towards the kitchen cabinets. “I may not know lots of Vikings, but I do know alcohol was held in high regard. Would you like a drink?”
“You don’t drink.” Thor states.
“I don't.” Agrees Loki. “Doesn't mean I can't keep alcohol in my house, does it?” He motions Thor towards the grayish-yellow sofa.
Thor sits, looking around, taking in the surroundings.
The room is simple. White walls. No paintings. No designs or sketches. No TV. A sofa, with a fluffy rug in front of it, small wooden coffee table on the side, worn down leather armchair by the window, next to a heater, with a stool in front of it, covered in paper stacks and pencils. No curtains Brown kitchen cabinets on the other side, with a bar stool in front of it. A toaster, a coffee maker, a microwave. Only the basics. Two doors to either side of the cabinets.
Then his eyes land on something he wouldn't have expected to see: a glass shelf stacked with alcohol. Thor can’t really see the names on them, but they sure look expensive .
“What do you want?” Loki asks.
“Watcha got?”
“All kinds of shit. “ Shrugs Loki. “Whiskey, wine, vodka, Martini, Absinthe, don't even know what this shit is called.” He pulls out a golden bottle.
Thor nearly chokes.
“Do you have any idea how much that shit costs, Loki?” He asks, baffled.
“Nope.”
“Why do you even have it then?”
“It's a gift.”
Right. Like that makes sense. Gifting couple thousand dollars worth bottle of whiskey to someone who doesn’t drink.
Loki sighs, stealing a tiny glance of Thor before hurriedly looking back down, replaying the image in his mind over and over: Thor, bent down over his sketches, smile on his lips, brows knit together, biting his lips unknowingly, trying to figure out, trying to choose, probably worrying that Loki’s getting fed up with him too; it’s written all over his face.
Well, that couldn't be further from the truth; If anything, Loki’s worried that he’ll choose too soon. Or will deny all the versions, altogether.
And then his useless mouth runs away with him and…
