#but i can still fucking obsess over them. totally get fixated. thankfully my eyes start to hurt and burn and i stop

[stelashe]

I thought I was cured bc I played the sims for 30 minutes a month ago after years but today I played it for 4 hours straight I can't be trusted around video games I'll end up dead after drinking my own pee

[latent-thoughts]

The Pursuit of a Simple Life (Chapter 2 - Pizza My Heart)

[Co-Authored with @emeraldrosequartz​]

Rating : 18+ (there be lots of citrus here).

Warning: None

Pairing: Loki/Original Female Character

Summary: Three years after returning to Earth with the other Asgardians following Ragnarok, Loki finds himself working for SHIELD, truly just trying to fight the boredom. While on an undercover mission, he unexpectedly begins to fall for his co-worker, Gemma, and she seems to feel the same way…about Dave, his alter ego while in disguise. Can Loki continue a relationship with her while keeping his true identity a secret? How many lies can the 'God of lies' spin to keep his pursuit of a simple life?

[Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017); THOR IS A GOOD BRO AND TOTALLY NOT HOW HE WAS IN RAGNAROK, THNX; Infinity War Doesn't Exist; Everyone lives]

A/N: Gemma and 'Dave' get to know each other a bit more over 'doggy style' pizza. And then she discovers certain things about him which are just too-good-to-be-true.

_________________________________

IMPORTANT NOTES:

Bold Text = Loki's POV

Normal Text = Gemma's POV

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She took his hand, hoping he couldn’t feel her shaking. She felt like she was in a daze. Of Dave. A Dave Daze...

The restaurant - called “Pizza My Heart” (how awkward!) - was only a block away, so they walked over and found a booth next to the salad bar where the table wasn’t dirty or sticky.

After a few giddy minutes, Gemma finally relaxed enough to enjoy their conversation after her first slice of the “Doggy Style” pizza - Dave insisted he didn’t know what the term meant, but Gemma had her doubts. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to actually say what it meant.

And they talked...for hours. They talked about how stupid their jobs were, mostly. But he asked her so many questions about herself...she felt... special. Dave made her feel interesting and funny and cool. And as she got more comfortable with him...she started seeing him as less intimidatingly handsome and more...approachable. Like he might actually be more than just a distant infatuation.

Suddenly, the waiter told them that they were closing. Gemma looked around--they were the only ones left in the restaurant, and she hadn’t even noticed.

And it was two in the morning.

“Oh my GOD! I’m going to be a wreck tomorrow...��� she groaned, but with a very happy smile on her face. “That’s ok. It was worth it. Best dinner I’ve had in a long time. Thank you, Dave!”

She raised her plastic soda cup in a toast.

Loki nudged his soda cup to hers, smiling widely. "I, for one, am very glad that I got to monopolize your time today. Finally got to know the girl who I only knew the name of. Though a beautiful name it is, I wanted more."

He watched the red creep up her peachy cheeks in response to his words. Really, making her blush was so much fun, it was almost like a game to him now.

What else could he say next to make little Gemma go red? It gave his overactive mind something nice to do, when it was not thinking about the mission.

Still, he knew that he couldn't afford to think too much about Gemma, or he'd... fixate. He had this odd habit of becoming near obsessive over things and people he developed a liking for. Moderation wasn't in his nature, Thor had once commented on it after settling on Midgard, seeing him develop an obsession over Midgardian climates and their corresponding architecture.

Oh well... for at least three years he had kept himself busy enough to not fixate on anything. The SHIELD missions were enough stimulation for his needy brain.

But now, seeing the smiling, blushing pretty face of Gemma, he was getting the feeling that his brain needed another type of stimulant.

Or was it his body?

Her brightness and endearing awkwardness contrasted him so much, it was hard not to be drawn to her. He was so full of dark thoughts, many of which had manifested during his rampage across Midgard not long ago, brought to the surface by the Scepter. While he was a churning storm, Gemma was like a fluffy fair-weather cumulus.

As they got out of their booths and headed back towards their company office, he briefly wondered how it would've been had he met Gemma back in 2012. Norns, he probably would not have shown the restraint he was showing now; he would've ended up doing something very, very bad.

Like abduct her and keep her with him. Like a pretty trinket.

But Gemma is not a possession, he reminded himself. Gemma is a person. She decides what she does, not me.

And yet, a tiny part of his psyche still wanted to possess her. He strangled that part quickly.

"So, I was thinking I should drop you home," he said, grasping her delicate hand as she headed toward the nearby, empty bus stop. "It's pretty late, and I don't want you traveling alone."

He used his very persuasive tone with her, knowing that it worked well with Midgardians and Asgardians alike. And his request was earnest as well. He actually felt protective of her and didn't want her to be vulnerable.

She was a good girl, after all. So sweet and well mannered, not a single blemish marred her gentle heart.

“But...I...it’s fine, really. I take the bus everywhere. And frankly, I’m still totally wired on caffeine. I think I’ll probably be up all night anyway...”

Oh, she knew what he was doing. But after the hours of friendly banter, she was feeling...secure. And as much as she swore she would never sleep with a co-worker...come ON. This was turning out to be the makings of a story she would remember for years to come, about how she --the humble, awkward little Gemma--slept with her hot British co-worker. And besides, the way he talked, it sounded like he was already looking for jobs at other companies, and she couldn’t blame him. This job sucked.

“Um...would you mind...if I came over for a drink? I don’t have anything at my house...”

Oh, that was a lame excuse. But she hoped it worked.

Loki grinned at her as she fumbled with her words again, still not letting go of her hand.

"Sure, I'm glad you mentioned it. I could use another drink as well, I think. And at my place, you'd be spoiled for choice."

He led her to his car then, while still mentally admonishing himself for taking this step. She was not a permanent fixture in his life, and he simply shouldn't take things in the direction he was taking them.

Alas, he was a selfish man, and he wanted to indulge himself.

Once settled in the car, he made sure to fix her seatbelt for her before getting started. Midgardians needed that bit of safety measure. Always.

As he pulled the car out of the complex, he decided that he'd probably share a drink or two with her, and then he'd... and then he'd let her be.

It was for the best.

Gemma slid down into the black leather seat of the nicest car she had ever seen. It was not just “clean,” but perfectly so, like it had been driven from a showroom. It was a beautiful white--even in the harsh yellow of the parking lot lights it looked amazing. The Jaguar XF had obviously been customized to his exacting standards, from the elegant emerald green trim on the interior, to the intricately carved details in the dashboard.

And he put her seatbelt on . She was vibrating with excitement as he walked around the car and got in, turned the ignition, and pulled out of the empty lot.

“I like your car,” she said, feeling dumb. What she wanted to say was Holy SHIT this is the fanciest car I’ve ever seen in my life! But, thankfully, she resisted. “You must be a pretty good salesman.”

"Thank you, I had purchased it back in London," he replied warmly, liking the fact that she looked as mesmerized by the interiors as she was with the exterior.

Loki was used to the attention that his cars received. He had chosen this one in particular for this mission, for he had to build a life for himself as marketing personnel, someone with a good lifestyle and a lot of extra income.

Not that he got a car for each of his missions... but SHIELD was pathetic in building this kind of a charade for the lack of funds on their part.

Loki certainly had no lack of funds, and using them on his missions was like a hobby of his.

"You have an interest in cars?" he asked conversationally as he maneuvered the vehicle easily on the now near empty roads.

“I do now!” she said, running her hand over the dashboard. It felt like silk under her fingers, and she noticed that the carvings were inlaid with gold.

Her mind drifted off, imagining what it would be like to fuck him in the back seat...

Woah, girl...it was just pizza.

She laughed silently to herself, then watched the streetlights pass over his face as they drove.

“What’s London like? I’ve never been there...”

“It's mostly quieter than New York, and parts of it really take you back in time," he replied, giving her a wink and turning his eyes back on the road. "I still have some ties to it. My family cottage on the outskirts and my house in West Brompton. I think you'd like it there."

Why was he talking to her about his life? Those actually were his properties in London, but he should not be imparting that information to her.

Well, it didn't jeopardize the mission in any way, so it was fine. Fury would never know, and even if he did, what could he do about it?

Loki knew that he was now a valuable asset for SHIELD. Fury would never do anything to change that.

As they pulled up to his apartment building, Gemma stared up and up and up the glass sides. It was massive, gorgeous, and right in the heart of downtown Manhattan. He glided up to the entrance, then got out and handed his keys to the valet before walking around and opening her door.

Gemma felt weak in the knees...and INCREDIBLY underdressed and out of place in her Avengers gym shirt and work skirt. If she had known asking to come to his place meant coming here...she would have at least wanted to touch up her make-up.

But then...he looked at her. He smiled at her! He held her hand gently and led her from the car into the enormous, luxurious lobby. Her expression probably made her look like an idiot, and if there were anything she could have done to stop it, she would have.

Unfortunately, she was well and truly dumbstruck by his apartment building. “What floor are you on?” she asked breathlessly as he led her toward the elevators.

"Oh, you'll see," he answered impishly as they entered the elevator.

He pushed the button for the penthouse, then turned to witness her reaction. She was already looking so nervous about being here, it was so very... cute.

Gemma hugged the walls of the elevator, eyes flicking rapidly between Dave’s face and the button he pushed. She honestly thought he might be messing with her, and she was waiting for him to laugh and hit the button for a lower floor. But he didn’t...and the higher up they went, the harder her heart pounded.

“Wow...I am in the wrong line of work...” She gasped, eyes wide as the elevator slowed to a stop. She heard a soft ding, and the doors opened.

Loki chuckled as he led her out of the elevator and into his penthouse apartment. Really, seeing her this impressed, he was very tempted to take her to France and to lead her into the castle he had there.

Her reaction to that would be something else...

"It's not all about the work, I come from a line of old money," he stated as he turned the lights on. "I've been very... lucky in life."

Well, at least in terms of having monetary stability and luxury…

Gemma hadn’t let go of his hand since he had helped her out of the car, but now she took a few steps away, looking at him suspiciously.

“Why the hell are you working at PAC & Co? Do they seriously pay you enough to keep doing that shitty job when you have all this?”

As impressed and amazed as she was, this just wasn’t making sense. A few hours ago they were stuck late in that crappy office with a malfunctioning printer...now she was looking out over the New York skyline from his penthouse.

Oh dear... he should've expected her sharp and curious mind to reach its own conclusions about him. This was why he had never fraternized or made friends on his missions.

This was why bringing her here was unwise. But now, it had been done, and he had to do some damage control.

It wasn't like his other missions, where he could just kill off an inconvenient loose end. Gemma was an innocent...

He let out a loud laugh at her suspicious question. "Gemma, why do you think I'm here, if not for a transitional job that won't break my job experience and give me enough time to find a better one?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, still unsure. But GOD, was she hoping he had a good reason, because she was definitely going to fuck him if he could convince her.

“What’s a transitional job? Transitioning from what?”

"I told you, I came here from London. That kind of move requires a lot of transition, no?" he asked, stepping up to her and grasping her shoulder gently. "I didn't want to be without a job during this time, for it would reflect poorly on my resume."

He had turned his voice deeper and deeper as he explained his situation to her, hoping to distract her with it.

"Do you feel differently about me now, than when we were at that pizza place?" He frowned as he asked that question, wondering why he would care so much if indeed she were to think him... what?... snobbish and obnoxious for being wealthy?

He WAS indeed wealthy. He was still a prince by his true title.

Also... if she was so suspicious of wealth, how much would she judge him if she learned his true identity? He was known all over Midgard as a wicked, unscrupulous and cruel man, after all.

“Of course I do!” she said, looking around at the luxurious furnishings. “I’m...I’m just...a little overwhelmed...” She touched the wall behind her just a bit to regain her balance.

“Maybe that drink would help?” She smiled softly, really trying to pull herself together. Dave was... amazing . Almost too good to be true...

"Sure," he responded, pulling away and leading her to his spacious, plush sofa. That monstrosity took up nearly half of the living room, and he hadn't used it much during his three month stay here.

From here, the view of the city was fantastic, displayed finely in the floor-to-ceiling windows that occupied the whole western wall of the living room. He loved watching the sunsets from here.

His bedroom was made in a similar fashion, but with east facing floor-to-ceiling windows. All in all, it was a nicely made apartment, by Midgardian standards.

"What would you like? Wine? Vodka cocktail? Beer? I'm myself going for a whiskey."

“Beer sounds great.” Her voice was small as she continued to look around the lavish apartment. So...he was from old money. In London. And this job was just helping him transition to living and working in New York. Ok. Cool.

She wanted to believe him so badly...and so she pushed down her other questions and that gnawing feeling in her gut that told her that there was more to his story.

He handed her a chilled glass of some sort of amber ale, and taking a sip of the cold beverage instantly relaxed her.

“Ahhhhh,” she sighed, settling back on the sofa. “You better be careful. I could get used to this.”

Loki could see that she was still doubting his 'old money' story about his wealth, and he had to praise her sharp mind for it.

Doubt was always healthy... especially when it came to him.

Still, he put the charm on her to keep her distracted. "Ah, then maybe I'd be tempted to spoil you."

He sipped his single malt and kept his eyes on her, which he knew, from experience, unnerved many people. For her benefit, he toned his gaze down so that she'd not feel uncomfortable, but still, made sure that she knew she had his full attention.

"So, tell me more about your family, Gemma. You talked very little about them. Do your parents visit you here? What about your sister?"

The way he looked at her over the rim of his glass sent shivers down her spine...and what did he mean he might be “tempted” to spoil her...was that...could this be more than a one-night stand? She decided not to think about it; better to just appreciate this crazy experience for what it was and not hope for anything more to come of it.

Then he brought up her family. Uuuggghhh...

“Oh, yea. They don’t...they’ve never come out here to visit.” She laughed nervously, rubbing her hand on the back of her neck, under her mousey blond ponytail. “They prefer my hometown...and they don’t understand why I moved here. My sister feels the same - she hasn’t even brought the kids over, even though I’ve invited them. But that’s how it goes sometimes, you know? Stupid perfect older sister...Mom and Dad just love her and her perfect husband and her perfect house that’s just down the block from them and her perfect life. Me, I’m just the weird one. I couldn’t wait to move out. I thought living in New York would be a lot more exciting but...well, I didn’t realize it would be so hard being on my own...”

Holy SHIT why am I SAYING all this? Way to kill the mood, Gem...

Loki couldn't help but relate to her. Younger child, perfect elder sibling, unrelatable family, loneliness...

Even though his life had its own complications, and he had contributed to his problems to some extent.

But really, he was quite surprised that Gemma's family was cold towards her. She wasn't even adopted!

"I must say, I'm very curious to know what kind of family it is that just... ignores their daughter. A daughter who is but a mix of sweetness and kindness," he murmured, putting his now empty glass away. Grasping her hand once again, he shifted closer to her to give her his earnest support. "I can see that you're taking it upon yourself, thinking that there's something wrong with you, but there isn't. You're perfect."

His sudden flattery took her by surprise, and her brain short-circuited a little. THE Dave just said she was... perfect?!

Even with all the red flags and warning bells going off in her head...she wanted him to keep saying nice things about her. It had been so long since she’d tried to flirt or gotten dinner or had drinks with someone...was he just playing with her, or...could he really mean that?

No, there were far too many layers of self-consciousness and doubt for her to accept his words at face value. She was sure he was trying to get into her pants--well, her skirt--but that wasn’t a bad thing. She appreciated what he said anyway.

And she flushed red, smiling shyly. “Stop it,” she giggled. Then she took another sip of her beer. “What about your family, Mr. Moneybags? Why did you move away from London?”

Loki sighed heavily, squeezing her hand as he looked down. Now, the lies would come pouring out of his mouth as usual. Par for the course...

"My parents died a few years ago. Rainy day, slippery road." He glanced up to see if she was going to doubt him again, but so far, she seemed to be listening intently, her beautiful chocolate eyes wide and dilated. "I have no siblings, and the extended family isn't very warm. The aunt I used to have a lovely relationship with had also died a long time ago, due to illness. So basically I was very alone and kind of depressed."

He laughed without humour, then, hoping that she'd buy his story, for the sadness in his eyes was real. He was indeed lonely. Had been for years.

"I knew that I had to do something about it before I just succumbed to it. Moreso, I knew I had more work related opportunities here in the US. So I jumped over the pond, trying to start a new life for myself."

His already frayed conscience screamed at him as he leaned towards her, locking his gaze with her intimately. She knew nothing about his true identity and he was drowning her in his charm, essentially fooling her. She'd hate him for it if she somehow learned the truth.

Oh... but she was so beautiful and pure of heart… he felt an inexplicable pull towards her.

His hand reached up and cupped her cheek.

So warm and soft...

He'd had no lovers in so long...

"I can now say that I'm glad I moved here." He moved in and nuzzled her neck, wondering if she'd pull away and reject him. Reject Dave, that is.

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[PREVIOUS CHAPTER]  Ch-1; [NEXT CHAPTER]

[ljusen]

5/28/17

When I look ahead of me, I see almost nothing in certainty. The next five years are completely shrouded in hundreds of variables that seem impossible to estimate. Maybe I’ll meet the love of my life. Maybe I’ll become a stripper! Maybe I’ll start a Depop store and get heavily involved in embroidering thrifted t-shirts. Maybe I’ll die. The only thing that feels even remotely predictable about the next phase of my life is that it will be characterized by financial instability and turmoil. Thankfully, I am no stranger to this lifestyle. Does nothing feel like home if not crippling anxiety about the absence of money?

I think I want to go to grad school, but I also think I just want to piss off my mom’s brothers who I reckon falsely predicted my perceivably inevitable teen pregnancy and pill addiction. My relationship with the future of my education has always been peppered by impulsivity and an insatiable hunger to prove people wrong. I remember sitting on my grandma’s bed and telling her that I’d never need to know math because famous actresses don’t need to know how to do long division. College seemed unlikely to all parties involved, myself included. Ten years later I would be having several simultaneous and distinct types of nervous breakdowns as I hysterically filled out college applications and attempted pragmatic yet emotionally persuasive personal statement essays, a task that I still find harrowing even at my supposedly capable age of twenty-one. My cousin Anthony, who seems to be my only true ally on both social and shared familial issues, said that ego is important to achieving goals like a higher degree. He is the first person to give validity to vanity as a legitimate reason to keep going. Thanks, Anthony!

//

My infatuation with the idea of pursuing a PhD was not able to blossom until I actually solidified my understanding of what a PhD even is: something that I did not accomplish until my second year of university. Since then, the elusive PhD became an iconic object in my symbolic repertoire. Only several of the grown-up people that I have known have had them, always the individuals whom I held in the highest esteem despite my lack of understanding of what the title meant and what they had done to achieve it. People like Ted, an old Jewish biologist from New York City who doubled as my mother’s platonically indoctrinated replacement for my absent father. Ted often took care of me when my mom couldn’t. He came over every Christmas and gave me an advent calendar every year despite his Jewish background and obvious atheism. He was at every school concert and birthday dinner. He always greeted me with the name “sweety-heart”. I remember that I could practice my oftentimes cutting sense of humor on him without hurting his feelings. He fired back and I love that. I just realized that I often regard this tolerance as a mark of intelligence in my adult life, which is probably not a sound assumption. Anyhow, Ted lived alone and never married. I never knew him to have romances of any kind, and I wonder now if maybe he was very lonely. I love Ted and see the good in him, and, despite his hard-headedness and possible alienation from other people brought on by his intellect, it confuses me that he never found a partner. His house was always extraordinarily plain, and there was an office on the second floor with a seldom used Dell desktop computer, the kind that closely resembled a microwave oven in both in size and in internet browsing capability. There was also an impressive library of things relevant to his career of study, books about frog sex and the life-cycle of tropical birds and the impact of trout on the northern ecosystem. Maybe next week I’ll go visit him. He is getting older. Sometimes when I look ahead of me, I only see what’s behind me.

//

As people began to ask me “What in the everloving fuck do you intend to do with a bachelor’s degree in anthropology? You might has well have pissed in a cup, dumped it on a pile of money, and lit it on fire, you stupid moron!”, I further solidified the reality that if I wanted my degree to mean anything at all in my life, I would have to invest another 4 to 7 years post graduate.

For now, I fantasize. I fantasize about getting accepted an Ivy League, somewhere like Stanford or Dartmouth, waking up each morning to perfect skin in my naturally-lit studio apartment wearing nothing but an oversized crew neck with whatever institution’s ancient crest screen-printed on the breast and a misty mug of french-pressed coffee. I would rise with the sun and sit in front of my laptop, listening to the hum and intellectually engaging with the array of my top-notch, inevitably anal-retentive and completely insufferable colleagues from the comfort of my own perfectly lacking apartment, empty fridge and all.

I fantasize about getting accepted to somewhere like UC Santa Cruz or Berkeley, maintaining a perfect grade point average as well as a perfect tan, spending my immaculately managed free time on golden-lit road trips along the California coast that at once feel completely spontaneous yet never interfering with my responsibilities. I would feel the rhythmic inner life of that quintessential California social justice, alive with passion as well as intellect and certainly not lacking in idealism. I would deftly weave intellectual tapestries around the scaffolds resurrected by greater women, people like Angela Davis and bell hooks. I would be humbled and insufferably arrogant, and I would revel it each day.

//

Last night, I met an impossibly tall and suspiciously good-looking skater/artist/probable-alcoholic who goes to NYU when he’s not too busy being a walking parody of himself. When I asked him what he studies, he just rolled his eyes over to mine. As if some ultra-new-wave social movement had happened without my knowing that made it a total faux-pas to ask someone about their major. Such a movement would probably have something to do with the perils of late capitalism and the growing number of white-male-20-somethings who identify as socialists just to give them a little edge. Naturally, being that he is just ridiculous enough to be precisely my type, this exchange was enough to inspire me to rearrange the entirety of my life-plan so that I could adequately allow him an opportunity to ruin my life at least one time. After looking at the graduate programs available at NYU along with the obscene number on the price tag, I realized that maybe NYU is not the move, despite how fucking cool it would sound to say it out loud.

But that’s what New York seems to be all about. It is just so goddamn cool. I imagine myself suffering, leaning against the brick wall of a corner store with a cigarette and a bad attitude, thinking about how badly I want to be anywhere else and nowhere else in the same moment. The NYU student, on top of the memoir I am currently reading by a certain New Yorker who’s name I will not mention, on top of my obsession with Louis C.K. and his elegant framing of NYC mishaps, on top of my somewhat recently accelerated fixation on writing self-indulgent personal essays that bear little to no relevance to anyone other than myself, all lead my forward gaze toward New York City: a place where I can truly reach my full potential as the self-obsessed artist wannabe that I was born to be.