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starlitangels · 2 years

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How They Met

Well, I told y’all I was gonna write how Pandora met Odin. Have fun! 1.9k words (almost exactly!)

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“Y’know, you’re really good at stuff like this. You should, like, run with a permanent crew,” Huginn said. I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

“Nah. At my level, permanent crews can’t afford each other,” I said with a sarcastic snort. Huginn took a turn to roll his eyes. “Singular contracts are about all people like me can get.”

He turned and kept a lookout while I huddled over the lock, picking it with careful precision. Most locks on Esselheim were easy for me to get past, despite their complexity. A race of biomechanicals tended to over-engineer things unnecessarily. But that didn’t always make them better. This lock, though, was giving me trouble. Not more trouble than I could handle. It just required more time than usual.

“There we go. Got it,” I hissed as the last tumbler clicked into place and let me turn the bolt.

I started to twist—carefully—when I felt something in the lock catch.

“What?” I whispered.

I paused my movements and turned the mechanism back toward its original position, but not quite reaching the place. And then paused.

Nothing happened.

“What’s wrong?” Huginn asked.

“Not sure. The lock hit a catch,” I replied.

“Trap?”

“Possibly. But fitting a trap into a lock’s path would be difficult. Not to mention a pain to disengage for the people who are supposed to be here.”

Huginn made a face. “Hmm. So what’s the plan?”

“Well, I was—”

BWOOOOP! BWOOOOP! BWOOOOP!

The alarm made me jolt.

“Dammit,” I muttered. “I didn’t trigger that, did I?”

“Look who cares? Scatter before we get arrested!” Huginn took off running the same way we’d come in. Not far in the distance, I could hear the clanking of armor. Guards coming to investigate the alarm. Shouting joined the clanking. Along with projectiles being fired.

I rolled my eyes and ducked down a different corridor. Like as not, the guards didn't know the traps. If I could dodge through one, it would slow them down and help me escape.

In theory.

I took corners at random, trying to find my way out and make myself hard to follow.

But one of those corners seemed to take me to the thick of the conflict.

I pinwheeled my arms as I backpedalled. With a sharp curse, I ducked behind some sort of ruined statue plinth.

“There’s another one!” I heard a guard shout. An energy bolt struck the plinth. I swore and crouched low to make myself a smaller target. A few more hit the stone above and behind where I was somewhat hidden.

Cackling laughter rose over the din. I heard the shing! of metal cleaving through weapons.

“It’s the intruder! Get him!” another guard barked.

“Ha-haaaaa! Come and get me you f—” Bzoop! An energy bolt fired and plink!ed off something metal. “—ers!” The voice wasn’t Huginn’s. Nor was it anyone else that had been hired for this crazy scheme. Huginn and I had been the only ones to go inside anyway. Everyone else was on logistics or tech.

One thing was for sure, I was probably not going to get paid after this. Especially after Huginn bailed. No way would I make it to the merchandise on my own in the middle of a shootout.

The sound of energy bolts being fired increased. Whoever had been cackling cried out, “Whoa—whoa!” and started running. Bootfalls weighed down by heavy armor thudded over the stone floor.

I didn’t dare peek out for fear of getting shot myself.

With a clumsy flop, someone crashed into the back of the plinth beside me. “Whew!” that same voice exclaimed. “Finally—some decent cover!”

I whirled around to see another Joten leaning back against the plinth. There was a massive battle axe, a raven carved down the metal blade and charred in a few spots, in his hands and across his lap.

“Hey!” I protested. “This spot’s taken! Find your own!”

“What? Oh, come on. We can share!”

“We absolutely cannot,” I retorted, pushing at him to get him away from me. Being smaller than the average Joten myself, this guy was absolutely massive and was going to crowd me out of my hiding spot.

He resisted my pushing. “Whoa. Slow down!”

“You’re going to get me killed and I don’t know you. No way am I going to trust you.”

“I’m Odin.”

“I don’t care—that doesn’t make me know you.”

“We’re both being shot at!”

“Yeah, and I assume that’s your fault. ‘Cause it sure as hell wasn’t mine!”

“Were you breaking in too?”

“What are you, a guard? Mind your own business.”

“You’ve got lock-picks sticking out of your wrist pockets,” this Odin guy pointed out.

“Now is not the time!” I snapped, peeking out from behind the plinth before quickly ducking back. “We are getting shot at from three sides and you’re asking if I broke in?” I shoved the lock picks deeper into my pockets so they wouldn’t stick out.

“Hey, I did too. There’s s’posed to be sweet loot in here.”

“Why do you think it’s full of traps?” I narrowed my eyes and slid a tiny mirror out of my bag. The kind that I usually used to reflect laser tripwires back on themselves. With it, I took quick stock of the guards. “By the Twin Gods... There’s at least twenty of them,” I muttered.

Odin looked down and met my eyes. “Know how to fight, thief?”

“I can handle myself in low numbers. This isn’t a low number.”

He gave me a lopsided, cocky smile. “Good thing you have me then.”

“Arrogant much?”

“Only on Wednesdays.”

“It’s Monday.”

“Close enough!” He beamed. “I’ll go right and take as many guards down as I can. You go left and try to get through the trapdoor on the floor.”

“Are you nuts?!” I exclaimed.

He smirked mischievously. “Only on Mondays.”

With that, he leapt out from behind the plinth, swinging his axe and roaring a battle cry.

I sighed in exasperation and rolled my eyes. Using my small mirror, I did a quick sweep of the room again. “Gods above,” I muttered.

I yanked a smoke canister out of my bag, popped the pin, and rolled it away from me, toward Odin.

“Hey big guy! Fall back!” I shouted as the smoke started to spew.

As the area started to get more and more obscured, I dodged out from behind the plinth myself and stole toward the uneven flagstone in the floor that was an obvious trapdoor.

I moved faster than I ever had to pop the trapdoor open—right as Odin slid to a stop on his knees beside me, axe slung over his back. “Going down,” I said, hopping over the edge of the hole in the floor and landing solidly on the metal ladder rungs hammered into the wall. I dropped down several to make room for Odin. He quickly followed. Once he was fully in the hole, he shut the trapdoor on top of us as quiet as he could.

We both went down the ladder as fast as we could. I hit the stone ground first and backed out of the way. Odin dropped off the rungs from right where he was, landing heavily but his knees took the shock of the impact easily. His knee servos must have had better absorbers than mine.

Warrior. Explorer. Adventurer. Probably. He was built for endurance. I was built for stealth. I was quiet, he was hardy.

“Where are we?” I asked, looking around. “This wasn’t on my blueprint of the place.”

“Catacombs. This was a temple, right?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. “Temples usually enshrine the dead somewhere.” He rolled his shoulders to adjust how his axe sat in its holster on his back. “Which means there’s a way out somewhere.”

“Problem being most catacombs are confusing.”

“Yeah, yeah. That.”

“So... what? We’re just bailing on the loot?”

Odin glanced up the hole we’d climbed down. “We’ll come back,” he said with a determined nod.

“I’m here because I was hired to be,” I said. “If I go back empty-handed, I don’t get paid.”

He scoffed. “Whatever they were paying you is a pittance compared to what we can lift from this place on our own.” He held his hand out. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Odin. You never gave me your name.”

I shook his hand. “You haven’t earned it,” I replied, extracting my hand from his grip and stomping away.

He had the audacity to chuckle at my attitude before following after me. “How do you plan on getting out of here?”

“Following the scent of the air.”

“Meaning?”

“A surface-level exit will bring in slightly-fresher air,” I grumbled. “Follow the scent of it and we’ll find at least a vent to the surface.”

“Huh. Smart idea.”

I glowered at him over my shoulder. “I’ve been doing this for a while. I should hope so.”

“So you are a thief.”

“Treasure hunter,” I corrected.

He shrugged again. “Same difference.” He leaned forward, closer to me. “Y’know, I’m a bit of a treasure hunter myself. And you seem to be quite the, uh, treasure—”

“Don’t even try it,” I interrupted.

“Worth a shot.”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “We’re running away from guards after you got me caught and you’re trying to flirt.”

“May as well try, right?”

“I cannot believe this is how my day is going,” I grumbled. “First the alarm gets triggered by a dumbass and now I’m stuck in the catacombs with him.” I shook my head. “You’d better win me over before we get out of here or there’s nothing stopping me from ratting on you when we get out.”

“Except for the fact that you broke in first.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe I will be too,” he retorted.

“You’re doing a pretty terrible job of winning me over.”

“No. I think I already have. You’re finding me funny, despite being annoyed.”

“Ugh. In your dreams, Owen.”

“It’s Odin!”

“Whatever.” I poked my head down the two prongs of a fork in the tunnels. “This way.” I marched down the left one.

We wandered the catacombs for what felt like hours, occasionally hearing guards running above us. But none seemed to have descended down into the intestines under the building. I couldn’t blame them.

Finally, we made it to a grate made of steel bars and padlocked shut—that led out to the surface. Beyond even the temple walls. “Thank the Twin Gods,” I muttered. I flicked my lock picks out of my pocket and into my hand and reached through the bars. I closed my eyes and picked the lock by feel.

It popped open. I got the padlock out of the pair of holes in the metal holding it shut and creaked the grate outward.

“You are very good at what you do,” Odin remarked.

“Yup,” I agreed. “Now. How about you go left and I go right and we act like this never happened?”

“Sure.” He moved to head down the alleyway toward the populated street beyond. “We should do this again sometime! Come back to this place and actually get the loot.”

“Mm,” I grunted noncommittally.

“See you around, nameless thief.” He raised a hand in an almost wave as he took several backward steps toward the left of the grate.

“Hope not!” I turned sharply and trotted away to the right.

—

Tagging some GB peeps to hopefully enjoy: @palilious @gwenifred @ryn-halo26 @halscafe @monster-scribe-tya @miloeveryday38

#Good Boy Audios #fic #GBA Odin #GBA Pandora #GBA Fourseen #Starlit Fic #Good Boy Audios fic #Good Boy Audios FanFiction #Good Boy Audios fanfic #Odin is arrogant on Wednesdays because Wednesday is named after Odin #(Woden's Day)#same way how Thursday is Thor's Day and Tuesday is Tiu's Day (Tiu being the other name for the god Tyr)#I know too much about things

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

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Someone New 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: why am I so anxious all the time?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

If Peggy’s party promised everything would change, the ‘yes’ you give to Arturo pays on that promise. Almost at once, everything is different. Your boring, orderly life is suddenly thrown into chaos. You have a hundred worries at once and not enough times; passport, visa, packing, flights. Not too mention all that you’re leaving behind; apartment, furniture, and... friends.

It’ll be good. You keep telling yourself that, just like Arturo, just like Sam. They seem more excited than you are. You struggle to see past the grief of saying goodbye to the life you built there; the life you built around Steve and false hopes. It’s foolish and naive but it still hurts.

And you’re scared. Norway. It’s far away. And you’ll be all alone. You survived college because you found Steve; you could stomach the furor of the city for Sam and Bucky, but on your own, what could you do? You’re not brave or bold or anything like that.

It doesn’t matter. You’re going to work. To forget. Focus on the dig, don’t think about everything else.

You’ve already lost so much. Steve’s busy, you are too. Maybe that’s good. You have to condition yourself for the trip. For a new life. A year is a long time. You feel like the newly graduated teen heading off to college, the one who walked into the wrong lecture hall on that fated day, the one he picked out and put firmly in her place; a friend, just a friend.

As you sort through your closet, tossing fabric into one pile or the other, your music stops playing and your phone buzzes loudly against your nightstand. You hurry to pick it up as that noise makes your neck bristle. You hate it.

You pick up without checking the display. You hope it’s the visa office. No, it’s Sam.

“Hey, chicky poo,” he chirps from the other end.

“Chicky poo?” You echo flatly.

“Hm, you’re right, I’ll keep workshopping,” he chuckles, “so you’re leaving in a week?”

“As long as my paperwork shows up,” you sighs and cross your arm over your middle. You sway as you look around at the clutter of your bedroom. “And I can get all this shit out of my place.”

“When’s your flight?” He asks pointedly. He’s not subtle. Men never are. For years, you’d hoped Steve was being subtle and look how that turned out. You know now he was so obviously not into you.

“Thursday, 5am,” you answer.

“Ah, that’s pretty early to be hungover but it will be worth it.”

“Hungover?” You wonder as you slowly sit on your bed, “why?”

“You’re leaving us so obviously, you need a final hurrah,” he insists, “I’m throwing you a going away party. Just the four of us, unless you have any plus ones?”

“Going away party?”

“Neither of the other jerks are gonna do it,” he scoffs, “nothing fancy, promise. Just some drinks.”

“What about Tuesday? Give me a day to recover?”

“Wednesday works. Steve’ll be back by then.”

“Back by then?” You must sound like a parrot.

“Oh, yeah, the lovers went up north to look at venues for the engagement party. Too bad you won’t make it. I’ll have to drink myself into a stupour all by myself,” he intones.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you grumble and pick at a wrinkle in your pants.

“Don’t be sorry. You deserve this. I’m so fucking excited for you,” he chimes, “you have to tell me everything. I want pictures of vikings and castles and stuff. All of it.”

“Sam, I’m just going to be digging,” you mutter.

“And? You can’t just go over there an put your head down. Go sightseeing, go out on the town, have a wild one-night stand--”

“Sam,” you drone.

“You need it,” he cackles, “it’ll be a story to bring home with ya. Make us all jealous with your wild Norwegian adventure. Hey,” he pauses and sucks his teeth, “you’re like Uno reversing a whole country. Vikings used to invade others, this is your chance to go right in there and raise hell.”

“You’re stupid,” you laugh and shake your head.

“Never said otherwise.”

“Hm, fine, Wednesday,” you agree, “if I'm gonna be there, I gotta get all this shit packed.”

“Did I not say if you need anything? I can help,” he offers.

“No, no, I got it,” you say, “really, it’s not that much.”

“Right, well, I should get back to it and let you do the same,” he says in a resigned tone.

You hang up and heave. You put the phone down and drop your head into your hands. You feel like you should cry. You’ve felt that tide of tears pushing on your eyes since the party but they just won’t come. All that tension is driving you mad but you just can’t dislodge the nail driven deep into your chest.

💟

Your life is hectic but you’re not surprised Steve isn’t part of the whirlwind. Why would he be? He has so much going on. A wedding is much more important than what could possibly be the most spontaneous and naive decision of your life. Impulsive more than anything. Cowardly when you think about it. You’re running away because you can’t face the truth. Because it’s just easy to leave your emotions in New York.

Still, you thought you’d hear more than this. More than a thumbs up emoji or hearsay from Sam. Even after your conversation on the balcony and his reassurances, you still feel his discontent. Will he really miss you that much or is he just upset you won’t be there to celebrate the love of his life?

It doesn’t matter, does it?

It’s gone so fast and you hope the next year goes just as quickly. That all this passes. Not just the trip but everything else. The sadness, the pain, the fear. You try to be positive. You thought college was scary and look how that turned out.

Ugh, you’re really doing this. You're leaving is all behind. You’re leaving your friends and your family and your home. You have no one to blame but yourself. You could’ve gotten over Steve Rogers a decade ago. More than that. You couldn’t rip the band-aid off, you had to pull it slow so ever hair rends painfully from the flesh.

The GPS guides you between the shining marquee. You can see the pulsing dot of your destination on the screen. You don’t drive towards it, instead hunting for a parking spot among the cramped lots and lined curbs. You should’ve taken a cab but you’re only having one drink and you’re saving for the inevitable expense of hurling yourself halfway across the world.

You get out and grab your phone, your purse hooked over your elbow. You raise the small screen and get your bearings, squinting as you set yourself in the right direction. Just across and at the end.

As you approach the bar, you stop short. This isn’t exactly the flavour. Well, not for them. You peer up at the neon light in the shape of a martini, a bright pink beacon, under which a large group of women cluster. Whoops and hollers go up as they enter and leave you standing out in the technicolour-tinted night. Did you get the address wrong?

You check your messages with Sam. No, it’s correct. Strange. Maybe he didn’t know.

You pull open the violet-shaded glass door and peer around as you step out of the way of the patrons behind you. You text Sam to check if he’s there already. You can’t seem to keep up with the clock hands these days.

As you wait for a response, you glance around. It’s like a Sex and the City reenactment. The guys always teased you for your rants about Carrie Bradshaw’s selfishness. They weren’t much for the genre. With them, it’s sports bars and beers and what ball game is in season. They never notice your cute new earrings or your efforts to spruce up your work clothes with a flashy belt.

‘Here. You’re looking cute.’ Sam’s response comes.

You narrow your eyes and stand on your toes to look around. He’s sitting at a tall table with Bucky, the two of them looking out of place before the feathered centerpiece and glitzy wall art of high heels. You can’t help a grin. This is absolutely ridiculous.

You weave through the tables and bodies, past the bar of gabbing girl groups and a few men mixed in. You near your friends and claim one of the tall stools around the round table. You use the bottom bar to haul yourself up onto the seat and hang your purse from your knee.

“Hey, this place is... sparkly,” you look around with a dumb smile. You can’t help it! You never get a girls’ night.

“It is,” Bucky agrees in a grit.

You stop short. You look at him then at Sam. You didn’t notice before. They’re wearing bows on their heads. Sam has a head band with a gregariously big pink ribbon, whereas Bucky has a glittering purple bow pinned into his thick locks. You laugh and smother it behind your hands.

“What is this?” You snicker.

“We are your ladies tonight!” Sam announces and shifts to stand, bending under the table, “and you get to be queen bee!” He reaches to the floor and you lean to see the huge tote underneath, “here is your tiara!”

He pulls out the plastic tiara with fake pink gems and white feathers. You giggle again as he places it on your head. This is too much.

“Sam! How—this is so stupid. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“What? It’s about time. Don’t worry about us. It’s all about you,” he snaps his finger and points at you, “we’re going to order girly cocktails and dish on the cute dudes.”

Bucky shakes his head as he fixes the bow in his hair, “I wanted a flower.”

You bring your hands down to your next and wiggle on the seat giddily. This is amazing. Your eyes sting and your throat locks up. You’re going to miss these idiots.

“You guys,” you breathe.

“No crying!” Sam claps his hand, “I already got this guy moping around.”

“I’m not moping,” Bucky sniffs.

“We have to decide who’s who. I know you hate Carrie so we’ll save that for Steve. He is the stuck up blond, after all,” Sam smirks, “I’m definitely Samantha, it’s already in my name. And you,” he points at you, “Miranda. The level-headed one who has to put up with our BS. That means Bucky--”

“Charlotte?” Bucky frowns, “can’t I be Stanford?”

You nearly gasp, “Bucky, are you a stan?”

“I’ve seen some episodes,” he shrugs.

“Well, that’s decided,” Sam checks his watch, “where’s that bozo?”

You frown and look around. You look at your phone. You were just on the cusp but Steve is late. Bucky takes out his cell too and all three of you scroll through your screens.

“Whatever, we don’t have to wait for him, drinks,” Sam blacks the screen and sets down his phone. He reaches for the pink pleather drink menu, “I was looking at the Paradise Punch. Sounds interesting.”

“Mm, I’m just having one,” you state, “I gotta drive home.”

“Pfft, don’t worry about it. You can get your car tomorrow.”

“Sam, I leave at five in the morning.”

“Fine, I’ll take care of the car. You’re storing it, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t expect--”

“Tonight is going to be fun. No arguing,” he points a long finger at you.

The phone jitters and his phone lights up. He picks it up as your cell remains lifeless in a rare moment of peace, though it’s fraught nonetheless. You peek over at the empty fourth stool.

“He’s not coming,” you utter.

Sam huffs and puts his phone down, “he’s not. Peggy has a work dinner and he’s invited.”

“Oh,” you nod and try not to deflate entirely, “that’s... that’s fine. He said he’d come to the airport but I wasn’t counting on that either.”

“Asshole,” Sam sneers.

“Hey, no,” you shake your head, “he’s busy. He has a wedding and all that--”

“You’re going away,” Bucky surprises you with the emotion in his tone, “and he can’t be here.”

“Really, it’s not--”

“It is,” Sam insists. “How long are you gonna let him walk all over you? Isn’t that why you’re leaving?”

“It’s work, it’s nothing to do with Steve.”

“Sure,” Sam accepts hotly, “keep telling yourself that.” He cringes and swallows, “tonight isn’t about him. For once. It’s about you. Us. Having fun. Saying goodbye. It’s gonna be terrible without you. I hope you know that.”

You could laugh at his rebuke. The conflict between celebratory and reproachful is amusing. You exhale and put your hands up.

“Alright, I got it.”

“Buck,” he gestures to the other man, “go.”

You turn to the Bucky and he slides off his stool. He reaches down under the table and brings up a gift bag. Your mouth falls open. Your chest tweaks, a mixture of glee and guilt. You’re happy to have friends with them but you feel so bad for not seeing it earlier. For being so tunnel-visioned that you couldn’t appreciate them fully.

“This is so—you didn’t have to,” you say.

“We did. Obviously,” Sam scoffs, “don’t worry, my gift is the grand finale.”

“Right,” you smile and accept the bag from Bucky. You push through the tissue paper and pull out the heavy shape inside. You reveal it and just as quickly hide it back in the polka dot bag, “Bucky!”

You let go of the taser and retract your hand. Sam guffaws and Bucky gives a confused grimace, “you need it.”

“What?” You hiss.

“You’re going to be all alone over there. You should be safe.”

“I... appreciate the thought but it’s a bit extreme.”

“He’s right,” Sam adds, “you know, going to the land of the vikings, you can never be too safe. I’ve heard they like to carry women off in their boats.”

“You two,” you roll your eyes.

“My turn,” Sam says, “you’ll love this.”

He once more searches under the table and the tote crinkle. He pulls out an envelope and you tilt your head. Really?

“Money?” You wonder.

“What am I? Your grandma?” He snorts, “here.”

You take the envelope and turn it over. You pull the flap open and reveal a pamphlet within, along with a second slip of paper. A reservation...

“I found this place over there. It’s at some coastal castle, there’s a spa and all that. They do like ancient types of treatments, hot rocks or whatever,” he explains, “I made sure you can adjust the dates too if you need. You just have to call.”

“Wow, that’s... Sam, I’m going to be so busy--”

“I told you not to work yourself too hard. That’s a good excuse for you to get your head out of the dirt. Literally. Just think of me when you’re in a mud bath with a glass of champagne.”

You put the envelope next to the gift bag and drop off the stool. You open your arms to them. Sam is up first and Bucky drags himself to his feet. You wrap them in a hug and they do the same in turn. It must be an absolutely ridiculous sight but you don’t care. You tuck your head against Sam’s arm and feel a rumble in Bucky’s chest.

“Sam, that’s my ass,” Bucky snarls.

“I was just making sure you didn’t forget your wallet,” Sam chuckles.

“You’re a moron,” Bucky pulls away and shoves him.

“Peas in a pod, bud,” Sam lets you go as the hug breaks up, “now, I need a drink and you...” he points in your direction, “need a double.”

#steve rogers #thor #thor x reader #steve rogers x reader #someone new #series #au #fic #grayish fic #angst fic #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america

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