#loki reminding them not to underestimate him is an actual warning confirmed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lailannajacobs · 5 years

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Just Dumb Luck pt. 8

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Warnings: 100% fluff

Summary: Your next double date doesn’t quite turn out like you thought it would.

A/N: Hey guys! Happy New Year!!! I know it’s been a bit since the last post but I wasn’t too sure how I wanted to write this next part. Turns out I had to separate it in two so the next part will be very short. HOWEVER! It’ll come out on Thursday so the wait won’t be long! Sorry about forgetting to tag the last post, I’m still not 100% used to it! Let me know what you think, I always appreciate the feedback!!

“Do you think we should wait for them inside?” You ask.

“Maybe.” Loki mumbles, distracted.

He’s glaring at the guy checking you out until he gets the message and guiltily walks back into the tiny Irish Pub. When Brian had suggested getting drinks after work sometime in the near future, you hadn’t thought he had actually been serious about it. It had been two weeks of nothing from Brian. He hadn’t come into the office to look over your almost final marketing plans either, so when he had confirmed his plans with with Loki instead of with you, you hadn’t seen it coming.

Loki had met you after work like usual but instead of walking you home, he had informed you that tonight was your next double date. You had taken one look at your office clothes and hoped Amelie and Brian wouldn’t be too dressed up. Not that Loki ever had that problem, being dressed up in his dark suit like usual. But you hadn’t been expecting a double date on a random Thursday night so your office clothes would have to do.

You stare up at Loki, who’s now peering so intently through the wide bar window he doesn’t notice your observing. You smile. You don’t think you’ll ever get bored of looking at him. But your smile fades as quickly as it appeared. Lately, when you do look at him, you keep wondering how you got here. Not here, here like the bar, but here in this situation. A situation that means you now have a public boyfriend. A boyfriend that doesn’t exist when there are no other witnesses around. You don’t know if here is good for your sanity or not so you try not to think too much about it.

When he had suggested changing the terms of your agreement, you hadn’t known how you would act when you saw him again. Waiting for you after work the next day, you hadn’t had a chance to sort it out any further. He had been leaning against a lamppost as he scrolled aimlessly through his phone and, although he had been the perfect picture of cool and collected, your heart had been hammering in your chest as you walked out of your building. How were you supposed to act? Did you greet him with a kiss? Your palms were getting sweaty. What was he expecting? What had you usually been doing in this situation? You couldn’t have remembered to save your life.

He had lifted his eyes to meet yours and it was like he had known, even at a distance, that you were escalating into full blown panic. He lazily pushed off the post and in a few easy strides, stood so close to you that you had to crane your neck to look up at him. Your pounding heart only quickened and you hadn’t been sure whether it had been because of the nerves or his closeness. If anyone asked you now, you still couldn’t give them a straight answer.

He saved you from having to say anything when he had whispered, “You set the pace…the rules, I mean.” and the seriousness in his words was only cut slightly by the familiar mischief alight in his eyes as he continued, “I can make anything work. Trust me.”

And then, despite the disappointing reminder that this was a game with rules rather than a relationship with feelings, it had been the reminder you needed to calm your nerves. With the pressure eased off your chest, you pressed a featherlight kiss to his lips. You then backed away and a sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Where to?” He had asked, a brow arching as if you were about to embark on a daring adventure, “your place, or mine?”

To anyone passing by, they would have gotten the exact image he had been trying to portray with that loaded question; a couple not yet serious enough to have moved in together but exclusive enough just the same. You hadn’t been able to help the smile on your lips because you had known. Known it was all just a part of the game. And changing the terms of your agreement hadn’t changed the fact that you were in this together.

“Enjoying the view?” Loki drawls.

You snap out of the memory, your eyes focusing on him once more, “I can’t say there’s much of a view to enjoy. I had to resort to getting lost in thought instead.”

He purses his lips to contain a smile and tilts his head, “Somehow I doubt that. But say the word love, and I can make those thoughts a reality.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, as if he’s somehow aware of the racy dreams he’s starred in lately. The look on his face makes you think that he’s more than willing to leave the bar to back up his claims.

You force yourself to act normally and roll your eyes, “Save that for when our double date gets here.”

Loki glances down at his watch, “Would you like to wait in the bar?”

You shoot him a pointed look, “I already asked you that question.”

His brows furrow in confusion and you laugh it off, “it’s fine, lets wait inside.”

After grabbing drinks, Loki leads you through the bar, your hand intertwined with his, searching for a seat. You end up somewhere towards the back of the room, near a billiard table and a dart board, standing at a tall, no seated table. It’s pretty packed for a Thursday, the music loud and the crowd happy the week is almost over. After a few sips of your drink you can’t help but notice Loki’s eyes are trained on the couple almost done a game of pool.

“Have you ever played?” You ask, once the man sinks the eight ball.

He smirks, “maybe.”

Still facing him, you back away towards the pool table. His eyes track your every move. “Is that your way of hiding the fact that you’re very experienced and want me to underestimate you so you can win?”

“Maybe.”

“Well it’s not going to work. I don’t plan on losing.”

He stalks toward you in a few quick steps, reaching for the stick on the table behind you, practically pinning you in between his strong body and the table.

Your breath hitches.

“What do I get if I win?” He says just loud enough to be heard over the music and laughter.

Annoyed that he has the upper hand, you shoot him your most seductive smile, “You’ll just have to see later. That is, if you actually win.”

“So clearly that ‘maybe’ of yours was actually a no.” You laugh as the white ball sails past the six and into the nearby side pocket.

His eyes slide over to you and he raises a brow. You doubt you’ve ever seen that much sass in one look and it only makes you laugh even harder. It’s the fourth or fifth game, you’re not too sure, and he hasn’t won a single one yet. More accurately, he hasn’t even come close.

You pick the white ball out of the pocket and place it back on the table to where it was before he hit it. “How about you try that again?”

“I don’t need your pity.” He grumbles, handing you back the ball.

You keep your hand on his, “I thought you said you didn’t lose.”

“I don’t” he grounds out, “thank you for the reminder.”

You’re not deterred by his grumpiness. He’s seen worse from you after a long day of work. You can handle him. He doesn’t scare you.

“Then let me help you make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You put the ball back on the table. His face softens as you slide your fingers up his bare forearms to his black rolled up shirt sleeve at his elbow. You continue up his bicep until you’re standing behind him. He had taken off the suit jacket about two games ago and you had to stop yourself from staring. It had to be a crime to look that good in just a shirt. You try your best to get him into the proper position despite the size difference between the two of you. You play with his long, calloused fingers, moving them until they’re properly holding the cue. With your other hand you go to reach for the back of his stick but your arms aren’t as long as his. You decide to rest it as far along on his toned forearm as you can and slowly push to cue forward. It glides through his fingers, back and forth until you’re pretty sure he’s gotten the hang of it.

“All you have left to do it hit it.”

He angles his head towards yours. His face is so close your lips are almost touching. “And what happens if I miss?” He breathes.

You shrug. “Then we try again.”

His green eyes search yours as if surprised by your answer. You’re sure he can feel your heart hammering through your chest, pressed against his back. His gaze drops to your lips and you’re almost sure he going to kiss you. You’re almost sure you want nothing else. After an electrified eternity, he lets out a breath and turns his attention back towards the ball. You desperately want to ask what went through his mind but you don’t push.

“Then let’s try.” You think you hear him say.

He hits the ball but the shot goes wide. Not by a little but by a catastrophic distance.

You step away and cross your arms, trying to hide a smile, “You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe.”

You’re about to show him how it’s done when your phone buzzes against your thigh. You find a missed call from Amelie a half hour ago and a text apologizing profusely. When you don’t move, Loki raises a brow, silently asking what’s wrong. You can’t tell him what’s wrong. You can’t tell him that you forgot that you were supposed to be pretending. That if it weren’t for this game you play, you wouldn’t have been here in the first place. That he would have walked you home and you would have spent the night alone in your apartment. You can’t tell him that, for a moment, everything felt real. You can’t tell him you forgot this was a game and you forgot about winning.

You shake your head as if to shake the thoughts away with it. “Looks like we got stood up.”

“Good.” His face is dead serious.

You cock your head, stomping down on the hope that maybe he feels the same way, and school your face into your usual playful grin, “Why’s that? You don’t want them to see how terrible you are at pool?”

He looks like he’s about to say something else but shakes his head with a small chuckle. “Exactly.”

“So what do we do?” You ask.

“We have time for one more game.”

You lean forward, your palms flat on the table. “Only one?”

His lips curl into a furtive grin and he racks up the balls for another round.

Part 9

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