New Year Fever Dreams Series – Jen Eowynir Fiction.

NEON CH 4

frigidadmin — Sun, 12 Dec 2021 09:55:16 +0000

WAYFARER WINTER
NEON DAYDREAMS CHAPTER four

~7:59 pm, Jan 7, 2017, Sigyn’s place~

A year ago, when Sigyn bought this stupidly pricey, but absolutely gorgeous royal blue velvet couch, her greatest concern had been how well it fit in her apartment. Did it fit with the Art Deco theme? And did it also functionally fit within the space?—the cubic space, that was, which should not be confused with basic square footage.

She found it shocking how few people seemed to realize they lived in a 3D world, containing not only length and width, but also height, when attempting to design their living spaces. Two NYC apartments with identical floor plans—say…600 square feet—would look drastically different if the ceilings were different heights.

Listen, height matters!

Sigyn must have said that to at least a dozen clients last year alone, though she avoided saying it to male clients of a somewhat slighter stature. Everyone knew that phrase should never be uttered in the presence of a short king.

Luckily, she didn’t have to fear accidentally saying that to the man currently enjoying this gorgeous couch with her because he most certainly was not short. The king part, however, was accurate. Clearly, the lower west side locals had been off their rockers to dub him Prince Lo. She didn’t care that their supposedly clever reasoning was based on his “son of a real estate king” status. Loki himself was a king, and she would die on this hill, if for no other reason than that he was sure as hell kissing her like a king, not a goddamn prince.

Immediately realizing her “he’s a KING” random thought was off base, Sigyn furrowed her brow. Somewhere in the haze of grinding hips and talented lips, she heard the echo of a rumbling, deeply offended baritone. Bouncing around the lofty cathedral walls of her skull, the gravelly voice shouted a line from a fairly decent novel that she’d read twice this past week.

Stop calling me “PRINCE this” and “PRINCE that.“ I’m not a goddamn prince. I’m a STAR.

Brow relaxing, she sighed against his mouth.

Damn right, you are, Starboy.

That said, the real star of this show might just be this couch because it was performing beautifully. Tonight, she’d learned that it wasn’t just a chic, aesthetically-appealing piece of designer furniture that physically fit in her apartment and maintained the Art Deco theme—It was also functional. These unusually deep cushions provided plenty room for this height-blessed stud to sprawl between her legs and engage in the heaviest mouth to mouth action of her life. Right now in this sexy as hell moment underneath Loki, she could finally justify purchasing a three-thousand dollar sofa.

If she’d known last January that this man would be rolling all over these cushions with her 12 months later, even if it had cost her an entire year’s salary instead of “just” one month’s rent, she would’ve bought it. She would have gone into her savings. She would have gotten a personal loan. She would’ve gotten a second job, moonlighting as a bartender or whatever. She would’ve signed over her goddamn 401K if that’s what it would have taken to get this thing into her apartment.

Arching further up into Loki, Sigyn pulled on his neck, trying to deepen their kiss further. The effort was futile, though, since this kiss was already pushing into physics-defying territory, which was probably why her jaw was so damn tired. Floating and sinking at once, she let her head fall back into the throw pillow behind her to relax her straining neck muscles. It had taken a surprising amount of work to keep her lips firmly attached to Loki’s while he’d hovered over her for the last twenty or so glorious minutes.

The change of angle naturally pulled her face away from his, giving her a chance to catch her breath. If her ears weren’t mistaken, Loki actually whimpered (a surprisingly high-pitch for him) in response to the loss. An airy laugh escaped her gaping mouth as she gulped the oxygen into her lungs as fast as a last call gin and tonic during the two seconds it took for him to lean further forward and close his lips over hers once more. Eyes blowing, Sigyn let out a muffled squeak, baffled that this kiss was even more intense than the previous near-physics-defying one. God almighty, had the last twenty minutes been Loki’s version of holding back??

If he shoves his tongue further into my mouth, I might accidentally swallow it.

Swallow it?? WORDING, Sigyn!

Cripes, I meant that I might CHOKE on it!

No, that’s even WORSE!

Oh, pfft—she was far too turned on to control the UNCLEAN! images racing through her mind. Her toes curled inside of her ballet flats, every synapsis drowning in an unfathomably addictive storm surge of dopamine and adrenaline and…maybe…serotonin? She couldn’t remember the names of all those transmitters responsible for infatuation and love. Not that she was actually in love with him.

I’m getting there fast, though.

Sigyn wasn’t religious, but honestly, this mix was hitting her brain on a spiritual level. Feeling as though her body and blood were teeming with a consecrated chemical cocktail, she might just get on her knees and unironically beg this starboy to take her to church.

Loki lifted his face from hers then, placing his forefinger on her bottom lip as he hissed through his teeth, “Don’t steal this from me again. It’s mine.”

Sigyn looked up at him through heavy lids, her chest rising and falling more aggressively than the kiss that Loki had just legit blessed her with like some sort of real life sex god. Had he just said that he owned her mouth?

“Wha…” she mumbled, barely stopping a “yes, sir” from coming out of her mouth just to see what he would do. If she weren’t using up the last of her willpower reserves to stop herself from sucking on his finger like some desperate, obviously wanton nymphomaniac, she might have had the decency to feel at least somewhat guilty for thinking that incredibly possessive line he’d just laid on her out of nowhere was hot as hell.

Absolutely absurd — ten seconds ago, she’d assumed that he couldn’t work her up more than he already had, that the literal thirst (the salivation was real) had already dehydrated her. He should only have been able to increase her excitement by moving on from this appetizing foreplay and digging into the main…entrée. But noooo, once again, Loki had dialed up the heat, not by kissing her or touching her or exposing his skin to her, but by merely growling a few words at her!?

Uh, are you really questioning the power of Loki’s WORDS? Hellooooo, he’s a writer, you nitwit…it’s kind of his specialty.

She had a half-second flashback to their Ground Support collision, recalling a snippet of their conversation…

“No need to apologize, gor-…” Loki had paused to clear his throat. “Gor-geous…day…would have been the end of that thought. Obviously.”

Sigyn assumed he’d almost slipped up and called her “gorgeous girl.” She couldn’t concretely know for sure, of course, since she wasn’t a mind reader, but given his frequent use of that pet name since their first date, it was a fair assumption.

“Obviously, you are completely mental if you call THIS a gorgeous day.”
“OBVIOUSLY, I was aiming for humor.”
“Hmm, I gathered. It wasn’t a bullseye, but you landed on the board at least.”
“Did you write a script prior to this conversation? You’re too quick-thinking. You must have practiced ahead of time.”
“Or, now try to keep up with this, slow boy…I simply have a quick wit.”
“SLOW BOY?”
“Yes, I did call you a slow boy, and I feel a bit bad for it. Did I go too far? I’m genuinely sorry. I swear I was just kidding. You know…just wordplay.”

She would never forget what came out of his mouth next, or his responding head tilt and that sexy smirk clear as day.

“I assure you, I can handle wordplay. I’m a writer, so, you know…kind of my specialty.”

Sigyn hummed happily at the memory, her legs tightening around Loki’s waist. He really did have a way with words, didn’t he? If anyone else had said, “Don’t steal this again from me—it’s mine” in reference to her mouth, it would have landed about as well as that professional drone she gave her boomer dad for Christmas—The poor thing was broken before dinner. However, Loki genuinely had a magical, or mythical, or mystical quality about him, letting him spin gold with his words, thereby spinning her world into some mad love erotica novel that had no business exiting the fictional world and showing up in her real life.

Loki was killing this “Forever Dream Boy” job interview right now. Sure, he was an unknowing candidate, but who cared? He’d proved ten times over that he had mastered the tongue skills to get an official offer from her. Sorcerer, indeed—this man couldn’t be more beguiling if he tried.

Or maybe we were just written in the stars…

Pretending her mind hadn’t pulled out that ridiculous line, Sigyn twisted her fingers into the inky strands that had come loose from Loki’s hair tie, and he stilled his mouth against hers, his jaw going slack when she tightened her grip.

For pity’s sake, Sig kept doing this hair thing to him; it might genuinely end his life right here, right now. He was already too light-headed from the lack of blood inside his skull, possibly suffering from near fatal hypotension, and yet, this woman had the audacity to scratch her nails against his scalp as though she’d searched through the memory library in his head and discovered some peer-reviewed journal called “How to Get Lo Off” in the Sex-Ed section and was now doing everything in it by the book.

Bloody hell, this vixen had better get some time behind bars if I die inside her apartment tonight.

If he actually told her that sentiment aloud right now, given the connotations of calling her a vixen— “Sigyn Elena Frey, you are dangerously sexy, maddeningly magnetic, and tailored specifically for MY personal tastes” —she would probably respond highly favorably to it. But as fun as that would be, how was he supposed to tell her anything when his tongue was this preoccupied with greedily familiarizing itself with hers?

“Fucking vixen,” Loki managed to mutter because apparently he was an excellent multitasker.

Eyes rolling back behind her closed lids, Sigyn moaned, “Oh, my god.”

VIXEN?

Take me NOW, boy.

Stars above, they still had their clothes on, and she was already losing her damn mind. If she got some legit skin to skin contact with Loki right now, her situation would go from “dreamy” into next-level “transcendental” territory. Sigyn knew better than to build up a human being as some sort of otherworldly deity, but this demigod on top of her had obliterated the already questionable “logic” center in her mind; the effort to subvert her own idiocy was futile at best. Impatient to transcend with him, Sigyn slipped her hands underneath the back of his shirt, sliding one around his waist and the other up his spine, forcing the hem up nearly to his shoulders.

Loki breathed harder—Dammit, her hands on my bare skin feel INCREDIBLE

He tightened his grip on Sigyn’s hair and reached up over her head to grab the arm of her couch with his other hand lest he shove it down the front of her shorts like he wanted to. He wasn’t one to give a damn about chivalry or any other equally virtuous crap like that—normally, he wouldn’t think twice about getting straight to the good bit with anyone that he wanted (who also wanted him, of course). However, getting tangled in this girl’s sheets tonight would be a massive misstep. Sig was…unnaturally perfect.

For ME.

While Loki had walked to her apartment tonight, he’d sworn to himself that he would not hit the gas on this relationship. Oh god, he hated to admit it, but objectively, seven days barely made the cut for getting to know Sig, much less beg her to please please please be his girlfriend—a phrase he would have been idiotic enough to utter if not for the voice in his head screaming at him that this was precisely how he’d gotten tangled up with toxic-as-fuck Amora Tress a couple years ago. Naturally, the thing in his trousers was defending Loki’s infatuation-infested justifications, silently screaming right back to the sensible voice that Sig was nothing like that predatory, Satanic-spawn hiding behind an ex-girlfriend mask.

Carrying Sig up the stairs had been a literal flex, and Loki had gotten what he wanted from it—to get that “more than a hug” physical contact that he’d texted her about a few days ago while simultaneously proving that he’d been paying attention to her words on their date, rather than just staring stupidly at her mouth like a sweet-toothed glutton looking at biscuits after a heavy meal. Making Sig’s “stair” fantasy a reality was supposed to be a knee-weakening move on his part, and from her reaction, he deserved a “mission accomplished” plaque in some ostentatious glass showcase frame to display on his mantle. He was supposed to cool it now, to dial the heat back down to a manageable level.

But god, he wanted to throw caution to the wind and beg Sig to make this thing between them exclusive. He was just…so into her. He had no idea how he’d managed to keep his trousers in place during this blood rush of a make out session. She hadn’t tried to yank them off yet—that was likely the only thing stopping his clinically unhinged head from convincing him it would be so much more fun, and therefore worth it, to get into mad trouble with this woman.

Goddamn siren—I would sail straight into jagged rocks and drown for this girl I’ve only known for ONE week because I am THAT idiotic and literally insane.

No, he could handle this. It wasn’t difficult at all to control himself with her pulling his hair like this while cradling his hips with her thighs. Tightening his grip on the arm of the couch, he released her mouth and buried his face in her neck instead

“Holy f-…Sig…” he exhaled beneath her ear, then kissed down her neck.

Sigyn pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t moan loud enough to wake the dead.

Bloody hell, I LOVE the way he says my name.

Oh god, hon, please don’t say that to him.

Any admission, no matter how harmless, that contained the L-word was absolutely off the table. That word that had no business making an appearance with someone she’d known for seven days, unless referring to loving pizza or cat videos or whatever. Nope, she would tell him no such thing. Of course, then he said her name again, his voice even raspier than before, and her one brain-wrinkle—the last vestige of “smarts” that she’d been clinging to in her chemically-compromised head—smoothed itself into oblivion.

“I love the way you say my name,” Sigyn whined—whined?!—at an unfortunately audible decibel. She cringed inwardly.

Aw, DAMMIT.

Maybe you should tell him to put a baby in you while you’re at it, genius.

“Mm,” Loki hummed against her neck, then popped his head up in front of her face again. “I like saying it.”

She barely had a second to thank her lucky stars that he seemed fine with her accidental wording before he dropped his mouth to hers again, whipping her stomach back into its somersault frenzy. Her hands moved as though they had minds of their own then, dragging down his back, intent on pushing his godforsaken trousers out of her way.

His jeans, which he’d probably had custom-fitted to his perfectly svelte frame specifically to drive her insane, were too snug for her to get more than her fingertips underneath the back of his waistband. Aggravated that she couldn’t get any slack without first unfastening his fly, Sigyn growled softly, her eyes rolling behind her closed lids.

Couldn’t make it easy for me, could he? FINE.

More than a little anxious to fix this minor inconvenience, she reached down between their stomachs to find the evil button or zipper keeping her from getting exactly what she wanted. It was a bit awkward, what with her shaking fingers fiddling around blindly, but she managed to pop the button and slide the zipper down.

Suddenly aware of Sigyn’s hand on the front of his boxer briefs, Loki stilled his mouth against hers. Squeezing his eyes shut, he blew out a breath, then shot upright.

“W-…w-…w-…wait, just hang on a minute…”

Blinking rapidly at the loss of his body warmth, Sigyn yanked her hand away from him.

“Oh god oh god, I’m so so so so sorry,” she stammered, scrambling out from underneath him, nearly falling off the couch in the process.

Falling, indeed—if the floor wanted to open up and let her fall right through it, she wouldn’t complain. Feeling painfully vulnerable in just her bra and shorts, Sigyn looked wildly around her little living room for her shirt, which Loki had yanked over her head and discarded somewhere on the floor only minutes ago. She spotted it under her coffee table and dropped to her hands and knees to retrieve it. He would have to excuse her for getting the idea that he wouldn’t mind if she tried to strip him down to just his underwear too.

Loki watched her with wide eyes, his heart sinking at the sight of his girl pulling her shirt back on.

How can you call Sigyn “your” girl if you haven’t yet mentioned, just in passing, that you’re absolutely DYING to be exclusive with her, LO?

He gritted his teeth behind closed lips, wishing he could wallop that perpetually snarky, parasitic voice. Unfortunately, that thing had leeched onto the mess behind his eyeballs eons ago, so unless the tangible, true Loki was willing to lose a lot of his own brain matter, he was stuck putting up with this shit.

Still seated on the couch, he leaned forward, stretching his arm toward Sigyn, trying to grab her hand when she stood back up from crawling around in the hunt for her shirt. “Hey, Sig, I didn’t mean—“

“No no no, I understand completely,” Sigyn assured him, moving her hand out of his reach, her cheeks flushing dark red. Shit, this was so embarrassing. “I was in the wrong,” she added, struggling to maintain a steady, calm tone without coming across as being glib about the uncomfortable (to say the least) situation that she’d just put him into with what had clearly been an overly aggressive move on her part.

Everything had been fine, or so Sigyn had thought, until she’d touched that part of Loki’s body. Imagining the scene from his perspective, she winced, forcing words out of her mouth despite wanting to run out the door.

“I just…just…I didn’t read the…uh…the—” oh god, stop stammering, please “—I read the signs completely wrong back there.” She gestured vaguely to her door as though Loki would automatically know what she was referring to.

His eyes slid to the door, which he assumed had something to do with the stairwell “signs” that Sigyn had supposedly misread. If this woman genuinely feared that she’d misinterpreted his desire to get extremely physical with her, then she might need to have her head checked.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “One of those signs being those three flights of stairs wherein you wrapped your perfect legs around my waist per my request?” Reflexively, he lowered his gaze to the frayed hem of her gloriously short cutoffs.

Shifting his position on the couch cushion, he pressed his lips together to stop himself from voicing a new request on the tip of his tongue—Oh hell, Sig, PLEASE let me put my face between your thighs!

Stomach fluttering at Loki’s description of her legs as being perfect, Sigyn looked down at the floor to hide the deepening blush on her cheeks as he continued speaking to her.

“If memory serves, I then flipped you onto your back on this couch and crawled up your body of my own will.”

Sigyn lifted her eyes to Loki’s and threw up her hands. “Sure, then you shoved your velvet tongue into my mouth, but that doesn’t automatically give me permission to grope you right between your legs.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, his lips curving up slightly. “My velvet tongue?”

“Ugh, damn it,” Sigyn groaned, pushing both hands through her hair, then dragging them down her face. “I should not be allowed to say words ever ever ever again.”

Loki shook his head. “I would never stand for such a thing. I love your voice far too much to be denied the pleasure of hearing it.”

Reaching up to rub her temples, she sighed, “Why does everything out of your mouth sound like bloody poetry?”

He chuckled. “Poetry might be a stretch. Listen, Sig, I…” he swallowed, eyeing the hint of her stomach visible beneath her shirt riding up as she pushed her hands through her hair again. Son of a bitch, he was so anxious to get her half-naked again, “I didn’t mean that I didn’t want you to touch my…” he trailed off, catching himself before saying dick, which was most definitely not a poetic word. “Come on, how could you think you made me uncomfortable with that sexy as hell move?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sigyn replied, waving a flippant hand, wishing they could just forget this ever happened. “Maybe we should just, unironically, watch Netflix. After all, Stranger Things objectively nails it.”

“Excellent show, yes, but if it’s all the same to you,” Loki said, pushing up from the couch and closing the distance between them, “I’d rather chill.” He bent down to look her in the eyes. “And by chill, I mean basically anything other than that which requires the removal of my jeans.”

“Again with the poetry,” she laughed, shaking her head.

He flung up his arms. “How was that poetry?”

“Alright, maybe not poetry, but you are the King James Version of a human being,” Sigyn explained, poking his chest. “I’m surprised you haven’t thrown in a ‘thou’ or ‘thus say-eth the Loki’ somewhere in this conversation. Thou shalt not attempt-eth to remove-eth the sacred cloth that protect-eth the fair maiden’s eyes from the turgid instrument that hang-eth betwixt the Loki’s legs.”

Loki blinked at her. “I don’t know what the fuck you just said, but you should definitely tweet it,” he responded flatly, his face blanker than a new year slate before January 2nd had had the chance to blow in like a dust storm and dirty it up all over again.

“Mm-kay. Do you want me to @ you?”

“In a tweet about turgid instruments?” Feigning indifference, he shrugged casually. “Oh, for sure. And don’t forget to include the Starboy hashtag.”

“What about a photo of you with exceptionally flattering trousers?”

“That’s literally every photo of me, so…be my guest.”

“Oh, that I had even a shred of your confidence.”

“Not possible. You have to be much taller, otherwise the massive ego won’t have enough room to stretch out.”

“Well, I have enough room in my little 5 foot 7 body to house a massive crush on you.”

“Well, as you no doubt noticed when feeling me up on the couch a few minutes ago, I have enough room in my Calvins to house a massive—”

“HAHAHAHAHA STOP.” She swatted his shoulder, laughing hard enough to get a cramp in her side. “We’ve taken the joke too far.”

“In that case, let’s walk it back,” Loki chuckled, walking backwards toward the couch while dragging her with him. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap. Sliding his hands into the back of her hair, he leaned in to kiss her again, but just as their lips met, she snorted against his mouth. Eyes rolling, he sighed as she fell sideways off his lap, her body curling into a ball of side-splitting laughter on the cushions next to him.

“Sh-sh-sh-shit…I’m…s-s-s-sorry,” she sputtered between guffaws, covering her face with both hands. Oh, she wanted to die. She’d actually snorted against Loki’s mouth. As in, a full on imitation of a farm animal snort. “K-k-kill…me…now,” she coughed into her palms, only half-aware that her fetal position had been compromised by Loki’s hands pulling her ankles apart.

Twisting sideways to face her directly, Loki grabbed the backs of her knees, and yanked her toward him. Sigyn yelped, her eyes shooting wide open at the jarring movement. Apparently, being aggressively dragged across the cushions was as sobering as a bucket of ice water in the face.

Loki bent over her, caging her head with his hands, and smirked. “That’ll teach you to laugh when I’m trying to make a move.”

“99 out of the 100 moves you’ve made tonight, I did not laugh, but this one measly slip up will be the thing you focus on, won’t it?”

“It will haunt me to the end of days, gorgeous girl,” he confessed, nuzzling her nose.

Eyebrows pulling together, Sigyn made a slightly pained sound in the back of her throat as she looked all over his face, unable to decide which pretty as hell part to focus on. Oh, she was sinking beneath him as though his cheekily “poetic” words and nose nuzzle had the same gravity as a sacred ritual blood oath. If she had a picture of this moment and was annoying enough to post it on her Instagram, she could use that horrendous relationship goals hashtag, no doubt giving someone a cringe-induced aneurysm. But she didn’t feel like murdering anyone right now, and she and Loki weren’t doing this for a goddamn camera anyway.

This is for him and me. No one else.

“Oh my god, please please please sleep here with me tonight,” Sigyn croaked, her voice ragged, partly from all the laughing, but mostly from wanting him to the point of pain.

They don’t call it heartache for nothing, hon.

It was the first time she’d unapologetically begged a man for anything, and a part of her–the part that was buried in the deepest recesses of her mind–resented Loki for doing this to her. He’d come out of nowhere and knocked her off of her horse like a villain, only to then be the hero that caught her during the fall to the ground.

Loki groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. “Sleeping with you requires me to take my trousers off. I said I wouldn’t do-“

“I didn’t mean sleep with me,” Sigyn spoke over him.

God, I WISH.

“I meant sleep next to me,” she clarified, “as in, literally sleeping. No sex. Believe me, I take the ‘no means no’ policy very seriously. You might have noticed my little freak out earlier when I went from hot to cold.”

“Yes, I did notice that,” he said, squinting at her. “And considering those pig sounds escaping you a few minutes ago, I’m concerned that we might be dealing with a demonic possession situation. Hmm.”

“All the more reason for you to stay the night. Everyone knows you can only perform exorcisms at 3 am. The Conjuring taught me that.”

“And Scream taught me I’ll be murdered if I drink, do drugs, have sex, or say ‘I’ll be right back’.”

“And it’ll happen in seven days.”

“That’s The Ring, not Scream.”

“Oh no, have I offended the almighty horror gods?”

“Fuck the gods. You offended me.”

“Are you a sucker for horror?”

“I’m a sucker for adrenaline rushes. Fear produces adrenaline.”

“Then you should agree to stay the night at this haunted house of horrors.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Is that code for ‘yes, I will sleep over’?”

“Possibly.”

~5 days later, 8:22pm, Thursday, January 12, 2017~

Arms crossing, Darcy Lewis narrowed her eyes at Sigyn. “Alright, bestie. Spill.”

Sigyn looked up from her drink, stilling her hand when her best friend eyed the small black mixing straw that Sigyn had been twirling absentmindedly, probably for an excessively annoying length of time.

“Sorry,” Sigyn chuckled, shrugging one shoulder. “Was I doing that for long?”

Darcy tilted her head. “Doing what for long? Mixing your already mixed drink? Or avoiding my question by responding with an irrelevant question?”

Brow furrowing, Sigyn looked sideways, genuinely confused by her friend’s words. However, it clicked with her a few seconds later, and she made an ‘o’ with her mouth.

“Oh, you meant ‘spill’ as in spill information,” Sigyn said, pinching the bridge of her nose. Wow, that should have been obvious. Clearly, she was pushing her cognitive ability to its limits with this third gin and tonic of the evening. Whoops. “What do you want me to spill?”

“The dude.” Darcy rolled her eyes, gesturing to the space around them helplessly.

“What dude?” Sigyn slurped through her straw, relaxing into the delicious soon-to-be-hangover as it slid over her tongue and down into her tummy. How could something that tasted like the smell of fresh Blue spruces at a snowy Christmas tree farm make her insides think they were sitting in front of a roaring fireplace?

She turned away from Darcy to dig something from her bag, shoved between the leather barstool chair back and her spine. She wasn’t looking for anything specific, just trying to hide the blush on her face. She hadn’t told Darce about Loki. It had now been two weeks since her serendipitous collision in front of Ground Support, and still her best friend had no idea that Sigyn (finally!) had a boyfriend.

Well, okay, technically I can’t give him that label…yet.

Shoulders slumping forward just a hint, she bit her lip—an anticipatory habit she had been resorting to way too much the past two weeks. No, she and Loki hadn’t agreed to officially date each other, but it felt pretty damn exclusive to her, making it near impossible to think of him as just some great guy that she’d seen on multiple occasions, all of which had been nothing short of mind-blowing experiences. And after what had happened last Saturday?—basically telling her that having sex would only make him more obsessed with her?

Um…YES PLEASE.

True to his word, he’d stayed the night with her. They’d fallen asleep in her bed, her back to his chest, his arm around her waist—clearly, the best position on the planet since she’d slept better than she had in years. When she’d woken up on Sunday, he was still passed out behind her, though he’d rolled to his other side during the night. Delight didn’t come close to describing the experience of turning over and seeing Loki’s bare back facing her.

She should have taken a picture of that glorious sight with that new Polaroid camera Darcy had given her for Christmas. Then, she could have captioned it “I’ve got your back” and put it on her fridge like a total weirdo. Huge missed opportunity.

Possibly, Loki would have preferred to keep sleeping, but she’d been unable to help herself from scooting closer and kissing his cheek. He’d stirred awake immediately and mumbled, “You’re lucky I like you, gorgeous girl”, to which she’d had a good laugh, but even more hilarious, he’d suddenly groaned loudly, rolled to his back, unzipped the fly of his jeans, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Morning problems,” had been his gruff explanation, gesturing haphazardly to the “problem.” She’d promptly fallen off her bed from laughing so hard. He’d followed her to the ground, albeit more gracefully, ending up in a side-splitting tickle fight on her rug.

The fight probably would have turned into something less antagonistic, but he’d stopped suddenly and rolled his eyes, growling about needing to go home to get his “morning madness fix.” That was code for medication, apparently. He’d literally run home to get them, giving both of them the opportunity to shower and what-not. Then, they’d gone out for breakfast and coffee and played MarioCart like a couple of dorks and browsed each other’s playlists, poking fun at their most incompatible songs.

All of those moments with him on Sunday, in addition to everything else they’d done together since New Year’s Day, could only lead to one conclusion.

“Official” or not, he’s totally my boyfriend. I WILL die on this hill.

Sigyn sighed, zipping her bag again and turning back around to face her friend again. She raised an eyebrow at Darcy’s silence. “What?”

Darcy lifted her chin and straightened her back. “To coin one of your favorite ultra-anglo expressions—” she cleared her throat and did her best impression of Sigyn’s accent “—bloody hell, you are such a pain in the arse.”

Sigyn gave her an unimpressed look. “I’ll grant you that I possibly exhaust ‘bloody hell’ in my speech—not as much as you overuse the word literally—but point taken, nonetheless. However—” she held up a finger “—I’m too bloody Americanized at this point to say arse.”

“Thank god for that. Ass is, wait for it—” Darcy gave two overexaggerated winks “—literally superior.”

Sigyn mimicked her friend’s ridiculous ‘wink wink’ facial expression. “You are talking about the word ass itself, correct? Or have we descended into the realm of kink-oversharing? Do I need to warn your man about your interests?”

“Wow,” Darcy said, her lips pursing, “I legit didn’t go there in my head. I was trying to think of a way to incorporate a Sir Mix-a-Lot joke somewhere after I said it, but uh, Siggy…wow…you took that in a totally different direction. So, you definitely need to tell me about the new guy so I can warn him about your tastes.”

“Tastes…” Sigyn repeated, looking at the ceiling wistfully, tapped her chin. “Interesting word choice.”

“Dammit, these puns are getting out of control.”

“Mm.”

“Whatever. You’re distracting me with stupid jokes.”

“I think they’re quite clever, actually.”

“Ugh, STOP. Tell me about him.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Darcy dragged her hands down her face and groaned, “You have been super smile-y for weeks, and no offense, but your codependent ass never shows signs of sustained happiness unless you’ve gotten some hot guy hooked on you.”

Sigyn faked a scoff. “Way to compare me to a witch casting love spells on men rather than winning them over on my own merit.”

“First off,” Darcy paused, holding up one finger, “don’t throw shade at witches, ‘kay? They’re just nature-savvy goth goddesses, my friend. Second, meritocracy is a myth. And third—” Darcy whacked the bar “—tell me about the guy!”

“Stars above, Darce,” Sigyn laughed, nearly spitting out her drink, “lower your voice or Nate will think he overserved us.”

“Pfft, Nate loves us,” Darcy said, giving a small wave of her fingers to their bartender who had looked over at her when she’d hit the counter. He smiled brightly and waved back.

Sigyn twisted to look at him over her shoulder. “Oh, he loves you alright,” she snorted, then turned back to face Darcy. “As in, loves staring at your breasts.”

“As well he should. Ugh, dammit, how do you keep moving the conversation away from the important topic? You have some weird mind trick power.”

Sigyn waved a hand. “Oh, it’s just a bit of hocus pocus, darling.”

“Well played, Winifred,” Darcy said, fishing her phone out of her bag when it dinged. She rolled her eyes at the screen and groaned. “Bucky is such a whiner.”

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s trying to bail on us!” Darcy held her phone up so Sigyn could read the screen.

Bucky:  my sinuses are already feeling that storm that’s an hour west of here

“Can you believe that lame-ass excuse?” Eyes rolling, Darcy responded immediately to him, unconcerned that Sigyn could see the text.

Darcy: LIAR

Mindlessly pushed back her cuticles, Sigyn frowned. “Maybe I’m too empathetic for my own good, but I’ve had my fair share of migraines triggered by cold fronts, Darce, and you couldn’t pay me enough to go to a nightclub when they happen.”

“Yes, you are a highly empathetic person so it’d be great if you extended some of that empathy to your best friend,” Darcy growled, yanking her mini bag’s crossbody strap off of her chair, and throwing it over her shoulder like the bag itself had personally offended her. “Don’t be led astray by Bucky’s sad puppy eyes—he does it on purpose, believe me.”

“That would apply to a situation where I can see his eyes, but in our current scenario, I only see his text. His puppy powers have safely been subverted.”

Darcy sniggered, then mumbled, “Please. You know you pictured his sad little eyes and heard his sad little voice while you read it.”

Eyes rolling, Sigyn sighed, “Fair enough.”

“Thank you for conceding the point.” Darcy smiled brightly for two seconds, then dropped the smile, spun on her heel, and growled over her shoulder, “We’re leaving now.”

Sigyn downed the rest of her drink in one go because she could absolutely not let a $16 drink go to waste, then grabbed her own bag and hurried after her friend. “Dare I ask why the hell it’s the end of the world if he doesn’t want to go?”

“The issue isn’t that he doesn’t want to go. The issue is that this morning, when I asked if he was still on board with Zecca tonight, he said yes, and now, at the last minute, he’s faking a headache, of all things. I refuse to go into the ‘Aw honey, not tonight, I have a headache’ stage of our relationship. Nope. We are only like three months into this thing. Not yet, my friend. Not yet. He is not sitting this one out. We’re having fun, and it is mandatory!”

“Mandatory fun is truly the best kind of fun,” Sigyn deadpanned, grinning when Darcy turned her head to shoot a look at her from over her shoulder.

Darcy stuck her tongue out. “Really appreciate that oh-so-charming wit of yours. Oh, by the way, Bucky’s gonna bring a friend with him for moral support or whatever.” She shrugged, then wiggled an eyebrow at Sigyn. “Could be a total hottie, you know…”

“My heart flutters at the thought.”

“You know, February is just around the corner. What if this dude is even hotter than your secret valentine? I mean, how would you rate your guy…a 7? 7 and a half? He’s not a ten, is he?”

Giving Darcy a withering look, Sigyn shook her head. “Not a chance am I falling for that trick.”

Also, not a chance could ANYONE be hotter than Loki Odinson. Ever. Period.

Darcy bit into a smile then laughed. “Hey, don’t blame me for knowing you don’t smile this often. But then again-” she tilted her head “-maybe 2017 took a super sharp turn, and you found happiness not from a man, but from deep inside yourself.”

“I assume that was a masturbation joke.”

“Yup,” Darcy cackled, throwing her head back.

Grinning awkwardly at the people giving them weird looks, Sigyn droned, “At least you crack yourself up, Darce.”

“Right? Love that positive attitude!” She punched Sigyn’s shoulder playfully. “So back to this friend of Bucky’s who may or may not be hotter than your guy who I’m sure is real but just goes to a different school, probably in Canada. Don’t know why Bucky’s been all hush hush about him. Out of nowhere today he was all, like, ‘hey, so…my…friend…uh…you don’t know him…uh…I know him from class…well…other places too…uh…’ and then stammered about the guy for another five minutes while somehow also telling me nothing about him. Like, bro, if you’re trying to tell me you’re actually bi and want to schedule a threesome with this special friend and me, just say it. I’ll look at my calendar and pencil you in. Otherwise, please stop boring me with details about his impressive technique in class.”

Eyebrows pulling together, Sigyn looked sideways at her friend as they walked. “Okay, setting aside the multiple double entendres, what class are you talking about? Is this lad one of his mates from West Point? God, when was that? 2007 or something?”

“No, he was an ‘06 grad—top of his class thank you very much—but that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean one of his old friends from college. I meant ‘classmate’ as in, like, from that Mega Crave wannabe fight club class that he goes to like 80 times a week when he should be putting those muscles to better use by having aggressive sex with me instead.”

“You mean Krav Maga?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“No, you said Mega Crave,” Sigyn countered, her shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter at the absurdity of a combative fighting class called Mega Crave.

“Hm, sounds kinky.”

Sigyn laughed out loud then cleared her throat, trying to collect herself, “I’d like to try out Bucky’s wannabe fight club, and you can be my partner just so I can prove how damn easy it would be to kick your ass.”

“Hell yeah, LET’S GOOOO, Siggy!”

“Wait. Okay, hold on. Did I see somewhere that those classes actually use knives and shit? Like…aren’t they actually trying to cut each other?”

Darcy nodded. “The elite levels do, yes, and Bucky kills it.”

“The Ex-special forces officer?” Sigyn put a hand over her chest. “I am shocked.”

“He’s how I learned that I have a knife kink. And a dog tag kink. And an aviator kink.”

“So what you’re saying is Top Gun is basically porn.”

“One hundred,” Darcy sighed, her eyes glazing over as they neared the door.

An equally hazy look appeared in Sigyn’s eyes. Darcy’s joke about a knife reminded her of Loki, bringing him back to the forefront of her mind. When she’d been rolling around on the couch with him on Saturday, she’d winced at the feel of something extra hard digging into her thigh. She had of course joked, “Either there’s something in your pocket, or you are just really happy to see me.” She’d assumed he would respond with a joke of his own; instead, he’d gone quiet, carefully reaching down to retrieve a flip knife that had been clipped to his waistband.

“I always have this on me,” he’d murmured, his eyebrows drawing into a deep frown. Before she could ask why, he’d given her an intense look. “Story for another day.”

Given his storytelling skills, she would be all ears when he shared that one.

She was all ears every time he spoke. She was all eyes too. All her senses were keenly aware of him nonstop, even when he wasn’t physically with her, as though he’d filled her every brain cell on a molecular level. If she believed in such things, she would think he had quantum level magical powers, transcending the natural laws of physics, shrinking to an impossibly microscopic size and just zipping through her brain, mapping out every pathway, digging his way through the places responsible for emotion and attraction and need, readjusting their compasses to point only to Loki Odinson.

He’s like my own personal North Star.

Oh hon, no no. CRIIIIINGE. Just because you read Starboy 3 times this week doesn’t give you permission to speak in star metaphors.

Shrugging off the self-criticism, Sigyn looked at the sky outside the glass windows ahead of her, mystified by the light pollution hitting the undersides of the clouds and giving the fluffy things an almost otherworldly neon orange glow among the dark purple shadows. Clouds did not look like that in January. Truly, those clouds were such eye candy in the dead of dull winter.

Maybe Loki has weather effects too. Am I allowed to make CLOUD metaphors, Hmm?

If he finished up early from that dinner meeting he’d been having tonight, hopefully within the next hour, she could get a legit treat for her eyes before her forced “work night” 11:30 pm bedtime. She hadn’t been able to see him in a few days because he’d had to fulfill some contractual book signings and several meetings with his editor, publicist, and agent. Said agent also happened to be his best friend since 1988.

Val Bruna.

Sigyn had looked her up on Instagram, and embarrassingly, her jealousy had shot into overdrive. Loki’s BFF was 10/10 gorgeous. So gorgeous that if Sigyn weren’t stupidly straight, she would have been drooling like a slack-jawed simpleton. However, the day after her Insta-jealous mini-stroke, Loki had mentioned that Val was “about as straight as a wet spaghetti noodle.” Sigyn had managed to contain the relieved joy on her face.

Barely.

Tonight was the end of an extremely busy week for him, meeting Val up in the Village somewhere to discuss the schedule of the next book in his contract…or something like that. Sigyn hadn’t been paying attention to the details when Loki had told her about his plans for tonight. She’d been too busy swooning over the sound of his voice on the phone to bother with comprehending the actual information. Ugh, she had been itching to text him all night, but she was trying to seem somewhat levelheaded, choosing to give him some space. After all, he was out with his best friend; Sigyn genuinely didn’t want to encroach on that time. Still staring at those stunning neon clouds, her eyebrows pulled together.

I wonder if he’ll tell Val about me…?

“DAMMIT!” Darcy huffed right behind Sigyn’s ear, unknowingly scaring the hell out of her.

“My god, Darce!” Sigyn put a hand over her eyes, her head shaking as she blew out a breath, then mumbled to herself, “Loki’s not the only one not ready for jump scares, apparently.”

Hearing Sigyn’s barely audible muttering, Darcy snorted. “Duh, that’s the whole point of a jump scare, weirdo. I just accidentally hit the send button with a major autocorrect malfunction is all,” she explained, her eyes on her phone, thumbs rapidly tapping a new accurate text to her boyfriend as she walked out of the doors with Sigyn following on her heels. Darcy looked up then, one eyebrow shooting up her forehead when it hit her what Sigyn had said under her breath a minute ago. Stopping in her tracks, Darcy abruptly turned around to face her friend.

Unprepared for the sudden halt, Sigyn collided with her—chest first, because of course—and they both groaned, twisting awkwardly in pain.

“Ow, bloody hell, woman, why would you stop right there in front of me?” Sigyn hissed, sidestepping her friend and hurrying to get past the crowded area in front of the restaurant doors before someone noticed that she was basically groping herself to support her downright wounded breasts.

Darcy darted after Sigyn and caught her by the shoulder on the sidewalk further down Spring Street, whispering heatedly, “Dude, overreacting much? Obviously, that was an accident, unless you think I’ve got some weird, like, boob-ramming kink, which I don’t,” she added quickly when Sigyn raised an eyebrow at her. “So just—” Darcy flicked her fingers vaguely at her friend’s chest “—calm your tits.”

Sigyn rolled her eyes as Darcy snickered at her own joke, then she gestured down the sidewalk. “Are we going dancing at Zecca or are we going to Brooklyn to kidnap your boyfriend first and then drag him kicking and screaming to Zecca with us?”

“Who’s Loki?” Darcy responded point-blank, completely ignoring Sigyn’s question, her head tilting sideways.

Mouth opening and closing a few times, Sigyn blinked mutely.

Oh shit.

“Who’s what now?” she replied, trying to buy herself some time to think of an answer because she was not prepared to dodge a question containing the correct name of the “dude” Darce had inquired about twenty minutes ago. And how had Darce even guessed it?

God, it sucked, but Sigyn was nervous to say anything about Loki given that he could arguably claim “celebrity” status. GQ had made him their November 2016 cover boy, for pity’s sake. He even had a legit fan following now. Or “stan following” or whatever.

Sigyn chewed her bottom lip, her eyebrows knitting together. That whole stan culture thing was probably the root of her hesitance to tell anyone about him. Her anxiety hadn’t been this high before perusing the starboy-hashtag (her mistake) last week. She’d seen a mishmash of tweets about the same-titled song that artist The Weeknd had released last fall—

A song which I haven’t been able to get out of my head for two bloody weeks.

—and thousands of tweets about Loki.

“LO stan” or something like that was in a ton of Twitter bios, all of which contained the phrase “We may stan a dying star, but a dying star is still a star.” What, did his fandom (standom?) have a tagline or something? No matter, she had to admit, it was a great play on words from that quote in his book. Clever folks, these LO stans.

Oh my god, I sound like a goddamn boomer. No more talk of STANS.

Most of them probably didn’t concern themselves with Loki’s private life, but nonetheless, she guessed it was best that the “girlfriend” (or potential one) keep a low profile. She had no clue how many of them were the more obsessive types, but they definitely existed, and they wouldn’t shy away from harassing her online with any bullshit excuse they could find other than the actual reason: “LO is into this evil architect bitch and it’s cracked the very foundation upon which I built my delusional belief that he wouldn’t date anyone exclusively except for me.”

Though, to be fair, Sigyn understood that feeling. She’d wanted Kate Bosworth and her stupid blond hair and stupid tiny waist and stupid clear skin to go and just fall off a bridge or something for downright stealing elf dream boy Orlando Bloom back during her Lord of the Rings obsession phase in 2003.

But I wouldn’t have ever blasted that sentiment all over the goddamn internet!

Sigyn sighed heavily, frustrated that she didn’t know how to navigate these tricky PR waters. Or maybe they weren’t that tricky, and she was making mountains out of molehills. Maybe he wouldn’t care if she told her best friend. Come on, she wasn’t asking to gloat on Instagram about dating the Loki Odinson or anything. She literally only wanted to tell Darce.

“Earth to my space cadet pal?” Darcy said, tapping Sigyn’s shoulder. “Do I need to repeat the question? Who’s this Loki fellow who also isn’t prepared for jump scares?”

Pushing her hair behind her ears, Sigyn cleared her throat. Ah, so that’s how Darce had come up with his name.

“I don’t know anything about a ‘Loki’ person—” Sigyn made air quotes with her fingers “—but I did mean that I low-key was not prepared for a jump scare.” Wow. An unexpected quick-on-her-feet response?

The sky must be falling.

“Oh…I thought you meant…nevermind. My bad. That’s super boring compared to what I thought you’d said, but whatev,” Darcy said, hooking her arm around Sigyn’s elbow and dragging her down Spring Street toward Zecca NYC, the night club of poor Bucky’s worst dancing nightmares.

Almost immediately, Sigyn spotted Bucky waiting for them on the other side of the dance floor when she and Darcy were granted access past the bouncers outside the entrance doors. He waved his hand at them, a gesture that one could have easily mistook for the most disingenuous peace-sign ever, and Sigyn snorted.

“Your man looks thrilled to be here, Darce,” she said, taking the long way around the main floor to avoid walking through the sea of sweaty, undulating bodies.

“Oh my god, he is actually pouting,” Darcy groaned, mimicking Bucky’s expression right back at him when he caught her eye. “Like, full-on, pushing his bottom lip out pouting.”

“I’m not so sure that’s what he’s doing. I mean, he just has pouty lips in general,” Sigyn countered.

“Did I say you could look at his mouth?”

“Forgive me. I had no idea I needed permission before moving my eyeballs in his direction.”

“Just his mouth. It’s too sexy. You’ll fall for him on the spot.”

“Oh okay, cool. I’ll just ogle his crotch instead.”

“That you may do, as long as he’s wearing pants.”

“Is Bucky prone to just going right ahead and dropping his trousers in public?”

“Wellllll…” Darcy trailed off as they approached her boyfriend, “he did sex me up in a Bloomingdales fitting room in December. Does that count?”

“Bloody hell, Darce! Talk about risky business. That place is packed in December!”

“Yeah exactly. The holiday shoppers were hardcore stressing us out, so I…you know…we gave each other a pressure release.”

“You’re both crazy, you know that?”

Darcy shrugged, finally getting within arms reach of her boyfriend.

“Hey, soldier boy,” she greeted him, going up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “You know, doll, ” she said, pushing both corners of his mouth up, “you’d be a lot prettier if you smiled more.”

Batting her fingers away from his face, he flashed a fake smile—showed his teeth, more like—and responded flatly. “I’m so stoked to spend my Thursday night at Zecca NYC surrounded by a shit ton of drunk dancin’ babies tryin’ to hook up with other drunk dancin’ babies.”

Sigyn eyed the crowd. “They’re all probably like mid-twenties, Bucky.”

He took a sip from the tumbler in his hand, which Sigyn assumed was his typical old-fashioned, then he smacked his lips. “Like I said. Babies.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, I swear,” Darcy sighed, shaking her head. “How are you already this jaded at 32?”

Eyes narrowing, Bucky raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Flashin’ lights, ear splittin’ music, and bein’ surrounded by liquored up, self-entitled brats who don’t give a fuck about anyone else’s personal space is just a bit problematic for my head, doll.”

Darcy gave him a genuinely warm smile, sliding her hand into the front pocket of his jeans—a bold move that made Sigyn’s eyes nearly pop out of her head.

Uh, this better not turn into a replay of the Bloomingdales fitting room scene.

Thankfully, Darcy quickly removed her hand, holding what Sigyn recognized as Bucky’s vape pen filled with his self-prescribed medication, so to speak. Darcy discreetly put it to his mouth and winked.

“That’s what this is for, lov-errr,” she joked, grinning when he smiled and took a long drag from it. She turned to Sigyn and shrugged. “Problem solved.”

“The question of whether he’ll partake in the dancing remains to be answered,” Sigyn said, aiming her smile at Bucky while poking his shoulder.

“Yeah I probably will,” he answered with a nod, “until my friend gets here, that is.”

“Why would that make you stop?” Darcy asked, tilting her head at him.

“‘Cause he’s actually rhythmically coordinated, that’s why.” He shrugged.

Darcy squinted at him. “Is that supposed to mean good dancer?”

“Duh, what else would that mean?”

“God, you two are perfect for each other,” Sigyn snickered, putting a hand over her mouth.

“I’m not lettin’ you girls compare my hip rollin’ skills to his. Hell no. I may be stoned, but I still have my dignity.”

Shaking her head, Darcy wriggled her nose. “Are you sure about that?”

Arms crossing in front of his chest, Bucky scratched the underside of his chin. “I change my mind. I can’t let you meet him because I’m pretty sure knowingly subjecting him to your mean girl antics probably falls under the legal category of abuse in New York.”

Darcy eyed him carefully. “I actually can’t tell if you’re joking right now. What is with the hypersensitivity about this guy?”

“If you can’t tell that was a joke, then I’m givin’ myself a pat on the back for uppin’ my deadpan game,” he said, a genuine smile crinkling his eyes.

“Awwwww, look at that face,” Darcy fawned, pushing her arms under his, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Isn’t he the cutest, Siggy?”

“No,” Sigyn replied firmly, “puppies are. No, wait…kittens. NO,” she waved her hands excitedly, eyes widening, “baby sloths!”

“YES!” Bucky agreed loudly, giving her a high five. “Just yesterday I saw some random vid of a baby sloth in my recommended feed, and I ‘AWWWW’ed’ so hard I think I pulled somethin’. Every post on these people’s page was just fluffy little animals. Felt like I was bein’ adora-bullied into followin’ their account. Pfft,” he huffed, shaking his head, “and it worked. ‘Cause I did. Immediately.”

“Did you just say adora-bullied?” Sigyn repeated, eyeing him up and down. “Okay, you might not be the COAT, but you’re on the podium.“

“Coat?” Bucky tilted his head.

“Cutest of all time,” Darcy clarified for her, then jokingly gave her a warning look.”I told you not to fall for him!”

“That is absolutely not true,” Sigyn countered, pointing an accusatory finger at her friend. “You said I was not allowed to look at his sexy mouth, not that I wasn’t allowed to listen to his cute baby animal commentary.”

“Girls, there’s enough of me to share with both of you,” Bucky said, flashing a cheeky smile as he retrieved his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. Darcy shot him a glare, which he ignored while looking down at a new text. He sighed “oh thank god” rather dramatically, and Sigyn peeked at his phone.

LO: Bloody hell, JB, calm down. I'll only be out here on the pavement for a minute. Two at most.

She sucked in her cheeks, a slight sense of deja vu hitting her as she read the message. Was it the cadence or tone? Or both? The “voice” wasn’t just familiar — it was highly appealing. Bucky spoke then, distracting her from the butterflies that had appeared out of nowhere in her gut.

“He’s here finally. This is gonna sound weird,” he paused, his eyes still on his phone, “but Sigyn, I need you to play your hottest game for him.”

Eyes narrowing to slits, she looked up at the man, but given his laser-focus on his phone, she doubted he even realized she was staring. Honestly, she would have been offended that he was blatantly ignoring her if he hadn’t further piqued her interest in the identity of his friend by making that weird request—

Play my hottest game? Uh…what?

She eyed Darcy, who merely shrugged at her before saying, “I’m gonna get a drink so my buzz doesn’t wear off. Want anything?”

Sigyn shook her head. “No, I’m all set.”

As her friend turned away, Sigyn scratched the back of her neck, discreetly returning her eyes to Bucky’s phone while he continued conversing with his friend. If he insisted upon keeping his eyes glued to his damn Android rather than tell her more about this guy, then she had every right to read through their, presumably, enthralling conversation.

Bucky: Lemme guess. You got stopped by hot college girls asking for autographs and pics.

LO: Not ONLY girls, but yes, they look to be a university-aged group. Get this—one of them pulled a sharpie from her bag (who carries a sharpie with them?) and asked me to sign her leg so she could have it turned into a tattoo. I said, "You'll regret it but okay, not my problem." HOWEVER…

Sigyn blinked several times, the odd stomach butterflies returning. So…a crew of “not ONLY girls” had stopped Bucky’s mate for autographs? She couldn’t help but notice three things:

One—according to the contact info at the top of Bucky’s screen, he was texting someone named LO.

Um…okay hold on…

Two—the image above the name was a photo of a white Jaguar F-type.

Oh my god.

And three— this fellow’s “not ONLY girls” correction reminded her of a line some random guy that she wasn’t remotely crazy about had once said to her.

“I take issue with that lad’s opinion. As though only GIRLS space out around me. Come on, mate. My appeal transcends gender.”

Sigyn pressed her lips together, lest her jaw embarrassingly detach from her skull as she pored over the words popping up on Bucky’s screen as though they were groundbreaking literary art. She quickly read over the rest of “LO’s” previous text, half of which she’d missed.

LO: …I kid you not, when I bent down to sign her calf, she said, "no no no no no, not all the way down there, silly boy.” (SILLY BOY?!) Then she pulled her skirt higher up, pointed to her inner thigh (just two inches from her crotch, mind you), and said, "I want it HERE."

WHAT?????

Bucky: Jesus christ

LO: Exactly.

Bucky: did you do it?

LO: Fuck no.

Guess I don’t need to worry about going to prison for murdering anyone tonight.

LO: I merely stood up, handed the sharpie back to her, and told everyone I'm not signing anything, but that I'd take some photos with them if they want.

Bucky: Ouch. Deeee-nied.

LO: I might have done it, but there was something fishy about her.

Sigyn put a hand over her mouth, barely containing the laugh bubbling up in her chest.

Oh my god, I LOVE HIM.

Bucky, on the other hand, did not shy away from guffawing hysterically right next to her.

Bucky: MAN STOP

Sigyn gaped at him, amazed that he was wiping actual tears from his eyes like an emoji. She felt like a ghost, an invisible bystander who he’d asked to be useful eye candy or whatever but had forgotten she existed the second a digital Loki appeared. Jesus, if these boys were that close, how the hell had they all not crossed paths with each other until now?

LO: I’m proud to say that joke was completely improvised just now on the spot.

Yep, Bucky’s secret friend is 100% definitely Loki.

Bucky: you really do have a way with words

LO: Considering my career choice, I certainly hope so.

Maybe he should call his next book “Silvertongue”…

Chewing her lip, Sigyn looked sideways. Silvertongue?—oh, the thoughts racing through her head would send her straight to hell.

Bucky: You’re being a dick to them btw. Nose in your phone ignoring your horny fans who wanna see your pretty pretty prince pearly whites in their pics with you

Eyes rolling, Sigyn caught herself before smacking Bucky’s shoulder while shouting, “He’s not a prince—he’s a STAR!”

LO: I'm multitasking. Texting doesn't hinder my ability to smile for their cameras. Also, I think it's adorable that you CLEARLY played "pretty pretty princess" as a child.

Thumbnail between her teeth, Sigyn gazed dreamily at the screen.

Ah, Loki—smartest in the room, as always.

Bucky: no, I just played it with your sister last night

Eyes blowing, Sigyn clapped both hands over her mouth.

HE DID NOT JUST—

LO: Considering my sister was doing her rounds at a Boston hospital psych ward last night, that was a massive self-report, JB.

Sigyn snorted behind her palms.

And we’re back in the game, boys!

Bucky: Look at you, the multitasker, coming up with tight ten jokes while showering your fans with all-teeth-no-eyes fake smiles

LO: I thought that said "showering WITH my fans" at first glance.

Um…that’s MY territory, thank you very much. I hope. Eventually.

LO: Horrifying image. Whatever. Given that I’m wearing sunglasses, they have no idea if I’m half-assing the idol part of my job by giving “all-teeth-no-eyes” smiles. My brand remains intact and charming as ever.

Yup, save those eyes for ME, dream boy.

Bucky: Can't be YOU without your goddamn shades. Ray Bans?

Always.

LO: Always.

NAILED IT! HA!

Bucky: Aviators or Wayfarers?

LO: Wayfarers, obviously. Only a troglodyte would wear aviators in winter, JB.

Note to self, delete that pic I posted last week in which I was wearing MY aviators in January, unknowingly committing a carnal fashion sin.

Bucky: This is such a gay convo

Therefore entertaining AND educational.

LO: Eh, seeing a barely concealed vagina in front of my face three minutes ago and saying "uh, no thank you" was substantially gayer.

AHAHAHAHA MIC DROP

Bucky: true story.  Aren't you done out there yet?

LO: Good god, stop being a whiny little bitch texting me every three seconds demanding that I pay attention to you, so I can finish making mindless chit chat with these people for 30 seconds, or I WILL ditch you.

Bucky: Nah, whining like a little bitch is YOUR thing but it’s cool bro LO. See ya in 30

“I saw you spyin’ on my texts, Sigyn,” Bucky said, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

She winced.

Busted.

“Sorry? I was only planning to look at the first one, but the banter was too entertaining to look away.” She flung up her hands. “Guys never text like that!”

“Correct. We don’t. Normally. I only talk like that to him. He’s a fuckin’ word wizard,” Bucky sighed, pushing his hand through his hair, “and my theory is that after I first mopped the floor with his face in class, he realized the only way to challenge my superior physical prowess was by slingin’ his evil genius dry Brit curveballs at my face in every goddamn text. I think of it as a workout for my brain. Like crosswords or sudoku. Textin’ Lo might actually be the best way to stave off dementia.”

Darcy pursed her lips. “You mean dry wit?”

“Huh?”

“You said dry Brit.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s from the dumbass UK.” He slowly turned toward Sigyn, holding up his hands. “That wasn’t for you. You’re one of the good ones.”

“Thanks,” she droned, eyes rolling.

Wiggling her eyebrows, Darcy elbowed her friend playfully. “So is he one of those ‘oy brAHv’ types or all posh and shit like Siggy?”

“I’m not posh!”

“Have you heard yourself talk?”

“Yeah?”

“Not exactly Eliza Doolittle, are you?”

“And as we all know, those are the only two options for us. Chimney sweeps or monarchs. Nothing in between.“

“I don’t know about her—“ Bucky pointed to Sigyn “—but Lo grew up in Oxford, then he moved to, of all places, TriBeCa with his folks for a summer before going off to Harvard for six years and comin’ back to Manhattan with two fancy-ass degrees.”

Darcy held up her hands. “Okay, posh, got it.”

“Now, Sigyn,” Bucky began, turning to face her directly, “like I said, you gotta pretend to be hot.”

Sigyn crossed her arms and shot him a glare. “Pretend to be?”

He looked sideways. “That came out wrong.”

“You think?”

“You know what I mean.” He waved a hand. “Point is, Lo needs to be so focused on you that he won’t notice Darcy gazin’ all slack-jawed at him.”

Darcy scoffed. ”Okay, first, why am I just now realizing you keep calling this dude Lo? What kind of weirdass name is that? And second, why the hell would I be gazin’ all slack-jawed at him?” she asked, mimicking Bucky’s drawling accent.

“Uh, ’cause full disclosure,” he paused, puffing out his cheeks, then he exhaled loudly, “man’s hot.”

”Damn right, he is,” Sigyn mumbled under her breath.

Darcy burst out laughing. “Buck-eeee,” she drew out his name, still wheezing, “you’re literally a 12 out of 10. Quit your whinin’, boy.”

“I mean…thanks…and all that,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck, “but he’s famous…and you kinda also have a crush on him, doll.”

Eyes blowing, Darcy’s jaw practically unhinged. “What the actual double fudge brownie? Well, this explains why you spend every Wednesday night and Saturday afternoon at that crazy-ass ‘I know Kung Fu’ class instead of going at it with your girlfriend.” She threw her hands up, then pointed an accusatory finger at Bucky. “You’ve been cheating on me with Keanu Reeves.”

“Riiiiight,” he droned, eyes narrowing. “Way to go straight for the jugular with the most outlandish, way out of my friend league guess. And…kung fu? Uh…wrong.”

“Uh…” Darcy mimicked him, “it’s a line from a small independent film called The Matrix.” She crossed her arms when Bucky mouthed ‘I KNOW’ at her. “Well, I don’t know who the hell else you’re talking about then because Keanu is literally my only celebrity crush.”

“He’s literally not,” Bucky said conclusively, taking another sip.

“Oh my god, just tell her!” Sigyn blurted out, then pressed her lips together while her friends looked at her like she’d just sprouted elephant ears. Putting both hands on her hips, she blew out a breath. “Apologies. I’m just a wee bit on edge because I’m not used to pretending to be hot for your full-disclosure hot friend who is famous but not Keanu Reeves.”

Or I’m just impatient as hell because it’s taking AGES for Loki to walk through those front doors! Whatever happened to his “be there in 30 seconds” promise??

“Jesus, chill,” Bucky said, then gestured toward the doors. “He’s just about to walk in. I see him talkin’ to Carl, all smiles and shit. Why in god’s name couldn’t I have gotten a shred of that whole ‘tall, dark, and moody’ charisma that he’s got goin’ on? Wearin’ fuckin’ Ray Bans on top of his head like it’s 8:00 in July, not January.”

“Uh, you are tall, dark, and moody,” Darcy groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, then she went up onto her tip-toes. “Dammit, I can’t see the doors over these stupid people’s heads. Cripes cripes cripes, I hate being short.”

Heart skipping about a thousand beats, Sigyn turned around to look for Loki. She frowned, also struggling to see beyond the crowded dancefloor in the impossibly dim lighting. Picking anxiously at her nail polish, she growled under her breath, bending down a bit to possibly get a peek in the slivers of space between all these annoying people with their stupid stupid stupid bodies blocking her view.

Come on, come on, come on, come ON…

Another thousand rapidly accelerating heartbeats later, Loki finally walked past the bouncer Carl and came into Zecca’s neon lit entry way. She blinked slowly, her mouth turning up into an open smile. God, that man truly was a work of art, his already gorgeous bone structure and raven black hair taking on an otherworldly glow under those neon lights. The sunglasses on top of his hair glinted, shifting and moving, crowning him with an electric purple halo.

Wait…no, the way the light is reflecting off of those two lenses makes him look like he has HORNS, not a halo.

Scraping her teeth over her bottom lip, Sigyn smiled. “How appropriate for a handsome devil.”

She was so caught up staring at the epitome of male perfection on the other side of the room that she barely heard Darcy shriek loudly behind her.

“DUDE, WHAAAAT. Bucky, you are not friends with Loki Fucking Odinson.”

“Yeahhhh, I don’t think that’s his middle name, doll.” Bucky shook his head. “Actually, I don’t think he even has a middle name.”

Tapping her chin, Darcy hummed. “If he did, it would probably be something all cool and Viking-sounding like, I dunno, Ragnar or whatever. Come on, parents don’t name their kid Loki unless they’re into that shit.”

“Look who took her smart pills this mornin’.” Bucky grinned when she poked her tongue out at him. “Well actually, Lo does have a tattoo of their world tree. It has a skull in the roots.”

“What world tree?”

“The Norse one, duh.”

“Don’t ‘duh’ me. ‘Duh’ the alcohol co-opting my brain.”

“Even sober, I bet you wouldn’t remember what that tree is called.”

“Yeah, well, I bet you can’t remember it either.”

“Sure, I can. They called it…um…” he snapped his fingers several times, squinting at the ceiling.

“Yggdrasil,” Sigyn supplied the name of the legendary tree, sighing happily, her eyes sliding from Loki’s face to his left arm.

Lips pursing, Darcy leaned toward her. “Did you say Egg Brazil? What’s egg brazil? Oh my god, I’d totally go for a breakfast buffet right now.”

“That’s it,” Bucky laughed, patting Sigyn’s shoulder, “you’re my Trivial Pursuit partner from now on.”

Sigyn smirked, remembering that moment last Saturday night when Loki had yanked his shirt over head; she’d gotten her first glimpse of the tree inked into his upper arm. She’d felt him shiver when she’d traced her fingers along the sprawling black and jade branches and the silver roots. She supposed it was understandable that one might think there was a skull hiding in those finely detailed roots creeping around his bicep, but nonetheless, they would be mistaken. It wasn’t a skull.

“It’s a serpent,” she murmured dreamily.

Bucky squinted at her, leaning closer. “Huh?”

“His tattoo,” she clarified, her eyes still on Loki. “A serpent is hiding in the roots, not a skull.”

And it is unironically hot as HEL.

He tilted his head, his eyebrows knitting. “How do you know what Lo’s ink looks like?”

Pressing her lips together, Sigyn looked sideways at the man. At this point, she might as well just tell him, right? Surely, Loki wasn’t going to pretend that he was meeting her for the first time. After all, he’d asked her to come out to Zecca, knowing Bucky would be here. Running a hand through her hair, she shrugged, then opened her mouth to respond honestly to Bucky’s question, but Darcy let out another squeal, cutting her off.

“This is amazeballs,” Darcy said, bouncing on her toes. “Hey, Siggy?”

“Hmm?” Sigyn returned her eyes to Loki, watching him pull his phone from his jacket as he descended the six or so steps that led down to the main floor. Like clockwork, she heard a ‘ding’ from inside her bag. Smiling excitedly, she yanked the zipper open and retrieved her own digital wonderland.

Loki: Hello, gorgeous girl. Val and I finished up early, and as a highly selfish man, I must ask you to abandon your evening plans with your friend, and spend the rest of your waking hours with me instead.

God, she really did adore his messages—like reading tiny little stories from his head. She responded without hesitation, the thrilled knots in her stomach tightening further.

Sigyn: Hey there, handsome. I think we can work something out.

Loki: ...

Feeling as giddy as a kid on the last day of school, she smiled wide enough to hurt her cheeks. Loki was standing over there, looking like a sex demon — he had HORNS, for pity’s sake!— but he had no idea that she was even in the same building, much less thoroughly eyeballing him. Just as her phone dinged again, Darcy tapped her shoulder repeatedly.

“Hellooooo, Siggy? Remember that book I tried to get you to read last summer, but you refused to ’cause I said it would make you cry?”

Sigyn grinned. “I remember, yes.” How could she forget?

Darcy pointed at Loki. “That’s the author! That’s Bucky’s man! Well, not like, in a gay way, but whatever. You know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes. “I need like five more tequila shots before I talk to that guy. At least that way, when I say stupid embarrassing shit, I won’t remember it tomorrow. I told Bucky I don’t have a crush on him. That’s not the same thing as just, you know, mentioning how annoyingly attractive the guy is every time I happen to notice his book sitting on my shelf. No biggie.”

“Sure sure,” Sigyn said, too busy texting with dream boy to converse meaningfully with her best friend.

Loki: Oh, I KNOW we can work something out. I would have asked to come over to your place, however, I have been downright FORCED by my twitchy, club-hating gym mate, upon pain of being "accidentally" stabbed on the mats during training on Saturday, to journey to Zecca because he was similarly forced by his girlfriend and "CAN'T DO THIS ON HIS OWN!" His words, not mine.

SIgyn: Ooooh plot twist.

Loki: You must get your gorgeous self to Zecca right now and be with me because "I CAN'T DO THIS ON MY OWN." I jest. I jest. I’m not entirely averse to loud music or being among the YOUTHS. Truth is, I just really want to dance with you, and by “dance”, I mean shamelessly grind my crotch against your ass in public for four minutes straight. How’s that sound to you?

Sigyn: Sounds like you aren’t giving yourself enough credit for your dancing skills.

Loki: To my knowledge, you haven’t seen me dance. For all you know, I have no rhythm.

Sigyn: Actually, I was told that you're an excellent dancer.

Loki: Is that so? Who said that?

Sigyn: Bucky

Sigyn watched, all smiles, as Loki’s eyebrows pulled together. Slowly raising his head, he looked in all directions, his eyes moving back and forth almost comically. She snickered to herself, unconcerned that Bucky was eyeing her narrowly.

“You and Lo? For real?”

She heard him scoff behind her shoulder, and she turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you have a problem with that Bucky?”

Sucking in his cheeks, he scratched the back of his neck. “My friend called you an honest to God dream girl,” he said, giving a weak laugh as she blinked mutely at him.

He said WHAT????

Stunned stupid, her jaw dropped. Her heartrate hadn’t just gone through the moonroof. It was up in the stars, zipping through the galaxy, suffocating her in the airless vacuum of space. Blowing out a shaky breath, she put a hand over her tachycardic chest, trying to calm down. Loki had really nailed it with that “live fast and die right” line at the end of his novel.

I am going to have a heart attack at the ripe old age of 28 years old, and it’s all his fault!

“I like you, Sigyn,” Bucky added, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder lightly, “so don’t give me a reason not to. Don’t you dare hurt him.” He stepped around her and walked toward his friend.

Sigyn frowned, unsure what to make of that statement—Warning, more like. Maybe Bucky was just really protective of Loki because of their similarly…um…problematic headspaces? She probably shouldn’t take it personally. Bucky probably would have said that to anyone else in her place. Right? Rolling her eyes, she shrugged it off, and refocused on Loki.

He still looked bemused, his eyes moving all over the place. She was bemused, too, because he’d confessed that she was an ‘honest to god dream girl’ to Bucky. The butterflies in her gut were on a roller coaster, swooping down to the pit of her stomach and shooting back up into her esophagus. God, she was so glad that she hadn’t ordered a fourth gin and tonic, otherwise she might double over and hurl on her own boots right here, right now. Thankfully, the universe decided to throw her bone—that angel of a DJ blessed her with a new (and perfect) song, distracting her from the odd mix of pleasure and pain in her belly. Smirking, she sent a text to Loki just as the chorus started.

Sigyn: Honest question —  Do they ALWAYS play Starboy the moment you walk into the club, or...?

She watched a slow smirk spread across his face, then he squinted into the crowd on the dancefloor. He returned his eyes to his phone after ten or so seconds.

Loki: Tell me where you are, Sig.

“God damn,” she whimpered to herself, her eyes rolling back inside her skull. She’d felt the deep, gravelly timbre of his voice in that text, and it had her reeling.

Sigyn: If I were terribly...thirsty...where do you think I would be, sir?

She saw the distinct shadow of his jaw clenching — so fucking hot — then he dragged his hand down his face, and spun left to hurry toward the bar area, nearly colliding with Bucky in the process. Trying not to giggle stupidly, Sigyn watched the two men clasp each other’s right hands and lean in to pat each other’s shoulders twice then step back. She wasn’t sure if that move counted as a hug or a glorified handshake. Either way, she was glad that Loki took a much more full-bodied approach when hugging her.

Darcy appeared suddenly behind Sigyn’s left shoulder. “I literally just threw back five tequila shots. Just like I said I would.”

Sigyn turned to eye her friend up and down. “You going to be okay, Darce?”

“Sure! Better than ever. Do you think he’d be weird if I called him Starboy to his face? Or maybe Lo? Maybe that’s too personal. Loki sounds low-key weird right now, though. Hahahahahaha, low key. Looooow keyyyy. Oh shit,” Darcy swallowed, blinking several times. “I overdid the liquor.”

“I’m sure Bucky will happily hold your hair back when you inevitably vomit in an hour.” Hearing Bucky’s voice somewhere behind her, Sigyn turned around to look for him. He was two steps from them, Loki trailing behind him. A smile spread across her face. “Speak of the devil.”

“Hey, I’m no devil,” Bucky scoffed, setting his arm over Darcy’s shoulders, likely aware that his girlfriend was unsteady on her feet.

“I wasn’t talking about you, Buck,” Sigyn responded, her eyes on Loki’s as he came up to the group, stopping a couple feet in front of her, a gorgeous smirk pulling at his mouth.

“I need to say something,” Darcy piped up, pointing back and forth between her best friend and the new guy, “apparently, my bestie is successfully pretending to be hot because, lord have mercy, y’all went straight to hardcore eyefucking at first sight.”

Looking sideways at the woman, Loki arched an eyebrow. “You think she’s pretending to be hot? You’re taking the piss, right?”

Darcy made a face. “Ew, why can’t you people just not be gross and say ‘are you kidding’ like normal people?”

“All you bloody Yanks think ‘normal’ is a synonym for American,” Loki retorted, rolling his eyes.

Turning to look at her boyfriend, Darcy clasped her hands together. “Please tell me this dude is playing up his loyalist heritage to get my goat.”

Loki scoffed. “It’s cruel to force me—” he set a hand on his chest “—a British expatriate—into a paradoxical identity crisis by calling me a loyalist in public.”

Darcy eyed him up and down. “Maybe you yourself are just a…what’s the word…” she pinched the bridge of her nose, then clapped when it came to her. “OH! An oxymoron!”

“Indeed, I would very much appreciate having an oxy when speaking to a moron,” Loki said, forcing a flat tone despite the intense excitement bubbling up in his chest. He couldn’t believe Sig was here. He couldn’t believe it. She knew JB. She must have been a friend of JB’s girlfriend.

HOW did we go this long without running into each other? We should have met sooner! Life is too short for this delayed pleasure shit. I have been ROBBED.

“My god,” Darcy laughed out loud, “he is a word wizard, Bucky. I LOVE HIM. I feel my brain wrinkling right now.”

“Tequila has a similar effect, so don’t get too excited,” Loki quipped, pointedly eyeing the empty shot glass she’d been pinching between her left forefinger and thumb ever since he’d first walked up to the pair of women.

Speaking of women, I want to steal the one who hasn’t said a word to me yet.

Wanting to soak up every inch of Sigyn’s body to cement the image into the space between his ears, he lowered his eyes to start from the ground up. His gaze landed on his girl’s pointed black suede ankle boots, and tilting his head sideways, he gritted his teeth behind closed lips. Instantly, he faded from his present reality, his mind taking him on a vivid, lucid dream ride out of Zecca. He lunged forward, grabbing his dream girl’s imaginary hand, spun on an imaginary heel, and shoved his way back through an imaginary too-dense crowd, desperate to get to the exit before an evil imaginary bouncer locked them inside this swanky, buzzing neon room.

Dragging her behind him, refusing to let go, he charged through the vaporous doors, unfazed by the cold January air stinging his eyes. Heart pounding louder than the soles of his boots on the cement, Loki sprinted west on Spring and turned left on Thompson, a motion capture blur of street lights and shop signs reflecting in a hundred windows flashing past his periphery.

A breathless, smoky voice echoed behind him—“Loki, these boots weren’t made for running!”—as he yanked her through the shadowy sliding doors of his building. Eight flights of hazy stairs disappeared beneath his feet, and suddenly he was on his balcony, stripping that dream girl of everything but those black suede ankle boots. He spun her around, stepping up behind her, hearing his words through ears that were not his own—“Hands on the safety rail, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s voice appeared next to his ear then, dragging Loki kicking and screaming off that balcony and back to solid, real ground. “Do you and those shoes need to get a room?”

Loki grinned at the joke. “No, but I might need a moment with the girl wearing them,” he murmured too quietly for them to hear. Blinking slowly, he lifted his gaze from Sigyn’s boots and locked eyes with her. “Hi.”

Biting into a smile, Sigyn stared at him, drowning in those jade pools staring back at her.

“Hi,” she echoed him, then winced when Darcy smacked her shoulder out of nowhere. “OW! What the hell, Darce?”

Darcy pointed back and forth between her best friend and Loki, her eyes narrowing. “Oh my god, he’s the dude, isn’t he?” She scoffed, flinging her hands up, then she laughed. “Holy bananas and pine nuts, Sigyn Elena Frey, what kind of best friend even are you? You have been hiding a Starboy in your back pocket like a goddamn ace up your pants leg for two weeks without telling me!”

Squinting at the woman, Loki pursed his lips. “Did you ask if I’ve been up her pants leg for two weeks?” He winked at Sigyn, and chuckling quietly, he turned to Darcy again. “Also, I think you might have mixed a few idioms together, darling.”

“Pfft, dahhh-ling, he says,” Darcy mimicked him, then held her hand out to him. “I am Darcy Lewis.”

“I gathered.” Loki reached forward to shake her hand. “Loki Odinson.”

“Duh.” Squeezing her eyes together, Darcy pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m so sorry. I had a bit more alcohol than my delicate constitution constitutes that I should have.”

Loki raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “She’s doing this on purpose, right?”

“Cute, isn’t she?” Bucky snorted.

“Sure, JB. I’ll be sure to run any future writing past Lewis to check for mixed metaphors and what not before passing it on to my editor.”

Darcy eyed her boyfriend. “Did he just call you JB? And me Lewis?”

“Yes and yes,” Loki answered for him, smirking at her. “I do what I want.” He turned to Sigyn then, leaning to her ear. “Can you guess what I want to do right now?”

“Grind your crotch against my ass for four minutes straight?”

“I would have said dance, but that works too,” he chuckled, slipping his hand into hers and pulling her behind him to the dancefloor.

“Hey, Lo, ditchin’ me already?”

Loki spun on his heel, turning to face his friend while walking backwards. “My song is almost over, JB! I have to get out here while I still can!” he called out, then reached up to slide his sunglasses down over his eyes and flashed a smile.

Sigyn moved closer to him, wrapping her arm around his waist as he turned around again to watch where he was walking. “Is it true that you only wear Wayfarers in winter and aviators in summer?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Reading my texts with JB, I see.” He clucked his tongue. “Bad girl.”

“I am a bad girl.” She bit her lip, then gave him a sheepish look. “I wore aviators last week.”

Eyes nearly popping out of his head, Loki scoffed. “Oh no no no no, Sig. For fashion’s sake, I think you need let me dress you from now on,” he chuckled. Finding a good spot to dance, he spun her around, pulling her back flush with his chest.

Sigyn leaned her head back on his shoulder, then slipped her hand up around his neck, pulling on him to bring his ear down to her mouth. “I’d prefer you undress me instead.”

Leaning his head back to meet her eyes, he gave her a dark look, his grip on her hips tightening.

His voice lowered an octave. “I can do that too.”

And when I do, your boots are staying on, gorgeous girl.

THE NEW YEAR FEVER DREAMS SAGA
A LOKI+SIGYN MODERN AU SERIES

NEON DAYDREAMS CONTINUES IN CHAPTER FIVE, AVAILABLE DECEMBER 2021.
Visit the Neon main page HERE.

Neon Daydreams Chapter Links: ¹Caffeine Fireworks ²Silver Heart Eyes ³Moonroof Serotonin ⁴Wayfarer Winter ⁵(December 2021) ⁶TBD ⁷TBD ⁸TBD ⁹TBD ¹⁰TBD ¹¹TBD ¹²TBD

CHAPTER FOUR THEME SONGS:
“First Time” by ILLENIUM and Iann Dior (for Loki)
“Burn Slow (E)” by Jaira Burns (For Sig)

Receive instant notifications directly to your inbox when Jen updates her in-progress works, such as the next chapters of Neon Daydreams and Fearless Immortals in December 2021 and January 2022; we’ll let you know when new short stories and multi-chapter works have been posted as well.* To keep up with our latest news (and to just joke around with us), follow the Jen Eowynir Fiction Admin Team’s Twitter account @LokisWriting (previously Jen’s old personal account). As of June 2021, Jen has a new personal-use Twitter. Both are linked in the icons below, along with her other socials.

NEON CH 3

frigidadmin — Thu, 29 Jul 2021 01:50:00 +0000

MOONROOF SEROTONIN
NEON DAYDREAMS CHAPTER THREE

~1:00 am, Thursday, January 5, 2017 ~

Reaching blindly across her pillows to get another tissue from her bedside table, Sigyn turned the page in her newest book purchase. This was it—the last page of Starboy. In the next twenty seconds, the thrill of the first readthrough would be over. Sitting cross-legged here on her bed at one in the morning when she should be sleeping, she would finish Loki’s first novel, and it would absolutely crush her.

“Ugh, I’m not ready,” she whined, grabbing the whole box because one measly tissue would not suffice. She yanked it angrily through the thin plastic opening, frowning down at the now empty container.

Apparently, after shelling out fifty bucks of hard-earned cash for the gorgeous hardcover copy in the village yesterday, she should have swung by the CVS on Mulberry Street to buy another Kleenex box. Swiping the back of her hand across her wet cheeks, Sigyn tossed the useless empty thing haphazardly over her shoulder, then returned her eyes to the legitimately tear-stained page. Voice shaking, she read the written words aloud.

“I learned to lower my expectations to null quite some time ago, and now I don’t risk disappointment,” she paused, rubbing her watery eyes to clear her blurry vision, then took a deep breath. “It’s the best thing I ever did. I still do it. It’s called being present. And presently, I want to find that girl.” Sniffle, wipe nose, deep breaths, get it together. “She may be right under my nose,” she continued, imagining Loki’s voice speaking the words, “or she might be on the other side of this train. Maybe her stop is Canal Street, just like mine.” She paused again, her face crumpling.

Could one cry in little hearts instead of tears? She felt like a damn cartoon character— an animated parody of a girl gone stupid for a boy. Each word born from this unreal man was another piece of lead blasting through her chest, turning her heart and lungs into a bloody mess for him.

Wiping her eyes again, Sigyn continued reading, “Never doubt the beauty of smoke. It hides a myriad of ugly flaws…”

She trailed off and put her face in her hands, her voice too hoarse from crying to read aloud anymore. Loki had used this “smoke” metaphor throughout the book. She was convinced this meant that the lead character’s existence was all smoke and mirrors, an apt illustration for this man who, 310 pages later, Loki still hadn’t given a name. He seemed almost like…a specter. A ghost of himself. A nameless starboy. A dying star.

Talk about a haunting theme; she wouldn’t even get the closure of knowing what name would go on the headstone. Lifting her head again, she ran both hands through her hair, tempted to pull it out from the extreme frustration. She just wanted to hear this guy say that his name was Loki, for hell’s sake.

Chest heaving, she sighed heavily. When she had the pleasure of seeing Loki again eons from now on Saturday night, she would ask him what the guy’s name was. Otherwise, she would continue literally reading into this starboy fellow, and seeing him as this smoky, vaporous shadow-self of the author. Setting her elbows on her knees, she leaned her weight on them, then picked the book up and flipped it over.

“Fuck, I love the way he writes,” she said, gazing at his picture on the back cover, unaware that she was biting her lip. This book had made her massive crush on him so much more unbearable.

Shaking her head, she flipped it over again, and silently read the last two paragraphs—

Foot on the gas, sixth gear, 0 to 60, heart rate through that moonroof, I don’t know where the hell we’re going, but… Feel like burning rubber with me, gorgeous girl? I caught you biting your lip when I pulled up to your building in these blacked out, ultra-expensive, custom-made wheels. I’m a mess, but I swear you’ll love me. I’ll take you on the ride of your life. You’re too smart and far too well-read for me to teach you much of anything, but if you will just get in this goddamn car, I’ll show you how to live fast and die right.

“Oh, my word, Loki Odinson, you did not end it like that!” Sigyn shouted at her bedroom walls, slamming the book shut and bending forward to bury her face in her pillow. She needed moooore. How dare he ask her to get in the car, and just…just…leave the rest to her imagination?! “Oh, fuck no, boy.”

Growling like an extra deranged 28-year-old gremlin, she grabbed her phone and pulled up her previous messages with him. She furiously tapped out a quick text and sent it without hesitation.

Sigyn:  Listen up, hotshot, this is an emergency situation. Starboy just gave me SERIOUS lady blue balls. Loki Odinson, you are literally the devil.

She doubted he would respond any time soon. It was absurdly late, and presumably he was smart enough to silence his phone before bed. However, if he had left the sound on for some highly irrational reason, then he deserved to be woken up from his precious slumber because he’d done this to her.

Angrily switching her lamp off, she flopped back onto the bed and groaned, too amped up to sleep. Certainly, scrolling through Instagram would just stimulate her brain further, but if her thoughts were already running 90 miles an hour to a certain writer’s apartment, then why not just moon over him on his @Lokiswriting account? There were several pics from inside his place, so even though she hadn’t been there in real life, she had a pretty good idea of the floorplan; it thrilled her architect brain to no end. His place was almost as gorgeous as him. Almost.

After a few minutes of starry-eyed gawking, she checked her text screen again because she couldn’t help herself. She scowled at the screen. The message had been delivered, but unsurprisingly, he hadn’t read it.

Rolling her eyes, she sighed, annoyed with herself for letting even a sliver of hope wiggle its way into her head. She set her thumb on the power button to shut the whole thing down because it had let her down, but then something positively glorious appeared beneath her text.

Read 1:22 AM

Instantly, her lungs forgot how to breathe. Her jaw dropped, gaping at the screen like a dehydrated desert-traveler who’d just spotted running water for the first time in two days. Curling into a ball, she shoved her face into the pillow to stifle a dramatic whine.

So, he’d read her text—not exactly a star-aligning event. He’d only checked his messages because he’d forgotten to silence his phone, and thought someone had a legit emergency, only to discover it was just some crazy girl being weird as hell. Face still in her pillow, she whined again, this time from sheer embarrassment. Guaranteed, she would be left on read for several hours, which was so much worse. Despite herself, Sigyn lifted her head to look at the screen again…just in case.

Loki:  ...

“EEEEK!” she shrieked, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. She shot upright and jumped off her bed, launching into a preemptive victory dance.

“Calm down, calm down, calm down,” she hissed at herself, bouncing on her toes.

She threw her free hand over her mouth. Her neighbors probably hated her for being so bloody loud tonight, what with all the whining and extremely vocal book commentary. Never had a simple ellipsis sent her serotonin through the roof. They’d gone out twice—Twice! —yet here he was, reading her dumbass text at an ungodly hour and not even making her wait three minutes for a reply?! How he was able to pull this off without coming across as overeager, she would never know. Guys did not behave like this unless sex was a guaranteed outcome. She looked sideways then.

Wait a second, what if he thought my text was just the longer version of DTF?

Her lips pursing, she raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t meant it that way, but…sure, that too. She checked the screen again.

Loki:  …

Gritting her teeth, she growled under her breath, “For the love of everything, stop teasing me!”

Her patience idled at paper thin levels even at the best of times; this waiting game might genuinely break her brain. His reply appeared in the conversation window that second, sparing her from a spontaneous accidental lobotomy, and her mouth fell into an open smile as she read through his long response, complete with full sentences, correct spelling, and everything.

Loki:  Well hell. Look who it is. Sigyn Elena Frey. I was overjoyed to see your name on my phone. Emphasis on the word WAS. Listen, I will not stand for these unjust accusations. I do not recall FORCING you to read my book. Were you unaware of the associated risks? Critics suggested the FDA should’ve slapped a black box warning on the cover due to the overwhelmingly high rate of lethal blows that Starboy… ahem… thrusted…upon readers’ reproductive systems. All things considered, I’m glad you read it, and thank you for the impassioned review. Oh, and one more thing- did you intend to say that I am literally a *handsome* devil? Surely, you simply forgot to type that extremely relevant qualifying adjective? Oh, gorgeous girl, were you too flustered by your emergency situation to express yourself properly?

“If he calls me gorgeous girl one more time, he’s paying for my funeral,” Sigyn sighed, shivers shooting down her spine as her mind rocketed to heights far above a neon-lit concrete jungle. Hands shaking as though she’d downed five espresso shots in one minute, she barely managed to type a reply.

Sigyn:  I didn’t expect you to be awake.

Loki:  I wasn’t. You woke me up, ma’am.

“Ma’am?” she snorted, oddly hearing his voice say that in an American southern accent.

Sigyn:  You could have put your phone on silent, SIR.

Loki: …

The ellipses disappeared, then reappeared, then disappeared again. She chewed her lip, the back and forth screwing with her head. Maybe her tone had been too sarcastic. Maybe she should call him instead. Or facetime?

Loki:  Okay, you can’t just throw that word around.

Head tilting, she pursed her lips, slightly confused.

Sigyn:  Which word?

Loki:  Please avoid calling me “sir” outside of extremely specific contexts.

A slow smirk spread across her face. “Ohhhhh, kink plot twist,” she cooed, more than a little interested to get the details concerning his specific contexts.

Sigyn:  please elaborate

“You have the right to remain silent, sir,” she said, still smirking, “because everything you disclose from this point forward can and will be used against you in a bedroom, sir.”

Loki:  And give you the upper hand? I think bloody not.

“Dammit,” she sighed, clucking her tongue, “plan foiled.”

Sigyn:  smart boy

Loki:  Obviously.

Sigyn:  With one exception...you don’t silence your phone at night.

Loki:  Of course, I silence my phone, woman. I still get alerts from favorite contacts.

Her eyes widened for a split second before becoming unbelievably heavy. She blinked slowly, glowing from the inside out, floating above her body in a drug-like haze.

Sigyn:  You added me to your favorites list? I feel so special.

Loki:  Maybe I lied. Maybe I’m not even awake. Maybe I’m just sleep-texting.

Squinting at the words, she raised an eyebrow. “Do what?” She read it again, then laughed out loud.

Sigyn:  My dyslexic brain read that as leep sexting.

Loki:  Sexting? After only two dates? That would indeed be quite a leap.

“For the love, stop being so cute,” she whispered, smiling at her phone.

Sigyn:  Nice pun. Perhaps “leep” sexting is an actual thing.

Loki:  I believe that’s called Tinder, gorgeous girl.

“There he goes again,” she sighed, the warm glow in her stomach getting warmer, turning her insides to liquid sunshine. “Shit, I am literally getting high off of this man.”

Sigyn:  Okay I REALLY need you to stop calling me that

Loki:  Hell no, woman. This is clearly a winning strategy.

Closing her eyes, she grinned, unsure which type of high best described her present reality. Drunk? Doped up? Rolling? Tripping? Post-climax oxytocin rush? All five at once? No matter what, the FDA should slap a black box warning on Loki himself—

WARNING: ADDICTION.

Sigyn:  you can stop because you already won. Congratulations

Loki:  Is that so? Does it then follow that I’ll receive an award?

She bit into a smile, practically feeling the horns sprouting from the top of her head.

Sigyn:  Depends. What do you want? A hug?

Loki:  You must be joking. Call me greedy, but I would prefer that you offer more than the ONLY thing we’ve already done, Sig.

Seeing him shorten her name like that, she let out a quiet little whine, imagining his voice saying it right now. No one else had ever called her Sig. It had slipped from his mouth at Fanelli’s, and it sounded so…right. Given that he had not switched back to her full name since then, he must have sensed that she really liked it. Climbing back onto her bed, she sat on her ankles, and stared out her window, thinking of the way Sig rolled off his tongue.

Unsurprisingly, she couldn’t help but fixate on that “rolled off his tongue” phrase. It was downright criminal that his tongue still hadn’t rolled against hers. Her ego was trapped in cope mode, pointing out that he grabbed her hand at each turn, and that his hugs were basically foreplay, for god’s sake, forcing her to arch her spine and mold herself against him for at least ten seconds. He’d even slid his hand up into her hair when he hugged her last night after their dinner date, and if that move wasn’t erotic, she didn’t know what was. Her phone buzzed in her palm, and she dropped her eyes to the new message in their conversation.

Loki:  Fair warning- what I want necessarily requires extremely close physical contact.

Mouth falling open, Sigyn’s heart took off faster than a formula-one car. She stared at the screen, waiting for the details. However, ten seconds passed and still nothing, not even an ellipsis. Making a face, she flung up her hands. That was it? Really? She bent forward, banging her forehead softly into the bedcover.

“Evil man,” she growled through her teeth, then sat up and gathered her hair in one hand to pull it up off her neck. Someone must have cranked the radiator to the eternal-lake-of-fire setting. She should expect nothing less while texting with a self-proclaimed handsome devil.

Sigyn:  Well what is it?

“Guess this is what it means to sweat like a sinner in church,” she complained, hurrying to her window to crack it. When she set her chin on the sill, reveling in the heaven-sent cold air, his answer appeared.

Loki:  I’ll tell you on Saturday, gorgeous girl.

“WHAT?!” she scoffed at the screen, angrily typing a reply as the excited butterflies in her stomach turned into a swarm of unbearably thirsty, buzzing bees.

Sigyn:  WRITERS AND THEIR GODDAMN CLIFFHANGERS

Dragging both hands down her face, she groaned.

Loki:  Sweet dreams, Sig. x

Rolling her eyes, she turned her phone off and threw it on her bed. She would not dignify his devious little teasing game with a response.

~ 9:27 am, Saturday, January 7, 2017 ~

One hand on the strap of his gym bag that he’d slung over his shoulder, Loki breezed through the glass doors of Falcon Fitness on the corner of Grand and Thompson. The young woman behind the post-workout juice bar on his right looked up from her phone and flashed a bright smile as he walked past her.

“Killin it with the wayfarers as always, Prince Lo,” she half-mumbled, teeth still biting the straw in her green drink. “Sam and Bucky started without you ten minutes ago, just so you know.”

Spinning on his heel, Loki pulled his sunglasses down just enough to look at her over the bridge and walked backwards toward the weight racks where his friends—more like one friend and one trainer—were alternating bench presses.

“For the thousandth time, Chloe,” he sighed, shooting a playful glare at her, “I have a first name.” He pushed his glasses back up, then turned around and called to her over his shoulder, “Use it.”

“My bad, LO,” she said, waving a flippant hand at him before slurping loudly through the straw and focusing on her phone once more.

Loki rolled his eyes, walking toward the locker room door just beyond his gym mates.

“Nice work, JB,” he said, giving a thumbs up to Bucky who appeared to be dying on the bench while attempting to press an extremely heavy bar up off his chest.

“Hey…Lo…” Bucky grunted in response, barely managing to get the bar back onto the rack. He sat up, red-faced and breathing hard. “Sam’s ready to murder you.”

“Twenty. Seven. Damn. Minutes. Late.” Sam pointed out, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off the bench. He gestured for Bucky to get up so he could take his place. “This starboy right here-” he pointed to Loki “-is my only client who gets to pull this shit with me. Everyone else gets the boot.”

Pausing by the locker room entrance, Loki pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head. “I wonder if your generosity of spirit has anything to do with my uniquely generous financial support.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Probably unrelated. Be out in two.”

Laughing quietly, he disappeared into the locker room to put away his bag and jacket. He set his sunglasses on the top shelf in his locker, peeled his hooded sweatshirt over his head, and sank down on the teak bench between the rows of lockers, his back bowing as he set his elbows on his knees. His heels couldn’t stop bouncing for two bloody seconds, but sitting still was an impossible pipe dream this morning. He was just far too amped up about seeing Sig tonight, every muscle and nerve ending twitching like he’d OD’ed on RedBull.

He could not get the specific image of his head between her legs out of his mind. If he closed his eyes, he could practically feel her fingers threading through his hair.

“Fuck,” he said through his teeth, putting his face in his hands.

His joggers were in no shape to handle those highly graphic images in public right now, and yet here he was, stupidly putting them in this unnecessary situation. He’d almost called the gym to say that he wouldn’t make it today, and he highly regretted vetoing that decision just to appease the voice in his head telling him that missing a gym session “because anxiety” was objectively weak.

He hadn’t seen Sig since Tuesday because his sister Hela had come down from Boston for a few days. Fine fine fine. Four days between dates wasn’t anything to cry about. Except of course for the near-nauseating building tension in his texts and short phone calls with this incredible new woman. To say that he ached to get his hands on her again, would literally be accurate.

He had not been mentally prepared to handle the days-long break from Sig. Hela had given him a 3-week heads up that she would be in town and staying with their folks down in Tribeca. Great! No problem! Sig would be at work anyway, so he could simply go to his parents’ place to hang out with his sister during the day, maybe grab lunch, or visit MOMA or something. Then he could still go out with gorgeous girl in the evening. Or if Hela wanted to get dinner, then he could possibly see Sig during her lunch break. It would have worked out just fine. However, his sister called him Tuesday night and begged to camp out at his place instead.

Serious family drama starring dad, as usual.

He’d been at The Dutch up on Sullivan, jokingly arguing with Sig about paying for dinner again when suddenly Hela had just sprung this on him—calling him from the entrance of his building, crying over the phone and asking to come up to his apartment. Of course, he’d said a quick goodnight to his stunning date and hurried back to his place because that’s what any good brother would do.

Not that he didn’t love his sister, but she’d swept in to occupy his space when he’d planned to ask Sigyn to come back to his place. He wouldn’t have slept with Sig because that would have been a massive leap from point A to point Z, but good god, he wanted to kiss the hell out of her, and he couldn’t exactly do that inside the restaurant. The most he could have done was a peck on the lips. Maintain decorum, closed mouths, three seconds max, absolutely no hip-touching.

“Not my style,” Loki mumbled to himself, lifting his head from his hands.

The locker room door swung open behind him then, its squeaky hinges pulling him from the edgy confines of his mind, and he turned to see Bucky walking in.

“Sam had to take a call,” Bucky said, gesturing at the door behind him, “and you passed your ‘be out in two’ time limit. Everythin’ okay, man?”

Sucking in his cheeks, Loki looked away. “You know how you felt back in November when you first hooked up with Lewis?”

“Hooked up?” Bucky repeated, walking over to sit down on the opposite bench. “Darcy’s my girlfriend, not some fuck buddy.”

Loki gave him a withering look. “Thus, my use of the qualifying adverb first,” he droned.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky yanked his backwards ball cap off his head and whacked Loki’s knee with it. “Your qualifyin’ adverbs can go to hell,” he laughed, then put his hat on again. “You seein’ someone?”

Loki grinned slightly. “It’s still really early, but the connection is unreal.”

“You must be hallucinatin’ again.”

“If I am, then this is the best psychotic break of my life,” Loki answered, smiling when his friend snorted. “Honest to god dream girl.”

“Dream girl? Man, keep your crazy head on your shoulders,” Bucky said, then held his hands up. “Sorry. No offense about the crazy thing,” he added when Loki gave him an unimpressed look.

“I don’t recall asking for advice,” Loki said, the crease between his eyebrows reaching Mariana Trench depths.

“Not givin’ advice,” Bucky replied, shaking his head. “Wanna hear my personal dating philosophy?”

“No.”

“Great! I’m tellin’ it to you anyway,” Bucky said, not missing a beat. “I remind myself that everyone is only human. It’s the only thing that grounds me when I start to put someone on a pedestal ‘cause they’re doin’ all the right things to make me feel good about myself. Eventually they’ll do or say something that makes me feel like shit, and it all starts to go to hell real quick.”

Sucking in his cheeks, Loki squinted at the man, slightly distracted by that ridiculous backwards ball cap. “You expect the worst to avoid disappointment.”

“Yup.”

“Hmm.” Loki scratched the back of his neck, eyeing Bucky from under his brow. “Really need to put on my thinking cap for that deeply profound take right there,” he said, tapping his head, “otherwise, I might mistake your personal philosophy for what the kids these days refer to as basic pessimism.”

Bucky lifted his chin, responding in a mock British accent. “Oh, go ahead, and call me a pessimist, not to be confused with NIHILIST-” he made air quotes “-if you want. That’s fine. I learned to lower my expectations to null quite some time ago, and now I don’t risk disappointment. It’s the best-”

“-best thing I ever did,” Loki finished the sentence for him, his eyes rolling. “You are literally just repeating a paragraph from my book now, and I don’t know if I should feel insulted or proud. Shit impression of my voice by the way.”

“I still do it,” Bucky continued the quote, smiling broadly. “It’s called being present, and presently, I want to-”

“-to find that girl,” Loki said the last few words in unison with him. “Yes, yes, I know. Piss off, JB.”

The conversation with his friend calmed Loki’s nerves just enough to deal with the next two hours of anaerobic metabolic hell that Sam had planned for them. Admittedly, there was that one set of shoulder presses when Loki almost thrust the 90-pound barbell at his trainer, but aside from that near-fatal burst of testosterone-fueled anger, it had been a decent gym session. Sliding his sunglasses on, Loki waved goodbye to Chloe at the front desk around 11:30, anxious to get home and get out of his sweat-soaked clothes. His tired muscles had earned a long hot shower. Especially since he intended to put them through another workout tonight.

~ 7:32 PM, Sigyn’s apartment, 159 Prince Street #8 ~

Phone in hand, Sigyn pulled her bedroom curtain aside to look out her window, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she focused on the intersection of Prince and Thompson Street, one block west of her building. The knots in her stomach could not get any tighter. Loki lived on Thompson, and he would round that corner any second now. She’d gotten a text from him ten minutes ago asking if he could just come to her place and order in rather than go out for dinner, and she’d damn near lost her mind on the spot.

She could have texted “Be my guest, Loki. No, seriously, be my overnight guest. I’ll even give you my bed” but she went with a less horny “sure, just text me when you get here” response instead, forgetting that he didn’t even know her address. Whoops—forgive her for thinking he knew everything about her, including her constant GPS location, since he now lived rent free in her brain.

Squinting her eyes, she looked from person to person walking on the surprisingly crowded, wet pavement three stories below. She pushed up onto her toes, annoyed with the umbrellas obstructing her view. She didn’t appreciate having to strain her neck to see the street corner better. Sighing, she dropped her heels to the floor again and checked her phone.

7:36 PM. No new texts or missed calls.

She returned her eyes to the pavement below. “Where are you, Loki?”

Chest pounding, she chewed her bottom lip as the umbrellas finally moved aside at the exact second a tall, black-haired figure in a leather jacket, slim dark trousers, and boots came around the corner of Thomspon and Prince. She blinked slowly, admiring his gait, which could only be described as a god-like strut, as he neared her building. She saw him pull his phone from his pocket, presumably texting her, and she took off toward her front door.

“Cool it!” she whisper-shouted to herself, slowing her pace down the stairs. She eyed the new text on her phone.

Loki: I’m standing outside your building, and oh god, please come down here NOW to let me in, Sig. I left my place sans umbrella (because I am a highly intelligent man), and this rain is causing GREAT harm to my defenseless leather jacket. x

Chuckling at the image of a poor defenseless leather jacket, she grabbed the door handle and yanked hard, the door swinging open and accidentally banging into the wall behind it.

Startled by the sudden clang of metal on brick, Loki jumped, his eyes blowing wide.

“Son of a…” he gasped, blinking rapidly, “I wasn’t ready for a jump scare.”

“Welcome to my haunted house of horrors,” Sigyn joked, sweeping her arm out dramatically, smiling wide and trying not to laugh at his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water.

She stepped back, holding the door open for him. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” she said, her cheeks flushing deep red. Talk about a Freudian slip. “Wet jacket. I meant to say jacket. Sorry.”

“I know what you meant, Sig,” Loki replied, giving her a dark look, the dim light from the juice store window next door casting shadows on the tightening muscles in his jaw.

He stepped into her building, spinning around to face her as she let the door close behind her. She met his gaze again, struggling to keep it together because if looks could kill, she would drop dead at his feet when her vital organs spontaneously combusted from the heat in those intense emerald eyes. If that didn’t do the trick, then the carbon dioxide poisoning from excessive heavy breathing would—he’d stolen all the available oxygen in the hall away from her.

A decent man would share some of that air in his lungs by giving her mouth to mouth. An exceptionally decent man would do so with his tongue. Paramedics of course referred to this as French CPR. Speaking of mouths, he was looking at hers, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, though not in a lascivious manner. No, if someone asked her to name the expression on his face, she would go with…fiercely pensive.

And I am fiercely into it.

Stunned speechless by the head rush she was experiencing from just looking at him, Sigyn moved away from the door and leaned back against the wall for support. She needed a moment before attempting to climb three flights of stairs. Actually, now would be a great time for Loki to prove that he could carry her up there. She bit her lip, her gaze traveling down his body, unconsciously gauging just how much power those long, lean legs could generate.

Good lord, woman, stop ogling his crotch!

Cheeks burning, her eyes shot back up to his face. He still had that same lethal look in his eyes, and oh god, it was just too much. Sure, a clock might claim only fifteen seconds had passed since the no doubt expensive designer soles of Loki’s boots first met the tile floor under their feet, but time was relative when having an hours-long staring contest with him. Desperate to break the tense silence before that silence broke her brain, she cleared her throat. The harsh, guttural sound reverberated all around them, violently bouncing back and forth off the brick walls, tile floors, wood steps, and doors. Perhaps she was imagining things, but she would have sworn that the wall behind her back was shaking.

Pushing off the wall, she threw up her hands helplessly. “Where are my manners? Up to number eight on floor three, we go,” she chimed, forcing an airy tone while setting her foot on the first stair and gesturing for him to follow.

Looking up at her from under his brow, Loki watched her start up the steps. The seconds moved forward, keeping time with the heels of Sigyn’s ballet flats ascending the stairs, along with the blood rushing through his ears, and the hiss of his own breaths in and out of his parted lips.

Tick… TAP… whirr… SWISH…

Nostrils flaring, he exhaled long and slow through his mouth, pissed that he couldn’t bloody move. Sig was up there, and he was down here, frozen to the tile floor like an ice statue all because the driving staccato beats from spontaneous percussive echos in the stairwell-turned-concert-hall were pressing in on him from all sides and triggering a disastrous claustrophobic brain malfunction. The building door swung open behind him then, and he nearly jumped out of skin.

“Jesus,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as the person who had just entered the building walked around him. Would there also be a third jump scare coming soon?

“Sorry, dude,” the person said, nodding to Loki then hurrying up the stairs past Sigyn, shouting at her over their shoulder, “Looking good, Sigyn.”

“Thanks, Sterling, you too,” she responded, twisting to look at Loki, her eyebrows raising in question. “Why so jumpy? I promise the house of haunted horrors thing was just a joke.” She beamed at his responding raspy laugh.

“I’m just a bit on edge for reasons unrelated to ghosts,” he admitted, looking her up and down, suddenly highly aware of her marvelously revealing outfit—a short, out of season black, off the shoulder t-shirt sporting a large purple lipstick print across her chest, and possibly illegal short red cutoffs.

Jaw clenching, he lifted his eyes to hers again as an adult content bomb detonated in his head, blasting every conscious thought with explicit scenes starring himself and that legs-for-days woman standing above him. Now the walls weren’t pressing in on him— just the dark denim below his belt. Running both hands through his hair, he walked to the base of the stairs, and crooked his forefinger at her, motioning for her to come back down to him.

“You texted me several nights ago,” he said, darkly watching her descend the steps achingly slowly, “and I promised to tell you what I want tonight. I want to tell you now, if that’s alright with you.”

Sigyn nodded, white knuckling the railing like a steering wheel in the hands of a driver getting pulled over by a traffic cop. That “I’ll tell you Saturday” text had occupied far too much space in her head this week. He was probably a sorcerer, and those four words were a sex spell. If not, then she was just weak as hell for him, which was fine, so long as he was just as weak for her. She finally came face to face with him, her stomach somersaulting itself into a dizzy mess, but rather than join him on the floor, she stopped on the bottom step to give herself a bit of height.

I need to keep SOME semblance of power in this…sort of…relationship…thing.

Loki glanced at their feet, then he returned his eyes to her face, giving her a knowing look when she lifted her chin. Such a smart girl—literally not giving him an inch.

“So,” Sigyn said, clearing her throat, “what do you want?”

“I want to carry you up three flights of stairs to your apartment right now,” he responded firmly and without hesitation, keeping his eyes on hers.

Jaw dropping, her eyes shot wide open.

OH MY GOD, ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

Barely managing to reel her jaw up off the floor, she stammered, “You mean…like the thing I said when we were at-”

“Fanelli, yes,” he cut her off, setting his hands on her hips just below her shirt and slipping his thumbs underneath the fabric, “and I’m not talking about that over-the-threshold nonsense.”

Sigyn blinked lazily, feeling that gravelly timbre rumbling deep in her bones as surely as she felt the scorch marks from his thumbs dragging across her lower stomach. How could a man know her for only one week and have the audacity to already brand his name into her skin? Her mind supplied the answer.

Because you’re letting him, hon.

She opened her mouth to give him a classy “fuck yes” response to his request, but Loki shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

“If we do this, we’re doing it my way,” he rasped, tightening his grip, “with your legs around my waist and your arms around my shoulders.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Understood.”

Gritting his teeth behind closed lips, Loki exhaled sharply, and got straight to it. He ran his hands down her hips and around to her backside, watching her carefully, his heart racing out the gate when her eyebrows knitted together. If he didn’t know better, he might think she was in pain, but the little gasp escaping from her parted lips spoke louder. That wasn’t a look of pain. It was a look of impatience.

Me too, Sig.

Growling softly under his breath, he gripped her ass and hoisted her up against his stomach, smirking at the sight of her teeth scraping over her bottom lip. He started up the stairs, one foot after the other, climbing higher and higher with her in his arms. This was the no holds barred physical contact that he’d been aching for—his splayed fingers sliding underneath the back of her shorts that had ridden up when he’d lifted her, dragging the denim aside to expose more of that stunning curve. His hands were so happy, clinging to her as she clung to his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. He groaned as her grip tightened.

Consider my hair kink triggered.

He was tempted to stop here on the second-floor landing and just make out against the wall, but that wouldn’t be fun with his ego incessantly screaming “ABSOLUTELY not!” at him. Hefting her higher up his body, the front of her shorts pressed directly against the fly of his jeans, and he hissed sharply.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.

Twelve stairs later, he set his boot on the third floor. “Which one is yours?” he asked, gripping her thighs more tightly when she started to relax them.

“Number 8,” she answered shakily, pointing behind him, and he swiveled toward the door with a gold number 8 on it. “You don’t need to take me all the way into-”

“Key?” He spoke over her, completely breathless.

Dropping one hand from his shoulders, she pulled her key from her back pocket, shoved it in the lock, and twisted the doorknob. Putting her arm around his shoulders again, she clung to him as he walked in and kicked the door closed behind him. Her mouth fell open when it slammed behind her. Was she in a goddamn movie right now? This was officially the hottest moment of her life thus far.

Loki walked straight to her studio couch, then carefully set her down on the back of it. She relaxed her legs, unlocking her ankles from behind his back and dropping her feet to the floor. Arms still around his shoulders, she pulled him closer, and he grinned down at her.

“Told you I could do it,” he said, angling his face to avoid bumping her nose.

“You said you could do it easily, but you’re panting like you just finished a marathon,” Sigyn teased him, pushing his poor defenseless wet leather jacket over his shoulders and helping him shrug out of the sleeves, “which means you only passed half the test of manhood.”

Eyeing her narrowly, he draped his jacket over the back of the couch next to her. “I’m breathing hard because your legs took advantage of my crotch on those stairs.”

“Oh, you literally asked me to!” she scoffed.

“Sure, just blame the victim.”

“Did I force you to grab my ass?”

“No, gravity forced me. You see, Sig, there’s this technique called leverage-”

“Shut up,” she said on an exhale, trying to get her own heart rate back down from the tachycardic cloud nine high that Loki had given her.

He grinned crookedly. “So…what now? Netflix?”

Biting into a smile, she shrugged and reached for her PS4 controller behind her on the cushions below. “Genre preference?”

Before she got a hold of it, Loki grabbed her hips and flipped her backwards onto the cushions.

“Jesus!” she gasped, landing with a thud, her eyes popping as he literally hurled his body over the back of the couch after her.

Landing on his knees at her feet, he smirked and crawled up her body, his hips settling between her thighs. She reached up to hold his face, her thumbs running along his jaw as her mouth fell open in wonder. He moved fast then, closing his eyes and swooping down to catch her parted lips with his. Sliding her tongue under his on impact, Sigyn moaned into his mouth. Fireworks shot off a dozen at a time inside his chest, the explosions rippling out in all directions up and down his body as she arched up into him. Beneath his chest, he felt her heart pounding faster, catching up to his at breakneck speed.

Heart rate through that moonroof, I don’t know where the hell we’re going, Sig…

Then, Sigyn slid her hands up into his hair, and moved her mouth to his ear. “This is me getting in the goddamn car.”

Eyes slamming shut, Loki pulled her mouth to his for another kiss, even more heated than before.

And this is me putting my foot on the gas, gorgeous girl…

THE NEW YEAR FEVER DREAMS SAGA
A LOKI+SIGYN MODERN AU SERIES

NEON DAYDREAMS CONTINUES IN CHAPTER FOUR: WAYFARER WINTER.
Visit the Neon main page HERE.

Neon Daydreams Chapter Links: ¹Caffeine Fireworks ²Silver Heart Eyes ³Moonroof Serotonin ⁴Wayfarer Winter ⁵(December 2021) ⁶(January 2022) ⁷TBD ⁸TBD ⁹TBD ¹⁰TBD ¹¹TBD ¹²TBD

CHAPTER THREE THEME SONGS:
“Beach House” by The Chainsmokers (for Loki)
“Chronic” by Phoebe Ryan (For Sig)

What Readers Have Said
About CH 3 “Moonroof Serotonin”

“My face hurts. I smiled through this whole chapter, I just love reading these too falling deeper in love with each other. Sure they would both say its way too soon for the L word, but they really are gone for each other.”
-ferbette (AO3 review)

“I LOVE all the Starboy references! And it is much fun watching these two falling in love. I feel their anxiety and euphoria.”
-Mischief76 (AO3 review)