100 Marvel One Shots✔️

Retail Christmas Hell >> Heimdall X Reader

Title: Retail Christmas Hell

Paring: Heimdall X Reader

Spoilers: None! This is a Supermarket AU

Warnings: some swearing (the b word and the f word) and even though I dislike cussing in books, I felt it necessary to put them in.

Author's Note: I work at a supermarket and every shift has me dying by the end of it. So, I thought, pain is inspiration! and I wrote this fic. It's taken me ages to write, since I'm full of Christmas shifts at work, and studying at uni and general life, so please bear with me.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Christmastime was a month of furious soccer mothers, kids stealing candies, vengeful elderly people who were known usually to be sweet and comely, and generally, lines that went out the door as far as the eye could see. To be honest, it never phased you, seeing as the more people who came through your register, kept you busy and on your feet, the faster time went and the closer it was until knock off.

Odinson's Food Market was known for its fresh produce and friendly smiles, but when you had to put up with screaming babies and the bossing around of customers who wanted bags packed a certain way, the last thing you were thinking of, to be frank, was smiling at the assholes who left their food shopping to the last minute and were in a rush like there was no tomorrow.

You weren't sure how the store was handling it; Tony who stacked the shelves said they were too busy to breathe as the people would practically wipe the canned food and things into their carts as soon as he stacked it. Your manager, Thor was always on his feet trying to sort out altercations and mixups with prices and hormonal adults arguing over the last watermelon on sale. Even Clint, who ran the little deli in the side of the store said he was in over his head with orders for hams and turkeys and such.

In short, Christmastime was retail hell. 

But, it was money, and you needed just that to get out of the hell at home to rent an apartment as far away as you could from your terrible family as you could, and maybe, just maybe go to higher education so those who came after you in your bloodline weren't doomed to repeat history. This dream was that which kept your fake smile on, hands without cramps, and tolerance to the shoddy customers higher than that of a saint. 

So far, the end of November and the better half of December had been a madhouse, with everyone coming in and grabbing their long life items, stocking up on decorations and fairy lights for their trees, on their holiday foods. Now, nearing the day itself, it seemed to be busier twofold than you'd ever seen it in your time here at Odinson's Food Market. Lines were larger. Ambience louder. The faraway echo of a howling child nearing in the pram, pushed by the nuclear family about to go nuclear if they did't buy the right sort of Parmesan. 

It was a Tuesday when Thor Odinson decided, that he would use his father's funds to do something more than advertise for the little store with. It was a Tuesday when he hired five security guards from the privately owned company called ASGARSHIELD. As someone who only went to school because your parents were sick of having kids around their feet at home, you weren't really from a background where you'd seen many security guards. Maybe the ones in the bank who scowled over their shades indoors to make sure you didn't make a heist while they were on guard, or even the policemen, sure, but never these people.

Nat, Phil, Heimdall, Sam and Maria started that day, standing at the entrance to the store to ward off evil with their professional glares, to break up quarrels before they began. Nat and Maria never talked, always staying in their spot, watching out with near superhuman vision. Phil was all business until he made friends with one of the other cashiers, Steve, yammering on about their mutual love for an old time-y comic character when (if) it got slow enough to talk. Sam stuck around inside, stalking the known shoplifters like a falcon, picking them up on stuffing lollies down their pants in the act. And Heimdall, the quiet, intrusive Heimdall, would watch the entrance at the end of your register.