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cozy-the-overlord · 7 months

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Free Fall

Summary: Tony Stark arranges for an Avengers Teambuilding Day at a local amusement park. Loki had been hoping to avoid it -- he's had enough thrills to last a lifetime, he has no desire to seek out more -- but you and your endearing enthusiasm for roller coasters convince him to come along. However, the free fall drop tower you start out with turns out to be a bit more thrilling than he bargained for.

Word Count: 3,482

Pairing: Loki x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Drags self out of the grave and awkwardly waves

So it's been a minute since I posted lol. Those of you who follow may be aware that I recently graduated from college with the Final Semester From Hell that involved my computer hard drive dying on me in class and causing me to lose not only forty pages of my honors thesis two weeks before it was due, but also almost every WIP I had been working on in the past four years because I am an idiot who chronically forgets to back things up :D I did make it through college, but between stress, burnout, depression, and the death of any motivation to work on anything because of having to restart from the beginning for all of my projects, I went a while without writing anything. But I'm slowly getting back into it -- I have several projects in the works and I'm hoping to get back to posting more regularly. This fic was a short piece that I had started prior to the computer death that I had a lot of physical notes on so they weren't lost when my hard drive decided to yeet itself into the sun. I'm not entirely happy with it, but honestly it feels so good to finally finish something that I don't care.

Anyways, sorry for the obnoxious A/N. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, panic attack, a bit of motion sickness?

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :) (I also realize that this taglist is Old so if I need to update it please let me know)

Read it on Ao3!

Standing in the shadow of the great tower, heart thudding in his throat, Loki is suddenly aware that he’s made an enormous mistake.

Next to him, Stark whistles. “This is what you usually start with?”

You grin up at the spire, a massive construction of electric green cutting through the cloudless sky. Two elevators, one on either side, are creeping slowly up the length of the tower. They linger at the top for just a moment before plunging back down to Earth, their occupants screaming. Loki feels ill just watching, but you’re practically vibrating in place. “It’s good to get the blood pumping.”

He can’t bring himself to look at you.

It’s your fault that he’s here. Loki hadn’t planned to come today at all. A day spent outside in the sweltering summer sun, following Stark’s gaggle of misfits onto various machines designed to fling mortals from side to side to simulate the feeling of a near death experience? Loki couldn’t imagine anything more torturous. Thor’s begging and cajoling received nothing in response. No, he hadn’t the slightest intention of coming today, not until last night, when he came across you restocking the main refrigerator.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” you had asked as you arranged rows of Red Bull on the top shelf. “I can’t wait to take you guys around Rapid Rails—I’ve been begging Mr. Stark to do a teambuilding day there ever since he hired me.”

Your eagerness caught him off guard— as Stark’s personal assistant, you had been present at all of his godforsaken teambuilding events, but Loki had never known you to be particularly excited about any of them. “I … I wasn’t aware you had such an attachment to it.”

“Oh yeah—I grew up just down the street from there!” You beamed at him, breaking down the cardboard box you had used to carry the cans. “We used to have season passes – they were way cheaper when I was a kid – and we’d just go there to hang out all the time. Gosh it was so fun. And now I get to go for work!” You let out a merry laugh. “I guess some things never change, right?”

Loki huffed a soft chuckle. He had never seen you like this before, practically bubbling over in excitement. It was … rather endearing. “I suppose not.”

“You are coming, right? Thor said you hadn’t made up your mind yet.”

Were the circumstances different, Loki might have scoffed. Hadn’t made up your mind yet—Norns, his brother lived in denial. Instead though, he hesitated. “I … I’m afraid I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Really?” The way your face fell actually hurt his chest. “Why not?”

“I—” He glanced away, pressing his lips together. “I’m not sure I’m one for your roller coasters,” he said, finally. “You’d likely have a better time without me there.” It was an attempt at lightheartedness, but you only seemed more disappointed.

“Oh, that’s not true at all! I was really looking forward to—” you stopped suddenly, and when Loki looked up again, you were biting your lip with a nervous laugh. “I mean, it would be really fun if you came with us. But it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“I suppose I could come, if you so desire.” He hoped he sounded nonchalantly cool, and that you couldn’t see the way his heart fluttered at the idea that you might want him there. “I wouldn’t wish to let you down.”

“Oh, I mean—” You looked away, the light from the refrigerator silhouetting your frame. “I don’t want to force you, if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t do it just for me.”

“No, I …” He inhaled, then smiled. “I think I would like to join you.”

And so here he is, at the base of this great metal monstrosity, intently studying the sign outside of the line entrance to avoid Thor’s knowing smirk. His brother has never worn self-satisfaction well.

DEATH DROP: THE TALLEST AND FASTEST DROP TOWER ON THE EAST COAST

The description is illustrated with a photograph of two people strapped to their seats, mouths wide in mid-scream as their hair flies every which way. Loki lets out a shaky exhale as he reads. The tower, it claims, is 400 feet tall. It reaches top speeds of 85 miles per hour. The ride itself lasts about 90 seconds in total. The measuring stand besides the entrance indicates that participants must be at least 48 inches tall.

400 feet. That doesn’t sound too terrible, he tells himself. The concept of a foot as a unit of measurement is still something he struggles to wrap his head around, but he knows that Stark Tower stands at over a thousand. So that’s not too bad. 400 feet would be a drop in the bucket, really, compared to …

No. He pushes the thought down, back into the dark recesses of his memory. None of that. Not today.

Stark smirks at him. “You’re looking green, Tommy Wiseau.”

Loki swallows, straining to maintain his stiff mask of composure. It’s bad enough to have Stark reveling in his discomfort, but now you’re looking over at him too, brow furrowed in concern, and he wishes he could melt away on the spot. “I’m quite fine.”

“Of course he is!” Thor booms, slapping his shoulder with a hearty thwack that does nothing for Loki’s stomach. “We’ve fallen from much higher heights, haven’t we, brother?”

Weightless. Breathless. Engulfed by inky nothingness, the air so thin he can’t even scream —

Loki’s smile hurts. “Yes, very true.”

“You don’t have to go, Loki,” you interject. “It’s totally okay— I have friends who love roller coasters and refuse to touch this ride. It’s a lot.”

He knows you mean it as reassurance, but he can’t stand the way you’re looking at him, as if he were a frightened child, too fragile to be brought along. Are you regretting having convinced him to change his mind? Do you feel that he’s only holding you back? Somehow, the idea that you no longer want him here is almost as sickening as the thought of the fall.

Loki huffs a breath. No. He will prove himself worthy of your coaster. “I assure you, I am fine.” His voice is more strained than he’d prefer it to be. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

…

The attendant seems rather starstruck as he ushers the group onto the ride—he stumbles and stammers through the explanation of the seating arrangements and the harness. Loki’s not really listening as he follows you to the left side of the cart, trying not to ignore the buzzing that seems to be settling behind his ears.

You smile up at him. “Would you rather sit on the side or in the middle?”

He frowns. “Does it make a difference?”

“Well, personally I don’t think so, but I know some people who get scared of heights think it’s easier to sit in the middle.”

“I’m not scared of heights.” The words come out far too quickly to sound believable, and he curses inwardly at himself. “I can sit on the side.”

“Are you sure?” You eye him uncertainly. “It’s okay if you—"

“I’m quite capable of managing such a seat.” He sits before you have the chance to question him again.

The seat is rather tight—Loki wonders if that’s intentional, or if it’s simply built with a smaller frame in mind. In the cart off to the right, he can hear Thor fumbling about with the attendant, and he chuckles despite himself. If he’s finding it to be a bit of a squeeze, he can’t imagine the troubles his bulky brother must be having.

It’s a momentary reprieve from his darker thoughts, and Loki is actually smiling when you warn him to sit back against the seat.

“The harness is going to be coming down soon.”

“What?”

You motion to the contraption above the cart, two plastic green masses shaped like upside down u’s that hover above your heads like the top of a clam shell. “It sits over you and keeps you from flying out of the cart.” You let out a small laugh. “It’s like the harnesses on the Quinjets, but way less cool. They also have little handles that you can hold on to if you want.”

Loki is eyeing the harnesses uncertainly. “What do you mean they’ll be coming down soon?”

“You used to have to pull it down yourself, but they have it all programmed now.” A great mechanical creak cracks through the air, and you press yourself against the back of the seat. “Oh, here it comes now!”

He frowns, mimicking your movement to sit as far back as he can. The green restraint descends slowly over his head, with a metallic groan that does not give him much faith in the construction of this monstrosity. He expects it to stop once it was hovering over his torso, but it continues until it’s pressed snuggly against his chest, pinning him to the seat. The attendant is saying something over the intercom, but Loki barely registers it over the feeling of the restraint. It’s … it’s not a painful sensation, but the firmness with which it holds … he’s been restrained before. Little flames of memory spark in the corners of his mind, flames he can’t seem to douse no matter how hard he tries.

Get it off. Get it off. Get it off.

He gives an apprehensive tug on the metal handles that now rest on either shoulder, a tug which quickly turns into a hard yank. The harness does not move. His mouth has gone dry.

“Loki?” you’re frowning at him, your head only barely visible through your own harness. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You’re not bothered by the restraint. Of course you aren’t—how many times did you say you’ve ridden this ride? It’s fine. It’s fine. Goodness, what must you think of him, seeing him panic over the safety harness that you’ve worn hundreds of times before for fun? He nods his head, shaking away the feelings and memories and emotions and all the other thoughts that he wishes he could just wash down the drain …

“Are you sure—?”

“Perfectly,” he spits, but it comes out more snappishly than he intended, and you recoil with a look on your face that makes him despise himself.

I shouldn’t be allowed to speak.

“And enjoy your ride!” the attendant finishes with a flourish, and the thick metal cranking is all the warning you get before the cart begins to lift off from the ground. Loki’s heart jumps to his throat, pounding so fast he can’t make out the separate beats.

“This part is the scariest bit,” you yell at him over the grinding of machinery. “The anticipation kills me!”

Loki inhales. The elevator continues to rise, inching up slowly along the spire, the ground beneath their feet melting into miniature. This is alright, he tells himself. If this is the worst part of the experience, then he’ll be just fine. There’s nothing particularly frightening about it—he spoke the truth when he told you that he had never been bothered by heights. It’s all perfectly fine.

Perfectly. Fine.

Norns, they’re still going up. He risks a glance at the track above him—surely they must be close now? The movement makes him queasy, and he quickly turns back to face straight ahead. His knuckles are white from clutching the handles. The harness is digging into his chest and it takes all of his self-control not to rip it off. The elevator stutters—is this it? His breath catches, but no, they’re still going up. They seem to be slowing down though, don’t they? Or is that only his imagination?

I’m going to be ill.

They’ve stopped. That’s not in his head. Everything seems frozen in place. Why did he agree to do this? Loki presses his eyes closed. Any moment now. Any moment …

Still nothing.

His chest aches. He may have forgotten to breathe. Why have they stopped? Is something wrong? Loki turns to you—you look ecstatic, eyes crinkled with elation, mouth wide in an open grin.

“When is it going to—”

You drop.

The world goes silent. He feels it, that awful sensation in his stomach as the line goes slack and colors rush before his eyes in a blur until it all fades to darkness, airlessness, weightlessness, his lungs burning and drowning on the empty void of space—he’s falling, he’s falling again, he’s falling again oh please Norns not again—

There’s ground beneath his feet. He’s not sure where it came from. His knuckles ache. You’re talking – to him? He’s not sure, he only barely can make out your voice …

“Loki? The harness is coming up. Can you let go?”

He’s still clinging to the handles. Can he let go? He’s not sure. His body feels like lead. He pries his fingers from the metal tube and the pressure against his chest vanishes with a woosh over his head.

“There you go.” Your voice is soft, encouraging, closer than he remembered. He looks up to find you kneeling on the ground before him. You flash a nervous smile. “You alright?”

He’s not sure what to say. His instinct is to apologize, insist that yes, of course, he’s quite alright, he didn’t mean to give any impression to the contrary, everything is fine, but the words catch in his throat.

stars melting together smothering his last breath

Loki lets out a shuddering breath, settles for a nod.

“What’s the hold-up?” Stark calls out. “Barton and Romanov are waiting with the kids on the other side of the park.”

“We’re just taking a break for a minute!” Your reply is hurried. “You guys can go on, we’ll meet you there.”

“Is something wrong?” Thor sounds concerned, and—oh great—now both him and Stark are walking over to their cart. “Loki? What happened?”

“I—” But words, so often his steadfast ally, seem to be failing him right now. What happened? He has no answer; at least, none that his brother would accept. For nothing had happened, not really, and yet that was enough to send him spiraling through the fabric of reality.

He hates this. He hates feeling so weak.

Stark is chuckling. “If I knew that this was all it took to shut him up, I would have rented this place out sooner—”

Enough.

Loki forces himself to stand – far too quickly, his stomach churns at the movement, but he swallows the bile in his throat. He needs to get away. It doesn’t matter how, but he needs to not be with them. Besides him, you scramble to your feet too.

“I’m well.” His voice doesn’t sound right—it feels foreign, and thick like syrup, nothing like his own. “You may go on without me.”

“Are you certain?” Thor is frowning. “We can wait—”

Please don’t.

“I’m certain. I just need to sit for a moment.”

“There’s a bench nearby!” You’ve taken on the same cheery inflection typical of your working voice, and it adds a sense of normalcy to a distinctly abnormal situation. He’s grateful for it. “I can show you where!”

Both Stark and his brother seem reluctant to leave, but you insist that it’s fine. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

He feels slightly steadier as he follows you to the bench—it’s just a wooden thing on the side of the concrete path, across from what appears to be a diner of some sort. You mumble something about going to get water. It’s a relief when you turn away, so you don’t see how he collapses against the seat.

There’s ground beneath his feet. Loki closes his eyes, focuses on that. There’s ground beneath my feet. The asphalt is firm, hot with the summer sun, anchoring him to reality. He lets out a breath. It feels safe.

Unless, of course, it crumbles beneath your step and flings you back into the abyss –

“Hey.” He jerks up at the sound of your voice, and the suddenness causes you to jump as well. You shift apologetically, standing in front of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Loki swallows. How did he not hear you come up? “You didn’t.” Although it must be obvious that you did. At least you’re kind enough to allow him the lie.

You offer him a plastic cup. It’s a flimsy thing, but quite cold, relieving against his feverish skin. He takes it with a mumbled thanks, pretending he doesn’t notice how you’re studying him with a quiet sort of concern.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask after a moment.

Loki bites down on the inside of his cheek, relishing the way it stings. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just – I mean – ” you glance down, tugging at your shirt sleeve. “I get panic attacks too.”

“I don’t—” But he stops himself, stops the urge to argue. Gives a gentle nod instead. “I’m well, thank you. I just … I need a moment to catch my breath.”

“I’m sorry …” You look away guiltily. “Death Drop is kind of a lot – we shouldn’t have done that first.”

“It’s not that. I –” He wants to explain to you. He wants you to know that he’s not usually like this—he never used to be like this, he’s strong and steady and perfectly capable of anything you could ask of him, but his voice is failing once again. Loki huffs a sigh. “You ought to go on with the others. I don’t wish to ruin your day.”

“Oh, you haven’t ruined anything. I’ve been on every ride in this park about a million times. It’s fine!” Your voice is bubbly and light as you sit down next to him on the bench. There’s something oddly comforting about the sound. “Besides, it’s bad etiquette to leave a friend by themselves at an amusement park. Buddy system and all that.”

A friend. He can only stare at you.

You falter. “Unless … unless you’d rather I left?”

“No—” Loki surprises himself with how quickly he answers. “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Several minutes pass in silence, the frantic beating of his heart slowly tapering off into something softer as he drinks in your presence. He’s grateful for it, grateful for how you let him soak in the quiet. Thor would never have allowed him such a moment’s peace.

He’s considering asking if you’re sure you don’t want to go on any other coasters (he feels guilty for keeping you here—perhaps he can accompany you through the queue and wait on the ground?) when you suddenly sit up stock-straight. “Oh!”

Loki frowns. “Is something wrong?”

You turn to him with a wide grin. “I just remembered they have Dole Whip here!”

“They—what kind of whip?” What sort of ride would a whip be, he wonders? A human sized slingshot, perhaps? His stomach lurches at the thought.

Luckily though, he’s proved wrong. “Dole Whip!” you giggle. “It’s like ice cream, but fruit flavored. Like there’s pineapple and strawberry and whatnot—it’s like soft serve.” You look at him with a kind of hopeful excitement. “Do you want to try some?”

Loki hums. He has yet to try soft serve ice cream, but he knows his brother practically swears by the stuff. “Is it good?”

“Supposedly. I’ve actually never tried it— we never wanted to spend money on park food when we would come as kids. It’s stupid expensive.” You smirk. “But today’s all on Mr. Stark’s dime, so…”

He chuckles. “And you would take advantage of your employer in such a fashion? I didn’t realize I had such a Machiavellian on my hands.”

“Hey, I’m just taking advantage of the opportunities presented to me!” You stand with a grin, holding your hands up in a mock surrender pose. “You can’t blame me for that, can you?”

“Oh, I’d never,” he teases as he stands, and he’s relieved to find that his legs have regained their steadiness. “I’d be honored to experience this Dole Whip with you on Stark’s expense.”

“Fantastic,” you beam. “It’s not too far from here. And it’s right next to a bunch of these little shops—they have this ridiculous giant sea monster toy that costs like $300, I can show you—”

You continue on as the both of you walk down the path, telling him all about the park’s various hidden gems and the inside jokes you and your friends have concocted around them, and Loki finds himself laughing more than not—he can’t help it, your giggles are just too infectious.

Huh. Perhaps joining you today wasn’t a mistake after all.

#loki x reader #loki fluff #loki fanfic #hurt/comfort #loki marvel #free fall #cozy writes

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girl-of-many-fandoms · 2 years

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Red Days

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock always knows.

Warnings: periods, slight mention of seggs

MASTERLIST

---

"Oh fuck off!"

Sherlock smiled to himself upon hearing his lovely girlfriend swear the fist thing Thursday morning. He knew exactly why she's upset in the bathroom and the the sound of her opening her trusty pad only backed up his guess.

Her period has begun.

"Good morning love, sleep well?" He folded the newspaper and put it off to the side as she emerged from their bathroom. Y/N crossed the floor and sat in his lap, curling up to the warmth that his body provided.

"Good morning and there wasn't much sleeping because somebody kept me up all night." Her lips pressed against his neck as she nuzzled into it.

"I wonder who that was?" His body shook with laughter as she playfully smacked his chest.

"How are you feeling, any cramps? I know how terrible they get for you." Y/N pulled back a bit to look into his baby blues with a surprised look on her face.

"What is it love?"

"You know."

"Of course I know. For the past week we've had sex multiple, multiple times, which you initiated. Your breasts are sensitive as they are heavier and fuller than they regularly are. You've been craving a whole lot of sweets plus you've been bloated for a couple days now, I chose not to bring it up. Oh and then there's the fact that I heard you opening your pad a short while ago." Sherlock winked at her knowing that he checked all the boxes with his observations. Y/N rolled her eyes at him and placed her face right back into the crook oh his neck.

"You, Sherlock Holmes, never cease to amaze me. What am I craving now? Since you seem to know everything."

"Strawberry cheesecake and cookies 'n cream ice cream."

"Screw you." He got it right again. Chuckling, the curly haired detective kissed her head, rubbing her back soothingly in the process. A shit eating grin plastered itself onto his face as he spoke his next words.

"You already did, many times in many positions."

"Sherlock!"

---

SH Taglist:

@sketch-and-write-lover @gaitwae

#sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes fluff #benedict cumberbatch x y/n #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch imagine #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch fluff

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theaudacitytowrite · 6 months

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New "Game"!

Let's strip bare and show our drafts!

I have a few drafts that I created in July of 2021 that still are nowhere near to being written. Yet I can't delete them... I hope I'm not the only one 😂

So here a little overview of what might be written one day...😬

For Loki we got the Series "Entwined" which was the reason I even started writing again. To this day, I haven't written down 1 single word for that series aside from an outline

The series "Destinies call" actually has one chapter that I almost finished last year in september but I didn't want to start a new series until I finished my "Burnt" series...

Speaking of which, Chapter 8 sits unfinished in my drafts even though it's so close to completion. I only got to write the parts between the dialogue 😅

For The Sandman we got a Series and an angsty Oneshot that sit in there since last year/beginning of this year

And then a Robert Laing Fic I started last summer and never finished, and ofc the current SPN Fic that I hopefully finish soon... 😅

Now it's your turn! And now I wait and hope I'm not the only one with drafts that are old af 😬

No pressure tags: @lucywrites02 @give-me-a-moose @mochie85 @tommie-gvf @anonymousfiction211 @dyns33 @dreaming-about-fanfictions @fluffyfantasticducky @gaitwae @holdmytesseract @handoverthekawaii @jmkho @loki-hargreeves @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @muddyorbs @mooncat163 @vbecker10 @nildespirandum @poetic-fiasco @queenjosielaufeyson @schizonephilim @silks-up-my-sleeve @wolfish-trickster @lokisgoodgirl @lokiprompts

@ anyone who'd like:)

#draft game #loki #dream of the endless #dean winchester #robert laing #looking through these show me that I probably shouldn't start new series 😂

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lostgreekgod · 1 year

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sinner's damnation: part 1

a/n: its been SO LONG. and ik I said I wont probably write anymore, but technically I wrote this like a year ago and we've only now come to finishing it. so he's my first collab and probably my last loki fanfic with my best big bro @theaudacitytowrite 😗💞

pairing: loki x f!reader, angst with some fluff in nex's part hehe

warnings: human trafficking, blood, gore, swearing. lmk if theres anything else

link to part 2

words: 4.8k (LMAO sorry)

taglist: @theaudacitytowrite @gaitwae @naterson @queenjosielaufeyson @1marvelnerd3000 @dmltnlvr

Tony Stark had passed an unnecessary comment aimed at him. Again. Loki did what he usually did in response to that. He got up and left.

A movie night meant being quiet and paying attention to said movie. But obviously, no one followed that rule. Thor had forced Loki into yet another weekend Avenger bonding time, ignorant of his protests, and the God had yet again been "teased" by none other than the billionaire. One thing Midgardians found hard to understand was the fact that no matter how inexpressive someone was, they still had feelings. Feelings that the so-called 'virtuous' Avengers entirely made a point of ignoring.

Another thing - whatever Stark did? It wasn't plain and simple teasing. It was a sly little tactic for their glorious pastime. Bored? Then taunt Loki. Try eliciting a reaction. Did his eyebrow twitch? Did he grit his jaw? Then congratulations! You've successfully won the game of tease-Loki-until-his-face-twitches.

Loki was currently packing up, fuming over the conversation he had just overheard. He was going to leave.

"Don't you think your brother might be... how do I put this? A little too uptight?" Loki heard Stark's voice from the corridors. It had been an hour since he had gotten up and walked away from the stupid movie the Avengers were watching, and he had returned to the kitchen to get his nightly cup of tea. Thor and Stark seemed unaware of his presence as they spoke about him in hushed voices.

"Nonsense," Thor boomed, although he knew he was supposed to be whispering. But obviously, he saw no need for it. He didn't care if Loki heard him. "Loki doesn't care about what you think of him. Hel, he doesn't care what anyone thinks of him. He'll be fine."

Loki grimaced. Thor was right. He didn't care what these measly Midgardians thought of him, right? He shouldn't. Then why was he so affected? Why did it anger him so much, the fact that the stupid metal man could barely contain himself without passing a rude comment at him every time?

"He lives up to his name, Anthony. He's cold-hearted, a snake. He proved that when he stabbed me at like, 8 years old."

Loki’s stomach somersaulted. Did his older brother really think of him in such a derogatory manner? He stepped closer to the wall, trying to catch the rest of their conversation.

"I keep telling Cap we can't trust him. What's worse, Capsicle knows it. Yet he's here, with us like New York never happened," Tony continued, braver than before now that Thor had participated in dissing Loki. "It won’t take long before he betrays us. Again."

Now Loki flinched. Sure, he might have been planning another escapade, but betrayal? Where would he go? Asgard? There was no one for him there. His mother's death had made that very clear. Who would he lead? He did not have an army of Chitauri to serve him this time. He didn't have anybody - no family, no army, no friends. He thought he had Thor to a certain extent but once again, he was wrong. He was alone, and he would remain alone no matter where he went. Hands shaking, he raced to his room, his cup of tea forgotten. He didn't care if his brother could hear him.

Loki wasn't one for spontaneous decisions. He was a planner. An organizer. He hated when he didn't have things planned out meticulously, but right now that was the last thing on his mind. He was leaving. He didn't know where he would go, but it was better than being stuck with people who wished for his absence. He shoved his mother's spell books into a duffel bag as he tugged on the green comforter on his bed. He knew he could conjure one with his seidr anytime, but something told him to take it along - so he did. His eyes landed on a box of his favourite assorted tea bags. Before he could think, he grabbed it. He didn't have anything else left for him in the Avenger compound. He noticed the framed picture of Thor and him on his dresser. Thor was laughing heartily as Loki scowled at him - but he remembered the warmth he felt in his chest. The love he had for his brother. The memory quickly faded when the earlier conversation replayed in his mind. Cold-hearted. Snake.

He zipped up the bag harshly and dashed out of his room. It was only a matter of time until FRIDAY notified the Avengers of his absence. He headed towards the basement, his hands still trembling. He grabbed a set of keys and clicked the button on it. When he first ended up being among the Avengers, he was sent on a mission along with Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson. He had watched how Romanoff had handled the automobile they rode in, and by the time the mission was over, he kind of had it figured out. He still had questions about the little stick on the side - how they moved it whenever the terrain changed - but he was sure he could handle it. He noticed a sleek black car that had blinked its lights in response and moved towards it. Shoving his bag in, he started the car. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he braced himself. Thor didn't deserve Loki's companionship.

"Loki!" his eyes shot open when he heard his brother's voice. Had they realized it already? He glanced in the mirror to see Thor running towards him. "What are you doing?" he yelled, his face perplexed.

Loki stepped on the accelerator, the car immediately zooming out of the parking. He glanced back at Thor using the rear-view mirror, only to see a look of betrayal on his features. His heart stung. How dare he? How dare he assume such a look when he spoke so badly of his own brother just a few minutes ago as if nothing ever happened?

The car shot out of the compound, Loki still manoeuvring it rather perfectly despite the slippery roads. He was proud of himself for being able to learn well, just from observation. That was all he had. His mind, his heart, and himself.

"Brother!" Thor's voice boomed from somewhere behind the car. Of course. Loki was no match for Mjolnir. Thor simply shot his hammer into the air, and hurray! Here he was. Loki looked out of his window to see Thor flying next to him through the ice-cold winter night, his face still donning the innocent look of betrayal. Loki felt his blood heat up in anger.

"Leave, Thor. I have nothing to say to you," Loki said, glaring at him. It was rather late in the night, and only a few vehicles were travelling on the road they were on. He was thankful for that. The speed he was going on wasn't exactly safe for a road filled with Midgardians.

"Why, brother?" Thor yelled, his hand grabbing onto the car so he could keep flying. Loki wondered how Thor felt at the moment. Did he even realize how insulting he had sounded? Did he regret talking behind his back? Did he feel even an ounce of remorse?

"You know why, Thor. I am cold-hearted. A snake." Loki sneered the last few words out, his anger riling up when the look of recognition took over Thor.

"Brother-"

"No," Loki said, interrupting whatever feeble excuse Thor was coming up with. He summoned the energy of his seidr, the green smoke covering the entire car. With a last look at Thor's regretful face, he magicked himself to a different location. He had no idea where he was, but Thor wasn't around anymore. He looked around as he slowed the car, the tall snow-covered trees against the full moon sky allowing a sort of melancholy in the air. He noticed a few snowy hills, and how the temperature was even cooler than where he was just a few minutes ago. Loki breathed deeply, the cool, fresh air letting his muscles loosen up, his ever-buzzing mind stilling for a moment. He flinched when the screen on the console began to make an irritating ringing sound.

Loki pressed on the screen haphazardly, only to freeze up when he heard Tony's voice.

"What the fuck--"

"Let me speak to him," Thor's voice butted in, as grim as ever. Loki clenched the steering wheel harder. Thor did not have any right to be mad at Loki. He didn't.

"Brother?" Thor called, waiting for him to respond. Loki contemplated cancelling the call. As his hand hovered over the 'end' button, Thor's voice rang again.

"Loki, please don't end the call," it was as if Thor knew what Loki would do. When had he become so predictable? That's right. When he started to put down his guard around the other Avengers. But what did that get him? An accusation of betrayal.

"Come back, brother. What do you think you can accomplish by doing this?" Loki inhaled sharply, his shock making him slightly woozy. No apology. Thor knew exactly why Loki had fled. Yet, he did not have it in him to apologize.

"Answer the question, Reindeer Games. We can track you anyway. You either get back here of your own free will, or we come to find you and take you back as a prisoner. Your choice." Loki would have laughed at Tony's empty threat if he wasn't so mad at Thor. Stark was a terrible liar.

"You aren't tracking me, metal man," he said, surprised at how cool his voice sounded. "My seidr masks the radio waves. My location is well uncharted to your measly technology," he sneered, wishing he could see how Tony's face would have pinked in embarrassment.

"Loki," Thor chided again, almost hesitating. "Mother would be disappointed in you for running away," he whispered, and all the air left Loki's lungs. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears.

"How dare you," he spat, his voice a dark whisper. He hadn't sounded like this since New York. Since his mind was being controlled. "How dare you speak of Mother this way," he growled, his teeth gritting. His hands had gone cold. He stepped harder on the accelerator, not caring about the snow-covered bushes and muddy grass patches he was running the car into.

"Loki. Listen to-"

"Mother would be disappointed in you, Thor. Not me," he interrupted him again, pausing to swallow the large lump in his throat. "You're the one belittling—no, degrading his own brother. Not me." Loki's knuckles had started to turn white. He could barely see where he was going now. It seemed like a hill of sorts, but all there was were a few lone trees and a lot of green shrubs and grass.

“Guys.” Tony interrupted all of a sudden, “We need to calm down for a moment.”

“Stay out of it!” Loki snarled at Tony. He couldn’t understand Tony’s sudden urge to be the peacemaker when he was the one enabling it in the first place. Why was he suddenly so interested in mediating the situation?

“Just hear me out Loki, ok?” Tony’s change of mind and tone made Loki even warier. Stark wasn’t one to extinguish a fight, he was usually the one pouring gas into it so it could explode. The only feasible explanation Loki could think of was that Stark was getting nervous. Nervous about how the others Avengers and the general public would react once it came out that the Monster had escaped the tower. Tony surely tried to keep the damage as small as possible. And he surely wanted to try to stand in the best possible light once the news outlets got wind of it.

“Then go on, Stark,” Loki growled sharply. He had no interest in being painted as the uncooperative one who wouldn’t try to find an amicable solution to their dispute.

“We’re all at fault here.” Tony began sanctimoniously.

“Are we?” Loki scoffed sarcastically.

“My point is, maybe all of us should calm down first before we say something we cannot take back again, ok?” Tony took it as silent approval as neither of the gods answered, “How about Loki takes a few days off? I have some safe houses around town, some near the beach, some in the valley and even some in the mountains. I’ll send you the addresses and you can choose where you want to stay. As far as I know, you haven’t had a proper vacation since you joined us, have you?”

“And I won’t be generously “punished” when I decide to return?” Loki inquired, sneering out the sentence. He was sick of them. He was sick of how high they thought of themselves as if they had jurisdiction over what Loki’s abilities were.

“We will find a solution.” Tony deflected.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, did you? ...despite stealing my car.” Tony huffed annoyed.

“I borrowed it.” Loki retorted.

“Sure, call it what you like.” Tony began to grow impatient, “Do we have a deal now or not?”

Loki pondered over his options one last time before nodding.

“I’m okay with this.” he approved, “Under one condition.”

“And that is?”

“You will not contact me. Not at all. I will have my time to think about everything and I won’t be disturbed.” Loki demanded, “I have done nothing wrong in the entirety of my stay, quite the contrary. I deserve a basic sense of trust.”

“Tony, we can’t support such-” Thor tried to chime in.

“Okay, Reindeer Games. But you’ll promise to come back.” Tony agreed.

“Promise.” With that Loki hung up and slowed the car. He was getting exhausted using his seidr. He needed to conserve his energy. Just as his finger left the 'end call' button, he heard a rustle in the trees. His head snapped to the sound. He saw a flash of something - someone- wide eyes, irises illuminated by the car's headlights - and before he could comprehend what was happening, he had swerved his car right into the person, the car coming to a halt with screeching breaks just a little too late.

----

You had opened your eyes to a ceiling made of clay tiles. Your head was throbbing, your body aching from the hard ground you had been laid on. Where were you? Your surroundings were so dark, you had to squint to see around. Your blood ran cold when last night's events came rushing back to you.

You were just returning home late from work, shivering as the freezing air found its way under our thick coat. You had already walked more than half of your twenty-minute walk, your cheeks rosy from the cold when a stranger had asked for directions. A handsome man around your age with a dazzling smile on his face. He was charming, apologizing for his interruption of your stroll this late as he asked where to find the nearest pharmacy. He had a huge map in his hands, struggling to keep it upright as he motioned on the map. You joked with him about his ancient approach and asked if he didn’t own a smartphone, to which he simply shook his head apologetically.

“I’m Jack, by the way.” he had extended his hand for you to shake.

“Y/N.” you shook his hand hesitantly.

Despite the at-first queasy feeling in your stomach you decided to help him out. You had been raised to be polite, so it was the least you could do to help a stranger in despair. You studied his map, trying to locate where you were on the map. You scrunched your eyebrows in concentration… then in confusion. The map wasn’t from here but before you could open your mouth to inform him about it, he stepped uncomfortably close, his breath hitting your face. Your eyes wandered up from the map to his suddenly expressionless face. Your stomach dropped and you knew something was going on but before you could even pull out the pepper spray you carried with you for exactly a situation like this, something cold pressed against your ribs. Horrified you glanced down to see the dim light of the street lantern reflecting on the barrel of a gun.

"Make a squeak, and I shoot," he said, pressing the gun further into your coat.

"Move!" he snarled when you didn’t move, his eyes darted all around the streets, jittery; as if someone could catch him in the act even though the streets were empty.

"Okay, okay!" you shook yourself out of your frozen state, wobbly taking a few steps back, the gun never losing its pressure on your ribs.

"Turn around and get going," he barked, gesturing to a nearby van with his gun.

"What do you want from me?" you asked, tears welling up in your eyes. You cursed yourself for not trusting your intuition. You should’ve never stopped in the first place.

"Shut up!" he spat, his crazed gaze landing on you, “One more question, and you won’t ask another in your life.”

That was enough to let you know to shut up. The tears were falling free now. He grabbed the back of your collar and pressed the gun to your back. He pushed you out towards the car, his body covering your back when a car suddenly drove into the street.

"Wipe those fucking tears and look normal, girl, or you won't live to see another day," he whispered in your ear. Immediately palming your face haphazardly, you dried them. Pasting a smile on your face, you folded your arms against your chest and walked down the sidewalk. To the people in the car watching you, it would seem like you and your lover were heading somewhere, his embrace on you as protective as ever. They would probably 'aw' at you and wish they could have the same for themselves. But you knew better.

"Get in the car," he said, pushing you to it. The car had vanished into the next street, the road empty again, most of the lights in the flats turned off. No one to spot you. No one to ask for help. Hands shaking, you felt for the handle. You noticed how he was standing in the way of the door. Your heart welled up in hope when your brain sputtered out a plan - you could slam the door into him in the pretence of opening it and run away, as fast as possible. You snuck a glance at him, regarding that although he had his gun at you, he was still looking around in the same frazzled way. Now or never. You braced yourself before opening the door with force and slamming it into his torso. The gun fell out of his hand as he lost his balance. You didn't waste a moment. You took off immediately, darting around the other cars that were parked around. You didn't dare to look back. You heard a shot go behind you and cowered immediately, praying to whoever that this will be over soon. That you will be safe. Just as you turned around the sidewalk to head to your apartment, you crashed right into something. Someone. You fell on your backside, your eyesight going blurry for a second. You glanced up to see him again, gun pressing into your skull.

"Shortcut," he snickered triumphantly, "You can run from me but don’t think for a second you could escape.”

"What do you want from me?!” you sobbed loud, “I don’t even know you!”

"Shut up, bitch." he kicked you harshly into the side, the pain shooting into your side, robbing your air. Before you could say anything, he flipped the gun, bringing it down hard on the side of your head. All you saw next was darkness.

And then you woke up here. Gasping, you registered your surroundings - all walls, no windows. 1 door. Where was he? You ignored the pang of pain going up the side of your head as you turned around. You listened closely, trying to hear for his presence. Nothing. You were alone, in a dark empty place in the middle of nowhere.

Shuddering, you got up and reached the door. Before you could try to jimmy the door open, you heard his voice on the other side. Your whole being froze.

"Twenty grand," you heard him say, your heart in your throat. Had he heard you? Hands shaking, you inched closer, ear against the thin wood. "I won't take any less than that for the bitch, she's a real piece of work." Now that was rude. He didn’t even know you and all you had done was be kind to him. Granted, you had slammed the door into his face but solely out of self-defence.

Some rustling from the outside had you on guard again - you scurried away from the door, arming yourself with nothing but your fists. You waited. Nothing. Stepping towards the door again, you realized that the steps were fading away. He was going away from the cottage. Gasping in relief, you tried to swallow down the fresh tears from ebbing out. You needed a plan. Fast.

"Okay, I can do this. Think. Think," you whispered to yourself, wishing your head wouldn’t be throbbing as much as it did. A head injury was not something anyone should look forward to. You felt for the walls, realizing that they were made of bamboo wood. Patting around, you wondered if you could look for a weak spot in the wood, so you could kick your way out. You sank to the ground, pushing against the wood hurriedly. When your hand landed on one creaky piece, your hope skyrocketed. Maybe you could get out of this. You kicked against it, raising yourself to push it with your hand. Just as you got onto your knees and placed your hands on the wood, you slipped, nicking your palm against something sharp. You hissed, your other hand coming to nurse the wound immediately. It was something sharp... a nail. Perfect, you thought. Assuming the worst, you could at least protect yourself. You took off the fancy dress shirt you were wearing, thankful that you had worn jeans. You wrapped your injured hand with it and felt for the nail again. You held onto it tightly, the flimsy cloth giving you some sort of cushioning against the rusty nail. You tugged hard, your breathing coming in frenzied bursts. You froze immediately when you heard a rustle. Was he back?

Panicking, you shifted positions, using your feet to support you against the wall as you pulled. The rustling was getting closer. He was back. You tugged harder and harder, the repressed tears flowing free now, your wounds aching -

You fell back as the nail finally popped out. Scrambling, you hid against the wall adjacent to the door, positioning yourself to attack with the nail. Just as you forced yourself to collect your bearings, the door creaked open.

"Oh, sweetheart? You up yet?" he teased, his voice mocking as he approached your cowering form.

You lunged at him, your throat erupting in a broken war cry, impaling his shoulder. He roared in pain, his hand darting back to push you away. You reared back as all the air left your lungs. He fell to his knees, gasping, nursing his wound. You realized you had pulled the nail along with you when you lost balance. You pointed it at him and stood up, your legs shaking. You kicked him as hard as you could, eliciting a pained groan from him. He fell on his back, whimpering lightly. Still pointing the nail at him, you fumbled against the door, pushing it open and running out. You were finally free. All you had to do was find someone who could help you leave wherever you had been taken to.

As you stepped outside the cottage the merciless cold encircled you, your breath becoming visible in foggy puffs. Only now you realised that your coat was missing. You began to shiver as you hurried through the thick bushes, scrapping your arms at thorns. But there was no time of acknowledging everything that was hurting right now. You had to concentrate on running, it was vital.

After not even a few minutes of running, you heard him again. Your eyes widened as you crouched behind a tree, gasping for air. He was relentless. Couldn’t he just give up? Were you really that valuable? Sure, you made the perfect victim. Living alone in a big city, with no close friends or family around. Had that man spied on you? Studied your days and waited for the perfect moment to overpower you? You shuddered. You didn’t want to follow your line of thought further. At least not now.

Groaning, you hurried onwards, pushing yourself to run faster, worrying about how quickly the sky was darkening. You needed to find help, and fast.

You heard a sudden noise, a growl. You listened closer, hoping it wasn't a wild animal. Please don't make this worse, you prayed. You almost yelled in relief when you realized it was the rumbling sound of a car. You shot up, running towards the sound of tires against rough terrain.

"Oh, baby girl? Where are you? Get back here, you bitch!" you heard him yell, only leading you to pump your legs faster. Your hand was on fire, hurting from the cut you had gotten earlier. The blood pumping uncomfortably in your veins from running but you had no choice. You got to a pathway, dense trees suddenly clearing up, only short bushes and shrubs around you. You looked around, still listening to the car that was closing up on you. You waved at it, the headlights almost blinding you - but you could never be happier.

"Where are you, you little bitch?" your hunter growled.

Hurry, hurry. Please.

You glanced around, hoping he didn't spot you yet. You still listened as the rumbling got closer. The car was slowing down but not quickly enough. That's when you realized you had turned around to face the speeding vehicle too late. Before you could do anything, it ran right into you, the edge of the automobile pushing you off your feet, heaving all of the air right out of you. You gasped, your head once again throbbing from hitting the ground, hard. Your eyesight blurred, another lump forming in your throat. So this was the end. Just get it over with, you thought.

You shivered when you saw a silhouette above you, dark and tall. But it wasn't him. He was shorter, but this guy? His stance, the way he carried himself was itself different. It radiated power. Not the kind that forced people to cover, but the kind of power you would want to respect.

"Help," you gasped quietly, your eyesight swimming. You could barely see anything now. All that you could register in your mind was the darkness that was taking over it.

---

“Oh, dear. Oh, Hel. Please don't be dead. Not another one on my conscience.” Loki kneeled next to you, his hands shaking. “Please, please, please.” He placed his fingers on your neck, exhaling in relief when he felt a faint heartbeat.

'Help,' you had whispered to him. His eyes scanned your face, only now registering the gash on your head. As he observed your apparent lifeless form further, he noticed your unsuitable clothing for this season. What had happened to you?

He seemed to set himself on a decision. Thor really thought his own brother would be cold-blooded? No, Loki was far from that. He was going to help you.

His hand moved to the wound as he shut his eyes. Just as he summoned some of his green energy, he heard... a gunshot. Loki's eyes shot open, immediately scanning his surroundings. You had said, 'help'. Was it because someone was chasing you? Loki pondered over that for a moment before another gunshot went off. He scrambled to his feet quickly and gathered your limp body into his arms, gently placing you on the back seat of his car. He was not going to let anything hurt you.

"Where the fuck are you, you whore?" a voice called out, as menacing as ever.

Aha, so there was the 'someone' you were running from. You were just a random Midgardian - Loki didn't know you. But when someone referred to you in such a derogatory way, he couldn't help his anger from riling up. He would have gone after the man, but he had more pressing issues at the moment. He had to take you to a place where he could help you without any disturbances.

link to part 2

#loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki friggason #loki and thor #loki imagine #loki marvel #marvel #loki of asgard #marvel loki #mcu #mcu fanfiction #loki of jotunheim #loki x you #loki x y/n

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lucywrites02 · 2 years

Text

Casual Friday- deleted scene

A/N: Because I've been really busy lately I haven't finished the story for my writing challenge yet :( But thankfully I have a little treat for y'all :33

Casual Friday | Main masterlist

“If only looks could kill.” You whispered to Stephen, scrubbing the wooden floor with a wet rag. Your knees were starting to hurt after kneeling for so long. The doctor lifted his gaze to take a quick look at the librarian standing in the doorway and ducked when Wong’s eyes met with his.

“He will make me do his laundry-” the sorcerer next to you sighed. “I just know it.”

Stephen stood up, throwing the towel in the bucket full of water, splashing some of it on the ground. The doctor stretched his arms over his head, making his shirt go up and uncovering his stomach. You had to force your eyes to look in the other direction, but the glimpse of his muscled abdomen will haunt your dreams.

“I don’t think the floor can be any cleaner.” Stephen said, giving you his hand to help you up. You gladly took it and winced when you straightened your knees.

“You could wax it to make it more shiny.” Wong pointed out, trying to fight a smirk when he saw Stephen’s “I’m tired of your bullshit” expression.

“Yeah.. no thank you.” The doctor announced- he was still holding your hand and you didn’t know if it was because you were tired or because Stephen Strange was holding your hand, but you could feel your knees buckle. “I like it the way it is.” He sassed.

“You still have to organise the shelves.” Wong said with a smile, leaning on the wall.

“Cut him some slack. He worked really hard.” You said in defence of Stephen who would rather take a trip to the dark dimension than spend any more time in this room.

“I guess we all need a break.” Wong sighed, looking around. “How about we go eat something now. It’s dinner time. And after we could, maybe play uno.” You and Stephen looked at each other, not knowing why your friend was suddenly acting so nice. He wanted to murder the two of you when he found out Strange didn’t do shit. And now he was offering him food.

“Sounds great!” the doctor let go of your hand and shrugged. The other sorcerer smiled and left the room, expecting the two of you to follow him. “He wants to poison me.” Stephen whispered and walked away, begging Vishanti to protect him.

You chuckled at their behaviour. For powerful sorcerers those two always acted like little kids.

That night you found out that Stephen doesn’t always learn from his mistakes. As soon as Wong proposed a bet, Strange immediately accepted it. He didn’t even think twice. The librarian beat him at uno 5 times in a row, leaving Stephen with laundry duty for a week and a bunch of cursed objects to take care of.

You also suspect that Wong could have a tiny gambling problem.

Tag list: @gaitwae @funsized-mimi @queenjosielaufeyson @mischiefmanaged71 @eternal-silvertongued-prince @evelynrosestuff @andysnewgroove @jotaros-bara-tiddies

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange #doctor strange

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trip-tuckers-hyperspanner · 10 months

Text

SNW beach day headcanons

Pike: Pike wears bright-colored, floral swimming trunks and does not wear sunscreen. He burns really bad too. You can barely get him out of the water unless it's for volleyball or to cook something for everybody. He will haul a grill to the beach.

Una: She wears a bikini and brings drinks of all sorts. She doesn't burn, but she doesn't tan either. She doesn't wear sunscreen, either, but she brings extra bottles and tanning oil for everyone. She has an extra towel, too.

Joseph: Wearing a whole body swimming piece. Likes to go tubing, boating, and parasailing. Fishing is a MUST, if available. He'll bring a first aid kit and water guns. He's pretty simple when it comes to Beach Day.

Hemmer: Trunks and a T-Shirt. Great surfer. Spends a lot of his time picking up shells on the shore, or neat rocks. He'll end up telling a bunch of kids stories about what "happened to his eyes" in order to scare them into behaving for their parents. He's a lifesaver. He doesn't bring anything except a first aid kit, just in case.

Uhura: She's too busy chatting up everybody at the beach to ever get into the water. She has a tankini or one of those bikinis with the skirt thingie on it. Wears sufficient sunscreen. She'll probably be laying on the sand after going out to swim (finally).

Spock: Trunks and a T-Shirt. He's helping Pike cook, and what he constitutes as "swimming" is standing in the water and talking to Christine while she's bobbing up and down looking for fish. He wears way too much sunscreen but that's because someone else applied it for him. Technically, he doesn't need it, but someone (*cough* his best friend Christine *cough*) doesn't feel right without him wearing it.

La'an: One piece! She's got her hair down too. She'll be swimming the longest out of anybody. She wears the minimum amount of sunscreen. She'll have water frisbee or some kind of weird game for everyone to play, but she won't actually tell anyone about it until someone finds it near her towel and asks who wants to play.

Kirk: He's a trunks guy, too. Borderline speedo, but thankfully not. Tans. No sunscreen. He spends a lot of time diving and relay swimming, and he's probably the last person out of the water when it's time to eat.

Christine: Bikini. She's the explorer of the beach and takes her time looking at everything. She also takes the time to be social. She's wearing water shoes even though nobody else is, and she's got a bag full of neosporin. She's the first to suggest volleyball.

Erica: Tankini, body suit, or one piece. She's got floaties, tubes, and any other water toy you can imagine that either splashes you or lets you zoom across the water. She and M'Benga are tubing while people are swimming. She'd fish with M'Benga too.

#star trek snw #christopher pike #una chin riley #la'an noonien singh #jim kirk #spock #christine chapel #nyota uhura #erica ortegas #joseph m'benga #hemmer #gaitwae writes

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gaitwae · 2 years

Note

Oh look another sentence prompt:

"If you steal the blankets, I am going to put my cold feet on you."

Summary: After Stephen comes back from a mission in the mountains, he's contracted hypothermia.

Warnings: None, it's just the reader taking care of Stephen while he's recovering. Blankets, tea, hot chocolate, and maybe some emotional tension

Rating: PG-13 for (1) joke.

The sling ring portal opened an hour after it was supposed to. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t expected it, but you were shocked, relieved, and ready to cry when you saw Strange stumble out of the blistering cold winds of Denali and into your apartment. He collapsed, falling to his knees and shouting out in pain.

“Stephen!” you shouted, rushing to his side. He reached for you. Your hands met and laced together.

He coughed, shivering on the floor. “Y/N,” he managed, trying to sit up. “I need… I’m…” He tried to stand, but failed. He could barely get up. You had to stand him up, and to your surprise, his skin was like ice.

“You’re freezing!” you gasped. You set him down on your couch, helping him remove a few layers of drenched clothing.

“No sh—” Another cough interrupted his swear. Instead of finishing it, he replaced it with a soft cry. “Of course, I am!” He gripped your shoulders tightly and leaned his forehead against your breastbone. His once alabaster skin was red and blue. You ran your hands across his back and tried to soothe him. “S-stage two hypothermia. Shivering is coming to a halt, my brain is foggy… Reversible, very… very uncomfortable!”

“Didn’t you use your magic?” you asked, helping him take off his boots, now, trying to make way for his trousers.

“Y/N, if I hadn’t, I’d’ve… I’d’ve been dead an hour ago.” His teeth chattered loudly. “You’re going to have to help me… Gotta admit, I didn’t think this was going to be the way you’d get my pants off.”

“Help you how?” you asked, eyebrows flying up. “You don’t mean—?”

The sorcerer gave you a wild look, judging you for your thoughts for a moment or two. “No, no! I just need some physical warmth… and some hot w-water for my feet.”

You stood. It must have been the brain fog. “Well, no more of those jokes; they aren’t funny,” you scolded. You scrambled to your feet. “I’ll get you what you need; warm food and a blanket.” You dashed into the kitchen, first, and then you would have to scourge your bedroom.

Once you started some eggs and meat for Stephen, you got the biggest, most insulated blanket you could find in your bedroom. To your luck, it was electrical. You brought it over to him, laying it on top of him. You plugged it in. “Give me a second,” you whispered. You went into the kitchen again and began running hot water for him in a pot.

“You’ll need to be here too,” he asked, wrapping the blanket around himself. His chest was rising and falling slowly from the shallow breaths. Then, nearly inaudibly, you heard, “Please?”

“Can I just get everything ready, first?” you asked gently, unable to say ‘no.’ You salvaged his eggs from the pan and set his bacon and ham in there, too. It was fast, it was warm, it was protein. You walked over to him and gave him the food.

His eyes screwed shut as he took it. “I need you.”

“Just… Just give me a second, Stephen.” You kissed his forehead and went to get the water for his feet. “Eat, okay?”

He laid his head against the cushions. “Y/N…”

You set the pot down on the hardwood, but put a hot pad down before you did. Gently, as gently as you could, you eased his feet into the warmth. “How is this?”

He groaned in relief. “Good.” He opened the blanket. “Come.” He gasped for air. “I need skin.”

You looked down at yourself. You sighed. You lifted your shirt, removed your own pants, and sat down next to him in your underwear. “We’re not going to talk about this again.”

“We might not talk at all this evening,” he murmured, pulling you into him. “I’m so tired.”

“You can’t sleep,” you ordered. “You need to warm back up.”

“But I have you,” he cooed, burying his face in your neck. You grabbed one of his forearms and rubbed it to stimulate circulation. “Wong would never let me do this.”

“Wong isn’t—” You stopped. He smiled. You felt his lips against your skin. “Wong is different than me. He doesn’t… I’m… I…”

“You can say it, Y/N, everybody knows.” He sighed a wistful sigh—it was a strange sound to hear from, well… Strange. “I love you, too.”

“I didn’t say that,” you said, not really denying it. “I know you love me; it’s just how that matters.”

“You’re going to make me say it?” He hoisted you onto his lap as he asked the question. His strength must have been coming back.

“Just once, yeah.” You smirked. He gave you the best glare he could conjure up. He was starting to sink into your cushions.

“I’m in love with you,” he said quietly, grunting as he sat comfortably on your couch. “You knew that, though. I made it pretty clear. I’m positive I made it clear.”

“I didn’t know, though.” You grinned. “Maybe being frozen to death thawed your heart.”

“Hey!” He frowned. The electric blanket made for a warm, cozy spot. His color was starting to become normal. You moved in the blanket, taking some up with you.

“‘Hey,’ what?”

“Y/N, if you steal the blankets, I am going to put my cold feet on you,” he warned you, sighing. He was freezing on your back, but helping him was more important than your comfort. “And I have a fine heart, by the way.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Sure, yeah.” You sighed deeply. “I love it. I choose to keep loving it. I can’t complain.”

“You better not complain,” he said, yawning. The electric warmth made you sleepy, too. “Thank you for helping me with this.”

“It was my job, Strange.”

“It was? I don’t remember that being your job.” He lifted his head up, pressing his cheek against yours. “I thought your job was to be my damsel in distress.”

You gasped. “You take that back!” You sat up and turned, straddling him. “I just saved your butt! By using my butt!”

He leaned forward and kissed you lazily. It left you stunned. “Don’t tell Wong I’m being so soft,” he murmured. “It’ll be so embarrassing. He’ll never let me do anything once he finds out I’ve been emotionally whooped by you.”

You sat back. “You really think he’ll stop you from going on missions and special trips? Because of a non-magical significant other?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know he’ll bully me for such a dramatic confession.” He grinned a little. “You know he would.”

“Like how Thor mocks Loki for how he confessed to his girlfriend.” You laughed. “Yeah. Probably. I’ll make up some story for you, ’kay?”

“Just say we found ourselves laying together after an exciting afternoon,” he joked again. You smacked his chest lightly.

“I’ll say you told me you loved me and that was it.” You stole a piece of his bacon. “I’ll completely leave out the fact that you were dying and decided to fall into my arms.” You winked.

“You’re despicable!” he said, shaking his head the best he could.

“But you love me.”

“I’m using you for a hypothermia cure, that doesn’t mean I love you—”

“—I’m not hearing a ‘no’!”

Tag List: @make-me-imagine @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @naterson @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @wrenhyperfixates @itscomplicatedx @sophlubbwriting @darkacademicfrom2021 @lilyofthesword @xlehukax @electroma89 @joucebox @high-functioning-lokipath @lokislittlesigyn @funsized-mimi @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @kingix-the-confused-earthling @moonchildmp3 @mayday-romanogers @moumouton4 @marvelouslovely-barnes @thewindandthewolves @theaudacitytowrite @lostgreekgod @lokistoriesblog @cosplayingwitch @myriad501st @wolfsmom1 @lowkis @queenjosielaufeyson @lokiprompts @vbecker10 @floweramongstthestars

#asks #send me asks!#naterson #requests #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange #dr strange x reader #dr strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #dr strange x you #dr strange #gaitwae writes

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lupine-phoenix · 3 days

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Title: Fortnight Pairing: Tom Branson/Mary Crawley Summary: Tom Branson has some thoughts about his relationship with Mary Crawley.

#tom branson x mary crawley #brary #gaitwae writes #downton abbey

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high-functioning-lokipath · 2 years

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sherlock realizing he has a crush on you while he's talking aloud? Since it helps him think better?

A/N: @gaitwae you made me write a 2072 word oneshot...how dare you...JK THANK YOU 😍

TW: The case Sherlock and you are working on in this story deals with Domestic Abuse. There is nothing graphic depicted of the actual abuse, only mentions of injuries and the fact that it happened. There is a somewhat specific description of murder (it's probably tame compared with actual murder mysteries but it a bit more detailed than I usually am)...and don't worry...everything does have a happy ending 🥰

"It must be Torry!" Sherlock exclaims, jumping up from his chair and angrily pacing in front of the wall where you and he have pinned all the clues. He stops dead in his tracks and yells angrily. "But she's too short!"

"Sherlock," You groan, rubbing your forehead. "Let's just take it from the top. Samantha's husband is murdered. The next day, it's revealed by her best friend, Torry, that the husband had been abusing Samantha. The only possible suspects so far are the two women. Samantha, as you decided, is too emotionally worked up to have killed her husband regardless of how abusive he was. Torry is angry enough but is too short to have stabbed him at that angle. So that leaves us with 1 dead, no suspects."

"We need to talk to Torry again. I need to find out about Samantha."

"Alright, Sherlock, I'll call her and we'll have lunch tomorrow to talk."

"Tonight, I need to talk to her-"

"Tomorrow, Sherlock. Tomorrow,” You interrupt, giving him a pointed look. “It’s nearly midnight.”

He rolls his eyes and huffs. “First thing in the morning.”

“We can’t wake her up at the crack of dawn!” You yell, rubbing your brow. “Look, how’s breakfast? It’s a good compromise for both of us.” Sherlock curses but doesn’t disagree. You smile and hug him regardless of his dislike for physical contact. “Now go to bed, Sherlock! You need to sleep, no matter what you want to say.”

Sherlock huffs once more but goes to his bedroom. You head on up to yours and flop on the bed. Sleep illudes you, however, as you think of what you’re doing. Sherlock and you had met a few years ago on a crime scene. John had recently moved out and Sherlock was desperately in need of a new crime buddy. The rest, you could say, is history. With the exception of one simple fact. You'd fallen in love with Sherlock. Sure he sometimes did or said things that gave you hope, but even if he had feelings for you, he'd never recognize what they were. You knew your chances with him were astronomically low but, now matter how much it hurt you, you stayed by his side. He needed you and you needed him.

The next morning, you met up with Torry at a cafe nearby for breakfast. Sherlock asked all the questions he needed and seemed quite pleased with the result.

"A work friend!" Sherlock grins. "This changes everything!" You chuckle at his excitement and the two of you head off to meet this co-worker of Samantha, hoping to find more clues.

When the two of you arrived at George's house, you were surprised to see Samantha answer the door. "Oh, hello there," She said, trying to force a smile. She seemed slightly happier, but was obviously still reeling from the events of the past few days.

"We're here to see George," Sherlock states matter of factly. Samantha suddenly looks terribly frightened so you smile softly at her.

"He's not in trouble, we just want to ask him a couple of questions in case he knows anything that can help." She nods slowly, letting the two of you in. George walks in the room and immediately wraps his arm around Samantha, glaring slightly at you both.

"What do you want?" He demands. Sherlock steps forward, ready to fight, but you grab his arm, pulling him back.

"We just have a couple of questions for you, George. Nothing serious but we need to find out if there's anything you know that could help us." He agrees and the four of you sit down in the living room. Thankfully, Sherlock is able to ask all the questions he needs to before abruptly standing up and rushing out the door.

"Where is he going?" Samantha asks.

"Home, probably," You chuckle. "I apologize for his behavior, he's brilliant but sometimes misses social cues."

"It's alright," Samantha smiles. "My George can be like that too sometimes." George blushes brightly and shakes his head.

"She's right, unfortunately," He admits. You laugh and smile at the two.

"Well, I'd better catch up with him. Thanks again!"

Hours later, Sherlock is still pacing in the living room of 221b. "Why is this so difficult!" He yells, shooting at the wall.

"Sherlock!" You scream, quickly jumping up and grabbing the gun from him. "I thought I had this hidden from you!" You shake your head and sit down. "Maybe you just don't have the right angle. You're sure it's not George either?" You ask.

"It can't be. He's the right height but doesn't have the right motive."

"Being in love with the victim's wife isn't the right motive?" You ask incredulously.

"They're not in love," He replies, making an expression as if the very word had given him a bad taste in his mouth. You raise your eyebrows at him, surprised that he didn't even notice the extremely obvious.

"Did you not see the way they looked at each other?" You ask.

"They looked at each other no differently than you and I do," He says, not looking at you as he looks over the clues again. "He kept his arm around her to comfort her, she stayed close to him for the same reason. She was happier because she was with a friend. Nothing about that means lo-"

"Sherlock," You whisper, eyes welling up with tears, voice cracking. "I'm sorry, I need to go." You hurriedly grab your coat and run out of the apartment.

Sherlock frowns and your reaction. He goes to text John for help but stops. You could be right. If George loves Samantha, he would have wanted to get her out of that situation. Wanted to protect her. He's the right height and build. Perhaps Samantha had come to work badly injured and he couldn't take it anymore. All in the name of love.

He sits down in his chair, running through the scenario in his mind palace.

Samantha gets up early, long before her husband wakes, to get dressed and leave for work. He doesn't let her have a car so she carpools. However, he doesn't allow her around other men. That's why she's up early. She carpools with her co-worker George. George knows her husband is a jealous man, she's told him that much. But he always worries that it's worse than that. Sometimes she has strange bruises that she can only explain as "being clumsy" even though he's never seen her drop a single thing or trip over nothing.

"Where's the motive for murder though," Sherlock wonders. "Most would simply call the police because they're too scared to step in. Why did George have the gall to not just defend Samantha but murder the abuser?" He decides to test your theory.

There's a bus station near Samantha's house. She could easily take that to work but the bus passes are expensive and George notices that she never has a lot of spending money at the cafeteria even for lunch. So he offers to pick her up for work even though he lives across town and she leaves very early. He doesn't mind the extra drive even though his shirt is extra wrinkly at the end of the day. He likes Samantha a lot. He thinks she's very attractive but he sees the wedding ring so he doesn't say anything. He doesn't say anything until one day Samantha asks him to drop her off at the corner instead of in front of her house. She tells him that her husband is very jealous and that's why she leaves extra early for work. She doesn't want her husband to see George. He respects that. But then he notices the other signs. One morning she gets into the car, a brand new bruise on her arm. "I wouldn't treat you like that," He says before he can stop himself. Samantha looks at him with an expression he's never seen before on her face. It quickly goes away, replaced by a look of amusement. "I'm just clumsy," She says. George doesn't believe it. Then it finally happens. He's running late. He gets to her house as fast as he can but it's already happened. Samantha is running out to the car, screaming. Her husband chasing her outside. He has something in his hand but George doesn't even notice. His eyes focus on the pure rage displayed on the man's face. Before another second passes he jumps out of the car, grabbing the hunting knife he had from his trip last weekend. He steps between the man and Samantha, pushing him back and stabbing him in the chest. Time seems to stop for a moment, an eerie silence falling as the man falls to the ground. George looks around in case anyone saw but no neighbors are outside. He turns to Samantha and she throws herself into his arms.

Sherlock replays the last part in his mind, checking the angle and force to see if it would match. For a brief moment as he imagines it, he sees your face in place of Samantha's. He feels a flash of rage as he's never felt before. "I'll kill him," He yells angrily, snapping out of it.

"Kill who?" You ask, having had to come back because you forgot your wallet. Sherlock looks at you, standing in front of him completely healthy if not a little emotionally overwrought. He feels tears spring to his eyes unbidden and he quickly turns away.

"What is happening?" He asks himself, unfamiliar with these emotions. Clearing his throat he speaks up, answering your question. "John, forgot to buy milk."

"Sherlock," You laugh despite yourself. "You're the one who forgets milk! And besides-" Your voice becomes background noise as the realization hits Sherlock.

It's obvious George loves Samantha. He wouldn't have murdered the man if he didn't love her.

"I was ready to kill him," Sherlock thinks, looking back at you. You've stopped talking, knowing he wasn't listening, and are now looking for your wallet among his mess on the table. A few stray hairs are falling in front of your face. The ones you always frustratedly push back. Sherlock tells you to leave them down. They frame your face and bring out your features. You're wearing the coat he bought you. You begged him to let you have a coat like his but he insisted you looked better in this one. And your phone. He finds himself smiling a little at the memory. You wanted a pink case. He refused on the grounds of never wanting to see a pink phone case again. So instead you got a purple one. It matches his favorite shirt perfectly. A fact he never forgot, loving when you match him in some small way. All the memories he has of you suddenly have a new light and it hits him.

"Dear God I love her," He says.

"What?" You exclaim, dropping the glass beaker you were moving. The glass shatters but you pay no mind, only seeing the deep emotion reflected in Sherlock's eyes.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?" He asks, panicking. "Do you feel the same way? Could you? I've never given you any reason to love me. But you're always here for me." He looks at you directly, "Do you love me?" He asks.

"You're asking?" You reply with a smirk, walking over to him. "The great Sherlock Holmes needs to ask something." Sherlock looks away in embarrassment, unsure of how to handle the emotions he's feeling. "Oh Sherlock," You whisper, grabbing his hand. "You really can't tell, can you?" He opens his mouth but finds he has no answer. He shakes his head, still not looking back to you. "Sherlock, among many other examples I could give as proof," You smile, stepping purposely into his line of sight. "I bought a phone case to match the bloody purple shirt you love so much."

"You did that on purpose?" He asks. You nod, blushing brightly. He reaches up and wraps his finger around that little lock of hair. For the first time since you've known him you see a completely genuine and relaxed smile appear on his face. "You love me," He whispers. Looking back into your eyes, he smiles even wider, finally able to acknowledge what he should have a long time ago. "And I love you."

TAG ME IN EVERYTHING

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#sherlock bbc #sherlock #sherlock x oc #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock oneshot #sherlock imagine #request #sherlock request

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fablesrose · 4 months

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help me decorate my tree

Tagged by: @lets-go-steal-a-hitter

You can write me little messages that I'll open on Christmas in the form of ornaments on a Christmas tree!

A fun little way to spread some holiday cheer, you can make your own too!

No pressure mutual tags: @gaitwae @the-chaotic-cow @wonderlandfandomkingdom @isoldeahlstrom @itsyourmainmarvelgirl @theatrelove3000 @cozy-the-overlord @gone-to-fight-the-fairies and anyone who would like to participate or make their own!

#rin rambles #christmas tree #game

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cozy-the-overlord · 4 months

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The Little Thrall Girl

Summary: A young Viking thrall sent out after dark to collect firewood finds herself hopelessly lost in the freezing cold woods. Desperate to warm herself, she turns to magic, but luckily for her, her inexperience ends up catching the attention of a benevolent god ...

Word Count: 4,874

Pairing: None

A/N: So I wanted to write something for Christmas this year, but I couldn't come up with a Christmas-y prompt that interested me enough to work on, so instead I decided to do a retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Match Girl," which is something I've wanted to do for a couple of years now and is Christmas adjacent. Big thank you again to @lokislittlesigyn for doing all that pesky research for me and acting as beta reader <3 For reference, I pictured Drifa as around ten years old.

Also I wanted to shout out @maiden-of-asgard's A Thief In The Night, which I think I may have been subconsciously inspired by. Hers is a much different story than this (it stars a much older protagonist and is nsfw) but the opening concept is pretty similar and I realized about halfway through writing mine that that was probably where I got the idea lol. Also all of her work is absolutely fantastic in general, so I wanted to mention it <3

Thank you so much for reading, and happy holidays!!

Warnings: Slavery/references to child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Drifa is freezing.

It’s her own fault, because she—stupid, idiot girl!—forgot to fetch firewood before supper as she had been bidden, and now darkness had fallen and her mistress had discovered her mistake. The woman had beaten her bloody and dragged her by the hair into the cold, instructing her master’s guards not to allow her back in until she had collected enough to last the night. Drifa had cried and begged, but it was useless.

She stumbles through the snow, groping blindly in the dark for the feel of tree-bark against her fingertips. There’s a panic building in her throat, icy and sharp. She should have reached the woodpile by now. In the daylight, Drifa has never had the slightest issue navigating the woods around her home, but now, with the moon cloaked in a thick shroud of storm-clouds, she can barely make out the shape of her own hand. She turns to go back, but the flickering light of the longhouse has long disappeared into the black of the night. So dark is it that she can’t even find her old footprints in the snow to follow back home.

She’s lost. She swallows, trying to peer through the labyrinth of shadows for a sign of something, anything familiar. There’s nothing but blackness. Drifa thinks of the tales the old serving-women like to tell, about the bloodthirsty beasts with curling horns and daggers for claws that roam the woods after nightfall, hunting for some luckless little girl to drag back to their lair and slake their hunger on. You must never walk the woods after dark. She wants to cry. I didn’t want to walk them! I didn’t want to! I just want to go home!

A branch snaps in front of her and she shrieks, frozen in place for what seems like an eternity as she waits for something to emerge from the darkness. What does she do if it does? Could she run in the snow? Scream for help? Would anyone hear her? Would anyone care?

But the seconds tick by, with no other sound except the blood pumping in her ears. After a moment, Drifa takes a shaky breath (the cold feels like shards of glass in her throat) and continues trekking on.

Deep in the woods now, she shivers, so violently it makes her bones ache. Originally, she had taken a cloak with her – although really, it was more of a ratty cotton sheet than a cloak, something she tended to use as covering when she slept – but it had gotten caught up in the branches of a tree not long after she started out, and in trying to tug it free she had lost it in the snow. Now, she’s in only her smock, soaked through from falling against the ice.

Without anything to cover it, the metal collar around her neck has grown ice-cold, burning her skin everywhere it touches. She wishes she could take it off, but the collar designates her state as a thrall, and removing it would earn her an even worse beating than the last. Her forehead stings too, more piercingly than it ought to. She thinks she must have cut it when her mistress threw her out, although now, she can’t really remember. Everything seems hazy.

Warm. She must get warm. The need drowns out all other thoughts. If only she could make a fire. If there was wood, she might – one of her many roles is tending to the fire, and she’s usually very good at it. Usually. Drifa bites away the tears, the skin of her lips so cold it feels like glass against her teeth. She could do it, if she only had some wood, but she can’t find any – the ground is covered with snow, and the trees towering over her hold their branches above her head, far too high to reach. It’s as if they’re mocking her.

She cries out when her fingers brush against something brittle. It’s a rock, a large one, jutting out of the snow like a miniature wall. Drifa leans against it, her breath coming in fast little puffs of mist. She knows she shouldn’t stop – out in the cold, winter is liable to put you into a sleep from which you’ll never wake – but everything hurts, and her eyelids are so heavy. It’s only a moment before her legs give out entirely and she collapses on the ground against the rock. Her lower half has gone completely numb, and she wonders if she’s turning to ice.

Fire. I need fire.

Maybe … maybe she could magick one? Her master has talked about seidr before, how witchy women can spark up a flame with only a flick of their wrist and a click of their tongue. Drifa often listens to his conversations with his men while she kneels before the fire. He doesn’t seem to like seidr much – “cowardly and villainous,” he called it, something no woman deserving of respect would ever touch. He wouldn’t be happy if he knew one of his slave girls was considering it, but Drifa is so cold she can’t bring herself to care.

A flick of the wrist and a click of the tongue. Her mouth is so dry that the sound only barely comes out. The forest remains as cold and dark as ever. Maybe it needs a spell? Drifa doesn’t know any spells. She can’t feel her hands anymore. Her eyes are burning. She tries it again, whispering words that sound right. Fire, burn, alight, warm, please, please, please please please please—

“Oh dear, that’s not the right incantation at all.”

Drifa snaps up her gaze and shrieks – or she would have, had the sound not frozen in her throat. A shadow stands across from her, the slender form of a man looming amongst the trees, crimson eyes glittering through the darkness. Her heart jumps to her throat. It’s the monster from the stories. She tries to move, tries to push herself away, but her legs are leaden and heavy and won’t work properly, and so she can only sit paralyzed in terror as he approaches her, the snow crunching beneath his step.

He’s going to eat me … he’s going to bite my head off and carry me back to his lair and feast on my bones … she lets out a soft cry, squeezing her eyes closed as hot tears finally break free, running down her cheeks and freezing against her skin. Oh, why didn’t I remember the firewood earlier?

When the creature speaks again, Drifa can’t make out the words over the sound of her own whimpers. What she does make out is the familiar crackling that follows, a warm, pleasant sound that washes over her … no, it’s a warmth in more than just sound. She looks up, fear giving way to confusion.

The forest is awash with light. It almost hurts her eyes, so accustomed to the dark has she become. As for where it’s coming from – I must be dreaming. A man stands over her, a roaring fire burning in his outstretched hand. She blinks, but the sight does not change. His hand is on fire. It doesn’t seem to be harming him though – the man appears as relaxed as can be, his burning flesh untouched and unaffected, as if the fire wasn’t even there at all.

He’s a normal looking man too, aside from the flames dancing in his palm – no horns or talons or any of the particular beastlike qualities she had been bracing for. No, just a normal man, with his dark hair slicked back and a cloak of black feathers draped over his shoulders. Even his eyes are a green-tinted blue, not the red she could have sworn she saw in the darkness. They sparkle as he smiles down at her.

“Seidr can be quite the tricky little beast,” he says. “You ought to be more careful in your attempts with it. You never know what you might summon.” Drifa gapes as he kneels before her, holding the fire as though he expects her to take it from him. Instinct keeps her hands frozen in her lap, even as the heat beckons her with its soothing warmth. He can’t mean that, can he? Fire … fire hurts. She’s singed her fingers trying to start one enough times to know. You can’t just pick it up in your hand … and yet that’s exactly what he’s doing.

The man seems to sense her turmoil. Chuckling softly, he holds it closer to her, and Drifa nearly starts crying again from how good the heat feels. “Go on, little one. It’s quite safe.”

Biting her lip, she reaches out towards the flame, ready to flinch back the moment it hurts. But the pain never comes. Instead, it’s a warm, tingling sort of spark that travels up her arm, chasing away the cold as it settles in her chest. Drifa gasps as the feeling returns to her fingers, any sense of caution melting away as she reaches for the fire with her other hand. So warm …

She’s almost forgotten that the man is still there when he clasps her arm. She flinches – it doesn’t hurt, but his hand is large enough to wrap entirely around her wrist and then some, and her fear comes flooding back.

But he doesn’t yank her arm out of its socket. Instead, his voice is as soft as his touch.

“You’ll want to cup it,” he says, guiding her hands together to hold the flames as one would a cupful of water. “Like so. That way you’ll have the most control over the spell.”

Drifa pulls her gaze away from the flames to look back up at him, and he smiles at her again. He appears to be wearing leather beneath his cloak, but his leathers look different than any she’s ever seen. Intricate pieces of black and green interlock over his chest, with just the slightest glimpse of glittering gold. Gold on his leathers. This man must be wealthy – far wealthier than her master, at the very least.

If he’s really a man at all.

She inhales a trembling breath. “Are … are you a monster?”

The man throws his head back and lets out a merry laugh. “Oh my,” he chuckles. “I suppose that depends on who you ask.”

Her eyes widen – what does that mean?—and he must notice, because he chuckles again and shakes his head. “No, I’m no monster. Not in the way you fear. My name is Loki.” He reaches towards her and she tenses, but he only tips her chin up with a single tender finger, eyes intent on her neck. It takes a moment to realize he’s looking at her collar. “And who might you be, little thrall?”

Her voice catches in her throat. Should she tell him? Her instinct is to obey – if he is as wealthy as he seems, her master would be furious if she showed him any disrespect. Although Drifa somehow doubts her master would have much respect for a man who practices seidr. Goodness, she hadn’t known that men could practice seidr at all … that’s not natural, is it?

But Loki is smiling like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It’s alright, lovely. I promise I don’t bite.”

The thought makes her glance at his teeth. They seem quite normal sized, at least. She looks back to the fire, then closes her eyes, her voice coming out in a shaky exhale. “Drifa …”

He hums, pleased. “It’s good to meet you, Drifa.” His finger drifts from her chin to her cheek, slowly stroking up the side of her face. She shudders, but it’s a pleasant feeling – there’s a warmth to his touch that feels nice against her cold-numbed skin. “You’re a small little thing, to be out so far on your own.”

She hiccups. “I had to get firewood …”

“Firewood?” He’s frowning – Drifa can hear it in his voice. The pinpricks of panic that the heat had melted away spring back in full force. Did she say something wrong? Is he angry? She opens her eyes. His gaze is dark – oh goodness, he is angry – but before she can determine what she’s done that’s earned his ire, he presses his fingertips to the bruised cut on her temple, and Drifa gasps as the stinging turns to tingling, then melts away entirely. She looks up at him in shock.

But Loki says nothing. He pulls away, eyeing her collar once more.

“Has your master sent you out on such a mission so late at night,” he asks at last. “With neither hatchet nor torch?”

Drifa stiffens. “I was supposed to get it earlier …” Her voice is hoarse. Even with the fire in her hands, she feels quite cold. “I forgot …” Goodness, how long has she been gone? Her mistress had told her to hurry – that feels like hours ago. Her vision blurs. Norns, she’s going to be in for the beating of a lifetime—

“Oh lovely girl.” There’s something soft about Loki’s voice as he shifts to sit on the ground beside her, something calming. Gentle. Drifa’s not used to gentleness. It makes her cry harder.

She hardly notices when he shucks off his cloak, only when he’s wrapping it around her shoulders like a blanket. “It’s all right, darling,” he soothes. “No need for tears. There’s nothing to be frightened of.”

Drifa inhales shakily. The cloak is warmer than any blanket she’s ever known, the feathers soft against her cheeks. She wishes she could burrow into it and never come out. “But I’m lost …”

“Well, that cannot be, as it seems I have found you.” Loki gives an easy grin. “One can hardly be lost and found at the same time, now, can they?”

She turns back towards him (how he’s not shivering without his cloak, she has no idea). She supposes he’s right – she’d certainly feels better here with him, with his cloak and his fire and his magic, than she had alone. At least it’s not as dark anymore …

A rustling in the bushes to her right slices through her thoughts, and Drifa shrieks, slamming her hands into the ground in a frantic attempt to push herself away. The fire hisses when it hits the snow, dousing the clearing in blackness once more. It’s coming. It’s finally coming. The monster finally found us—

She cries out again when a hand grasps her left shoulder, but it’s only Loki, calm as can be as he hushes her softly. He mutters the words from earlier and another fire ignites in his free hand. The bush is still moving – something’s trying to crawl out. Drifa whimpers, but Loki rubs her shoulder soothingly.

“It’s all right, dear,” he whispers with an eager smile, holding the light higher so that she can see better. “Look!”

Drifa can’t believe her eyes.

It’s a goose, feathers as white as the snow across which she’s waddling as she wriggles free from the shrubbery. She pauses, tilting her head as she considers them, then with a little honk! that makes Drifa jump, the bush rustles again and six grey, fluffy goslings come scampering out behind her.

Drifa gapes. How is this possible? It’s far too cold for any goose to be here, let alone babies. This can’t be real. And yet here they are, waddling past her like nothing’s wrong. The goslings scurry to follow their mother, letting out squeaky little chirps as they run past her. One stops at Drifa’s boot and pecks the leather with its beak. She giggles – it’s such a tiny thing, she can barely feel its beak on her foot – and it chirps again, stumbling back into the snow. Across the clearing, the mother goose lets out another honk, and the gosling dashes off to join its siblings as they slip away into the dark.

Next to her, Loki is smiling. “See? No cause for alarm.” There’s a playful sparkle in his eyes, as well as the dancing reflection of the flames, and she finds herself wondering if the unnatural winter geese were magic in the same way as his fire. But before she has the chance to ask, her stomach lets out a mighty growl.

Loki’s gaze flickers down to her torso. “When have you last eaten, little one?”

Drifa bites her lip and looks down, crossing her arms over her stomach. When had she last eaten? It was long before she set out for firewood – the mistress had pulled her away before she had a chance to eat her table scraps. Someone else has probably eaten them by now …

Her stomach rumbles again. She’s very hungry, she realizes. She was so cold for so long she must not have noticed it. It feels wrong to complain though … Drifa’s not sure what to say. “I …”

Loki lets out a huff. “On second thought, I believe I can glean the answer myself.” There’s the sound of something being stabbed into the snow – Drifa looks up to see that the fire is now a torch, firmly planting in the ground in front of them. Loki does a strange flick of his wrist, and before she can blink he’s holding out an apple to her.

She hesitates, gaze shifting from the apple to his face. Is he angry? He definitely sounded displeased, and he’s not smiling anymore. Did the sound of her hunger irritate him? Besides, fresh apples are a rarity in the winter – certainly not to be wasted on the likes of her. Is it a trick?

But he only holds it out closer. “It’s all right. You can take it.”

It feels wrong, but with his encouragement the demands of her stomach are louder than her sense of decorum, and so Drifa takes the apple in trembling hands. Her first bite is a small one, just enough to pierce the skin and taste the sweet juice on her tongue, and it’s nearly enough to send her into tears yet again. Oh, it’s heavenly – luscious and ripe and perfect, the most delicious fruit she’s ever brought to her lips. She chomps down hard for another bite and the juice dribbles down her chin but she can’t bring herself to care. The flesh is somehow crisp and soft at the same time, and she tilts her head back as it melts in her mouth, euphoric.

Loki smiles. “That’s a good girl.”

The apple does not last long—Drifa practically inhales it, slurping the juice off her fingers like an animal. Maybe under different circumstances she’d be embarrassed, but right now it feels right. Beside her, Loki hums in amusement. She glances back up at him. Now that she’s seeing him without his cloak on, his clothes look even stranger. There is gold on his leathers, a swooping curve across his chest, as well as matching shoulder plates and bracers. It doesn’t look like regular armor though – certainly nothing like the bulky breastplates she’s seen her master’s men wearing.

“Why are you dressed so funny?”

She freezes almost as soon as the words leave her lips – such an insolent question, what was she thinking?! But Loki’s smirk only widens, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Not such a timid little mouse now, are we?” He shakes his head, grinning as he sits back against the rock. “I’m dressed in the fashion of my people, lovely. My clothes would be considered very normal where I’m from.” His gaze drops down to her collar. “Yours, on the other hand, would be seen as quite unusual.”

“Oh …” Drifa pauses. She’s never seen anyone dress like him before. Although she supposes she hasn’t seen many outsiders beyond visitors from settlements near to her master’s longhouse. “Is that far away?”

Loki nods. “Very far, I’m afraid. But it’s a far kinder land than this. Much more forgiving.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “Warmer, too.”

“Warmer?” she frowns. “But it’s winter.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But we have our seidr to weather the cold.” He nods his head towards the fire, still flickering brightly on its torch. After a moment, he grins softly. “Besides, you’ll find my home is … a bit more eternal than anything you’ll find here.”

Drifa is quiet for a moment. She imagines what that must be like, a sturdy house free of ice and snow, glowing with the constant warmth of magical fires. Maybe there were more cloaks like this one too, blankets that never let in the cold no matter how the temperature dropped. She allows herself a soft grin against the apple core.

No need for firewood.

It’s a nice thought. A scary one too, though – goodness, what would her master say if he knew she was fantasizing about living in a world of magicians? That she was sitting here with one now, enjoying his seidr fire and seidr apple? What was it he had said? Cowardly and villainous.

Drifa purses her lips. “My master doesn’t like seidr.”

“Your master is an imbecile.” Her eyes widen. He didn’t – he couldn’t!! She whips back to look at him, but Loki stares ahead, his features blank, as if he’s only made a statement about the weather.

“Besides,” he adds after a moment, turning to give her a wink. “I rather doubt you hold his opinion on the matter in very high regard. You were trying to work it yourself, when I came upon you.”

His voice is teasing, but Drifa feels as though she’s plunged into a frozen lake. “You … you won’t tell him, will you?” She inhales, throat tightening. “I wasn’t trying – I was just so cold, and—”

But Loki only laughs again and wraps an arm around her back, giving her shoulder a gentle pat. “Sweet thing. Your secret is safe with me.”

It’s a strange feeling, having his arm around her like that. Being held. It feels so safe, like a shield, protecting her from the darkness. She likes that. It’s nice to be protected. Warm too – that must be magic, how he manages to still feel so warm despite being out in the dead of winter in such thin clothing. Without thinking about what she’s doing, Drifa leans against his side, resting her head on his chest. Loki stiffens, but she hardly notices. His leather tunic is soft against her cheek. Warm and soft and safe. He relaxes again after a moment, his hand coming back to rub her upper arm in easy, gentle strokes. That feels nice too.

She’s nearly drifted off to sleep against his chest when he speaks again. “Do you have any family, Drifa? Brothers, sisters?”

Drifa shakes her head. As far as she knows, she’s alone in the world. “Do you?”

“I have a brother. A very loud one at that.” He chuckles. “You’d probably be frightened of him, skittish little mouse that you are. He’s well-meaning though.”

For some reason, the thought of Loki, with his soft voice and even softer step, having a loud brother makes Drifa giggle. “Can he do seidr too?”

“I’m afraid not – at least, not in the way that I do. He prefers a more conventional way of life.”

“Oh …” She wonders what conventional is, when you live in a magic land where everyone has seidr and it never gets cold.

The forest falls silent for a little while. She’s not sure for how long. Laying against his chest, she can hear his heartbeat, a faint, rhythmic lub-dup, and wrapped in the warmth of his cloak, it’s nearly enough to lull her to sleep. When Loki clears his throat, she can’t tell if it’s been minutes or hours since he last spoke.

“Now, darling,” he says. There are snowflakes in his hair, she realizes – when did it start snowing again? “As lovely as this little picnic has been, I fear the temperature is dropping even further, and you can’t stay out here forever.”

All at once, the panic returns. “What do you mean? Are you leaving?” He can’t leave, he can’t leave her here, if he leaves he’ll take the magic and the fire and the cloak and everything and she’ll go back to being cold and lost—

“Oh sweet girl, no need to fret,” he soothes, stroking her side. “I have no intention of leaving you here. I can take you back to your longhouse – it’s not too far.”

“Oh …” She … she should feel relief at that. Hadn’t she hoped he might rescue her from her peril? She should be overjoyed that he’s kind and willing enough to see her back home. Home. The word feels empty.

Loki is studying her, his eyes glittering in the faint light of the fire. “Unless you don’t wish to return?”

“I …” Drifa hesitates – why is she hesitating? Would she rather slowly freeze to death out here? No, of course not … But what will be waiting for her when she returns, hours late and without the very thing she was sent for? A shiver runs down her spine. She knows what will be waiting for her. But … what other choice does she have?

“I have nowhere else to go …” she whispers finally, looking down at her hands to hide the tears once again pooling in her eyes.

Loki lets out a low hum. “Well, there is an alternative.” He tips her chin up so that she’s looking at him. His features are serious. “You could come with me, back to my home.”

She inhales, so sharply it hurts. “Really?”

He nods. “You’d be safe and cared for and want for nothing. No more of this—” his hand drifts from her chin to her collar, slipping his fingers between the metal and her skin. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “—mistreatment. This I can swear to you.” He pulls his hand away, looking at her somberly. “But if you come with me, you’ll not be able to return here again.”

She bites her lip. Is it bad that she wants it? He said he lives far away, but she has no idea where … she doesn’t even know if he’s even a man. Shouldn’t she return to what she knows? But she thinks of her mistress’ shrill voice and violent hands, the meager rations she receives, the hard floor upon which she sleeps … Drifa doesn’t like what she knows.

Her voice is hoarse, but strong. “I want to go with you.”

“Are you certain?” There’s a weight behind Loki’s gaze as he regards her. “This is not a decision to be taken lightly, little one.”

She nods. “I’m certain.”

Loki’s smile is as wide as it is warm. “Very well. Hold on to me, love.” He reaches forward, wrapping one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees before he scoops her up as though she weighed nothing more than a feather. Drifa gasps as he stands – he’s so tall, she’s never been this far off the ground before. She burrows into the feather cloak and clings to his shoulders, digging her fingernails into the leather as she hides against his chest. He chuckles.

“Just one thing more before we go..”

With deft fingers, he unlatches her collar, pulling it free from her neck with only one hand. Drifa’s eyes widen – she’s not allowed to do that! Except … she supposes she is, now. He drops the collar on the ground with a muffled thunk as it sinks into the snow. Drifa lets out a shuddering breath and reaches for her throat. Her skin feels raw and exposed, but free. She feels herself grin. When she looks up, Loki is grinning right back at her.

“You’ll want to hold tight,” he says. “Our method of travel is … rather unconventional, at least to you mortals.”

“Wha – Mortals?” Her head spins with sudden recognition. “You – you mean—”

Loki smirks. “I mean that we’re going to Asgard, darling.”

…

There were precious few awake at that hour to see the flash of color that lit up the sky, for it lasted only a moment. It wasn’t until morning, in the embers of the untended-to fire, that it was discovered that the girl sent out for firewood never returned. A meager search was attempted – the master was not one to take the loss of his property lightly. They found her cloak first, a torn, ratty little thing frozen stiff in the snow not too far from the longhouse, then her collar about an hour’s walk away from that. With the snowfall in the night, any tracks had been lost, but it seemed safe to assume that the child had been dragged off and devoured by some beast of the forest. The mistress was irritated. Why the little fool wandered into the woods, instead of sticking to the woodpile as she had been told, was beyond her.

None of them had any idea of the magic and glory with which she had been swept away to the Realm Eternal, or that she now lived amongst the gods as one of them.

#loki marvel #loki fanfic #hurt/comfort #loki oneshot #the little thrall girl #cozy writes

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