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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years

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Kira (8)

CHAPTER 8: Discoveries

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: like the title says...

Warnings: old repressed memories

Word count: Finally! This is only up because of Tari so you all have her to thank for this.

I miss my old colleagues. Taught me so much. This new part of the company is...weird. But I have been taking my rage out in the gym so there’s that.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

The morning breeze saturated with the cold and smell of dewy grass and flowers tip-toes inside your room with the grace of a professional ballerina. Your bare back, with the loss of the duvet's hug, can feel the sweet kisses she leaves all over your susceptible skin. A turn over the bed and you can feel the shift in the warmth of the duvet surrounding your naked form. Your arms sense the disparate temperature over the other side of the bed, forcing you to open your eyes and find it empty.

Where did you go?

As if to answer your thoughts, the sound of the shower running in your bathroom comes as soothing waves, bringing with it the tiny fishes that tickle you while they eat away the muck on your feet you never thought you had.

It is a task to get up from this cocoon of warmth but the thought of what may be on the other side of the wall makes it easier to be up on your legs and strut towards the door.

The door clicks open and you can already feel the heat inside the bathroom the moment you step in. The shower is turned to cold but the vapours leaving the surface of the body that stands under it are visible from where you stand. The glass door to the shower temple is opened and you step in, too entranced by the muscles peaking from beneath the scars that mar the otherwise flawless perfection. The rivulets on that pale skin make it glow in its entirety save for the parts where the scars rest. The strong pressure of the water perfectly disguises the head with its white foam, letting you focus more on the liquid snakes slithering down that naked back.

And just like that, your fingers are tracing them; both the snakes and the scars- too enchanted for your own good. Your touch makes the muscles flinch and the body turn, bringing his face out of the white foam to watch you with his ocean eyes while his hands wrap themselves instinctively around yours and take them behind your back as he softly bares his teeth at you when he brings you close to him. The push from his chest is enough to drive you into the wet wall behind, the cold tiles rubbing against your surfaces, letting you know the depth of pressure and- somewhere deep down inside you- the height of pleasure.

The blue glows lustfully green in the soft yellow lights above and around the two of you. Your breaths are ragged while his chest rises and falls with graceful movements of a calm ocean wave gently rocking a pirate ship.

"Say it."

The words are soft but the ripple that they carry holds the strength to tear you to shreds on the inside. The vibrations from your soul's core are visible on your skin to the onlooker as he tries to test them for himself when he brings his face closer to yours.

"Say it," his lips move in a whisper right in front of yours and you have to focus all your strength in keeping yourself balanced on your two legs as they begin to shudder.

"Loki."

His name is a whisper of a prayer to call unto him from your lips while the stray drops from his hair, head and chest fall over your breasts.

His arms that now rest on either side of you seem to be holding him in place as he restrains himself from doing something he should not.

But oh! Even the Gods do not have the strength to keep away from the temptations that they secretly want to worship themselves.

His lips gently collide with yours, pushing you back into the wall as his hands let go of yours to grab your heated hips and pull them closer to his already primed length.

Your hands find their place around his neck and once the chains inside your mind let go, the force with which you pull him close is unknown even to you.

He loves it.

He craves it.

And so, his fingers tease your skin when they move down to grab your perfect thighs in their firm grasp and lift you up, your legs locking him in place while his body does the same with you by keeping you against the cold tiles.

Neither of you wants to let go of the lips when the tongues dance in harmony and moans are gulped down with pure contentment.

He stops.

You growl.

But he continues to look at you as you feel his hands snaking down your wet caverns, the dark greens nearly hitting the edge as they watch you gasp at his mere touch.

"Yes."

You cannot stop yourself. Your eyes are already closing, your walls threatening to give up, your fingers digging into his skin as he strokes your walls right where they are bound to light up and gyrate.

And he lets go.

Only to come back with his length pushing inside you this time.

The jolt that your body goes through when your eyes pop open hits hard when you find yourself lying in your bed. It reverberates harder when you sit up and feel the morning pleasantness chilling every little bead of sweat over your surface.

The bed is empty. The doors are closed. The birds are chirping. The sun is up.

Everything is as it's supposed to be.

Everything except your senses that are still trying to get used to the idea of you having woken up from a way too realistic sex dream with your boss.

"Good morning, Kira!"

Ygritte's voice from the living room makes you jump.

Holy shit!

"Morning, um... Ygritte."

The sounds of her picking up the remnants of last night while dusting off your space are both welcoming and a bit intrusive.

"What would you like to have for breakfast, Kira?"

"...I'm good with sandwiches."

You can hear her pick up your laptop from the floor to place it on the desk.

Picking up the bottle of water on your nightstand, your lips run for a quick gulp to moisten that dried up throat.

"Something refreshing and green or meaty and juicy?"

And all the water goes down the wrong way because of the scandalous imagery your brain comes up with. Again.

Fenrir lounges on the refreshing grass, judging you without shame as you eat a vegetable kebab sandwich with greens that are too crispy for someone who has survived on two-days worth of groceries for an entire week.

"I feel I might hurt my teeth eating this lettuce," you mutter to yourself while Fenrir tilts his head with a scoff and a whining growl before trying to push your feet away so he can do a full stretch.

"Shut up, you whiney wolf," you hiss softly at him- which he completely ignores - biting into the deliciously minty kebabs and tomatoes while trying to keep the lettuce in place with your teeth.

"Don't forget we have to leave tonight."

Now it is completely normal for you to find yourself in situations where you lock eyes with a complete stranger at a restaurant while trying to fit a burger in your mouth and failing to do so. What makes this situation worse is to watch your boss and his pet wolf look at you with sheer amusement in their glittery eyes as the lettuce hangs from your mouth before you try to find a seemingly graceful way to fit the entire thing in your mouth with your fingers.

"I've made the arrangements," you finally speak after the green chunk of cool crisp finally goes down your throat.

"Did you get Gustav to ready my suits in time?"

"All three of them are ready to fly off with the rest of your luggage."

"What about the arrangements for the stay?"

"I talked to Friday and she's assured us of our stay at the expo for the week. She's Mr Stark's assistant."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

You turn to face Loki for the first time during the day, catching the man dressed in the deepest hue of the blue t-shirt over his chest while the black trousers compliment his legs. And other parts.

"What about your dress up for the expo dinners, darling?"

Darling.

The shimmers of this unexplained pain carefully intertwined with a latent string of pleasure pulling through your subconscious do not go unnoticed by your existence when you feel your legs shudder.

"I uh...I don't..."

Your words do not come out as the sleeves are rolled up and the tie goes away to let the collar be unbuttoned.

"Call Gustav," Loki picks up an unmarked sack kept by the end of the porch and puts it over his back, "he'll fix something up for you."

Without another word, he walks off on a trail somewhere in the estate you do not want your mind to wander in this heated condition.

"Gustav."

Forcing yourself out of your own punishing trance, you call the man of every hour to help you out.

"You all right?" Robert asks you the moment you step out into the living room, dressed for the afternoon you'd planned.

"Yeah, why?"

"You said you'd be out in twenty minutes. Ygritte was worried about you."

"Oh," you breathe out, tucking a side of your hair behind your ears, "I had an issue...with my bathroom."

"..."

"Couldn't find myself to walk inside," you whisper to yourself, chugging down a glass of water without touching it with your lips.

"Something broke?" Robert's brows furrow in concern.

"Yeah," you mutter as you walk out towards the front door, "me. I'm broke."

“What?”

"I have to say it is good to see you in not-formals!"

Sam's chirpiness is a drizzle of fresh waves as he makes you chuckle.

"Wait. Really?"

"Yeah," he nods, his eyes stealing a quick look at Robert walking five steps behind you, "I've only ever seen you leave your house to go to work."

"Huh," you pretend to wonder out loud, "so you've tried to see me every time I leave my place?"

The heat evidently reaches his ears as he fumbles through the words, making it harder for you to suppress your chuckles.

"Welcome to the Violet Springs, Madame, Sir."

The greeting by the hostess helps break out of the rush of embarrassment pooling up through Sam's skin that you can conveniently compliment in his summer blue shirt and sand trousers, playing well with your sky blue sundress.

"Yes, um," Sam tries to clear his throat, "we have a reservation under Sam Diaz."

The hostess barely takes a minute to look up the name before taking you and him to the seats by the edge of the restaurant with the view of the city below you.

Sam takes a moment to bask in the glory of the concrete world around him while you look for Robert and find him standing on the other edge with a wide view of the entire hall.

I still don't get why he has assigned himself to me. The only reason I'll be requiring his expertise is when I step on my own foot.

And like a note struck from the instrument of epiphany, you sit straight and take out your phone to send a quick text before giving all your attention to your neighbour.

If this little date goes bad, you're responsible for getting me out of here.

"Before we begin," you start, catching every bit of Sam's senses, "I’m letting you to know we are splitting the bill and that is final."

Words on your phone light up against the otherwise asleep screen- That *is* my job, Miss

"We haven't even started talking yet! Or had anything to drink!" Sam brings out of this shared internal joke from the man you can't see smiling from across the room.

"That's exactly why," you chuckle.

You can see his brown eyes take your features in. You can sense it even when you look away, appearing to smudge something off the wine glass kept in front of you.

Wait. This place has wine glasses. Oh, it's expensive, isn't it? For expensive people.

"You look amazing today, by the way."

Robert watches as you go blank and blink at Sam in return for something the boy said to you. He has seen that look on your face- like you are lost somewhere for a second, trying to find the weight of whatever you witness with your senses. You've done this before, in his boss' presence more times than he can count. Only this time, you don't try to busy your hands and tear away your gaze as if you're not supposed to be in the presence of the person in front of you.

The grub hoe hits the cooler layer of the soil hard before Loki finally gets up and drops the tool away from him.

Sweat beads are teased by the afternoon breeze which is comparatively cooler than what the city is witnessing at this moment, thanks to the generous amount of trees surrounding him.

Picking up his shirt lying on the chunk of stone two feet away from the shallow plot he has dug, he allows the cotton fabric to soak up the sweat from everywhere he is exposed.

"Lemonade, Master Loki," Ygritte's call comes right on time as she sets down the tray on the table made of stone under an old sacred fig. Fenrir is not far behind.

"Nice weather for a Saturday," she hums as she uses tongs to pick up the spherical ice cubes from the bucket and masterfully drop them in the tall glass before pouring the jug of lemonade blessed with mint leaves.

Fenrir walks over to the freshly dug up plot to smell the wet earth before putting his paw over the cool dirt.

"Get away from there, Fenrir," Loki commands without looking at the wolf, who growls in protest before coming to the table to demand his share of the treats.

Before he can bring his nose up the surface to sniff the contents of the jug, Loki shoves his face away.

"Only the wolves who work hard get to have a feast," he announces to the enormous body of fur staring at him with nothing but animosity right now.

"Go play with Kira."

Fenrir slumps down and lets the grass rub his wiggling back, making Loki's eyes reflect disgust as he downs his glass.

"Miss Kira isn't home, Master Loki," Ygritte responds as she pours him a refill.

She does not get a response back from Loki but can see his fingers twitch before he goes for the glass and empties it again.

"Thank you, Ygritte," he greets flatly before dragging the sack towards the pit and scattering its contents- which look like sesame seed-sized violet pellets- all over the freshly dug ground.

"Make sure everything is ready before nine tonight," he throws into the air for the woman to catch as she walks back while Fenrir lays in the grass and shade to watch his master work.

"I..."

"You don't like wine?"

The look Sam and the waiter give you is that of pure betrayal before one of them composes themselves.

"That's okay we can order something else," Sam chimes.

"I've tried to get used to the taste but..." The sentence hangs mid-air as you give a light shrug as a loose apology. "I'm good with Long Island, though."

Their brows quirk as Sam nods in approval while the waiter's lips stretch just a little at one corner.

"I'll have a Caipiroska," Sam declares as he closes the menu.

"You can order wine, if you want," you try to persuade him as his liquid honey eyes seem to get struck by something new whenever he looks at you- something you do not seem to get used to.

He is about to say something when a heavy voice filled with aged sophistication fills the air around you.

"Good afternoon, young lads. How are you liking the place?"

You reluctantly look up from the food menu to watch a middle-aged man with a well- groomed beard looking and soft honey eyes with flecks of deeper darker brown scattered in them. From the looks of his effortless blue suit that went with the theme of the restaurant, he seems like the manager here.

This is an expensive place.

"It's nice," you feel generous for the lack of experience in settings like this.

"It's brilliant," Sam beams.

The smile stretches from within the manager's beard as he clasps his hands together. For some reason, it even feels like a smile you'd seen somewhere before.

"Wonderful then," he continues, "if I may be so bold to suggest, try our Asian cuisine today and while your server gets back to you with your drinks, take a look at the new art installed in our Galleria for the New Foundations charity."

You turn towards Sam with a glimmer in your eye and a childlike smirk on your face. "This sounds fun."

All clothes are dumped on the observatory floor as the dirt-laden feet take the stairs towards a lone room and come back with a towel in one hand and swimming trunks cajoling the perfect shape of the rear that walk out of the place and towards the glass building that houses nothing but a pool and its required necessities.

Leaving the towel on the lounging seats, he dives into the cold water with the grace of a dolphin and intention of tiger, letting his body ride like a free wave till he has to come to the surface to breathe before going down again.

At first it's a blur. The shape. But the more time Loki spends inside the water, the more he can see a figure adroitly floating in the pool with enchanted shimmers all around it.

The hair takes the shape of whatever it wants to, going graciously wild as it lifts the veil from the face.

Your face.

Your glittering eyes that look through his soul.

He stops just to float towards you, stands in the deep waters to look at the wound he helped take care of while internally appreciating the view of watching you untethered.

Of imagining you untethered.

Just as his mind realises this- a second too sooner- he pushes to the surface to breathe. Hard.

He stills in the water around him, questioning himself, his sanity, wondering where you came from; out of the blue, curious as to why you, bewildered at the thoughts slowly scratching a surface he knows is not there.

Curse you, Kira.

And with that contemplation left in the air, he goes free on his back, back into the water.

"If it's alright with you, Mr-"

"Harrison."

"Mr Harrison," you continue, "I'd like to talk to my boss about this charitable event so that the company can do its bit to help out in any way."

The manager, Harrison, smiles with his teeth out.

Why is that smile so familiar?

"Brilliant idea!" Harrison laughs.

"Hold on, let me get your contact details." Opening your phone, you jot down his number from his visiting card that marks the hotel's sigil and his designation.

"May I get your full name?" You ask him, trying to open the save option quickly and get over with this to get back to your date, who seems to be shaking with restlessness now.

"Yes. It's Harrison Wardwell."

With one strike of a peaceful clink echoing inside your head, you have travelled back to a dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn over the windows because the sun is too bright. The edge of the desk is lined up right with the window, with books and notebooks scattered over the wooden structure. Plushies crowd the bed as someone lies under the sheet on the side of the bed that is nearer to the window.

There are no birds chirping outside. Why would there be? It's a hot afternoon. There is no creak of the door opening because it is never shut. The footsteps are quieter than a cat's. The fingers are rubbing against the sweaty palm before they touch the edge of the bed. The movement is slow but that does not stop the hand from disappearing under the sheets.

The phone drops from your hand over the tiled floor.

"Oh, sorry," escapes your trembling lips as you bend down to pick it up, using the bare seconds to compose yourself before getting up.

"It's Wardwell with a 'W'."

The voice pierces through your throbbing skull.

"Yeah," you nod without bringing your eyes to look back at him, "I got it. I'll go back now."

He wishes you a great time but your body and mind do not register anything.

You do not even realise when you've come back sat down on the table till Sam is fighting for your attention to ask you about your choice of entrées. The stickiness on your palm and the heat radiating from behind your eyes are warning you for what is about to come. And so, you do what you do best.

"I'm sorry, Sam," you blurt out as you get up, catching Sam's face fall, "I'm not feeling well. I'll have to go back. I'm really sorry."

Robert is already on his heels, walking towards you, sensing trouble from the way you stand.

"Yeah, no," Sam stammers, "it's okay. Is everything okay? Anything I can do? Want to get some air?"

"No, no. I'd rather go home," you mention, already picking up your purse and walking away, "thank you for understanding."

You're nearly at the door, your breaths shallow, your back marred with sweat, almost ready to collapse when Robert takes hold of you before getting into the elevator.

The doors close for the ground floor but Robert does not let you go.

"Water?" He simply puts.

You shake your head, your breathing growing rougher while your nails are beginning to dig into his jacket.

"Do you have medication?" He doesn't stop.

You nod your head furiously.

"It's back home."

The tears stinging your eyes are just sitting over the edge, waiting for one light push.

"Would you like to lie down somewhere?" The softness in his voice is soothing but the idea brings back the face of the man.

"I want to go home," you breathe out with all your strength.

Robert's concern takes another shape over his features. The shape of resolve. Carefully wrapping his arms over your back to help you stand straight he walked you to the entrance.

"Then let's get you home."

The crisp black shirt tries it's hardest to flutter on Loki's back but the buttons in front stop the wind from taking advantage of the breathing fabric and the body it has been wrapped around.

The walk back to the house is a languid one with Fenrir by his side- something both seem to be enjoying this suddenly breezy noon with a grey cloud approaching from the city side.

The French doors are still slid open when he reaches the back to watch the hazy sun reflect streaks of wetness from your eyes to your chin as you rush towards your part of the house in clothing he has never seen you in.

Loki's gait is composed, though the grip on the bag of his sweat-soaked clothes grows tight.

"Robert," he calls out to the man in charge of your security, who is refraining himself from following you to make sure you're okay, "a word."

The rumble of thunder outside is not welcomed by Fenrir, who howls at the black clouds and lightning streaks to drive them away.

The cold breeze travels inside to whirl around the lounge, swinging around every little furniture piece.

Loki turns off the light to his study and walks out, feeling the playful current over his neck even from here.

"Ygritte," he shouts, but never condescendingly, walking down the hallway, "you know Fenrir will soil his paws in the dirt outside and then you will have to cl-"

He turns the corner to have every authoritative atom in his voice die down when his eyes lock to your figure asleep in the living room just where the winds are blowing in.

With your laptop still on, your diary untraditionally left open, your phone continuously buzzing with messages, he figures you dozed off while working.

'She had a panic attack, sir. One moment she was talking to the manager and next when she came back at the table, she was pale.'

Peace.

'No, sir. That boy had nothing to do with it. He is a gentleman. I ran a background check on him just to be safe.'

You are at peace.

'I have never seen her go through something like this before either, sir. Something must have triggered it. She was fine five minutes earlier.'

Sleeping without any worries. Floating in some dream, he thinks. A beautiful one, he prays.

Your hair, usually tied up, strays loose, partially covering your cheeks while moving to the tunes of the pleasant air. Your lips are slightly apart, one sure sign of how deep the sleep is. Your glasses hang awkwardly over your nose, almost making the man smile at the unintentionally delicate, purely appealing picture you've painted.

The gust of wind coming from the open doors forces you to bring your body close to yourself to ward off the cold and without any forewarning, Loki's body is already moving to slide the glass close, giving one snap of his finger and pointing to the floor near his feet to bring Fenrir inside without so much as a squeak.

The lightning outside the glass lights up his face, illuminating this deep ocean of green in his eyes as he blinks with a tender thought before slowly making a one-eighty to stand right at the back of the sofa where you lay.

One step and he can see your arm and shoulders move with your gentle breathing. One more and he watches this side of your face already sinking in some dream.

Know your lines, Loki.

His fingers twitch at the thought. He looks around for a sign of help but gets none. So, one lungful of air later, his hands lightly brush away your hair from your face, making sure they never touch your skin.

The thumb and index place themselves securely around the edges of the frame of your glasses before they are pulled away with commendable patience. Even the lungs are allowed to breathe only when he has snapped the temples in.

It is hard for his eyes to break away from your face but he does so unwillingly to bend over the sofa from here he stands to place the glasses on the coffee table in front of you, his fingers accidentally brushing your exposed waist.

The second it takes his nerves to realise what kind of contact was made, you wake up with a gasp and a withered moan.

Loki cannot understand what he is watching for a moment there.

Red eyes looking around in unadulterated horror, lips trembling with the intensity of a cracking winter, fingers digging into the fabric of the sofa you lie on, breaths shallower than the pit he dug this morning.

But the worst of the thump in his heartbeat comes when you turn to look at him with the look of a victim of dreadful deception. A quick breath is taken in by the parted lips of Loki, the man of the multi-million empire who bows to no one, to bring himself to explain himself to you.

"Is he here?"

The words on the edge of his tongue stare at you with a tingling shock.

"...what?"

A single tear falls from your eye over the cheeks heated for all the wrong reasons.

"That man," your words come out broken and wounded, similar to the look in your eyes, "is he-is he here?"

Something inside his chest rips apart and comes off and he has no idea what it is or how to put it back up.

"I... it's just me," he finally speaks, the confusion along with this unknown searing pain piled up between his brows, almost regretting saying it the moment those words leave his mouth.

"Oh, thank God," you wheeze through the shiver in your throat, striking the man again with your words, "thank God."

He can see you struggling with your breathing while your eyes still go out to make out the shadows you don't trust.

"Kira," he finally speaks, bringing your attention to him with this soothing composure in his voice, "look at me."

So you do.

"Whoever he is, isn't here. He will never be."

Lightning lights up the green in his eyes, showing him in a brilliant light.

Like a natural reflex, you nod in response to the assurance.

"Go get some sleep," he speaks softly, "we have to leave in seven hours."

Your head turns towards the golden base clock before getting up and walking to the East wing.

Loki doesn't move from where he stands till he sees you walk down the corridor, turn on your lights for a few minutes and then turn them off.

Fenrir is shifting his weight between his paws before Loki finally tells him to go and he dashes to where you went.

The cellphone is already out and the phone is ringing on the other side.

"Yes, Sir?" The familiar Scottish accent drips through the earpiece.

"You said she talked to the manager. Who is he?"

A two-second pause. "A Harrison Wardwell, sir. Do you want me to-"

"I need everything on that man."

Thunder rumbles violently, rattling the strongest doors and windows of the house.

"Every. Single. Thing."

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