Diagram I made to explain the importance of me having a hyperfixation at all times
Many people seem to have the misunderstanding that if one doesn’t have a hyperfixation, they will have more time to think normal thoughts. This however, is incorrect. The amount of normal thoughts thunk by the average neurodivergent stays relatively the same, it’s the amount of bad thoughts thunk that changes depending on the intensity of ones’ hyperfixation. Yes I am a neuroscientist trust me
summary : In the midst of a storm of emotions and unspoken longing, two souls collide in a moment that blurs the line between desire and fear. The tension between them disguised under quarrels has been building for months, and when it finally unravels, neither can escape the pull of what they’ve both denied for so long. But as their connection deepens, so do the questions. Will they be able to handle the storm they've created, or will it consume them?
pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader
warnings : Mature themes (+16), intense emotional tension, physical intimacy, angst to eventual fluff, vulnerability, character conflict, suggestive content. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.
word count : 4.9k
(ao3 version)
The dimly lit room trembled under the weight of your clashing words. Tension hummed like a taut wire, each breath you drew amplifying the storm raging outside the windows. Thunder cracked sharply, rattling the walls like an impatient herald of unresolved truths. Yet neither of you blamed Thor for the horrid weather—after all, he had fled the chaos of your ongoing quarrel, retreating to find solace a few doors away.
The argument had collapsed into a suffocating silence, and the air between you was sparking with the aftershock of words that could not be taken back. Loki’s composure was shattered, a pale reflection of his usual elegance. His chest rose and fell unevenly, dark locks falling across his face in wild disarray, evidence of his frustrated hands. His arms hung stiff at his sides, fingers twitching with restrained fury—the kind of control that seemed like a punishment, as though it physically pained him to keep from destroying something, anything.
You fared no better. You tugged tightly at your hands behind your back, a futile effort to quell your trembling. Although your voice had been quieter than his during your shouting match, the magnitude of your confrontation rippled through you like an unstoppable tide, leaving you breathless.
You wanted to say something cutting, to twist the knife just enough to force him to react. But his silence unnerved you. The tension in his body and the way his chest rose and fell unevenly—it wasn’t anger. Not entirely.
“What now, Loki?” Your voice sliced through the quiet, intransigent and bitter. “Another lecture about how I’ve derailed your grand, masterful plans?”
He stood motionless, his silhouette framed by the storm’s flickering light. His shoulders were tense, rigid beneath the weight of everything he didn’t say. You shot daggers at his back, daring him to respond. The distance between you felt impossibly vast yet suffocatingly small.
“Are you going to speak?” you pressed on, your words razor-sharp. “Or is this the part where you brood in silence, as if the world owes you something? How very godlike of you.” Your tone dripped with mockery.
His muscles tensed at the provocation, every inch of him vibrating with restrained energy. You felt the atmosphere crackling with the kind of dangerous power you recognized all too well. Your instincts screamed at you to retreat, to stop provoking the storm brewing before you, but a deeper, reckless part of you pushed forward, daring to test the limits—perhaps as a way to prove to yourself that you could withstand it.
Instead of unleashing his fury, he closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, as though the very act of restraint was excruciating.
“You think this is a game?” His voice was low, trembling with barely restrained anger. “Do you think I stand here, unraveling because it amuses me? Don’t mock me, [Y/N]. I am holding on by a thread.”
The vulnerability laced through his fury struck you like a lightning bolt, but you wouldn’t let him see it. Folding your arms, you threw his anger back at him with a defiant glare.
“Control. That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Your fragile ego.” You scoffed bitterly, crossing your arms to mask the nervous tremor in your fingers. “Honestly, Loki, if you’re so desperate for control, maybe you should stop being so insufferable—”
His head fell forward slightly, his sharp laughter echoing bitterly around the room. The sound was devoid of joy, just a hollow crack in the façade he fought to maintain.
“Stop.” He abruptly turned to you, his eyes unyielding and blazing with darkness. The storm within him mirrored the one outside, each word trembling with unrestrained venom. His lips curled into a joyless smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. The shadows carved harsh lines into his face, and his gaze burned with a fury that made your pulse quicken.
“You ruin everything,” he snarled, taking a step toward you. The intensity in his gaze forced you to take an involuntary step back. “Every plan. Every strategy. Every ounce of control I’ve fought to keep. You invade my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment.” He laughed bitterly, his voice trembling with fury and despair. “You don’t get it, do you? How maddening, how utterly unbearable you’ve made this for me. You’ve undone me. Me! The God of Lies, of Mischief, reduced to this—this pathetic shadow.”
Your defiance faltered. There was no venom in his words, only a bone-deep frustration and something else, unknown to your senses.
"Please don't do this," you warned, your voice now softer, hoping to appease him—unfortunately, he wasn't paying enough attention to note this subtle cry for calm.
"Do you know what it’s like? To crave someone so deeply that it consumes you?" Loki continued, his voice cracking slightly. He stepped closer, the heat radiating from him now palpable. "To loathe them for it? To want to destroy them because it would be easier than feeling this—this madness?"
Your anger wavered in the face of his raw emotion. You noticed his hands twitching at his sides, his fingers curling into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His brow furrowed, veins straining visibly beneath his skin, as if his emotions were about to burst forth. The tremble in his voice betrayed the turmoil he fought to contain.
"You terrify me." His voice softened as he whispered your name in an almost pained tone, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his façade. The vulnerability he had buried so deeply now spilled over. "You've taken the one thing I've always had—control. And you've destroyed it without even trying. I hate you for it. I despise your existence."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and the armor you had so carefully built around yourself began to fracture. It felt like a physical blow, a sharp breath escaping you as if you had been struck in the solar plexus.
"Then leave," you whispered, your voice thin and brittle. The word felt like ash on your tongue. "If I’m such a burden, leave."
“Do you think I haven't tried?” His voice was a mix of anguish and fury. “I have fought gods, defied realms, burned my own bridges to the ground in the name of my freedom—and yet, I can’t walk away. I am shackled, chained to this unbearable ache that you've submitted to me.”
Your heart hammered in your chest as his words sank in, each one unraveling the control you thought you had. You had believed yourself to be the one in charge, teasing him, testing his limits. But now, faced with the depth of his emotions, you realized how little you truly understood him.
“Loki…” Your voice trembled, softer now, filled with uncertainty.
“No. Let me finish. Let me finish,” he insisted, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and vulnerability that gleamed in his eyes. “You will hear this—I deserve the least of it. You infuriate me,” he growled, suppressing emotion as he took a strained breath, pressing a trembling hand to his chest as if in pain. “Because you’ve invaded every part of me. You’ve stripped me bare, torn me apart.”
He took a step closer, the heat of his body almost overpowering your train of thought. Your back pressed against the wall, and as you opened your mouth to reply, no words came out. The tension in the room was suffocating, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him.
“I hate it,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I hate how much I need you, how much I—” He broke off, his words choking in his throat. “I can’t even hate you properly. I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything. This burning torment consumes me every time I look at you, every time I hear your voice and know I can never—” He exhaled suddenly, as though the admission physically pained him. Lowering his head, he gripped his hip with his other hand as if to steady himself. “You make me feel like I’m falling apart from the inside out. You haunt my thoughts. It hurts, and it bewilders me beyond recovery to hear you call for me, to hear you say my name.”
The storm outside roared, and the lightning illuminated his face as he towered over you, his forehead nearly brushing against yours. The tremor in his hands pressed against the wall on either side of you, trapping you without making contact.
“I am weak, and you are the one thing I cannot resist. It pains me, irritates me, and yet—and yet, I crave it. I crave you.”
You stared at him, rendered speechless, as his voice dropped to a near whisper.
“I’ve known nothing but pain and suffering my whole life, but never have I suffered like this. Every moment I’m near you is agony,” he confessed, his breath warm against your cheek. “But every moment I’m away is worse.”
He pursed his lips, his throat constricting as if swallowing the pain. Then, slowly, almost as though it was the last shred of his pride slipping away, he sank to his knees before you.
His shoulders slumped forward in silent surrender, as if his pride and strength had been stripped away in that single motion. Your heart raced as you saw him like this—so proud, so untouchable—now laid bare and vulnerable.
"I am begging you," Loki murmured, his voice trembling. "On my knees, if that’s what it takes. Tell me to leave." He shut his eyes tightly, as if even the thought of it would scar him. "If you feel nothing, say the word, and I will disappear from your life, no matter how much it kills me. But if there is even the smallest chance that you..."
He stopped, his voice breaking completely as he looked up at you, his stormy green eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"If you feel even a fraction of what I feel for you... please. End this. Free me from this torment—or let me stay as I am. It would be an honor if you could accept me as such." He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I am already painfully yours. But I beg you, please, tell me what to do."
For a long moment, the only sound was the storm echoing the chaos between you. You stood over him, and for the first time, you saw him—not as a god, not as an agent of chaos, not even as your acolyte, but as a vulnerable being, utterly at your mercy. His words, heavy with unrestrained emotion, shamefully made your heart race and stirred something deep inside you.
"I..." you started, your voice barely a whisper, but Loki shook his head. His hands curled into fists against the earth as he slowly lifted his gaze, stormy green eyes locking onto yours. "No," he breathed in anguish. "If you’re going to reject me, say it directly—don’t give me hope first."
Your heart felt heavy, a tight knot forming in your throat as Loki's words cut through the air like a cold breeze. Each syllable lingered, wrapping around you like a shroud and igniting a tumult of emotions within you. You hesitated for a moment before brushing your fingers over his trembling shoulders. You couldn’t stand to see him like this. He had always been a god of power and control—and now, he was breaking in front of you.
"Loki," you whispered, your voice low but steady, "please, don’t kneel. Get up. It pains me to see you like this."
But like a child being reprimanded, Loki categorically refused to obey to your demand and shook his head, his hands clenched into fists against the earth.
"Look at me, Mischief," you said softly, your tone coaxing, as though your voice alone could undo the weight crushing him. Your hands hovered for a moment before finally resting on his trembling shoulders. "You don’t belong on your knees. Not before anyone, and certainly not before me."
His jaw tightened, and he averted his eyes, an abashed expression crossing his face like a shadow. How wrong you were, not to know that it was one of the finest luxuries in all of the realms for him to be found in such a compromising position for you. Only for you.
Sighing, you resigned yourself to match his position and lowered yourself to your knees in response. Your fingers rose to his face, cupping his cheeks with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he deserved. Though he didn’t return your gaze—probably out of shame, judging by the flush staining his alabaster cheeks—you could see the turmoil in his eyes, mirroring your own.
You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. Even in the overwhelming intensity of the moment, a mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes, and a small, teasing smile curled at the corners of your lips. You brushed your fingers lightly against his temple as you lightly leaned in before flicking his forehead. “You really do have a way with words, don’t you? Twisting my thoughts around like one of your tricks.”
Loki’s eyes narrowed, flickering with a mix of disbelief and indignation. His mouth opened, a protest forming on his tongue, but it faltered. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion. A small tremor betrayed him in his silence, noticeable enough to reveal the cracks in the armor he so desperately tried to maintain.
You sighed softly, your breath brushing against his cheek as you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze again. “You’re impossible, Loki,” you murmured quietly now, in an almost tender tone. “Completely and utterly impossible.”
With that, Loki’s walls crumbled. His head fell gently onto your shoulder as his body surrendered to the weight of his emotions. He was emotionally spent, utterly drained, and you held him close, your heart pounding in your chest. Your hands slid through his hair, fingers gently brushing through the tangled mess as a soft gesture of comfort. You glided your hands down his back, letting the tips of your nails graze his spine before tracing back up, repeating the process; each touch sent shivers of pleasure through him.
“You’re cruel,” Loki barely audibly huffed with dry humor, yet it still tinged with something like relief.
You let out a soft laugh, your lips brushing the crown of his head. “If anything, I think you’re the cruel one for making me care this much,” you replied, trembling. “You push, you pull… you twist me into knots, Loki. And still…” You paused. “Still, here I am.”
His breath hitched at your words, his body taut beneath your touch. You slowly pulled back, cupping his face once more. Your thumbs grazed his cheekbones as your eyes roamed over his features—the furrow in his brow, the way his lips trembled slightly, the flush on his pale skin.
“Honestly, I should be the one angry with you, Mischief,” you said with frustration. “I never did anything wrong, yet you let it all spill onto me—your anger, your pain. You teased me, belittled me, and made me feel like I didn’t matter. And yet, here you are, breaking down in my arms and asking me to understand.”
Your words cut through him and he swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. With a sigh, your expression softened, your lips twitching into a small, understanding smile. “But you’re a beautiful soul, Loki—complicated, yes, but beautiful all the same. And I can’t help but be pulled in.”
A shudder ran through him at your words, his vulnerability deepening. For a moment, he looked as though he might shatter entirely.
You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tangling your fingers in his hair. You leaned into him, intoxicated by his warmth, your lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “I want you to look at me, sweetheart.”
Loki’s sharp intake of breath betrayed his surprise, his stormy eyes snapping up to meet yours. His reluctance was palpable, a flicker of resistance flashing through his gaze, but this time he obeyed nonetheless.
Your teasing nature returned, a discreet and sly smile tugging at your lips as you pulled back slightly. Your thumb grazed his jaw, your touch soft and deliberate as your gaze roamed over his face. You admired every detail, letting your fingers trace his lips, cheekbones, and the curve of his jaw.
Loki's breath caught in his throat, your words cutting through the veil of confusion and tension that had clouded his mind. He buzzed with delight under the weight of your gaze and the soft but insistent touch of your fingers; it was almost too much to bear. Battling to stay still, he fought against the urge to jump on you and ravage you senseless for speaking those words and treating him like he was the finest ornament.
You replaced your hands in their original positions and brushed your eyes over his face, taking it all in. Loki’s features were a portrait you wished you could engrave in your mind forever. His brow furrowed slightly, expressing the intensity of his uncertainties. His lips, which you teasingly traced with your thumb, parted in a shallow, desperate breath, trembling ever so slightly as if on the verge of confessing something left unsaid, although everything had already been spoken. The sharp, high points of his cheekbones, usually so regal, now appeared softer, flushed a deep crimson from a mix of vulnerability and desire. A single drop of sweat traced down the side of his face, catching the light and adding to the tension in his gaze—and oh, those eyes.
His eyes, darkened with longing, swirled with flickers of green shimmering with desperation. The depths of his irises seemed to pull you in, reflecting not only his internal struggle but also his raw need to be seen and understood, and more importantly, for you to accept him wholly. Beneath the intensity, you could sense the vulnerability in his eyes, attracting you like would a siren song.
Your fingers glided down the length of Loki’s neck, lightly grazing his skin as you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. The faint teasing smile on your lips never faded, even as you sensed the tension building in his body, each gentle touch adding to the pressure. You reveled in the way he reacted to your every move. It was a delicate game, a playful form of payback for the emotional torment he had caused you during your journey, and perhaps a way to steady yourself against your growing desire to close the distance between you entirely.
Your thumb traced his jaw, your fingers lingering near his lips, as if daring him to break the silence. The heat between you thickened, charged with unspoken need. You almost forgot his boundaries, lost in the thrill of the game and definitely too enthralled by the gorgeous being in front of you.
However, you failed to notice the shift in his posture. The practiced stillness that once defined him wavered, giving way to a sense of danger. His breath hitched, and his mind snapped back to the person he truly was. The weight of his identity surged through him like a tidal wave, breaking the fragile restraint he had been maintaining. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and his eyes burned with a warning you failed to heed.
In that moment, you overlooked the reality that you were not dealing with an obedient being, but a depraved and hedonistic god who always took what he wanted. A god whose desires were as boundless as his patience was fragile.
In a flash, Loki shot out his hands, seizing your wrists and yanking them away from his face. His grip was firm and unyielding, forcing you to pause as you felt the rising tension in his body with barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface.
“Enough,” he growled, a whisper of danger hanging heavily in the air. You blinked, momentarily stunned by the shift in his demeanor. You found yourself captivated by the intensity of his gaze, unaware that his restraint had snapped and his longing had surged to the surface all at once. Primal hunger radiated from him as his hands tightened around your wrists, pulling you closer with an urgency born of days filled with loneliness and yearning. The heat between you burned brighter, almost unbearable, as the space between your faces dwindled.
“You should know better than to toy with a god,” he warned, his voice thick with desperation, sending shivers down your spine. You leaned in slowly, your lips hovering just a breath away from his. Your warm breath teased him, a subtle dare to close the distance. But at the last moment, you hesitated. Something inside you faltered—not out of fear, but from an instinct to stretch and savour the moment. You drew back ever so slightly, your lashes fluttering as you caught your breath.
The instance of hesitation was his breaking point. A low, feral sound escaped his throat as his hands moved swiftly, cradling your face with a reverence that trembled with need.
He surged forward, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was both relentless and heartbreakingly tender. It was fierce and all-consuming, as if every ounce of his pent-up longing was poured into that single moment. You thought you heard him sigh in relief as he pulled you closer, as if the weight of your shared emotions connected you in a way that words never could.
His trembling hands released your wrists, one sliding to the nape of your neck, the other tracing down your silhouette before settling at your waist, pulling you firmly onto his lap. Your bodies aligned, his center flush against yours.
You tried to speak, but the words were trapped in your throat, lost in the overwhelming intensity of his kiss. His lips were insistent, each press a force that left no room for thought, only the sensation of him, of this. Each kiss felt like a claim, a demand you couldn’t resist. Your breath caught in your chest, and before you realized it, your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair as his kiss deepened.
Your mind raced faster than your heartbeat, torn between the fire of his touch and the fear gnawing at your insides. How did we get here? you wondered, your fingers pausing against his skin as confusion tugged at your thoughts. Is this what I’ve been waiting for? The line between longing and fear blurred in your chest. You felt yourself being pulled deeper into his orbit, yet a quiet voice in the back of your mind warned you not to lose yourself in this moment.
“Loki...” you whispered, your voice heavy with the vulnerability you could no longer conceal. But before you could finish your sentence, his lips claimed yours once more, and you found yourself powerless to resist. He couldn’t stop; his mouth moved over yours with a desperate passion, and you surrendered to him, lacking the strength to pull away.
"Don't pull away," he mumbled against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "Not now, please."
The world outside your embrace faded away, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours and the heat of his body seeping into yours. You could feel his heart racing in his chest, pounding as fast as your own. Every kiss was a question, and every touch confirmed that neither of you could walk away from this—no matter how much you might want to, and no matter how much fear lingered in the back of your minds.
You knew that you should stop, that you should hold back, but the pull of him was stronger than anything you had ever known. The quiet voice in your mind warned you not to lose yourself, but it was drowned out by the heat building between you, a magnetic force neither of you could deny.
You could feel his pulse racing in his fingertips as they traced the line of your spine, grounding you in the whirlwind of emotions. Everything around you seemed to be speeding up, charged with an urgent, desperate energy that neither of you could control. For a fleeting moment, you understood: this wasn’t just about passion; it was something deeper, something you couldn’t articulate. It was months of tension and longing finally unraveling between you.
When you gently separated, your bodies reluctant to lose the closeness, Loki still had the clarity, even amidst the storm of his desires, to give you space. His forehead brushed against yours, and your breaths mingled as you both tried to steady the rapid beating of your hearts. Loki’s hands lingered on your skin, holding the moment without pulling you back immediately. There was a vulnerability in that, a tenderness within his hunger.
Your heart pounded against your chest, the rhythm echoing in your ears as you gazed into his eyes. There was a quiet intensity there, a storm brewing in the depths, and you knew, with terrifying clarity, that neither of you could walk away from this. Not now. Not ever.
He whispered, his voice raw and desperate, "Stay." The word was barely a breath against your lips. It wasn’t a request; it was an unspoken promise, a silent vow.
Your cheeks flushed deeply as you felt the weight of his gaze and the heat between you. Timidly, you nodded, your lips parting in a barely audible "Yes"—a whisper of surrender. The vulnerability of your gesture only spurred him on.
Without a word, Loki's lips found yours again, his kiss more urgent than before, as if claiming what was now his. His touch was demanding and desperate, overflowing with everything he had kept buried. It wasn’t a tender kiss; it was a claim, a release for all he had confined within.
He took everything you offered, his lips moving hungrily against yours, ragged with desire. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that spoke of months of longing. One hand slid back to the nape of your neck, while the other traced the curve of your waist, stationing to their rightful places, savoring how your bodies were leaving no space between you.
You felt a stronger pull towards him than ever before. As you surrendered to his embrace, you realized there was no turning back. You let your instincts guide you and continued to kiss him, your focus narrowing to the sensations of his lips, his touch, and his breath.
His hands trembled as he gripped you tighter, sliding over your curves, anchoring himself to the reality of your touch. He explored with deliberate slowness, tracing the length of your spine and backside, teasing as you had done to him earlier. He relished in this dance of long-awaited affection and need, in the feeling of your fluttering eyelashes against his cheeks, the thundering beats of your pulsing heart under his palm, the shared heat as your bodies almost united as one.
You tugged at his hair, attempting to slow him—but oh, he couldn't, not anymore, not ever. He groaned, unrelenting, lost in the feeling of you. He was too far gone, too hooked up on the feeling and the taste of your sweet lips. He shuddered pleasurably when he chased your mouth even as you gasped for air, even when he too needed to breathe.
It felt as though he could travel to Hel and back with the fire in his veins, ignited by the scent and taste of you. You only spurred him further when you bit his lip and gratified his back by raking your nails down. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest as he shifted his grip and lifted his hips in reflex, pressing against you with relentless hunger.
When you finally broke apart, both gasping for oxygen, Loki's forehead rested against your temple. His breathing was uneven, and his hands still trembled from the raging storm inside him as they lingered on your skin. Although his grip loosened, the raw intensity remained, demonstrated by the furrow of his eyebrows in pleasure.
"Careful," he rasped moments after with his voice hoarse, having taken his time to clear his mind a bit from the foggy sensation in the febrile hope he could somewhat behave himself not to go rampant. He backed away to admire his handiwork, his eyes roaming over you to appreciate the flush in your cheeks, the pink of your swollen lips, and the dazed look in your eyes. "You've already tested my patience. Keep this up, and I won't hold back."
Your heart thundered, your body vibrating with exhilaration and need. A small sly smile tugged at your lips as you leaned forward, biting his lip once more in defiance. Loki’s control slipped further. With a swift motion, he pulled you down against the concrete of the ground, his lips finding yours again in a renewed storm of desire.
The storm hadn't passed. It had only just begun.
ending note : I honestly almost turned it into a smut— almost. It was tempting, but I haven't reached that level yet.
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A/N: alright, Ik this is a lot more intense from what I’ve written before on here, but I just had this idea and had to get it down. This is mostly in unedited so I also apologise for any mistakes. This is going to get a little gruesome but I tried to hold back from getting too descriptive. Also I do know this isn’t what would happen in real life I just wanted to write this scenario. Please give me any CONSTRUCTIVE criticism that you have. Sending love to all of you!!💗 (also requests are open.)
Warnings: Mentions of past torture, Trauma, Angst, detailed Descriptions of violence, eventual fluff
Summary: many years after your past as a former Hydra agent, the same agents who tortured you are brought in by S.H.I.E.L.D. You take the only chance you have to rectify what they did to you, but how will Loki react once he finds out what you’ve done?
Enjoy!!
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It was supposed to be a celebration. The team had finally managed to bring in the hydra agents that had escaped so many times. Everyone was supposed to be happy. But not you.
The moment the group of hydra workers were escorted through the doors it was like all the air was sucked out of you. Your eyes bore into the back of their heads as they were walked away from you. You hadn’t realised you were still standing there frozen until Nat came up behind you to check on you.
“Are you alright Y/N?”
She inquired, and you reluctantly broke your gaze. You fought to maintain a casual facade, but the rage filled you and the distress of seeing them again was sinking into your veins. You exhale slowly, before meeting her eyes. If you’re going to go through with your revenge you can’t have her figuring it out.
“Everything’s fine, Nat. I’m just tired.”
She doesn’t believe you, but leaves it be. From then until the time when everyone else is leaving the office, you’re on your own. Doing paperwork, and thinking deeply. Loki wasn’t here with you, but if he knew… he would be horrified of your plans to get revenge. You were usually so level headed, even on missions. if he saw you like that… the thoughts kept plaguing you.
If it weren’t for the nightmares, the terror and everything you’d done to collect yourself after all they put you through you might’ve let it go. They destroyed everything, and now was the only chance you’d get.
So, when most people had left to go home, you snuck down to the holding cells. There was a dagger gripped tightly in your hand, but you most likely wouldn’t use it. Despite your being trained to not be messy.. to make every kill efficient and clean.. you might just take your time with this one.
As you approached the door you paused. You could turn back now. It might be for the best. You could just go back upstairs and finish the paperwork you’d been assigned. Maybe grab a coffee. Let them go.
No, you decided. After everything they’d taken from you? Everything and everyone you’d lost after they captured you? No. It was time for a wrong to be righted, even if you did have to get blood on your hands. You open the door.
“Do you remember me?”
One of the four men look up. There’s nothing in his eyes. He looks away as soon as he looked up and you curse him in your mind. You turn to the next, then the next until you meet the eyes of the final man.
“You remember me.”
He smiles, an empty heartless smile that doesn’t meet his dead eyes.
“I remember. You’re the one that escaped. Gave us a few scars on your way out.”
He laughs hollowly, and you grit your teeth. Your eyes bore into his. You grip the handle of the knife tight.
“Don’t worry. You wont be alive to see the scars I’ll leave this time.”
With that you grip the side of his skull and bring his head hard against the glass wall.
***
It’s got to be at least thirty minutes later. You’re sweating, and your casual get up is covered in blood. Their blood. You stand in the middle of the room, eyes scanning the crumpled forms around you. Part of you was satisfied. The other part.. was considering the aftermath of all this.
Thank god for soundproof walls. You were sure their excessive screaming would have drawn attention. Maybe that would have been good. Maybe you needed someone to stop you.
You wipe clean the blade of your dagger, before turning around to face the large glass window of the room. And then you freeze in place.
Standing there on the other side of the glass, face white as paper, is Loki. Your beloved. The person who saw past the facade. Who backed you up when people judged you for your past. Is now staring with an un readable expression on his face. He knew who they were. Of course he knew. You could feel him, poking and prodding at your mind.
You hadn’t realised tears were pricking your eyes until this very moment, when they all overflowed.
“Shit.”
You grab onto the handle of the door, and then you’re standing outside. Face to face with him. The slow drip of blood on the floor making everything feel real.
“Loki.. Loki I’m- I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry.”
You garble, and before you can stop it tears are overflowing. Everything seems so real now, as you stand under the buzzing lights.
“What… did you do?”
His voice is weak as he scans your frame. You shiver under his gaze, and see it soften drastically. Your breathing is uneven and erratic as you attempt to say something. Anything. To defend what you’ve done.
You expect him to run. To turn away and leave you here with your sins. But before you can say another word, his arms are around you. He pulls you against him firmly, rubbing your back and arms.
“Breathe. It’s okay. Don’t think about it. Just focus on my voice.”
And you do your best to listen. Despite the bodies. Despite the blood that pools on your clothes and now his. Despite the fear coursing through you. You listen. You let him use his fingers to gently untangle your hair. You let yourself believe it’ll all be okay.
“… did it help? With.. With the hurt they left behind?”
He finally speaks, and you inhale shakily as you think before responding.
“Yes… I think it did.”
You finally look up and meet his eyes. His beautiful green eyes that have no fear. And as if he can read your mind, he replies.
“Oh darling.. I could never fear you. No matter what, I’m here. I love you.”
You breathe deeply, and press your face back into his chest. Your mind still thrums with thoughts.
“What will happen now?”
Your voice shakes as you say it, and he pauses. You can almost hear the cogs in his head turning. When he finally replies after a minute of silence, his voice is calm and steady.
“I don’t know. But I’ll be here with you. Through anything… let’s get you home.”
He sees the shake in your legs and your weak knees, and without hesitating scoops you up into his arms. You rest your head against his shoulder as he walks, and listen to the sound of his steady heart beat. As long as he’s with you.
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