#ambt

While you shouldn’t inherently be bothered by this, something about his visits does bother you. Most regular visitors who leave empty handed look at different things all the time and come every few weeks, not every day. Something isn’t adding up. 

So the next night, a Friday, when the shop is technically supposed to be closed due to the full moon, you open it just before he comes in. And once he wanders past the first layer of bookshelves, you begin to close your shop. 

Locked door, check. Closed blinds, check. Open sign off, check. Cats somewhere out of the way, possibly. 

You lean against the door, waiting just a few more minutes. 

About five minutes into wandering he always stops in front of the Nature Magic section, so you speed off to there, not wanting to give away your abilities immediately. It’s in the back of all the rows, up all the stairs. And for each row, there is a set of five stairs.

Despite being mildly out of breath 50 steps later, you still continue towards the man, determined.

“Why this is new,” Loki muses, placing one of the many books down as you turn the corner. 

“Why do you keep coming into my shop?” you demand, stopping barely a foot from him. Maybe panting a lot little. 

“Because I like it.”

You cross your arms. He’s lying. “No. That’s not true. Why do you come every day at the same time doing practically the same thing?”

“I enjoy routine.” Loki shrugs and turns to you. The masking is crackling more; he is losing his grip on it.

“Possibly. But why my shop?”

“My, uh, friend, Dr. Strange suggested it to me.” He nods, satisfied with his answer. 

You narrow your eyes. Strange rarely comes in here - he has everything he needs at his fingertips and can access anything almost immediately. Something about Loki coming to your shop every single day is off, really off. 

“Lies. You are lying.” You step closer.

“I am not!” He protests, crossing his arms. 

“Have you seen anything wonder woman related? Cause I have something very similar to her truth lasso or whatever it’s called and I will get it and I will use it on you.” 

Your threat is very real and you can conjure it in seconds. And it will work on the God of Lies.

It will work on anyone. 

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well horrible masking isn’t enough. If you are going to ever fit in, my dear Loki, you need to catch up on mortal pop culture as well,” you angrily explain. 

A chair is quickly conjured by you.

Before Loki can even protest that he is Loki, he is stuck sitting on the chair, bound to it by some mystic, unseeable chain. Hands stuck together behind him by something sticky - magical tape possibly? - and unmoving. The masking drops entirely; any shimmer left over gone. Something not even he can slither out of, though he tries first by struggling against. The he tries to his seidr. 

He’s suck.

You stare down at him. Why is he so desperate to constantly be in you store? Why your store?

Your right hand grabs an empty hex bag off the wall, tucking it away in the back pocket of your jeans. Hopefully it won’t be needed, but this is a supposed god.

While Loki continues to try and squirm out of a very, very tough chain, you continue to look him over. As you trace over his every feature, one phrase keeps repeating: Why your store? Why your store? Why you st-

“Oh,” you realize. “You can feel auras, no?”

Loki stops squirming just to look at you. His piercing eyes that were green moments ago look more black now. He’s angry, very angry. But he also feels very powerless. And tired… these chains must have some kind of spell as well. 

“Yes,” he spits. 

“So you know this is a place Dr. Strange occasionally visits. But when you first came here you felt the aura of a typical magic shop - one run by a lower level witch or something, but Dr. Strange is not one to shop local business.” You step forward, mind working it out as you speak. “When you entered you saw and explored real, intensive magic. The outside aura didn’t match the inside aura. You kept coming back to try and figure out why… am I wrong?”

You squat down so that your face is level with his stomach. You then glance up at him with a soft smile as he tilts down to glare at you. 

“No, you are not wrong.”

“Well, Loki. Real masking and cloaking spells can do wonders.” You stand with a sigh, patting his leg. "Most real witches, wizards, sorcerers, whatever you wish to call them, ignore my shop. The idea of entering is distasteful to them once they feel the energy of the shop. But you entered because a powerful sorcerer occasionally came here and you just had to know why.”

“Are you going to turn me in or whatever?” Loki asks, rolling his head back. “I’m assuming you can tell I ought to be watched.”

You cross your arms. The grin you’ve been trying to suppress pulls on your lips before you can stop it.

“Gods no. You need help, clearly. Your masking is horrible, no offense and if you were to ever get in a fight with a real witch or warlock or whatever, you would lose. There is more than Asgardian spells you need to know if you are going to survive out here…”

He straightens back up. Though he tries to hide it, his face is covered in worry. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let’s just say I have a few eyes and ears out there and many are not the fondest of you. And you’ve seen what I can do, and by no means am I the most powerful. And I just chained you to a chair, unable to use magic.” You shrug. “Tomorrow, same time as usual. Be here. We are going to be working on your masking skills. Human magic is likely the best way to go about it since you are on Earth, but I’ll look through some of my notes.”

With a double blink of your eyes Loki is released and the chair is gone. Without the support he stumbles, falling flat on his butt. Despite your amusement (and the giggles that follow), you offer your hand. Hey, might as well be nice to the guy who might kill you later. 

Loki takes it, surprised by your strength as you pull him upright. He should be embarrassed; to be entirely honest, however, he is a bit turned on by your magical ability (and that little bit of bondage).

“But why help me?” Loki murmurs, eyes slitted. He isn’t sure if he can trust you.

In the low light your chapped lips look smooth, eyes nearly entirely black. It is in the close proximity when he isn’t trying to get himself away that he finally inhales your scent - something he has since ignored. It is heavy of singed and burned… everything. Wood, flowers, animals, clothes, hair, skin… Loki quickly assumes you work heavily with fire and electricity, two of the things that cause those smells. But blood, too, lingers on you. Blood mix with cedar and pine and various venoms… 

You swallow heavily when you realize Loki is picking up on the various scents stuck on you. Your heart is racing in fear that he will expose you. And his breath, right on your neck, is not helping. It’s only making you warmer and your heart beat faster.

To even the odds, you tilt your head up and make direct eye contact. 

“I think we can help each other.” 

Loki grins down at you. His head pulls just slightly away. 

“I have a feeling I will quite enjoy working with you,” Loki muses.

With that he begins to walk away, moving past the other sorcerer, who is trying not to over think is words. 

***

When Loki walks into the common level, he does not expect to be greeted with anyone. Especially not Tony, Nick, and Maria sitting at the table straight ahead. All three have stern looks on their faces, eyes watching him walk off the elevator. 

“Sit, Reindeer Games,” Tony commands, gesturing to the empty chair at the head of the table. 

“What is this?” Loki growls, stomping over to sit at the table. 

“Well, you are on probation. You leave only with someone with you. However, you were in the library, according to a video feed and tracker feedback at 10:23 PM…” Fury begins. Maria holds the tablet up so Loki can watch. “But at 10:24 you vanished, in a flash of flight. Your tracker went haywire and we couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Loki closes his eyes. That blasted girl destroyed his illusion and bounced his tracker. While impressed, he may have just gotten himself in a temporary cell because some mortal decided to chain him up. “Witch,” he mumbles under his breath. 

“What was that?” Tony asks. “Witch? You mean like you used your own magic, which you are prohibited from doing, and got caught?” 

Loki opens his eyes and sits upright, slamming his hand on the table. “No, you idiot. Witch. As in I was using magic so I could leave this godforsaken prison without someone but some witch decided to chain me up and berate me with questions!” 

Maria and Nick glance to each other. Tony sits back, unsure how to respond. 

“What you are saying is there is someone out there who is stronger than you?” Maria confirms. 

Loki grits his teeth and turns his head to you. “There are several, according to her. And I’m a target, beyond the ones you guys think I have on me. The magic users of Earth aren’t fond of me, apparently.”

Fury leans back. He’ll look into it, for sure. Any powered beings should have signed the Accords or at least be within SHIELD’s knowledge. 

“Not the only ones who aren’t fond of you.” He places his hands flat on the table. “You are back down to not leaving the tower, period. A guard will be assigned. Do not test us further,” Nick announces. 

Loki pushes back from the table, storming off towards the elevator. He wanted a late snack and was served disappointment and frustration instead. Not like it mattered, he is often less hungry as of late. 

The god flings his door open, ready to strip himself of his clothes and go to bed, only to see a small, leather-bound book, three hex bags, a small bowl and a large black bag on his bed. He approaches it cautiously. After the warning that many other magic users are after him, much better than the girl, he has to admit such items are worrisome. Folded neatly on top of the book is a folded note on a torn out piece of notebook paper. He snatches it, scared someone might be watching. 

Loki still opens it, reading it slowly. 

“Thought this may be helpful. Page 20-27, read then do. See you tomorrow night.”

Though the god has never seen the woman’s handwriting, he knows this had to be the witch’s. 

With a big grin, he dives right in. 

__

Next

___

Taglist: