#modestlyabsurd

a drabble hidden in my notes from over a year ago :)

~

"Oh, look at me! I'm Loki Odinson, with my stupid cheekbones and flowy hair and ridiculously perfect smile! Watch as I rule Earth with nothing but my charm! Well y'know what - fuck you Loki Odinson!"

He smirks. He's genuinely amused.

A laugh even threatens to bubble up from his chest, but not from what you've said, oh no - from what he's about to say.

With lidded eyes and slow strides toward you, he maunders, "That may all be true ... but look at me. Y/N L/N. Leading them on, only to break their hearts, every single time."

Craning your neck in disbelief you're about to give him a piece of your damn mind - who does he think he is?! - until you realize how dangerously close he is. You instantly retract into your handy-dandy figurative turtle shell, and miss more than a beat in spite of yourself.

"I - I don't, I don't do that."

"Oh, yes you do," Loki murmurs. "Unfortunately, dear, it's not going to work." Having no regard for your steps backward he takes one big stride, leaning down to your ear, "Not this time."

And he walks away. Leaving a dumb stunned turtle behind. It briefly made you malfunction to the point that all you registered was the sound of his footsteps getting quieter, further away. You blinked.

Then it hit you all at once.

"Hey, wait a minute!"

~

@sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai @sadwaywardkid

Imagine whenever you get angry or annoyed with Loki, you give him the silent treatment. As your day goes on, suddenly your device goes missing. You panic and look all around the house for it - but it's nowhere. Although you're still annoyed with him, you're left with no choice but to cave in and ask Loki if he's seen it anywhere.

Most likely, considering the fact that I don’t know what that is.

"Let's hear it for the gride and broom!"

The formal crowd of green and red erupts into applause, and your glass of green punch fogs up from a sudden laugh after seeing a tipsy Tony Stark on the stagefront - using the microphone stand as a cane.

Having never been fond of line dancing but finding it very entertaining to watch, you nestled yourself away from the commotion by the food bar, lined with tables under black cloths and stacked high with elegant dishes, to observe the dance floor. The cha-cha slide never disappoints; the look of concentration on Peter's face as he tried (and failed) to hit the poses was enough, but add that to the honest yet terrible attempts from the "gride and broom" and you've got a beautifully orchestrated shit show.

Tony's drunken voice continues to blubber incoherent sounds of happiness over the crowd. "Where are you guys anyway? Get up here - blurgh - it's sappy mushy speech time, come on!" With that, everyone encourages the newlyweds up to the stage.

Even from your nook, the brightness of the couple's smiles are blinding, nevermind the spotlights following them along. You feel your cheeks getting tighter as an unconscious smile spreads across them, marvelling at how Bruce lovingly carries Natasha's long, white train up the steps. Her red lips and braided hair contrast gorgeously against her dreamy wedding gown, and Bruce can't take his eyes away - nor can either of them help the huge, toothy grins on their faces.

A hopeful phenomenon. Two tortured souls who found peace and love in one another. You knew no one deserved it more.

Natasha urges Bruce to speak first. He makes a face, but happily obliges nonetheless. "I guess this thing's on then?" he says, eliciting modest laughs from the people. "Ah, thank you all again for being here, hope you're having as good a time as we are. Thanks again to Tony for providing us with pretty much everything, from the venue, to the decorations, to the food, to the music, to gifts, to our honeymoon - this could go on for another forty-five minutes,"

"Hey," says a deep voice; you turn to find a sharp-dressed man-bunned Thor standing next to you. "Missed you on the dance floor."

You offer a smile. "Not exactly my cup of tea. Neither is this, though," you swirl your punch around.

"The red one is far superior," says Thor, stepping around you to ladle himself another glass. "Have you tried it?"

"Yeah, that's the spiked one. No wonder you like it more." You hear Bruce speaking of how trapped he felt for so long, until Natasha swindled her way into his life and somehow made him feel worthy of living.

"Really? Hm, I couldn't tell. But you have a point, it's at least a bit better than that," says Thor, though you barely hear him - and when he meets your eyes, you don't really see him either. "Everything alright?"

"Hm?" you chirp. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Why you ask?"

"You just seem ... elsewhere, I suppose. But perhaps it's my own longing disguising itself as someone else's." he says nonchalantly, looking to the floor and downing his glass of red punch in one go.

You open your mouth for a humorous response before you see a wave of sadness wash over Thor. Instead, you nudge his tree trunk of an arm, "C'mon. I give it two weeks before Jane comes back."

He scoffs dismissively and draws a pattern on the floor with his shoe. "Sure. She, erm ... has she, mentioned anything about it, to you?"

"Actually, make it one week."

It was indicated that Bruce's speech had ended when the crowd started cheering and the lights dimmed. With the spotlights still on Natasha and Bruce, they hold each other intimately close and dance to another slow song below the stage. The band's soft guitar and bass vibrates from the soles of your feet up through your bones, all the way to the condensating glass in your hand. It was both a riveting and soothing sensation all at once.

A few feet away, you spot a familiar dark figure weaving through the dancing couples toward you and Thor. As his confident strides bring him into clearer view, your mouth suddenly feels like it's full of cotton and the room gets warmer. Wishing to just become invisible, you attempt to busy yourself with one of the vast cheese platters nearby - haphazardly, having no idea which cracker goes with goat's milk brie or which fruit goes with English Stilton.

He emerges and taps the shoulder of his oblivious brother's maroon blazer. "Don't blame the messenger, but a drunken game of truth or dare has resulted in your friends attempting to lift Mjolnir."

"Gah, not again!" Thor slams his glass on the table, causing some of the cake and hors d'oeuvres to rattle, before running away and disappearing in the sea of people. You're left alone with Loki, and your invisibility attempt has resulted in a not so nice bite of smoked gouda and white grapes.

Next thing you know, your punch glass is empty and your mouth is still dry.

Loki makes a point to look into your eyes rather than gawk at your formal wear as others have already done. It's a breath of fresh air, yet at the same time, his small, polite smile makes you forget how to breathe altogether. You force a smile of your own despite your growing nerves.

"How can you be enjoying yourself tucked away from the fun like this?" says Loki. His voice reminds you of melted chocolate, which draws your attention to the gloriously flowing chocolate fountain across the room. Enticing as it was, looking at the confection was a futile effort to avoid staring at Loki's dark green suit and black bowtie, or his new short curly hair that worked so well.

"You're one to talk. Haven't seen you having much fun either," the words flow smoothly. A nice surprise.

"I never said I was enjoying myself."

You laugh and shrug in concurrence. "I dunno, it's better than it seems. I'm here with all the food and drinks, everyone else is busy, and I have a bird's eye view of the dance floor."

Loki reaches an arm around you and grabs a finger sandwich; the brief closeness sends pleasant goosebumps over your neck. "I suppose. But wouldn't it be nice to see it up close?" he asks. The way he deftly held and nibbled the tiny food ... Jeez. How in the world can someone make eating a sandwich attractive?

In desperate need of a distraction, you turn to the three tier display of sandwiches and take one at random. From your side vision you see Loki anticipating your answer, so you reply with a mouthful of cucumber and cream cheese, "I don't dance."

"Oh, come on. Will you dance for me?"

You stop chewing to stare at him wordlessly.

"Ahem, bad choice of words," he clears his throat and says with a grimace. "I do beg your pardon. Rather," he extends a chivalrous hand toward you, "will you dance with me?"

The disbelief that Loki wants to dance with you, out of all the single people around - most of whom aren't chipmunking all the snacks - it almost leaves you dumbfounded. Almost being the keyword, being as how you took his hand so quickly. The coldness of it shocked you a bit, but the lightness and warmth of his hold made you feel safe. As if you could hold on, or even let go if you wanted, and he wouldn't mind.

He lead you to the center of the floor. The two of you were engulfed by the sea of people dressed in dark shades of red and green, dancing closely to the music. Just as the anxiety began to set in, Loki lifted your interlocked hands up to shoulder level and held you just beneath your ribcage with his other hand. Your mind is whirring, you can't decide if your shivers stem from anxiety, the temperature of Loki's skin, or the mere fact that you can smell him and it's driving you a little crazy.

He squeezed your hand, and patiently placed your free arm around his shoulder. Breathe, you remind yourself. Relax. It's just a dance. It's nothing. The vibrations from the music soothed you, slowly swept you away from your worries. When you dared to reopen your eyes, you found that it was not only the band, but Loki's gentle swaying that carried away your fears.

"See? It's not so bad."

You shake your head. "Just wait until I step on your feet."

He looked at you and you looked at him. You, a clumsy bag of bones, and he, a skillful puppeteer, gracefully carrying your bodies' movements. You both smiled. Like pots of water, overflowing with nervousness and happiness alike.

As he found you relaxing and absorbing the moment, Loki finds himself gazing at the way your hair is framing your face. It hangs and accentuates the softness of your features, but somehow reflects a distinct royalty in you, despite there being none. He can't bring himself to look away. You hadn't seemed to notice that the song had ended and a new slow song had begun to play, and Loki didn't bring it to your attention.

Rather, he brought your warm hand in his grasp up around his shoulder, matching the other, and placed his own hand to match the one at your side. He was testing the waters, really, and was relieved that you offered no protests to his actions. In fact, you seemed to meld into him further by laying your head on his chest, making his heart jump miles into the air.

He was good at concealing his emotions. Or he thought he was. Before you.

The light vibration of your voice against his sternum pulls him from his thoughts. "Pardon?" he asks.

"What are you wearing?"

He glances at himself. "A suit."

"I can see that, dipshit," you chide. "I meant what Asgardian fragrance are you wearing?"

"Oh," Loki croaks, biting away a sting of embarrassment. "I dunno. Must be my natural scent. Pheromones, as your human science says."

"Liar," you playfully squint your eyes at him.

He raises a hand with three fingers, "Scout's honor."

If you could facepalm without breaking away from Loki, you'd punch yourself in the face. "That's, that's not how it works - "

"Shhhhh ... we don't speak of the Scout's rules," he presses your head back into his chest with an open hand, subsequently silencing your laughs and concealing his own blushed cheeks from your view.

"I just realized something."

"What?" he says cheerfully.

You pull your head up to look at Loki. "Everyone in this room is staring at us."

Discreetly, Loki looks around and sure enough is met with many prying eyes. It made you want to crouch behind his legs to hide, but since that's not socially acceptable, you study Loki's dark green Victorian jacket. Is there food on you or something?

But he, on the other hand, lapped up every bit of the attention of the wedding guests. He flexes his fingers a bit, pinching your hips; a gentle reminder of his closeness to you. "Mm, perhaps they're jealous."

"Jealous of what?" you wonder. People are whispering under their breath in a way that instantly made your palms sweat. You try to decipher what they're saying, but all that's clear is that you're the topic.

"Of me."

"Psh. Yeah, you're probably right." You allow your eyes to drift over to his slightly crooked bowtie. It accentuates his boyishness; it sends butterflies through your chest and down to your belly.

"Do you know why they're jealous of me?"

"I mean, I can think of a few reasons."

His cheekbones round out as he smiles. "Well there's one reason in particular that is driving them all mad at the moment. Aside from my mere existence, of course."

A laugh puffs from your throat. "What is it?"

"It's the fact that I'm dancing with the one person that everyone in this room wishes to dance with."

You blink, as his bowtie seems to become a blobby rectangle shape. Me? you think. The room was already too warm, and now your face is uncontrollably heating up. You notice the scuffs on his shiny black dress shoes.

"You're crazy."

Loki looks up momentarily, feeling warmed from the inside out by you. The damp hands placed around his neck are all that's holding him on the ground. "Call me what you will - I know envy when I see it."

You miss a beat and step on his toes, but he doesn't react; in the same moment, the lights brighten, as the crowd began to applaud and mindlessly you did too. The dance was over.

When you turn back, you find that the lights have enhanced Loki's vivid green eyes. They were happy. They captivated you entirely, drew you in to him. You felt drunk; Loki was your liquor and you'd drank more than you ever had before. Someone's speaking on stage but you don't hear them. It's just you and Loki.

Cold, fingers sweep behind your neck and effortlessly bring your mouth to his. Drunk, without inhibitions, you allow for the kiss to deepen and Loki obliges, but only modestly, mindful of the ever prying eyes. You couldn't have been further from them. His hands held you in place, kept you tamed. He pulled away ever so slightly to let you breathe - and indeed you needed to, for you were breathless completely.

It took all you had not to kiss him again and never stop.

"YAAAAAS!" someone shouted.

You and Loki both turn and find Peter cheering like an idiot. And if for some reason you were imagining everyone staring earlier, though somewhat preoccupied, they're definitely staring now. Mentally you were screaming at Loki to poof you two away from it all as you hid your face in his lapels. The scent of him encased you in a fleeting blanket of safety.

"Please," Loki assures - still holding your hand, "there's nothing to see here. Do return to the party."

And they did. They listened to Loki without another glance. As they dispersed to mingle, you caught sight of Natasha and Bruce across the room; you mouth an apology to Natasha, but she shrugs it off with a smile and a knowing wink. Which didn't help the the fact that your face might as well be melting from embarrassment.

An icy breath in your ear takes the wind out of you.

"What did I tell you? They're all envious of me. Because of you."

~

🎶they come runnin bustin down all the doors

cuz EVERY girl's crazy bout a sharp-dressed Thor 🎶

"What is taking so long?"

Oh, jee, who knows? Maybe it's all the straps? Or it could be the lack of fabric at all. Where is your head supposed to go? How is anything supposed to be covered with just glittery straps of black and gold silk?!

Your reflection looks back as every decision you've ever made comes full circle; naked in nothing but this tight, skimpy outfit. Everything is showing - everything. Your belly is exposed in a flattering but very uncomfortable way, as the strappy piece that's supposed to be the top covers very little. The bottom piece is least horrible part - with little green gems dangling from ribbons to accentuate your thighs and backside rather nicely.

But who the fuck wants their ass on display in a formal meeting with the ruler of the planet you're trapped on? Who wants that at all?!

"Earth to Y/N, please respond - we're wasting precious time," Loki complains from outside the bathroom door.

Frustrated and defeated, you sigh. "I can't wear this."

"What do you mean you can't wear it? What's wrong with it?"

"It's ridiculous! I look like a cheap French whore."

"Surely you're overreacting - "

You hear the knob turning behind you and throw yourself on the door, "No! Don't come in here - I might as well be naked!"

Loki skips a beat, and can't help the smirk on his face. "It can't be that bad."

"Believe me, it is."

He looks around the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously. The Grandmaster had invited you both to a celebration party in regards to another win from his fighting champion. Loki was quite pleased with the progress he's made with the Grandmaster in gaining his trust, despite the many wrenches you've thrown into the game. If it's not needing the functions of a Midgardian washroom, it's wasting complimentary room service. If it's not that, it's refusing to wear the clothes that the Grandmaster has had crafted and sent especially for you.

It's like you're trying to get you both killed.

"Look, at any rate, you can't keep rejecting the Grandmaster's kind gestures," says Loki.

You've already taken half of the garment off with a few straps still awkwardly looped around your shoulders. "I'm not gonna wear this thing. He'll just have to deal with it."

Loki's fists and jaws clench angrily. "You're going to make me look like a fool with your blatant rebellion," he bites. "And what then?"

"I could stay here and say I'm sick," you suggest.

He scoffs, "No, you can't." You both knew better. Loki crosses his arms, trying to think of an alternative. He won't risk leaving you alone, and either of you missing the celebration could be his downfall - your downfall.

The blue jewel doorknob twists and only your head peeks through. "I'm tougher than I look, y'know."

Loki raises his brows, "Oh, I'm sure. You probably don't even need me here to protect you. Likely don't need me at all."

"I didn't say that."

He turns to look into your eyes and finds you devoid of lies or sarcasm. He can't hold your gaze for too long; he doesn't have time to feel remorse right now.

"I'm sorry, Loki. But believe me when I tell you, no one wants to see what I just saw. Not even the Douchemaster," you cringe, knowing he himself sent that garb to you. Loki? He gets to wear something stylish and concealing. Yet you have to dress like a Vegas showgirl. How is that fair?

As if he's reading your mind - which he's not - Loki detects a pattern. A disgusting, possibly dangerous pattern. He stiffens. You're already vulnerable to a certain degree; it seems as though the Grandmaster would like to highlight that in a certain way.

"You got any ideas?" your voice peeps from the bathroom. Of course. He must fix everything as well. Luckily, an idea does come to mind.

Loki remembers the clothes you wore weeks ago when this ... mishap, first began; a simple tee shirt, a cardigan and blue jeans. As Midgardian as it gets. It would be a giant, bright red target on your forehead at an event such as this, where guests are expected to be formal, or at least culturally formal.

He then thinks of the formal category of fashion in Midgardian culture - something that he's actually developed quite a taste for over the years. The class and elegance it exerts is surprising, and could be substantial among the diverse range of attires to be seen tonight. He can conjure any version, any piece, any outfit imaginable at the tip of his fingers. It's been helpful even in the recent past.

"You've no idea how lucky you are."

"What?"

He huffs. "Nevermind. Are you ... decent, as you put it?"

You pull the red Sakaarian robe closer to your body. "Yeah."

Loki opens the door and your eyes widen, as your jaw drops simultaneously. In one hand hangs a beautiful, simple, slightly frilly knee-length teal dress. One of those you see displayed in the windows of bridal stores with four-figure prices. In the other hand was a dark red, floor-length ballroom dress, one likely displayed inside the bridal store with possibly with an even larger price. Both were approximately your size.

"Wow," you breathe, tongue feeling dry. "How did you ... where did they come from?"

Loki grins at your amazement. "A small bit of magic goes a long way."

Your eyes switch back from the dress to Loki as an airy laugh bubbles from your throat. "I can't believe it."

"What, the magic or the gesture?"

"Both," you blurt out, shaking your head. "Did you make them? Like, out of thin air? Or did they come from somewhere?"

"If I told you all my secrets, I'd either have to kill you, or marry you," he smirks.

You glance away.

He resumes, "Now, which shall it be? Will you be bold, fluid and entrancing like a fine wine? Or will you be graceful, poised and wild, like the oceans? It's entirely up to you."

Sure, Loki saving your ass is more of a business deal at this point. But all you want to do is hug him to release some of the gratitude in your heart. Instead, you clutch the robe tighter and stare at the outfits wondrously. It's as if they were made just for you; to make you feel confident and comfortable, not to make you look the most desirable. Loki, silently and persuasively waves the clothes.

Decisions, decisions. You sigh and purse your lips.

"Are you going to make me choose for you?"

"I mean, the red one is super nice, don't get me wrong. I love it. It just seems kinda high-maintenance, y'know? Plus it's always so hot in the rest of this place."

Then just wear the other dress, Loki thinks, but bites his tongue as another thought comes to mind. "The party could carry on into the late hours of the night."

"Do we have to stay that long, though?"

"We'll stay for as long as we're expected to."

Your heart rate picks up; he left no room for debate. He opens his mouth to further prove his point when cold air wafts around his hand - the blue dress was snatched and the door shut in his face without another word.

He blinks. The weight of the world he's buried himself in suddenly weighs heavy. You're both in for a long night.

~

The teal dress hugged you in the best ways. The modest neckline complimented the simple sleeveless design, and the skirt ruffled ever so slightly, just enough for you to swing around like a little girl. It was fun to do and it also gave you somewhere to put your fidgety hands as you walked. Helpful, indeed, since the atmosphere proved quite intimidating almost as soon as you stepped out of yours and Loki's living quarters.

The thumping of music vibrates in the soles of your flat shoes, and everyone you've passed has turned their heads; staring and gasping before looking away when you acknowledged them. You tried to think nothing of it - even as obvious as it was - and Loki made that a bit easier.

It seemed like he was taking huge steps, though it was likely his normal pace, but nonetheless it made you speed-walk just to keep up. Not wanting to look like a child keeping up with their parent in a grocery store, you fell behind at a comfortable distance. This gave you a clearer view of the Sakaarian passersby. Which isn't exactly what you were going for.

As he got a few feet ahead, amidst all the faces and bodies around, you locked eyes with someone in a shaded corner. A woman, who could've been Asgardian - or even human. Dark golden skin, elaborately braided hair, a bottle to her lips, and big, striking eyes staring into yours. Reading what she could in a split second's time.

Your feet keot walking. Her face imprinted on your mind long after she was gone.

Thump!

You jump a foot back. Loki looks down at you, a mix of amusement and embarrassment on his face.

"Watch where you're walking. And it's not polite to stare."

With your entire body tightened into a ball, you awkwardly dust off his arm that you bumped into. "Sorry."

For the rest of the way, you look at your shoes.

To Loki, he was merely jesting due to the overt staring on the part of everyone else. Normally he would glare daggers sharper than anyone in the entire palace, but instead he chose to keep his chin up and embrace the looks - be them mostly toward you. What can he say? He accidentally chose the perfect dress for you out of thin air.

He'd noticed you doing what he'd chosen not to, and stopped to watch. Your head was completely turned to whomever received your look, and the mischief in him knew you wouldn't look up. But after that, you changed. He found himself missing that little spunk you'd built up when a thick silence took its place.

You kept falling behind in walking pace, so Loki decided to slow down a bit. Keep you at his side to keep the message clear: you were not to be meddled with by anyone.

The music from the party grew increasingly louder as you got closer. Loki could feel your feelings, despite not being connected to you in any way or an empath of any sort. It bothered him, needless to say. Both the inlet to your energy and the energy itself.

He elbows you in the shoulder, and you jump - confirming what he feels. Your big, nervous eyes glance up at him briefly.

Loki couldn't help but smile. "Say something."

You sigh shortly. "Everyone's staring at me."

"Would you like me to remove their eyes?"

You stop in your steps, and the mortified look on your face was priceless. Exactly what Loki wanted - a bit of loosening up.

He laughs, "What? I'm only joking."

"Something tells me you're not."

"Ah, yes. The fine line between truth and lies."

"So you're a poet now?"

He laughs again. It warms you from the inside out. "Maybe I am."

The two of you round a corner into a dark corridor, where two armored bouncers stand before a large door. Lights strobe and flash beneath it and the music pounds through. Loki confidently gives your names and the guards let you in.

The air was warm with bodies of Sakaarian citizens, and immediately you're bombarded by servers offering drinks. You take one, dumbfounded, and turn around to see the door shut tightly behind you. Blood drains from your face. In its place is clammy dread; the only thing grounding you is the cold glass sweating in your hand. The drink is glowing green - when you smell-test it, the alcohol fumes make you gag.

What kind of formal party is this?

Unable to hear yourself think over the music, you rely on your eyes. People are stumbling already - a rainbow of drinks spilt on the floor as the lights reflect upon them. Silver statues of the Douchemaster stand everywhere you look; tiny ones, Oscar sized ones, and one large one at the end of the room. It's enough to turn your stomach. And then the real thing spots you.

When the Grandmaster bounces up to you, your hand juts out and thankfully lands on Loki. He hadn't left your side.

"Ahhh! My very special guests, welcome! Welcome!"

"Our dear friend," Loki bows, "thank you so much for inviting us to your celebration. We couldn't imagine a greater honor."

"Oh, psh! Stop. The honor is mine! And dare I say you both look ... ah, dazzling," the Grandmaster hesitates, his eyes glued to your dress. The dress that definitely isn't what he sent you. "Yes, dazzling indeed, but where is the lovely piece I had made for you, dear?"

You open your mouth to respond, but Loki places a silencing hand on your shoulder. "Well, as you can see, my suit arrived in perfect condition," the Grandmaster nods attentively, "but it seemed as though the piece designed for my friend had been badly damaged. Burned beyond repair."

The Grandmaster's yellow eyes widen. "Oh my, I apologize. I certainly didn't send it that way."

"Oh, of course not! We would never think so. It was likely the doing of an envious servant and thus, we were forced to improvise."

"Huh," the Grandmaster says. "I'll have a talk with Topaz about that. I send everything through her before it goes through the sla - ahem, servants," he smiles a stomach churning smile. Loki squeezes your shoulder gently and you hold on to it for dear life. He's all that's keeping you together.

The Grandmaster quickly dismisses himself to greet other guests, leaving you and Loki to your devices. The first thing you do is relearn how to breathe, and then how to swallow.

"Hey," Loki says over the music, "come on. Try to have a bit of fun."

"This isn't exactly my idea of fun."

He guides you over behind a red couch, a space without listeners. Guilt swims in his green eyes as he chooses his words carefully. "I know you don't want to be here. But we have no choice. This is all a part of the plan, alright?" he looks around. "However, I'm willing to compromise. We can leave in just a couple of hours, if you'd like."

You nod. "I would."

"Very well, then." Loki shifts, "In the meantime, relax a bit. I'm right here. I won't let anyone harm you, as promised."

~

Oh boy. Two hours, you thought. That's doable. What could possibly happen in two hours time? Well, a lot of things.

But one thing that definitely was not on the list was Loki getting white girl wasted.

How? you'd asked yourself. You either lost track of how many drinks he consumed, or he drank one laced with diesel fuel. By the time you realized it, he was stumbling and falling into a couch full of other drunk guests. A sloshed drink in hand, red faced, giggly, and continuing to mingle as if nothing happened.

You stood there, frozen. Thank God the Grandmaster was conveniently nowhere to be found.

Seeing Loki in such a compromising state - for both him and yourself - it left you speechless. It ultimately left you alone. Alone under the weight of everything, while he shambled around in an oblivious state of euphoria. If you were to say a tiny pang of betrayal didn't sting you a bit, you'd be lying. Matter fact, you could've strangled him.

To top things off, what does he do when he sees you standing there shamefully? Does he apologize? Does he make room for you on the couch like a normal person? No. He drunkenly offers for you to sit on his lap. In front of everyone.

And that's when you ended the party.

The whole way back to your living quarters you ignored the nasty looks from everyone around you in the corridors. It wasn't hard this time since you had to be responsible for a surprisingly heavy man-sized baby who's just learned how to walk. Countless times he nearly tackled you to the floor with just his sheer, uncoordinated body weight.

But none of that even compares to the difference in his speech. As if things couldn't get any more embarrassing, you discovered that not only is Loki indeed a poet, but alcohol brings out an imprisoned, flirty Shakespearean teenager from him.

"Oh, my dear friend - beautiful and delicate as thou are, carrying the weight of a God on her mighty shoulders! Heheh ... thy strength is growing, my blooming flower. I shall need to be cautious in my further steps - whoohoo!" he howls as he trips again from uneven steps, steadying himself on your arms and shoulders.

You look for a window to throw him out of. But these hallways are cruel.

"I - ehehe - I seem to be losing balance as my true heart yearns toward thee, sweet warrior. And in thy face I see the map of honor, truth and loyalty." You look up through strands of his black hair obstructing your view and find him blindly looking around; cheeks flushed, a big boyish smile on his face. Under different circumstances, you'd melt to a sticky mess.

"Lies."

Loki snickers and belches. "She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is woman, and therefore to be won."

Somewhere distant, the old saying plays in your mind about a drunk man's words being a sober man's thoughts. "You clearly have no idea what you're talking about - stop trying to take such big steps!"

He laughs brightly, unreserved. Even though he stinks of stale liquor, it was pleasant.

After what took three times longer than it needed to, you arrived to your living quarters and keyed in the access code. Loki practically fell through the threshold and bounced off the surrounding walls. Jesus Christ, he was gonna hurt himself.

You guide him into his small little bedroom where you knew he'd be safe. Politely you turn away so he could change clothes - though he just "magicked" them, and much like earlier at the party he disgracefully fell into the bed.

In a fit of giggles he adjusted to a more comfortable position. You can't help but roll your eyes at how ridiculously out of character he is. And then you think of how many people saw it as well. Before you can stop yourself the words lightheartedly flow out. "You really made an ass out of yourself."

He clears his throat, "That ... is completely subjective, my dear. One fellow's ass is another fellow's aspiration."

"Uh-huh."

"If I were to say you were the most beautified, would you say that beautified was a vile phrase?"

"If you were sober, I probably would." Tomorrow feels so close, but with drunk Loki, so far away. You switch off his wall lamp as he yawns. "You want me to tuck you in?" you ask jokingly.

"What's that?" he chirps, to your surprise.

"It's uh," you gather yourself, "well, on Earth, it's when you tuck the blankets around someone to make them feel more secure at night. Parents usually do it for their small kids."

Loki licks his lips in thought. "I don't think that's something we do in Asgard."

Come on. How could you not tuck him in after hearing that?

With the soft blue blanket draped over his stupidly long body, you tuck it tightly around him - from his wiggly feet all the way up to his neck. Thoughtlessly, like a parent would do their child, you peck him on the forehead to finish.

In the dark you suddenly lock eyes, and he looks at you in a way that, in fairy tales, Prince Charming might gaze at Cinderella.

But this isn't a fairy tale. And you're no Cinderella.

Mixed up in your feelings, you make way to leave; you make the mistake of looking back and find Loki watching you go - as if you were leaving for a long voyage and he actually cared about you.

His eyes were glassy and dilated. "Why have you tolerated me for this long?"

You blink. The sadness and suddenness of the question rattled your skin. What choice do I have? you almost say, but don't. He knows that.

Instead, you reply, "I mean, you're not the worst roommate in the world. You're pretty nice, actually. Look at me," you motion to the slightly disheveled teal dress still hugging your body, "I should be thanking you, for fuck's sake."

He nods shortly, casting his eyes downward.

"I pretty much owe you my life at this point," you add.

Loki meets your eyes again, and this time, the solemnity in them is sharp enough to kill. "You don't owe me anything."

An itch on your neck bites you. You weren't ready for the deep change in tone. Shakespearean-man-baby was much easier to deal with; well, easier to ignore. Now it seems as though Loki doesn't want you to be gone, as he might soberly portray. Or it's completely the alcohol talking.

Either way, you let it comfort you.

~

holy shit guys im sorry i dunno what happened it just ... happened

tag list:

"I hate this feeling." says Loki, muffled through the phone speaker.

"What feeling?" you ask, already scrambling for your stuff. Keys - check, shoes - got 'em, phone - where's your phone? Where's the stupid motherfucking phone? Fuck! - oh. It's in your hand, up to your face. With Loki huffing gravely on the other end.

Okay, deep breath. Full of worry on the inside, but calm and in control on the outside. For him. Please be okay, you silently beg as you race out the door. Open ended, not to anyone in particular, but for him goddammit.

"Loki? Talk to me, tell me what's wrong. What are you feeling?" the panic has to be obvious. But you really are trying, at least.

On his end, he pauses in an attempt to compose himself. Crumpled pieces of paper surround him on the floor. Pages of books, some from Asgard and some in need of return to the library and some that were gifts from you; he wants to scream at the thought that he destroyed something that you gave him - his scalp hurts as his hands rake through it.

"C'mon, Loki, you're hyperventilating. Just breathe. Listen to me, alright? Breathe with me. Breathe," he closes his eyes so hard he sees the Bifrost. Trying to block out everything else in his head other than your voice. His hand is shaking.

Clap!

He dropped the phone. The noise nearly made him scream.

"Loki! Loki answer me goddammit! What happened? Are you okay?!" you cry, breaking every traffic law in the books under the New York street lamps. "Loki, please tell me you're there!"

"I'm here." But by a thread.

He left the phone on the cool, white floor beside him and put it on speaker since he can't even hold it up to his face without failing. His knees come even closer to his chest.

"Oh, thank God. What's happening, I'm not there, I can't see you - you have to tell me," you gather your terrified, scatterbrained self, "just tell me what you're feeling."

Are there even words for feelings like this?

The physicality of it is ... choking. Suffocating pain. Being swallowed and digested by your worst nightmare. How one imagines it would feel if their head imploded. Wishing it would just happen already.

"Heavy."

"Heavy? What feels heavy?" you urge.

Loki distantly looks out the window before massaging the bridge of his nose. "My skin." He breathes, like you told him to. "My teeth. My bones."

You make the turn to the gate of the Avengers Tower. Coming to a hard stop and keying in the code with frigid fingers, your voice wavers, "That's not a bad thing. It means you're here. You're on the same ground I'm on. You're breathing the same air. You're right here with me, grounded by the weight of the world."

"I just saw lights."

"It's me. I'm here," you coo, "I'm coming up right now."

"You didn't have to come," Loki says, with gravel in his throat.

"Yeah, well," you step into the elevator, " I know it can be nice to have someone with you who understands how it feels. To be lost and afraid and hopeless."

"You're the only one who understands."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Eighth, ninth, tenth ... "I think you'd be surprised at who else understands. It just so happens that you called me, and not them. And that's why I'm outside your door right now."

You lightly knock. Loki unlocks the door with his Seidr. Feeling alive, for a nanosecond. "Come in."

The door creaks as you slowly step in, your eyes adjusting to only the light of a knocked over lamp. The curtains are ripped from the windows. A drink lay spilled on the nightstand beside the unmade bed - a clear indication of a problem - on side of the room. The lights from outside reflect in the puddle on the floor, across from Loki; against the wall curled into a messy ball of limbs.

He lifts his head. Through the awkward, amber light from the poor nearby lamp, tears reflect in his eyes. Just like the spilt drink.

As he stares at you with an unreadable expression, you navigate your way through the brokenness everywhere. Carefully you crouch by him, not wanting to cross any unknown boundaries, but then you decide to hell with it. You didn't come over at three in the morning to crouch near of Loki. You sit down against the wall, right next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

No sounds but those of cars going by, over ten stories below. You find yourself fascinated by the calmness in the aftermath of a calamity. Someone sighs, but there's no knowing if it's you or Loki.

"I love what you've done with the place."

He laughs. If only a quick exhale out of his nose with the world's tiniest smile, he laughs.

After a moment of silence between you, the energy in the room lightens, as if you can finally breathe a full breath of air. And almost simultaneously, Loki lays his head on your shoulder. You're literally on the verge of tears inside - he's never been quite this vulnerable.

"You're the only one who could make me even think of smiling whilst I feel like this."

~

if y'all didn't know hi hello I'm Mod and I'm an angsty bitch :D