(Originally written 5/21/24 14:11 tue)

Author's note: soooo....this is just something i'd had sitting in my pages file and i thought i'd post for fun, really. umm...yeah, enjoy i guess. lemme know if there are any grammatical errors for me to correct! (reminder that it's not perfect, please no hate or rude comments, thank you<3)

Loki x Reader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of parent's death, descriptions of injury

Summary: You work for Bruce as his medical assistant and Hydra attacks Avengers Tower one day and an incident occurs that begins to stir the buried grief you never let yourself feel...until now. And Loki is determined to get close to you.

—

"Would you like some assistance, love?" Loki's voice reaches my ears and I almost want to groan in annoyance.

Whether at him for asking when he knows full well that I'll immediately turn down his offer, or at my heart for picking up its pace at the smooth, accented sound of his voice.

I work as Bruce's assistant in setting things up for his experiments, but mostly for filing medical documents and such.

I also help in the Med Bay by prepping for an operation, handling the files and paperwork for that, and helping with simple assists like stitching+cleaning small wounds, bandaging, and other stuff like that.

It's not too terrible a job, really. It pays well.

The only downside is having to work in the vicinity of the "World's Mightiest Heroes" a majority of the time.

To say simply being in their presence is intimidating is an understatement. Obviously, they're good people and they'd never hurt me unless I gave them a reason to—which I wouldn't, considering how I'm not exactly anything special when compared alongside them—but there's something daunting about knowing they're fully capable of taking my life in less than two seconds if they wanted.

"No, thank you," I decline in as non-stern a tone as I can manage as I struggle to carry a stack of boxed documents in my arms.

"Y/n, at least let me help this one time," Loki insists, stepping closer to me.

He's been trying to talk to me ever since I got here. Okay, maybe not ever since but after a couple weeks, he suddenly started to take interest in me and continuously approached me whenever he got the chance.

After having a history with a failed almost-ish-relationship, I'm not sure I'm ready to try again. Even if Loki is infuriatingly cute, and dashingly handsome, at that.

"No, I'm fine, but I appreciate the offer," I decline again, taking a couple steps back when he tries to approach.

"Just this once?" He tries again as I turn to walk away.

Turning back around to face him, a flicker of hope sparks in his emerald green eyes, and I almost feel bad seeing it snuff out as I tell him for the last time, "No," and finally walk away.

Sometimes I wonder what he sees in me.

I'm really nothing different from any other plain women here.

There's millions of them that're much prettier than I, I can guarantee that much.

Besides.

I have a complicated history.

One I haven't exactly shared with anyone...

Years ago, there was a Hydra attack that was different from the others. They were looking for kids of a certain age (10-12) to recruit for new experimentations they were doing.

My parents, refusing to give me up, hid me when the Hydra soldiers came to our house. They argued with my parents that they had records that I existed. But my parents lied and insisted they didn't have any kids. Knowing my parents were lying, the Hydra agent, impatient to get a move on, killed my parents.

I saw the whole exchange because I was hiding in a cabinet and could only watch through a peek in the cabinet door as my parents were shot dead. Then, since the Hydra soldier had other places to steal kids from, and possibly other parents to murder, he lit the house on fire, assuming I wouldn't survive if I really was in the house.

I barely made it out. Afraid that more Hydra soldiers would be nearby, I ran away, somehow making it to the city.

I ran into Tony, funny enough, when I was wandering around the city one time. He couldn't exactly take me in because of how busy he always was, so he handed me over to one of Happy's "good friends", May Parker. She was the one who took me in and became a mother-figure to me.

There, I grew up with Peter, May's nephew (who was the same age as me) for the next several years, before I moved out to live on my own, where I eventually got a job after Tony came looking for me, explaining that Bruce needed me as an assistant since no one else wanted the position for fear of Bruce's alter ego, Hulk, making an accidental appearance, should he ever get worked up enough.

I, personally, had nor have no problem working with him. He's a surprisingly nice person to work for.

I've been his assistant for a little over a year now.

Anyway, every year a certain day marks another year since I lost everything.

I've never talked about it with anyone. Not with May. Not even with Peter.

I haven't let myself think about it. Because it's my fault they're dead. They might still be alive if not for me.

So I basically haven't let myself grieve. After all these years, I've still managed to suppress all those overbearing and overwhelming emotions.

Not that I even have time to unbury them.

Right now, it's absolute chaos—if that's even a big enough word to best describe the huge dilemma taking up the entire tower.

It's a Hydra intrusion, of course.

People from all over the tower are being brought into the Med Bay with major injuries beyond my capabilities that the other staff have to take care of, but mostly minor injuries of which I can actually be of assistance.

I was asked to go around the building and assist people in getting to the Med Bay.

And that's when I find myself in an impossible situation.

But starting from the beginning of the Hydra break-in, everything was perfectly fine, I was filing documents like I usually do...

When the whole building suddenly shook and a loud boom could be heard from many floors down.

It was clearly an attack of some kind.

I'd rushed to the Med Bay to help before I was told to assist anyone injured, up here.

I'm currently helping a random injured person up to the Med Bay, up the stairs since the elevators are out of order due to technical difficulties—no thanks to Hydra—when I hear one of the entry doors to the stairwell open from a couple floors below.

The injured guy I'm helping up the stairs and I freeze, trying to keep quiet as we hear booted footsteps ascend the stairs one by one.

The guy's arm is slung over my shoulder as I help support him. His grip starts to slip so I adjust, making him hiss and wince in pain.

The footsteps a couple staircases down suddenly speed up and so does my heart rate.

I panic, scrambling to think of what I should do.

Whether the person on the stairs will catch us and kill us, or whether we'll somehow make it out of the stairwell alive, I have no clue.

All I know is we have to get to the nearest door, no matter what floor it is as we hurry to get to the exit door a few more steps up.

We're barely two feet away from the door when a gunshot pierces the air of the stairwell, the sound echoing loudly against the walls and ringing painfully in my ears as the-guy-beside-me's body goes entirely limp. Lifeless.

Out of pure survival instinct, I drop the guy's body and race to the door just as I hear another gunshot, rushing inside and closing it immediately behind me, before tapping the small screen beside the doorway, effectively locking it.

The sound of fists pounding against the door resonates from the stairwell door behind me, before I hear a frustrated groan and descending footsteps.

Breathing heavy, my body feels tense as guilt hits me in full force. The same guilt I felt watching my parents die and knowing I could do nothing to stop it.

No, I firmly tell myself. Don't think about it, he was already dead the second you heard the gunshot, there's nothing you could've done.

It's only now that I suddenly realize I'm hurt when a rush of pain hits me like an express train, knocking me back a few steps as I stumble into the wall beside me.

I glance down, to the left of my torso to see a bullet wound—and an impressively deep one, at that—leaking a dangerously generous amount of blood.

"Oh, crap," I whisper, shakily, pressing a hand over the ruptured skin and wincing at the pain.

With a new determination to just get to the Med Bay, I start down the hallway to my right. I have no idea where it goes, but I do know that I'm three floors down from the level holding the Med Bay.

Unwilling to risk my chance in the stairwell again, I approach an elevator that seems to be the only one actually functioning at all and step inside, pressing the number for the floor level three floors up.

I rest against one of the elevator walls, heaving an exhausted and pained sigh, closing my eyes and trying to relax listening to the sound of the elevator moving.

My heart freezes when I feel the elevator suddenly jolt to a halt.

Ripping my eyes open, I scan the elevator for any way to contact...anyone, really.

But, unluckily, there aren't any.

That's when the panic finally seizes my chest at the realization that I'm stuck. Leaning more heavily against the elevator wall, I carefully slide down to sit on the ground of the elevator, lightly groaning in pain as I lift my hand and check the wound in my torso.

Still bleeding. A lot, actually.

I'm praying the bullet didn't hit anything vital.

Sliding my legs to sit out in front of me with my arm slung across my torso to keep pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding, I lean my head against the elevator wall, close my eyes, and let the despaired tears leak from my eyes and pour down my cheeks.

I allow myself to feel, even just a little bit, of the guilty burden that's been weighing down on me since I first left the burning embers of my old house, my parent's bodies buried somewhere beneath the rubble.

I'm not entirely sure how long I spend in the elevator. All I know is the next time I look down at my wound, there's a pool of blood spreading out beside me.

I guess it did hit something vital...

Next thing I notice is my consciousness beginning to waver as everything starts to flicker in and out of focus.

At one point when I gain consciousness, all I can feel is how tired and weak my body is and the fact that if the elevator suddenly works and reaches the floor number I pressed, I won't be able to get up.

I don't even know if there'll be anybody there to help me up...

For what feels like forever, I slip in and out of consciousness, losing a little more hope each time I'm met with the sight of the closed elevator doors.

I'm woken suddenly, when I hear the scraping groan of metal and barely have enough energy to open my eyes and see the elevator doors being pried open.

Glancing down at my torso briefly, I see the same pool of blood from before, only it's much bigger. At some point, I'd lost the energy to keep pressure on the wound and began to bleed out quicker.

"—in there!"

A familiar voice I've never been so happy to hear sounds through the growing space in between the elevator doors.

The crack in the doors widens and I soon see Loki and Tony wrenching the doors open.

Loki's the first to see me. There's intense worry written all over his face. And it's amplified the second he looks up and takes in my slumped, sitting figure on the floor of the elevator, lying against the wall with a pool of blood spreading out beside me.

His voice sounds distant as he calls my name and rushes to me.

"...you alright, darling? Y/n? Can you hear me, love?" He cradles the side of my face, tilting my head to look at him.

My eyes flutter open and closed, never staying open for very long whenever I do manage to hold them open.

"L...Lok...Loki...." I manage to very faintly mumble.

"Yes, darling, it's me, I'm here," he says, his eyes seeming to glaze over with unshed tears as he tries his best to give me a smile of assurance.

"Loki, we need to move her to the Med Bay, she's lost a lot of blood," Tony's voice says from behind Loki.

Loki nods. "I can carry her."

I hear Tony protest before I vaguely catch a glimpse of Loki turning around to look at Tony—who immediately cuts himself off after seeing the expression on Loki's face—before my eyes fall closed again.

I feel Loki's arms carefully slide under my knees and across my back under my arms, then ever-so-gently lifts me up into his arms.

A rush of pain hits me at the sudden movement and a weak, pained cry leaves my lips.

"It's alright, Y/n, just hold on," Loki's voice murmurs in my ear. "You're going to be okay...I promise..."

"It's okay..." Is the last thing I hear Loki's soft voice whisper before I slip under the dark blanket of unconsciousness.

————————————————

Pain.

Sharp, aching pain.

That's all I can register, the second I start to gain consciousness.

Blinking a few times, I finally open my eyes.

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, and a few more for me to breathe through the pain, before I try sitting myself up.

Then, sensing another presence, I turn my head. I'm met with the sight of a figure slumped onto the side of the bed, head lying over folded arms.

Loki.

My heart melts at the sight.

Wait, I thought I wasn't gonna encourage this kind of thinking until I got over the-jerk-we-don't-talk-about?

Carefully, I begin to slowly sit myself up.

I'm halfway there when he begins to stir in his sleep.

I freeze, ceasing any movement and praying he doesn't wake up so I can further procrastinate our inevitable, awkward conversation.

To my utter panic, Loki stirs awake and sits up groggily.

His eyes open halfway, before shooting open when he sees me awake.

"Y/n!"

I give him a tight smile that probably resembles more of a grimace than anything else.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, his expression fairly neutral, although there's clearly a worried undertone to it.

"Um, I'm-I'm okay," I mumble. "Still in pain but less so."

"Would you like me to find Dr. Banner?"

"I would appreciate that, thank you," I reply with a grim smile.

He returns my smile but it doesn't quite reach his eyes as he stands up and leaves the room in search of Bruce.

A few minutes later, Bruce walks in, but no Loki in sight.

I guess he left.

My heart sags at the thought, before I tell myself it doesn't mater, I shouldn't care, I don't care.

"Hey, Y/n, how're you this morning? Feeling any pain?" Bruce chirps, pulling me out of my tangle of thoughts.

"Yeah, actually," I agree as he carefully helps me sit up.

"I figured as much," he replies, turning his back to me before facing me again and handing me a couple of what I assume are pain-relief pills and a glass of water. "Take these, it should help any lingering aches or pains. Make sure you're not exerting yourself for the next couple days, alright? Take it easy."

"Okay, thanks." I let the pills slide into my palm, tipping my head back and popping the pills into my mouth before taking a swig of water to wash them down.

A flash of embarrassment sweeps over me when I nearly choke on the pills...and the water, of course.

It doesn't help when I can clearly see Bruce unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile as he turns away and grabs the nearest clipboard to pretend he didn't notice.

After checking a few more things, Bruce finally lets me leave.

I walk out into the empty hallway, my torso still in pain.

Or, at least, I thought it was an empty hallway. As I pass through the doorway to the recovery clinic, I turn and see a deeply pondering Loki leaning against the wall with folded arms over his chest.

The second I step out of the room, he perks up, before seeming to compose himself and neutralizing his expression. "Are you alright?"

I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He nods too. "Good." Then, pushing off the wall he was leaning on, he swiftly brushes past me and into the recovery clinic, walking up to Bruce and beginning to discuss something I can't quite hear as they speak in low voices.

I begin walking down the hallway to my left, content to wander wherever for now as I let my thoughts, too, join in the aimless wandering.

They entirely come to a stop when I think back to the man in the stairwell from before. The person I couldn't save and selfishly left to collapse lifelessly to the ground as I ran for safety without hesitation.

Although it was out of pure panic and instinct to run for any source of cover from the flying bullets, a part of me burns with suppressed guilt.

Suppressed?

And then, all at once, it hits me.

My parent's death.

Today's the same day I watched them drop to the ground, following the sound of two gunshots.

And all I did was sit helplessly in the cabinet, watching through the narrow crack as they were murdered—because of me—right before my eyes.

And I did nothing about it.

I didn't even drag their bodies out of the slowly collapsing debris burning to the ground.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a couple seconds, trying to recompose my thoughts, trying to get ahold of myself, trying to shove the guilt-tinted memories to the very back of my mind to deal with later—ideally, never.

But all I can think about right now is the shame slowly consuming me, slowly pouring over every inch of me until my muscles feel too heavy to move as I lean against the hallway wall for support.

I feel tears burn behind my closed eyelids as I try to shake the barrage of memories flooding my head, battering mercilessly against my already crumbling mentality.

My chest tightens in deep regret and guilt as the gateway of tears finally breaks free and come spilling down my cheeks, short, hollow breaths leaving in a hurry in and out of my sore and weary lungs.

Why did I do it? Why did I cower in that stupid cabinet like a helpless child? I scold myself, completely ignoring the fact that I really was a child—a fairly helpless one, at that, since there was literally nothing I could've done.

Or was there?

All the questions I've refrained from ever entertaining burst loose.

You should've done something, Y/n...so why didn't you?

Why did you let them die?

That man is proof of how you, all the same, let your parents suffer an unnecessary death you could've prevented.

My thoughts are becoming a hurricane, an angry, sweltering storm of dark clouds inside my mind.

The urgency to get out of such an open, public space in the hallway I currently stand in encourages the muscles in my body to let me move forward a few steps at a time.

Quiet, gasping breaths escape my lips, tears still descending down my face and staining my cheeks.

The short breaths soon evolve into the beginnings of stuttering sobs, my whole being preparing to finally let loose the grief I've kept locked in iron chains for so many years.

I manage to unsteadily advance down the hallway, turning a corner...

...and immediately crashing into a solid, firm chest, causing me to stumble back a few steps.

"Be careful where you're—oh, Y/n," Loki says in surprise, taking on a dangerous tone as he, at first, believes me to be some random, clumsy individual before looking up and recognizing me, his entire demeanor relaxing—almost softening—as he does.

He reaches forward and, carefully catching my elbow, helps steady me as I sway on my feet a little. "I was just coming to see you. How are you feeling?"

Once he notices my lack of response, he takes a closer look at me. "Everything alright, love?"

I can hear the worry creeping into his voice.

And it only fuels the cracking dam just barely holding back my unhealthily suppressed grief, the fissures splitting wider.

"I-I'm fine," I hoarsely rasp, although it comes out more as a breathless gasp, before dissolving into a half-sob.

"You don't sound fine, darling."

Unable to fight the pestering grief any longer, the dam restraining my emotions finally breaks and the force of them comes rushing out in one torrenting flood pouring down my face.

The very next second, my legs collapse and I immediately fall forward...

...right into Loki's arms.

He catches me, a worried and confused expression on his face.

Hiccuping, spluttering sobs pour freely from my lips as I cling onto the front of Loki's shirt, pressing my face into his chest with tightly closed eyes leaking an ocean of grief-stricken tears.

"Easy there, love," he mumbles, slowly accepting my abrupt embrace, before fully engulfing me in his arms and beginning to hold me tighter to his stone steady frame. "It's alright. You're alright, darling. Breathe...just breathe, it's alright."

His low, even voice sends a surprisingly quick ripple of calm throughout my body, somehow silencing the rushing traffic of thoughts inside my head, the chaos slowly settling as I realize I'm not in any actual danger.

"That's it...calm down, darling, you're safe, it's alright," Loki murmurs, gently petting my hair.

My thoughts finally cease their hurry, but the grief is still ever-consuming.

I cry harder as a stronger wave of sadness hits me.

Almost as if knowing this, Loki adjusts his arms and holds me closer, tightening his firm, assuring hold around my torso and bringing a hand up to cradle the back of my head against his chest, resting his cheek against the top of my head.

"Shh...settle down, darling," he whispers softly, beginning to sway lightly on his feet in an attempt to further cease the violent storm of emotions raging inside me. "It's alright...you're alright..."

I squeeze my eyes closed tighter, expelling more teardrops that slide down my cheeks and continue to soak the front of Loki's shirt.

As minutes pass, Loki never loosens his hold, never breaks the embrace, only tightens his arms and whispers assuring words against the top of my head.

Once the worst has finally passed, I finally sniffle and take a full, although shaky, breath.

I wipe my nose on my sleeve, sniffling again.

Noticing I've calmed down significantly, Loki begins to loosen his arms from around me. A part of me is hesitant to leave the solace of his arms.

But he doesn't let go of me, he only pulls back enough to be able to meet my eyes.

Loki's eyes search mine desperately as I stare up at him with an aura of sadness.

"What happened, love?" His brows draw together in confusion as he tries hard to decipher the emotions in my eyes, the ones currently choking me in their steel grip.

My gaze flits back and forth between his, debating whether I should tell him the truth...

...or rebury my grief, the way I so easily did as I left my home to burn to the ground years ago.

The longer I stare into his eyes, the more I realize I should never have used him as a pillar of support.

What was I even thinking? I shouldn't have let myself cry...I should've held onto the grief for a little longer...and now there's no escaping his curious questions.

But that doesn't mean I can't try...

As much as it pains me to suppress the mountain of grief all over again, I do so anyway—it's for the best—and manage to relax my expression into a more neutral one as I finally manage to form a real sentence.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Loki," I confess, as if simply being in his presence might be burden enough for him, which, at this point, I wouldn't even blame him for, should that thought cross his mind.

"What?" His brows draw further together, his confusion only growing as he withholds himself from simply stealing the answer from my already weakened mind.

"I'll leave you alone, now," I mumble, pulling away from him and stepping back, Loki being too perplexed to stop me.

I avoid his eyes as I inhale and exhale slowly to compose myself and brush past him.

But he grasps my arm as I do, stopping me from making it even three steps past him. "Darling..." He sighs, turning his head to look into my eyes, keeping a firm but gentle grip on my arm to prevent me from trying to escape. "I will ask once more: what happened?"

With an almost startling realization, it dawns on me just how close our faces are from each other.

We're close enough that I can see my reflection in his stormy green eyes. "Nothing you should have to worry about," I murmur, gaze flickering back and forth between his eyes.

He narrows them at me. "That's not an answer."

I sigh in slight frustration. "What do you want me to say, Loki?"

"I want you to tell me why you were mercilessly weeping in my arms just now!" He nearly growls, his eyes holding an almost irritated intensity.

Holding his gaze for a tense few seconds, I finally accept the fact that he's not going to let me leave without an answer—the truth, because there's no lying to the god of lies.

"Well, I'm not exactly proud of just having left someone to die in the stairwell," I mutter, almost glaring at this point, trying to focus on the anger and frustration bubbling inside me—at Loki's stubborn insistence to keep me here until he gets a real answer—instead of the barely suppressed grief trying to resurface.

Loki's brows lift in surprise.

"Are you happy now?" I ask, yanking my arm out of his grip. "Now, please, let me at least try to leave with what little dignity I have left."

Fortunately, he does.

I wanna throttle the part of me that wishes he'd stop me again, pull me back into the safety of his stable embrace, and tell me everything will be okay, that it's not my fault I let someone die...that it's not my fault I let my parents die all those years ago, their deaths still haunting me.

Was it really my fault?

It has to be...because I could've done something...I just...didn't.

So absorbed in my thoughts, I completely miss the worried, longing look Loki's giving me as he watches me retreat down the hallway, disappearing around the corner without so much as a glance behind me.

Because I'm afraid that if I do, I won't be able to stop myself from heading back in the direction I'd just left, in the very direction of the person I'm currently trying to push my growing feelings for aside.

Author's note: ummm....so i've been thinking about possibly making a part two....but idk...this might've just been a big flop, to be honest....anywaysss, love you all, mwah, sending lots of virtual kisses and hugs and lots of prayers too! God bless, my darlings!!<333