Tom Hiddleston & Loki Imagines (xReader)

Captive

My eyes open slowly.

The first thing I realize is that I'm sitting in a chair. A hard, uncomfortable chair. The next is that I'm in pain—there's a crick in my neck, my head is pounding, and my wrists ache.

Only after I process that do I realize that I'm sitting in total blackness.

What?

I try to move, only to discover that my hands are tied tightly behind me, apparently around the back of the chair. Thick cord cuts into into my skin as I try to pull free; with a hiss, I give up and attempt to move my legs, only to discover that my ankles are bound to the chair, as well.

Where am I?

I try to cut through the fog in my brain. What happened? The last thing I remember is arriving home from work and getting out of my car...

Then hands. Rough, grabbing hands.

Pulling me out of my own car and forcing me into another. Holding me still as I'm threatened and warned to cooperate, "or else."

My heart rate speeds up as I feel panic rising. Who were they? What do they want with me?

A chilling thought creeps into my mind. I'm trapped in a completely dark room. I can't see a thing. What if whoever abducted me is in here, too? What if I'm being watched? A shudder runs down my spine, made infinitely worse by the eerie silence around me.

Forcing myself to remain at least outwardly calm, I do something that I have always made fun of movie and book characters for doing: I clear my throat and softly call out.

"Hello? Is there anyone else here?"

To my relief, there's no answer. I'm alo—

"Yes, actually. I was beginning to wonder if I would have to wake you myself."

A cold, smooth voice emanates from somewhere in the void of darkness. My fear escalates.

"Who are you?"

A dark chuckle surrounds me, full of menace, washing over me like the ice-cold waves of a tsunami. I try to pinpoint the location of the voice and fail.

And that's when reality hits me harder than ever before. No matter how much comfort I may derive from telling myself that someone will notice my disappearance, that someone will worry, that someone will come looking for me, I know that until then, I am in danger. Numerous images of my possible fate flood my imaginative brain, each more terrifying than the last, leaving me nauseous.

The forced darkness only heightens each fearful sensation, yet at the same time I'm grateful that it keeps my captor from seeing me. I feel like a child, deathly afraid of the dark and what it hides yet taking comfort in it at the same time.

Ironic, isn't it? Children fear the dark, so they hide from it beneath their covers... in the dark.

If I can't see you, you can't see me.

Just as I reach this small level of comforting myself, a single light flares up before my eyes. Not enough to light the entire room, but enough to see that I'm sitting at a small oak wood table. The new illumination is courtesy of a single burning candle in the center.

Across the table from me stands a man.

The light is too dim to make out very many of his features, but what I can see makes me shiver. He's tall—much taller than me. He's dressed in some kind of leather suit, accented with green and obviously not from the 21st century. His hands are clasped behind his back. A smirk plays across thin lips as the candlelight makes his clear eyes glitter menacingly.