Tom Hiddleston & Loki Imagines (xReader)

Loki: Trade Secrets

You aligned the sights and pulled the trigger.

The man went down hard, lying motionless on the grey tile.

Lowering your gun (but not your guard), you stepped over him and warily approached the reinforced-steel door, taking the opportunity to hiss into your comm.

"Barnes, I'm outside the control center. Please tell me you're near the core."

"Target sighted," came the Winter Soldier's voice in your ear—cold and clipped, as per usual. Grating on your nerves more than the sickly greenish-grey lights that kit the halls

"Good." You slipped the keycard from your victim's belt and held it up to the scanner on the wall. A second later you heard the satisfying clunk of a deadbolt snapping back. "I'm in. Stand by."

​​You rested your finger on the trigger of your gun. This was unfriendly territory; you had to be ready for anything. After a brief pause, the automatic door slid open.

And you found yourself face-to-face with two more guards.

Both of whom were heavily armed and had rifles trained on you.

Great.

"Lower your weapons and stand down," the taller man ordered in a thick New York accent.

You sighed and rub your forehead. Of course, you could always just take them out and be done with it, but playing along with them tended to be more fun. "Look, boys, I'm on a schedule. Don't have time to play. So if you wouldn't mind being gentlemen and just... moving aside... I'd be much obliged."

"You're under arrest." The shorter guard—still taller than you—reached out and grabbed your wrist.

Bad move.

Very bad move.

In a flash, you'd raked a dagger across his arm. He half yelled, half hissed in pain and anger. He dodged your next strike and swung around behind you behind you, attempting to get his arms around your waist. You threw your head back and heard a sickening crack as his nose shattered.

Possibly lethally. You didn't have time to check.

Meanwhile, as you struggled with Shorty—"You better not be getting blood on my uniform!"—the other guard was trying get a good angle on you, while staying out of reach if your daggers and avoiding damaging his associate. The moment Shorty stumbled back (clutching his gushing nose), there were three mini explosions as his partner fired three rounds from the rifle.

Each hitting its mark in your chest.

There was an abrupt silence.

The tall one seemed expectant as you spun to face him. To his surprise, and possibly horror, you looked down at the darts and calmly removed each one. For a second, you held them in your palm, as if weighing them. Then you let them slide dramatically out of your hand, watching as they clattered onto the floor.

"Sorry, babe." Without moving your head, you raised your eyes, looking at him from under evilly raised eyebrows. You smirked at his confusion. "I'm immune."

His breathing speeds up. He knows what's coming next can't be good. He backed up, not liking the light he saw in your (e/c) eyes.

"What? You didn't see that coming?"

You had to hand it to Pietro. That was one heck of a slogan.

Before the guard can respond, you hooked your leg around his and brought him down to meet your knee. He collapsed, groaning in agony.