Tom Hiddleston & Loki Imagines (xReader)

Loki: Murmurs

I was looking for something to give all of you legendary readers, and stumbled across this mess of an imagine. Frankly, I'd forgotten about it, and as a result, it's been sitting in the back of my archives, gathering dust. It's older  than dust (than dirt itself) and is so remarkably cringe that I debated posting the thing at all. I've edited the Helheim out of it, and it's still  bad. But it was this or nothing, so... here you are. I did what I could. I hope someone enjoys it, lol.

As usual, my apologies for the lack of updates. Thank you for sticking with me!

(Good Norns, I hate this one...)

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It was the type of night that you loved. Quiet, starry, neither too hot nor too cold, with the always-welcome prospect of no work the next morning.

You were propped up on your modest pillows, on your modest bed, in your modest bedroom, in your modest four-room house, in your modest middle-class neighborhood, in (favorite mountain city).

It had been a long, boring day. And somehow those were more stressful than long, busy days. Not to mention your allergies were bothering you again, and that always left you irritable and on edge. Your entire body just felt tense. You couldn't say why. It just did.

Hence the chamomile tea on your bedside table.

With a groan of despair, you tore your eyes from the book you were reading to glance at your laptop, where you typed out a brief note. Sometimes you really hated this job: a book editor. You didn't mind reading good books, but a lot of the ones that made their way across your desk were rubbish. Not to mention it was boring, often leaving you restless and irritated at the end of the day from lack of any mental stimulation whatsoever.

But that was what you'd been going for. Ever since the attack on New York a few years ago, you'd wanted to do something safer than working for the government. You hadn't seen the madman behind the chaos, but you heard of him. And you saw the aftermath. The death. The destruction. The irreversible damage.

The trauma was almost overwhelming. The powerlessness you felt, the inability to do the one thing you wanted: to protect the people you loved

You were tasked with rescuing civilians during the attack. Facing your own death more times than you cared to count was something that never lost its nauseating affect on you, but you managed to survive. Many other agents weren't so fortunate.

Some of whom were your friends.

One of whom was your best friend.

The friend you'd known since middle school, through college, into your career with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. After discovering (b/f/n)'s death, though, you decided you were handing in your badge. Seeing their broken, mangled body... it was an image you would never unsee. Thinking of it brought tears to your eyes.

So you'd moved out of the city, away from your past and all ties to it. You relocated to the nearest mountain range, to begin a new, solitary life, with a well-paid (but offensively dull) job.

Which left you here. Bored to death, and not enjoying it at all.

You were tired. Dull as your job was, it was demanding. The boredom, the monotony—it drained you more than your SHIELD missions ever had. You settled down under your blanket, head on the pillows, and reached over to switch off the lamp. You'd had enough for the night.