Time after time ll Loki x Fem! Reader

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚. The London weather was quite unpredictable, but she always carried her usual, red, polka dotted umbrella. "Always make sure you're equipped for the day, little one!" her father had said. But this time, it slipped from her mind.

Lately, her mind always seemed to be elsewhere, in the clouds or maybe in some long forgotten memories. She would drink a cup of Earl Grey and then stop abruptly, as if someone burned her with a stick on fire. Her gaze, then, would sink into the cup, looking for something but only finding her own reflection staring back. Other times, she'd wrap her red scarf around her neck, fingertips freezing in mid air, nose scrunched up. She'd lightly pick up the rear end of the scarf, as if she was seeing it for the first time.

And other times, she would be staring at nothing in particular, feeling something missing.

The thunderous droplets rained down on her like bullets as she fumbled with the keys, trying to lock her workshop. She had opened it a few years ago with only one sewing machine, a few fabrics and the knowledge of weaving ideas and textiles together. Les petites mains. The art of splattering creativity through a sewing needle.

With a click, the door was locked and she turned to look ahead, hair wet and clothes sticking to skin. Her red sneakers got soaked as they crossed a puddle. Y/N raised an arm in a poor attempt to hail a cab, but it just whizzed by, splashing her in a new wave of dirty, rainwater. Blinking through the silver drops, she took a step back, shivers running up and down her arms and spine. Of course a cab wouldn't take her like this, soaked from head to toe. A sneeze escaped her lips and she cursed the weather, pulling the coat closer to her body. She'd have to take the tube all the way home. Joy.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

They called it the London underground. Cold air ruffling your clothes when a train whizzed by or stopped in the station. People milling around, stressed with their eyes in the phone or legs jittering.

Loki was standing with his hands in the pocket, a green scarf around his neck, watching people go by. Searching for her eyes. For the redness of her scarf. Sighing he turned on his heels, his hope slowly dimming. His ebony locks got picked up by a breeze that announced the arrival of a train.

He almost missed it. The flash of a redness. The fluttering of a scarf. If he had blinked, it all would had vanished.

There, on the opposite platform, she stood shivering against the chilly breeze, wet hair sticking onto her face. She looked so small, so fragile. As if she was stuck in a racing car, going 30 miles per hour. She might've been. For all Loki knew, time never did stop.