Of Cunning and Kinship || Loki x reader

Chapter nineteen

A/N:

Still alive. So that's progress.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ENDING

I just saw the s2 finale and it's way too late where I'm from but I can't sleep, it made me so emotional that I just had to sit down and start ranting about this silly little green horned idiot oh my god okay, I'm stopping now OH MY-

If I had a nickel for every time the release of Loki series helped me through a bad phase I'd have two nickels, which isn't much, but it does make sense, considering we only have two seasons of it. (not counting all the rewatches through these past couple of years)

Anyway, I'm here! I love yall.

PS: I decided to change Darren's name to Daniel because I finally watched Quantumania and I HAD FORGOTTEN that that guy's name is Darren and I refused to have my baby share a name with Modok.

Tony Stark was, from a distance, an egocentric, overbearing, controversial figure; but you had to admit, the man did have good taste.

Or at least his interior designer did.

In record timing Stark Tower had been repurposed into a base of operations. Conference rooms were being used as infirmaries, laboratories were crowded with SHIELD scientists analysing alien samples and spare apartments allowed agents a well earned respite.

Somewhere along the dozens of floors Earth's mightiest heroes also enjoyed Iron Man's wondrous water pressure. Meanwhile, you lay on a dark grey couch, looking up to the intriguing post-modern chandelier hanging from above; wondering if the super-folk were also wearing a ridiculously comfortable branded bathrobe.

Unlike your coworkers who were sharing the tower's facilities, you could enjoy a room just for yourself. Although maybe that had something to do with Thor's scowl towards Sitwell's sickening persona.

Because of course they had to bring in all the crew, even the obnoxious part.

If it wasn't for the god of thunder you'd have probably punched someone when they suggested you had to attend a debriefing.

You were a bit bruised and tired, nothing serious physically speaking; yet your mind was restless, an ardent fire now broken free and eager to take action. So to your own surprise you had stood your ground next to your god friend and demanded to be left alone.

There was much work to be done. And you mulled over all the chaos of the previous day, creating timelines and mind maps with the shadows cast by the suspended lights.

Every now and then a helicopter whirred closer to the tower, bringing officers from the Academy or other locations to help with the post-battle efforts. When that happened you would wait tentatively for the phone to ring and announce your package, yet it remained silent for the moment.

'He is coming,' you pondered Selvig's claims. Who was coming?

There was something missing, there had to be. And even though it was good that the brainwashed people had gone back to normal, it frustrated your curiosity that none of them seemed to remember details of their misfortunes.

What are you hiding? You wondered, studying a shadow that resembled a familiar horned silhouette.

It was said that the fallen prince was being tirelessly interrogated by the agency's top field officers. As if they could break a demigod. And you supposed the contents of the 'interviews' would remain secret unless utterly necessary. Goddamn compartmentalisation.