My Best Friend's the God of Mischief // Peter x Loki

a slow bleeding at the soul

Whatever it was Loki and Peter may have accidentally released during their little 'ritual' it got more aggressive. Though Loki was the one suffering from the consequences.

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Something is happening to him. Loki just knew it. Something bad. He'd been having the same reoccurrence dream where he was chased by this cloaked figure, the faceless creature in a beaked mask. In the dream, no matter how fast he ran or where he hid, it always found him. Its scream like a howl of a hell hound, cutting through his ears, cursing him for slaying it. You killed me, it accused, and Loki would wake, eyes widened with terror and sweat running down his face.

It exhausted him, drained away his energy as though it was never a nightmare but a memory, him actually running for his life from the unholy entity wanting his soul. It left bruises, that were presence even after he woke, where the thing dug its sharp claws into skin.

He was running through a misty forest. Its shriek seemed to echo endlessly, it seemed to come from all directions, swallowing him whole. He could see its shadow creeping closer. Though he probably shouldn't have looked back, for when he fell, he wasn't able to get back up. Sharp pain, that felt too real, shot up through his spine from his ankle, it forced a hiss from his throat. But Loki knew there was no time to stop and lick his wound. He crawled then, through the muddy ground, as though he could escape from death itself.

There was a tree, big enough to perhaps hide him from sight. He, with great difficulty, crawled there and hid. The demonic screeching never stopped and Loki felt like covering his ears although he used his hands to cover his mouth instead — a kind of pathetic attempt to muffle any sound, any whimper he might make, even if he knew he could never shush the hammering of his heart beating against his rib cage, frantic enough he was afraid it was going to rip through his chest.

He sat there. Seconds felt like hours. But he thought — hoped — that it might be over. Perhaps it failed to find him. Loki turned his head to the other side and it was right in front of him, its face barely an itch away from his, staring at him through its mask. And before he could jump away, its hand found his neck.

It squeezed. Bone-breaking pressure that took away his breath, crashing his windpipe.

"You killed me!"

Loki woke with a start and a scream, and would have clawed its eyes out hadn't it been for its — no, not it. He would've done something he would surely regret, hadn't it been for Peter's fast reflexes, the Spider Sense that got him jumping backward and away from Loki's reach.

"It's just me!" Peter said, hands holding up. "You were... thrashing and screaming in your sleep so I thought I'd wake you up."

And Loki was speechless. But if he had to be honest, he was too busy trying to catch his breath to say anything, anyway. So he did the only thing he could; stare at Peter. It's Peter. Just Peter. Not... that thing. His hand was coming up to reach his own neck, where it had choked him in his dream, though he jerked the limb down before he could make contact; there were too painful memories about himself being strangled, not being able to breath, and just by the thought of it, the nightmare or whatever it was he had just woken up from, was enough to make him shudder.

It must've shown on his face, too. How... scared he was, and even though Peter was a friend, it would be a lie, if Loki were to say he hadn't felt at least a little embarrassed.

The look on Peter's face, though, said, 'are you okay?' Peter was... worried, sure, because the nightmare usually never followed Loki here. As in, that was what it was all about, sleeping alone gave Loki a nightmare, that was what the Open Door Policy was for. So Loki could take shelter in Peter's room. It might sound childish, crazy even, but having a roommate helped. Or at least it used to.