Summary: Loki is allowed to freely roam the compound but he can’t be unsupervised, so you’re assigned to stay behind and babysit him while everyone else goes on a mission. He decides to do something nice for you as a peace treaty, but it blows up in his face - literally.
Warnings: language, fluff, food fights
Word Count: 4973
A/N: I’ve been wanting to write Loki for a long time, but he’s such a deeply complex character that I didn’t know what ‘part’ of him I wanted to go with first, or if I could ever do him the justice he deserves. I’m a sucker for secretly soft, gentle, loving, innocent, caring, wants-to-make-you-proud Loki, so I ended up going with that, but I may try to write other sides of him in the future. I really hope you all enjoy it! <3
was obvious, the way his stare would linger on the back of her head as she
walked by him in the halls. The way his sentences would simply cut off the
moment she stepped into view, and he would let his words hang in silence until
she walked away.
The Host is out on the roof one morning, bright and early to
get some air. He’s been cooped up in the library for nearing a month working on
story after story until he finally couldn’t stand being inside anymore. Leaning
on his newly restored cane, Host lets the first rays of sunlight drift over the
horizon and warm his skin with their soft glow. He misses being able to see
sunrises and sunsets, those beautiful in-between stages when night turns to day
and back again, but he can still feel it, now more than ever.
However, he isn’t able to enjoy the experience for long
because of a horrifying squawking that seems to be coming from nearby. “The
Host wanders in the direction of the noise, sweeping his cane before him to
check for any obstructions. The thing making such a ruckus is, in fact, a small, black bird, a
raven with a broken wing. Host stoops down, approaching the raven slowly.” The
bird, when it sees him approaching, tries to scuttle away, but it cannot get
“The Host wishes the bird would understand that he means it
no harm. He simply wants to help the injured creature. As he narrates, the bird
becomes calm, allowing the Host to approach and pick it up.” Host coddles the
creature against his chest with one arm tucked protectively beneath it. “The
Host decides it would be wise to seek the council of the Doctor, who may be
able to repair the bird’s injured wing.”
So, with the bird tucked inside Host’s coat where it cannot
be seen, he travels down to the clinic where Dr. Iplier is seeing to a little
girl with a cough. When he looks up to see the Host, he assumes Host has come
to get his bandages changed. “Just wait in one of those chairs, please. I’ll be
with you in a moment.”
Host sits carefully, shifting so that the small bird will be
comfortable, but when he does, the little creature starts squawking again and
writhing around trying to free itself. Host begins to hum softly, stroking the
bird with gentle fingers to calm it. Soon, the raven quiets down again and
seems to fall asleep snuggled against Host’s arm and chest.
Dr. Iplier watches the scene unfold out of the corner of his
eye and makes a mental note that the Host can never cease to surprise him. Once
he’s finished with the little girl and prescribed medicine for her cough, Doc
calls for Host to come in and see him. “This isn’t about your bandages, I’m guessing.”
“The Host found this little raven on the roof,
and he’s worried that it has an injured wing. The Host thought maybe Dr. Iplier
would be willing to help since he has worked with animals before.” Host
carefully pulls the raven from his coat, setting it on the desk before the
Doctor with a hopeful expression.
“You know you don’t have to use third person around me,
Host. Of course, I’ll help your new friend.” Dr. Iplier gently slides the bird
closer to him and begins inspecting the broken wing. Host smiles and sits down
in the chair across from the Doctor’s desk. “Yes, it is broken alright. But
with a splint and some rest, I think this little lady has good chances of being
able to fly again.”
Host breathes a relieved sigh as the Doctor grabs some
supplies from his desk to make a splint.
“What are you going to name her? I assume you’re going to
name her,” Dr. Iplier muses as he wraps the wing.
“Annabel Lee,” Host whispers without pause.
“You and your literary references.” The Doctor shakes his
head as he finishes up with the bird and hands her back to Host. “Find a
cardboard box and put something soft in it for her to sleep on. I can go get
some food for her later, but make sure that for now she has plenty of water in
a shallow dish. Got that?”
Host nods his head. “Water and a place to sleep,” he repeats
back before tucking Annabel back inside his coat. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Dr. Iplier says softly as Host grabs his cane
and heads for the door.
When the Host gets back to his library, he can’t find a
cardboard box anywhere, so instead, he clears out one of his desk’s drawers and
makes it a makeshift home for the bird instead. “I suppose I’ll have to give
Fitzgerald a firm talking to about not eating you,” Host tells the raven as he
places her in her new nest. “I’ve never known him to be violent, but you know
how animal instincts are.”
Lewis Carroll sticks his head into the drawer to take a look
at the newest resident of the library. “How do you like her, Lewis? She’s going
to come live with us, at least for a while.” Host pets the little dragon’s head
and goes back to making Annabel comfortable. The dragon crawls into the drawer,
curling up with the bird, and glows softly. Host smiles, “So, you do like her.
After Host is sure that all his little friends are safe and
sound, he goes to take a much-needed nap, and for the first time in a week, the
Host doesn’t have a nightmare.
Hey could you do #12 (Take my jacket it's cold outside) for bbrae? Thank you!
It’s a little naughty… Just a smidgen!!
Disclaimer: Don’t own Teen Titans. Not making a profit.
One Hundred Ways to Say ‘I Love You’ #12: “Take my jacket it’s cold outside.” OTP: BBRae
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Why are you re…” Beast Boy forgot his words as he stared at the lacy black bra peeking through the tatters of her shirt. His cheeks flushed with color as he remembered to try and focus on his girlfriend’s eyes.
“I guess this is why we don’t fight in civilian clothes.” Raven murmured as she examined the damage to her clothing. Her fingers picked and prodded at the fabric surrounding her breasts.
It would be easier if she weren’t touching the area he was trying not to focus on. The changeling swallowed the lump of arousal building in his throat. He was trying to be a gentleman.
Her fingers traced between her breasts passing the little green bow in the center of her bra. “This is one of my good bras. He better not have ruined it, I swear.” She growled softly.
Beast Boy could see why she was so fond of the garment. It certainly looked wonderful on her.
Would probably look better off.
With a sigh, her hands moved underneath stomach and tracing down to the waistband of her jeans. “Well, I don’t think he cut me.” She chuckled. “Or my bra.”
Damn. “Doesn’t look like he did.” That meant he could look, right? She wouldn’t murder him, right?
Beast Boy slowly shifted his vision back to the empath.
Her eyes met his with a dangerously fevered smirk. Raven licked her lips as she looked down at her shirt and back to the changeling.
She was toying with him.
“I guess this shirt is done for, huh?” Raven huffed with a small smile.
“Umm, w-why don’t you,” Beast Boy sputtered as he shrugged off his jacket. “Take my jacket.” He offered, handing her his coat. “It’s cold outside.”
Her eyebrow raised. “Is it?” Raven shrugged on his coat.
“Oh yea.” He nodded, hoping she wouldn’t ask how he knew.
Partially based off of this headcanon of mine. But then it derailed into this headcanon.
AKA, Atsushi is really damn cute and maybe acts like a cat. And maybe Akutagawa doesn’t really know how to talk to him. Tooth-rotting fluff.
Atsushi would admit that maybe he wasn’t the most physically affectionate person out there. There, he said it. It made sense - years of abuse and belittlement left him a little bit rough on the edges and made it hard for him to trust others. Still, he did his very best. He wanted to trust people without a second thought. He wanted to be free with his affections - to be able to squeeze someone’s hand in reassurance, or to give someone a hug in a time of need.
Loki barked out orders to the maids and servants in his kitchen, not allowing a single plate to leave the room without his inspection and final flourish of sauce. He smiled to himself, he really was quite talented. He had traveled with his employer, Jonathan Laufey, a wealthy businessman and naval commander to his beach home, planning to cook meals in the spacious kitchen all summer long. But Loki had hardly been there a week and was serving one of his favorite dishes, a flavorful chicken and sausage jambalaya when the chaos began.
He had been in the kitchen, sprinkling powdered sugar atop fresh beignets when the loud bang came from the foyer. Unable to resist, he had stuck his head out of the kitchen door to peer into the dining room, just in time to notice the hole in the front door where the lock had previously been. A moment later the door was kicked in, and a great hulking beast of a man I would later know as Volstagg entered the room. He was quickly followed by a man with dark hair, who quietly and smoothly dropped Mr. Sturluson, the butler, to the ground with a blow over his head.
The man who entered next matched every definition and rendering of a swashbuckling pirate Loki had ever come across, from the ruffled shirt to the wide smile under his upturned mustache. He wasted no time striding across the room with a branded sword to order Mrs. Laufey and her maid to the ground. Loki assumed this stereotype of a buccaneer was their leader.
Until his gaze was drawn by the sound of clopping boots over the screams of the servants towards the door. She was a pillar of menace, the woman who now entered the dining room. She was tall and wore a maroon long-coat, her raven colored hair hung loose over her shoulder and was adorned with a large stylish hat.
Loki was frozen at the site of her, terror rushing through his veins. Loki knew at once who he was seeing; the infamous pirate queen Lady Sif. There were multiple accounts of her death, credible witnesses had seen her perish by gunshot and drowning across the Caribbean. Yet here she was not 10 paces from him. The scoundrel sauntered to a chair, using it as a stepping stool to step upon the dining room table. She opened her coat and pulled two rose quartz-handled pistols from her hip.