Of Gods and Memories (LokixFemaleReader) [COMPLETED]

5

Hi! Sorry I haven't updated in a few days, been a little busy lol

More days pass, and the fever gets worse. I can't get up the morning on the fourth day since Loki came, but even if I could I wouldn't want to. My head pounds, and my whole body aches. The sheets on my bed are damp with sweat, and I can't stop shaking, not to mention my burning hot skin.

I drift in and out of sleep, my dreams plagued with a golden city in flames, icy monsters invading. I think I hear people fighting – two men – and occasionally someone cries out, but when I wake there's nobody there.

On what I think is the fifth day, although I'm not sure, I open my eyes briefly to see someone sitting on my bed, but I can't make out their face.

"I told you," they say, "but you've always been stubborn. Always done things by yourself."

On the eighth day (I think it's the eighth day) I wake up – fully wake up.

"What the hell?" I whisper through dry, cracked lips, noticing for the first time clean sheets and a fresh t-shirt.

"You're awake." I turn my head to see Loki dangling his legs over the side of the bed.

"Why are you here?" I mumble, looking around for water.

"Not even a thank you," he sighs, then passes me a glass.

I drink it all, then look at him through my slightly puffy eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, pulling the sheets up to my chest and sitting up.

"I have my reasons," he murmurs cryptically, and I frown.

"I heard people fighting," I try to sit up, pulling my top back onto my shoulder where it slipped.

"I'm the only one who's been here," he tells me, and I frown again.

"Why?" I ask again, "Why are you doing this?"

He ignores me, reaching out for my arm and peeling back the bandage. The wound looks much better, not oozing anymore and less red. It also doesn't smell so bad. Loki reaches for the shelf next to the curtained window, withdrawing from it a fresh pad and an antiseptic wipe. He gently dabs at the cut, his face a mask of concentration.

He's beautiful, but in a delicate, almost sad way. I notice he's stopped tending my arm, his clear green eyes boring into mine. We stay like that for a minute, and I'm acutely aware of his cool touch on my arm. After a minute, I pull away, awkwardly clearing my throat. This is a criminal, an insane mass-murderer sitting on my bed.

"I should..." I gesture at the door to the bathroom, trailing off before I finish my sentence.

Wordlessly, he gets off my bed, leaning against the wall and watching me make my unsteady way down to the floor. I stumble a few times, but keep my hand on the wall to steady myself, silently cursing the fever.

I towel my hair roughly, the strands of yellow flopping in limp spikes over my forehead. I definitely liked my old hair better, but I guess it'll grow back. I glare at my reflection. My cheeks still hold a slight flush and my skin looks sort of greyish and sweaty. I sigh, turning to put on the clothes I brought with me. Nothing fancy, just a pair of sweats and t-shirt, obviously with fresh underwear.

I come back into the living room, suddenly aware of how hungry I am.

"How long was I out?" I ask, rummaging through the cupboard for some food.

"Seven days," Loki leans calmly against the wall, his eyes following my every move.

"Will you cut that out?" I eventually snap, turning around with a packet of instant soup in my hand. I rip it open, emptying the contents into a mug.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," Loki drawls, and I have to physically fight the urge to punch him in the mouth.

"Stop watching me," I grit, stirring my soup mix with water.

"And why should I do that?" he laughs, causing my face to heat up. I shouldn't be like this around villains.

"Fuck you," I mutter, downing my cold watery soup. It tastes revolting, but I don't care right now. I just want food. I can still feel Loki's eyes on my back as I rinse the cup I was using, but I try to ignore him. Eventually it gets too much.

"I said cut it out." I whip around, my hands dripping wet.

"I'm not doing anything wrong," he says, a smirk playing around his lips. He has nice lips.

Stop it, (Y/N), I tell myself, he's a villain and you don't even know him. But somehow, I think the last part might be a lie.

"It's creepy," I tell him, "you're still watching me and it's creepy." He doesn't say anything, just smirks at me, one eyebrow slightly raised.