Loki-x-Reader: Hypnotizer Part Two

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It was a crisp, clear morning and warm sunlight shone through the curtains of your apartment, highlighting your face that was currently crinkled in displeasure. You moaned pitifully from within the mound of blankets and sheets that currently covered you, before pulling your covers high over your head.

It was a Tuesday, and you were miserable.

Damn Darcy.

Damn nightclub.

Damn first shot of alcohol.

Mentally cursing, you laid in painful silence as your head pounded to the same beat as your heart, and tried to focus on anything but the constant ache behind your eyes.

You had only had one shot of a drink the night prior- which was in fact your first taste of the adult-based ambrosia.  Just a taste- you hadn't even reached a full-fledged drunken stupor - and yet you were now fighting the most hideous migraine in recent memory, and seeing terrifically vibrant blasts of color behind your eyelids.

Apparently you couldn't hold your liquor worth lick, and nature hadn't intended for you to drink strange substances.  Or at least, that was the explanation that made the most sense to you in your current foggy/zombie-like state.

You were about to turn over and forget about everything- falling back into blissful slumber that was sorely needed- when your worst fears were realized.

Breaking the morning silence like an Angel of death came the shrill, monotone screech of your worst enemy. Loud and disarming, unforgiving and unrepentant: your 8:00 a.m. alarm.

You reached for it blindly in hopes of relieving yourself of the horrific noise, but it only continued to grow louder and louder, until you thought your head would explode.

With a wail of despair, you threw off your covers and reached over to grab the offending noisemaker. Then, without further ado, you drew back your wrist and with as much force as you could muster, and threw the clock - plug and all- at your curtains and the window directly behind them.

When the sound of shattering glass immediately filled the air, you knew that your mission was complete.

Not only had you killed the alarm and saved your head from blasting off your shoulders- you had also taught the sun a valuable lesson as well.

Never shine on the face of someone who has an annoying appliance ready and waiting to be thrown.

You reveled in the quiet of your environment for several long moments before you sighed heavily. Despite acting so violently against your clock, you knew that you couldn't ignore what it had symbolized. No matter how much you might have wanted to sleep and forget about all your responsibilities, you knew that such an option wasn't possible.
 
So with ultra-slow movements, and labored limbs that creaked and groaned in complaint, you came to a hunched sitting position on the edge of your bed with your head in your hands.

The truth was simple and heart wrenching: you had to go to work.

You had to go to work at a job you didn't enjoy, and it was going to be a very, very, long day.

You girded your addled brain and raised yourself from the soft, cushiony cot that you so longed to cuddle with, and hobbled out of your room.

It was slow going, but after some great effort on your part, you made it to the kitchen where you promptly took two aspirin without water and plonked down at the table to regain your zapped strength.

It was then as you fought to keep your head up, that you heard your roommate begin her morning routine. And as the shower faucet shot to life, you could hear Darcy belt out an enthusiastic, if not off-tune, rendition of Call Me Maybe. Crowing with laughter when she took it into a higher key for the chorus and managed to sound like a strangled wildebeest who had been hit by a semi-truck that was cruising on a high 90.

Crying into your hands forlornly, you knew without a doubt that your day was going to be one for the books.

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It was almost 10:00 when you finally entered your place of work, and waddle-sprinted towards the elevator. You were really running late – nearly an hour plus- but thankfully, your head was feeling better than it had and you had donned your game face.

Despite feeling under the weather and having a shaky head start, you were relaxed and confident as you exited the elevator and entered the busy sales floor that had become your makeshift home away from home. (You spent enough time there.) True, you weren't a sales-person at heart, but a job was a job and your crew had really endeared themselves to you.
After nearly two years of being close knit, the beggars-can’t-be-choosers mantra had become unnecessary, and you happily made the best of your experience.

Walking briskly, saying a swift greeting to those who greeted you, you made it to your cubicle and placed your purse down before you hit the power button on your PC. You took your seat, and once your computer had roared to life, opened your work applications. But before you could really dig in and get comfy, your phone bleeped. You had a new text message.

(Name)!  Where are you!? The meeting started 10 minutes ago and you’re missing everything!

Your eyes instantly bugged out of your head.

The anxious texter was none other than your co-worker Randy Katrist - a man of questionable gender and preference who had unconsciously placed you in the role of faithful sidekick and taken you under his figuratively flamboyant wing.

Meeting? You texted back in a daze.  I didn't know we had one . . .

Well we didn't, at least not one that was planned. But a memo was sent out this morning so we could all prepare ourselves.

Well, that would explain why you hadn't known about the meeting, seeing as you’d just arrived. Before you could text back as much, Randy sent you another message.

Sweetie, I suggest you get in the Conference Room if you want to keep your job. Randy wrote with a very sad looking frowny face. And that was all the prompting you needed.

Rushing, you leapt from your chair and raced towards the Conference Room that resided on the other side of the floor. And as you reached for the door handle you shot a grateful thought towards your friend. He had risked getting yelled at or worse, by texting you in a meeting and you wouldn’t forget it anytime soon.

You hoped for the best as you entered the room, and found with dismay that upon entering all eyes turned to focus on you. A blush crept naturally to your features, and you instantly sought to find an empty seat.

There wasn't one.

“Miss (Last Name),” your boss called imperiously from his place at the head of the table, “You’re late.”

You felt your stomach drop in fear. This was bad. . . Really bad, and it might just cost you your job.

“I know, sir,” you replied contritely, hopelessly looking for an unoccupied seat. “I’m sorry.”

You were about to make up an excuse but then before you had the chance, a new voice addressed the situation.

“I’m afraid Miss (Last Name)’s absence is partially my fault, Mr. Larson. She was doing me a most heartfelt favor by sending me her client list so I would have somewhere to start after this most genial of welcomes.”

The voice was as smooth as dark chocolate and just as wicked, with an accent that sounded suspiciously like an offshoot of a Brit; and you instantly recognized it. Turing to look at the man who had spoken, with a anxiously clenched gut, your instincts were proven correct, making your already wide (e/c) eyes bulge.

There, sitting at the table among your peers, was the handsome stranger you had danced with last night! Well, he had been a stranger until Darcy had spilled the beans on his obsession with world domination and making peeps kneel.

The Norse Trickster was currently dressed to kill in a formal suit and tie, with his hair pulled back in a loose pony tail and an unreadable smile spread firmly on his lips.

As your gaze fell on his lips you were immediately taken back to when he had kissed your knuckles in farewell. How wonderfully soft and tender it had felt as he paid homage to you in the style of a chivalrous knight . . . And oh, tibble shiz, your mind was wandering and you needed to focus on what was happening here and now!  

For instance: how could a Norse God be sitting in a room chuck-full of regular men and women and have them acting as if nothing was out of the norm? And why was he sitting in your work meeting in the first place; helping you out of what could be a horrific deathtrap to your resume and financial responsibilities?

Surely he hadn't followed you last night. . . Or had he? . . .

. . . What was he? A creepy-pedo-stalker-person . . .  ???

“She was helping you, Hiddleston?”

You snapped back to attention as your boss addressed Loki with the foreign surname, and your eyebrows rose in surprise as the handsome God answered the affirmative.

“Most graciously in fact,” he offered with a single nod in your direction, “A most selfless and sincere act on her part.”

As he piled on the praise, you finally met his gaze and shot him a twitchy, loaded look which said many things. Some of which were: WHY ARE YOU HELPING MEH!? HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME, AND WHERE I WORK!?!? AND WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING HERE!?!?!?

Though none of these words actually passed through your lips, the handsome devil seemed to understand you without any trouble.  But he didn't move to explain or calm your frazzled nerves. And for the moment, you had no choice but to deal with it.

You turned to look at your boss and were shocked to find a small smile forming on his usually solemn face.  

“Well, (last name) if you were helping our newest associate, I suppose we can forgive your tardiness just this once.”

You were immediately annoyed with his condescending tone, but fought down the venom you felt.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Go out and grab yourself a seat,” he added before he once more began to explain the current sales approach.

You had dodged a bullet, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to celebrate the victory. . .

You quickly ran back out onto the sales floor and grabbed an extra chair, but you did so, on autopilot because your mind was currently preoccupied in a high gear setting.

Your bosses’ words hadn't escaped you, and you found that it had only left you with more questions and doubts.

As you turned to enter the room once more with your chair in hand, you made a silent vow that you would get to the bottom of this strange development, and talk to your otherworldly stalker before the day was through.

Then you took your seat and sat at the edge of the crowded table, but found that you couldn't pay attention to what was being said. Because one phrase kept repeating in your mind like a broken record stuck on an especially trying lyric.

Over and over it played, until you thought you'd go mad from confusion and curiosity.

New associate, new associate, new associate, new associate, new associate, new associate, new associate!

Your new associate and crew member, Loki. . . Hiddleston?

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