His Distant Star [Loki x Reader] Chapter One

____ eyes fluttered open to a white washed room, bleak and unnervingly hospital like, though it lacked the sickly sterile smell she’d come to connect with her frequent visits to hospital for stitches.

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Her immediate thought was that she must be dead – until she heard the distant thrum of traffic outside and realised her petite figure felt like one big bruise, her muscles groaned in protest at her meagre attempt to sit up, and so she awkwardly wriggled up the bedstead so she could properly assess her surroundings.

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After everything that had happened, ____ was hardly inclined to have a trusting nature.

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On second glance, the room was lavishly furnished with modern furniture, simplistic in style with a wall of windows that looked out over the seemingly endless ‘scrapers and chic office buildings that glinted in the blazing sunlight. She could see only one door, and despite the anxiety that constricted her chest building, she was in no rush to escape the soothing confines of her bed. Examining herself further, she was clean and freshly clothed – a ginormous black t-shirt that was acting as a dress, with a lightning bolt struck between bold white lettering ‘ACDC’.

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Drinking in as much detail as her pounding head could take, ___ was pulled from her reverie by a metallic voice that has an inexplicably calming quality to it, inadvertently quelling the fear all the unknown that surrounded her.

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“Good morning, miss. My name is JARVIS, might I ask yours?”

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“I’m ____,” replied, too tired to find the strength to be dubious.

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“Miss ____. A pleasure to be at your service. Now, how would you like your pancakes?”

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***Tony POV***

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Tony Stark was never one to abide by what society deemed appropriate. When he’d returned ridiculously drunk and late last night from a press conference, he hadn’t even considered the possibility of an ambulance, or social services, or whatever it was that society deemed appropriate to do when you return� to find a quivering, battered mess of child on your doorstep. He’d regarded her curiously for a moment, before scooping her up and carrying her inside, passing her over to the first member of female staff he could see and gave the bewildered employee marching orders – before he himself disappeared off to tinker.

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Which leads up to now, obscenely loud music blasting through the billionaire’s workshop as he sat hunched over, absorbed in altercations for the new prototype weaponry. Until the music was muted, and Stark looked up, stretching out slowly with a sigh, before continuing with his intricate handiwork.

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“JARVIS, we talked about this – no killing the music. The music dies, so does my moment.”

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“Apologies, sir,” he said, sounding anything but sorry – a mean feat for a computer system. Tony often wondered if he’d deliberately given him attitude in one of his more sober moments, in order for him to be able to control his unruly maker. “But the child has woken up. Her name is ____.”

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“Fantastic, get her some breakfast then find me her parents. I need her gone by three; I got lady friends coming over – though on second thought, having a kid around may get me some brownie points for a troubled back story. Women like that kind of thing, right?” He mused. There was a long moment, before JARVIS replied.

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“I’m afraid she tells me that her injuries were acquired from her own ‘troubled back story’ as you so deftly put it, sir.”

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Another incredibly pregnant moment, Tony’s fingers hovered mid-air over stacks of blue prints. “…Get the kid breakfast – I’ll be up to talk to her in twenty.”

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***Back to Vous***

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The rambling corridors, with their high ceilings and panoramic view over the thriving city below – courtesy of entire walls made of glass that ____ kept far away from, her fingers trailing over the solid painted walls – the six year old felt about two inches tall. JARVIS’ voice would occasionally call out to her should she make a wrong turn, but she passed no one else on her travels, for which she was grateful. At least she could trust JARVIS not to hurt her like they did – having taken a painstaking ten minutes to explain that he had no physical body – and she revelled in the tranquillity her lack of human company gave. The rooms she peaked in on were all sprawling with plush carpet and modern furniture that made her simply itch to explore, her mind a swarm of questions. Vibrations from the muffled echo of a guitar solo tickled the soles of her feet, an only for a mere instant, she fleetingly wondered what was happening below.

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POP.

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***Tony POV***

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Tony still barely managed to hear the crash over the whir of tools and thrum of his much softer music, courtesy of JARVIS. It was such a minute sound, one that barely pricked his ears so that he wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard anything to being with. He could hardly miss the scrawny bundle of his t-shirt that tumbled into view from a cluttered work bench. She was fresh faced and shockingly cleaner than their first encounter, albeit with shadows of forming bruises that disappeared up into the sleeves of his old shirt. He stared flatly into those wide eyes tinted with a curiosity he recognized all too well from his own childhood memories and took in all her minute reactions – nose wrinkling, unaccustomed to the overpowering metallic, oily tint in the air, head cocked to the side, confusion and doubt chasing each other across her tensed frame. Pushing her tufty [H/C] locks from her face, she didn’t dare look away when their gazes met.

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“Sir, I’m afraid there’s been an unforeseen complication, the child----”

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“Is standing right in front of me…care to share how she bypassed all the coded doors?”

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“My system seems to have failed, sir. There is no record of the doors having opened within the last four hours.”

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“….hm.”

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He approached her slowly, gaging from the way she shrunk back a space that what she’d told JARVIS must’ve been pretty brutal, and crouched in front of her, carefully keeping further than arms reach away. �“Okay, ninja turtle – how’d you get in here?” he asked in a measured tone, checking himself to be on his best behaviour for now.

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Nothing.

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“You’re not in trouble, I just wanna know.”

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Still, nothing. Stark scratched his stubbly chin, a little exasperated. “Okay then. My name’s Tony, and I’m awesome. You’re ____, and you have awesome ninja skills, so why don’t I show you my top secret awesome plans that only awesome people are allowed to see. Sound good?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as her eyes lit up, head bobbing in a rapid fire nodding session. “Teach me how to do that!” she demanded, caution momentarily forgotten. “What, this?” he asked, feigning confusion as he raised another eyebrow. She broke into a genuine fit of giggles and gently reached out to manually waggle them, seemingly at ease. He rose slowly, offering her his hand.

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“C’mon then,”

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And, slowly but surely, she reached out and curled her hand around his calloused finger.

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***Your POV***

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Since then, ____ days were a blur of queries and tinkering, all of which Tony encouraged. His parenting skills were hardly orthodox, viewing the little girl as more of an assistant, constantly telling her to fetch things for him, claiming it was a treasure hunt when in reality, Stark couldn’t be bothered to get off his ass to find it himself.

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She often noticed that he would ramble on to her as he did to any of the other grownups that occasionally appeared, by which point ____ was clung to his leg, face hidden behind grease slicked slacks. After the first month, she had grown accustomed to his technobabble, acquired taste in music (of which she had by now worn every bands t-shirt) and spontaneous disappearances for ‘boring work stuff’ that often left JARVIS to entertain her for the night, which often lead to exploring the limited number of floors the computer granted her access to. She scarcely left the workshop, preferring to snooze – not for lack of trying to stay awake – on the camp bed in Tony’s company whilst he worked all-nighters. This became her norm, and has months passed without another ‘incident’ as her impossible disappearances were now referred to, �____ was for the first time in a long time, happy.

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That is, until one particularly stressful night.

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Tony had merely told her he was facing a big deadline, always being secretive about the nature of his work – no matter how many times she asked, he would always dance around the question, hoping she wouldn’t notice. She’d known instinctively that it must’ve been exceptionally important, because she knew Tony never stressed about work – he regarded it only as a way to occupy his time.

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____ had begrudgingly caught a few hours’ sleep each night, though she had no sense of time here – the workshop having no windows, she’d often wondered how long it’d be before she forgot what the sun felt like – but Tony had ploughed through three days solely on caffeine. Eager to help as the dark smudges under his eyes grew heavier each day. Things were progressing at full steam, ____ becoming defter at the menial tasks Tony gave her.

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Until he asked her, two days before completion, to fetch him a small but crucial piece of machinery that needed welding from the furthest bench, too absorbed to realise that the six year olds could barely see over the desk on tiptoe. In her hurry, she forgot to grab a chair and instead stretched up, swaying unsteadily on the balls of her feet, and shimmied it closer with the tips of her tiny fingers, glossy with oil.

Crash.

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____ could do nothing but stare numbly as screws and various other parts scattered across the stone floors with a sickening scrape. She swallowed, body coiled with panic.

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“Uh…Tony…?” she called, voice small, almost in the hopes that he wouldn’t hear her. Or that the ground could swallow her whole instead of having to face up to the guilt pooling like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach.

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“Kid, please tell me what I just heard didn’t happen.”

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Silence. A lump formed, choking her voice.

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“I-I’m sorry…I’ll fix it!” she stammered, frantically picking up the parts of jagged metal, ignoring Tony’s warnings to stop. ____ heard his chair grind across the floor, and heavy footsteps made her flinch. “Give it to me, it’s fine.” He spoke, voice flat.

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Definitely not fine.

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“No, I need to fix it!” she choked, fingers clumsy in their trembling rush. She knew this tension, knew where it would end. She’d be lying on the cold stone floor again, hurting. ‘Not again, please, no more, she thought desperately. A frustrated noise ripped through gritted teeth.

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“____, just give me the damn parts!” Tony snapped, snatching it from you, a sharp pain ripping across her palm.

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It took a moment for her to register the blood pooling in her upturned hand, another for her to clutch at it in a worthless attempt to soothe the throbbing, and then another for the little girl to stubbornly try to blink away the tears that blurred her vision. It was to no avail, and she looked up with a fearful gaze at Tony’s paled face, traitorous hot tears slid down her cheeks, bottom lip trembling. He started toward you with an outstretched hand, remorse apparent in his grim line of a mouth.

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“____...I’m sorry, kid. Come here, let me se-”

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“NO!” she wailed, frantically scrabbling away from him. “I hate you Tony! I hate you! Go away!” she yowled, eyes clamped shut as if to block out the terrible memories that plagued her. Tony’s stomach tightened in shame, and he gently reached for her, as one would toward a neglected animal.

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But she wasn’t there.

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POP.

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____was gone.