I found another prompt that will not leave me alone: After a while of not hearing from Loki the Avengers wake up to an intruder alarm and a injured God of Mischief in their mansion. There's something or someone after him and he's run out of hiding places so he's gone to the heroes because he knows that at least one of them will help him.
Separate from the Abaddon series, but still h/c and still Loki.
Because, apparently, I am a mean, mean person.
The women on Midgard were altogether far too prudish.
When Loki had listed for Adder all the activities he would like to undertake involving her breasts, he had meant it as a compliment, really. The dangerous look in her reptilian eyes had all but spelled his doom, but Loki felt the need to assure her that she was, in fact, carrying the leftover weight from her pregnancy uncommonly well. Considering all the times Loki had been pregnant himself, he thought she would appreciate that bit of flattery.
Needless to say, when she turned into a monstrous snake and tore a chunk out of his shoulder in response, he had seen it as completely unnecessary and, frankly, a little rude.
Maybe it was a snake thing, he decided. He would have to ask Jormungand.
Still, Loki dispatched Adder easily enough, leaving her snake form a twitching, charred, and smoking husk after a few well-timed spells. He left her where she lay as a warning to all those other uppity self-professed villains trying to mark his territory. He turned smartly on his heel and walked away, chin held at a haughty angle as he smirked at the by-standers huddled like frightened mice in doorways and storefronts.
The first time he stumbled, he blamed it on not watching where he was walking. He was hardly the clumsy type, but he was feeling uncommonly tired.
But then Loki stumbled again, and this time he knew it was because the horizon was tilting dangerously. He pressed a hand first to his pounding skull and then to the torn flesh of his shoulder. The wound was already healing, skin rapidly knitting itself back together, but the joint of his shoulder felt inflamed, achy.
Loki closed his eyes and groaned. "Adder" she had called herself, and adders, if he recalled correctly, were snakes of the venomous variety. Loki gritted his teeth and blinked back the spots crowding the edge of his vision.
Think, he told himself, pressing the heel of his hand against his helmet where it dipped down in front of his forehead. Think.
The hissing of an angry, wounded snake behind him spurred Loki into making a decision he knew he would probably regret.
The Avengers were engrossed in a rousing game of Go Fish – Steve had been adamantly against Tony's suggestion of Strip Poker – when the intruder alarm sounded and Jarvis informed them that they had a guest.
"Go fish," Tony told Steve as he jumped to his feet.