Chapter Text
Loki sits at a quaint outdoor café on Midgard, a small cup of espresso balanced delicately between his fingers. The sun is shining a little too brightly for his liking, but the city hum around him has a peculiar charm that he’s begrudgingly come to tolerate. Thor is off gallivanting with those insufferable Guardians again, and Loki has taken the rare opportunity to escape the loudness of their company in favour of this peaceful reprieve.
His seat, tucked neatly into the shadow of an overhanging awning, offers him a prime view of the bustling street. He sips his espresso, savouring the bitterness that Midgardians inexplicably pair with sugary pastries.
A few tables away, a couple debates loudly over some trivial matter about social media, while a woman with a laptop furiously types away at her keyboard. Children chatter nearby, their hands sticky with melted ice cream. Loki ignores them all, enjoying the anonymity this realm affords him.
Until, of course, chaos ensues.
“Hey!” a voice shouts, shrill and full of indignation. “Give that back!”
Loki’s eyes flicker lazily toward the commotion. A small creature darts between the tables, something golden and flaky clamped firmly between its jaws—a pastry, perhaps. The creature is squat, with stubby legs and a sleek, blueish-grey body that gleams in the sunlight. For a moment, Loki thinks it might be a peculiar Midgardian dog—until he catches sight of the rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth gnawing at the stolen treat.
The patrons of the café are in an uproar. A man stands at his table, arms flailing as he tries to retrieve his stolen snack. Others murmur in confusion, some laughing nervously at the bizarre sight.
The creature scurries beneath the tables, narrowly avoiding a waiter’s tray, and then—much to Loki’s dismay—bounds directly toward him.
Before Loki can react, the little beast leaps effortlessly into his lap, as if it has always belonged there. It lands with an unexpected weight, its small, fin-like tail wagging furiously. The stolen pastry is all but gone, crumbs scattering across Loki’s dark trousers as the creature devours the remnants.
Loki freezes, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disgust. The café falls silent for a moment as all eyes turn toward him.
“Is that... your pet?” someone asks hesitantly.
Loki glares at the offending creature, who looks up at him with wide, innocent eyes, crumbs dotting its snout. Around its neck is a collar with a small nametag that reads, in bold letters: “JEFF”. There’s no phone number or any other identifying information.
“Of course not,” Loki snaps, his voice cutting through the awkward silence. “Why would I own such a ridiculous—”
The creature interrupts him by nuzzling against his chest, its tail wagging even faster. It lets out a happy, gurgling noise that might be some strange attempt at a bark. The crowd collectively coos at the display.
“Oh, he likes you!” a woman exclaims, smiling brightly.
Loki scowls, his lips curling into a sneer. “He likes my lap, not me.”
The creature—Jeff, apparently—ignores Loki’s disdain entirely. It settles more comfortably into his lap, curling up like a cat after finishing the last crumbs of its ill-gotten pastry.
“Well, he has a collar,” someone points out. “He must be yours.”
“He most certainly is not,” Loki retorts, his tone icy. He lifts the creature gently and holds it out at arm’s length—similar to that once scene in The Lion King—inspecting it with a mix of curiosity and irritation.
Jeff wriggles happily, letting out another gurgle.
“If he’s not yours, then whose is he?” the man who lost his pastry says, frowning.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Loki says, setting the creature back on the ground with an air of finality. He brushes off his trousers with a grimace. “Perhaps it belongs to one of you imbeciles.”
But Jeff doesn’t scamper away as Loki expects. Instead, it stays firmly by his side, its tail wagging as if it has made some unshakable decision.
“Looks like you’re stuck with him,” someone says with a laugh.
Loki glares at them. “Do not presume to tell me—”
His words are cut off as Jeff nudges against his leg, looking up at him with that wide, toothy grin that is somehow both endearing and menacing. Loki sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Very well,” he mutters. “But only until I locate his rightful owner.”
The crowd seems satisfied with this response, and the café gradually returns to its usual hum of activity. Loki sits stiffly in his chair, his espresso now lukewarm and unappealing. Jeff remains at his feet, gnawing contentedly on what looks like a stray napkin.
“Jeff,” Loki says flatly, staring down at the creature. “What, exactly, are you?”
Jeff doesn’t answer, of course, but the question lingers in Loki’s mind. He’s seen plenty of strange creatures across the realms, but nothing quite like this. A land-shark, perhaps? It seems fitting, given the creature’s odd combination of terrestrial limbs and aquatic features.
He considers simply leaving Jeff behind when he departs, but something about the creature’s unwavering loyalty gives him pause. Its presence is strangely comforting, in an irritating sort of way.
“Come along, then,” Loki finally says, standing and tossing a few Midgardian bills onto the table. Jeff immediately perks up, bounding after him with surprising agility.
As they make their way through the bustling streets, Loki finds himself glancing down at his new companion more often than he cares to admit. Jeff trots along happily, occasionally stopping to sniff at discarded wrappers or greet curious children.
“You’re an odd little thing, aren’t you?” Loki murmurs, his tone softer now. Jeff looks up at him with that same toothy grin, and for the first time all day, Loki feels a flicker of genuine amusement.
He spends the rest of the afternoon traversing the streets of New York in a futile attempt to find Jeff’s real owner. He visits a series of local shops, cafés, and even a pet store, though the latter is a mistake he regrets almost instantly.
The store clerk, a bright-eyed young woman with entirely too much enthusiasm, nearly bursts into tears when she sees Jeff, proclaiming him to be “the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” Loki endures her cooing with as much patience as he can muster, which is to say, very little. She offers no assistance in locating the creature’s owner but insists that Jeff deserves a new chew toy “just in case.” Loki leaves with a garish, squeaky bone and a renewed sense of irritation.
As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the city, Loki resigns himself to the fact that Jeff’s rightful owner is either uninterested in reclaiming the beast or entirely nonexistent. The creature—who has remained faithfully by his side all day—seems thoroughly unbothered by this development.
“Do you ever stop smiling?” Loki mutters as they approach his and Thor’s shared apartment building. Jeff looks up at him, tail wagging furiously, and lets out a happy gurgle.
Loki sighs, rubbing his temple. “Of course not. That would be too much to ask.”
The real challenge, however, comes when they reach the building’s entrance. Their landlord, an overly strict man with an unfortunate mustache, has made it abundantly clear that pets are not allowed on the premises. Loki glances down at Jeff, who stares back at him with wide, expectant eyes.
“Well,” Loki murmurs, crouching to meet the creature’s gaze, “if you want to stay, you’ll need to be quiet. Think you can manage that?”
Jeff tilts his head, as if considering the question, before letting out a soft, almost cat-like purr. Loki takes it as agreement.
He straightens and scoops Jeff into his arms, tucking the creature against his chest as inconspicuously as possible. Jeff wiggles briefly but seems content to be carried, his tail wagging against Loki’s side.
The lobby is mercifully empty as Loki strides toward the elevator, keeping his expression neutral despite the absurdity of his current predicament. He nods curtly at the security camera in the corner, praying the footage will go unnoticed.
When he reaches the apartment, Loki unlocks the door with practiced ease and steps inside, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Jeff wriggles out of his grasp the moment he sets him down, scuttling across the living room with unrestrained enthusiasm.
“Do try not to destroy anything,” Loki says dryly, hanging up his coat.
Jeff, to his credit, seems more interested in exploring than causing trouble. He sniffs at the furniture, investigates a potted plant, and eventually settles on the rug in the center of the room, where he begins chewing on the squeaky bone from the pet store. The sound is obnoxious, but Loki finds it oddly tolerable.
By the time Thor returns—just after midnight—Loki has resigned himself to Jeff’s presence entirely. He’s seated in his favorite armchair, a book balanced in one hand and a contentedly purring land-shark curled up in his lap.
The front door opens with a bang, and Thor’s booming voice fills the apartment. “Brother, I’ve returned!”
Loki doesn’t bother looking up. “Yes, I noticed,” he says, turning a page with deliberate calm.
Thor strides into the room, his grin faltering when he catches sight of Jeff. For a moment, he simply stares, his gaze darting between the creature and Loki.
“Is that... a shark?” Thor finally asks, his tone laced with disbelief.
“Technically, it’s a land-shark,” Loki corrects, not bothering to hide his smirk.
“And why is there a land-shark in our apartment?”
“Because I’ve yet to find its owner,” Loki replies, closing his book with a soft thud. “And because, as it turns out, he refuses to leave my side.”
Jeff chooses this moment to stretch lazily, his tail thumping against Loki’s knee. Thor blinks, clearly at a loss for words.
Before he can respond, another voice cuts through the silence.
“Hey, Thor! Where’s your fridge? I’m starving.”
Loki glances toward the hallway just as Peter Quill—Thor’s insufferable best friend—emerges from the kitchen, a bottle of soda in hand. He’s wearing his usual cocky grin, though it falters slightly when he spots Loki and his unexpected companion.
“Whoa. Is that a—”
“Yes,” Thor interrupts, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a land-shark. Loki appears to have adopted it.”
“I have not adopted him,” Loki says, though the claim sounds weak even to his own ears.
Quill steps closer, his grin returning full force. “Man, that’s awesome! What’s his name?”
“Jeff,” Loki mutters, crossing his arms.
Quill laughs, dropping onto the couch with a casualness that grates on Loki’s nerves. “Jeff the land-shark. I love it. Hey, can I pet him?”
Before Loki can protest, Quill leans forward and offers his hand to Jeff, who sniffs it briefly before nuzzling against his palm. Quill beams.
“Dude, he’s so chill. You’re lucky to have him.”
Loki glares at Quill, then at Thor, who seems entirely too amused by the situation. “I assure you, this arrangement is temporary.”
“Sure it is,” Quill says, winking as he scratches under Jeff’s chin.
Thor claps Loki on the shoulder, his grin annoyingly wide. “Well, brother, it seems you’ve made a friend.”
Loki sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If he destroys so much as a single piece of furniture, he’s your responsibility.”
Jeff lets out a happy gurgle, his tail wagging furiously, and Loki feels the faintest flicker of warmth beneath his exasperation.
Perhaps, he thinks, this arrangement isn’t entirely terrible after all.