Debugging Mischeif (lokixfemale!reader)

Chapter 9

The dragon banked left, its vast, pixel-perfect wings catching the thermals of the virtual canyon. It let out a roar that was no longer a glitchy, truncated screech, but a deep, bass-heavy sound that vibrated through (y/n)'s headphones. It was majestic. It was terrifying. It was, finally, working.

(y/n) let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding for a month. A month of digital exorcism. A month of dragons phasing through solid rock, of their necks contorting into eldritch nightmares, of the player character falling through the map into a grey, texture-less void every time they got within ten feet of the beast. It had been a special kind of hell, a relentless parade of "dragon-shaped disasters," as she'd come to call them.

But now... now it was over. The encounter was flawless. The hitboxes were divine. The pathfinding was intelligent. The beast was a true boss, a challenge of skill, not a challenge of enduring its broken reality.

And it was all thanks to Loki.

The memory of that morning played in her mind like a perfect cutscene. She'd been on the verge of tears, her forehead pressed against the cool wood of the table, muttering incantations against the coding gods. Loki had finished her shift, slid into the seat opposite her, and pulled the laptop toward them.

"Describe the problem," she had said, her voice calm, a steady anchor in (y/n)'s storm of frustration.

"It's the wing joint," (y/n) groaned, not lifting her head. "It's like it's not connected to the rest of the body. The physics engine treats it like a separate entity that's just... vaguely interested in following the dragon around."

Loki had been silent for a moment, her eyes, flickering as she navigated the complex node-based animation system. (y/n) had dared to look up, watching the focused crease form between her brows. It was a look of pure, unadulterated intellect, and it was, frankly, mesmerizing.

Then, she pointed. A single, elegant finger landed on a single, convoluted function buried three sub-menus deep. "There. The quaternion rotation is applying torque to the root bone instead of the wing joint. It's trying to spin the entire creature instead of just the wing."

The fix had been two lines of code. Two. Lines.

The sheer, effortless genius of it still made her head spin. Now, (y/n) leaned back in her chair at her usual café table, watching the dragon soar, a profound sense of relief and admiration washing over her. The low hum of conversation and the clatter of cups from the counter was a comforting soundtrack to her victory. Her eyes drifted from the screen, across the room, and landed on the architect of her salvation.

Loki was restocking the pastry case, moving with an efficient, balletic grace. Even the simple act of arranging scones seemed deliberate and poised. A strand of chestnut hair fell across her face, and she tucked it behind her ear with a faint, distracted smile at something (y/bff/n) said. The gesture was so normal, so human, and yet it was performed with an unconscious elegance that made (y/n)'s stomach do a funny little flip.

A shadow fell over her laptop. "Okay, I've been watching you for five minutes," (y/bff/n) said, sliding into the booth opposite her. She plunked a fresh, frothy latte down in front of (y/n). "You got that look."

(y/n) dragged her eyes away from the counter, her heart giving a traitorous thump. "What look?" she deflected, a little too quickly. "Do you mean the 'my game isn't a glitchy mess anymore' look? I'm just happy it finally works. No bugs. No cursed hitboxes. No dragon-shaped disasters. It is a good look!"

"Nope. Wrong." (y/bff/n) propped her chin on her hands, her eyes sparkling with merciless mischief. "That's not the 'I fixed a bug' smile. That's the goofy, far-away, tracing-the-rim-of-your-cup smile. That's the 'my best friend hired a genius supermodel who can slay code dragons with a single glance, and now I'm having feelings' look."