Back for mischief.

The first time it happens, it’s completely “accidental.”

You turn a corner in the compound—and freeze. Loki stands there, mid-motion, pulling a shirt over his head… except he hasn’t gotten that far yet. The fabric is still in his hands, and for a moment, he’s just there. Bare shoulders, pale skin, completely unbothered.

Your brain short-circuits. “Oh—! I didn’t—I mean—sorry!” You spin around so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, face burning.

Behind you, there’s a pause. Then a soft chuckle. “You do realize,” Loki says smoothly, “that walking away now only makes it more suspicious?”

You refuse to turn back around. “I said I was sorry!”

“And yet,” he continues, voice laced with amusement, “you’re still standing there.”

You bolt.

It keeps happening. Too often. He’s in the kitchen one morning—no shirt, casually leaning against the counter like this is completely normal.

You walk in. Walk right back out. He smirks into his coffee.

Training room? Shirtless. Library? Shirtless—with a book, like he’s trying to look scholarly about it. Once, he even opens the door like that when you knock.

You stare at him for a solid two seconds before covering your eyes. “Is this—are you doing this on purpose?!”

“Doing what?” Loki tilts his head, completely innocent. “Existing?”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he steps a little closer, voice dropping just enough to make your heart trip, “you keep finding me.”

You peek through your fingers despite yourself. Big mistake.

He notices immediately. Of course he does. That smirk returns—slow, victorious. “Ah,” he murmurs. “There it is again.”

Your face somehow gets even hotter. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” And annoyingly? He sounds very sure of that.

—

. . .

The following morning, Y/N woke to silence.

Not the ordinary silence of an apartment before the rest of the building had properly stirred. Pipes still groaned somewhere behind the walls. A neighbor’s television murmured faintly through the ceiling. Cars passed along the road outside.

This silence felt different.

Empty.

Y/N remained beneath her blankets, staring at the wall while her mind slowly caught up with being awake.

She had gone to bed later than she meant to.

After the grocery store, Loki had spent nearly an hour criticizing everything she purchased despite eating some of it once they returned. He had accused frozen pizza of being an insult to bread, cheese, and dignity, then consumed four slices while insisting hunger should not be mistaken for approval.

They had argued over what qualified as cleaning. He had tried reorganizing her cabinets according to what he called logic, which apparently meant putting everything she used daily on shelves she could barely reach. She had made him put it back. He had refused. She had threatened to revoke his couch privileges.

Eventually, he had returned the mugs to their original shelf with the expression of a king negotiating surrender.

Normal.

Or as normal as anything had been since she found a bleeding god in the desert.

Y/N rolled over and looked at the clock.

9:32.

She groaned. Her body seemed determined to disrespect every opportunity she gave it to sleep late.

She pulled the blankets over her head.

From the living room came nothing.

No page turning. No irritated commentary about her literature. No cabinet doors opening and closing because Loki had once again decided her kitchen required improvement.

Y/N lowered the blanket. “Loki?”

Nothing.

Maybe he was sleeping. It seemed unlikely. She had never seen him properly sleep. She had seen him sitting with his eyes closed once, but when she asked if he had been asleep, he acted as if she had accused him of fainting.

Y/N pushed herself upright. “Loki?”

Still nothing.

She slid out of bed, pulled on the sweatpants she had left on the floor, and opened her bedroom door.

The couch was empty.

The blanket she had given him was folded neatly against the armrest. Her copy of The Hunger Games rested on top of it, closed around the scrap of paper she had given him as a bookmark.

The living room was spotless.

Y/N stepped farther into the apartment.

The kitchen was empty too. The dishes from the night before had been washed and arranged beside the sink. The groceries had been put away. Even the bag of chips she had left open on the counter had been folded shut.

His conjured coat was gone from the chair. So were the boots he had left near the door.

Y/N looked at the ceramic bowl where she kept her keys.

Her apartment key remained inside it.

For a moment, she simply stood there.

Then she checked the bathroom, despite knowing he was not there. She glanced through the blinds and scanned the parking lot below.

No Loki.

He had left.

The realization should not have surprised her.

He was healed. He had made that painfully clear, even while lying about mysterious injuries in other places. He was not obligated to stay because she had offered him a couch and a poorly defined housekeeping arrangement.

He had been talking about leaving since the moment he woke.

Apparently, he had finally decided to prove he could.

Y/N returned to the living room and picked up the folded blanket.

For some reason, the careful way he had left it bothered her more than if he had thrown it on the floor. There was no mess to suggest he had left in a hurry. No unfinished drink. No book abandoned open. Nothing that implied he planned to return.

He had cleaned up after himself and disappeared.

Like a considerate hallucination.

Y/N sat on the couch. “Well,” she murmured, her voice too loud in the apartment. “At least I know I wasn’t crazy.”

She looked around.

The apartment seemed smaller without him.

That was ridiculous. He had only been there for a few days, and most of that time had been spent insulting her, questioning her decisions, and behaving as though every piece of furniture had personally offended him.

Her life had existed before Loki. It could go back to normal now.

She could leave her bong on the coffee table without being lectured about poisoning her lungs. She could walk around naked shamelessly. She could sleep without wondering whether an alien prince was standing in her doorway to verify she had not secretly begun plotting against him.

She would not have to buy twice as much food. She would not have to explain television. She would not have to hear the phrase “on Asgard” every time she did something differently than he preferred.

Normal sounded good.

Y/N leaned back against the couch. “Good,” she said, though there was no one there to hear it. “That’s good.”

Her eyes drifted toward The Hunger Games.

He had finished it. She could tell from the bookmark tucked neatly near the final pages.

He had not given her his opinion yet.

That annoyed her.

He had spent the entire evening interrupting the movie to criticize its plot, but somehow managed to leave before telling her whether he liked her favorite book.

Maybe he hated it. He probably had a speech prepared about the incompetence of President Snow and the political instability of Panem. Maybe he had found Katniss reckless.

He seemed to think every woman in fiction was reckless.

Y/N set the book down harder than necessary.

“He could’ve said goodbye.”

The quiet gave her no answer.

She pulled her legs onto the couch and rested her head against the cushion.

It should not have mattered. They were strangers.

A few days ago, she had not known him. She had been working shifts, going to class, coming home to an apartment she could barely afford and rarely had the energy to clean.

She had been fine.

Lonely sometimes, perhaps, but fine.

There had always been noise available when she wanted it. Television. Music. Neighbors arguing. Customers demanding coffee refills. Coworkers complaining about schedules.

Noise was not the same thing as company.

Loki had been company.

Difficult, infuriating company, but company nonetheless.

He filled the apartment without trying. He questioned everything she said. He watched her as though every mundane action required analysis. When she spoke, he listened, even when he pretended not to.

Without him, she became suddenly aware of how often she came home to no one.

Y/N pressed her cheek into the cushion. “That’s dramatic,” she muttered.

She had known him for barely two days. He was not her friend. He probably did not even consider Midgardians worthy of friendship.

He was a displaced prince who had needed a place to recover.

Now he had recovered.

That was all.

She reached for the blanket, pulled it over herself, and turned onto her side.

She had woken too early anyway.

By the time she fell asleep again, the sunlight had shifted across the living-room floor.

. . .

Loki had intended to leave permanently.

That had been the purpose when he stepped through the apartment door before sunrise. He had taken nothing that did not belong to him. He had folded the blanket, returned the book, and left the key where she would find it.

He had even cleaned the kitchen, though he refused to acknowledge the impulse as sentimentality.

It was merely proper.

A prince did not abandon a residence in disorder.

He certainly did not owe a Midgardian woman an explanation.

She had offered him shelter because he was injured. He was no longer injured. Their arrangement had therefore reached its natural conclusion.

He had no reason to remain.

The thought sustained him through the first several streets.

Midgard was crude, but not impossible to navigate. He had observed enough during their visit to the market to understand the basic exchange of currency. Shelter and food could be acquired through magic if necessary. Clothing posed no difficulty. Human beings were remarkably easy to deceive.

He did not need her.

His pride repeated the assurance with every step.

He did not need her apartment, her food, or the strange warmth of being expected somewhere.

He had survived the void. He had survived truths far more devastating than being stranded on an unfamiliar realm.

Surely, he could survive without one mortal woman telling him which dishes needed washing.

By midday, he had reached the busier edge of the city. The sun hung high and merciless over the pavement. Vehicles moved in streams around him. Mortals hurried past without noticing anything beyond their own destinations.

No one looked twice at him.

Under ordinary circumstances, invisibility might have been useful.

Instead, it made the realm feel even more foreign.

He had no Midgardian identification. No currency he could use without drawing attention. No understanding of its laws beyond Y/N’s occasional warnings. No allies. No access to the Bifrost.

Magic could conceal all of those deficiencies, but every solution created another obstacle.

He could compel a mortal to offer him shelter. He could steal money. He could disguise himself, fabricate a history, and build a place in this world from lies.

He had done more difficult things.

Yet each possibility felt hollow.

A room taken through enchantment would not be his. Food stolen from a stranger’s kitchen would not come with Y/N telling him he had eaten an unreasonable number of eggs. A manipulated host would not argue with him over fictional vampires or place her favorite books in his hands because she thought he might be bored.

Loki stopped beneath the thin shade of a closed storefront.

The realization irritated him profoundly.

She had helped him without coercion. No bargain had been required. No spell. No title.

She had known nothing of who he was when she dragged him from the desert. Even after learning his name, she had not bowed. She had not feared him. She had touched his arm merely to determine whether he was real, then ordered him to wash coffee cups.

Another Midgardian might help him, given sufficient deception.

But they would not help him.

They would help the person he pretended to be.

Y/N had met him bloodied, arrogant, suspicious, and half-naked beneath her blanket.

She had chosen to help anyway.

Loki looked back in the direction he had come from.

Returning would be humiliating.

He had left without speaking to her. She would know he had failed to find a better alternative. She would smile in that irritatingly perceptive way and pretend not to understand precisely what had brought him back.

She might tell him to say thank you.

The thought nearly convinced him to continue walking.

Nearly.

He remained beneath the awning for several minutes, staring out at a realm that contained billions of people and not one he knew beyond her.

Then he turned around.

The apartment door was locked.

Loki paused with his hand on the knob. He had left the key behind, which meant he had to use magic on the lock. Green shimmer faded from his fingers as he quietly stepped inside.

The apartment was silent.

For one brief, unwelcome moment, he wondered whether she had gone searching for him.

Then he saw her.

Y/N was asleep on the couch, curled on her side with one arm tucked beneath her head. The blanket he had folded that morning had slipped partly to the floor, tangled around her legs. Her copy of The Hunger Games rested near her hand.

Loki closed the door without a sound.

There was no sign she had prepared to leave. Her shoes remained by the couch. Her bag still hung from the back of the kitchen chair.

She had simply fallen asleep there.

On his couch, some part of him supplied before he could correct it.

Her couch.

She shifted slightly, her brow drawing together as though troubled by something in her sleep.

Loki’s gaze moved through the apartment. It was exactly as he had left it, yet it felt different now. Smaller. Quieter.

Her belongings occupied nearly every surface. Books, notes, abandoned clothing, photographs, chipped dishes. Proof of a life that should have made the apartment feel full.

It did not.

He remembered what she had said the night before.

You don’t have anyone here.

He had treated it as an insult.

Now, looking at her alone on the couch, he understood.

She had not recognized his loneliness through pity. She had recognized it because it resembled her own.

Y/N hid hers more skillfully. She covered it with work, school, jokes, and exhaustion so constant she treated it like part of her personality. She filled silence with music and left the television playing even when she was not watching it.

She had opened her home to him too readily.

Not because she was foolish.

Not entirely.

Because, for a few days, there had been another voice in the rooms.

Loki crossed the living room and crouched beside the couch. He lifted the fallen blanket.

The fabric was thin, worn in places, and hardly worthy of a royal guest. She had apologized for it when she first gave it to him, as if the quality mattered more than the fact that she had noticed he was cold.

He drew it carefully over her shoulders.

Y/N stirred.

Loki froze.

Her fingers curled into the edge of the blanket, pulling it closer without waking.

He watched the tension leave her face.

There was space beside her on the couch, but he did not take it.

Instead, he lowered himself to the floor with his back against the cushions. He told himself it was because sitting beside her might wake her.

That was the only reason.

The room stayed quiet.

Loki looked toward the window, where sunlight cut through the blinds in thin golden lines.

He had no plan. No path home. No certainty that Asgard searched for him or believed him dead. No idea what he would do when remaining here became impossible.

But for the first time since releasing his grip above the void, uncertainty did not feel quite the same as falling.

Behind him, Y/N shifted closer to the back of the couch.

Her hand slipped over the edge of the cushion and came to rest near his shoulder.

Not touching.

Almost.

Loki glanced at it.

He could move.

He did not.

“You are a terribly poor judge of character,” he murmured, knowing she could not hear him.

Y/N breathed softly against the pillow.

Loki rested his head against the couch.

He had returned because this realm offered him no better option. Because another Midgardian might not help him. Because leaving without a destination was impractical.

All of those explanations were true.

None of them were the whole truth.

He looked down at the worn blanket wrapped around her.

She was better at hiding it than he was.

But she was lonely too.

And perhaps, for the moment, neither of them had to be.

. . .

Y/N woke slowly to the unfamiliar weight of a hand near her shoulder.

For one disoriented second, she thought she had fallen asleep in bed with one arm hanging over the edge.

Then she felt the couch beneath her. The blanket pulled around her. Something warm resting close enough that the backs of her fingers brushed dark hair.

Her eyes opened.

Loki was asleep on the floor.

He sat with his back against the couch, head tilted slightly to one side, one shoulder pressed into the cushion near her hip. His arms were folded loosely across his chest, though the posture lacked its usual severity. In sleep, all the careful tension had left his face.

He looked younger.

Not harmless. She doubted Loki could ever look entirely harmless. But less like a prince waiting for betrayal and more like someone who had finally become too exhausted to keep expecting it.

Y/N remained still.

Relief arrived first, sudden enough that she had to take a slow breath.

He had come back.

She had not realized how badly she wanted that until she saw him there, asleep beside the couch as though he had never left.

The happiness that followed was quieter and significantly more embarrassing.

Y/N looked toward the front door. His boots had returned. So had the long dark coat he had conjured, now laid over the back of the kitchen chair. There was no explanation. No note. No grand announcement.

He had simply come home.

Not home, she corrected.

Her apartment. His temporary residence. A place he tolerated because the rest of Midgard was apparently worse.

Still, he had come back.

Y/N let her fingertips drift almost imperceptibly against the ends of his hair.

Soft.

Of course it was. A man that dramatic would have annoyingly good hair.

She withdrew her hand before he could wake and catch her doing something that would give him material for the next several years.

Her copy of The Hunger Games sat on the floor beside him. He must have picked it up after returning, though it remained closed.

Maybe he had intended to read.

Maybe he had only meant to sit beside her for a moment.

Y/N smiled faintly.

Then someone knocked on the door.

The sound cracked through the apartment.

Loki woke instantly. His eyes opened sharp and alert, the softness vanishing so quickly Y/N almost wondered whether she had imagined it. Green light flickered briefly over his hand before he seemed to remember where he was.

Y/N jerked upright, the blanket tangling around her waist.

Another knock followed.

“Hold on,” she called, voice rough from sleep.

Loki looked up at her. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You weren’t expecting anyone?”

“No.”

His attention shifted to the door with immediate suspicion.

Y/N stood, still half asleep, hair falling across her face and one cheek creased from the couch cushion.

She looked down at him. “When did you get back?”

He rose smoothly, avoiding the question. “Someone is at your door.”

“I noticed.”

The knock came again, more impatient this time.

Y/N frowned. “Stay here.”

Loki’s eyebrows lifted. “You presume to command me?”

“I’m not having you threaten the landlord.”

“If the man arrives uninvited and pounds upon your door—”

“It might not be the landlord.”

“That hardly improves matters.”

Y/N glanced through the peephole.

Her stomach sank. “Oh, God.”

Loki stepped closer. “What?”

“My ex.”

His expression sharpened. “The owner of the clothing you offered me?”

“Yes.”

“The man whose possessions remain in your room?”

“In a box. Because he never came to pick them up.”

Another knock.

“Y/N,” a man called through the door. “I know you’re home. Your car’s outside.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “He sounds unpleasant.”

“You haven’t even met him.”

“I have heard enough.”

Y/N rubbed both hands over her face. Her ex had been texting for weeks about the box. Never consistently enough to arrange a real time, only enough to remain a minor inconvenience she could not entirely remove from her life.

Apparently today was the day he had finally decided to retrieve it.

“Just stay back,” she whispered.

“I see no reason—”

“Because I don’t need you turning him into a frog.”

Loki looked offended. “That is an embarrassingly unimaginative use of magic.”

“Exactly why you’re staying back.”

She opened the door.

Matt stood outside in jeans, an old band shirt, and the same expression he always wore when he wanted something but did not want to seem like he cared.

His eyes moved over her sleep clothes. “Were you asleep?”

“It’s my day off.”

“It’s almost noon.”

“So?”

He shrugged like the answer confirmed something unflattering. “I came for my stuff.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

Y/N kept one hand on the door, not opening it wide enough for him to step inside.

Matt looked over her shoulder. “Can I come in?”

“No. I’ll get the box.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“I used to live here.”

“And now you don’t.”

Behind her, Loki’s mouth almost curved.

Matt noticed. His attention shifted past Y/N, and his expression changed.

Loki stood in the living room, shirt slightly rumpled from sleeping on the floor, dark trousers making it very obvious he had spent the night.

Matt looked back at her. “Who’s that?”

“No one you need to worry about.”

“Is that the guy?”

“What guy?”

“My friend saw you at the grocery store yesterday. Said you were walking around with some tall guy dressed like he was going to a funeral.”

From behind her came a cool voice. “I was not dressed for a funeral.”

Matt looked past her again.

Loki stepped into clearer view.

Green magic swept over him so subtly Y/N nearly missed it. The shimmer ran from his shoulders downward, replacing the rumpled shirt and trousers with dark jeans, a fitted black shirt, and boots. Simple clothes, but on him they looked far too intentional.

His hair settled neatly around his shoulders.

The smugness remained entirely his own.

Matt’s expression tightened. “You were with him?”

Y/N folded her arms. “I don’t see why that matters.”

“I’m just asking.”

“No, you’re not.”

He looked between them. “So you’re dating now?”

There was something in his tone she recognized immediately. Not heartbreak. Not jealousy in any flattering sense. Possession. The irritation of someone who did not want her anymore but disliked the possibility that someone else might.

Y/N knew where this would go if she let it.

He would ask if it was serious. Make some comment about how quickly she moved on, despite being the one who ended things. Then, once he reassured himself she was still emotionally available, he would suggest they talk.

She was not doing it again.

Y/N glanced at Loki.

His gaze stayed fixed on Matt, cool and measuring.

She made the decision before she could overthink it. “Yes,” she said. “I’m dating him.”

Loki’s eyes flicked toward her for only a fraction of a second.

Matt blinked. “You’re dating?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m just surprised.”

“Why?”

He gave a short laugh. “No reason.”

Y/N felt her irritation rise.

Beside her, Loki stepped closer. His hand settled at her waist.

Y/N went rigid.

He did not look at her. The touch was confident but not tight, his palm resting against her side as though it belonged there.

Matt noticed.

Of course he did.

Loki’s expression softened into something charming enough to be dangerous. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”

Matt looked at the hand on Y/N’s waist. “Apparently not.”

“Loki.” He said the name without offering his hand.

Matt hesitated. “Matt.”

Loki inclined his head as though receiving the name of a minor servant. “Matthew.”

“It’s Matt.”

“Of course.”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek.

Matt looked at her. “How long has this been going on?”

Before she could answer, Loki said, “Long enough.”

Y/N looked up at him.

There was a glint in his eyes.

He knew she was lying.

Worse, he was enjoying it.

Matt’s jaw tightened. “You moved on pretty fast.”

“You broke up with me four months ago,” Y/N said.

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You just did.”

“I didn’t know you were already serious with someone.”

Loki looked down at Y/N with a degree of practiced affection that would have been convincing even if she had not felt the heat of his hand through her shirt.

“Serious?” he repeated.

Y/N gave him a warning look.

He ignored it. “I suppose that depends upon how one defines the word.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Loki’s smile deepened. “It means she has become quite accustomed to sharing her bed.”

Y/N elbowed him lightly.

His hand remained at her waist.

Matt looked between them. “You live here?”

“Presently.”

“Temporarily,” Y/N added quickly.

Loki glanced down at her. “We shall see.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Matt noticed. “So you’re staying with her?”

“She finds it difficult to sleep without me. She prefers that I do.”

Y/N almost choked.

Matt’s eyebrows rose.

Loki continued smoothly. “Though she does have a habit of becoming argumentative.”

Y/N turned her head slowly toward him.

Matt stared at them.

Y/N could feel heat climbing into her cheeks. “That’s not—”

“Fortunately,” Loki said, drawing her half a step closer, “I have found taking her to bed generally improves her disposition.”

Heat rushed into her face.

Matt looked like he regretted every question he had ever asked.

Y/N stepped on Loki’s boot.

Hard.

Loki did not flinch. His smile sharpened as his hand slid to the small of her back. “She does not work today,” he added, eyes returning to Matt. “And I had intended to make use of the opportunity before she finds another reason to test my patience.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped.

“Right,” Matt muttered. “Okay. I didn’t need to know that.”

“And yet you asked whether our attachment was serious.”

“I didn’t ask for details.”

“I believed the details might clarify matters.”

“They don’t.”

“How unfortunate.”

Y/N glared up at Loki.

He looked down at her with false innocence.

Matt cleared his throat. “Can I just get my box?”

“Yes,” Y/N said quickly. “Wait here.”

She started to step away, but Loki’s hand held her in place for one extra second. Not forcefully. Just long enough to make the implication worse.

Then he released her.

Y/N hurried to her bedroom before Loki could say anything else that required her to move to another state.

She found the box shoved into the corner of her closet. Old shirts, video games, cables, and several things Matt had claimed were important enough to keep but not important enough to retrieve for months.

By the time she returned, Loki and Matt stood in complete silence. Matt looked uncomfortable.

Loki looked delighted.

Y/N set the box down just inside the doorway. “There.”

Matt lifted it, glancing between them. “Guess I’ll leave you two to it.”

Loki inclined his head. “A wise decision.”

Y/N’s face burned.

Matt took one step away, then paused. “You still have my number, right?”

Y/N stared at him. “For what?”

“In case there’s anything else of mine.”

“There isn’t.”

“Or if you ever…” His eyes flicked toward Loki. “Want to talk.”

Loki’s smile disappeared.

Y/N caught the shift immediately. The amusement drained from his face, replaced by something colder.

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

Matt shrugged, trying too hard to seem casual. “Okay. Whatever.”

Before he could turn away, Loki spoke.

“I assure you, Matthew, she has little reason to seek conversation with you.”

Matt looked at him. “And why’s that?”

Loki’s hand settled once more at the small of Y/N’s back, drawing her against his side.

“Because when she calls for a man from her bed,” he said smoothly, “it is my name she uses.”

Y/N’s entire face burned. “Loki.”

He did not look at her.

Matt shifted the box in his arms. “Right.”

“And should she find herself unable to sleep,” Loki continued, thumb moving slowly against her back, “I am more than capable of occupying her until morning.”

Y/N dug her fingers into his wrist. “That’s enough.”

Loki glanced down at her, full of false innocence. “Is it?”

Matt looked like he regretted coming at all. “Okay. Whatever.”

He started down the walkway.

Loki moved closer to the door. “And Matthew.”

Matt turned.

Loki rested one hand against the frame above Y/N’s head.

“If you discover some further possession you have conveniently forgotten, send another to retrieve it. I would hate for your interruptions to become a recurring inconvenience.”

Matt stared at him. “Is that a threat?”

Loki smiled. “No. Merely a warning that Y/N and I value our privacy. Particularly in the bedroom.”

Y/N grabbed his wrist before he could make it worse. “Bye, Matt.”

She shut the door in his face.

The lock clicked into place.

For several seconds, silence filled the apartment.

Y/N remained facing the door. Loki stood directly behind her. She could practically feel the satisfaction radiating off him.

Slowly, she turned.

He raised one eyebrow. “Your performance lacked commitment.”

Y/N hit him in the arm.

Hard.

Loki looked down at the spot. “What was that for?”

“You know exactly what that was for.”

“I assisted you.”

“You told my ex I call your name from bed.”

“I corrected his misunderstanding.”

“You invented an entirely new misunderstanding.”

“It proved considerably more convincing.”

“You also told him you straighten me out by taking me to bed.”

“I believe my wording was more refined.”

“My point still stands.”

Loki regarded her calmly. “He appeared unconvinced by your initial declaration.”

“I said you were my boyfriend!”

“You said it with all the confidence of someone confessing to theft.”

“I was put on the spot.”

“You looked at me as though praying I might salvage your deception.”

“And you did.”

“Immediately.”

“Then you could’ve stopped after putting your arm around me.”

“He continued questioning you.”

“He would’ve stopped.”

“He did stop.”

“Because you emotionally scarred him.”

Loki looked puzzled. “I merely established that our relationship was intimate.”

“You implied we practically live in my bedroom.”

“I believe I implied considerably more than that.”

“I noticed!”

“And Matthew ceased entertaining the notion that you might welcome his return.”

Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it. “That is not the point.”

“It appears to have been.”

She threw both hands into the air. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet your former lover left under no illusion that you were unavailable.”

Y/N stared at him. “You enjoyed that.”

A slow smile appeared. “I confess, there was a certain satisfaction.”

“I hate you.”

“No.” He said it with such quiet certainty that she blinked. “You are simply embarrassed.”

“I am absolutely embarrassed.”

“You blushed before I made the bedroom remark.”

“I blushed because you kept touching me.”

“You requested that I appear convincing.”

“I did not request psychological warfare.”

“I adapted to the audience.”

“He needed boundaries.”

“Exactly. I provided them.”

“You told him if I can’t sleep, you occupy me until morning.”

Loki tilted his head. “He seemed to understand.”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

When she looked up, Loki was still watching her with maddening composure.

“So,” she said.

“So?”

“If that was your idea of pretending to be someone’s boyfriend…”

“Yes?”

“You’re insane.”

“I have been informed of that before.”

“You overcommitted.”

“I committed appropriately.”

“You committed enough for three relationships.”

His smile widened.

Y/N sighed. “If I ever ask you to help me lie again…”

“You won’t.”

“I won’t.”

“You will recall today’s success.”

“I’ll recall today’s humiliation.”

“The outcome was favorable.”

“I should hit you again.”

“You have already struck me twice.”

“I can make it three.”

“I would advise against it.”

“Why?”

His amusement sharpened into something far more deliberate. “Matthew may still be close enough to hear.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

Loki stepped nearer, not enough to touch her, but enough that she had to tilt her head back.

“I have already established certain expectations.”

“That is not my problem.”

“It becomes your problem if you continue challenging me.”

She pointed a finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare.”

His gaze dropped to her hand, then slowly returned to her face. “Darling,” he murmured, “you have spent the past several minutes insisting I exaggerated.”

“You did.”

“Then perhaps I ought to provide you with a more informed basis for comparison.”

Her finger curled slightly against his shirt.

Loki noticed.

Of course he did.

Y/N recovered quickly and pushed at his chest, though he barely moved. “You’re bluffing.”

“…Am I?”

“Yes.”

His hand settled lightly around her wrist before she could withdraw it. He did not pull her closer. He simply held her there, her palm against his chest, while his thumb moved once over the inside of her wrist.

“You seem remarkably certain.”

“Because you only do this when you know I won’t feed into it.”

A faint smile touched his mouth. “And yet you continue standing here.”

“I live here.”

“You could step away.”

“So could you.”

“I have no desire to.”

The answer came too smoothly.

Too quickly.

Y/N’s breath caught despite herself.

Loki leaned closer, his voice lowering. “I told Matthew that taking you to bed improves your disposition.”

“You lied.”

“Yes.” His eyes moved briefly to her mouth. “But I dislike leaving a deception unsupported.”

Heat rushed through her face. Y/N immediately tried to pull her hand free.

Loki let her.

He knew he had won the moment she backed away.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“And you are retreating.”

“I’m not retreating.”

Y/N hit his arm again.

This time, he caught her wrist.

“And that,” she said, “was for leaving.”

The amusement vanished.

Loki’s fingers remained wrapped loosely around her wrist.

Y/N looked down at his hand, then back at him. “You left without saying anything.”

“I had no obligation to announce my departure.”

“No. You didn’t.”

The quiet response seemed to unsettle him more than anger would have.

Y/N pulled her hand free. “I knew you were going to leave eventually. I just thought you might say goodbye first.”

Loki’s jaw tightened. “I believed remaining here served no purpose.”

“And then?”

He looked away.

Y/N waited.

He could have lied. She saw the impulse in his face. Instead, he said, “I reconsidered.”

“Why?”

“Midgard is more inconvenient than anticipated.”

She folded her arms. “That’s your answer?”

“It is true.”

“You came back because Earth is inconvenient?”

“Among other reasons.”

“What other reasons?”

His gaze returned to hers. “You are asking a great many questions for someone who struck me multiple times upon my return.”

“You deserved it.”

“I returned of my own will.”

“After leaving while I was asleep.”

“You were not asleep when I departed.”

“No, I was in bed. There’s a difference.”

“I saw no need to wake you.”

“You didn’t want me to talk you out of it.”

“I would not have been persuaded.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Loki went silent.

Y/N’s expression softened despite herself.

He had returned. That mattered more than the fact that he had left, though she was not ready to make it quite that easy.

“I’m glad you came back,” she said.

His face became carefully blank. “I didn’t return for your approval.”

“I know.”

“Nor because I require your companionship.”

“Sure.”

“I determined that our existing arrangement remains the most practical option.”

“You clean, I give you a couch.”

“Precisely.”

“And groceries.”

“Yes.”

“And books.”

“If you insist.”

Y/N nodded gravely. “Very practical.”

“It is.”

“Nothing emotional about it.”

“None.”

“You just happened to come back and sit beside me while I slept.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “I did not sit beside you.”

“You were on the floor.”

“A distinction you acknowledged.”

Y/N smiled.

Loki’s expression became suspicious. “Do not.”

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me as though you believe you have discovered something.”

“I discovered you’re secretly nice.”

“I will leave again.”

“No, you won’t.”

The words escaped before she could stop them.

Loki became still.

Y/N’s smile faded.

Neither spoke.

Then Loki stepped closer. “You appear remarkably certain.”

She should have made a joke.

Instead, she answered honestly. “You came back once.”

Something unreadable moved through his eyes. “You should not assume I will make a habit of it.”

“Then don’t leave.”

His gaze dropped briefly toward her mouth. The movement was so much quicker than the last time, she nearly missed it.

Then his expression shifted back into smug amusement. “But then your former lover may return and discover our earlier claims were false.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Don’t start.”

“We have an entire day free, apparently.”

“Loki.”

“He seemed quite persuaded by the prospect.”

“He left because you were making him uncomfortable.”

“As intended.”

“You made me uncomfortable.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Did I?”

She hated how easily he heard the weakness in that sentence.

Y/N pointed toward the kitchen. “Go clean something.”

“I cleaned the entire apartment before leaving.”

“Then do it again.”

“There is nothing to clean.”

“Find something.”

Loki leaned slightly closer. “I was under the impression we had plans.”

Her cheeks heated again. “Not yet.”

She shoved him away by the chest.

Loki laughed.

It was the first time she had heard the sound fully. Not the quiet, smug breath he gave when amused, but an actual laugh. Warm, surprised, and far too pleased with himself.

Y/N hated how happy it made her to hear it.

“You are the worst fake boyfriend I’ve ever had,” she said.

His laughter softened into a grin. “I convinced him.”

“You traumatized him.”

“Then I was exceptionally effective.”

She shook her head and turned toward the kitchen.

Behind her, Loki said, “Y/N.”

She glanced back.

For once, he looked almost hesitant. “I did not intend for my departure to cause you distress.”

It was not an apology.

Not quite.

But from him, it sounded close.

Y/N studied him. “Say sorry and move on from the conversation.”

His mouth tightened.

She waited.

Loki exhaled slowly. “I am sorry.”

The words were quieter than his performance at the door had been.

Y/N smiled. “Thank you.”

“You will not demand that again.”

“We’ll see.”

His expression darkened, but there was no real anger in it.

Y/N continued into the kitchen. “And just so we’re clear, you’re not actually my boyfriend.”

Loki followed her. “No.”

“And we’re not having sex today.”

“I am aware.”

“Or often.”

“Of course.”

“Or ever.”

That made him pause.

Y/N opened the refrigerator and pretended not to notice.

When Loki spoke again, his voice was smooth. “You seem unusually determined to clarify that possibility.”

She kept her head inside the refrigerator. “I’m determining nothing.”

“Then perhaps you ought to stop mentioning it.”

“I’m making sure you understand.”

“I understood the first time.”

“Good.”

“Though your repeated insistence does invite curiosity.”

Y/N shut the refrigerator and turned around. “There is nothing to be curious about.”

Loki stood on the other side of the kitchen, watching her with that infuriating expression. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I sound annoyed.”

“You do.”

“Then stop flirting with me.”

His eyebrows rose. “I was unaware I had begun.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

His gaze moved over her face with deliberate slowness. “Then why are you still entertaining the conversation?”

“I’m not.”

“You continue answering.”

“Because you won’t stop talking.”

“I could.”

“Please do.”

Loki took one step closer. “But then I would be deprived of watching you pretend not to enjoy this.”

Y/N grabbed the nearest dish towel and threw it at him.

He caught it easily.

“Just clean something.”

Loki looked down at the towel. “You are retreating again.”

“I’m standing in my kitchen.”

“You have placed a counter between us.”

“Strategically.”

His smile returned.

Y/N pointed toward the sink. “Dishes.”

“There are no dishes.”

“Then dirty one and wash it.”

“That seems inefficient.”

“Figure it out.”

She turned away before he could see her smile.

Behind her, Loki’s voice carried through the kitchen, low and amused. “You are remarkably poor at resisting me.”

Y/N opened a cabinet harder than necessary. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

“No.”

“You’re not taking me to bed.”

“Not today, apparently.”

She froze. Then slowly turned her head.

Loki stood drying an already clean cup with the dish towel, looking entirely innocent.

Y/N narrowed her eyes.

He smiled. “Your instructions were to clean something.”

. . . 

taglist, •o+*. 

Loki can see through the pair. While Bruce houses no disdain for the trickster sitting in front of him, he doubts the success rate of the strategy that has just been explained to them.

“You two are the only way this is going to work,” the God enunciates. He turns his observant eyes towards the Black Widow.

Natasha sits with her arms crossed. She knows that Loki can read all probabilities she has already calculated. But unlike Bruce, she has her doubts about anything that is coming from the God of Mischief. 

“That is one crude way to get an Infinity Stone,” she finally responds.

“Had I been the creator, I would have made them kinder for you.” Loki smiles at her.

Natasha watches that smile, reading the little streaks of pain this God hides within the wrinkles near his eyes, and those exhausted pupils that have seen more of this universe than he would like to have seen.

“And this location. Is your informant trustworthy?” Natasha does not blink.

“Gamora knows the location like she knows the disdain for her father in her heart,” Loki stated, “the only one she’ll be betraying is herself and that excuse of a father.”

“And if what you are planning to…’recreate’…does not happen, then what?” The Black Widow wants to cover all bases with the one who thinks he can defeat a mad alien.

Loki looks down at his hand that works over the rim of his teacup. The God carefully reads the little grains under the glaze, the intricate details of the Wakandan art in this one little ceramic beauty. He thinks he hides the shiver in his finger well, clenched his fist before releasing it and looking back at the woman who has just been told a harsh reality of defeating the inevitable threat to her home.

“Then I would gladly surrender my head to you and let you know we were always doomed by the narrative.” 

Loki finishes his beverage, putting the cup back on the table. “But I am not willing to die till I see him squirm. And for that, I can assure you I have studied the stones like my existence depends on them.”

The Black Widow stares at him for a stretched moment. She gets up. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“You cannot make any changes to the script once you get there,” Loki is quick to add. It is more of a warning than a threat. Almost sounding precautionary.

Natasha nods in affirmation.

Bruce seems to gain some confidence upon watching Natasha. He turns back to Loki, leaning over the table, “What do you need from me?”

Loki is about to speak when he chooses not to. He purses his lips and narrows his eyes, looking at Natasha for muted help.

The Black Widow nearly rolls her eyes. She looks at Bruce and exhales. “He needs the big guy for what he is about to ask you next.”

.

Fifteen minutes later, Wong is nodding at the God as he makes a portal to another place. The magical circle can be seen opening up to a desolated space with a spaceship getting ready for take off.

The craft has a familiarity to it- made to replicate a Quinjet used by SHEILD but for space travel. The sleek black body has pulsating purple lines running all over it; an upgrade provided by the Wakandan technology.

Natasha and Banner have suited up, their helmets ready in their arms as they have a final word with their team.

No one present there dares to put up a grim face. The God can see they have made peace with the fact that they cannot afford to. He had anticipated more friction with the Avengers than has been getting till now. On the contrary, the God has received quite valuable feedbacks on his concerns and strategies.

Once they have bid farewell to the rest, Bruce and Natasha walk over to Loki.

“Here,” Loki hands Natasha a device, “attach this to the ship’s control system and punch in the coordinates I wrote down for you. It’s warp you through the galaxies three times before you reach your destination. Do not stop anywhere in the middle. Keep your helmets on at all times during the warp even if you feel the urge to puke your guts out. The moment you land on the planet, everything will settle down. Is there anything else you need to ask me?”

The experienced eyes of the deadliest assassin/spy is watching the God in a different light, reading the veiled concern behind the repeated instructions.

“Be back in a minute.” Natasha pats Loki’s shoulder.

Bruce hands a box the size of his fist to Loki and proceeds to pat his back before landing soft punch on the God’s chest. “Thor would be proud of you, man.”

Neither of them wait for a response, already running through the portal towards the ship.

The God stands there, not moving a muscle as his eyes follow the two figures. 

Loki watches them board the ship while the sorcerer he saved a few hours ago walks in front to the ship through another portal.

Strange looks at Loki for a passing moment before turning his focus towards the space ship. Strings of green hue begin to emanate from the sorcerer’s chest before the portal is closed and the God brings his mind back to the Wakandan grounds,

Steve and T’Challa have already passed their instructions to the warriors on the ground.

The God comes over to stand beside them, looking at the lush grounds of the country. He convinces himself he would not miss this scenery even if they lose today, but does not speak his thoughts out loud. 

“Captain, were you able to safeguard our current concerns?” The God moves his hands to the back, leaning in ever so slightly towards Steve Rogers.

Steve nods. “Strange did what you asked for. It should buy Stark and Shuri some time. And that kid.”

“Will Mr Wong be able to handle the makeshift lab on his own?” T’Challa doubts the instruments of sorcerers rather than the man himself.

“Till the time the army arrives, he is getting all the help needed for the task,” Loki adds. 

The God looks down at his hands and arms, studying the healed wounds that were too deep to have been worked upon by his lone self. “Every second I am in this place, I gather a deeper understanding of why it has been kept hidden from the rest of this world. And yet you have decided to open your doors for everyone to witness this power. I hope his majesty is aware of the unfathomable avarice that dwells in the nature of a man.”

T’Challa smirks at the God, never losing his composure. “I was told something similar about your nature some time ago. And yet, here you stand, trying to save that very man, even if it is for personal vengeance. A smart creature knows when to wager, Mr Loki.”

“Wager, I have.” The God chuckles. “To send the almighty hulk to Vormir.”

.

A lazy bloop swims over the screen, moving closer to the centre. 

"We have found them," Cull Obsidian declares to the ship.

A grunt comes out of the bulky alien, who checks his armour with a few fiery punches. 

"Do you think they have held Maw captive, Midnight?"

Midnight eyes another screen that reflects a blue coloured bloop heading for Titan. 

“Maw is headed back to Titan. This can only mean that he has the time stone in his claim.”

The warrior looks down at the barren fields straight ahead, lined with trees along a strategic perimeter, where the bloop is pointing. 

Corvus joins his wife to look down at the ground where the ship is beginning its landing.

     Loki has tried his hand at writing poetry many, many times over his long life. He believes he’s good at it. He’s written enough to fill at least three books, so he’s gotten plenty of practice. He’s written about many topics, in both good and bad lights, and he is certain he could wax poetry about almost any topic with little to no difficulty at all. And if he did hit a road bump and find something he cannot manage to write about, then he could always do what he does best: he could lie. He could fake it until he makes it.

     Loki cannot find the words to describe you, and he knows it would do you a disservice to bluff his way through it for the sake of words on paper.

     He knows an extensive list of words to describe someone radiant, and kind, and beautiful, but none of them are good enough for you. They pale in comparison to you. In his mind, they do not hold a candle to whatever unknown and possibly nonexistent words that could accurately describe you. He knows that there are things that could only be painted in the mind with the use of metaphors, but no matter what words he thought of and what way he tried to phrase them, the only things that are painted in his mind are imperfect replicas.

     His best attempts were still relegated to a waste basket. It’s the best honor he can give them. The other failures were just ripped up or burned out of frustration and a need to never let them see the light of day again. He’s tried to write just a few opening lines over and over and over again, and he can’t even find a good opening word. He knows he’s been working on this for too long for your tastes. He half expects you to barge in at any moment to drag him to watch a movie on the couch or to try some new recipe you made or do anything else in order to take a break.

     Maybe that could be the fuel he needs to start this poem off right, he thinks. Your kind-hearted care for him, even when he was certain he doesn’t deserve it from you. He’s a god. He could give you anything you wanted, and if he couldn’t do that with certainty, then he would rip through Midgard and Asgard and any realm in between to do it. You were a mortal, and he wasn’t, and that meant you were more fragile than him, and thus, by all means, requiring more care than him.  And yet you insist on taking care of him instead. 

     You cook for him. You buy him little trinkets and bits of jewelry. You try to convince him to rest when he’s focused on something “too hard”. And by all means, such little things shouldn’t make a god swoon as much as it made him, but he couldn’t help it. It’s not even the things themself that get him. Most of the recipes you find are a far cry from the recipes he grew up with in Asgard, and he’s certain that doesn’t need as much rest as you think he does, and he still does not understand why mortals are so obsessed with things with the first letter of their name on it.

     But he understands why he likes all of those things. He likes them because you got them for him or because you made them for him. He liked the strange, overly complicated meals of Migard because you put the care into every small detail of them, because you wanted him well fed. He gets the sleep you think he needs, if only because it makes you happy and he likes laying and sitting next to you and getting to look at your satisfied smile. He likes the little souvenir bracelets and keychains you find with an L on them, and he loves the ones you got custom made with his full name on them, because you cared enough to ensure he got to properly participate in this silly little Midgard tradition.

     But finding the words to say how much that meant to him properly is hard. It’s impossible, even. Starting a poem about how much you care about him and how much he loves that you care should be easy. There are millions of poems and figurative language expressions about this sort of thing. But did he want a poem dedicated to you to be derivative of another? Could he really make you something that was similar to something that common.

     No. No, he can’t. You were rarer than one in a million. He couldn’t give you something that couldn’t be picked out of a million other poems just like it. He balls up another piece of paper and drops it into his desk-side trash bin and tries to come up with another premise for a poem.

     Maybe he could write about another way that you are kind. You’re forgiving to him, more forgiving than many others would be. He’s done many things wrong, some on accident, many on purpose. Some of them were small things, like an occasional mean trick or needless lie. Many of them were large things, like trying to take over New York.

     He’s not entirely certain why you forgave him for that one. You’ve tried to explain it a few times, and he understands the words that you’re saying to him, but he doesn’t understand how you can say those things with such sincerity. You mean them. He knows you mean them. But he thinks it will take every year and every moment of his immortal life for them to finally clock in his brain properly.

     It’s not so much that you are willing to simply overlook those things. Loki wouldn’t like it if you did. That would just be naive. You know that he did all of those things. You acknowledge that he did all of these things. You acknowledge that they were bad and that while some of them had understandable reasons behind them, others did not. And you forgave him anyway. And everyday you continue to forgive him for those things and some of the things he continues to do out of habit.

     But is forgiveness alone enough for a poem about you? If he wrote about all of the things that you forgave him for, would he really be writing a poem about you? No, he would just be writing about all of the things that he’s done wrong in his life. That was worse than writing a poem full of common metaphors for how much you cared for him. At least that was something about you. He couldn’t write a self-pitying poem about his own failures and try to pass it off as something made to show his love for you.

     It occurs to Loki that maybe he could write about one of the things he loves the most about you: the way you loved him. It sounds selfish and self-centered and awful. He knows that. But it is also the truth. He loves the little things and little quirks about how you love him.

     It isn’t just about how you care about the little things for his sake. It’s about things you do that he’s certain you don’t notice. The things that he’s certain you’re not doing intentionally. 

     You’re gentle with him. In your words, in your actions. He’s never heard a mean word come out of your mouth that was directed at him. At people who said things that weren’t true about him, of course, but never at him. And your touch is just as gentle and kind as your words. You hold him like he was made of glass. You kiss the back of his hand and tell him it was only fitting that you do that for royalty. 

     And you are one of the only people he knows who can when he’s lying. He’s met maybe one or two other people in his long life who have that ability. He knows how they did it. It was magic, both of them. But you? He doesn’t know how you’re doing it. He doesn’t sense any kind of magic from you. He has to assume that you can simply… tell. He has to assume that you’ve found some tell of his, that you pay attention enough to find something that no one else has.

     And you don’t blame him for his lies. You don’t get mad at them. You sit and talk with him about the serious ones if if the hurt you, but he does what he can to not tell ones that hurt you. But you don’t get annoyed at the silly ones. He likes telling you the silly little lies that you claim are obvious. They’re more stories than anything, tales he makes up about how he met the Pope today, or about how he stopped a stampede of cats before he came home, or about how he had to eat the last donut because the world would end if he didn’t, or any of the millions of other things he’s come up with. Those little lies made you laugh. He likes hearing you laugh.

     And that thought is what finally gives him his idea for his poem. He can’t just write about one thing with you. He has to write about all of it. If he is going to rant and rave on paper about you, then he needs to do that about all of you. If he was going to do this, then he had to do it right, and to do that, he needed to speak on all parts of you and your love. 

x

Three Weeks Before The Incident

All you ever wanted to do was to heal people. The magic that runs through your veins is strong enough to heal almost every wound and every disease. Most of the women on Celestria come to you whenever they fall ill, so you’re constantly working around-the-clock to provide aid to those who need it.

You’re inside a hospital where a woman is so sick, she will die if you or someone with your powers doesn’t step in to help.

“Easy,” you coax when the woman moans in pain. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“It’s quite alright.”

As you work, you hear hushed whispers come from the other healers posted in the room. You’re not the only one with powers to heal, and there are a lot of sick women to go through. The healers whisper about the scandal that’s going around with the council. Asgard is butting into Celestria’s business when they have no right to. No one seems to know what’s going on, but it’s enough to pique your interest.

Five incredibly powerful women make up the council, and they govern five different planets that utilize magic. There are rules that must be followed within each of those planets.

Magic must not be used maliciously

Magic may not be used to enact revenge

Magic may not be used to overtake anyone

Magic may not be used to kill

Magic may not be used for love

Generally, these five planets have lived in harmony with each other. The council hasn’t had much trouble with those using magic wrong. With the threat of Asgard looming over the council, everyone is tense and unsure about how to move forward. You’re too curious not to stay out of it. You’ve heard of Asgard, and it seems wonderful. You wish to go one day.

If only you could leave the planet.

It’s hard when the council has every exit locked down tightly.

After a long day at the hospital, you head over to the sanctuary where the council is housed. With Asgard on Celestria, the guards are preoccupied with keeping them in instead of patrolling outside. There aren’t as many women outside as there usually are, so you find a spot where you can sneak inside.

You keep to the shadows as you make your way closer to the banquet hall they conduct business in. You find a place with the perfect view of the inside, and you’re close enough to hear what they’re saying.

All five councilwomen are in front of their thrones while the men of Asgard stand before them. Odin, Thor, and several of their guards. You take a moment to admire their appearances. Celestria is only filled with women. No man resides here. It makes for a more harmonious environment, and there is hardly ever any violence.

You know what men look like, but none of them look like Thor and some of the guards.

“We have given you adequate time to turn over Zephyr, and now it’s time for her to pay the price of her crimes.”

“She has done no such thing,” Luna announces, her voice booming. “You come to our planet and accuse us of such violence? Under what grounds?”

“We have granted you peace that Zephyr has now disturbed. She may not have committed crimes here, but she must answer for her crimes on Asgard.”

“Zephyr has done no such thing. She hasn’t left this planet in decades.”

“You have no jurisdiction here, Odin,” Aurora, another councilwoman, says. “Leave willingly before you are forced out.”

These women are very powerful; it’s why they’re on the council. They’re even older than Odin, and Odin knows this. He won’t be getting past them, even with his son and his guards by his side.

“Very well, but if you think this is the end, then you are sorely mistaken.”

“If you step foot in Celestria again, it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do.”

Odin turns and leaves, and you quickly flee as safely as you can. What did Zephyr do? Is Odin telling the truth, or is the council protecting her? You have so many questions, but they’ll go unanswered until you can find a way to get them answered.

The Day of The Incident

Odin and his army haven't been back to Celestria since that night, and you are no closer to finding out what Zephyr did or didn’t do. Maybe it’s not your business. There is a reason why the council is so secretive. They deal with things you couldn’t possibly begin to understand, and maybe it’s for the best.

You’re in a field picking some ingredients for your potions when you notice someone standing off in the distance alone. You set the ingredients inside of your wicker basket and set it on the ground. You walk closer until the figure is clear—it’s Zephyr.

She is pacing underneath a tree, and she looks worried. Normally, the councilwomen are so put together and elegant; it’s jarring to see her behave this way. This might be your opportunity to find out what happened with her and Odin. Not like she has any right to tell you.

For one, you’re not on the council. For two, you and Zephyr have never seen eye to eye. They know all about how you heal others, but there are rules and practices that she takes issue with even if the other councilwomen don’t. There have been times when you and Zephyr have gotten into a screaming match because you were defending your practices, and she just needed someone to bully.

So, going up to her now is a very bad idea, but your curiosity overtakes your instinct to run. You move closer to her but stop when you see two figures walking closer to her. Something isn’t right.

They’re men, and no man lives on Celestria.

When they get closer, you see it’s Thor and an Asgardian palace guard. ​​Zephyr stiffens when she hears them, and she turns to face them with a hard look on her face. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you know it’s tense. You move closer to her without letting them know you’re here, but you still can’t clearly hear words.

What you can hear is Zephyr pleading with them to listen to her. She never pleads. Something is very wrong here. Then the unthinkable happens. Thor takes out a shiny blade and brings it down on Zephyr. You gasp loudly the second Zephyr stumbles backward with blood coating her pretty dress.

Thor and the guard’s heads snap toward you. You turn to run away, but stop when you see the other four councilwomen storming over to the place. You try to flee, but Thor grabs your arm tightly before dragging you over to Zephyr’s dead body.

Tears spring to your eyes. You didn’t like her, but you never wanted to see her dead.

“What is going on?” Luna demands. They look at Zephyr’s body, at you, then at Thor. “You are not supposed to be here.”

“We were invited here by Zephyr, and we found her talking with Zephyr.” Thor points to the knife on the ground. “We saw her kill her with that blade, but we were too late to stop it.”

“WHAT?” you gasp loudly. “No! I didn’t do that!”

All four councilwomen’s eyes turn to you, and they are not happy. “Y/N, what is the meaning of this?”

“It wasn’t me! I saw Thor stab her!”

“Why would Thor break our treaty?” Aurora asks.

“Please, you have to believe me.”

“Why were you out here?” Luna asks.

“I was gathering ingredients for my potions. I was running low.”

Luna looks around and clasps her hands together. “I don’t see a basket.”

“It’s over there!” You point to the spot where you dropped it, but you can’t see it because of the tall grass. “Councilwomen, please believe me. I would never kill Zephyr.”

Daphne scoffs and shakes her head. “We all know of your issues with Zephyr, Y/N. You two have never gotten along, so why should we believe your story above Thor’s?”

No, this isn’t happening. Why is Thor lying?

“You know the rules we have in place, Y/N. Magic used to kill is strictly forbidden,” Luna says.

“I didn’t kill her! And she was killed by a blade, not a knife!”

“A knife that shimmers with magic.” You look down to see that yes, the blade shimmers in the light. Magic. How did Thor get a magical knife? “Breaking the rules is punishable, and you must go before the council to receive sentencing.”

“No! I didn’t do it!” Magical ties bind your wrists together, and you’re pulled toward Daphne and Luna. “Please! You have to believe me! Thor did this!”

Your pleas are ignored as you’re taken away. As you’re being dragged away, you look back at Thor, and he doesn’t look remorseful in the slightest.

That night, you’re placed in a cell deep in the sanctuary, awaiting sentencing for something you never did. They will most certainly kill you. Not only is murder forbidden on Celestria, but murder by magic is the forbidden fruit. It’s unheard of because the punishment is so severe.

No, you can’t stay here. You need to find out why Thor blamed you and get revenge on him. Sneaking into the sanctuary so many times has given you the knowledge on how to sneak out, even locked up the way you are.

You fled immediately afterward, vowing to make Asgard pay for what they did to you.

The Present

That fateful night happened three years ago, but it still feels like yesterday. Thor doesn’t even remember you. Why would he? He did what he came to Celestria to do. He killed Zephyr, so why wouldn’t he blame it on you?

As you’re brewing tea on the stove, you absentmindedly feel the scar you got on your stomach the night you escaped Celestria. Three years is a long time to be away from home, but you know they are looking for you.

If Loki tells anyone who you really are, then the council will find you, take you back to Celestria, and kill you. Even Loki knowing who you are is dangerous enough. It’s not like he’s innocent in anything. He craves chaos and mischief. He might tell someone just to watch the events unfold.

You have to get to Loki before he decides to open his big mouth. But how? Sneaking into the sanctuary is a lot different than sneaking into the golden castle. Loki rarely leaves it. You’re not sure how you’re going to do this, but you know you have to.

They have to pay for their crimes. There is no way Thor acted alone. Odin must have had a say in what happened.

After making your tea, you walk into the living room, where you are busy putting new potions into boxes. The market is happening in two days, and you have to be prepared to have enough stock for everyone. You’ve nearly saved enough to get off this forsaken planet, so you just need a few more markets to make it happen. You’ll leave this planet to go live somewhere else, but then you’ll return to enact your revenge. Plus, there are some planets out there that see Asgard as an enemy. If you can get their help, you’ll be set.

You set your tea down and grab a handful of potions that you delicately place inside the box. Suddenly, someone knocks on your door, and you freeze in place. Who could that be? I didn’t invite anyone over. You set the potions inside the box and walk over to the door. When you open it, you see two palace guards standing tall in front of you.

“Good evening, Miss.”

“How can I help you?”

“Your presence is requested at the castle.”

“What?” Okay, didn’t expect that. “Why?”

“Your presence has been requested by King Odin himself. Queen Frigga has fallen ill.”

He must have heard all about your potions either from his sons or by listening to the chatter among the town. Either way, your first instinct is to tell them no. Frigga did nothing wrong to you, but it’ll punish Odin and his sons if she died. However, the guards aren’t asking you to come; they’re telling you to come. Telling Odin no, especially if it regards his wife, is most likely dealt with death.

If you’re dead, then you can’t enact your revenge. Plus, this is how you can get into the castle without being in trouble. Once you’re inside, you can find Loki and demand he keeps his mouth shut about you.

“Very well,” you finally say. “Let me gather my supplies.”

You gather what you’ll need to heal Frigga, and you leave with both palace guards. They escort you to the castle with ease, and you have to admit it’s beautiful. Everything has been carved to perfection, and there isn’t a flaw to be seen. There had been many battles here, but it looks brand new.

The guards escort you to the throne room where Odin and Thor are. Seeing Thor makes you see red, but you’re proud of the way you compose yourself. You hold your head high as you stand before him, and he nods at you. There is no recognition in Thor’s eyes when he looks at you. How can he forget what he did to you?

“Thank you for coming,” Odin says.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Frigga is unwell, and I’ve heard all about your potions that have helped others. I will pay you for your troubles.”

“It’s no trouble, sir. Please, lead the way.”

Thor and Odin take you to where Frigga is, and she doesn't look good at all. “What happened to her? How did she fall ill?”

“She encountered a poisonous plant.”

“I see.” You lay your bag on the bed and ruffle through the items. “I have just the thing. Where was the point of contact?”

“Her hands,” Thor answers.

His voice grates on your nerves, but you do your best to push him aside. You grab the lotion that you were saving for the marketplace but will do well with Frigga. You grab her pale hand and start spreading the lotion all over the point of contact. Odin and Thor watch as Frigga’s skin slowly starts to regain its color. The lotion fused with your magic spreads over her entire body, counteracting the poison that’s within.

Frigga opens her eyes, and she looks around in confusion. “What happened?”

“Oh, my Queen. Fear not, you are going to be okay,” Odin says gently. You put the lotion back into your bag and everything else you took out. “What is in that lotion?”

“Just herbs.” You know he doesn’t believe you, but the last thing you’re gonna do is tell him you’re magical. “Do you mind if I use your restroom?”

“Of course. I’ll show you where it is,” Thor says.

“Great.” You take your things and follow Thor out of the room, and he leads you down the hallway to where it is. “You don’t have to stay outside. I know my way back.”

“Thank you for healing my mother.”

Your voice is clipped, but he doesn’t notice. “You’re welcome.”

Thor leaves, and once he’s out of sight, you slip away to go find Loki. This is your only chance to find him because you don’t know when you’ll get an opportunity like this. This castle is massive, and you’re not sure where Loki’s bedroom is. After a few failed attempts, you come to the right one.

You know it’s the right one because it’s covered with the color green. Can he be more obvious? Loki isn’t here, but you don’t have time to go search for him. You snatch a pen from the desk and scribble a note for him that you leave on his bed.

I need to talk to you. Come find me. Y/N

Short and simple. You leave the castle with armed guards, and they escort you back to your place. Odin kept his word and paid you, so now you only have to do one more marketplace, and you’ll be free to leave.

The first day of the marketplace, you’re in your small store getting set up. You’ve worked on these potions all night, so they all better be gone by the end of the day. You’re putting them on the shelf when the small bell above your door rings. You turn to tell the person to come back when you’re open, but the words die when you see Loki there.

“About time.”

“I got your note.”

“I figured that’s why you’re here.”

Loki walks toward you, admiring the trinkets you have out on display. “I heard about your little healing stint with my mother.”

“Yeah, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about.” You toss the empty box to the side and face him. “Look, I don’t care how you feel about me, and I certainly don’t care about you. I’d rather not talk to you at all, but I need to make sure that you do not tell people about me. If Odin knows I’m from Celestria, then he will kill me. If not, he’ll send me back to the council, and they’ll kill me.”

“Relax, litla blómið mitt, I have no intention of saying anything to anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. “That’s it? It’s that easy?”

“Would you like me to threaten you?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to expose me? I’m sure that’ll make Daddy happy.”

Loki’s eyes narrow at you. “I couldn’t care less what Daddy wants. I have my own agenda.”

“And what’s that?”

“Where’s the fun in me telling you?” he asks with a smirk.

You roll your eyes and wave him off. “Fine. Please leave. I’m done talking to you.”

“Come to the masquerade ball.”

Asgard throws a masquerade ball every year, and everyone in Asgard is permitted to go. It’s the one day of the year everyone is allowed to go inside the castle.

“No, thanks.”

“It wasn’t a request,” he chuckles. “I’ll have guards pick you up at seven on Friday.”

“What part of, ‘no, thanks’ did you not understand?”

“What part of, ‘it wasn’t a request’ did you not understand?” he throws back in your face.

“I’m not going, Loki. Go find someone else to go.”

“Fine, then I’ll just go to Daddy and tell him who you are.” Loki turns and starts walking to the front door. “Farewell.”

His hand closes around the doorknob, but he doesn’t open the door. Before he can, a knife embeds into the frame inches from his head. He smirks and looks at you from over his shoulder.

“Don’t even think about it,” you say and glare at him.

Loki takes the knife from the frame and inspects the sharp blade. “Then I guess I’ll see you there.”

“No, you won’t.” Loki opens the door and steps outside. “Give me my knife back.”

“No. You’ll have to come get it from me at the ball, litla blómið mitt. See you then.”

“Motherfucker,” you growl.

Looks like you’re going to the ball.

All week, you’ve been scrambling to find something to wear for this damn ball, only for a dress to show up on your doorstep yesterday. Deep green with a slit on the thigh, and a black lace mask. Damn Loki and his fucking green everything. Since you have nothing else to wear, you decide to wear what he’s gifted to you.

True to his word, palace guards meet you at seven to take you to the castle even though everyone else is finding their own way there.

When you get there, half of Asgard is already inside, mingling. You hate this. You don’t want to be here. Everyone is smiling and laughing like they’re so fucking high and mighty. You just want to burn Asgard for what they did to you.

You can’t return home because of them.

You stick to the shadows as you observe the people coming in. You’re next to the window so you can watch who is coming in when you hear the chatter pick up. Thor and Loki walk into the room, stealing everyone’s attention. Your eyes narrow at the brothers, not understanding why everyone puts them on such a high pedestal.

Loki locks eyes with you, and he looks shocked to see you here. Or maybe he’s shocked you wore what he gifted to you. His eyes rake down your body, and you hate the flutter of butterflies in your stomach. No! He’s the bad guy. He may not have been there that day, but he is still responsible. Loki says something to Thor before breaking away from him to walk to you.

You turn to face the window so you can have something else to focus on, and that’s when you feel his presence behind you.

“You look beautiful, litla blómið mitt,” Loki drawls.

There go those damn butterflies. “I know, I own a mirror.”

Loki laughs, and you hate how sexy it sounds. “I have to make a few rounds, but please, eat and drink. I’ll be back for you, litla blómið mitt.”

“I hope not,” you say sweetly.

Loki winks at you before leaving your side. For the next hour, Thor and Loki go around the room and talk to people while you stick to the shadows. You’ve had several glasses of alcohol and a few bites of the hors d'oeuvres.

Even back on Celestria, you were never the one to be outspoken. Sure, you argued with Zephyr, but you always did it behind closed doors.

You down your fifth glass of alcohol when Loki approaches you. “If you have any more, you’ll be escorted out of this place soon.”

“I should be so lucky.”

“Dance with me.”

“No, thanks.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

Loki holds his hand out, and you roll your eyes as you take it. His skin is ice cold, but you welcome it. The alcohol has made your skin overheat slightly, so the cold is a nice touch. Loki takes you to the middle of the room and pulls you into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Loki grips your waist gently.

“You do look ravishing, litla blómið mitt.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not an answer, Loki.”

“It’s the answer you’re getting for now.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.”

Loki chuckles as he moves slowly with you. “Oh, how could I forget the reason you’re here?” Loki reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out your knife discreetly. “I think this belongs to you.”

“Yes, it does. Seeing as I have no pockets on this forsaken dress, you’ll just have to hold it for me.”

“All the more reason for you to come back, darling,” he says with a smirk.

You hate to admit it, but you’re kind of having fun here. After an hour of dancing with Loki, you break apart from him to grab some water from the coolers. There are two Asgardian guards next to the cooler, gossiping, but they don’t pay you any attention.

“Did you hear the new addition to the weapons vault?”

“No. You were the one to go down there, right?”

“Yeah. I hate that place.” Weapons vault? Interesting. “I guess the Tesseract is back, and when I was putting it where it belongs, you’ll never guess what I saw.”

“What?”

“Surtur’s crown. That thing is fucking creepy. I never want to be down there again.”

Surtur’s crown… Why does that sound familiar? You try to busy yourself so you have an excuse to stay there long. You need to hear the end of this conversation.

“Isn’t that the downfall of Asgard or something like that?”

“It’s more than that. It’s supposed to obliterate all of Asgard. All someone has to do is put the crown in the eternal flame. Then Surtur is born and destroys Asgard in minutes.”

You don’t have to hear the rest of the conversation to know what you need to do next. The downfall of Asgard lies several stories beneath your feet.

All you need to do is figure out a way to get down there.

x

x

The town is buzzing with chatter and energy, but you do your best to tune out everyone else. All you want to focus on is getting your booth set up and your things on display. Every first weekend of each month, Asgard comes together to open a community marketplace in hopes of selling as many things as they can. It’s a good way to make connections and get as many people to know about your business.

You’re a herbalist that sells potions of all kinds—some to make people feel better, soothe their aching muscles, help them focus, etc. You’ve been selling your shit for nearly three years now, and you almost always sell out.

All they know is that you have a potion for everything, and they always seem to work. What they don’t know is that you use magic to make them work. They’re so strong because of your magic.

All you want is to make enough money to get off this fucking planet. You hate Asgard. You hate the royal family. You hate living here. Most of it isn’t that bad, but you hate having to scrape for money when the royal family is living high and mighty in their golden tower. All you want is to move to a planet where you can thrive and be free without having to worry about getting food on your table every night.

As you set up, you watch the other merchants set up their booths. Even from where you are, you can hear chatter about whether the Odinsons are going to join in. Sometimes they like to come down and browse, other times not.

An hour later, the market opens, and Asgardians are free to browse. You’re more than welcome to leave your store to go check out other ones, but you’re not going to do it. You have no interest in Asgardian business.

A woman walks into your shop, and you plaster on a fake smile. “Hi, welcome in. Can I help you with anything specific?”

“I hope so. My daughter can’t seem to fall asleep. She is crying at all hours of the night. I have tried everything I could to get her to stop. I don’t know what’s wrong. Do you happen to have anything safe enough for her?”

“Yes, I have just the thing.”

If someone asks you for a potion that you don’t already have on hand, you can quickly make it in the back, away from prying eyes. You turn to the display case behind you and seek out the potion that will help.

“A few drops of this on the tongue will ease her mind and let her sleep through the night.”

“Oh, thank you,” the woman sighs in relief. She digs into her purse and produces the necessary cash for the potion. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“It will, but if it’s not to your satisfaction, you can bring the potion back for a full refund.”

“Bless your heart.” You bag her potion as she hands over the cash, and you give her a kind smile. “Thank you.”

“Have a good day.”

As soon as she leaves, you drop the smile and pocket the cash. You offer refunds to everyone, but no one has ever brought a potion back. Your magic is strong, very strong, and it has never let you down.

As soon as she leaves, a man walks into the store, and he looks around. You recognize him. He makes and sells clothes. A lot of Asgardians have bought from him. While you can make clothes with your magic, you’d rather use it for your potions. Many of the Asgardians in the market are selling materialistic things, but you want to be different. You’re one of the only ones who sells potions, so they all have to come to you.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?”

“Do you have anything to improve my vision? The older I get, the more my eyes go. I can’t make clothes like I used to. Do you have anything that could help?”

“Of course.” You turn and find the potion you’re looking for. “These are eyedrops. Completely safe. One drop into your eyes once a week. You’ll be back to making clothes at record speed in no time.”

“Thank you,” the man sighs joyfully.

It’s like this the whole day. People of all backgrounds come in for all sorts of reasons. There are a few breaks in between, but you make a decent dent in your stock.

You’re about to take another break when you hear the townsfolk chatter loudly. Excitement. Something is happening. You walk to the front of your store and watch a crowd forming in the middle of the market. You can’t see what’s gotten them so excited.

The crowd parts, and Thor walks out looking high and mighty. He smiles at the people he passes by, and women literally fall to their knees in front of him. What’s so fucking special about him? Just because he was born in the Odinson family and has a special hammer, does that make him better than everyone else?

Someone points to your store, and Thor looks over. You immediately try to hide away from his gaze, but it’s no use. He’s already seen you. Act cool. You don’t need to be seen beating the Prince of Asgard in front of everyone. Thor walks inside your store just as you get back behind the counter.

“Hi, welcome in. How can I help you?”

“I hear you might have something that can help.”

“I’m not sure that I do. What do you need?”

Thor stares at you for a moment, and you resist the urge to cower under his gaze. You will not let him know how much you hate him and his family.

“Do you have anything that can lift someone’s mood and brighten their day?”

For a second, you don’t answer him. Is Thor not happy in that golden castle of his? Is he secretly depressed? It brings you sick joy to know he isn’t what he portrays himself to be. However, with everyone practically standing outside of your store, you can’t deny him. That doesn’t mean you have to give him what he’s asking for.

What he and the public don’t know won’t hurt them.

“I have just the thing.”

Your display case is almost empty, but there is one bottle that you haven’t touched. It’s not an upper. It’s a downer. Thor doesn’t need to know that, though. You turn to Thor and show him the pretty red bottle.

“It’s an elixir. A teaspoon of this stuff in whatever drink you have will go a long way. It won’t last forever, so you’ll need to restock.”

“I’ll make sure to come to you when I do.” He pays for the bottle with more than it’s worth, but he won’t take it back. “I’ve heard rumors about you and how you heal people. I think it’s honorable work.”

“Thanks,” you whisper.

He takes the elixir and leaves your store. You want to feel bad for what you’re going to do to him, but you don’t. You have no respect for the royal family. Thor walks through the parted crowd, and you can finally see what’s got everyone so excited.

Loki is here, too.

If it’s possible, you have more hatred for him than you do for Thor. He’s the God of Mischief. He causes chaos wherever he goes, and Asgard is no exception. He’s already made life on Earth hell, and now he’s grounded here. They won’t let him leave. Unfortunately for you.

To your horror, Thor hands the elixir to his younger brother instead of using it on himself. Thor was an easy target. You can get away with a simple downer on Thor. Loki? Not so much. He is full of magic. He’ll definitely be able to feel your magic.

Loki takes the elixir and smells the contents. He takes a small sip, and you can tell he knows something is up with it. His back straightens, he pulls the elixir away harshly, and he looks around the place for the culprit.

You hide further into the shadows when his eyes land on your store. Fuck. Even from where you’re hiding, his eyes find you. He knows it was you. Thankfully, he doesn’t come your way. Instead, he caps the elixir and leaves with Thor.

It’s time to shut down for the day. You leave the store up, but you make sure your shit is locked down. You take the most important potions back home with you so they won’t get stolen. No one has ever stolen anything during the night, but you can’t ever be too careful.

The next day, you have already put what happened with Thor and Loki in the back of your mind. You have new potions and a whole new set to sell. Some of the other merchants are restocking their shelves, while others haven’t arrived yet.

Your back is turned to the front door while you fill the shelves. The bell on top of the door rings, but you don’t turn around to greet whoever it is.

“We’re closed. Come back when we open.”

The person doesn’t say a thing, but you hear the bell ring, so you think they’ve left. Without turning around, you head to the back for the last box of potions. When you return, you nearly scream when you see Loki standing by the display case. He’s looking at what you’ve already put up.

“Loki,” you whisper.

“This is cute,” he smirks and points to the potions.

“What are you doing here?”

“Really? You’re going to play it that way?”

“Play what in what way?” Loki removes something from his pitch-black jacket pocket. It’s the elixir. He sets it on the glass countertop without looking away from you. You can either give up the facade or play dumb. “Did that not work to your satisfaction? I’m sorry, there are no refunds.”

Loki chuckles, and you hate the way your pussy clenches at how sultry he looks. No! He’s a devil reincarnate. Remember what his family did to you.

“I admire your effort, really. Not many people can take me by surprise. Hate to burst your perfect bubble, litla blómið mitt, but your magic doesn’t work on me.”

Your eyes narrow on that condescending pet name, and you set the box down near the display case. “What do you want?”

“No Asgardian possesses magic, yet you do.”

That’s because you’re not Asgardian. You got involved with the magical council on your planet for what Asgard did to you, and you’ve been on the run ever since. The last place they’d look for you is on the planet of their enemy.

Even if you hate being here.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, but leave. I have to get ready.” Loki moves so fast that you don’t have time to react. He’s by your side in two strides, and he grabs both sides of your face. “What the fuck are you—”

You can’t finish your sentence. Whatever magic Loki is using pushes you back into your memories. Memories of before you fled your planet. The council was pissed at you for what you did, abusing magic the way you did. All because of Asgard. Odin stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, sent his sons somewhere they didn’t belong, and you were forced to take the fall for it all.

“Interesting,” Loki mutters.

The second he pulls you back from your memories, you push him away harshly. This time, he doesn’t fight back.

“I am not playing games. If you wish to report me back to the council, then do it, Jotunson.”

Loki freezes at the sound of his true surname. Not many Asgardians know of his true parentage. Makes him wonder what else you know. “Well, we have ourselves a stand-off, then.”

“I suppose we do.”

Loki swipes the elixir off the counter and pockets it again. He walks to the front door but pauses before he leaves. “Don’t think this is the only time you’ll see me, litla blómið mitt.”

“What does that mean?” Loki smirks and leaves without another word. You run to the front door. “Loki!”

People look between you and the Prince of Asgard as he walks away. You don’t need the unwanted attention, so you slink back into your store. You have no idea what Loki could have meant.

This is going to blow up in my face. Out of every single Asgardian, Loki has to be the one to know your secret. Fuck. It doesn’t sit right with you. You have no choice but to go about your day and hope that you’re able to escape Asgard without the council finding out.

x