#loki angst

“If you say so.” You hated when he did this, when he made you feel special. It was horrible, the worst trick of all, mainly because he had no idea what he was doing to you. “I have to bring your mother these ingredients.” 

“Allow me to accompany you.” 

Your cheeks felt hot, and you shook your head, flustered yet again by his chivalrous behavior. “That’s not necessary.” 

“I insist.” He took the basket out of your arms, beckoning you to follow after him. “My mother would have my head if she saw a lady carrying such a load, let alone her favorite lady.” 

“Loki.” You scolded, reaching out to take the basket back. “I am not a lady.” 

“This again.” He sighed. “You are quite stubborn.” 

“You’re one to talk.” You laughed, cowering under the judgmental looks of the nobility you passed.

“Must you deny me this one kind act?” 

“It is not proper-” 

“You must be the only servant who complains when someone helps you.”

“I take pride in my work, Loki.” 

“An admirable quality.” The guards in front of his mother’s suite bowed their heads, opening the doors. “Still, you are stubborn.” 

“Loki-” You scowled, curtsying before the queen. “Your Majesty, the ingredients you requested.” 

“Thank you, my dear.”

Frigga was the very picture of elegance. Not only was she elegant, but she was also kind to everyone regardless of rank. You had no issue carrying out trivial tasks for the queen, because the queen never treated you as lesser than; she treated you as she would treat her own sons. “Did you have any trouble?” 

“Not at all, my lady.” 

“Mother.” Loki approached the golden-haired woman, kissing her cheek. “Tell your lady she must not bow when she greets you.” 

“Loki!” You gasped, turning to Frigga like you had been the one to say it. “My lady, I would never-” 

“Must you tease the girl so?” Frigga chastised her son. 

“I am so sorry, my lady.” 

“Do not apologize, my son is a prankster, as we all know.” She smiled warmly, tucking a strand of hair behind Loki’s ear. “Among many other admirable qualities.” 

Loki grew shy under his mother’s affection, brushing off her compliments. “We must be going.” 

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“You wished to visit the library, yes?” 

“I never-” You tilted your head. “Have you developed mind-reading powers as well?” 

He shrugged, kissing his mother’s cheek once more before extending his hand. “Shall we?” 

You smacked his hand away, walking out of the queen’s room with Loki trailing behind you. “If you can read minds now, please refrain from reading mine.” He laughed, and you smacked his arm. “I mean it, Loki.” 

“I cannot read minds. Remember that we have been friends for quite some time now. I know you perhaps better than I know myself.” 

“Well, no wonder. You are such a mystery.” You teased. “The rakish, brooding prince. I am surprised some lady has not taken you into her clutches.” 

“You think me rakish?” He raised an eyebrow, holding the library door open. 

“One observes things.” You shrugged, gliding over to the fiction section, grabbing the first book that caught your eye. “It is not a bad trait, I assure you.” 

“If you say so.” He looked rather disappointed, plopping into his favorite leather chair. 

“You are also kind, considerate, even. Loyal to a fault.” Your hand found his, squeezing it. “You are many things, but most of all, you are a wonderful friend.” 

“Friend.” He huffed, face scrunched like the word left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Are we not friends?” You sat back, hand pulling away from his. Oh, how you wished you could stay like that forever, his forever-cold hand intertwined with yours. 

“Yes, we are.” He almost sounded disappointed. You decided not to dwell on it, immersing yourself in the novel. Loki simply stared, admiring your beauty, the way your eyes scanned the page, the way you smiled to yourself, the way your eyebrows furrowed. 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve.” He murmured.

Your eyes did not leave the page. “Oh?” 

“It is quite-” He stopped himself. “It is quite humorous.” 

“If it is so amusing, then by all means, keep staring.” You teased. You were used to this, the staring, the intense gaze Loki held. He loved to watch people, to observe those around him. At first, you had found it quite overwhelming, especially when you looked up to find him already staring at you. His eyes were beautiful, dangerous as they pulled you in. You shook your head, fighting against your imagination.

“My prince.” You looked up, fighting the urge to groan as the nuisance that was the Lady Ness approached. “I thought I would find you here.” 

Loki looked entirely unenthused, but still entertained the woman. “Hello, my lady.” 

The Lady Ness was the eldest daughter of one of Odin’s closest advisors. She was what Asgardians considered to be the perfect beauty, with blonde hair bordering on white, and beautiful pale blue eyes. She was tall, the very picture of royalty. 

Which is what she desperately wanted to be. She had followed the two princes around since you were children, treating them as if they were idols, gods even. 

They were, but still. It became tiresome. 

She had her sights set on Thor for eons, but after she learned of his undying love for the Lady Jane, she gave up, switching her sights to Loki. 

There was nothing the younger prince hated more than being the second choice. 

There was nothing you hated more than the Lady Ness suddenly finding interest in a man you’d loved since age five. You did not attempt to acknowledge the woman, simply looking back down at your book. It was hard to focus, though, with her constant chattering. 

“Will I see you at the Summer Solstice Ball, my prince?” 

Loki’s gaze fell back to you before responding. “You will indeed.” 

“How wonderful. I do love dancing.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Do you enjoy dancing, my prince?” 

“With the right lady.” He nodded. “I do.” 

“Shall I reserve a place for you on my card?” Your hold on the book tightened. “It would be an immense honor.” A scoff fell from your lips, and your eyes widened. You had meant for that to be in your head. 

Loki smiled. “I’m afraid I-” 

“Is something the matter?” The Lady Ness interrupted, staring at you. “Have I done something to amuse you?” 

You looked up, shaking your head. “No, my lady.” 

“Now you remember your manners.” The Lady Ness raised an eyebrow. You simply stared back, your face blank. “When I entered the room, you did not curtsy. Are you manners selective?” 

You shut your book, standing up. “You seem rather concerned with my manners. How observant you must be.” The lady proudly nodded. “Allow me to explain, I bow to royalty.” You gestured to Loki before gesturing to her. “Not some common lady with an aptitude for mistreating servants.”

“Why I-” She gasped, stumbling over her words. You made a point to be over the top in your curtsy to the prince, before promptly walking out of the room.

You angrily picked bunches of moss from the forest floor, ripping it from the ground as if it had wronged you.

The Lady Ness annoyed you to no end, with her flirting and her flowy gowns and her touching Loki's arm. It was as if she did it on purpose, as if she amplified her flirting when you were there, like she was trying to tell you he was hers, that you could never have him. 

You already knew that, no thanks to her. It was something that kept you up into the late hours of the night, the ‘what-ifs’ haunting you even in sleep. 

If you were of some higher standing, you would have smacked her long ago. Unfortunately, you could only verbally attack her. 

“Are you quite well?” Loki’s voice broke you from your thoughts. “You did not stop when I called after you yesterday.” 

“I cannot stand her.” You complained. “She-she is without a doubt-” 

He looked rather amused at your ranting, hands clasped behind his back, his ever-familiar smirk gracing his lips. “I am sorry.” 

“Why should you be sorry?” You laughed bitterly. “I’m sure she will mellow with age.” 

“Mellow with age?” He raised an eyebrow.

You nodded, going back to your gathering. “Odin must be rather pleased with this match.” 

“Match?” It seemed as if Loki was stuck on repeat, parroting you with confusion etched in his tone. 

“Between you and Lady Ness.” You grumbled, brushing the dirt off your skirt as you stood. “I’m certain he has arranged for her to be your lady wife.” 

“I’m sorry?”

You walked further into the wood, Loki following after you. “She will be a great wife, I’m sure. She seems intelligent enough and could bring you company. Your children-” Your voice broke, and you felt your cheeks grow hot. “They will be menaces, but what child isn’t? I’m sure they will grow out of it, as she will grow out of her rather annoying attributes.” You pulled out your knife, cutting off a section of tree bark, your mind clouded with rage. “She will bring you happiness. I’m excited for you, truly-” You hissed, the knife falling out of your hand as you stared at the stream of blood that ran down your palm. “Ow.” 

Loki raced over, taking your hand in his as he observed the wound. “You were being careless.” 

“I was not.” Your eyes welled, the pain finally taking hold. “It is just a cut.” 

“You are practically crying.” He frowned. “You must be careful.” 

“I-” He waved his hand over your injury, the pain subsiding, the cut healing itself. You watched in fascination, the wound glowing green for a mere moment before dissapearing entirely. “How did you-” 

“Growing up with Thor meant I had to be prepared for anything.” He smiled, his fingers gently tracing over the once bloody finger. “Does it hurt?” 

You shook your head, voice quiet. “It’s like it never even existed.” 

“Good.” He looked up, his breath shaky when he met your gaze. “You frightened me.” 

“You worry too much.” You hadn’t meant to, truly, but your eyes fell to his lips, heart racing. “I’m sorry.” 

His hand found its way to your waist, pulling you close. You gasped, glaring as a smirk grew on the prince’s lips. “Whatever for, my lady?” 

“I didn’t mean to-” You swallowed. “I did not mean to insult the Lady-” 

“Please, do not speak her name any longer.” He groaned. “She is as tiresome as she is wealthy.”

“She is to be your lady wife, is she not?” You murmured, his hand that had once cradled your injured hand now holding your cheek. “She is quite the match.” 

He laughed. “I’m sure she will make some unlucky man rather miserable.” 

“Loki-” 

“If I have any say-” He whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips momentarily. “I will marry for love, not because my father made some strategic alliance. She is not for me, I assure you.” 

“You-” Loki now had your back against the tree, practically pinning you in position. His forehead lay against yours, your breath entwined with his. “You have some other lucky lady in mind?” 

He nodded. “I do.” 

“Oh?” The reality of the situation hit you like Mjolnir hit its enemies. Hard and true, you accepted that you might just kiss the man you’d loved since before you could remember. “Do I know her?” 

He nodded once more, his lips so close they brushed against yours as he spoke. “I believe so-” 

“Brother!” Your eyes widened, and you pushed Loki away, cheeks hot as you forced yourself to look as inconspicuous as possible. Thor’s voice rang through the wood. “Brother, where are you?” 

“I-” Loki stuttered, hand reaching out to hold you once more. “Just wait one moment-” 

“Ah!” Thor’s golden hair came into view, the god haphazardly destroying the forest floor. “My lady, it is wonderful to see you!” 

You curtsied, your heart and mind still racing from the moment before. “My prince. I was just leaving.” You couldn’t meet Loki’s eyes, simply nodding. “Loki.” 

You raced toward the castle, forgetting your basket full of ingredients. 

Loki would bring them to his mother later. 

“Have I interrupted something?” Thor’s voice held a certain sort of mischeif that made Loki feel uneasy. “It seems as if I caught the pair of you in a rather intimate moment.” 

“I-” Loki could not find the words, something that pleased Thor greatly. 

“The great trickster is speechless?” He grinned, patting his little brother on the back. “Oh, Loki, why did you not say something?” 

“Like you said. You interrupted.” He was practically glowering, glaring at his brother like it was his life’s purpose. “I-I had almost-” 

“Do you want my advice, brother?” Loki continued to glare at him, fighting the urge to stab the golden-haired imbecile in the gut. “You must do something. Be brave, show her you care.” 

“I was doing that!” Loki yelled. “You have the worst timing in the world-” 

“Calm down, brother.” Thor laughed. “When I first met the Lady Jane-” Oh gods, Loki thought as he rolled his eyes. Once Thor began to talk about Jane, he tended to never stop. “She was rather intimidating, smart, and beautiful. But after I showed her my interest, my-” 

Loki walked away, fists clenched tightly as Thor continued, following after him. 

You hadn’t seen Loki in days. 

You had gone to Frigga’s chambers after the incident, to apologize for leaving the ingredients behind, when you saw Loki just outside her door, the basket in hand. 

After that, you’d gone out of your way to avoid him. 

It was childish, you knew that, but you couldn’t look at him without transforming into a blabbering mess. You purposely did your chores outside of the castle grounds so he could not follow you or surprise you. 

Your room was deep in the ground, chilly from its lack of sunlight and candles. You hadn’t minded before, but now that you were in your self-prescribed isolation, you couldn’t help but wish you had a prettier view. 

Just when you thought you’d forgotten, that you’d gotten over your momentary lapse in judgment, it all came rushing back. His hand cradling your cheeks, his lips brushing against yours, his fingertips digging into your hip. A chill ran down your spine, and you shook your head as if that would rid you of the scandalous thoughts. 

He was simply being kind, caring for you as you had cared for him.

A handmaiden walked into your room unannounced, gently placing a large box on your simple vanity. You jumped when you saw her. “I did not see you.” 

The handmaiden, one of Frigga’s, no doubt, smiled kindly. “I gathered. I was tasked with ensuring you received this package, and was told you must wear it to the Summer Solstice Ball.” 

“Wear it?” You tilted your head, rising from your bed to inspect the gift. “Is it a gown?” 

“It is indeed, my lady.” 

So this had been Loki’s doing.

“You must not call me that.” You smiled. “I am no lady.” 

The handmaiden shrugged, glancing over your shoulder curiously as you pulled apart the forest green ribbon that held together the wrappings. “It seems to me that you shall be soon.” 

“What-” You choked, shaking your head vehemently. “I- that is-” 

“I will take my leave.” She bowed quickly, shutting the door behind her.  You cursed the god of Mischief, vowing that when you were done ignoring him, you would scold him for his antics. The wrappings fell away, your eyes welling as you stared at the gown.

After all these years, all this time, he never forgot a single thing you told him, and this gown was proof. It was exactly what you’d described to him two thousand years ago. 

You’d been young then, much more naive than now. You and Loki were lounging in the gardens, watching the nobility walk by in their dreamy attire. You sighed, staring down at your robes in embarrassment. “Could you conjure me something?” 

“I can try.” Loki nodded, placing his book down beside him. “What is it you wish for?” 

“A nicer dress.” You were jealous of their beauty, your simple frock nothing compared to their silky pastel gowns. 

“I-” He frowned. “I am sorry. My powers are not-” 

You shook your head. “Forget I said anything.” 

He nodded, watching you with interest. “What would it look like, your dream gown?” 

It would look like this. The gown that he’d sent you, which now hung delicately in your closet, two thousand years later. 

You could hear the roar of the partygoers from the end of the hall, your nerves growing more and more the closer you got. You thanked the gods that this was not the kind of ball where attendees were announced, as you would surely faint from the judgmental eyes that fell on you. 

The ballroom glowed bright golden, the light the candles provided reflecting off the pure gold walls. Your jaw hung loose, taking in the decorations, the people, the fashion. Your eyes fell to the bottom of the stairs, cheeks growing hot when you met Loki’s gaze. 

He was standing by the Lady Ness, who looked livid that you had torn his attention from her. 

You couldn’t find it in you to care, not when he was looking at you like that. His smile was bright, and he looked devilishly handsome in his forest green attire, walking up the steps. 

You took a deep breath, meeting him in the middle. “My prince.” 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He spoke plainly, as if it were fact. Technically, it was.

“I-”

“Do not try and deny it.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?” 

You gladly complied with his request, cheeks growing hot, from the attention or Loki’s gaze, you couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was both. “You remembered.” You looked over, finding satisfaction in the way your words had caused Loki to turn red. “I can’t believe you remembered.” 

He shrugged like what he’d done wasn’t the most romantic thing you’d ever experienced. “Only the best for-” 

“My prince.” You clenched your fist when Lady Ness’s grating voice met your ears, turning toward the enemy. “I lost you for a moment.” 

Loki laughed. “Yes, you did.” His hand tightened, pulling you closer to his side as if to signal he was occupied. You had felt it was rather obvious, but Lady Ness had a history of feigning ignorance to blatantly obvious rejections. 

“Shall we dance?” Lady Ness’s steely blue eyes darted toward you, as if she were trying to scare you off. You were not deterred by her weak attempt at intimidation, your hand still comfortably held in Loki’s. “You did promise me.” 

He tilted his head. “Did I?” 

You laughed, your hand falling to your side. “It is but one dance.” The Lady Ness let out a gasp that neither of you acknowledged. “I’m quite parched anyhow.” 

He nodded. “As you wish.” 

The Lady Ness looked entirely displeased at his actions, especially over the phrase ‘as you wish,’ which had been directed toward you, and not her request. You made your way to the drinks, taking a flute of champagne as you found your place in the corner of the room. Leaning against the column, you glared as Lady Ness cackled, downing the flute in one go. 

Loki had not planned for this to happen. 

He had planned for you to receive the dress, to escort you down the steps. He had also planned to confess his undying love for you, but Lady Ness once again interrupted.

She had the most inconvenient timing. 

He led her to the middle of the dance floor, putting as much distance as possible. The Lady Ness kept laughing, which he found odd, as he had not said a single thing since the dance had begun. He kept looking around the edge of the room, searching for your familiar frame. 

Ah. 

You looked radiant. Positively glowing. He’d always loved you in that color. If he was being honest with himself, he loved you in every color. He frowned, watching as you chewed your nails, something you had the habit of doing when you were anxious. 

“My prince?” The Lady Ness called out as he walked away from her in the middle of the dance floor, stalking toward you, the crowd parting as he walked. 

“Dance with me.” 

You jumped, clutching your heart. “Gods, Loki, you scared me.” You guiltily looked at your fingers before meeting his gaze. “I-” 

He waved his hand, all the rips you’d made in your delicate skin gone in an instant. “Dance with me.” 

“Loki.” You looked over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sobbing lady he’d left in the middle of the floor. “Have you gone mad?” 

“Possibly.” 

“You cannot just leave her in the middle of the floor.” You leaned closer, whispering so the many eavesdropping ears around you could not hear. “Even if she is quite annoying.” 

“I am the prince. I can do as I wish.” 

You rolled your eyes at his comment. “You-” It seemed he took your lack of rejection as a yes, holding your hand firmly in his as he pulled you to the middle of the dance floor, the light waltz playing in the background. “You are the most indignant, prideful, scheming man I have ever known.” 

He smiled, a squeak leaving your lips when he pulled you much closer than a waltz called for. “Tell me what else I am.” 

“You-” You gulped, growing nervous under his ever attentive eye. “You are-” 

“It seems you are at a loss for words.” He whispered in your ear, a chill running down your spine from the proximity of it all. “Is that a recent development, my lady?” 

“You are arrogant.” You hissed. 

He grinned. “I am.” 

“You are marvelous.” 

“I am.” His reaction was delayed, caught off guard by your sudden compliment. 

“It seems you are at a loss for words.” You parroted his words from just a moment ago. “Is that a recent development, my prince?” 

“You are a wonder.” He held your gaze so beautifully that any innocent bystander would assume you were both deeply in love. “You look divine, a goddess in your own right.” 

“Loki.” You felt as if you could melt, the music slowing to a stop before you could respond. The crowd around you clapped wildly, obviously invested in the show you two had put on. 

Loki bowed, his brother catching his gaze. Thor was practically jumping, mouthing the words he had said days before. 

Be brave.

It was so unfortunate when his brother was right. You stood upright, following Loki’s gaze to see Thor grinning like a buffoon. “What is he-” 

Loki’s hands grabbed your face, pulling your lips to his. Your eyes widened at the action, weak from his touch. Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer. He grinned, a hand falling to your hips, squeezing.

You gasped, your knees weakening. “Loki-” 

“Is all that you can say my name?” He whispered, his forehead once again lying against yours.

“You are a-” He leaned down, kissing your lips once more.

“I love you…” His breath was heavy, pupils blown as he stared at you. “Most ardently.” 

A tear fell down your cheek, and you grinned. “Most ardently?” 

He nodded, voice wavering. “I assume you love me as well?” 

“I do.” You kissed the corner of his mouth softly, so softly he had barely felt it. “With my whole being."

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Didn’t understand why your wrists were tied to a chair. Didn’t understand why the room smelled like metal and something sharp and wrong. Didn’t understand why the men in front of you kept asking about Loki.

Your Loki. Your husband who kissed your forehead every morning, who brought you tea when your migraines got bad, who listened to you ramble about books like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“C’mon,” one of them sneered, crouching in front of you. “You really expect us to believe you don’t know what he does?”

Your throat felt tight, frantically looking around the room. You had no idea where he had taken you. Or who this man was. Or what he was talking about. “He—he works in business.”

The room went quiet for a second.

Then laughter. Harsh. Mocking. “Business,” another echoed. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

You shook your head, panic starting to claw its way up your chest. “I don’t understand what you want from me. I told you—I don’t know anything.”

The first man sighed like you were inconveniencing him. “Your husband runs half this city. Weapons, money, people. Nothing moves without his say-so. And you're telling us you have no idea how diabolical he is?”

Your heart stuttered. “No,” you whispered, because that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. “No, you’re wrong. Loki wouldn’t—he’s—he’s—”

Kind. Gentle. Careful with you like you were something fragile.

The man grabbed your chin suddenly, forcing you to look at him. “He’s a liar. And you’re either stupid… or you’re lying for him.”

Tears blurred your vision. “I’m not lying…” Your voice cracked, small and helpless in the cold room. “I swear, I don’t know anything.”

There was a beat.

Then a sound echoing in the ditance. A thud. Another. Raised voices outside. Shouting. Something breaking.

The men froze. You felt it before you understood it—the shift in the air. Like a storm rolling in. Heavy. Inevitable.

One of them cursed under his breath. “Shit—”

The door burst open. And everything stopped. Because Loki stood there. Not your Loki. Not the man who brushed your hair out of your face while you read in bed. This Loki was dressed in black, coat immaculate, eyes cold and sharp like cut glass. There was blood on his knuckles—fresh blood—and men behind him who looked just as dangerous.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Loki’s gaze found you. And everything—everything—in his expression shattered. “Darling.” His voice dropped, softer than you’d ever heard it, like the word itself might break you further.

Your breath hitched. “Loki…?”

He crossed the room in seconds. The men didn’t even try to stop him. Didn’t dare. He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands suddenly so careful as they hovered over your face, your shoulders, like he was afraid to touch you too roughly. “Are you hurt?” he murmured, frantic now. “Did they—did they touch you—?”

“I…” Your voice trembled. “They said—”

You looked at him—really looked. At the blood. At the men behind him. At the way everyone else in the room refused to meet his eyes. “…they said you’re… in the mafia.”

Silence. It stretched. Heavy.

Loki closed his eyes briefly, like he’d been dreading this exact moment for a very long time. When he opened them again, the softness was still there—but underneath it was something darker. Something powerful. Something real. “Yes,” he said quietly.

The word felt like it split the world in two.

You flinched. Not away from him—never that—but from the truth itself. “…you lied to me.” It wasn’t angry. That made it worse.

Loki’s face crumpled just slightly, guilt flickering through all that control. “I protected you.”

“By lying?”

“By keeping you safe,” he corrected, sharper now—but the edge vanished the second your eyes filled again. “By making sure you never had to see this part of me.”

Your lips trembled. “But it’s still you.”

That hit him. You could see it. He swallowed, something raw breaking through his composure. “Yes.”

Your gaze dropped to his hands—the same hands that held yours so gently—now stained with blood. “…did you hurt them?” you whispered.

Behind him, one of the men shifted nervously.

Loki didn’t look away from you. “Yes.”

The honesty was terrifying.

And yet still, he reached for you slowly, like approaching a frightened animal. “But never you. Never anything that belongs to you. Never anything that breathes near you.” His voice dropped, something dark curling through it now. “They took you.” The room seemed to shrink around those words. “And for that,” Loki continued softly, “they don’t get to keep breathing.”

Your heart pounded. You should’ve been scared. You were scared. But not of him. Never of him. Your voice came out small. “…you still love me?”

Something almost offended flashed across his face. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours despite the blood, despite everything. “You are the only thing in this wretched world I have ever loved,” he whispered.

Your breath caught.

“And I would burn every empire I’ve built to ash before I let harm come to you again.”

Your eyes closed, tears slipping free. “…okay.”

It was quiet. Fragile. But it was enough. Loki exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the moment you were taken. Carefully, gently, he untied your wrists—his fingers trembling just slightly as he checked for marks. “I’m taking you home,” he murmured.

Home.

The word felt different now.

He stood, then hesitated… before shrugging off his coat and draping it around your shoulders, shielding you from the room, from the men, from himself. From what he was.

But as he helped you up, your hand clutched his sleeve.

He paused. “…you’re still my Loki,” you said softly.

He felt...forgiven.

You didn’t judge him – being one of the first who realized what he’d been put through by Thanos – but you didn’t pity him either, just sought to show him a better day, one step at a time.

So he became your shadow on the battlefield, owing to keep your safe.

And he failed.

Now he’s sitting by your side at the infirmary bed. Still in his leathers spattered by dirt and blood. Holding your hand that feels cool even to his touch.

The others have tried to coax him to rest. To shower. They come by sometimes, offering him nourishment that he silently ignores, all the time watching your face instead. What little he can see of it. He hates the tube going into your mouth even if he can understand it’s helping your breathe – the hiss of the machine a constant rhythm that reminds him of his failure.

He’s drawing on his magic to stay awake. He’d try to seep it into you but his magic is not for healing and all he could do was soothe your dreams. Yes, you dream. He can see it in the flutter of your eyelashes, the movement behind the eyelids. He wish he could be there with you, but entering the dreams of another is not without risks...and he needs to be there when you wake up.

Because you must wake up.

You have to.

Already a part of him is aching at the idea of losing you – a fear he won’t entertain but it keeps pressing into his mind and heart whenever he isn’t actively thinking of something else.

“Norns,” he mumbles, thumb rubbing gently along your knuckles, “don’t cut her thread yet. Give her time. Take of my years instead.” He sighs. Watches your face closely but there’s no difference. Of course there’s not. “Ancestors watch over her. Don’t take her...don’t take her from me...”

It’s selfish, but the idea of living even a day without you now that he has find you is too frightening and he feels powerless. He has to rely on others to tend to you where his own knowledge and skills fail. It’s been days and still there’s no sign of improvement.

Until the third day where your fingers twitch in his grasp.

Scared and exited at the same time, Loki calls for the doctors and while he’s loathe to step aside, he does so to let them work and moments later the tube is removed, causing your throat to spasm for a moment before stilling.

All are quiet. Watching. Waiting.

Then you breathe on your own: a rattling breath that makes Loki’s world blurry.

He’s allowed back at your side, clutching your hand in his and over the next few hours he feels that it gets warmer. Now and then your fingers twitch and each time his own breath will catch in his chest as he studies your face...but your eyes remain closed.

Another day passes and Loki’s magic is running out, he’s exhausted, barely holding it together. Head nodding as his eyes fall shut on their own despite his efforts.

“Llo...Lo...”

His gaze snaps to you.

You’re fighting to open your eyes, face scrunched in the effort of that and speaking. “Lo...ki...”

“I’m here,” he croaks, soothing your cheek with the free hand.

His heart is feather-light all of a sudden. Norns be blessed: they’ve granted you more time!

“S...st...” You manage to open an eye and it swivels in the socket until you spot him. “Stink...” But there’s a tiny tug upwards of the corner of your mouth.

“I love you too,” he whispers, just for you to hear.

You bite your lip, trying to find a flaw in their assessment of the situation but you can't find any. This is what I get for being SHIELD's top expert in Hydra's overly complicated computer system. I thought it was a good thing when I figured out how to extract files without triggering their firewalls but it seems like it's working against me now, you think. I guess my boss was right, I really should have gotten around to teaching other analysts to do this too because now they're going to send me to a freaking Hydra base in the middle of nowhere. You sink further down in your chair and debate escaping from the conference room, your eyes drifting towards the door. There's no way I'd make it anyways, every single person in here is faster than I am, you give up on that idea quickly.

"What's your plan then?" Steve asks Loki, folding his arms across his chest.

Your attention is now completely focused on Loki, curious to hear if he actually has a plan but he's still staring down Steve. The Asgardian doesn't look in your direction once, almost at if he doesn't realize your sitting directly across from him. "My plan remains the same, leave her here so she doesn't get herself killed," Loki says and you're quick to note that there's no concern in his tone.

He's not worried for my safety, he's simply stating a fact. I've never been in the field before, never held a gun, never learned to fight and why would I need to? I spend my days as far away from danger as possible, tucked behind a desk in my office on the 73rd floor, you think.

"She won't get killed," Steve says matter of factly but you're not sure you believe him anymore than the god does.

"And you can guarantee her safety?" Loki asks again without even a hint of worry. "You cannot simply send a civilian into an active Hydra base and assume they will not be injured or worse. She needs training-"

His words are cut off suddenly by director Fury who is sitting at the opposite end of the oval table. "That's an excellent idea your highness," he says with a sarcastic tone that makes you nervous and Loki wary.

"What is?" the younger Asgardian furrows his brow and looks at the director. You sit up straighter in your seat, unsure if Fury is on your side or not.

"You're right, Y/N needs field training," he says and you look from Fury back to Loki quickly as your eyes widen when you realize what he means. "You have one month to get her ready, we can postpone the mission until then."

"Wait!" Loki stands in response, ready to argue. "That is not what I was suggesting-"

"This sounds exactly like what you were insisting on," Thor smiles as he stands from his seat next to Loki, patting his younger brother on the back.

"I was not offering to do it myself," Loki argues, pulling away from his touch.

"I think you were," Natasha smirks.

"No, this is absurd," Loki groans. "I do not have time for this mortal-"

"Then make time," Fury says in a tone that leaves the god no room for further arguing.

Loki sighs deeply in defeat as he sits back down, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes drop to his coffee mug. After a brief moment of silence, he lifts his head and looks directly at you for the first time since the meeting began. "Seven o'clock in the East training room tomorrow morning," he states. You nod and he adds sternly, "Do not be late Y/L/N."

(The next morning - evaluation day)

You walk quickly down the hall towards the training room Loki reserved for you this morning having no idea what to expect. You're almost ten minutes early but you could barely sleep and you're terrified of how Loki might react if you are even a few minutes late. Pushing open the heavy metal door, you pause when you see Loki leaning against a nearby wall reading a thick leather bound book.

"Oh, good morning," you say. You didn't think he'd already be here and you attempt to sound cheerful and not overwhelmingly nervous.

The prince looks at you silently, checks his watch then nods seemingly in approval of your timing. The book vanishes into a haze of green mist and he takes a step towards you. "It's good to see you can tell time at the very least Y/L/N," Loki says.

"Y/N is fine," you tell him, trying to ignore what might be the closest thing to a compliment you get from him today.

He looks at you for a moment and you can't read his reaction to you at all. Today is going to be the longest day of my life, you think as you follow him to the center of the empty room.

"Wow," you mumble, you've never seen the training rooms before but you heard they held some of the most impressive technology in the Tower. The large space is covered in what appears to be simple white tiles, the floor, the walls and even the ceiling. The holograms created by the computer program can mimic any setting or environment, even weather conditions. Your eyes travel up to the high ceiling and you bump into Loki after not realizing he stopped walking.

He lets out a deep sigh in annoyance and you apologize, "I'm sorry."

"After you complete the simulations today, I will determine how many times a week we will need to meet and how long the training sessions will be," he says without acknowledging your apology.

You bite your lip anxiously, "So today is a test?"

"Yes, I need to evaluate your current abilities," Loki confirms.

"In that case, I have a really bad feeling we're going to be spending a lot of time together," you mumble when he walks towards the door leading to a side room for observation.

"As do I Y/L/N," he agrees even though you thought he was too far away to hear you. The God of Mischief goes into the observation room and you watch him through the glass that separates you. He takes a seat at the desk and turns on the computers, the lights around you dimming slowly.

"Hey, before we start I just wanted to say thanks," you say and Loki lifts his head, looking at you through the window. "I know you didn't really volunteer but you were the only one who seemed... concerned," you know that's not the right word but it's all you can think of at the moment, "about me going on the mission."

"The super soldier sometimes forgets how weak humans truly are," Loki responds, his voice coming through the speakers into the room.

"Yeah... well," you shrug. "Thanks anyway, I don't actually want to die out there," you laugh awkwardly.

Loki's quiet and you sigh, not expecting him to respond but after a few seconds he says, "You are welcome Y/N."

You smile, hoping the fact that he called you by your first name means he might be warming up to you just a tiny bit. Only a second later, the lights go out completely, your heart suddenly racing as you realize the evaluation has started and you have no idea what's going to happen.

(One month later)

You duck low as a series of bullets fly towards you, hitting the car you're using as cover. Swearing under your breath, you sit up, pressing your back against the car then stand as you turn, returning fire. Each bullet hits it's mark, taking out all three Hydra soldiers and clearing your path. You stay low, your eyes scanning the debris that litters the street as you make your way quickly around the bullet riddled car. You spot another soldier just as he steps out from behind an overturned bus. You fire first, taking him out easily then you run towards the brick building across the street and head through the open door.

As soon as you step over the threshold you squint, shielding your eyes with your hand as everything around you becomes almost blindingly white. The sounds of the harsh wind and distant sirens vanish as suddenly as the unpleasant smells of smoke and blood. You lower your hand, smiling as the training program is fully turned off and Loki walks towards you.

"So... how did I do?" you ask, hopeful as always to have his approval after a training session.

"Very well, darling," Loki smiles warmly at you.

You can't help but blush at the pet name he started using just a few days ago. The first time the annoyingly handsome God called you darling wasn't even in the training room. You were sure you misheard him say 'have a good evening darling' when you stopped by his office briefly with a question but he continued to use the pet name each time he saw you after that.

"I have good news," he tells you while he follows you to get your water. "I think you are officially ready to join the team on the mission."

You take a long drink of water then look at him stunned. "Really?" you ask excitedly.

"You passed every assessment I have thrown at you for the last week," he confirms with a proud smile. "I am no longer worried you will get yourself killed," he laughs a little.

You smile wide, "You know what that means right?"

He sighs deeply. "You truly mean to hold me to that?" he asks, sounding annoyed by the bet you insisted on two weeks ago but you know him better than that, or at least you hope you do.

"Aww don't pretend like you're not super happy about this," you laugh and hold your arms out wide. "You agreed, if I passed your silly little evaluation I got a hug."

"It is not silly," Loki says and you continue to smile at him, your arms still open. "Fine," he caves as he walks up to you, "but this stays between us."

You can barely contain your excitement when he steps close to you and accepts your hug. You had brought up the deal as a joke after watching Loki's pained reaction to Thor trying to give him a hug. You never honestly expected Loki to agree to it and you definitely didn't think he'd actually follow through with it. Now that the moment is finally here, you really don't want him to let go any time soon because you know you might never get another hug.

"This is nice," you tell him, resting your head on his chest as his arms close comfortably around you.

He doesn't respond but you can tell by the way he breaths deeply that he doesn't hate this type of affection as much as he claims to. After much longer than you expected, Loki finally clears his throat and let's go of you. "That is enough of that," he steps away from you, his eyes lowered as he smooths the nonexistent wrinkles from his black dress shirt. You watch him closely and when he looks up, you can see the smile he's fighting to hide.

"When do you think the mission will be?" you decide not to tell Loki that hug was better than you had imagined.

"I will let Fury and Rogers know you are ready at our afternoon briefing," he says. "We could be sent out as early as tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" you ask, your nerves creeping in suddenly. Surviving the training was one thing but actually going on a mission is still a scary thought.

"You will be fine darling," Loki reassures you. "I would never tell the director you were ready if you were not."

"Cause you're worried about me dying," you tease, both of you knowing Loki is in this position because he pretended to be concerned for your safety.

He rolls his eyes at you, "I will neither confirm nor deny that I do not wish for you to die while on the mission."

You giggle, "You always say the sweetest things."

Loki laughs at that, shaking his head lightly as he walks towards the door. You follow closely and pick up your gym bag. He opens the door for you and just before you step into the hallway you say, "I really hope I don't disappoint you when we do finally get to the base."

"You couldn't possibly disappoint me darling," Loki smiles warmly at you.

"That's not what you said a few weeks ago," you remind him, trying not to focus on how much larger his smirk gets when he sees you blush.

"I have been known to be wrong once or twice in the last thousand years," he admits as he steps out into the empty hallway. "But that stays between us."

"Like the hug?" you ask with a giggle.

"What hug?" Loki says before turning to walk in the opposite direction you need to go in.

(Three days later)

You take a deep breath as the target location comes into view, the jet's radar beeping to alert everyone that you're entering the drop zone. Loki sits next to you, squeezing your hand gently, sensing your anxiety rising. He leans close so the others can't hear and whispers, "You are going to be fine. Stay close to me darling."

You nod, thinking back to Loki's promise this morning after the final briefing for the mission. He told you he would keep you safe and in return, he made you promise to stay near him. A few weeks ago, you never would have believed Loki's promise but today you trust him completely.

The pilot gives everyone the signal to get ready and you stand up, following the prince as he walks to the back of the jet. The door opens and a rush of cold wind whistles through the jet. You take a step backwards, your back bumping into Loki's chest as you watch Steve, Natasha and Clint jump to the ground far below.

Loki gently puts his hands on your arms, turning you so you are facing him without a word. There's a small smile on his face when he tugs on the straps of the bag containing your parachute, tightening them slightly then his eyes scan your uniform and belt to make sure all of your gear is in place.

"Just like we practiced darling," he smiles encouragingly, his hand resting lightly on your cheek so you are looking directly at him. "Then wait for me so we can go to the computer lab together," he reminds you again. For a brief moment, you think Loki might lean down and kiss you but instead you tell yourself now isn't the time for your crush on him to surface. He lowers his hand and you can't help but instantly miss his touch.

With another deep breath, you smile at him and nod your head. "I've got this," you say, your nerves calming as you become more confident. You've been working so hard to get to this point and it's finally here. In the last three years of working for SHIELD, you never once had a desire to be in the field but now that you're here, you want to prove to yourself and everyone else that you can do more than just sit behind a desk.

There's another reason you need this mission to go well, you want to make Loki proud of you. He spent so much time with you over the last month, helping you in session after session. Coming in early before his meetings, staying late at night, finding time on the weekends to make sure you were as ready as possible. The prince even made his own deal with you this morning, he said you could have another hug after the mission and that was all the motivation you really needed.

"Yes you do," he agrees, taking a step away from the door. "Ladies first," he chuckles and you laugh, another bit of tension leaving your body.

You step up to the open door, look at Loki briefly over your shoulder and jump from the jet exactly like he had instructed you to.

(Fifteen minutes later)

You pull the chair out quicky and sit behind the steel desk while Loki stands guard at the door that leads from the main hallway into the lab. There is a second door behind you that leads to a much smaller corridor and the prince keeps his eye on it while you get to work.

"I need about fifteen minutes," you tell the team over the comms as the system reboots.

"Try to do it in ten," Steve responds and you look up in time to see Loki roll his eyes at the sound of the captain's voice.

You fight to hold back a smile. Why does he have to be so cute when he's annoyed, you think. The computer beeps as you type in a command then insert the USB to begin pulling data off the servers.

"It will take as long as it takes captain," the God of Mischief answers for you, his tone firm yet he gives you a smile when your eyes met before you look at the screens again.

You continue to copy file after file to the USB as quickly as you can for the next few minutes. The distant sound of gunfire from above keeps you vaguely aware of where the rest of the team is. Their goal is to distract the soldiers for as long as possible while you finish your work which is thankfully almost done. "Two more minutes," you inform the team over the comms, "just a few more-"

The door behind you slams open, your heart pounds rapidly in your chest as your hand moves to the empty holster on your belt. The God of Mischief yells something but you don't hear the words, rising to your feet to reach for your gun across the desk. You had removed it from your belt and placed it there before crawling underneath the desk to move a few cables right after you arrived. As soon as you are on your feet with your hand on the gun, you see the soldiers rush into the room but in an instant their faces fill with fear and you look towards Loki.

Turning your head, all you see is a bright flash of green rushing towards you as Loki's seider reaches across the room and slams into you.

(Later that night)

You groan and open your eyes slowly, squinting at the sudden brightness around you. A faint beeping in time with your heartbeat fills the room as everything comes into focus after blinking a few times. Pale blue walls surround you, the smell of antiseptic and sanitizer makes you scrunch your nose then it hits you. Oh crap, I'm in the infirmary, you realize suddenly.

"Welcome back," says a friendly voice to your left and you feel the light tug of an IV in your arm when you shift on the bed. You turn your head to face the voice but the quick movement makes you dizzy and you close your eyes again with another groan. "I'll get the doctor, try not to move too fast," the nurse tells you.

Breathing slowly, you feel yourself drifting off to sleep until the door opens and closes again. You open your eyes, forcing yourself to stay awake, you're exhausted but you need to know what happened.

"Hi Y/N, I'm Dr. Palmer," she says, looking up from her tablet. "How are you feeling?"

"Everything hurts," you mumble honestly. Your whole body is sore as you try to sit up a little in the bed. When you put your hands down on either side of you for leverage you look down and see a white cast on your left wrist then look up at the doctor.

"I'm sure it does," she says, looking back down at the tablet to skim your records. "Seems like you were thrown pretty far."

"Thrown?" you ask, rubbing your temple gently when you feel a bit of gauze and wince.

"Careful," she reaches out to lower your hand away from your injury. "I'm not surprised you don't remember the incident."

"The incident?" you repeat her, looking down at your hands as you think and suddenly remember seeing a flash of green light before everything went black. "Loki?" you ask, looking up quickly which causes you to become dizzy and close your eyes again until the room stops spinning.

She waits for you to look at her again before answering. "According to the field report, the room was breached by Hydra soldiers and Loki failed to make sure you were out of the way. He threw the soldiers and you into the concrete wall at the far end of the lab."

You listen to her in silence, pieces of your memory slowly returning. The soldiers were coming... I tried to reach for my gun... no, I had gotten it, I remember feeling the metal grip in my hand... Loki yelled something at me... Loki's magic. You close your eyes tight, pushing away the fear that surfaces with the memory of seeing his seider spreading towards you so fast there was no time to react.

"I remember bits and pieces," you clear your throat and look up at Dr Palmer.

"You're memory will most likely return slowly over the next few days. You have a mild concussion, some bruises, a fractured wrist and several stitches," the doctor informs you. "You'll need to stay here tonight so we can keep an eye on you but you should be able to go home tomorrow. I want you to rest for the next week, then you should be able to return to work."

"Thanks," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the last few minutes of the mission you remember.

Dr. Palmer watches you quietly for a moment then pats your leg gently to get your attention, "Get some rest Y/N. I told the team they can visit you in the morning before you're discharged."

"Thanks," you respond again, barely listening to her. She turns and walks out of the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your mind wanders back to when you first began training with Loki and you wonder if his first impression of you was right, you never should have been in the field.

(One month ago - first day of training)

You slam to the floor hard on your side, groaning in pain as the bright lights come back on and the room resets. "Shit," you mumble when you hear the observation door opening fast enough for it to hit the wall. It's the fourth time in a row you've failed at the same point in the simulation and you don't need Loki to tell you this isn't a good start to your training.

Loki's footsteps are not rushed but the heaviness of his leather boots on the tiles makes you get off the floor much faster than your body wants to. "I'm trying," you say in your defense before he utters a word.

"Not hard enough it seems," he counters in a harsh tone. "Honestly, am I wasting my time Y/L/N?"

You sigh at Loki's use of your last name, the little bit of progress you were making with him yesterday was gone as soon as you failed the simulation the first time. "No," you say, folding your arms over your chest despite how sore your elbow is. "I can do this I-"

"Possibly, if we had several months," he cuts you off, "but we have only one."

"I know," you look at the ground near where you had fallen most recently.

"As heartless as the team thinks I am, I do not actually wish for you to get killed on this mission," Loki says and you look up at him immediately. His expression is stern but his voice softens just enough for you to believe his concern for you might be real. "If you are not capable of succeeding, I suggest we put an end to this now. I do not enjoy watching you continually hurt yourself," he gestures to the bruise already forming on your cheek from a previous fall.

"I can do this, Loki," you tell him, more insistently this time. Sometime between 3 and 4 this morning you decided you were going to get this right no matter what. Your newfound determination was based mostly on your fear of failing but you were also desperate to prove Loki wrong. "Let me try it one more time," you bargain with the prince. "If I don't die in the simulation this time, you keep training me."

"And when you do die?" he asks, already expecting you to fail a fifth time.

"Then you give up on me," you tell him with a shrug. "Tell the director you were right and I'm not good enough to go out in the field."

"Very well," Loki easily agrees to your terms, turning to walk back towards the observation room. You wait for him to wish you good luck or tell you he does want you to succeed but he doesn't say a word. Instead, he simply closes the door to the observation room, takes a seat at the controls and turns the simulation back on.

(Present - the next afternoon)

A knock on the door of the small room sends a wave of hope through you, your heart telling you Loki is finally here to visit you. You know the prince won't come but you can't stop yourself from watching the door as your excitement rises slightly. You had a lot of free time today and you spent most of it trying to figure out why Loki is the only one who hasn't visited yet.

Three potential reasons stick with you, each more upsetting than the last. Your first thought is that Loki is so disappointed in you and he doesn't even want to speak to you. The second idea you reasoned out is that he is too busy gloating and telling the team he was right about you not being capable of succeeding in the field. The third idea is the most hurtful but it's the one you feel is more likely then the others. Loki isn't going to visit because he never actually cared if you got hurt. Calling you darling and seeming like he enjoyed being with you was just an act by the trickster god to get you to train harder, pushing you through pain and exhaustion.

"Hi Y/N," Thor smiles at you warmly when he opens the door and sees you standing by the bed, picking up the bag with your belongings the nurse brought it. "Glad to see you back on your feet so quickly."

"Thanks," you give him the same forced smile you gave Steve, Natasha and Clint when they visited earlier. The three of them stopped by only briefly but it was long enough to reassure them that you were fine. You honestly didn't mind them only staying for a few minutes, you were still tired and it was hard to pretend you weren't let down that Loki wasn't with them.

"Dr. Palmer said I'm doing better than expected so she discharged me," you tell him then walk towards the door.

"Heading home?" he asks, holding the door open for you.

"Yeah, I'll be back in a week," you tell him as you walk through the infirmary together. "Oh, actually I should probably stop by Steve's office before I leave right? I didn't get to write up my report on the mission, obviously, but I can do it from home."

"He already filed the case notes, I just came from the debriefing," Thor informs you.

"Wait, how?" you ask when he opens the door to the infirmary that leads back to the main building. "I thought he needed a report from everyone who was in the field."

"Loki explained what happened," he says, not looking at you as you make your way down the hallway. He sighs, "My brother is on probation again and he's lucky it's only three weeks. Tony was pushing for longer but-"

"Why is he on probation?" you stop walking.

"Because of what happened," Thor says as if that should be obvious. He gestures to your broken wrist, "He could have killed you."

"It wasn't his fault," you defend Loki without even thinking.

"He said it was," Thor starts walking slowly again and you stay with him. "We listened to the recordings of your comms, we could hear Loki yell for you to get down and only a few seconds later we heard him attack the Hydra soldiers and unfortunately you as well. Even if he had not admitted to being at fault, it's clear he did not make sure you were out of harms way before unleashing his magic."

"But that's not what happened," you grab his arm to stop him from walking towards the elevators again and he gives you a confused look. "I heard Loki say something right after the door slammed open but I was distracted looking for my gun. I got up to get it-"

Thor shakes his head, "You got up? You weren't already standing between him and the soldiers?"

"No, I was sitting. I stood up after the door opened, after he yelled," you explain, both of you heading to the elevators.

"And he knew that?" Thor asks, pushing the button on the wall.

"Yeah, he was literally looking right at me when they broke into the room," you tell him remembering the smile Loki gave you when you told them you were almost done. "Steve told me I was supposed to listen to Loki and instead of getting down like he said, I stood up. I got right in the path of his magic."

"Why would he lie about that?" Thor asks when you both get in the waiting elevator, you shrug in response. "This is truly odd. My brother rarely accepts blame for things he has been caught doing," he says, pushing the button to take you down. "I do not understand why he would insist this was his fault if what you say is true."

"I don't know why either but I'm going to ask him," you look up at Thor.

"He is in his room," Thor tells you. "He did not want to speak to me or anyone else after the meeting, I doubt he will come out anytime soon."

"How do I get there?" you've never been to the Avenger's quarters before and you don't want to wander around until you find him.

Thor smiles as he gestures towards the elevator panel and it's then you realize he didn't push the button for the ground floor like you had assumed. "I had a feeling you would want to speak with him," he says.

You walk down the hall, counting doors until you get to the one Thor told you belongs to his brother. Before you can lose your nerve, you clear your throat and you knock loudly. Loki opens the door a moment later and stares at you in silence, clearly not expecting you to have been the one knocking.

"Y/N, what are-" he tries to form a sentence but it dies off when you walk past him into his room without saying a word. He stands at the door watching you take a seat on his couch with a mixture of confusion and anxiousness. Loki closes the door but remains near it, almost as if he's afraid to come too close to you.

"Are you okay?" he asks when you still don't speak. His eyes focus on your broken wrist for a long moment before he sees the gauze covering the stitches on your temple.

"I'm fine," you respond vaguely then ask him what you really want to know. "Why did you lie about what happened?"

"I did not lie, Y/N," he says, still standing by the door. His eyes fall from yours to a space on the floor between you. "I hurt you, I should be help accountable for my actions."

"You know it wasn't your fault," you tell him and he shakes his head. "I wasn't standing in between you and the soldiers until after you warned me, I know you remember that."

"The specifics do not matter," Loki insists.

"Why not?" you ask, standing as you get annoyed with his refusal to answer your questions openly. "Do you think you need to take all the blame because you're the one who said I was ready for the mission? Or do you think you're helping me by trying to hide how stupid of a mistake I made?"

"Please, let it go," the prince says, his back almost against the door as you take a step towards him.

"Let it go, seriously? Loki, they put on probation because we miscommunicated. I can just tell Fury and Steve the truth and then you won't be in trouble," you suggest, feeling guilty that he's been punished.

"It is not necessary," the God shakes his head with no explanation which only annoys you more.

"Loki," you try again, taking a few more steps in his direction. "You just got off probation last year. You shouldn't be back on it cause of-"

"Just stop," his voice is stern you look at him, stunned into silence. He runs his fingers through his long hair and you bite your lip, thinking it was a mistake to come here. "I am sorry I just... Y/N, I have bigger concerns right now than my status on the team. I do not care about the probation."

"What's a bigger concern?" you ask, he finally moves away from the wall, closing the distance between you.

His eyes fall to your cast briefly then he looks into your eyes. Loki sighs, "You are."

"Me?" the word leaves your mouth quickly in disbelief. "If you were so worried, why didn't you visit me? Everyone else did, even Thor came."

"I wanted to but I honestly thought I would be the last person you wanted to see," he gives you an answer that never even crossed your mind.

"Loki, you were the only one I wanted to see," you tell him and now it's the god's turn to look at you in disbelief. You reach out and take his hand, "Every time the door opened, I hoped it was you. I just wanted to see you."

He squeezes your hand gently, "Darling, I am sorry I did not visit."

You can't help but smile a little when he calls you darling. "It's okay," you say but he shakes his head.

"None of this is okay," Loki let's go of your hand then strokes your cheek lightly. "Y/N, I am so sorry for hurting you. I promised to keep you protect you, to keep you safe while we were in the field and I failed to do so, I am the reason you are injured. I can not apologize enough darling. Please forgive me."

"I know you didn't hurt me on purpose," you put your hand over his. "And I promise, I really am okay. It's just a broken wrist and a few stitches, it's not a big deal," you decide to leave out the mild concussion to not make him feel worse. "You can ask Dr. Palmer if you don't believe me," you smile more sincerely than you have all day.

You watch him finally relax as his hand lowers and he smiles a little, "I believe you."

"Good," you sound more excited than you meant to and he chuckles lightly. "And before I forget, you owe me something and I plan on collecting."

"What do I owe you?" he furrows his brow.

"A hug," you smile wider. "You said I could have another one after the mission."

His expression changes quickly, a smile replacing his confusion. "A debt I am more than happy to pay," he says and you giggle.

You don't waste a second, pressing your body against his as you wrap your arms around him tightly. Your cheek rests on his chest and you close your eyes as you relax. He's quiet, one of his hands holding you around your lower back while his other hand moves slowly up and down your back. After a few seconds, you feel him press his lips to the top of your head lightly and blush instantly.

You lean back just enough to look up at him and he smiles but you can almost feel his sudden nervousness. Without thinking, you move and kiss him lightly but as soon as you feel his lips against yours, your body fills with panic. You try to pull away from the hug completely but Loki holds you in place against his body.

"I'm sorry, that was-" you don't look at him, embarrassed that you acted on impulse. You have wanted to kiss Loki for weeks, ever since your crush became more intense but this was absolutely not a good idea.

"You should be sorry darling," he says in a tone you recognize. It was the voice he used when you couldn't help but think he was flirting with you even though you tried to convince yourself he wasn't. You lift your head and look up at him, swallowing nervously when he smirks. "I wanted to kiss you first," the prince explains.

"You wanted to-" you try to repeat his words but they don't make any sense. You put your hands on his chest and distance yourself slightly but he keeps you gently in place. "I'm sorry. I've got a concussion, it almost sounded like you wanted to kiss me first," you giggle awkwardly as you look up at him.

He looks at you with concern, his smile fading quicky, "You did not tell me you had a head injury. Are you certain you should be out of bed?"

"Oh... right, yeah. I guess I left that out. I just didn't want to make you feel any worse but it's fine. It's just like a teeny tiny concussion," you tell him quickly. "Wait... no, don't get me off topic. That's not what I wanted to talk about. Why would you say that? You wanted to kiss me?"

He chuckles, "You are so cute when you are like this."

You blush deeply when he calls you cute and you press your cheek to his chest to hide again. Just a second later, you feel Loki's hand on your warm cheek as he tilts your head up. "You heard me correctly darling, head injury or not," the prince answers your question with another smirk. Before you can respond, Loki bends down slightly, pressing his lips to yours. He holds your body tightly and you give into the kiss easily, closing your eyes as your hands grip the fabric on the back of his shirt.

When he finally pulls back to break the kiss you can't do anything but giggle and he laughs while he plays with the ends of your hair. "So... you think I'm cute?" you ask him.

"I think you are truly stunning and I am amazed by you," Loki says with a smile that causes you to blush even deeper than before. "I had planned on asking you out on a date after the mission, when you came to get the hug I owed you but then I hurt-"

You place a soft kiss to Loki's lips, "Don't you dare blame yourself again."

He gives you a warm smile, "If I keep doing it, will you keep kissing me like that?"

"No," you laugh. "I'll probably tickle you or something."

"I would like to see you try darling," he smirks, taking your hand to pull you towards the couch.

"Oh, I should probably still talk to Steve and Fury," you tell him. "So you're not in trouble or on probation anymore."

"Absolutely not," he sits down and shakes his head.

You sit next to him and he puts his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. "Why not?" you ask as you cuddle against him as if you've done it dozens of times.

"Because now I will have more free time to spend with you," he smiles and kisses the top of your head.

"I do like how that sounds," you kiss his cheek and lean on him comfortably. "Especially since I have the next week off, doctor's orders."

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His thumb brushes over your raw skin with an idle softness. Your breath catches. This is very different than the touch you’re used to with him; those late-hour slips into each others’ rooms, the desperate clash of breath when it’s been a while, the slow smirking gravity when it’s only been a day or two.

But it’s never tender. Never… this.

But you don’t pull away.

Instead, you let your fingers explore his. Smooth. Strong. Faintly scarred. His hand is warming from contact. You trace the tendons, the groove of his knuckles. The slight ridge of a scar at the base of his index finger.

And he lets you. He never flinches. He just stays still while your anxious fingers map him, committing his shape to your quiet collection.

You don’t say anything when the meeting ends, and neither does he. His hand leaves yours before you both stand, but even then… it’s a slow release. Like he’s giving you the choice to hold on. To keep him there.

You almost do.

An unlocked door means the other is welcome. And when you approach Loki's room later that night, the faint light beside the door handle is green.

You don’t knock when you slip inside his suite. You never do. And he never tells you to.

The door clicks shut, you flick the thumb-turn to lock it, and the hallway air vanishes - replaced by the warm, earthy scent of wood and silk and leather and magic that clings to the inside of Loki’s space.

The lights are low - just one bedside lamp, dimmed amber - no fire in the hearth tonight. His boots are by the door, his overcloak draped over a crushed velvet armchair. The walls sparkle with the flicker of half-burned candles dripping wax onto a polished stone dish. This room always looks like he's halfway between a battlefield and a throne.

He’s already in bed, propped against the headboard, a book in hand. Loose black pants, half-done button up shirt on top. He doesn’t look surprised to see you. He closes the book slowly, methodically, and sets it against his thigh, his gaze lingering on you, quiet but intense. The weight of it pressing hot against your skin.

You've showered. Cleaned the grime. Slipped into some shorts and a black tank that's slightly too short but not quite cropped. Your face is set with that look he knows well: hunger, that just barely hides how tightly you’re wound.

It’s never been spoken aloud - whatever this is. But the rules were understood early: no expectations, no confessions, no strings. Just stolen hours, harsh kisses, heated minutes or hours, controlled withdrawal. Never staying the whole night unless your legs were too tired to walk. Never touching unless it was about sex. There’d been words exchanged, yes, whispered filth and teasing and his unfair way with words, but never anything soft. Never anything real.

Loki watches you cross the room, and he doesn’t say anything.

He just extends a hand. An invitation. A command.

You slide into his lap with a breath that’s more exhale than greeting, your knees straddling either side of his thighs as you settle against him. The Compound is smooth walls and echoing cold, and the heat of his body is a relief - your loosen a little purely from the contact.

Your hands find his shoulders. His grip comes to your waist like a habit.

Not wasting time, you lean in, brush your lips over his throat, then murmur low against his pulse, "What are you reading?"

His hand flexes on your waist. "A reminder," he murmurs, "that even mortal novels can have... some semblance of value."

You smirk faintly, "God forbid." Then your mouth is on his neck, trailing heat in slow kisses, your hips shifting just enough to pull his breath from his lungs. Your hands begin to explore - shoulders, nape, then lower. Familiar territory. But when you lean back and reach for the buttons of his shirt, Loki catches your wrists.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks.

Then: "Your hands."

You glance down. The skin is still raw. Sore in places you hadn’t even noticed. Embarrassment flares in your chest, but you sniff a nervous breath and try to brush it off. "Yeah. New soap’s shit."

He doesn't buy it.

His thumbs run over the raw patches gently. You feel the hum of his magic as he mutters something under his breath - just enough to soothe the irritation, seal the skin. You inhale slowly. The sting fades. But you don’t look at him. You’re afraid of what might be in his eyes.

Loki tilts his head. "Why do you do this?"

Your eyes lift to meet his, caught. "It’s not on purpose."

"Fidgeting?" he asks.

You nod. "Yeah. Or- nerves. Habit, I guess. Happens before I notice."

He raises a brow. "Don't you mortals have some... soft hand-held object for this sort of thing?"

You let out a soft snort of laughter through your nose. "You mean a stress ball? Not really a good look for a trained operative."

"I disagree," he argues.

"Doesn’t matter. I don’t want or need people asking questions. Besides-" You reach up and run a slow finger along a button of his shirt, voice dipping, "-skin feels better. It’s warm. Real."

He doesn’t move. He just watches you, and you can feel him thinking. Calculating. Then, when your hands find each other again, tugging faintly against where they rest between you, he takes them. Gently. Firm.

"Use mine," he says.

You blink. "What?"

He nods once, unwavering. "If you need something to calm yourself, use my skin."

There’s heat in your stomach now, different from earlier. Something less urgent. Something deeper.

You scoff lightly, trying to shake it off. "What, like this?" You start to slide your fingers down, teasing, toward the waistband of his pants, but he catches your hands again.

He clicks his tongue, eyes half-lidded with amusement, and murmurs, "Always so eager to misbehave."

But he sees it. That flicker of unease still in your gaze. The way your hands keep twitching - moving, restless, desperate for contact, for anchor, but to not be seen reaching for it.

So he shifts, slightly, pulling you closer on his lap, and he slips your hands up beneath the hem of his shirt. Onto his stomach.

The heat is immediate. His skin is warm, firm, alive under your palms. Your breath catches.

"I said," he repeats softly, "use mine."

He presses your palms flat, and then gives you his trust - that you'll stay put - and he slides his hands over to your hips to rest there.

"Calm yourself."

The low timbre of his voice washes over you - it's that tone he uses when he's telling you what to do, and you're letting him, and you're listening, obeying - and it sends heat to your lower belly. But he doesn’t move further. Doesn’t press. Just lets you decide, in the silence, whether to explore him.

Tentatively, your thumbs stroke lightly along the lines of his abdomen, tracing the edges of muscle, the dip above his navel. You watch your hands move beneath the fabric. You can’t really see anything, but the feel of him - the steady rise and fall of his breath, the twitch of muscle when your fingers brush too close to the edge - it's grounding. Soothing. Real.

Your shoulders start to drop. You hadn't even realised they were so tight. So close to your ears.

Your lips part, about to say something - an apology, maybe, or a joke to defuse the moment - but he moves and gently guides your hands again. Up. Sideways. You follow. You trace. He watches you.

When the backs of your nails graze faintly along his ribs, his skin twitches. You blink. Your eyes lift to meet his. There’s a softness in his gaze. Curious, and patient.

But you see the edge there, too. The tension.

You draw a new pattern along his side. He twitches again. Involuntarily. The reaction makes your mouth quirk.

"Are you... ticklish?" you murmur.

Loki exhales through his nose. "Unfortunately."

You lift a brow. "You’re letting me tickle you?"

His voice is low. Unamused. "I’ll stop you if I must."

You start to reply - a teasing line already forming - but before the words make it out, your fingers brush a spot near the side of his ribcage and he lets out the tiniest, breathiest laugh.

You freeze.

He narrows his eyes. "Don’t start."

You shut your mouth, biting the inside of your lip to hold back your tease, and you keep going - gently, reverently - tracing the shape of him, letting the feel of his skin against your fingertips calm the anxiety still moving through your chest. And he lets you. Head leaned back against the headboard, breath steady but slow, his hands back on your hips.

Eventually, one of them slides up your back, warm and strong, not demanding - just there. Anchoring you.

And for the first time when you're alone and touching him, you don’t try to take it further.

Neither does he.

And it becomes a pattern. Routine. Ritual.

At first, it’s only when you’re anxious.

You don’t always mean to seek him out. Sometimes your hands just won’t stop moving - clenching, scraping, curling tight into fists - and you find yourself at his door before you realise you’ve crossed the Compound. Sometimes it’s after missions. Sometimes it’s after meetings. Sometimes it’s for no reason at all except that something in you buzzes, and nothing else seems to work.

You never have to explain.

When you open Loki's door and he sees it in your eyes. In your shoulders. He’s always quiet, always already holding out a hand.

The first time after that night, you kiss him like you want to go further - but he catches your wrists again. And this time, he doesn’t tease. He guides your hands under his shirt and murmurs, "Is this what you need?"

You hesitate. Then nod.

You don’t fuck that night. You don’t even kiss again. You just press your palms to his stomach while he sits there against the headboard, and let your fingers move lightly until your breathing evens. He watches you, saying nothing, one hand resting loose on your thigh.

The next time, he doesn’t wait for you to reach. As soon as he sees the tremor in your fingers, he lays beside you, pulls you in, guides your hands to his stomach, his ribs, the line where soft skin tightens over bone. "This," he says simply. "Only this."

You want to kiss him. You want to distract yourself the way you always have - through sex, through heat, through that physical power that lets you forget how small you sometimes feel. But if you're anxious, he stops you. Every time.

He says it quietly, kindly, but firmly enough that it holds.

And when you’re not anxious, it’s sex. Messy, hungry, clever sex. The kind you can’t stop thinking about for hours after. And he's infuriatingly good at it - at drawing heat from you with just a look, just a bite to your lower lip, just the sound of his voice at your ear when he says something filthy and chases the path of his words with his tongue. There’s magic, sometimes. Sometimes he lets you pin him. Sometimes, he holds your wrists above your head until your legs shake and you're gasp his name against his throat. It’s always good.

But you begin to learn the new rhythm:

Touch, when you’re restless. Pleasure, when you’re not.

He never mixes the two.

If your hands twitch, if your voice trembles, if you hesitate when you undress - he slows everything. Pulls you close. Presses your palms flat against him and murmurs, "Just this."

Sometimes it’s his abdomen again. Sometimes just one side. Sometimes you find yourself curled into him, tracing the angle of his collarbone or the curve of his neck. You learn his body like terrain, and he never stops you. Even when your hands drift over ticklish places. Even when he squirms.

He’s ticklish, yes - but never pushes you away. He lets you feel everything. Even that. Even his softness.

You come to crave the way he breathes through it. It's tight at first, then soft. You learn the way he ducks his head, tries not to laugh, but his mouth tugs at the corners. He doesn’t suppress that around you either. Not anymore.

One night, you’re both beneath the covers, facing each other.

You hadn’t meant to stay. You’d planned to slip away after. But his arm had found your waist and you hadn’t moved. Now your legs are tangled, and his chest is bare, and your hand is idly brushing against the edge of his hip.

Neither of you speaks.

Your fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns just under the hem of his pants, not teasing - just moving. You follow the ridge of his hip bone, up, around, back down. He’s warm. Solid. A heartbeat you can feel against your fingertips.

He’s watching you. You know he is. But you don’t look.

Instead, you smile - quietly, to yourself - when you feel him tense. Just slightly. Not because he’s aroused, but because he’s trying not to laugh.

You press a little harder.

Loki buries his face in the space between your neck and your shoulder, half a groan, half a breathless sound that almost counts as a laugh. His shoulders twitch.

Your grin widens. You keep going.

Your finger drags lazily around the line of his hip again. You feel his mouth part against your neck.

"Witch," he mutters low.

You smile, light and slow.

But then - just before he can shift and grab your hand - you move. Slip your fingers up his side and brush your thumb along the ridges of his ribs.

He laughs. Properly this time. A stifled, breathy sound into your neck, full of surprise and restraint. His hand flinches at your back like he’s going to retaliate, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales. It sounds like he might say something, but he doesn't.

So you just let your thumb circle there again, lighter now, feeling the way his body reacts before he can control it. His twitch. His grin against your pulse. His held, stuttering breath.

The feeling of him not fighting you. Not fighting at all.

And it grounds you more than anything else.

You ease your hand away after a moment. Let your fingers trace lazy paths over his lower back instead. You feel him settle again. His breathing slows.

Then his arm curls more tightly around you, pressing your bodies close. Not possessive, not commanding. Just there.

You press your nose under his jaw and whisper, "Thank you. For this."

Loki doesn’t answer right away. But he brushes his knuckles along your spine.

A moment later, you feel his lips at your hairline, and a wordless exhale that might’ve been something like always.

Weeks pass.

And it works - whatever this strange, tender ritual of yours has become. The grounding touch. The feel of his skin under your hands. The way he offers it like a gift, like a secret only you’re allowed to hold. It helps.

You stop rubbing your hands raw. You stop waking with that buzz in your bones that only pressure and contact could tame.

You still come to him, often. But for something else.

For the other things. The late nights. The laughter. The sex.

Stealing away to each other’s rooms when it’s late and the halls are quiet.

You’ve kept that part of the rhythm, and it’s never less than what it was it's still good, still charged, still searing in a way you both chase with teeth and laughter. Some nights he’s rough with it, hungry, biting your neck and pinning your wrists with sharp fingers. Other nights it’s slower, more deliberate, his magic curling around your ankles while he draws you open inch by inch, whispering things into your mouth that make your knees weak for days after.

And you always leave when the air cools. So does he.

That’s the rule.

It’s been almost two months since your hands needed to glide against his ribs to steady your breath. You haven’t brought it up. And neither has he.

Until tonight.

You’re both already in his room. You’d kissed him the moment the door clicked shut behind you - lazy, heated, with the kind of tension that had been building all day. He was still dressed in one of those soft, half-buttoned shirts you liked to tear off his shoulders, and he looked every inch the pleasure you wanted.

You think that’s what this will be. What it always is. What you both agreed to without really ever saying the words.

But as you're moving towards the bed with his lips on your neck, he slows. Stills. He pulls back, steps past you toward the bar cart by the dresser.

It doesn't phase you. He always offers a drink unless you're both too feral to consider it.

He pours. Amber liquor, smooth and dark. Two glasses. His shoulders shift with each motion, strong and elegant and familiar.

"I take it you’re here to be properly humbled."

You hum as you walk slowly past his bed, fingers brushing the edge of his blankets. "Something like that."

But then - without turning - he says, "Have you learned how to deceive me?"

You tilt your head. "Hmm?"

He turns, holding out the glass to you. You take it, brows lifted. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes are steady.

"You’ve seemed better," he says. "No trembling hands. No sleepless pacing outside my door. I haven’t had to pry your fingers open in weeks."

Your subconscious works faster than your thoughts. His tone. His stance. That look in his eye; this... this is delicate.

"And... you think I'm hiding my stress. From you."

He lifts the glass to his lips, faintly lifting one brow, "I'm not sure." He takes a sip. Still watching.

You lean back slightly, inspecting him over the rim of your drink as you lift it. Shrug with one shoulder. "I've been good. Haven’t really needed... just that." A beat. Then, lightly, "Which means it probably worked."

You take a sip. He watches your throat dip as you swallow.

He’s quieter than usual. You see something shift behind his eyes. He’s trying to keep it casual, but his voice is a touch too careful when he says, "Well, perhaps it would be wise to preempt your need. Rather than wait for the fallout."

Your eyes narrow a little. You know him too well. You do. You see it now - that flicker of vulnerability underneath the dry amusement.

Your mouth curls. Slow and satisfied and with an edge of endearment. No taunting.

"You miss it."

Loki scoffs softly, eyes flashing. He opens his mouth, probably to deflect - but before the words can form, you step forward and say again, quiet but sure:

"You miss it."

He gives you a look. A classic Loki look - arched brow, faintly offended, the kind that used to hold bite. But there’s no venom in it now. He takes another drink instead of answering, drains the glass, then turns away under the pretence of pouring another.

But his hands are too still. Too deliberate.

You follow him, stepping forward, placing your glass down beside his. Then you reach out. Slide your hands under his shirt, up his back. Skin to skin.

He tenses.

Your fingers move slow and steady, tracing the hard lines in his shoulders.

"You can ask for this too, you know."

He swallows. You feel it.

His voice is low, rough. "You're here for a reason."

"Mmm." Your hands keep moving, up towards the place his neck and shoulders meet.

He holds his ground. "And I intend to ensure you are thoroughly well-fu-"

His breath catches when your nails graze down the length of his back, one hand either side of his spine.

You let out another small hum, hands dipping lower - one trailing along his back, the other skimming around his waist. Slow. Soft.

"You’re tense," you murmur.

He shifts, barely, and says with a tighter edge, "Yes. I'm thinking of some very clever new ways to make you beg. Perhaps I'll-"

But before he can finish, before the rising insecurity in him has the chance to retreat into that mask of sex and heat and pleasure, your voice cuts in.

"-Loki, I... I know there's a line," you say, your body now pressed lightly against his back. "We haven't talked about it. But it's there. Between sex and... this."

Your hands keep moving. One traces the space around his navel, light as a whisper. The other follows the ridges of his abdomen, brushing over the firm shape of him.

"But," you breathe, "maybe that line doesn’t need to stay so sharp. Maybe it can blur, and that can be okay. Maybe... it doesn’t have to be complicated."

Loki’s head dips forward slightly. His hands clench on the edge of the dresser.

Your lips brush his upper back, and you whisper:

"Maybe it's all just need."

His whole body twitches when your fingers graze a more sensitive spot along his ribs. That familiar, involuntary reaction.

He lets out a slow breath, like it’s burning him not to move.

"Come to the bed," you ask. "Let me do this." Your fingers curl more deliberately now, tracing lazy patterns across his stomach. "And then you can make me beg. After."

Loki lifts his head. His weight shifts beneath your hands as he turns. Eyes searching yours - perhaps looking for mockery, for game, for an angle. But there's none. Just steadiness. Sincerity. Heat. Just your hands on him, slow and sure.

Something melts behind his eyes. Something gives.

You drag your hand up, and press your palm gently to the centre of his chest.

Then you nod once, subtle, and step back. Taking his hand.

He lets you lead him to the bed.

The room feels quieter now. He sinks onto the edge of the mattress like he’s unsure if this is indulgence or mistake. You kneel around him slowly, carefully, straddling his thighs but not pressing. You don’t reach for his shirt yet. You don’t kiss him. You just take your place in his lap and lift your hands to his sides like you've always done. Reminding him that this is normal between you.

You feel his breath hitch. You see his eyes darken.

He doesn’t stop you.

Your fingers slide under his shirt and up his torso, the pads of your thumbs catching the dips between his ribs. He twitches. Just slightly.

"This okay?" you murmur, watching him.

His gaze finds yours again. Steady. Blue and glowing. "Yes."

You press your lips together, holding that, and start to move again - slow, reverent, your fingers gliding in soft, grounding lines across his stomach, his ribs, his hips. You let your nails trace, sometimes circling, sometimes brushing just firm enough to make him tense. You explore every inch of him without taking more. Without making it about anything but this:

Your hands.

His skin.

Your quiet need.

His quieter one.

At first, he holds still. Then his breath deepens.

Little by little, his muscles loosen. His jaw unclenches. His hands - once white-knuckled at his thighs - relax enough to slide to your waist.

And when you find the edge of his ribs - that spot - you see it.

The twitch. The shift. The quick suck of breath.

You press there again. Delicate. He laughs.

Low. Quiet. Half-ashamed.

You grin. "I love this little spot."

He glares at you, but it’s hollow. There’s a flush in his cheeks now, a breathless lift to his chest. You keep moving - one hand around his side, one along his hip, the drag of your fingertips making him shift again.

"You’re going to be the death of me," he mutters, voice hoarse.

You kiss just under his jaw, lips curled in a private smile. "Hmm."

He breathes another laugh - but then you shift your weight, catch that same spot again with the edge of your nail, and he moves.

And in the next instant, the air crackles.

Faster than you can yelp, you’re on your back. Wrists crossed and pinned above your head in one of his hands. The God of Mischief looms above you, panting faintly, the corner of his mouth curved.

His hand dives to your side, fingers dancing with practiced cruelty. "I’ve let this go on for far too long without-"

He pauses. Because all you've reacted with is a underwhelming little wriggle. Barely anything.

You grin up at him. A twitch. A sniffling giggle. No more.

He frowns.

Tries again - a precise, ruthless attack against your ribcage, something that would've decimated the average person. But you? You just shift a little underneath him, and your grin remains the same: smug, knowing, so fucking pleased.

He stills, releases your wrists and sits back over your hips, hovering his hands over your abdomen as if he's unsure what he's touching. His eyes scan across your half-clothed torso.

"What," he starts flatly, "is this witchcraft."

You laugh then, and shrug as best you can with your hands still resting above your head. "Sorry. Not really ticklish."

His eyes snap up to yours. He stares. "That’s a lie."

"It’s not a lie."

"It is. It must be."

You laugh again at fierce denial in his voice. "Sorry. You’re the squirmy one here, Your Highness."

His eyes flash.

"Oh, you think so?"

You try to smirk, but you're too amused to look cocky.

Loki's eyes narrow, something darker slithering in behind them as he leans in close. His body shifts above yours, expression melting into something smouldering. And he smirks. Slowly.

Lifts a brow. "I think... you forget who's touching you, pet."

You feel the press of his waist sliding down your hips.

"And that there are many other ways to wring some squirms and whimpers from you."

You open your mouth to tease back, but he’s already moving - down, sliding lower, and your breath catches. Your fingers thread through his inky black hair as you giggle once, delighted, anticipatory...

...and then the sound changes.

Your amusement stutters into something else. Something deeper. Something after.

The line between comfort and pleasure blurs into nothingness.

And the world, and all its worries, fades away with it.

You stick a pin in his leg. He yelps and jumps away a little, laughing. It’s easy, breathy, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

And why would he? He’s almost married, after all.

Well, almost bethrothed. Coupled. Shown off to any eligible single royal in the Nine Realms that want a piece of Odin’s kingdom.

As you work on your measurements, you can almost hear the cacophony of tonight’s ball already happening in the courtyard below. Hundreds of choices will be mingling under your window, and you’ll have to see them all as you wait, alone, up here, for him to tell you every detail.

Like you always have.

“By the Norns, I didn’t even say anything that time!” He yelps from above as you catch him again with a pin, this time accidental and deep in his ankle. You sigh, rubbing the spot and mumble the one healing spell you know. The blood stops flowing but you keep rubbing absentmindedly.

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry. Just thinking.” You groan as you push yourself up to your feet, back cramped from bending over. Setting aside the maddening fact that Loki is getting married, the work put into making royal families court attire was an exhausting feat. Weeks of measuring, cutting, sewing, and cursing leading into this one painful day.

But you’re good at what you do. You always have been.

As you lean back to take him in fully, he poses. His outfit was mostly complete, save for last-minute hems that you can’t stop yourself from giving him. The silver trim along a green silk shirt to accentuate the soft blue undertone of his skin. The high collar to highlight his long neck. A form-fitting jacket with tails that ended in razor-sharp points, the fangs of the royal snake becoming a statement rather than a whisper behind his back.

You let yourself look up at his face, taking him fully in. He catches your eye and smiles, a tooth glittering in the sunlight streamed into the room. With his black hair tucked behind his ears and his high cheekbones, he almost looks like a mannequin. Perfect, poised, the perfect salesman for whatever he has on. Or whatever idea he has. You’ve been sold on enough from him before.

You let out a sigh you didn’t realize you’ve been holding.

It was finally almost done. The outfit you’ve spent weeks making after years of preparing for it. Every moment with him adding a stitch in your side, a reminder of what you can’t have.

The fabric glitters nicely. You knew it would from when you picked it out, with Loki and under his magic. He had disguised you both as an old couple, shopping in the market like it was any other day. You held scraps of textiles up to his skin while he offered his opinions, his wants. Asked banal questions and chatted about nothing. Another day together, like all the other days over the years of friendship you shared.

But you were together, close. His arm was in yours as you walked through the crowd. To keep you close for the spell, of course. But the heat from his body left the same warmth as if it was an embrace.

And the green silk shines on his skin like scales, just in the same way it did under that damned days’ sun.

“You’re quiet. Am I that ugly?” His head cocks to one side, catching your eye and bringing you back to the reality in your workshop.

“I’m fine. Just have to make sure this is right.”

“Do you ever make something wrong?” He murmurs with a playful smile as he magically turns the pedestal beneath his feet with a lazy finger. He barely even looks at himself, instead twisting slowly so you can get your full view, per usual.

“I know you don’t care, but it’s my head on the line.” You mutter, catching him by the elbow to stop him and snipping a stray thread on his neckline.

“Your head? Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a ball.”

“Don’t be stupid. You and I both know this isn’t just a ball.” You roll your eyes as you back away, which he doesn’t miss. He never misses the things you want him to miss.

He cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed in the way it does when he latches onto something. A tell, a quirk, a weakness. Your breath hitches in your throat; you’ve seen this face. It was cute when you were small and his obsession was about child’s play.

But your heart is not child’s play. Or available to him at all.

You drop back down to your knees, taking his ankle in one hand and nudging him forward, beginning to stitch his pant hem in silence.

A silence that seemed to grow heavier by the minute.

“It is just a ball, you know.” He says from above you. “Surely you don’t think I’ll actually marry anyone down there.”

As if he magicked them himself, voices from the courtyard below start to drift into the room. You pause before you accidentally stick him with another needle.

“Why should you not? I’m sure most are good matches.” You try and keep your voice clear though your heartbeat wavers.

“What constitutes a good match, friend?” He asks, casually. As if asking for advice.

“Someone in good royal standing. Attractive. Skilled in something. Able to handle your ego.”

He gasps in mock outrage, though when you look up, he’s smiling down at you wolfishly.

“I do not have an ego. You’re confusing me with Thor.”

“Thor’s ego has you beat by a beard hair, and that’s all. Pick someone down there that can handle both of you. I don’t know how I’ve survived all these years myself.” You mutter.

A moment. Your heart skips a beat again. Will you still be able to be with them, after this? After they have their someones? What place do you have here, other than the faceless tailor and seamstress?

You sink back on your ankles, looking absentmindedly at his. Your final stitches. As good as they were for the past few days, before you undid them for unseen flaws. But as more voices spill into the grounds below, you know you can’t hold onto him any further.

“You’re gone again.” He murmurs from above you, but in your dazed state, you can’t look up.

“What?”

“For weeks now, you keep disappearing. Thinking things that you don’t say out loud.”

“You don’t need to have my running monologue, Loki.”

“I don’t. But it’s a privilege you’ve shared with me in the past. Have I done something to upset you?”

“No.”

“Are you leaving Asgard?”

“What?” You look up at him again, this time locking eyes with the stone-faced prince. His hair has fallen from behind his ears, casting his face in shadow. It takes all of you not to tuck it again, to let his face see the sun.

“You’ve been fussing about this damned night for months now. Forget the clothing, every conversation we’ve had ends in what happens today.”

“It’s an important-”

“Save it. I know your lines now. It’s an important night for some, it’s a meaningless frivolity for others. I know my stance. But I don’t know yours.”

“I’m not trying to trick you, Loki.”

“I know. You’re better at tricking me. No, you’re just lying to me.” He points down at you with one finger, shaking it slightly as he chuckles and leans back. “You’re showing off your skills so you can impress someone down there, hmm? I’m a walking resume so you can get out of this damned castle.”

You spring up to your feet, scowling your way to your workbench, hurriedly putting up various needles and thread. Sharp points prick your fingers and you attribute your new tears to that, instead of him.

“After all of these years, you can’t afford me the respect of a goodbye?” His voice is even and low, but you still can’t look at him.

“I’m not leaving Asgard.” You force out through gritted teeth.

“Then you are leaving?”

“You are the one that’s leaving, Prince.”

“Don’t call me that. You, of all people, do not call me that.”

“I’m calling you what you are.”

“I called you friend.”

“And that’s not enough, is it?” You turn to face him, “I’m many things to you, Prince. A friend. A confidant. A childhood playmate turned into what? The help. Your help. Here to stitch you together into a Prince Charming for someone elses’ fairy tale. And that someone is down there. I’m just here, doing my job. Maybe we should have remembered that sooner than now.” You spit out the words, letting them fall like acid on the floor between you. Every word lowers your resolve more, especially as his jaw clenches more and more.

He stays silent for a long while, long enough for you to hear your heartbeat in your throat and the band start to play.

“Loki, I think they’re-”

“You’re not the help. You have never been the help.” He scowls, chest heaving once before he rips his eyes away from yours, turning towards the window and running a hand through his hair.

“Realistically, I-”

“Do the years we’ve shared mean nothing to you? Am I just some coddled man-child that’s been ignorant of your resentment this entire time?”

“I have not been resentful.”

“You have been. You just said it yourself. You’re just ‘doing your job.’”

“I am just doing my job.”

“Has your job been to babysit me? To talk with me? Sit with me through nights I couldn’t be alone, and to call me when you find vermin in the dark corners of your room?”

“No. My job is-”

“Hel, I can’t even count how many times we have walked the castle together. How many jokes we’ve made. How many times I’ve fallen asleep next to you, and still had dreams of your laugh. Your face consumes my thoughts, and I am just a job to you.”

“My face does what?”

“Haunts me! I am constantly thinking about you, and what you’re doing, and what you’re thinking about, and things to do with you. You have me walking like a dog by your side, and yet, I am just a job.” He’s evolved into pacing now, gripping his scalp as he rambles. He kicks a few bolts of fabric over by accident and curses, righting them with a wave of his hand.

Your body however, stills completely.

“A...dog.” You mutter dumbly, causing him jerk his face back towards you.

“I always have been. Yours.”

Footsteps run down the hall, past your door. The voices have all left the courtyard, having all entered the ballroom below. You never meant to keep him this long. But it feels so good to have him here, even with all of his anger burning a hole in your floor and heart.

He’s ‘your’ anything?

“My problem is that the thought of you getting married to someone else makes me sick.” You say finally and he blinks, brow furrowing.

“...What?” It’s his turn to be confused.

“Every time I think about you going down there, getting looked at and felt up and whispered to, Because it’s not my hand on yours.”

He turns towards you, face flickering orange in the setting sun that threatens to throw you both in darkness. You take a deep breath, two, before steeling enough nerves to continue.

“I think I fell in love with you so quietly that I didn’t know until the thought of today made me not want to leave my bed in the morning. It made every moment with you painful because I know it’s the some of the last ones I’ll have with you. The clock ticks so slowly when you’re away. The rest of my life is too long to live without you.” You say it all before you think it, leaving you breathless and propping yourself up on your workbench in order to stay upright.

The look he’s giving you is unreadable at best, unknowable at worst, but the intensity of his eyes never wavers, pinning you to your tenuous position. It still doesn’t waver as he steps towards you, slowly then quickly, lithe fingers reaching your waist and catching you before you fall.

It doesn’t waver until he closes his eyes, one hand sliding up to cradle the nape of your neck and jaw and drawing your head back as he pulls you into his embrace. He ghosts his lips above yours and your breath hitches before you close the distance, pressing into his kiss with an urgency you’ve been holding back. Your fingers crease his newly-made clothes as you grip onto his chest, his ribs, any part of him with the sole purpose of pulling him closer. He kisses you back with the same fervour you’re giving him, hot lips burning his brand onto your mouth and your thoughts cease to exist other than,

Wow. It’s really happening.

It must be forever before you disconnect, breathless and hot, but he only takes a second before kissing the corner of your lips, your cheek, your temple.

“I must be dreaming.” He mumbles against your skin, and you let loose a wry little laugh.

“I could say the same thing.” You barely get the words out before he kisses you again, slower this time, taking his time. His hands travel up, cupping your face gently, thumb swiping away at a tear you didn’t realize made its way out.

When he finally pulls away, he has a gentle smile on his face, as if he was wholly at peace.

Every Detail, Always by @billionairebratenergy // For the girl who’s spent her life overlooked, he’s the one who sees everything. (F!Reader)

Change of View by @holdmytesseract // Your friend drags you along to an Avengers event, which changes your life forever... (F!Reader)

Nightmares by @amethystarachnid // request (F!Reader)

Team Loki by @muddyorbsblr // Thor poses a question that puts you in an uncomfortable situation, and causing you to give him a desperate and thinly-veiled half truth. (F!Reader)

Comfort by @lokileaf // Reader is on her period and Loki wants to help! (F!Reader)

In A Fathers Eyes (pt.2) by @wittyandobsessed // Since your child’s birth, Loki has been loving and devoted—but doubt still lingers, he can’t help but wonder if he’s meant to be a father. Then one day, when your son’s magic bursts free and chaos follows, Loki’s instinctive, fearless response says it all: he was always the father your child needed. (F!Reader)

A Christmas To Cherish, A Yule To Remember by @angelremnants // When tasked with organizing a holiday cultural exchange between Midgard and New Asgard, you face clashing traditions and unexpected connections. To foster goodwill, you plan a hybrid celebration that blends Christmas with Yule, inviting world leaders and dignitaries to experience Asgard's unique customs. However, hosting off-worlders, especially a skeptical Loki, proves challenging. His sarcasm only more adds tension as sparks begin to fly between you, testing your growing connection. As Yule and Christmas traditions collide, an unexpected kiss under the mistletoe might just be the season's most surprising twist. (F!Reader)

When I Look At You by @raven-dor // In which loki laufeyson takes his brother’s advice: be brave. (F!Reader)

His Greatest Achievement by @westviewsoldest // A little heart-to-heart after you get injured on a mission and are stuck in medbay for a couple of hours. (GN!Reader)

A Draw by @mischiefmaker615 // You and Loki tend to make a great team where it's almost casual in a dangerous situation. (GN!Reader)

In The Bleak Midwinter by @lokisgoodgirl // On a mandatory Christmas Avengers Getaway, resident Scrooge Loki discovers there is warmth to be found. (GN!Reader)

Elskhuga by @whimsyfaes // After thrusted into the storm of battle, Loki and his gang of trustees reach the outskirts of Svartalfheim in order to recuperate and tend to the wounded. His lover included, the Prince must find the strength to not fall into despair. (GN!Reader)

Unhealed by @alienseasfanfics // Loki left you a long time ago, leaving your heart broken. Now, he's crawled back on your doorstep, half-dead. He has a lot of explaining to do. (GN!Reader)

The Jump by @lokisgoodgirl // Captain Rogers insists you master skydiving for...reasons. His choice of teacher is unfortunate. (GN!Reader, SFW but brief mentions of NSFW things).

Quiet Havoc by @nocturnewidow // Loki learning to be domestic. (GN!Reader)

Little Gifts by @monstersandgenderqueers // Loki, a new resident in the compound, sparks your interest. You decide to give him a gift in secret, hoping he might cheer up just a little bit. Well, it didn't work out that way. (Neurodivergent!Reader)

“Where is Thor?” You ask slowly, breathing heavily through your nose. The man stares at you, eyes wide, lips opening and closing without sound, trembling within your hold. 

“Where is he!?” You yell, giving the man a light shake. 

“Y/N!” Your brother in law's boisterous voice calls from behind you. 

You drop the frightened man and whirl on your heel to face Thor. His face is bright, a wide smile on his face and his eyes crinkled just the slightest. You close the distance between you both quickly, grabbing the front of his shirt. 

“Is it true? Is he…” You trail off, the question dying on your tongue. You search Thor’s eyes, your breathing growing ragged. 

“Y/N…” He responds softly, his hands gently grasping your elbows as his expression drops. 

“Is it?” You repeat your question, growing more desperate by the second. 

Thor nods, his face now solemn. Your breathing hitches and your grip on him loosens. “Where is he?” 

“He’s not… how he was.“ Thor responds, choosing his words carefully.

“Where is he?!” 

“In a holding cell.” Someone else replies. You turn your head, meeting the one eyed gaze of a man. “Who’s your friend?” 

Thor responds before you can so much as open your mouth, “This is Y/N, my brother's spouse.” 

“They gonna be a problem for us?” The one eyed man asks, speaking directly to Thor even with his gaze trained on you warily. 

“No, Fury. They will not be a problem.” 

“I can answer for myself,” you speak, scowling at both of them. “I will remain… unproblematic, if you take me to my husband.” 

“How do we know you won’t let him out?” The one eyed man—Fury—comments. “For all we know you’re working with him and this is all some trick.” 

You release your hold on Thor completely, turning your body to face Fury. You stalk towards him, getting halfway there before Thor's hand on your arm stops you.

“Take me to my husband!” You demand, fighting against Thor’s hold. 

“Y/N, please.” Thor whispers pleadingly, “Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”

“Difficult?” You whip around to Thor, catching him off guard as your hand makes contact with his cheek. “I’m not the one being difficult! All I am asking is to see my husband, who was thought dead!” You hiss out. 

And then your shoulders drop, the fight all but leaving your body as desperation seeped in. “Please.” You beg no one in particular. “I just need to see him… I need to know he’s alive..” 

You looked to Thor, desperately trying to get through to him. But his attention was elsewhere. His eyes were locked with Fury’s, a silent argument happening between them before finally, Fury nodded. 

Thor’s gaze landed back on you, “Okay.. but not for long. And know, they have cameras in place all around his cell.”

The second the large doors slide open you see him. Your husband paces inside a large cell made entirely of glass. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before walking into the room tentatively. As you approach the glass, Loki turns. The cocky smile adorning his face falls as his eyes land on yours and he blinks in surprise. “Is it you?” You ask breathlessly. “This isn’t a dream? O-or some trick?”

“Darling…” Loki speaks softly in a way reserved only for you as you draw even closer to the glass. Thor says something behind you, it sounds vaguely like he’s asking you to step back but his words are fuzzy as your entire being focuses on the sight of Loki. You bring your hand up, resting your palm against the glass.

“Are you really standing here? Did-” You choke on the words as sobs threaten to leave your throat. “Have you come back to me?”

Loki places his against the glass, mirroring you.

“You’re thinner than I remember…” You whisper, “And your eyes… They’re blue now, not the green I know. You look tortured.”

“I am not the man I was… the man you fell in love with.” Loki says simply, removing his hand from the glass as he walks back towards the middle of the cell. 

“What happened to you?” 

“I’ve killed… too many to count. Human and alien alike.” He doesn’t face you as he speaks. His shoulders are tense and his fist’s clench at his sides before he draws them up, likely wringing them as you know he does when nervous or unsure. “I’ve tortured even more. Their blood stains my hands. Their screams ring in my ears. ”

“Loki…” Tears blur your vision and wet your cheeks. 

Loki spins around, facing you. His expression is guarded, but you notice the small twitch of his eyebrow that indicates he’s barely keeping it together himself. When he speaks his voice is hoarse and unsteady. “Can you still claim to love me? To call me your husband?” 

You blink back more tears as they threaten to spill down your face and step away from the glass slightly. Your hand wraps around a cord of fabric made of green and gold that hangs from your waist and breaks it off. You hold it up in front of you, displaying it to Loki. “If I can’t call you my husband, if what you’ve done is truly so horrible that I can’t learn to love you regardless, remove your half of our handfasting cord. Rip it from your belt and toss it away.” 

At this, Loki falters, flinching away as if struck. “How could you…” He starts softly, his voice growing louder as he continues. “I wove that cord myself. I spent weeks on it. As a sign of my love to you!” 

“Then don’t tell me you’re not the same person! You are my husband!” You yell at him, voice raspy and breaking. “No matter what you’ve done or who you’ve hurt. No matter if it’s been one year or one decade, I will always love you.” 

The door to Loki’s cell opens, startling both of you. Glancing over your shoulder you see Thor where he now stands behind the control desk. He nods his head at, a silent acknowledgement. 

Loki doesn’t move from the center of the cell, even as armed guards enter the room, guns pointing at all three of you. He doesn’t even look anywhere else but you. His eyes follow your movements as you slowly close the distance between you and him. 

Once you’re standing toe to toe with Loki, you lift on shaking hand and place it against his cheek. The touch is feather light at first, because you are still unsure if it’s really him. But as skin meets skin and Loki leans into your touch, his eyes closing, you resolve breaks. You pull him against you and bury your face in the crook of his neck as sobs rack through your body. Loki’s arms close around your middle as he pulls you impossibly closer, his head resting against yours. 

The two of you sink to the floor, still holding onto each other like lifelines. When you pull back from the hug, Loki looks at you. 

“There they are,” You whisper. His eyes were no longer an icy blue, but now the same green you had always loved to get lost in. 

He rests his forehead against yours, eyes shutting again. “I love you.” 

“I missed you.”