#loki brainrot

You walked by the chaise lounge, your sandals clicking the marble floor, your gown’s fabric rustling against your bare legs, and you watched Loki’s eyes drag over you. He had draped himself over the chair, glass of wine in hand, and was silently watching your every move.

You were here to visit with Lady Sif, and she had been called to Thor’s chambers, which left you to pace along the golden clad halls until you were ushered into the lounge room by an annoyed guard. Loki had been laying there unanimated until you walked in, and his narrowed eyes hadn’t left you since.

“What?” You snapped, knowing he was a much higher station than you, knowing he was a god, knowing that he could have you imprisoned for your insolence. He merely chuckled, and sipped his wine. You groaned and continued your pacing.

The hall was large enough that you could put space between yourself and Loki, but not wide enough that you could avoid him completely.

“Sit.” He ordered, and you complied. “Waiting for Thor?” He asked, his voice dry and apathetic.

“No.” You answered honestly. “I’m waiting for Lady Sif to finish with Thor and the Warriors Three.” He blinked slowly at your admission, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. You were nervously talking his ear off.

“They’ll be some time, yet. Wine?” He gestured with his own glass and you shook your head.

“Yes, I need some.” You told him, even as you shook your head. He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Which is it? Do you, or do you not, want wine?” You cleared your throat, you had no idea what was going on. Maybe it was nerves, you thought. Had to be.

“Yes, wine.” You finally managed. Of course, you wanted the wine. But you hadn’t wanted to take any from him. You had no plans of drinking with the God of Mischief. He lazily snapped his fingers and a servant appeared with a full glass. You took it from her, thanking her, and sipping the rich red contents. It soothed your nerves immediately.

You made eye contact with Loki and he was staring at you intensely. You looked away quickly, studying the fabric of your chair. It was a deep blue satin, and not nearly distracting enough.

“Do I make you nervous?” Loki asked, a smirk dancing on his lips. He sounded playful, but Sif had warned you about his tricks.

“Yes.” You told him quietly. But it wasn’t what you wanted to say. It wasn’t what you were going to say. You were going to tell him that you weren’t nervous.

“Are you frightened?” He asked, the smile gone. You looked in his eyes and you weren’t. You weren’t scared at all.

“No.” You said aloud. You squeezed your eyes shut, and when you opened them Loki was staring at you, confusion etching his dark features. “What are you doing to me?” You groaned, and the confusion melted into something darker.

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t lie. Did you enchant me?” You asked, only just realizing what was happening. Of course, a simple trick to force you to be truthful.

“I don’t enchant.” He scoffed, but then leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “You can’t lie, hm? Let’s test it.”

“Fine. Do your worst.” You rested your face in your hands, trying to hide from him in the only way you presently could.

“Do you have feelings for Lady Sif?” You snapped your head up and glared.

“We are friends, nothing more.” You grumbled.

“Good. Feelings for Thor?” He smiled playfully, clearly enjoying this new torture.

“No.” You sighed, knowing it was true. You’d only ever had feelings for the man in front of you. You dreaded his next question, knowing he was circling you, like a predator with prey, about to lunge for the kill.

“Good. Loyal to Asgard?” You scrunched up your eyebrows in confusion.

“Yes.” He nodded, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“How about something a little trickier? Are you nervous because you’re attracted to me?” You groaned at his smirk.

“Yes. Yes, I am attracted to you. It doesn’t matter! Why can’t I lie to you?” You exclaimed, standing and pacing again.

“How do you know it’s only me you can’t deceive?” He watched you closely, noted how your steps faltered.

“I lied to Sif.” You admitted, and he knew you’d wanted to lie again. He pressed on, regardless.

“About what?” He leaned back into the chaise, and sipped his drink.

“I told her I’d be here much later.”

“Why?”

“I was hoping to see you.” You admitted and sat down heavily again. You wanted to put yourself out of your misery. “You make me nervous because I have a crush on you. It’s quite childish, I assure you. But, I’m not sure why I am unable to lie to you.” You babbled, and then wondered aloud, “Can you lie to me?” It was Loki’s turn to be confused.

“I don’t see why I would be unable to. I’m affected by you.” He told you confidently. You furrowed your brow.

“Did you mean ‘unaffected,’ Prince?” He scowled, but nodded. You bit your lip as you considered this. “Do you have feelings for Lady Sif?” You prodded quietly, not really wanting the truth. You’d seen him watch your friend, seen his disgust at how she pined over his brother, figured it was an unrequited love situation.

“No.” He told you quickly, drinking his wine more deeply than before. You closed your eyes at the admission.

“Do you hate your brother?” You asked, opening your eyes slowly. He looked punched.

“No. Of course not.” He added, but the answer seemed to take him by surprise anyway.

“Would your mother know what’s going on with us?” You tried, not pushing him further. He regarded you for a moment, and then nodded.

“She might.” He stood and offered you his hand, which you took. His touch was cool, but his hand wrapped around yours easily. You swallowed the rest of your wine in one gulp, and handed your glass to the servant. You had never met the Queen before, and you’d never expected it to be like this: drug down the hall by her youngest son, wondering why you had lost your ability to lie.

Loki pulled you to a stop in front of a grand door.

“Let me do the talking.” He told you, smoothing your shoulders down. “You look beautiful.” He murmured, a frown replacing the words. “I had been going to say: acceptable. This is quite a challenge.” He shook his head and knocked on the door. It swung open easily, and you followed Loki inside, avoiding his dark green robe which trailed behind him.

“Loki, what a pleasant surprise!” You tried not to stare at her, but Frigga was gorgeous. Suited perfectly for the role as Queen of Asgard, a golden warrior in her own right.

“Mother, you look radiant.” Loki told her easily.

“Who is your friend?” Frigga asked, indicating you. Loki looked back at you and narrowed his eyes.

“No one. Sif’s friend, perhaps?” You sucked in a sharp breath and felt a heat creep up your neck. If you blinked, you knew you’d cry.

“Why lie, son? You wouldn’t bring just anyone in here.” Frigga scolded, and you regained your composure. He was testing the boundaries of the lying.

“That’s just the issue, Mother. We cannot lie to each other. It’s quite...vexing.” Frigga regarded her son, and then looked you over.

“Is this true, darling?” She asked, crossing the room to you. You nodded as she approached, your words trapped in your throat.

“But you lie freely to others?” She asked you both, you nodded again.

“Clearly.” Loki chimed in from behind Frigga.

“It’s an old story, one that I have not seen in many millenia.”

“A curse, perhaps?” Loki intoned.

“No, a prophecy, of sorts. I have the book here somewhere.” Frigga turned on you and headed to a massive shelf. It covered most of the room. “Ah, here we are: soulmates cannot deceive each other. A very old tale, indeed.” She explained before looking over you both.

“A soulmate, my Queen? Surely not.” You told her quietly, the room feeling much smaller than before.

“Indeed, Mother. A soulmate? You don’t believe in such trivialities, do you?” Loki asked, avoiding your gaze.

“A soulmate is a precious and rare thing to have, my love. Perhaps this is not the curse you want it to be.” Frigga told him, before smiling at you. “Go, spend time together. Maybe you will find you even enjoy each other’s company.” She laughed lightly as she ushered you out into the hall.

You looked up at Loki, who looked down at you. His eyes pierced through you, and you felt speared to the floor.

“Do you believe it is possible?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yes.” You murmured in response. “Do you?”

“Yes.” He offered you his hand once more, and you took it with ease. “I think I need much more alcohol to talk about it, though.” You laughed and followed him through the palace. He looked beautiful against the golden fixtures, his long black hair reflecting it easily, his dark features highlighted. Perhaps it was never just a crush, you realized. His hand nestled perfectly against yours, his stride much longer than yours was shortened to match your own, and he kept flicking his eyes down to check on you. You felt a warmth you’d never felt before.

Your eyes traced his face’s details, the slope of his nose, the pull of his lips against his teeth, his crinkled eyes when laughing, and you found yourself returning to his lips again and again. A shared soul, is that what you’d found? You’d barely chanced into the meeting, and now you were destined for each other?

You pulled him to a stop.

“What is it?” He asked quickly, looking around. You tugged your hand free, which he reluctantly let go.

“I want…” You had a dozen demands. You wanted him to acknowledge that this was crazy. You wanted assurances that this wasn’t some horrible trick. You wanted to see Sif, and tell her what the hell was going on. You wanted to know everything about him.

“I want you to kiss me.” You told him, your mouth forming the words before you knew what you were saying. It was true. You wanted nothing more than a kiss. It would prove everything. Or it could prove nothing. Either way, you wanted to know.

The worry was replaced with confusion for a moment before his eyes darkened with desire.

“I know you cannot lie, but stop me if this is not what you truly want.” He told you quietly, bending down, and when you made no movement to stop him, he pressed his lips against yours.

A shared soul, Frigga had explained. A rare and precious thing. With Loki’s lips pressed against yours, you knew it was true. His kiss was sincere, and gentle. As if, even his kisses, were incapable of expressing anything but the truth.