#thorodinson

Let's just focus on what's important ok?

loki x reader

content warnings: grief, death mentions

word count: 1,574

That night in your room had left a mark on both you and Loki. Subtle, invisible, yet impossible to brush off or ignore.

He hadn't meant to stay, hadn't meant to hold you while you broke, but once you were in his arms, once he felt your trembling breath against his chest and the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you from sinking, something inside of him shifted, and suddenly he couldn't seem to keep you off his mind. It wasn't pity, wasn't some fleeting whim or a sense of morbid curiosity, it was deeper than that. It was recognition.

You understood him in ways no one else had before. You had seen the darkness, same as him; you had fallen into the abyss of hurt and rage, lashing out with destruction and chaos, overwhelmed with guilt after the dust had settled but carrying the burden alone.

Now, the two of you were in the kitchen; Loki sat perched on a stool at the island, his sleeves cuffed neatly at his forearms, the rings on his thin fingers glinting softly in the overhead light. He watched as you moved around the kitchen, barefoot and adorned with an apron, using a wooden spoon to stir what you had called your mother's "world famous" bolognese. It had taken a moment for you to explain that no, it wasn't actually famous around the world, but it was delicious enough that it might as well have been.

The scent was unfamiliar to him, rich and savoury and somehow comforting, like something meant to feed not just the body, but the soul.

Loki cleared his throat softly, his voice careful. "So your parents - How did you end up in Stark's care?"

You didn't answer at first and Loki straightened, sensing he may have overstepped. "Forgive me, that was.. Prying. You needn't say anything if it was an unwelcome question."

You gave the sauce another stir, then lowered the heat to simmering. Your expression had changed slightly, your eyes more distant, the corners of your mouth turning up in a sad smile.

"Do you know what my favourite thing about my mom was?" You asked. "My dad worked long hours - he was brilliant, like Tony, just.. Quieter about it. He and mom were so different, she was all colour and chaos and noise, and he was order and logic and calm. But it worked, and I knew they loved each other more than anything."

You turned, leaning your back against the counter. "My mom was a weirdo. Not in a bad way, she just.. Had this kind of oddball, whimsical energy. Like she saw the world through a kaleidescope and wanted me to see it that way, too." Your head leaned to the side. "She was always planning these fun outings for the two of us. Nothing extravagant, just little day trips; like we'd drive an hour to the city just to try some new restaurant she'd read about in a blog. Or we'd go to antique stores and pick out the ugliest thing we could find for each other. One time, she gave me a taxidermied rat dressed like a businessman, with a little briefcase and everything."

You chuckled, turning back to the stove to stir the sauce, tasting a bit of it on the spoon and sprinkling in some more seasoning. "Once, she even took me to this UFO-themed diner that only served blue food. Just.. Weird, wonderful stuff. Like trying to follow Bob Ross tutorials, even though neither of us could paint to save our lives - we'd end up covered in paint, and they always turned out horrible. Our happy little abominations." You laughed gently. "She always let me help her cook, too, even when I made a mess of the flour or forgot the sugar. Taught me how to play piano, and ukulele; she'd play for me whenever I asked and I loved it, even though she was terrible at singing."

Loki could picture it - a warm, sun soaked room, flour on your cheeks, music in the background. He imagined a miniature you, laughing and unburdened by the chaos.

"They were good friends with Tony, he worked with my dad," You continued. "He'd come over on holidays, bringing dumb gag gifts and setting things on fire in the backyard for 'science'. I loved it." Your eyes gazed out the window, at the afternoon sun bathing the city in its warm glow. "When I was sixteen, we were in a car accident. I don't remember much.. Rain, tires screeching, glass shattering, my mom holding my hand. Then I woke up in the hospital with only a few broken ribs and a mild concussion, and they were just... gone."

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you swallowed hard. Loki's chest ached in a way he didn't quite understand.

"Tony stayed with me in the hospital, and came home with me when I was discharged. He even stayed after the funeral, he was adamant that he wasn't leaving without me, that he'd promised my mom he'd take care of me if anything happened."

"And so you went with him?" Loki asked, a brow raised.

You chuckled. "Not at first. I fought him on everything; I told him I didn't need him, that I wasn't leaving my home. He was like a reminder of everything I'd lost. I even locked myself in the bedroom once, and climbed out of a window to avoid a counseling session. But eventually I realised, he'd lost them, too. And after a while, the house became too much, the silence too loud. Everything reminded me of them - mom's flour-covered apron still on the hook, dad's coffee mug on the table next to the newspaper. It was like the grief had soaked into the walls, and I couldn't stand it anymore. So I finally moved here, with Tony."

"He tried his best. He was a lot - loud, noisy, irritating. But eventually we found our rhythm, and he started teaching me things. How to wire boards, basic coding, soldering. We built a little robot together that followed sound like a puppy. Then he taught me programs, and AI protocols. Eventually, he became my anchor. He stopped feeling like a replacement and more like someone who understood. I don't know if I would have survived it without him. I still own their house, I inherited it after they passed, but I haven't been back. Maybe someday."

You dished up two steaming plates of bolognese, the aroma warm and comforting. Loki watches you with quiet interest, his eyes following the graceful efficiency of your movement as you brought the plates over to the island. You set one down in front of him, and he bowed his head slightly in thanks as you sat next to him.

"So," You said, bringing a bite up to your lips. "What about your parents?" Loki's fork paused midair. "Thor's told me a bit about your father, but I haven't heard much of your mom."

For a moment, you think he might deflect. His posture straightened, his jaw tightened, but then, he exhaled.

"My mother," He repeated, almost to himself. His voice was low, measured. "Frigga. She was... Everything Odin was not. Where he ruled with order and discipline, she led with wisdom, patience, and compassion."

You listened intently, fork in hand, stealing glances at him between bites.

"She taught me magic," He continued, his voice distant, as though lost in memory. "Not just simply casting spells, but how to understand them. The rhythm beneath the incantation, the beauty of them." A small smile played on his lips. "I would often feign sleep, then sneak to her study and watch her work. There were always candles burning, pages turning themselves, the scent of lavender and old books. She'd pretend not to notice me, then summon a cushion for me to curl up on, like she'd known I was there all along."

"She.. She always saw me, even when I wasn't sure who I was. She was kind to everyone, but she made me feel special, like I was more than my brother's shadow. Not because I was a prince, not because I was clever, but because I was just... Me."

He grew quiet for a moment, the smile gone, the silence heavy. "She died because of me."

Your heart ached. "Loki..."

He met your gaze, no bitterness in his voice, only sorrow. "I set the events in motion that led to her death. Whether it was my hand that struck her down or not, it was my blade, my arrogance, my foolishness."

You reached out slowly, laying your hand atop his where it rested on the counter. "I know that kind of guilt," You said softly. "I live with it, too. My dad hadn't been home early enough for supper with us in months, so I insisted we all go out together. I threw a fit about it. They were only in that car because of me, and after it crashed... I blamed myself."

His eyes lingered on your face for a long moment, a quiet, shared understanding passing through the two of you. Then without a word, his hand shifted under yours, turning over so your palms were pressed together as his fingers interlaced with yours, and the two of you continued eating in a heavy, yet comfortable silence.

next chapter

Bruce: Why do you guys look so sad?

Y/N: Sit down with us so we can tell you.

*Bruce sits down*

I've always had a soft spot for powerful characters. Here's Enchantress, one of Thor's villains. I don't know her in-depth, that's true, but I do know enough to know that her independence and, so to speak, irreverence were enough to captivate me. Literally. This drawing was created using mixed media, on paper, and then colored in Photoshop.

🅼🅰🅳🅴 🆈🅾🆄 🅻🅾🅾🅺 📚💬

🄷🄸🄶🄷 🅂🄲🄷🄾🄾🄻 🄰🄻🅃🄴🅁🄽🄰🅃🄴 🅄🄽🄸🅅🄴🅁🅂🄴

𝚃𝚘𝚖 𝙷𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚔𝚒 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚕, 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 💬