#had a hunch that the second prince of asgard was his lost son | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dearlazerbunny · 5 years

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Lie to Me (Ch. 3 of ?)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1700

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug for their awesomeness.

Requested Tags: @deraniel @iamverity @yasnooshka24 @themusingsofmany @dark-night-sky-99 @wegingerangelica

You really have no idea what to expect. A message popped up in your inbox telling you to be in a certain room at a certain time. That’s it. Nothing about who you were meeting or why they wanted you there. But you know better than to ask questions about things SHIELD has deemed to be on a need-to-know basis. So you gather your notebooks and straighten your uniform, and take a deep breath before opening the large double doors in front of you.

That breath is immediately knocked out of you when you catch sight of the other occupants of the room. They’re a little hard to miss. Tony Stark has certainly been on the news enough for you to recognize immediately, though he looks more haggard and hungover than on his usual press tours. The bright red curls of Black Widow are iconic by now, as is the shield leaned up against Captain Roger’s chair. He drums his fingers on it thoughtfully. Judging by the arrowhead flitting through a brunet man’s fingers, you’d guess him to be the archer Hawkeye. And of course, the Norse god Thor sits with his mythical hammer Mjolnir by his side, also looking lost in thought. Oh, Christ. What have you gotten yourself into?

There’s a rather inconspicuous chair situated in the corner of the room, away from the conference table where all the superheroes- Avengers- are seated, so you settle into that, trying to take up as little room as possible. You also try not to hyperventilate. For some reason, being in the same room one-on-one with a god who has decidedly not great intentions is much less intimidating than being in a room full of heroes.

Thankfully, Fury walks in a second later, and all eyes drift to him as he takes his place at the head of the room. The second he opens his mouth, questions begin to overflow into the air-

“Where is he?”

“When does the interrogation start?”

“Bastard better be in pain-”

“The press keep asking if he’s contained-”

“Who are you?”

You glance up belatedly, realizing that last question is directed at you. “Um-” you look at Fury for help, but he simply raises his eyebrows at you. “I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you that. For… security purposes.” Which is complete and utter bullshit, and you’re fairly sure everyone in the room knows it, but the thought of being on any of these people’s radar makes your stomach turn. “I work for SHIELD.”

Tony Stark snorts. “Obviously.” He turns back to the director. “Well?”

“Loki is contained,” he says simply. “None of you will be allowed to access his cell.” This statement raises a round of protests until the man holds up a vaguely threatening hand. “Both the government and Asgard want him alive. And his being alive cannot be guaranteed if he’s put in a room with any single one of you.”

Most of them look disappointed, but in a murder-y, vicious sort of way. Thor looks relieved. “So we’re holding him?”

Fury nods. “We’ve worked out a temporary truce with Asgard. Before he returns with Thor for their trial, he’ll remain here with us until we can get some answers out of him.”

The group seems to agree to this with varying degrees of acceptance. “And who exactly is going to have the pleasure of choking him out until he gives over the intel?” This comes from the archer, who very much looks like he wants to be the one to have that pleasure.

“We have several of our best agents on the job. And…” Fury’s good eye trains on you, and you clear your throat in effort to keep your voice from wavering.

“They’ve also got me.” All eyes are suddenly on you, ratcheting your breathing up to eleven.

“You?” Stark asks incredulously. “What, is SHIELD just sending in junior agents as fodder now?”

You want to argue, but you really can’t, considering you’re basically the definition of a noob when it comes to this. The Norse god Thor is staring at you coldly, and dear god you really don’t want your neck snapped by any mythological figures anytime soon. “I’m keeping him company while he’s locked up, nothing more. I’m not going to hurt him,” you say, mostly to the god. He must see some truth in your statement because he settles back into his chair. “I’ve studied mythology, so I know a little about-”

“Yeah. I don’t really think you’d be capable of hurting him even if you wanted to, sweetheart.” You have to stop yourself from glaring at the billionaire. Jesus, does his mouth ever stop? “Why the hell aren’t you sending one of us in to do the job? Or, I don’t know, someone capable of actually defending themselves?”

“You’re all biased,” Fury answers easily. “If we’re going to get any answers out of him, he needs to feel like he isn’t in imminent danger of being throttled at the drop of a hat.”

The Black Widow raises a delicate eyebrow. “You plan on what, psychoanalyzing him?”

Thor shakes his head. “He is the god of lies, his words are not so easily sieved through-”

“He’s a psychopath.” The archer’s eyes look dead. “Enough said.”

Thor coughs. “I am not sure precisely what this ‘psychopath’ means, but I can assure you-”

“Save it, Thor.” The arrowhead stops flitting through the air, and the man abruptly stands, throwing a caustic look your way. “When he’s got you shaking on the floor wishing you were dead, let me know and I’ll put an arrow through his eye.” He leaves without looking back. After a few moments, the Widow follows silently.

How reassuring. This assignment just keeps getting better and better.

Fury sighs heavily. “You’ll be updated when deemed necessary.” A dismissal if you ever heard one. You’re out the door in a flash, intent on putting as much distance between you and that room and the people in it as possible. You’re so lost in thought you don’t even notice you’re being followed until you’re five hallways away.

“Lady Y/N.” You freeze, recognizing the deep voice behind you.

“Um… yes?” You say faintly. You’re scared to turn around.

“Please, I only wish to introduce myself.” That gets you to look at him. Thor Odinson stands at a respectful distance away, hunching his shoulders to make himself seem slightly less intimidating. It isn’t really working. “I am Thor,” he continues. “Son of Odin, prince of Asgard. Loki’s… brother.” He says the last bit hesitantly, as if he isn’t sure anymore.

“I know who you are,” you blurt without thinking, then immediately turn red and slap a hand over your mouth. You are not going to fangirl over Thor. You’re not you’re not you’re not. Just because you’ve been reading bedtime stories about him since you were five and wrote your dissertation about Norse gods does not mean-

“You do?” He doesn’t seem insulted. More like pleasantly surprised. “I take that my reputation precedes me.”

“Something like that. It helps that I’ve been studying mythology since I was little…”

“You mentioned this. What does it mean?”

“Mythology?” He nods. “Well. Basically, it’s the study of… you. I mean, not just you specifically. But gods and monsters and things like that. Of course, until a few years ago we had no idea what we were studying actually existed…”

He chuckles at that. “Indeed. I am pleased to hear our exploits have stood the test of time.”

“No kidding. You’ve got stories about you that date back to 1030, and that’s just what we’ve been able to uncover and translate-” you stop yourself, realizing you’re going into your whole overly-enthusiastic-academic persona. “But you probably already know that. Sorry.”

He surprises you with a hearty laugh, throwing back his head and making his hair ruffle around his shoulders. You find yourself smiling back. “I am happy to see the little one has such a lively personality! Perhaps it will do him some good.”

You want to bristle at him calling you ‘little one’, but he says it with absolutely no malice in his voice. Considering he’s about three times the size of you, you figured it’s a fair assessment. “Maybe,” you say sheepishly. “As of now he won’t even acknowledge when I’m in the room.”

“He is stubborn, and no doubt in a highly unpleasant mood.”

You snort. “I suppose foiled evil plots tend would do that to you.”

Thor sobers at your words; an abrupt change to his demeanor. “Tell me something, lady,” he says carefully. “What is your opinion of my brother?”

What? “Well, he did try to blow up half of New York and enslave the human race.”

“Aye, that he did.” He doesn’t offer anything else, but he seems to be looking for something nonetheless.

You shrug your shoulders. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to do something without reason, I guess. If historical accounts are to be believed he’s much too smart for that. I’m trying to keep a neutral opinion unless he gives me reason to think otherwise.”

“I see.” Thor looks at you thoughtfully. “You are wise for your years, lady Y/N.”

“You are literally thousands of years old.”

“And therefore you can take my word for it.” He pauses. “I am not allowed to see my brother, as you heard. Will you tell me of him? Just so I know he is…” he doesn’t seem to know how to finish that thought.

“I’ll let you know what I can.” Thor seems genuinely worried for his brother, and it sends a pang through your chest. The god nods, accepting that. “I’ve got a report to type up, so-”

“I will not keep you.” He inclines his head in a very polite manner. “Thank you for speaking with me.”

“Of course.” He walks off in the opposite direction, leaving half your brain screaming you just had a conversation with the god of thunder and the other half sulking and now you have to go sit with the god of lies.

A/N: Yeeeeeeeah you’re not exactly on great terms with the Avengers in this story. Fair warning.

Also, we’re up to 🎉 30k! 🎉 with 12-ish more chapters to be written? That’d put us at around 30 chapters, woot

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imagine-loki · 5 years

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Litklœði

TITLE: Litklœði

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 4/6 AUTHOR: Goldtrimmedspectacle ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that Loki and you have been friends for years. Granted, he’s had his rough patches as you have had yours, but your friendship has been a reoccuring factor through the lasting centuries. However, something hasn’t been right recently. Your chest constantly aches and you keep coughing up petals - sometimes whole flowers. Loki seems none of the wiser but you just can’t hide the ongrowing illness. Surely it has no correlation with your love for the dark prince of Asgard.

RATING: M (eventual) NOTES/WARNINGS: Even more angst. Slight filler - Loki’s perspective.

Earlier updates on AO3.

____

A kiss.

A single kiss and he was enraptured.

Loki was not naïve. He was not young and shy like he once was. He had experience, yes, but none that held any meaning beyond the physical. And yet, here he was in his thirteenth century and controlled by a pair of soft lips pressed gently to his palm and swept away in mere seconds. And the only evidence of such an occurrence being the blush which coated Loki’s features. The blush which stained his pale skin a light cerise and coated both his cheeks and ran under the leather collar of his ceremonial attire.

The blush which had been caused by the grateful actions of his closest companion.

You had kissed him.

Well, you had not really. Loki faltered in his breathing and ran his thumb over the skin, still shocked by his companion’s sudden affectionate attitude and bashful state.

That was … New.

Granted, you were never one for hiding your friendly adoration for Loki, which was heavily returned on his part. But this new action – this new display of friendship and platonic love was far too controlling and overwhelming for Loki’s shocked emotional state.

Unfair.

The fates were unfair in all their actions.

“Blóm.” The title left his lips like a whispered prayer, completely silent beyond the slight wisp of his tongue. His lips rose slightly, forming a pitying smile that was overwhelmed with warm affection and cruel bitterness. He shook his head in fondness, “A sentimental fool, as she always is.”

“My prince?”

Loki was drawn from his thoughts and any display of affection or bashfulness was washed from his features. His hands fell and his back straightened to form the façade of an ever-perfect prince and heir to Asgard’s throne, even if it was not his biological birthright.

“Here.”

The meek servant met his eyes with wavering confidence, their nerves obvious in both their stuttering tongue and hunched figure. The young boy’s hands rubbed over one another in a familiar gesture, eyes darting back to the main hall and over to Loki every few seconds – obvious in their approach about what and where the servant wished for the prince to be.

If you were here there was no doubt in Loki’s mind that he would be scolded and smacked on the chest, all whilst you tittered about manners and pleasantries towards the newer and younger servants.

Other servants.

How his blood had boiled when Loki saw you speaking to that other servant boy. Laughing at his jokes and smiling with that look of utter adoration and comfort plastered upon your features. And how you smacked the boy softly, much as you did to Loki when he grew too rowdy or said something that could be considered impolite.

He knew that his manners had not been up to par. It was difficult to control his jealousy when you had every right to adore whoever you pleased and to love whoever held your heart.

Loki could not control you and he would not want too.

A smile rose on his lips – quickly hidden as the young boy finally stuttered out his commands.

Loki followed.

Would you be waiting for him when he arrived? Watching from the back of the room and curled up in a corner as you watched Loki walk in, all whilst smiling that spiteful grin he had come to love as a child and grown to adore as an adult.

Would you grace his presence once he separated from the man that once claimed to be his father? And would you grab his arm – linking fingers as you always do – and waltz him into a stupor on the Asgardian ballroom floor? Or would you dash out of the hall, dragging his sullen form behind until all Loki could do was laugh along with your childish antics that he was always happy to succumb too or vice-versa?

Would you pull him into the darkest corners of the palace library and curl up in the small alcove that was made especially for your late-night retreats? When you and he would hide away from the rest of the realm with thick tombs of poetry, of ballads from the fallen, of love and chances lost. And would you look at him with utter love and care? Like you did after every ball when the two of you got lost in the maze of stories and tall tales.

If soulmates were true, then Loki knew that you and he were made of the same stardust which made the cosmos.

“My prince, the ballroom.”

Loki was ripped from his stupor; cheeks flushed an even darker shade.

Childish.

Foolish.

All of it – complete fantasy and unattainable desires.

He needed to pull himself together. If not for himself, then for you. It was not Loki’s place to force feelings where they were unwanted. He had tried – by Odin how had he tried in his early thousands. All his words and compliments. All his shoulders kisses. All his linger touches and sweeps of your face. All his heavy burdens and lingering words expressed with an open heart and readied lips.

All which went unnoticed or merely unwanted.

Friends it was.

And friends it shall stay.

“Thank you.” Loki nodded his head towards the servant, glad to have been pulled away from his thoughts but unhappy to have been forced into Odin’s grace. And as Loki stepped into the ballroom, he could hear the loud yells and singing of Æsir, some which Loki knew originated from Thor’s oafish friends and acquaintances, and could see an ever-growing crowd of Vanir and Æsirs gracing the ballroom floor with quick steps or jolted movements.

His eyes scanned the crowd.

Where were you?

Wide eyes met his own and a soft smile graced your features.

Ah, there you were.

“Loki, you have arrived.” All attention was ripped away from the floor and diverted back to the Allfather’s embrace, which Loki suffered through purely out of courtesy and to prevent a riot due to impolite behaviour in front of travelling guests.

“Hello father.”

His attention was diverted towards the two guests and Loki managed to stifle a frown, completely uncomfortable with the attentions of Innangard’s lovely Princess Catriona, whose eyes were far too sultry for his liking. Whereas her royal advisor, whose waistcoat looked one pie away from completely bursting at the seams, looked at him with an air of superiority and pride.

“Princess Catriona, please meet my son, Prince Loki Odinson. Second heir to the Asgardian throne and our head advisor for the royal court, alongside with my wife, Queen Frigga.”

The princess tittered sweetly.

“Oh yes, we have met before.”

Loki shifted – biting back his words.

If by ‘met’, the princess truly meant ‘threw herself into his embrace and slinked an inch too close every moment at the Yule ball two-hundred-years-ago’ then yes, they had met.

“A pleasure, Princess Catriona. I do not recall us meeting, so I apologise. I am quite surprised I missed a face with such distinct features as your own,” Loki chimed with a smug grin and honeyed words.

Two could play at this game.

Loki ignored the remaining conversation in favour of gazing across the ballroom once more, hoping to catch your eye by the banquet tables. His smirk had not wavered despite the Princess’ ugly scowl and furrowed eyebrows – her eyes livid by the comment regarding her appearance, and moreso due to Loki’s blatant disregard concerning her previous attempts to earn his grace and lust.

“Behave.”

Loki was pulled from his thoughts by the bang of Odin’s sceptre against the tiled floors. The hall turned quiet as another hit followed the first and Loki stood up straighter, eyes glazed over to elicit a bored façade despite the gaze of dozens upon his person and the Vanir princess. His hands were hidden behind his back, but his fingers refused to stay still and Loki could not help but draw comforting rings on the skin which you had previously kissed.

A fool.

He was a fool.

“Asgard, we are all here to celebrate the coming of spring on this fine day. We are honoured to be graced with so many good men and women today.”

Loki could barely contain his impatience. Had he truly been pulled up to welcome and thank those to the ball? Would not the Allfather prefer his most beloved son? The one who was his flesh and blood, and not some stolen relic from the icy realm of Jötunheimr.

“And I cannot thank our court and staff enough for planning this ball so excellently – as well as my dear wife, Queen Frigga.” Loki joined in with the applause. As much as he disliked the man which he called ‘father’, Frigga would always be his mother. No matter what realm his heritage stemmed from. “But this ball has not been solely for our celebration of spring and its gifts.”

A pause.

Wait.

Loki looked over towards the Vanir princess on Odin’s right and the self-satisfied expression that had settled upon her feature, which was not kind to his heart. And his moment of dread, Loki felt as if lead had encased his feet and fire burned through his veins until there was only a husk of a man remaining.

No. No. No. He would not –

“My youngest, Loki Odinson, the second prince of Asgard and second in line to the throne, has been requested to attend the Vanir court to handle Asgard’s delegations in the trading warfare between Múspellsheimr and Svartalfheim.”

His breath caught.

“It is both a great duty and a great compliment of my son’s diplomatic skills as the silver-tongued prince and a true leader.”

The lead vanished and was replaced by shocked electricity.

Leadership?

The wave of recognition hit him like a storm. The applause washed over him like a wave, completely new and purely directed towards none other than himself. There was little that he could do but stand and await their silence, no matter the shock and pride that had filled his system.

He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes.

He would not become emotional over a treaty.

He did not require Odin’s praise.

“However, this is not the only good news I have received in the past hour,” the Allfather continued and Loki’s sense of joy was diminished in the light it originated from. He could only watch as Princess Catriona stood up on the podium alongside the Allfather and lifted her hand.

Odin smiled.

Loki did not.

“The second prince of Asgard has been asked for his hand in marrying Princess Catriona, heir to the Vanir throne on Vanaheimr, on the completion of his delegations. Their courting will start prominently after his arrival on Vanaheimr and will be completed once their several years of courtship has proceeded.”

Nausea.

Loki felt completely and utterly sick.

“I have finalised the decision on the benefits of the nine realms. It is both an honour on the behalf of Asgard and Vanir for two beings of perfect character to be destined for one another.”

He could not move.

Destiny?

What did Odin know about destiny?

This marriage was not destined. It was gain and wealth for Asgard. For protection and kinship for the Allfather and Asgard’s people, but not for Loki. Not for his own wellbeing and happiness.

His knees shook and the anger swelled into his chest, bubbling and roiling as the applaud grew loud and shouts echoed around the hall.

He could not cause a scene.

He could yell and speak the Allfather’s name in vain.

He could not –

A crash.

The clapping stopped and eyes turned.

A scream.

Loki could hear the spluttering and coughing. He could see his mother rushing through the crowd and the Æsir and Vanir splitting to allow her to move more swiftly. He could see her ladies-in-waiting running behind her, with looks of panic and distress coating their features.

He could hear crying.

Sobbing.

“Blóm, please open the door. Know that Thor did not mean his words. He is both an oaf and a dunce. Your beauty can not compare to any of the realms,” Loki had begged outside your room once, dressed in his summer robes for a summertime ball and dripping with sweat from the overbearing heat.

In his mid-teens, there had been a stream of ladies at both his and Thor’s disposal. He was unsure if it was the split of his attention or your overloaded work schedule which had ensured the outburst, but Thor had decided in a fit of utter stupidity to compare one of the visiting princesses with your common attire and frazzled hair.

The summer had not been kind to your skin and busy work schedule, and Loki could clearly remember the look of betrayal that had crossed your features and the self-conscious cross of your arms. You had quietly excused yourself and it was a mere moment after the door closed that Loki had thrown a dagger at Thor before quickly hurrying after you.

“Blóm, please open the door,” he had asked once more and could clearly hear the heartbroken sobs of your dishevelled state – all which was huddled in your bed from what he could understand. “You are gorgeous and amazing. Please open the door and let me hold you.”

“Go away, Loki.”

“Darling, please – “

“Not now, Loki.” You had choked out between the sobs.

“But if you would merely let me see – “

“GO AWAY, LOKI. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE ANYONE. LEAVE ME ALONE.”

The memory stung for it had been one of the only times where you had refused comfort and refuge in Loki’s arms. Your yells and blatant disregard for his own feelings were purely down to the emotional state which Thor had pushed you to, but at the time Loki could do nothing but cringe away and feel the pain which wounded his soul.

It had been hard to wait as you chose to sob and cry into your pillow rather than his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around your shaking form. You had apologised after, obviously, but the memory was not a fond one to revisit.

“Blóm?” The word fell from Loki’s mouth without a second thought.

He searched the banquet tables for your presence and a cold rush filled his body, scanning his mother’s ladies in search of your violet dress.

You were not there.

He was off the podium without a second thought, ignoring Odin’s shout of disapproval, and shoving his way through the thick crowds whilst yelling out your name like a frenzied man. Loki was grateful for all Æsir, who moved without a second thought and pulled their Vanir companions to the side as he rushed into the circle which surrounded the source of panic.

He fell to his knees as soon as he saw your sprawled figure upon the floor.

You were wheezing and shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks as the Allmother pushed seiðr into your throat and down your chest. Her eyes were focused and stern in their approach, but a look of despair crossed her features when she noticed Loki at her side.

“Loki – “

His hands framed your cheeks and Loki physically felt his remaining breath vanish when your eyes opened, blurry with tears and utter distress. They quickly fell shut when they met his own and your face twisted with pain, hands coming to squeeze his own as you coughed and heaved.

“Guards! Where are the guards?!”

Loki could barely hear the crowd over his own distress as blood dripped from your lips.

Poison?

Stab wound?

He could not tell what was the cause of your strife and his chest heaved with panicked gasps. The blood looked like it was never ending and there were obvious clots, which bubbled between your lips like foam.

You turned over and heaved.

Panic turned to horror.

Petals.

“Blóm – !” The phrase was cut short as your head lolled and the flowers kept coming – fully grown and coated with blood. Loki could only feel the tight grip of fear and anxiety in that dreadful moment.

His attention turned as you muttered out a soft ‘Loki’.

More violets fell from your lips and your sobs grew heavier.

You tried again and Loki hushed you, looking to his mother for guidance as he gathered your frail body in his arms.

He had known something was not right and he had done nothing.

How had he been so blind?

“I am listening. I am here for you,” Loki whispered into your ear and tried to divert all attention from the surrounding panic back onto his voice and presence. Your drowsy eyes and heavy breathes were growing slower. He could do nothing but shake with fear.

Hanahaki disease.

You had Hanahaki disease.

Death by suffocation and flowers.

Your hand tried to grip his own, but it slipped over and over again until Loki fully engulfed it with his own. He tried to offer you as much comfort in that moment as the palace healers rushed through the doors and pushed through the crowd, following the Allmother’s words and commands.

“Loki – “

He sobbed.

So foolish.

“I have you now. I have you.”

You did not reply.

Loki whispered your name and tried again when you did not respond.

You were taken from his arms, completely limp and unaware of your surroundings and the people staring.

His mother tried to console him.

Loki did not listen.

He tried to follow – they did not let him.

The anger which had quickly built from the sudden event and his abrupt betrothal snapped and there was near bloodshed when Loki set eyes upon the Princess Catriona, who stood off to the side with a sneer and look of clear distaste upon her face. Her eyes were trained on the blood upon the ballroom floor, but the expression quickly changed when she met Loki’s gaze.

It was only by chance that Thor reached Loki before he was in close enough range to injure the Vanir princess.

If Loki had been in your presence perhaps, he could have stopped this?

Perhaps, he could have made you confess and get the proper help before it took such a serious turn for the worse?

Loki did not drop his glare as the elder prince escorted him from the ballroom. The princess visibly shifted and her sultry appearance transformed into something fearful and worried.

Good.

Loki waited until Thor escorted him into his chambers and murmured something about visiting the healers’ wing in the morning, and closed the door after a moment of hovering. Thor knew Loki well enough that his brother required comfort, but it was not his comfort that was wanted or needed.

Thor waited.

Silence.

A sob followed by the sound of Loki’s knees giving out.

Thor raised his hand to re-enter but refrained.

The sobs grew louder.

Thor sat down.

He could wait.

He would wait until Loki wished to talk.

He always did.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #goldtrimmedspectacle #Litklœði #chapter 4

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