yoongiwithglasses

ray

she/her ✰ +18 ✰ fic rec blog ig?

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I Can Already Tell Prince Loki Is Gonna Destroy Me And Im Ready But Also. So Not Ready.

I can already tell prince Loki is gonna destroy me and I’m ready but also. So not ready.

FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE | fingers entwined

summary: stuck between loki and a crowned prince

pairing: loki / f!reader

a/n: don't mind me i am just shaving my head over these two, i'll be fine, it's fine!!!!!! this gif is by @thehumming6ird from this wonderful set.

[ MASTERPOST ]

Asgard.

Every word you can think of to describe this place seems ill-fitting.

It's massive — and everything about this Realm seems to be gilded with conquered gold; while the murals and statues perched in sprawling gardens tell a different, more quaint tale, you know enough about Odin's rule to see through the veneer.

And yet, the Royal Palace of Valaskjalf is incredibly easy to romanticize. You find your breath stolen from you entirely the moment you step through that shimmering, warbling portal behind Mobius and Loki.

It's suddenly so easy to see this is the land of Gods.

You wonder if they will see right through you — a mortal among the immortal.

Loki had been specific about this date. There was a celebration for his mother — a yearly feast with music, dancing, and revelry.

You feel like you've stepped into the haze of a midsummer night — the windows are open, and the curtains are kissing the floor in ribbons of cool chiffon. Guests have gathered around intricate pillars of flowers, of performers, of drinks. This dream is an extravagant one. Everything seems etched with intricate Norse patterns — from the floor tiles to the trim of ladies' capes.

The wine stained mouths of guests glimmer with compliments and conversation as you're ushered behind a pillar by the main hall by Loki.

You spare him a look.

He seems... sad.

You know longing when you see it — and homesickness as well. The God, hidden beneath layers of Royal Guard armor, averts his eyes from the sight just down the stairs.

Mobius, behind you, has careful eyes on his TemPad.

"The branch is deteriorating rate at a solid .3 units per minute," he says quietly, "Just like we predicted."

All according to plan.

Escorted by both Loki and Mobius, you carefully make your way down the stairs of the main hall.

Loki, immediately, sees himself.

There he is, at the bottom of the stairs. Posed by the drinks, as usual. Around him are the Warriors Three, Lady Sif, and his dear brother.

...They were never his friends.

They were always Thor's friends. Even then, when he's being privy to a conversation that did not include him. It seemed to swirl around him, and there he was. Standing there in the thick of it, quietly enjoying his wine. Alone, yet never truly. Always the outsider, never in on the jokes and secrets and camaraderie.

It used to bother him. Before he grew comfortable being alone.

Loki falters on the stairs when suddenly a pair of sharp, green eyes flash to the three of you.

"Keep it together," Mobius grits out.

You clear your throat sharply at the would-be-guard's sudden trip up; nerves flaring as you scan the gala's floor. Your dress is gathered neatly in your hands as you descend the golden stairs — and you follow your armored counterpart's lead.

It's then that Thor has turned to speak to Loki, but the Prince isn't listening.

Instead, the younger silvertongue is staring intently at the woman on the stairs.

You.

Loki, beside you, sees this.

In the far corner, the musicians' song dips into a low and slow waltz.

Thor's attention suddenly snaps to Loki's point of interest — and like fire meeting flint, the realization causes a spark amongst the group of friends. They follow the God of Mischief's gaze towards you, all heads turning owlishly at the sudden appearance of this lone woman.

When you look up from the stairs, you almost proceed to tumble down the next six of them.

There he is.

Your eyes meet, if only for a second, and it seems it's all the permission the Prince needs to push past his brother and Volstagg. His horned helmet shines in the light of the ballroom and you can't help but notice a smile on the God's face. He looks younger than the Loki you know — creases in the corner's of his eyes are absent, and his expression seems... happier.

Suddenly, you're stopped on the stairs.

The Prince meets you halfway.

His attention is wholly devoted to you — nearly reverent. Mobius and Loki falter behind you.

The crowned Prince of Asgard then, with one foot on the step below you, offers you his hand. There's a twinkle of something akin to mischief in his eyes.

But, entirely kind.

You try your best not too look so sheepishly overwhelmed. Letting half of your train fall, you gratefully accept the hand — and he leads you gently down the stairs. Finally, at the bottom, you let your gown settle. Loki lets his hold linger a while longer; and once at your level, dips into a low bow.

"My lady."

Loki can feel his lip curl when he watches his younger version of himself place his lips gently across your knuckles.

Mobius is... surprised. He'll be honest. That was quick.

Something stirs in your gut at the chaste kiss — and you clear your throat as he stands tall. Helmet and all, it feels as if the dark-haired God is towering over you. Has Loki always been this tall?

He nears, drawn in by his still tender hold on your hand. The Prince's face is split into an expression you cannot pin down. It's tied between awe, affection, and complete focus. An amalgamation of things that suddenly make you feel like the most treasured thing in Odin's vault.

"Hello."

Your face breaks into a hesitant smile. "Hello."

He's still holding your hand.

Loki is half tempted to shove past his younger self as he passes you and follows Mobius to a quiet corner.

"Thank you," you say quietly, gesturing back to the stairs, "For that."

"I thought," he says with a breathy little laugh, finally letting your fingers fall from his own, "I—"

Then, Thor.

His booming laughter precedes his arrival into the conversation — but you can't help but smile when the blonde God throws his arms around his brother and shakes his shoulders roughly.

"And who is this, brother?"

You smile at the two.

Suddenly, sadness eats at your heart.

The way this Loki smiles at Thor is... brotherly. It's love. It's friendship despite annoyance and pranks and jests and...

Across the room, Loki shifts in his armor.

Mobius is blinking between both Loki's.

"So."

"I am not talking about it," snaps the God, "Let it lie."

Mobius whistles lowly to himself. "But it's her, then. The two of you. Always destined for... this."

The grey-haired Agent gestures to the sight before the older Loki.

He watches as this younger version of himself seems completely taken with you — the Prince watches, despite Thor's yammering, your every move. He is captivated with you. Completely and totally. And it makes his heartache.

How many days did he spend alone? Wishing for someone like you to come along? How many suitors did he turn away? How many hearts did he leave broken, unable to settle? His mother had always called him restless. Now, this young Prince of Asgard is seeing the person he was destined to love. He can see it in his own eyes.

He's been in love before.

He swore to himself there was no point in it.

Never again.

But he's young — and naive, and full of hope. He doesn't yet know about Laufey, about the future.

He despises how happy he is.

When you look back over your shoulder and your eyes strike hot against the forge of your Loki's heart, you feel nothing but guilt.

"May I have this dance?"

In all honesty, you were not expecting this.

Not to be gently lead to the center of the room, not to join a handful of others in a slow waltz, not to suddenly be the center of the gossips and gawkers. You can hear whispers of Loki's name follow you through the room — and you pointedly decide to ignore them.

Instead, you try to understand how well you fit in his arms.

His hand clasps yours, and you fight a nervous laugh.

"I apologize for my brother."

You smirk. "Is he always so... loud?"

"Au contraire," this Loki croons, "Would you believe me if I told you he was on his best behavior?"

You can't help but snort softly. "And what about you? Whisking a stranger to the center of the room seems hardly well-behaved."

"You're the most breathtaking person in this room," comes the easy reply as he straightens his posture and turns the both of you, "If I wasn't going to steal you away, my brother would have. Or worse, Fandral."

The compliment ignites a trail of fire beneath the God's fingertips. His hand rests neatly against your waist as you try to relax in his arms.

"Do you mean that?"

"About Fandral?"

You tip your head back as you laugh. The Prince is smiling.

"No," you say as the music picks up its pace, "About me."

"I know I may have the reputation of being a liar," Loki says with a content look as he leads, "But I have no intention of lying about that."

He spins you, skirts swaying, and you let your fingers leave his for a moment. You come back into his arms like a comet in orbit. You can't help but narrow your eyes playfully.

"If we've forgone lying for a moment, tell me, are the horns compensating for something?"

His laugh is all you hear as your spun once more. Crystalline and pure. Excited. Happy.

Guilt, once more, nibbles at the homes of your heart.

"Hardly," he laughs.

"And the people staring?" you ask, eyes moving around the room, "Is it jealousy?"

"Try confusion."

"About the horns?" you banter back, "Understandable."

The Prince, now, is doing nothing to hide his horribly smitten expression from the onlookers. His fingers twitch a bit, grip tightening on your hand as he continues to lead the waltz.

"I'm a bit of a black sheep, as the expression goes," he whispers with a smile, "It's not often I dance."

"You had me fooled."

"I'd hope so."

"Perhaps we just make good partners."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious as to how far our synchronicities lay."

The coquettish meaning isn't lost on you — nor is the flash of something velvet and lustful in his eyes. You can see the interest of the God becoming more and more with every note of the strings in the far corner. The attention feels suffocating; and you feel gobsmacked at the realization that your Loki was once this Loki.

Charming, suave, and terribly coy.

In the far corner, Loki has turned his attention towards the long table beside both him and Mobius. The sight of this has made his entire body itch. It feels like some cruel joke. To see you laugh — and yet that's not him. A once-has-been version of himself, maybe.

That Loki has been dead for years.

And while Mobius seems keen on giving him a verbal play-by-play of what is occurring out on the ballroom floor, the God of Mischief is more keen on pillaging the buffet table. As a reasonable man confronted with crushing jealousy does.

He pops a grape into his mouth as Mobius sighs loudly.

"I think Doc's theory is right."

"Ah," Loki says with a raised finger as he picks over the fruit selection, "That's where you're wrong, Mobius. I am not like this Loki."

He turns to gesture to you and himself with an armored gauntlet. Mobius stares.

"Yeah, no—"

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"C'mon, Loki," Mobius urges, bending at the knees, "I've seen the looks you give her — you're impressed by her. Interested. You hang off her every word..."

"I do not."

"Stop lying to yourself for a second, will you?"

"She's a vermin," comes the low snap as he discards the grapes in his hand back onto the sterling plate, "A pest to be eradicated."

"Did Daddy Dearest teach you that?" asks Mobius, jutting his jaw towards the Allfather himself who has just entered the ballroom from the opposite side.

Loki stills himself.

Beside his father is his mother.

She looks as beautiful as he remembers.

Mobius sees the God's eyes soften.

He clears his throat. "Focus, Loki."

"I know."

The song ends — just in time for the Allfather and Queen's arrival to be announced. It comes with the cadenced shuffle of Asgardian Royal Guards and a long stretch of silence. Then, everyone in the room lowers themselves into a deep bow.

You follow suit, trying to anticipate everyone's movements.

When you look up, a pair of eyes are on you.

From the top of the stairs on the other end of the room, Lady Frigga sees you — beside her dear son.

You freeze.

It's recognition that dances between the two of you like electricity.

Loki, across the room, sees this.

Mobius blinks rapidly in panic.

Then, with a single rhythmic tap of Odin's staff Gungnir, the room straightens and turns back to its merriment.

You see the opportunity and as the room begins to swirl once more with dancers and party-goers, you slip away into a wave of the crowd and leave the Prince alone on the ballroom floor. You hear him callout behind you, but you weave yourself carefully through the maze of attendees until you feel as though you've lost him — and then you quickly rush towards Mobius and Loki.

"Left your little courtship in the dust did you?" comes the spiteful jab on Loki's tongue. You can see the anger in his eyes; and you do feel another ache of guilt at the sight, "I'm sure he's heartbroken."

"Stop it," you hiss back, "Your mother just saw me."

"We should go—"

"Are you sure you don't want to turn back?" Loki says with a sarcastic little lilt, "Bid your love farewell?"

You want to slap him. However, the hurt that stings your face is quickly replaced by fear when a delicate hand finds your shoulder.

Beside you, both Mobius and Loki turn to hide their faces. It's a bit too late, but the attempt is made.

"Hello."

You stiffen.

When your turn to look over your shoulder, she's standing there.

Lady Frigga.

Her ladies in waiting have followed her; and you clumsily bow as she smiles kindly down at you. When you look up, her hand has found the curve of your cheek.

Her expression is fond.

"This is a surprise."

You open your mouth to speak — but nothing comes out.

"You're prettier in person, you know," she says sweetly, leaning close to cup your face now, "I understand why my son is so fond of you."

Your heart leaps. "I—"

"You ought to be going, my dear one," she says as she pushes a wayward tress behind your ear, "Heimdall will be here any moment. And I fear you may have overstayed your welcome."

You're stuck in her motherly embrace, like a bee in honey. Her tender expression is heavy with love — enough to bring the hot sting of tears to your eyes.

This woman... you realize now that you need to watch the tapes. You need to understand her — why you matter to her.

"Your son would want you to know he loves you."

It comes out in a whisper. Behind you, Loki's eyes widen.

"Oh," Frigga laughs, "I know. And I'm sure he's thankful you've told me. Promise me you'll make sure he eats. And tell him enough with the snake illusions—" She waves her hand for emphasis.

You laugh. Your smile is soft. "I will, I promise."

She bends, sweeping your cheek into a chaste kiss. "Now go. All three of you."

Mobius and Loki turn slowly.

His mother's eyes stick to her son's for a moment — and all time slows down. She reaches, touches his cheek, smiles, and then urges him on.

"Go."

The three of you disappear into the Time Door to the hiss and sizzle of the reset charge, right as Heimdall and the guards push through the doors across the room.

Gone is Asgard.

I Can Already Tell Prince Loki Is Gonna Destroy Me And Im Ready But Also. So Not Ready.

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