Your Favourite Boy

You were beginning to think Loki had lost to Nick Fury. Fury had come to have an extensive conversation with the brothers, but you had yet to hear any word from Loki on the visit to Asgard front and time was running out. It was the evening of the twentieth when he strolled into your room, a smug expression on his face.

“Guess who’s had astounding success with making Director Fury see my side of the argument?” He spread his arms in a ‘tah-dah’ sort of motion. “We leave for Asgard tomorrow morning.”

“You’re kidding.” You threw down the book you’d been making your way through, gesturing for him to sit in your other armchair.

“My dear, I do not jest,” Loki said, offended as he stretched his hands towards the fire. “I get to go home. Unfortunately my obstinate brother will be accompanying us, but I doubt he will bother us much upon our arrival. Compromises had to be made.”

You blinked at his small expression of endearment but you breezed past it, chalking it up to his excitement and rubbing your arm. “What should I wear to Asgard? Like, what do people wear there?”

“You’ve seen how my brother and I dress.”

“Okay, but you’re princes. I don’t know how the general population dresses.”

“Y/n, you’re not the general population.” Loki leaned towards you, the light of the fire in the otherwise dark room reflecting in his eyes. There was something else there, in the dark chasms of his soul, that you could just catch a glimpse of through his pupil. However, you couldn’t name it.

“What’s gotten into you, Loki?” You couldn’t help but ask. Somehow your words seemed to snap him out of his stupor, because he shook his head, leaning back in his chair.

“You’ll be staying in the palace with us, that’s all. So wear whatever you want, but make it nice.”

“Sure.” You weren’t convinced, training your gaze on him as he fidgeted anxiously. “Nervous to go home?”

“Wouldn’t you be?” He laughed without humour, raking a hand through his hair. “My family thought I was dead, and next thing they know, I’ve off and tried to take over the world. And now I’ve…changed, by some means, and I’m going back while the mistakes of my past are still fresh.”

“They thought you were dead?”

“I have a slight habit of faking my death to get out of particularly sticky situations.” He said the statement bluntly, and you couldn’t help but take it as the truth. It seemed to be a Loki move, after all.

“It’s easier,” you agreed, watching the flames dance in the hearth. “The hurt that comes with loss is final, and it’s easier to grieve one you know can never come back, rather than one you let slip through your fingers.”

“Washington Irving once said that the grave ‘buries every error – covers every defect – extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections’. Maybe the only way I could be alive is if I am dead first.”

“You wanted to be loved in death. Why couldn’t you be loved in life?”

“I betray everyone who loves me,” Loki said sadly. “It’s what happens eventually. By dying, I can’t betray them again. I have never been a worthy son.”

“Until they find out you’re actually alive.”

He let out a little chuckle. “Yes, until that. And I suppose that is a betrayal in itself.”

“Are you going to betray me?” You asked, massaging the palm of your hand as your eyes flickered over to him as he subconsciously did the same. Your eyes met, and there was a pregnant pause.

“No, because you don’t love me. I’d have nothing to lose by betraying you, and nothing to gain either. If I were ever to not betray someone, my love for them would have to overpower my wisdom, which is obviously not the case here.”

“You’re right. You have nothing to run from.” Something told you that you were both lying, but you didn’t want to go down that road.

“Right.” The two of you looked each other, and suddenly the space in between your armchairs seemed too large. There was a part of you that craved his physical touch, the side of him he’d shown every time he comforted you, and you wanted to comfort him in the same manner. But an invisible barrier seemed to separate you, one you were too scared to attempt to cross.

“Loki,” you said slowly, “are you okay?”

“Thank you for asking, y/n.” He didn’t give an answer, rising from his chair. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Wear whatever you want, I’m sure whatever you pick will be the right choice.”

You stood up too, following him to the door. The tension was rolling off him in waves, and you knew that he’d only barely scratched the surface of what ailed him. “You can talk to me about anything, anytime. I promise I’ll listen. You may not be a worthy son, but you’re a worthy friend.”

He took a deep breath, looking down at you. “I don’t want to betray you. Don’t trust me.” You already did.

“Like you said, I don’t love you. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Goodnight Loki.” With that, you shut the door and let the night in.

The next morning, you attempted to pack a bag to bring to Asgard. It was difficult to guess what you needed and Loki, back to his usual snarky self, had nothing to contribute, insisting that they had everything on Asgard and more.

“Okay, but how cold is it?” You asked, thumbing your winter coat. Loki leaned back against the table, watching you with a look of amusement.

“Depends on whether you let someone warm you up or not.”

“I’m not going to Asgard to hook up with some random person,” you bit back, packing it anyways. You’d settled on a black turtleneck and a white sweater vest, along with a pleated skirt and knee high socks as your outfit. It was simple outfit, one that would look plain next to Loki and Thor if they wore their Asgardian finery, but you’d packed several nicer outfits you could change into at any given time.

“Have I ever mentioned you have excellent legs?” Loki inquired as you bent over to pick up your hairbrush which you’d dropped.  

“Correction: I’m not going to Asgard to hook up with anyone.” You jabbed the hairbrush against his chest and he put up his hands in surrender.

“I wasn’t insinuating anything.”

“I didn’t say you were. I was just making myself explicitly clear.” You tugged a loose string off of Loki’s blazer, flicking it into oblivion.

“See, the timing of your statement led me to believe that-”

“Loki? Shut the hell up.” You closed your suitcase, zipping it up and sliding it off your bed. Neither of the brothers had outright stated how long you’d be in Asgard for, and you assumed there was a good chance you’d be there until the new year.

“Oh, are you ready now?” Loki made a flourishing movement with his hand, and his Midgardian clothes disappeared, leaving him in his Asgardian leather once again.

“Perhaps.” You grabbed the handle of your suitcase and it vanished just as Thor walked in, swinging his hammer.

“Are we ready, brother?” He asked, giving you a nod.

“Of course,” Loki replied with a smile. “Let’s get on with this little homecoming.”

Together, you all walked out to the balcony and you swallowed hard. Suddenly your palms were all sweaty. You’d never been to Asgard before. “How are we getting there?”

“The Bifrost,” Loki explained as Thor raised his hammer to the sky.

“Heimdall!” Thor called. “Bring us home!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, rainbow light surrounded the lot of you, so bright you had to shut your eyes, blindly reaching out and gripping onto the nearest solid object (Loki’s arm) as you shot upwards towards the heavens.

You landed harder than expected and pitched forwards, flipping head over heels, managing to land in an Astavakrasana pose. Cringing, you opened your eyes, looking up from where you’d landed at the foot of a podium of sorts, where a man in gold armour stood, his hands wrapped around a giant sword that appeared to be stuck in some sort of lock.

“Sorry,” you whispered, carefully detangling your legs from your arms, transitioning into a handstand and then bending forwards to stand up normally. “Wasn’t prepared for the floor to be so slippery.”

“Heimdall!” Thor said, giving the man an enthusiastic high-five. “This is y/n! She’s our guest for the solstice.”

“Welcome home,” Heimdall replied, nodding to both Loki and Thor. “And welcome to Asgard, y/n. You have excellent reflexes.”

“Heimdall can see anything that goes on in the Nine Realms,” Thor explained, gesturing to Heimdall’s amber eyes.

“Only the Nine Realms, correct?” You asked Heimdall, and those piercing eyes turned to you.

“Generally the reaction to that statement is ‘all the Nine Realms?’ but I understand the source of your question,” Heimdall said. “And I am sorry.”

You blinked, realizing that he would have been able to see your earlier conversation with Loki about your past. Heimdall was apologizing for being unable to answer your questions about your origin. “You have seen my peace,” you said, adjusting your sweater vest slightly. “I am fine with the unknown.”

“I have also seen your uncertainty and distrust, and I apologize for being unable to relieve that burden.”

“What are you talking about?” Thor asked, swinging his hammer impatiently.

“Nothing,” you said, your eyes darting towards Loki. “Let’s go.”

The rainbow bridge, you decided, was entirely inconvenient. It was beautiful, stretching from the Bifrost to the golden palace, but it was also an extremely long way to walk. Thor offered to fly you directly to the palace, but you declined, instead strolling swiftly along, your hands clasped behind your back.

Thor flew on ahead, leaving you alone with Loki as you gradually got closer to the place he’d grown up. His anxiety was palpable, hanging back as you charged forwards, attempting to cut your journey time as short as possible. Finally you slowed, waiting for him to catch up.

“It’ll be okay,” you said, looping your arm through his. He glanced at you, surprised, before returning his gaze to the mountains in the distance.

“I’m afraid your optimism is only so tenacious because you haven’t met my family. My father will squash that notion within five minutes of you meeting him.”

“Listen, I’m doing my best to make you feel better, you cad.” You bumped into him playfully. “I’ve never been to Asgard, I want to have a good time, which won’t happen if you’re sulking the entire duration of our stay.”

“I’m not sulking!” Loki said defensively, purposefully picking up his pace to appear more chipper. You rolled your eyes and followed in suit, letting him lead you into the city.

Music was playing, the Jul festivities apparently well underway, people dancing and openly drinking in the cobblestone streets. Thor walked up to the both of you, already clutching a pint in one hand.

“What took you so long?” He yelled over the roar of the crowd. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

“Not all of us have hammers that enable us to fly,” Loki said, frowning at his brother. “Let’s go before they send out a welcoming party.”

You slipped your arm out of Loki’s as the three of you headed into the palace, going straight to the majestic throne room. A beautiful mural decorated the ceiling, tall columns supported the high roof, and light spilled in from windows behind the throne, illuminating its golden structure. It was gorgeous. There was no other way for you to describe it short of divine.

The room was full of people, whether they were palace staff or just people celebrating the festivities, you didn’t know, but they all shuffled out as your little trio walked up to the old man reclining on the throne, a blond woman beside him. The first thing you noticed was the way her expression softened when it landed on Thor and Loki, and the second thing you noticed was that the king’s didn’t.

“My sons,” Odin said, rising from the throne, a gold eye patch obscuring one of his eyes. “You return at long last.”

“Father,” Loki said, bowing his head stiffly. “Mother.”

“Loki, what were you thinking?” The blond woman, Loki’s mother, rose from where she’d been sitting, racing forwards to inspect her sons face. Apparently there was to be no adjustment period before the berating began.

“He wasn’t.” Odin’s booming voice interrupted Loki’s meek beginnings of an explanation. “He was simply attempting to seize power where he saw fit, with no regard for the true authorities. Chasing his ‘glorious purpose’ as always.”

You felt supremely uncomfortable, watching Loki fix his stare upon his own boots, saying nothing, just taking his father’s criticisms. A palace aid tugged at your sleeve lightly, leading you away from the throne room to show you your room. You thought about staying, perhaps jumping in to defend Loki, but his eyes flickered over to you and he mouthed one word. ‘Go’.

Hours later, you had bathed in a giant gold soaker tub, rubbed yourself with some oils that smelled of a scent you couldn’t quite pinpoint, and dressed yourself up in your solstice finery. The outfit you’d packed was a dark red slip dress with a plunging neckline and a faux fur-lined shawl to keep you warm in the same colour. You’d put on a lariat necklace and matching earrings, wanting to look your best surrounded by royalty while still maintaining a minimal look. But your mind was distracted, wondering what Odin could be saying to his son.

Loki still hadn’t come to find you by the time the same aid from earlier came to collect you, informing you it was time for the feast and waiting for you to zip up your ankle boots with a stiletto heel. Truly, you looked nicer than you had in years, but you worried for Loki too much to take much pride in your appearance.

The banquet hall was packed, hundreds of people all shoved into the one room. There was more food than you’d ever seen in your life, along with more joy on people’s faces, more laughter in the air, and higher spirits than you’d seen in a long while.

You looked around, scanning the crowd, attempting to catch a glimpse of Loki or even Thor, when you felt a hand on your lower back and then Loki was there in front of you, dressed in dark green robes with gold trimmings and stitching. His face was completely unreadable.

“How’d it go?” You asked as he steered you through the crowd.

“Would it offend you if I said I didn’t wish to talk about it?” He said despondently.

“Not at all,” you responded, sitting down in the spot on the wooden bench he stopped by, tugging lightly on his sleeve so that he sat beside you. “What would you rather we discuss?”

“We could discuss how stunning you look tonight,” Loki said and you snorted, reaching for a basket of dinner rolls that was laid out on the massive table. “I’m being serious.”

“Then I’d have to return the compliment.” You passed him a plate of some sort of roasted meat you’d never seen before. “And my version would definitely be less eloquent than yours, so let’s not attempt it, shall we?”

A muscle in Loki’s jaw tightened slightly, then he relaxed, laughing and taking a drink of red wine. “My mother was asking as to who you were.”

“She managed to slip that in while your father was chewing you out?”

“No, forgive me, I took some time to talk to her after…well, you know. I hadn’t seen her in awhile.”

“It’s fine, I understand.” You got the impression that Loki’s mother was far less horrid than his father. “So, what did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth,” Loki said. “I told her all about you.”

Once upon a time, you would’ve been mad that he told her all about your past without so much as consulting you, but you didn’t mind. If she was the one who had raised him to be so open when it came to your power, then it was only fair she knew.

“I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea, you know.” Loki looked at you earnestly from under those dark lashes. “About why we get along and why I brought you along.”

“You made sure she knew it was shared trauma?” You giggled, watching as he plopped a mystery vegetable onto your plate.

“Try this,” he said, smiling.

“It’s not going to poison me, is it?” You asked, already putting it in your mouth. Surprisingly it was good, rich in moisture, almost like a cucumber but skinnier and with a deceptive texture.

“It’s from a plant that grows in the mountains. We only ever have it around Jul. I used to send one of the servants up to the mountain year round as a kid because I loved them so much.”

“God, demanding even from childhood.”

“Come on, what did you expect?”  

“I don’t know, some sort of mild-mannered boy who sat in his room and read books all day?”

“You forgot about my magic practice.”

“You had to practice that?” You glanced down at his hands.

“Don’t act like you haven’t already told me about your struggle with learning your magic.”

“It wasn’t so much a struggle so much as just me gradually getting better.” You held your own hands out in front of yourself, inspecting the lines across your palms. “I never had to learn incantations or anything.”

“Well, my mother taught me my magic. Thor had everything going for him, and she wanted me to have something of my own. Of course, I doubt she intended that I use it in the way I did. She won’t tell me as much, but I can see it in her face.” His gaze dropped to your hands, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“You have plenty of time to make it up to her,” you assured him, returning to your dinner. “What happens after the feast?”

“We go out to the square and we dance under the first snowfall and drink eggnog and apple cider until we’re drunk. And then what happens is entirely up to you. I usually skip that part. If I’ve seen a drunk man throw up over his own boots once, I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

“Looks like people are getting a head start on the race to get drunk,” you said, catching sight of Thor where he appeared to be chugging a barrel of mead.

“He’s been drunk since we arrived,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “Look, people are heading outside already. If you want, we can go to the library and I can show you what Asgardian literature looks like.”

“What do you have against dancing?”

“I don’t dance with people.”

“You’ll dance with me, though.” You stood up, holding your hand out to him. “Let’s go.”

He sighed, weighing his options, then grasped your hand, pulling himself up. “This is going to be awful. Do you even know how to dance?”

“Nope,” you said, leading him out the hall and into the night. “That’s a lie, actually. I’ve seen it in movies, and I have an idea of how to do it, but in practice, not so much.”

There were tables with massive pitchers of cider and eggnog in the square, a few people already dancing together. Steam was rising off the eggnog, kept warm by open flame underneath it. Lights were strung from trees and buildings, giving the square a cozy and intimate feel despite its size. You looked back at Loki, just in time to see a tiny snowflake land on his nose. Laughing, you tapped it as it melted, laughing harder at Loki’s disgruntled expression.

“Oh god, let me get some cider before you start this madness,” he said, backing towards the nearest table and grabbing two of the cups, handing one to you. You sipped it lightly, loving the way it seemed to warm you right up in the chilly air. Loki downed his all in one gulp.

“What on earth are you doing?” You hurried to finish your cup too, discarding it as Loki did the same. “There’s no rush. The music hasn’t even started yet.”

Just as the words left your lips, the band started up, playing a lively jig, one you most definitely couldn’t dance to in your heels. “Can you conjure me some ballet flats?” You called to Loki over the music. He gave you an unimpressed look, but complied, even changing it so your shoes had straps and wouldn’t fall off. How thoughtful. You blew him a kiss and he glared at you.

A dance circle of sorts had formed, and you grabbed the front of his robes, pulling him along with you as you joined the group of people dancing, a smile seemingly glued to your face. It was so simple, but you were so happy.

“Last time I saw people dance like this,” you said, leaning closer to his ear, “it was just after the liberation of France in the Second World War. The war was still going on, and many of the men would die tomorrow, but for a moment, the greatest happiness there was on the planet was simply the music and the comfort of the night. For one night, just being alive and nothing more was the most exhilarating feeling.”

The jig ended, transitioning into something slower, and without a second thought, Loki pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. You slid your arms around his neck, resting your head on his chest. “What were you doing in France at that time?” Loki said softly, swaying to the music.

“Liberating it,” you replied, your grin widening. “And you don’t need to know how to dance to do this. No skill required.”

“I’d disagree,” Loki said, spinning you suddenly and dipping you towards the ground. Startled, you let out a little shriek as he pulled you back up, your hands landing on his pectorals. “You’re not allowed to question my dancing abilities.”

The snow was falling in earnest now, flakes landing in his hair and catching on his eyelashes as he looked down at you, waiting for some sort of reaction. “I’ve always found it’s best to question everything.” Quickly, you slid your hands down to his, twirling him similar as how he’d done to you, dipping him so low that only your connected hands supported him, preventing him from falling to the cold stone.

You brought him back up, laughing at his stunned silence as he digested what had just happened. “I think I need eggnog,” he decided.

He was back in a matter of seconds, handing you the warm cup and taking a sip of his own. “There’s something I want to show you.”

The two of you left the square behind, and Loki led you along a path that wrapped around the back of the palace, bringing you up to the crest of a small hill. A chaise lounge was already set up there, pointed away from the city and out towards the mountains. The music from the square floated up to the hill, the laughter and the chatter of people barely audible.

“I like to come up here to read,” Loki explained, running his hand over the chaise, the snow disappearing from it in a flicker of green light. “But that’s not why I brought you up here.” He pointed out at the sky, and you felt your breath leave you.

“That’s why.”

The sky was alight with stars, far more brilliant than they’d ever seemed on Vormir, on Earth, anywhere. The snow falling snow seemed to make the sky all the brighter, all the more vast. It was beautiful and endless, and you felt a hot tear slip down your cheek at the sight, contrasting with your cold skin. “Loki, it’s gorgeous.”

“I’d have to agree.” He sat down on the chaise and you did the same, unable to tear your gaze away from the night sky, even as you could feel his eyes on you. Oh so carefully, he reached up a single finger, catching the tear as it dripped off your chin, skin just brushing yours. As his hand moved away, you shivered slightly, not because of the cold, but because of something else. Something unexplained.

“Are you cold?” He asked, and you nodded absently as he shuffled beside you. You couldn’t really get cold; Vormir had been far colder than this. But it was easier to pretend you were cold than to face what was really going on. “Here.” He draped something heavy around your shoulders and you turned to look at him. He’d removed his outer robe and wrapped it around you, exposing his bare arms to the elements.

“Loki, you’re going to freeze,” you moved a hand to push the robe off of you, but he caught your hand, holding it in his.

“I’m a Frost Giant, I can’t get cold,” he said by means of explanation. “But you can.”

“Thank you.” You laid down, resting your head in his lap, staring up at the night sky above.

“What are you doing?” Loki asked, his hands stilling in midair, uncertain of where to put them.

“I trust you,” you said those forbidden words, sliding your eyes over to look at him. “I’m comfortable with you.” The two of you were desperate for any physical touch, you knew it. Little affirmations that you were alive and had found each other. And so Loki relaxed slightly, one of his hands landing on your arm and the other absently stroking your hair.

You both sat there for a few minutes, just enjoying the night sky, before Loki finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s happening to us?”

“What do you mean? Loki, you’re my best friend.”

“I can’t be trusted, and yet you seem so determined to see the good in me irregardless.”

“You saw the good in me,” you said truthfully. “You looked past the ghoulish nature of my powers and saw me as a worthy acquaintance. Besides, it’s not either of our faults that we are the way we are.”

“How do you figure that?” His fingers stilled on your head, those blue eyes finding yours.

“I’ve met your father and your brother and I can only imagine the history there. ‘If the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but he who causes the darkness’. Neither of us are responsible for the shadows in which we lived.”

Loki let out a breathy laugh. “Les Misérables. I should have guessed that you were well acquainted with the tale.”

“Why? Because it’s about redemption?” You gave him a lopsided smile, sitting up. “You’re not the only one who likes to have a handy little quote up their sleeve to charm their companions.”

“You think my quotations are attempts at charm?”

“I find them charming.” You stood up, holding out your hand to him once again. “Let’s dance.”

Loki hesitated a moment then gave you a genuine smile, standing and grasping your hand. The music that played from the other side of the palace seemed to swell, amplifying so you could hear it as clearly as if you were still standing in the square.

“Are you doing that?” You asked Loki as the two of you easily slid into a waltz position. He didn’t answer, instead leading you down the hill, never ceasing his excellent dancing. Together, you twirled right into a hall in the palace, the music seeming to follow you. To your delight, you seemed to have the gist of dancing, or at least Loki was an extremely good leader. He danced you through an art hallway of sorts, through the kitchen, and past the library. Eventually you wound up in a giant drawing room, plush and ornate couches decorating the space.

Sliding out from Loki’s hand around your waist, you flopped down on a couch, grinning up at him. “Thank you for the excellent dance, old sport.”

Loki paused for a moment before bursting into laughter; real, genuine and pure laughter, flinging himself onto a couch near yours. “Since when do you call people ‘sport’?”

“You forget, I’m from the early nineteen hundreds. That’s just what we call people,” you joked, shrugging your shoulders in your sprawled position.

“How did an honest woman of the nineteen hundreds turn into such a scamp as yourself? You’re not very ladylike.” You could tell he was joking, despite the fact that his tone betrayed no such humour.

“Please, I fully embraced the leather jacket movement of the nineteen forties. It was considered most unscrupulous for women to wear them, but I’m not really one to follow the majority.”

“Y/n?” Loki said after a beat. “You’re quite interesting, you know that? I can tell you’ve lived at least a hundred lives.”

“I’m aware,” you hummed. “Trust me, I’ve got plenty life stories that would completely shatter your opinion of me.”

“I want to hear all of them. Please tell them to me.”

“Are you serious?” You scoffed. “You’re a prince, I’m sure your stories are more entertaining. You don’t really want to hear about me running around on Earth.”

“I do, actually. What did you do during World War Two?”

You raised your eyebrows, settling down further into the couch, letting out a sigh. He was serious. “I worked mainly as a healer. Hospitals were a scary place to be in London, because bombers had little consideration for the Geneva Conventions on medical neutrality. The Geneva Conventions were-”

“I am aware of humanity’s list of war crimes,” Loki interrupted.

“Really?”

“Yes, Fury made me read all of them when he forced me into captivity. Needless to say, I have committed quite a few of these ‘war crimes’. My question is why didn’t you fight?”

“Women weren’t allowed, smartass. The most I did was aid in the liberation of France as I mentioned before, and I chartered a boat and assisted during the Dunkirk evacuation.”

“No one can tell that Anubis is a woman, though.”

You popped your neck, stretching. “Wars cannot be won through mass death, which, unfortunately, is my speciality.”

“That is precisely how wars are won. Through attrition and then surrender. Yet you maintained your role as a healer.”

“‘It is better to be wrong by killing no one than to be right with mass graves.’” You quoted.

“Please don’t quote existentialists at me,” Loki grumbled. “Their puny lives may be meaningless, but mine is not.”  

“Oh, I know.”

“So you may have been wrong, but you’d prefer to have been wrong through healing the weak and the mortal rather than killing those responsible for those injuries?”

“Believe it or not, Loki, but healing is far more rewarding than killing mindlessly. If I kill everyone I believe to be wrong, then who is to keep me in check? At the end of the day, I only know the world and the hearts of man through my own eyes. And what if my judgement is erroneous? Those who have the most good in their hearts are hard to find, because their heroism is so selfless it’s silent, and those who appear to be purely evil are rarely that simple.”

“You are smart; smarter perhaps, than we give you credit for.”

“It is a condition of my being to understand the complexity of the soul.” You fiddled with Loki’s robes that covered you, thinking of how to continue, when suddenly the palace shook, booms of thunder coming from outside.

“Ah, my brother is having his annual contest,” Loki said, sitting up, the serious tone that had previously carried his words vanished. “Please tell me you have no desire to attempt to lift his stupid hammer.”

“I prefer my swords, in all honesty. Hammers seem a touch phallic. But I would like to see this.”

“Oh dear god, I’ve acquired a Freudian.” Loki helped you up from your spot on the couch and you handed his robes back.

“Don’t want people to get the wrong idea,” you said, tugging on the front of them as he put them back on. “And I’m not a Freudian, but I’m also not wrong.”

The two of you wandered out of the castle and back to the square, where a smug Thor was watching a steady stream of people attempt to lift his hammer, laughing as each one inevitably failed.

“You don’t want to try, do you?” You turned to Loki, watching his slightly hungry eyes as they focused on the hammer.

“The definition of ‘worthy’ is Odin’s. I obviously do not fit the bill by birthright alone.”

“You wanna try and hold my swords?” You asked, reaching behind your back and feeling the jadeite handles materialize in your grasp. Dramatically, you spun them forwards over your fingers, bringing both hands in front of you to catch them.

“Those are massive,” Loki said, reaching for the blade you offered him. “And they have a substantial weight to them. Why’d you balance them so weirdly?”

“They’re perfectly balanced for me, actually,” you commented, taking them back. “I’m a bit of an expert swordsman, even though I definitely don’t need them.”

As you spoke, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Lightning incoming,” Loki warned you, and you threw a grin in his direction, raising your sword to the air, prepared this time for the electricity.

Blue lightning arced through the air, catching on your sword and you brought it down and pointed it in Thor’s direction, the handle of your katana ringing like a church bell. Thor slammed his hammer into the ground, grounding the electricity, and walked his way over to you, the audience watching him.

“Y/n! I see you’ve learned how to handle a little spark now!”

“I learned from the best,” you said with a grin, your swords disappearing into thin air. “No one can lift your hammer, huh?”

“It appears my power is uncontested.” Thor held the handle out towards you, offering. You looked behind you, throwing Loki a look as if to say ‘can you believe this guy?’.

“No thanks. Don’t like hammers.”

“Brother!” Thor realized Loki was there, unceremoniously depositing his hammer on top of a table and scooping Loki up into a giant bear hug. The God of Mischief’s arms were sandwiched to his sides, his expression entirely unimpressed as Thor carried him back up towards the castle. You accompanied, intrigued.

“It’s tradition!” Thor exclaimed as he set Loki down in a wine cellar.

“I highly doubt y/n wishes to participate,” Loki said, sinking into an armchair. There were four in the room, as if people liked to sit and drink in the cellar as opposed to with company.

“Participate in what?” You asked, inspecting the dates on some of the bottles. Some were dated thousands of years prior.

“Every year Loki and I drink to the arrival of winter!” Thor said excitedly, grabbing the nearest bottle. “It’s a bit of a contest, to see who can drink the most before we throw up.”

“That, I would love to see.” You sat down in one of the armchairs, watching with great interest as Thor opened the bottle and passed it to Loki. You imitated Loki’s accent, quoting him from earlier in the evening: “‘If I’ve seen a drunk man throw up over his own boots once, I’ve seen it a hundred times.’ Well, Loki, I’ve never seen a god throw up all over his own boots before, but I bet it’s very different.”

“You heard the lady,” Thor said. “Drink up.”

“You’re basically already drunk. This will be easy,” Loki said, those dangerous eyes glittering up at his brother as he raised the bottle to his lips.

“You say that every year,” Thor shot back, opening a bottle of his own and beginning to chug.

You found a bottle of rum and sat back to watch the show, letting the liquid warm you up since the loss of Loki’s robes. By your second sip, the brothers were already on their third bottles. Loki finished his first, throwing the empty bottle down with gusto, laughing as it smashed against the concrete floor. Clearly, alcohol poisoning was not a danger with them.

“Barbaric,” Thor cackled, following in suit. “Feel anything yet, brother?”

“Only imminent victory,” Loki said, lip curling as he smiled, realizing Thor was already slurring slightly, accepting the bottle Thor handed him.

You nursed your own drink, watching as both brothers discarded their winter robes, leaving on their long sleeved shirts and pants, thankfully.

“Give me some whiskey,” Loki demanded as Thor reached for the rack once again.

“We’re drinking mead, not whiskey,” Thor grumbled and Loki smacked him. You sniggered, hiding your grin behind your bottle as the older brother turned around. “You little cockroach!” Thor roared, smacking Loki’s hands.

Immediately, they dissolved into a cat fight, smacking each other’s hands, teeth bared as they did so. It was hilarious, but you didn’t want Thor to call Mjolnir and actually turn it into a real fight, so you decided to intervene.

“Boys,” you called out. “This isn’t tussle time.”

“Fine,” Thor said, delivering one last smack to Loki’s hands. As he reached for the rack once more, Loki smacked his arm, apparently unable to let Thor have the last say. Once again, they returned to their little handsies game.

“Odinsons!” You stood up, circling your wrist as a sword grew in it and you poked it between the brothers, carefully wedging them apart. “By all means return to your contest, but don’t turn this into a physical fight where people get hurt.”

“We are gods, milady, we don’t get hurt,” Loki said, finally getting his hands on a whiskey bottle and downing it.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before the contest came to an end, but you’d long since finished your bottle of rum. It had been a rather small bottle, but you’d stretched it out as long as possible, and it was making you feel rather warm and fuzzy. The brothers called it a tie, having both thrown up most spectacularly, and you’d tasked yourself with returning Loki to his room without causing a scene. It was rather difficult, given that he was singing to you.

“Bæ bæ lille lam har du noe ull? Ja ja kjære barn, jeg har kroppen full. Søndagsklær til far, og søndagsklær til mor, og to par strømper til bitte lille bror,” he sang, vaguely to a tune similar to ‘baa baa black sheep’.

“Loki, can you shut up for a sec?” You asked, your back hunched as you supported him, stumbling through the halls. “Where’s your room?”

“You told me to shut up,” he giggled. “My room is wherever you are.”

“Very poetic,” you said sarcastically, making up your mind to just take him back to your guest room. It was a struggle to get there, dragging a drunk god who was all but draped across your shoulder, but eventually you made it, shutting the heavy door behind you before pushing him down so he was sitting on your bed.

“Y/n,” he said, smiling up at you.

“Let’s get this shirt off,” you said, tugging at his soiled shirt, expecting him to get the hint and do it himself, but he just continued to stare at you with the same sloppy grin. “Fine. Arms up.”

He raised his arms in the air, allowing you to pull the shirt up and over his head. “This isn’t how I imagined you undressing me would go.”

“Mhmm,” you said absently, balling up the shirt and throwing it into a corner of the room. “Now lie down.”

“My pants!” Loki wailed, attempting to pull them down without getting up.

“The hell are you on about now?” You turned back towards him, rolling your eyes.

“They’re uncomfortable! I can’t sleep in them.”

“You have to stand up to get them off, you prat.” You grabbed your own pyjamas and headed into the attached bathroom to change. By the time you came back, Loki was laying sideways on the bed, wearing only a pair of gold boxers. “Lay on it proper or you’re sleeping on the floor.”

Groaning, the prince managed to right himself on the bed and slid under the covers, rolling over to leave you room. Breathing out and laying back, you closed your eyes, prepared to drift off.

“Psst. Y/n.”

“What?” You hissed, most displeased, your eyes popping back open.

“I can’t sleep. Can you read to me?”

“I don’t have a book, you ass.”

“Surely you have something memorized?” He whined, sounding a bit like a small child. “Please?”

You sighed. Fine. Karma had better come through in spades for this. “You liked Lord Tennyson, right?”

“Yes.”

He was right. You did have that blasted Lady of Shalott poem memorized. “‘On either side the river lie long fields of barely and of rye, that clothe the wold and meet the sky; and thro’ the field the road runs by to many-tower’d Camelot…’”

By the time you’d finished reciting the whole poem, Loki’s breathing had evened out considerably, and you mistakenly thought he was asleep, turning away from him and snuggling up under the covers so that you could drift off.

As you did so, Loki grabbed your shoulder, letting out a whine, and pulled you back towards him, settling you into the crook of his neck, your arm resting on his bare chest. “That’s better,” he said, and you could feel his mouth moving against your hair. Of course with your luck, he was cuddly when drunk.

“Go to sleep, Loki,” you said, and with a contented hum, he complied.