Tom Hiddleston & Loki Imagines (xReader)

Loki: The Watcher

The first time Loki visited the Midgardian kingdom, he was exploring one of the hidden paths—the undiscovered ways off of Asgard. He hadn't known where it would take him, and was more than a little disappointed when he emerged from a cave and found himself on Midgard.

Of all realms, why pathetic, insignificant, infected-with-mortals Midgard?

Once there, though, he decided to make the best of it. He cloaked himself in invisibility and made ready to explore.

It was the start of the so-called "Renaissance", when the mortals were beginning to consider themselves "great" and "enlightened". They were amusing to watch, even if they were puny and helpless.

The first time he saw her, she was even punier and more helpless than most. She was a small child, no more than four or five years of age, wandering the village square, frightened and crying for her mother, obviously lost. As Loki watched, he noticed a man following the child. At first he thought it must be her father, but the man's overall shady demeanor told a different tale. A father wouldn't keep to the shadows, looking over his shoulder every few moments. He made his way closer to the child, keeping an eye on both her and the surroundings.

As soon as she wandered far enough from the crowd, the man darted out from the shadows. He grabbed the girl's arm, slapped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her back the way he came.

Not one of the stupid mortal villagers noticed. They were too wrapped up in their own lives and business to take notice of a child's smothered pleas for help.

Loki scowled ominously. No matter what could be said of him, preying upon defenseless children was one offense he would not tolerate.

He didn't like bullies.

Not bullies of children, anyway.

Daggers in hand and magic sparking, Loki went after the man and the girl, following the sound of muffled screams.

Two and a half hours later, the kidnapper and his slave-trading cohorts lay beaten and bloody deep in the woods, and a mysterious black cat was coaxing the terrified child back to the village. Presently she stopped walking and stood shaking with terrified tears, wiping her nose and eyes on her sleeve, and looking so very helpless and small. The cat looked up at her with compassionate, bright green eyes. Sensing that she needed physical comfort, he rubbed his head against her leg, purring loudly when she reached down to scratch between his ears. After a minute she stooped to pick him up, cuddling him close and burying her face in his glossy black fur until the sobs died down into sniffles and hiccups.

Loki allowed himself to be held and stroked without complaining. But it was getting late; the girl needed to be reunited with her parents. When she had calmed enough, he leapt gracefully out of her little arms. With a soft "meow," he nudged her forward with his head. Walk, little one.

They'd hardly made it back before she was immediately scooped up by a regal woman with panic in her eyes. "(Y/N)!"

The woman hugged the little one close. "(Y/N)," she sobbed. Behind her, the girl's father wore an expression of relief.

Feigned relief, Loki noted. His cat form in no way lessened his ability to distinguish lies from truth, and this man oozed falsehood. He was more concerned at the delay in his work than his daughter's safety.

Why did that remind him of Odin?

Meanwhile, shouts of, "She's found! The princess is found!" were echoing through the village, causing the people to cheer and Loki to twitch his whiskers—the feline equivalent of raising an eyebrow. He'd rescued a princess, had he? How terribly cliché.