Marvel Oneshots (X Reader)

Loki - His Queen

Mind controlled reader and manipulation

As I watched him fall, I felt nothing.

I knew that he had meant something to me; that I'd seen him as a friend. Now, I didn't feel anything as his body hit the ground and blood bloomed across his chest. I felt no connection and no remainder of my friendship with the dead Agent. I vaguely remembered being an agent myself—investigating alien occurrences and anomalies with a team. I'd even helped Coulson assemble his collection of Captain America cards—but the memories lacked emotion. It was as if I was underwater—everything and everyone was muffled and distant.

Except for him.

Love swelled within my chest as my eyes strayed to where he stepped out from behind Coulson's body. Fierce longing and desire shot through me as his sinister eyes landed on me—he was a god. A king. No one else mattered.

The gold sceptre shone in his hand, the blue stone glittering fiercely. When I had first met him, just hours ago, I had despised him. I had been blind to his radiance. But once he touched the sceptre's blade to my chest, the world had spun into clarity. He had opened my heart to a reverence reserved only for him. Everyone and everything paled in comparison.

I'd felt nothing but my bond to him as I'd killed the Agents that had once been my friends. I hadn't shed a single tear. They no longer mattered. I hadn't needed them anymore. They were in his way. They chose their side. They chose to die.

"Y/n!" Someone called my name. It was a dull, barely audible sound, and I dismissed it as I watched Loki stalk toward me, each step as careful as a predator on the hunt. And I was his prey.

His Asgardian clothing shone with green and gold, while the black highlights seemed to swallow any light that dared cross it. His black hair was slicked back to where it sat just below his shoulders and his green eyes flashed bright and clear. Kingly. That was the best way to describe him. The only way.

He stopped right in front of me, his neck right at my eye level, He settled a commanding hand on my chin, lifting my head so our eyes would meet.

Desire sliced through me like lightning as I took in his long lashes, sharp cheekbones and dark hair. He was perfect. I wanted him. I worshipped him. I loved him.

"Y/n!" That same voice called from behind me. Loki's eyes darted to whoever it was, glinting with malice as his lip curled with contempt. I didn't bother to look—I instead continued to gaze at my king's features so perfectly sculpted as if from ice.

"She can't hear you," he spoke, his voice engulfing my ears in its sweetly harsh melody. "Well rather, she can hear you, she just doesn't care. She has me now."

"Brother! Stop this madness! She is not a part of this!"

His hand slid away from my chin and disappointment bloomed within me at the loss of his touch. My heart soared again when he grabbed my arm, warmth shooting through me as he spun me around.

A green, cylindrical, glass box took up the centre of the room. It was the one I had helped free my lord from, before he had stabbed Coulson. A man stood inside now—Loki's adoptive brother. A cape sprouted at his shoulders and he was clad in shining armour. In his hand, he clutched a hammer. He was furious.

As I stared disinterestedly at the him, all I could think of was everything about him was dull. He was no king. I could feel Loki's presence behind me and I longed to return to his gaze rather than stare at this pathetic creature. Thor, his name was, that's right.

Thor's expression of anger faded as he stared at me, desperation seeping into his features. A flicker of familiarity coursed within me, of myself wrapped in his arms and whispers and kisses under moonlight. The memories were quickly muffled as Loki's breath tickled the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to spread across my arms and neck as shivers raced down my spine.

"Y/n. Y/n! Please answer me! Please, my love!" I looked at him with detached disinterest, my own lip curling just as Loki's had. A cruel laugh split the air behind me, and I smiled. Anger twisted on Thor's face as he glared at Loki.

"She's not yours anymore brother. She's mine now." He softly stroked my chin, sending a wave of warmth through my body as he guided my head to face him once again.

"You are mine now, aren't you, Y/n?" He uttered in a low voice. A growl came from the other god as I answered, breathless with reverence.

"I am yours, Loki, my king."

His fingers gripped my chin delicately and he slowly tilted my face as he lowered his own. Our lips met, his movements slow and deliberate. I gasped into his mouth as his hand slid to the back of my neck, locking our lips together. His other hand slid to the small of my back, sending shivers of delight racing through my spine.

I reached my hands up to entwine them in his silky hair as the kiss deepened. Warmth bloomed inside me as his tongue teased at my lips. He tasted sweet, like peppermint and green apples. Our bodies pressed together as my world narrowed down to this single moment of bliss.

Finally, he drew away, satisfaction painted on his face. I breathlessly gasped for air, my knees weak. His firm grip on my back and neck kept me from stumbling.

Loki smugly eyes his brother in the cage, who stared at us in horror and flashes of hatred.

"You will not be forgiven for this, brother! I will free her from you!

Loki scoffed. "There's nothing you can do." He looked down at me, whispering in my ear in a way that caused my breathing to hitch. "Press the button, princess."

I calmly untangled my hands from his hair, the sensations of our kiss replaying in my mind. Skipping over to the console, I stepped around where Coulson still lay, gasping feebly with his last breaths. Hmm. I'd thought he was dead. It didn't matter. He would be soon anyway.

I flicked the cover off the button, resting my hand on its red surface. I exchanged a meaningful glance with my king, then slid my eyes across to Thor. Heartbreaking sorrow drowned his features and I smiled sweetly at him.

I pushed the button.

The glass prison dropped.

Loki smiled, beckoning me forth.

I grabbed his reaching hand and he pulled me into his grasp while his lips sought mine. This kiss was less taunting and more frantic than before—this time it was not for a taunting display but for passion instead. We gripped each other tightly as if our lives depended on it. His tongue swept my mouth as my hands cupped his perfect face.

We parted for a brief moment, long enough for his thumb to stroke my cheek.

"I take back what I said before," he murmured. "You are not a princess."

"You are a queen."