Various Array of One Shots ✔️

Can't Keep What Needs To Be Spoken Aloud >> Loki Laufeyson X Reader

Loki's breath caught in his chest.

He knew this girl. Not her name, because they'd never directly crossed paths, but her face. Her kind (s/c) face and her deep (e/c) eyes which he'd once or twice spelled himself to be invisible on slow days to watch work. She had been his servant for almost ten years, and for that long a time, he couldn't help but admit that he'd fallen a little in love with her.

"I'm a monster," Loki woke from his fit of anger, numb. He saw all the destruction he'd caused, all the lovely trinkets in his room, destroyed. He'd never done that before. "Oh no," he muttered, treading toward you.

He met your eyes. All that had been cut was a sliver under your cheekbone, and the trickle of blood shocked him. He'd never seen a servant, or even a resident of the palace bleed.

"I'm so very sorry, please forgive me -," he began.

You leapt to your feet, head swimming with white noise. He's apologising, he's a prince, he's the prince, he's Prince Loki and he's apologising for his own act. No. It was your fault you were in the way. Not his. Not his.

"My lord," you speak your first words to him, heart racing not only from the fact you're speaking to him, but that the blood from your cheek keeps you alert and you can't believe this is how you finally talk. "S'not your place to apologise - it's it is my fault I am injured, I was slow today with my chores."

You look to the wall that is half scrubbed, and now half re-dirtied with the water of the vase, and inwardly sigh. You can't look at him. Not now. He's a caged animal, a beast you find at a zoo to ogle at, and you're a mouse.

"Little bird, I hurt you, it was I; my fault alone." Loki goes to cradle your face. "Let me help-,"

You back away from his touch. No. No. He's your master. You're the servant, scum of the palace to clean the actual scum and be silent and invisible. It was a dream to work for him, but you should have known; every dreamer must wake.

"My lord, I must go," you cry, his touch stinging your wounded cheekbone, and leaving your pail and brush, you flee.

It had been nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty three minutes since you began working for Prince Loki. Maybe that was too long.

The next day, Loki woke to all the damage he'd caused to be cleaned up, the wall mopped and rescrubbed, the pail his (h/c) haired chambermaid had left gone. His room was perfect; there wasn't a trace of what he'd done in there at all. Except for his heartbeat, which worsened his pain. He was blinded in his anger from what couldn't be helped and hurt those around him.

Loki rose and went about his daily duties as a prince - giving his stiff smile at functions, watching the entrance to the servant's quarters to see if he could find his (e/c) eyed maid...reading to forget what he'd done, and then walking a bout in the garden with his mother, Queen Frigga.

"I suppose you miss her, isn't that the trouble with you today, Loki?" The Queen pondered, producing a small pair of secateurs to trim her garden.

Loki couldn't look at his mother. He couldn't look anywhere.

"I also suppose you're wondering how I know what's happened? And that I know what exactly took place last night after dinner to your maid." The Queen continued, her smile sad. "I've moved her to a more quiet part of the palace, Loki. Somewhere where she won't be hit by vases and subjected to fits of rage."