Various Array of One Shots ✔️

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

Loki bit his lip. "I was so infuriated, I -,"

The Queen pocketed her garden tools, and turned to her younger son, her joy and pride she wasn't so prideful and joyful for for this act he had done. "Tell me everything that happened, and I'm sure we shall work out how never to allow this sort of thing to happen again."

Nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty nine minutes, and you were assigned to work as an assistant cleaner for the royal medical wing. It was a stressful job, being around Asgardians in so much pain, around Healers who never lost hope in a patient, but you found a sort of serenity in it. A calm in a storm. You cleaned the marks and messes the floor would have spilt, remove taints from the bed sheets. You even shadowed the Healer Eir as she worked.

It had been now nine years, eight months, nineteen days, eleven hours and fifty five minutes, and you had somehow become more than a chambermaid; more than what you had been for so long and forged a part of your identity in. You now worked alongside the Lady Eir, still learning the ways of healing Asgardian wounds, but helping clean and heal the afflictions that came. Lady Eir was certain you would become a great healer one day.

You only hoped you could one day heal your broken heart.

Nine years, nine months, thirty one days, two hours and fourteen minutes. There was tell of battle arising around the palace, after Prince Thor's coronation was interrupted by an invasion of the Frost Giants from Jotenheim. From a patient you tended to, you heard that Prince Thor and Loki were in the foreign land themselves, gone to fight for Asgard. You shouldn't have felt that tug in your chest. Prince Loki was a man grown, and he chose to do with his life as much as a prince could.

Ten years, one day, four hours and seven minutes.

You stand in the Healer's wing, slowly wrapping a man's wrist after an ill-thought out twist to it in mock battle. You have forgotten to keep count of how long you've worked for the royal family, because it's not a tally of a sentence anymore. You've found peace in this place, you found something you are valued for, as a person. No longer are you called 'maid' or 'girl' or a variation of bad names for unfaithful women, but your own. You are Lady _______, Healer.

"Lady ________, Prince Loki needs tending to! He's injured from the battle of Jotenheim!" A healer in training, Terra, calls to you. You hear panic in her voice.

Before you can respond, Loki is brought in by two of Thor's friends, Hogun and Fandrall. Loki's face is paler than his normal ivory, and limp. There's a gash on his side that seems to have taken upon itself to recolour his emerald robes red.

"Terra, prepare a bed. I need the healing slab  cleared and ready for use," you tell your healing staff. "Where is Lady Eir?" You ask Terra, who has made a bed.

"I am unsure, m'lady," Terra stammers.

"Find her, please." You tell her, and turning to the rest of your fleet, say, "I need his armour taken off!"

Loki becomes lucid, falling in and out of sleep like a babe with an inflicting tooth. He's in pain, so much pain, but he doesn't want Lady Eir and her healers to see him like this.

"I need his armour taken off!" He hears. He can't put a finger to it, but that voice...he's heard it before. Somewhere.

His heart beats a little quicker. He holds on.

"Yes m'lady," a chorus of healers follow her words.

Loki feels a bout of pain course his veins, sway his mind into following into a stupor of sleep. He nearly does, it hurts so much. He can barely feel the armour from the battle slide off. But he hears one thing.