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vagabond-umlaut · 9 days ago

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echoes in the hall

Bound by duty, Y/N moves through the quiet complexities of a marriage that was never meant to be anything more than a formality. Yet, in the moments of stillness between her and Loki, amid the weight of unsaid words and lingering glances, something subtle begins to stir—something she can’t quite name, but feels deep within her.

When Odin dismisses Loki with his usual coldness, Y/N can feel the quiet tension in her husband, the frustration simmering just beneath the surface of his composed exterior. Then, unexpectedly, Loki asks if she ever wished she had married Thor—a rare crack in his usual armor, a flicker of vulnerability she wasn’t used to seeing.

What started as a union of convenience now unfolds into something deeper—fragile, yet full of promise. In the quiet spaces between them, in the words left unspoken, something new begins to bloom. And perhaps, just perhaps, it holds the hope of something more—if only she, and Loki, have the courage to let it grow.

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader Tags: Takes place before the movie 'Thor (2011)'; Arranged Marriage; Slow Burn Romance; Emotional Tension; Unspoken Feelings; Fluff; Developing Relationship; Insecure Loki; Odin's "A+" Parenting (Bad Parent Odin); No Trigger Warnings! Oneshot belonging to the series 'you were never a saint, and I’ve loved you all the same' // Read on AO3 // wc: 1674 [How the heck does this oneshot have the same word count as the previous one? I swear I thought this was gonna be way longer... >:((] A/N: I don't own MCU or its characters! The header is from Pinterest whilst the dividers are from @/adornedwithlight. :) Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

The grand halls of Asgard grow quieter by the minute as the evening wears on, the echoes of footsteps fading into the distance as courtiers and servants make their way home. Only a few remain in the royal palace, finishing up the last of the day's tasks. Y/N and her husband, Loki, are among them, walking in silence as they make their way down the long corridor toward their chambers.

They had been summoned to Odin’s private audience, where the Allfather’s demeanor had been as gruff and dismissive as ever. His focus had been entirely consumed by the coronation preparations for Thor, and most specifically, by the grand reception he had been orchestrating for Thor’s guests from a distant realm—guests whose importance to Asgard’s reputation, Y/N could not quite fathom. What she did understand, however, was the complete disregard Odin had shown for Loki’s presence. His every word had been directed at the older prince, as if Loki were little more than a shadow in the room, his suggestions and concerns barely acknowledged, let alone considered. Even when Loki had spoken, his words seemed to be brushed aside without a second thought.

Y/N can see the frustration in her husband’s posture. His eyes are fixed to the floor, his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pulled into a frown that speaks volumes of his thoughts.

She walks beside him, maintaining a respectful distance, but the silence between them feels somewhat strained. She wants to reach out, to say something that might ease the tension that lingers in the air. Watching him closely, she notices the weight that seems to cling to him tonight, and she genuinely wants to help, to offer him some small comfort.

Though it’s true that their marriage is one of formality and duty, Y/N’s feelings for Loki have evolved beyond mere obligation. His sharp intelligence, his wit, his dry humor—it all pulls at her in ways she’s not sure how to explain. They may not have the closeness of a typical marriage, but she has come to realize how deeply she cares about him. Even if she never said it aloud, she hoped that maybe, just maybe, he could feel that too.

She steals another glance at him, her gaze lingering just a moment longer than usual. His profile, sharp and angular, is a study in contrasts—exquisite and unreadable. He might not know it, but there’s a gentleness in him that Y/N finds herself drawn to. His frown, the way his brow furrows with thought, makes her want to understand him better, to know what’s truly on his mind.

The silence stretches on, and Y/N begins to feel the weight of the day’s events pressing down on both of them. Then, as if something inside him has finally broken, Loki suddenly turns to her, his voice low, almost questioning.

“Do you ever wish, Princess,” he asks, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something she can’t quite place, “that you had married Thor, instead of me?”

The question hangs in the air between them, and Y/N is so taken aback that her first response is little more than a confused, internal What?

The next thing that comes out of her mouth is no better: “Huh?”

Loki stops walking, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at her, clearly expecting some kind of reaction. “Forget it,” he says with a small shake of his head, turning away as though dismissing the whole thing.

But Y/N isn’t ready to let him off so easily. She steps forward, her voice steady but insistent. “No, wait! Please don’t dismiss it. I would like to understand what you mean by that.”

Loki’s steps falter for a moment, and he glances at her with an edge of frustration in his eyes. “I have urgent matters to attend to,” he says, his voice cold and dismissive, but Y/N won’t relent.

She catches up with him again, her tone soft but persistent. “Please, Your Highness. Make yourself clear. What are you trying to say?”

Loki lets out a sharp breath, his shoulders tightening in a way that betrays the fleeting anger he is struggling to suppress. “What I mean is… you must sometimes wish you’d married Thor, don’t you?” he snaps, his voice low but taut. His gaze is fixed on her now, a flicker of emotion breaking through his usual composure. “He’s the crown prince, the one set to be king. Not me. You could have been queen, Princess. You could have had everything.” He looks at her then, and for a brief moment, a flash of bitterness crosses his face. “Instead, you are the wife of the lesser prince.”

Y/N freezes at his words, her heart sinking at the sharpness of his tone. She has always seen Loki as someone complex, someone who hides behind layers of self-possession, but she hadn’t realized just how much this frustration affected him. Her breath catches, and she feels a pang of sympathy for him, wishing she could say the right thing to ease his burden.

She steps closer to him, her voice soft but steady. “Who ever told you that you were the lesser prince?” she asks, her tone gentle, but firm with conviction. “Your brother may be crowned king, but that doesn’t make him more capable than you. His birthright alone is what gives him the throne.”

Loki scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Nothing has been done, yet they all reach that conclusion all the same, Princess.”

Y/N shakes her head slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Then they are fools. Their judgment clouded by years of battle and far too much mead.”

Loki huffs, a quiet laugh escaping him, though it’s brief, as if it’s caught in the back of his throat. Y/N is surprised by how it warms the atmosphere for a moment—something about that laugh feels like a crack in the fortress he’s built around himself.

She offers him a soft smile, and he meets her gaze for a moment, his eyes not as guarded as they usually are. “I mean it, though,” she continues, her voice a little more playful now. “Your brother may be the golden prince, but he can be too loud, too boisterous for my taste. And besides...” She pauses for a moment, her tone turning a little more thoughtful. “If I were to become Queen after the Allmother…” She trails off for a beat, considering her words carefully. “I would have no time to myself, no personal space. I would be swarmed with court functions, always surrounded by people, expected to make small talk, to smile and speak graciously. The burden of it all would be… stifling.”

She glances at him, her eyes warm. “I prefer the shadows.” She pauses, then adds with a faint smile, “It’s quiet there. Cool. Peaceful.”

Loki’s gaze softens for just a moment, though he quickly schools his features. The flicker of something—appreciation, perhaps—passes through his eyes. “You’re not just trying to appease me, are you, Princess?” His voice is light, but there’s an underlying curiosity in it, as if he wants to believe her.

Y/N gives him a small smile, her tone teasing but sincere. “You’re the God of Lies, Your Highness,” she replies with a small shrug. “I’m certain you’d be able to detect any dishonesty in my words. But I’m not lying. I’m telling you the truth.”

Loki’s expression remains unreadable, but Y/N senses a subtle shift between them—something she can’t quite place. For once, she doesn’t mind the silence that follows her words. It feels easier now, more at ease than it had before.

Finally, Loki exhales quietly, his voice softer, but still carrying his usual cool detachment. “Thank you, Princess,” he says, his tone measured, but there’s something else—perhaps a hint of gratitude. “I have matters to attend to with the head of the guards. Forgive me for not being able to escort you to your chambers tonight.”

Y/N feels an odd sense of disappointment, but she pushes it aside, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. It’s Loki. His moods shift like the wind, and there’s no reason to take it personally.

But before he turns away, she can’t help herself. “You don’t mind being married to me, do you, Your Highness?” The question slips out before she can stop it, though she instantly wonders if it was the right thing to ask.

Loki pauses, his eyes narrowing as he looks at her. There’s a moment of heavy silence before he answers, his voice quiet and somewhat distant. “I must be going, Princess,” he says with a curt nod, then turns and walks away.

Y/N stands there for a moment, watching him leave, the sting of his sudden departure lingering in her chest. But she shakes her head, trying to push away the feeling. It’s Loki. His thoughts are always a mystery, and she can’t change that.

That night, as Y/N prepares for bed, she discovers a delicate pair of emerald earrings resting on her vanity. They are unfamiliar to her, yet undeniably beautiful. She picks them up, her fingers brushing the cool surface, her mind spinning with questions. Where have they come from?

As if on cue, one of the older maids passes by and, with a knowing glance, offers a quiet explanation. “It’s customary for royals to give gifts in their favored color, Princess… to those they hold in high regard.”

Emerald. The color of Loki’s eyes.

Her heart skips a beat. She smiles softly to herself.

Without a word, she carefully returns the earrings to her vanity and goes about her evening. Over the next two weeks, she wears them daily, and Loki never mentions them once. Yet, each time his gaze lingers on them a fraction longer than necessary, something unspoken passes between them—something subtle, but deeply understood.

And perhaps, just perhaps, that is enough.

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