Love is a dagger

You've been living in the Watchtower for a few years now, and everyone treats you as family, friend, sister, except Loki. He's always treated you as his entertainment, but you never minded; you found it fun at times, thought of him as a friend, and believed that he secretly thinks of you as one too. Today marks the 3rd anniversary of your joining the Avengers, and a small party has been thrown by the team for you.

After a couple of hours of mingling with everyone, you find Loki standing in the corner, brooding as he usually does around big crowds.

You decide to go talk to him, so you slide up next to him and talk for a good while, when you notice Loki is staring at you, you ask, "Are you even listening?"

Loki snaps out of his trance, his face going through five levels of grief, confusion, and other conflicting feelings, then he suddenly turns, saying he has to go. He quickly turns and walks off in a hurry, leaving you confused.

When he gets halfway down the hall, he teleports away to his room, standing for a moment, silent, staring at the floor, then he growls and kicks a set of shelves nearby, then throws several objects across the room.

His heart is beating harder than it ever has; he can't handle this new feeling in his chest. He's fallen in love.

Hard.

With the one person who can actually hurt him.

The shelves crash against the far wall, splintering on impact. Glass shatters. Metal rings. The room echoes with the violence of it, but it does nothing to quiet the roaring in Loki’s chest.

He grips the edge of his desk, knuckles white, breath coming too fast—too human.

“No,” he snarls to the empty room. “No, no, no—”

Love.

The word alone feels like poison.

He’s survived betrayal, abandonment, death itself—yet this? This treacherous warmth curling around his ribs, this unbearable need to protect, to be seen, to matter to someone who could ruin him with a smile?

You.

Your laugh replays in his mind like a curse. The way you leaned closer without fear. The way you spoke to him like he was normal, like he wasn’t a monster or a god or a weapon—just Loki.

Just him.

He sinks onto the edge of the bed, hands trembling now, fury bleeding into something far worse.

Fear.

You are family to them. Loved. Protected. If he reaches for you, they will see. They will judge. They will take you away.

And if he doesn’t?

He’ll tear himself apart pretending this feeling doesn’t exist.

---

Back at the party, you stand where he left you, music humming softly around the room. Laughter drifts past, warm and familiar, but it suddenly feels… distant.

“Hello, mortal,” Thor says in his usual booming voice, appearing at your side. “Brother vanish again?”

You force a small smile. “Yeah. He looked… upset.”

Thor studies you for a long moment, something thoughtful—and concerned—behind his eyes. “Loki does not lose his composure without cause.”

That settles uncomfortably in your chest.

Later that night, long after the party winds down, you find yourself unable to sleep. The tower is quiet, lights dimmed, the usual hum of life softened to a whisper.

Something pulls at you.

You don't know why your feet carry you there—but you stop outside Loki’s door.

You raise your hand.

Hesitate.

Inside, Loki sits in the dark, staring at the door like it might condemn him or save him.

He feels you before you knock.

Your presence coils around his senses like a spell he never learned to break.

If he opens that door, everything changes.

If he doesn’t—

The knock comes softly.

Once.

“Loki?” your voice calls, careful. “Are you okay?”

His heart shatters.

He stands.

The door opens.

And for the first time in centuries, Loki—God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard—doesn’t know how to lie.