Forget Me Not Part 1
Loki Laufeyson x Reader
Warnings: A little bit of slight smut, nothing too major though.
A/N: I’ve got too many Loki feels today. There will be a part 2 that has smut. So, uh, yeah. But hey, who could ever say no to Loki? OFDHAIYPGWEHODB;IT HREFLUD, he’s so gorgeous in that gif. I CAN NOT.
You were in pain, nothing but pain. A little whimper escaped your parted lips, your entire body protesting any movement. Why were you in pain? You searched your mind, looking for answers. Nothing. You tried again, looking for anything. Nothing. Panic began to boil beneath your skin, your mind pushing you to get out of there. Tears streamed down your face as you pushed yourself off the warm bed, an aggrieved gasp fleeing your throat as your hands and knees connected with the hard, cold ground. You crawled forward, your muscles aching each second of the way. There was a tight pain in your back, feeling as if a knife was stabbing into it. You never remembered being in this much pain. Hell, you never remembered anything at the moment. Another round of panic surfaced, your feet pushing you further down the intricately designed halls. Had you not been in the state you were, you might actually take a moment to admire the beauty. The cool tiles opposed the searing pain as you walked, your front half barely kept from the floor. Your legs were stumbling around, giving you the appearance of one who had been drinking for too long. Time dragged on, your feet hitting the cool tile and the soft gasps of pain when you moved the wrong way being the only noise. You were so focused on walking, so concentrated on trying to remember, you didn’t notice the soft chattering coming from the end of the hall. You didn’t notice the looks of horror from the occupants of the room, or the gasp of surprise when you entered. You didn’t notice anything but your feet on the ground and your blank mind; at least until a warm hand landed on your shoulder. You looked up into two concerned, green eyes, his lips moving as he asked you something. You didn’t hear him; too busy admiring his sharp cheekbones, his pale skin, his stunning eyes, his beautiful lips, and the gorgeous raven hair that contrasted so perfectly with his skin.
“(Y/N),” a louder voice boomed, catching your attention. This man was much different than the other, blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes smiling encouragingly at you.
“What?” You asked, your voice scratchy from misuse.
“Do you remember what happened?” The stunning man next to you asked. A tear rolled down your cheek, your mouth opening in frustration.
“I don’t know.” You cried, your hands coming up to tug at your (Y/H/C) locks. A soft shush, came from the man by your side; his hand on your shoulder rubbing lightly.
“It’s okay,” he promised, his voice soft. He looked familiar, so familiar. You knew him, somehow, somewhere; you knew him.
“Sweetheart,” a lilting, feminine voice pulled you from your mind, “What do you remember?”
“Nothing,” you admitted shamefully, your eyes squeezing shut as you willed it all to come back. The hand on your shoulder froze.
“Nothing at all?” He confirmed. You nodded bashfully, curling in on yourself. Your movements caused you to sob in pain, your eyes shooting open.
“I’ll get a medic,” the woman said, taking off down the hall at a quick pace. The blonde-haired man stepped closer, a look of pity on his face. The man next to you had dropped to the floor with you, his hand never once leaving your shoulder.
“You have to remember,” he murmured, his eyes blazing.
“I-I can’t,” you stated. His other hand came to grip your shoulder, your entire body being forced to face his. His eyes pierced into your soul, pleading with you.
“Try harder,” his voice was borderline hysterical.
“I am trying,” you cried. He lightly shook you, his calm demeanor fading.
“You have to try harder,” the blonde man pulled him away from you, keeping him in place.
“Loki, you need to calm down,” he berated him.
“Calm down?” He looked to the man incredulously. “I am calm!”
“Boys!” The woman yelled, moving towards you. “Now is not the time.” Her glare dissolved when she looked to you, something decidedly motherly forming in her eyes. “How are you holding up, dear?” You whimpered in response, the spot on your back burning your flesh. She gave you a reassuring smile as an unfamiliar man dropped down next to you.
“You shouldn’t have gotten out of bed in the first place,” he half-heartedly criticized you. “I’m going to need to know where it hurts.”
“Everywhere,” you said at once, wincing as the burn increased tenfold. “Back,” you tried again, grinding out the word as best you could. He nodded, his hands cooling your back as it ran down your bare skin. He was searching for the place, your body seizing up when he hit it. A curt scream was torn from your throat, the world turning to black as your body slammed numbly against the floor.
The smell was something you’d never forget; the salty aroma of sweat mixing with tangy blood and burning flesh. It was gruesome, down right brutal. You weren’t barbarians; you were supposed to be protecting them. Where had it all gone so wrong?
“Stop!” The order slipped out of your mouth before you could even attempt to stop it. The soldiers immediately halted their actions, looking to you in question.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, my Queen?” The one closest to you asked.
“We aren’t murderers,” you spat, “We’re leaving this world at once.” Without waiting to hear their opinions, you turned away from the massacre, the long train of your cloak collecting blood from the fallen as you walked away. With as much energy as you could care to conjure at the moment, you careened yourself through the portal and back to your throne room. It was so quiet, so different than what you had just witnessed moments ago. There were no blood-curdling screams, no sobbing from the family of the fallen, no fires crackling, and no metal clashing. The total silence was so blissful, yet it was also unsettling. You had lost your right to rule long ago. More than that, you weren’t much of a queen in your subject’s eyes. You were (Y/N), Queen of the B’ Elk, daughter of King Emeron, and yet, you were seen as weak. You’d been born into the family bloodline, raised learning that killing was the only pleasure in life, and yet, you wished to see life prosper. Your father had always been afraid that this would happen. Your mother was human, giving you some sort of balance between the endless bloodlust and the want to see life grow. Now that you’d seen so much death, you just wanted it to stop. You knew that wouldn’t happen. Your people have needed war, needed blood, for centuries. Without it they can’t survive. How were you going to convince them of abandoning the blinding desire to see every other civilization burn? The simple answer, you weren’t. It was a lost cause. But you couldn’t just let them continue to ravage the lands ruthlessly, destroying whatever got in the way. Oh, you were powerful because of your bloodline, but you weren’t powerful enough to take on the legions of highly-trained soldiers that inhabited your world. You sighed, looking up to blood-red moon as the sound of footfalls drew closer. You didn’t turn, didn’t need to.
“(Y/N),” he acknowledged, calling you by your human name. Your mother had named you (Y/N), your father choosing ‘Alrayn’. Most people called you Alrayn, the closest to you calling you by your human name.
“Calum,” you greeted, your (Y/E/C) eyes shining beautifully in the red hue.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, confusion etched onto your face. As you turned to ask him what he was talking about, the most painful howl left your mouth. An intense agony ruptured on your back, causing you to drop to the floor.
“Calum,” you whispered, your eyes tearing up as you saw his shadow move closer towards you, the outline of a dagger lifting above you. With the last bit of energy you could muster, you threw yourself into the unknown, praying that you could find peace.
A smooth voice was rolling over you, soothing the wound on your back with gentle words. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, meeting the beautiful emerald eyes from earlier. Loki; that’s what the blonde man had called him.
“Loki,” you tested the name out on your tongue, his eyes alighting with hope at his name.
“(Y/N),” he smiled sweetly, his hands cupping yours gently.
“Where am I?” You asked, past memories surfacing. You were a queen; emphasis on were. You’d been betrayed, escaping to Earth. You met someone there, a man in a suit. Coulson, that was his name! He’d taken you to meet some other people. A group of people maybe? You couldn’t remember much. But you did meet this man in front of you. You hated him? But then you didn’t? You shook your head, the memories much too confusing to think about at the moment.
“The infirmary,” he answered, oblivious to your inner turmoil.
“I,” you paused, watching him curiously, “I know you.” He nodded once, visibly swallowing.
“You do,” he confirmed.
“I didn’t like you,” you stated, an eyebrow raised in confusion.
“You did not,” he established, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.
“But then I did?” You asked. He nodded happily.
“You did.” Nodding, you smiled up at him.
“And I still do?”
“I hope so,” he laughed.
“Darling, you’re up,” the sweet woman from earlier smiled to you. Frigga, your mind supplied.
“Frigga,” you looked to her for confirmation.
“Yes,” her smile was warm, like sitting in front of a fire in the dead of winter. “We aren’t sure what happened with you, (Y/N).” Concern marred her beautiful features, a heaviness in her eyes. It was silent for a moment, the sound of breathing the only thing present.
“A telepathic invasion,” you answered, your mind unconsciously taking control for a moment.
“What?” Frigga asked.
“Someone,” you swallowed your fear, “Attempted to attack my mind. I fended them off but they did some damage, resulting in temporary memory loss.” You sat still for a moment, eyes widened and thoughts unbelieving. “How did I know that?”
“Your subconscious,” Loki supplied, Frigga nodding in agreement.
“It’ll sort itself out soon enough,” she vowed, her hand squeezing yours in reassurance. “I will go make sure food will be sent up.” She gave you one last smile before leaving you with Loki. An uneasy silence washed over the two of you.
“I thought you were going to die,” Loki admitted weakly, his hands taking yours once again. You didn’t know what to say, too enraptured by the feelings he elicited. You felt very strongly towards him, but something wasn’t right. It was like an empty feeling, the lack of memories making it so impossible to understand. “Get some rest,” he urged, your body too exhausted to do anything but comply. The last thing you saw were his emerald orbs before you drifted off into a deep sleep.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Loki’s voice hissed at you. You rolled your eyes, slamming his back against the wall. You winced at how painful it sounded.
“Saving our asses,” you replied with just as much venom, listening to the heavy footfalls closing in on the two of you. Without warning, you glued your lips to Loki’s, urging him to open his mouth to you with your tongue. He stood, stunned. For a moment he didn’t move, prompting you to kick him as the shouts closed in. He immediately began to move his lips against your own, his tongue sliding perfectly upon yours. His hand gripped your ass roughly, turning so he could shove you against the wall crudely, a groan being stifled by his mouth. Your hands were tangled in his raven locks, your body grinding against his own. You could feel the distinct bulge in his trousers, the heat just underneath his clothing. You needed so much more, you needed him. Your hips moved against his at a ruthless speed, your hands tugging at his hair painfully. He was panting against your shoulder, moving his clothed length tortuously against your covered heat. He was using all his strength, pushing you against him so tightly, yet it still wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside of you, he needed to be joined with you. He needed yo-
A loud knock sounded at his door, pulling him out of his dream. He blinked rapidly, remembering that you were still recovering in the infirmary. You were still hurt and you still weren’t his. He sighed in disappointment, taking a moment to recover from his dream.
“Yes?” He called.
“We are still waiting to hear who will accompany you to the celebration at the end of this week,” Thor’s voice expressed from behind the thick, wooden door. Loki groaned, almost forgetting about the party in light of recent events.
“I will talk to you about it later, brother.” He replied, knowing exactly who he would be taking. If he couldn’t take you, he wouldn’t even go. His lips turned up in a smile, thinking about how you would look in a dress. Perhaps he could make sure you got a green dress. Yes, that would be pleasing.
“Get a good rest,” Thor said sincerely, his steps echoing as he walked away. Thor had been extra certain in making sure he was polite to Loki after the events in New York. It was more of an annoyance than anything, but Loki didn’t mind. Secretly, he kind of liked it; although, he’d never tell Thor that. His mind went back to his dream, a frustrated growl leaving his lips. He wanted you. He wanted you more than anything he’s ever wanted. And yet, you aren’t his. He pouted to himself. You weren’t his yet, that is. A devilish smirk lit his features. No, you would be his. He’d make sure of it.