Tom Hiddleston Oneshots.

comfort in the dark

Loki has always been plagued by nightmares, has always been fighting against terrors that tormented his mind at night. He learned to avoid the suffocating darkness and his own bed, found himself tugged away in dark corners of the royal library, fighting against his own exhaustion to stay awake a little longer, because shutting his eyes would mean another dreadful night.

It became easier with you by his side. The nightmares subsided, his slumber was peacefully quiet and sinking into fresh bedsheets with you snuggled in his arms made him feel a strange kind of joy he didn't think he'd ever experience in his forsaken life. Everything was good - after your marriage he took you to Asgard, where you lived happily ever after. Or so one might think. When you told him you were expecting, when you told him he would be a father, his world turned upside down.

He was happy, yes, more than that, but with the lovesick feeling of floating on cloud nine came the visions. The nightmares returned and disgusting fear began to settle deep within his soul as he relived your death in his dreams each and every night. They haven't stopped since.

Screams and agony echo against the concrete floors, past sleek furniture and empty ballrooms, until they fade away into an aching nothing. Sweat glistens on his forehead and reminds him of the haunting terrors clinging to his mind as Loki rushes down abandoned hallways.

No one mentions it. No one dares to say a word and ask Loki, what it was, that ripped so many screams from his tired lungs. Still, they see the pain. Dark circles and chapped lips, bitten until raw and nearly bruised. Servants start to whisper, exchange knowing glances as the fallen prince of Asgard stumbles into the dining hall and fiddles with the sleeve of his sleeping robe. Curious eyes settle on your figure, seated at the end of the table, delicate body wrapped in a silken dress that accentuates your growing belly and the healthy glow of your skin.

Yet, no one says anything. The servants bow and leave the room at the nonchalant wave of your hand. You are left alone with him, beautiful face illuminated by the light of a few candles as you watch him cautiously.

For a moment, Loki stays at a safe distance from you and he should be proud of the fact that he's kept his emotions at bay for so long, alone in the dining hall with you, but then he sees the look in your eyes the moment his gaze lands on you and the pang of guilt almost rips his chest apart.

You don't deserve him.

Because you're gentle and kind, caring, and loyal to the people you love. You're everything he's not. Loki is rough, selfish, and sharp with ripped edges. He hurts people he loves - like his brother, his beloved mother, and you.

Loki shuffles through the dining hall to the large table, shaking hands reaching for a steaming cup of tea. He stops dead in his tracks when he hears you get out of your velvet chair and take a step closer.

"Y/N-", he mutters, a warning in his voice. All the walls he has built, come crashing down with one hesitant look to you. But he regains his posture with one swift turn from his head, avoiding a second look at you.

"I can help you, Loki."

"I don't need help." He won't look at you. If he looks at you again his heart will shatter and everything in his aching rip cage will pour out. His skin prickles with the feeling of your gaze on him. He feels split open and raw, and he knows the slightest provocation will cause every defense he has to come crumbling down. "I don't need help", he repeats, voice breaking. He won't put that burden on you, won't risk losing you and his child.

Somehow Loki doesn't hear you approach his place by the end of the table. Slender fingers graze his elbow and he flinches. "I know you don't, Loki. But I'm here for you anyway." The touch lingers for just a moment longer and then it's gone, the scent of roses and vanilla wafting around him before disappearing.