Time after time ll Loki x Fem! Reader

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐝. It was greasy and wet and everything he hated, because it reminded him of her.

Bits and pieces of Y/N were littered everywhere, even after centuries from the day they met. It tore at his heart and mind. He saw her at every corner and on every street. The tavern they once danced in was no longer standing. But he still saw it there. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell the rich flavour of food and hear the highest notes of a flute.

"You were cursed to fall in love with a mortal, Loki. Now you must suffer." said Odin to him on the night she died.

Odin didn't understand. And Loki didn't want to be understood. Not by him anyway. The only person who truly understood him was no longer alive. She hadn't been for centuries.

Loki clutched his hands into fists and crossed the paved street through the carriages and the chaos, passing by a paper boy.

"The Morning Chronicle, 8 pounds!" his yelling reached Loki's ears.

He abruptly stopped walking and turned to the boy, snatching the newspaper from his dirty hands.

"Jack the Ripper strikes again!" the headline said.

"You read it, you buy it, sir!" exclaimed the boy besides him.

Loki striked him with a cold stare. "No need."

He pushed the newspaper into the kid's chest and turned his back to him, crossing the street once again. His black, polished shoes echoed on the wet and slippery cobblestone. Ahead of him, The British Museum touched the skies in all its glory.

It was a history museum, with old artifacts and worn out proof of living history. It was the best place to research something (besides the library, of course).

And it was also the worst. The crowded space made it harder to breath. Women with sickeningly sweet perfumes and feathered hats kept bumping into him, smiling, while men threw him dirty looks. It was annoying, really. These mortals.

But no matter. He just kept going down the museum's hallway like he knew it as the back of his hand. Because he did. He really did. Every step echoed in familiar notes, every corner took curves imprinted in his mind. It was no labyrinth. Just a longer route.

He stopped in front of it. The green stood out the most to him. That is, if he wasn't paying attention to the figures.

It was a tapestry. Of him and her. Holding hands and dancing. Just like they did back then in the tavern.

Y/N never told him about this tapestry, but the first time he found it in the museum, there was no doubt in Loki's mind that it was made by her calloused hands.