Loki X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Loki's POV (third person) 'Girl With The gold Earring' (Part 1)

AUTHORS NOTE:

IF YOU DON'T LIKE FIRST PERSON POV STORIES, THIS IS FOR YOU. This is written about Loki from a third person perspective. I initially wrote this from Loki's first person POV, but I know some of you hate first person stories so I re-wrote it in third, just for you 😁❤️

People kept requesting this, and I didn't really know how I wanted to go about it until I heard a line the other day in a movie called The Terminal:

"He's so sick, he's so in love."

Idk, I just think that's how I imagine Loki when he saw Y/N.

Seeing as Loki is a frost giant, I decided to make up some lore and have fun imagining how his species might experience love. The idea of 'soulmates' is so tragic and powerful and fun to write, I decided to apply it to Jöttunns.

Imagine, if you will, that—biologically—Loki is wired to feel love for one single mate in his lifetime, and he can sense, perhaps with some kind of magic? When he has met that one person.

Jöttunns can, literally, fall in love at first sight.

Loki of course doesn't know he is a frost giant yet, so he has no idea this is what's happening to him.

I love the idea of him having never felt attraction before, for a thousand years, and then suddenly BOOM he sets eyes on Y/N and freaks out because he's feeling all these feelings for the first time.

(Please note, I am not re-writing my entire book from Loki's POV, just a tiny teeny bit at the start)

____

The gold thread of Loki's pillow case is pressing a red, knot-shaped groove onto his cheekbone. It's been doing that for at least forty minutes, yet he still hasn't moved.

One of his pillows has slithered down in the night and he must have rolled onto it; the silk slippery and cold like a fish against his neck.

Blindly, he drags an arm up and grabs at one of the curtains that creates a thick, velvet cage about his bed. His fingers catch a fistful of embroidery thread (scrunching a bejewelled peacock in his palm in the process) and he yanks it aside, peeling open an eyelid.

The sun hasn't yet crested the windowsill, the semi-darkness drowning the golds and greens of his bed chambers into drab greys.

Loki is not a morning person, by nature, but sometimes he goes to bed early because there's nothing to do, so, naturally, he wakes up early—but there's still nothing to do. He knows that on a deep, instinctual level and yet he still keeps doing it.

Swinging his legs out of bed, the marble floor meets his feet with the chill of ice. There used to be a rug there—he thinks it was red—but he kicked it under the bed. He likes the cold. It wakes him up.

Stretching his arms up over his head, Loki stands before one of the full-length windows, leaning an elbow on the glass. His breath turns to fog against the pane, but only for half a second.

The dawn is brightening into a milky sort of purple; the night-time mist meeting the scraggly clouds halfway and mixing into a foggy lump of moisture. It's so thick he can barely see to the end of The Walled Garden, the red bricks disappearing into the gloom in a way that would be magical—if he didn't know exactly what lies beyond.

Way down below, a minuscule speck of a person mops the steps preceding The Palace's main entrance. They're just a beige boat on an ocean of golden slabs, their mop like a tiny, useless little oar.