Unbroken (Loki x Reader)

Erland's home is dark. Dusty. Sunk beneath a smog of sour leathers and day-old cooking. The wallpaper tears at the seams as tiny tissue fractures scrawl out a history you can't quite read. Your gaze traces the water stains on the ceiling as Erland leads you past a crooked banister into a living room, where he gestures for you to sit on a moth-bitten couch. You glance nervously at Loki who remains stone-faced, but offers you the smallest hint of an encouraging nod. So you sit as Loki wanders further across the room toward a book shelf and begins perusing. Your fingers drum nervously on top of your knees as the weight of the silence grows. As does the burden of Erland's stare going right through you. 

"Y-you have a nice home," you offer, timid as Erland's gaze only narrows, the cinch of his brow knit as if trying to solve some sort of puzzle. But the intensity is unsettling. So you let your eyes wander the space. Among the rags, loose papers and cracked wooden floors, you spot the gleam of something once brilliant. On the overstuffed armchair beside you at the end of the sofa, a golden crest stamped onto something metal peeks out from where it hides stashed beneath a heap of sweat-stained clothing. Curious, you lean forward and push back an old cotton shirt. You tilt your head in question as it becomes clear that hidden beneath piles of forgotten clothes and old food wrappers rests an impressive, heavy battle shield. A deep crack runs down the middle, nearly cleaving the thing in two and putting to shame the other scars it wears. 

You've seen damage like this. On Steve's shield. 

"You were a soldier?" you question almost in whisper, glancing back at Erland who crosses his arms white-knuckled across his chest. 

A quiet hum of laughter floats across the room. "No need to appease this brute with small talk, my love,"  he croons, keeping his attention half-focused on the books - a very unsettling smile on his face.

Erland's lip twitches into the ghost of a scowl as he watches Loki's fingers dance across the delicate spines. By all appearances, he seems to be taking in the titles. But you know Loki. And he hasn't read a single spine. He's scheming.

"Quite a collection, friend," Loki calls out from the shelves, turning slightly to shoot a side-eyed glance at Erland. "One quite like my father's, in fact. Although I prefer the classics," Loki says. You're not quite sure how, but you know this is supposed to be a hidden slight. And Erland knows it as well.

"You're no friend of mine. Why are you here?" Erland spits. "And why take his guise?"

Loki hums in sour laughter. "To remind you that you sit squarely in debt to me," Loki grins, running a hand through his brown hair before allowing his illusion to fall and restoring his image. 

As his usual pale skin replaces the sun-pocked tan of the man he had conjured, you wonder exactly who Loki had chosen to resemble. Clearly it wasn't random as you had believed. But the thought gets lost as long, dark hair spills over shoulders that roll and stretch as Loki lets out a pleased sigh. The sinew and tendons in his neck strain as he does, and you swear you see him shoot a covert, and suggestive, wink in your direction. Loki waves his hand over his chest once more, and his blue robes disappear, replaced by his gold and green armor. 

"Much better," Loki sighs, content and sinister. 

Erland shrinks slightly, his broad shoulders sinking into himself only enough to be noticeable as Loki restores his appearance. Whatever their history, Loki is clearly the one who holds the power in the dynamic. But he clearly isn't frightened enough of the Crown Prince to hold his tongue. 

"Your welcome runs cold, svikari," Erland spits.

Loki's cheek twitches at the use of the unknown word. But he keeps his mask in check and remains cold and cruel.