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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years

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Birthday Wish

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: It’s your birthday and all you want to do is spend a quiet day with Loki. Unfortunately, he’s decided to plan you a crazy party. Can you get your wish by the end of the night? Warnings: none A/N: It’s my birthday today (10/6), so I whipped up this quick little fic 🥳 I’ve been reflecting on everything like I usually do at this time of the year, and I just wanted to take a quick minute and say thank you to all the people who support me and read my stories. All the love I’ve been getting from you guys has made these past few months some of the best in my life! Please enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiantfavs @lunarmoon8

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

The blaring of your alarm clock woke you up for the third time that morning. You rolled over and hit the stop button this time, rather than the snooze, determined to get up. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you decided that you really ought to start going to bed at a reasonable hour. As your vision focused, you noticed a small box wrapped in white paper with multicolored happy birthday text printed on it. The neat green bow on top clued you in to who had left it before you even read the gift tag. You tore into the wrapping paper and opened the golden box inside, expecting a bracelet or some other piece of jewelry. Instead, you were greeted with a silver key.

“What are you up to, Loki,” you muttered, pinching the key between your thumb and forefinger.

Finding no clues on how to use your mysterious present, you finally dragged yourself out of bed and trudged into the bathroom. You eyed the shower for a minute, contemplating just splashing some water on yourself instead and calling it a day, before turning it on. You let the cold spray wake you up, turning your face towards the shower head. Once you felt alert enough, you changed the water to a more comfortable temperature. A part of you wanted to stay in here forever, or at least for the rest of the day, but that damned key had captured your interest. As you toweled off, you caught a whiff of your favorite shampoo, which you’d just lathered in your hair. Incidentally, it was Loki’s favorite too, and with any luck, he’d be smelling it later during some birthday snuggles.

After slipping on your coziest outfit, you walked out of your room and towards the kitchen. You could already smell the bacon sizzling and waffles being made. It caused an embarrassing grumble to sound from your stomach as you rounded the corner, but it was drowned out by your teammates shouting “happy birthday” in a boisterous cacophony.

“Happy Birthday, dove,” Loki whispered in your ear as he scooped you up in a hug, his godly strength making it easy to pick you up and spin you around.

“Thank you, Loki,” you giggled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

You received hugs from the rest of the Avengers as someone slid a plate piled high with breakfast foods in front of you. This time last year you’d still just been an intern at SHIELD. It hadn’t taken long for Tony to notice your skills and offer you a job at Stark Industries, a position you’ve been glad to have gotten more and more every day. Now here you were, who knows how many field missions later, a part of the team and surrounded by a beautiful chosen family. Not to mention a very caring, raven-haired boyfriend who treated you like royalty.

“This is perfect, guys. Thank you,” you said, beaming at the group.

“This is nothing,” Tony responded. “Wait until your party later.”

“A party, huh?” you parroted, stuffing a forkful of fruit in your mouth so no one could see your frown. “Just us, right?”

“Nope,” Tony informed. “A bunch of your old coworkers from SHIELD, all the people who work in the Tower, owners of businesses we outsource to, and probably some other groups I’m missing. Don’t look so down, it’ll be fun. And the best part is Loki planned it,” he finished with a wink at the god.

“Oh?” you questioned, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be great then.”

You changed the topic before someone could comment on how shocked and disingenuous you sounded. Not only did that not seem like something Loki would do, it also meant he didn’t know you as well as you thought he did. You didn’t want to be ungrateful, but large parties just weren’t really your thing. You much preferred a quiet day with your friends. But if your boyfriend planned it, you were sure you would enjoy it. Maybe it was like a reverse surprise party or something, and they told you it would be a crazy party when it would actually just be a fun little movie night. Loki always has a trick up his sleeve, you knew, and you were sure that whatever it was, you’d enjoy it.

Sadly, your certainty was gone as you pulled on your jeans that evening. Giving yourself a once-over in the mirror, you decided that you looked ready for a party, though on the inside you were anything but. A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and you went to open it, expecting Loki to be there to escort you. Instead, you were greeted with Wanda, Bucky, and Peter holding a plastic bag filled to the brim with neon props.

“Whatcha got there?” you asked your best friends, letting them into your room.

“Your accessories for the evening,” Wanda replied, placing a neon pink feather boa around your neck.

“You pick first!” Peter added, holding up two pairs of light-up shutter shades.

At least this part of your evening was fun. You’d been reduced to nothing but a laughing mess on the floor multiple times as you all figured out which accessories to wear. Finally, you ended up with the pink boa from Wanda, blue sunglasses Peter picked, a green fedora of your own choosing, and a bunch of glow stick bracelets that Bucky was amazed and obsessed with.

“We should probably get going,” you ventured, glancing at the clock. “Don’t want to be late.”

“Or we could just stay here,” Bucky offered. “I mean, do any of us really want to go?”

You all shifted your weight, seriously considering hiding in your room for the rest of the night. Deep down, you knew you would never actually do that, not after Loki put effort into planning it for you. Something about that still didn’t sit right with you, though.

“No. We should go.”

“Why? I mean, they invited so many random people that no one will notice if we’re not there.”

“Bucky,” Wanda hissed, throwing a pillow at his head. Sadly for her, his reflexes were too quick, and he caught it with a shrug of his shoulders. “People will notice if the guest of honor isn’t there.”

Before anyone could argue the point further, there was another knock, and this time it was Loki. He pecked your lips before taking in your goofy outfit.

“There you are, dove. I’ve been looking for you,” he said with a small chuckle.

“Don’t worry, we were just on our way,” you told him, noticing a few glow bracelets on his wrist. You added it to your mental list of odd things to happen on your birthday. “Come on, guys.”

“Actually, if you do not want-”

“There you are,” Tony greeted as he appeared around the corner. “You’re missing the party of the century.”

“You didn’t need to send a whole committee,” Wanda said, grabbing your wrist and pulling you out into the hall. “See, we’re halfway there already.”

Everyone crammed into the elevator, looking rather glum. Except for Tony, that is. He was blowing on a noisemaker as soon as the door opened. Not that you could hear it very well over the pounding music of the DJ.

“Uh, great party Mr. Loki,” Peter shouted over the noise, flashing a thumbs up before exiting the elevator with Wanda and Bucky.

“Yes, thank you spiderling,” Loki distractedly said, putting an arm out to stop you from leaving, too. “Dove, I’ve been trying to tell you all day-”

He was cut off once again by Tony, who was now at the front of the room and pointing towards you. There was a round of applause as he announced you as the special guest, and you awkwardly waved, feeling unsure of yourself in front of so many people. You were not exactly a social butterfly, and Loki knew that. You still couldn’t figure out why he had thrown you this party. And then there was the matter of that key from this morning. You patted the front pocket of your jeans to ensure it was still there. It was, but you had no idea how to use it. Maybe that’s what Loki’s been trying to tell you.

About half an hour later, he pulled you away, clearly too impatient to wait any longer to get his words out. You hadn’t even finished making the rounds, but then again you barely knew half the people there, anyway. They probably wouldn’t miss you, in that case. After all, it was more Tony’s party than yours. And that’s when it hit you.

“You didn’t actually plan that, did you?” you asked Loki as the elevator doors closed behind you.

“Took you long enough to figure it out, dove,” Loki said with a smirk. “But you are correct. It was Stark, not me.”

“But why did he give you the credit then?”

“He thought I did not know Midgardian birthday customs well enough,” Loki answered as his nose scrunched up in distaste. “ I suppose he thought he was doing me a favor. The one thing he forgot, though, is that I know you quite well.”

You exited onto the floor of the library and your boyfriend pulled you off to some hidden nook, proudly gesturing to a small key hole in the wall. You pulled out his present and looked at him inquisitively. One eager nod from Loki later, you were turning the key and greeted by a small clicking sound. A hidden door slid open and revealed a cozy room complete with your favorite foods, a couch laden with pillows and blankets, and a fire crackling in an ornate hearth.

“Loki!” you gasped, “It’s perfect, my love.”

“Only the best for you, dove.”

Then he brought you over to the cushions and, after making sure you were comfortable, began to hand feed you your favorite sweets. Once he was done with that, you snuggled into his side as he stroked your hair and placed a kiss to your temple. It was what you’d been longing for since you got out bed that morning.

“Happy Birthday,” he said to you later that evening after reading your favorite poems in that deep, melodic baritone of his voice.

“Thank you. This truly is everything I’ve ever wished for.”

“That is too bad. I have one more gift to give you, but if you are perfectly happy right now, perhaps you do not want it.”

“No,” you said, eyes wide with interest. “Now I have to know. Can I please have it, Loki?”

“Your wish is my command.”

Then he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, filled with passion and love that words would never be able to truly express. You melted in to him and reciprocated with just as much feeling. Now this, you thought, is one hell of a birthday gift. I really do have everything.

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infracti-angelus · 5 years

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Pale Fire, Chpt 1

PALE FIRE, a Lord of the Rings fanfiction

Pairing: Éomer and Lothíriel

Summary: Lothíriel wasn’t unacquainted with infatuation; after all, she was nearly twenty-one years old and (by Gondorian standards, at least) well past her prime. But while she was acquainted with infatuation and the whispers of attraction, this was entirely different. And it infuriated her. And when his line of sight but glanced over her, she felt heated from top of her hair to the base of her foot. No, not heated. Burning. Set aflame. She felt as if she were the swine roasted on the spit for tonight’s dinner.

Rating: M

Click here for chapter 2

Chapter 1: A Missive

A salty mist blew from the shore up to the balcony, whipping Lothíriel’s skirts and staining the silk with sea spray. On any other day she would have been upset because this was the last passably extravagant gown she owned, but her heart wasn’t in it. She felt as she were one of the gulls flying over the blue waves.

Only a short while before, a soldier rushed to the kitchens to inform her that a lone messenger from Minas Tirith had arrived wishing to deliver news. A fortnight had passed since the last missive from her father, Prince Imrahil, informing her of his intentions to ride to Minas Tirith to aid the Steward of Gondor. While his letter was warm, he spoke of the great danger he would face as he raced the gathered Shadow to her uncle.

Lothíriel had thanked the soldier for the news. She had tried to keep her paces even as she ascended from the kitchens to her rooms, but once she had passed from watching eyes she had broken into a run. Upon entering her quarters, she had stripped herself of her plain linen gown. She donned her last dress worthy of her station to receive the tidings of war, be it ill or not. If the news was good, she would look the lively princess of Dol Amroth they used to know long ago. If the news were ill, her appearance would reassure her people that they were in capable hands. Close to tears already, Lothíriel had chided herself as she left the room. She must remain brave for her people, no matter what she was told.

The messenger was Alric, who was apprenticed to his father Alden, the Royal Courier. She had helped look after Alric when he was a toddler, though now he was almost thirteen summers. His mother Rícah was the palace cook, a matronly woman who Lothíriel loved dearly. Rícah had stepped into the role of mother when Lothíriel’s own had died when she was eight summers.

He looked grave when she had entered Grand Hall and when he looked upon her face he burst out crying and ran to her, burying his face into the bodice of her gown. Lothíriel’s heart dropped into her stomach as she embraced him until the tears subsided.

Alric stepped back and used his sleeve to wipe snot, before assuming a brave face.

“Princess Lothíriel,” he croaked out, forcing himself into a stilted bow. “I come bearing news as the-” his voice waned and he took a steadying breath, “I come bearing news as the new Royal Courier from Prince Imrahil.”

“Oh, Alric!” Lothíriel couldn’t contain herself. Her emotions were at war within: sorrow for the loss of dear old Alden who always had a quick joke and a hard candy in his pocket, and restrained joy for news that her own father remained in this world with her.

Something caught Alric’s eyes behind Lothíriel, but he bravely continued on. “Prince Imrahil has entrusted me with sharing these glad tidings with you: Sauron has been overthrown and the War of the Ring has ended. Your father and brothers have all survived battle and-” he ran his arm across his eyes to catch fresh tears as they began to fall once more, “and a descendent of Elendil sits upon the throne of Gondor once more. Your father bids me tell you to make haste to the city of Minas Tirith for the coronation, so that you may be joined with your family. Here.” He shoved a letter into her hands before walking behind Lothíriel to join Rícah who had entered shortly after Alric had bowed and was now silently sobbing uncontrollably. She embraced him and their sorrow, while not dulled, was shared.

Lothíriel shook her head, dispersing the memories. She let her eyes trail out across the waters. A true blue reflected the sky. White foam hit rocks at the foot of the white sandstone walls of the palace. Gulls screeched and dove and emerged with fish clutched in their claws. A lone butterfly fluttered against the wind before disappearing from view. She stepped away from the balcony back into her quarters, away from the peace of the sea to the chaos inside. Her governess, Maren, frantically paced around the room while clutching the letter from Imrahil in her hand.

Maren was ranting, throwing gowns from the wardrobe into a pile on the bed. “Your father bids you leave as soon as a possible! To ‘make do with what you have’!”

Lothíriel gingerly sat on the settee next to the bed when Maren whirled around at her.

“You have absolutely nothing fit to wear at court, let alone for the first coronation Gondor has seen in eight hundred years!” Maren huffed.

“It’s actually eight hundred eighty-one years,” Lothíriel helpfully offered.

“Don’t you start with me, young lady!” Maren pointed her finger at her, causing Lothíriel to bite her bottom lip lest she remind Maren that such an action was hardly genteel. “All of your gowns look as if you are farmer’s daughter instead of a princess, or they are irredeemably stained from traipsing across the village—”

“If by traipsing, you mean dispensing food to the townspeople so they don’t starve to death as is my duty, than yes, I was—“

“Aha!” Maren exclaimed. She rushed out of the room before Lothíriel could get in a word edgewise. She was gone long enough to make Lothíriel wonder if she was supposed to have followed when Maren returned with servants lugging an old, heavy trunk, placing it in front of her with a dull thunk. A maidservant followed them with a rag, curtsied and dusted it off before being dismissed by Maren. The newly clean desk smelled like lemons grove south of the town. It was made of cedar and intricate wood carvings of waves and ships decorated the lid and the edges. The metal latch was shaped like the neck of a swan, with the nose fitting into a protruding ring to keep the lid closed. The chest was familiar to Lothíriel but was unclear to her how, like a distant memory. She reached out to touch it but was startled by Maren unceremoniously dumping all the dresses off the bed to the floor. Maren’s spindly fingers shifted the swan latch and lifted the lid.

“These used to be your mother’s,” Maren said, lifting up a gown and shaking it out. From the fabric, sprigs of lavender used to prevent insects dropped to the ground. She delicately placed it on the bed before reaching for the next one. “Now, while these are severely out of fashion by almost two decades, they are suited to your station and we can embellish them while we sail to Minas Tirith.”

Maren continued chattering about threads and ribbons and stitches but Lothíriel heard not a word. She reached out her hand and stroked the fabric of the nearest dress, smoothing out a pleat. For a moment, the scent of her dear Naneth floated around her before being lost forever. It made her heart ache. Her hand stilled when she noticed Maren’s eyes appraising her with a frown.

“You are much plumper than your mother ever was,” she announced to the room, before rifling through the trunk. Lothíriel flinched and wanted to argue. She wasn’t plump. She just wasn’t comparable to a twig used for kindling. Everyone this side of the Ered Minrais knew that her mother had been willowy. Maren pulled out a corset, which had been unpopular in court as long as her mother’s dresses. “Hopefully once we lace you into this, the dress will fit,” she said, pulling out a kirtle and an overdress. “You’ll have to wear it every day until we get there to get used to the shallow breathing, especially if you are to dance with any of the lords.” She arched her brow at Lothíriel. “Speaking of attracting the lords, when did you get so dark, child?”

Lothíriel glanced down at her arms and grimaced, trying to be thankful for her genetics even if it did get her into trouble with Maren. Maren was, to put politely, ancient. She had been Naneth’s governess. Naneth came from the coast of Harondor and had met Imrahil while he had been touring with the Dol Amroth navy. Maren had helped raise her ward’s children and often commented on the similarities between them.

Elphir had inherited their mother’s slenderness. Like Naneth, he had an uncanny ability to both read and command a room. Lothíriel often went to Elphir to ask for his honest opinion. His insight could never disappoint her and she admired his wisdom. How fortunate that the eldest son was born to fulfill his role of future Prince of Dol Amroth.

Erchirion had inherited Naneth’s ability to put anyone at ease, as well as her love of the sea. He was, in Lothíriel’s opinion, the best sailor out of the four of them (although Amrothos would protest if he heard that). Maren often told her that their mother was constantly causing disturbances in her childhood due to racing on the sea. Lothíriel had to guess that her wildness was part of what attracted her father. Her Naneth had the knack for being so easy-going that people who had never met her felt like they were life-long friends. Lothíriel was sure that these character traits were critical in winning the people of Dol Amroth’s favor, since her mother wasn’t exactly from the noblest of families.

Amrothos’ story-telling ability was just like their mother’s, although Ada said that the truth-stretching was unique only to him. Amrothos also inherited Naneth’s large eyes, which made him look entirely too innocent. Maren swore someday he would trick a woman into marrying him just by looking at her. She once said this in front of Amrothos and his facial expression had Lothíriel burst into giggles.

Lothíriel had inherited her mother’s hair. Lothíriel had dark hair like her father and brothers, but in the summer if she stayed out in the sun long enough, it developed a sheen of deep red. It always held a naturally relaxed curl which was envied at court. However, Lothíriel had also inherited her mother’s complexion. Her mother had, as far as Lothíriel could remember, stayed inside as much as possible. When forced to go outside, she had powdered herself to achieve a pale appearance. Lothíriel was forced into powdering her face every so often at Maren’s insistence. She knew Maren was only looking after her, but Gondorian standards of beauty did not taint the love Dol Amroth held for Imrahil’s bride. Lothíriel wished that she, too, could be accepted.

“Child, I won’t be able to hide you with powder,” Maren whispered, horrified. “You’ve not a light patch a skin anywhere.”

Lothíriel had to concede. In general, her skin was naturally darker than her mother’s. But when Lothíriel stayed outside, her naturally tanned skin turned positively golden.

“I’ve been following Ada’s orders, Maren, while everyone else is away. And I can’t do that while sitting in the palace embroidering.”

Maren sniffed in response before turning back towards the dresses. “Then we truly have our work cut out for us. We must improve the dresses or else I’m afraid you will remain unattached permanently, for who would want a princess when she looks like that!”

Click here for Chapter 2

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