This is a fill done for this prompt, still a work-in-progress:
Something disables Loki's magic, leaving him akin to a normal human.
Problem is, he's been so entrenched in his magic for so long that he almost can't physically function without it. He goes to his brother for help, and none of them are buying it, but instead try to find out what the trickster god is planning (eg: Fighting him as if he were a god, remarking that gee, he's really taking this act to the hilt when they beat the snot out of him, etc etc. Except Steve because Goddamn Captain America does not swing that way) . H/C when the truth outs?
Option: I'm calling this optional because Mpreg usually gets sniffed at, but oh my god, so many kittens and puppies and rainbows and dancing girls/boys/llamas/whatever floats your boat if Loki is pregnant and the*pregnancy* causes his loss of magic, but he tries to hide it due to Odin the Serial Baby Snatcher.
because, dammit, there's something about broken, helpless hiddles!Loki that is just so hummninamhumina. Add mpreg on top? *dies* I know, I'm a bad bad person.
I really should never have found norsekink. I believe it shall eat my entire life from here to eternity. DAMMIT NORSEKINK WHY ARE YOU SO ADDICTIVE?
…
"I've come in peace to ask for my brother's aid."
Loki couldn't blame them all for gaping at him. Really, were the roles reversed, he could think of all kinds of ways to take advantage of a situation like this.
He was counting on Thor's mortal friends having a better acquaintance with honor than he did.
"I need Thor's help," he repeated when the three Avengers just stared at him like he was a freak at the carnival. Well, again, Loki could understand that–and they only knew the half of it–but despite the fact that he was used to such looks, it didn't make receiving them any more fun. "I will wait out here while you notify him that I'm here," he added, hinting strongly when they remained frozen.
That seemed to break Nick Fury out of his stasis. "Like hell you will. I'm not taking a chance on you vanishing again."
Loki sighed as the Avengers' imposing commander grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. "Really, is this necessary, Colonel?" he asked dryly as he was dragged inside with, in his opinion, far more jerking and shoving than was called for. "I came here of my own free will. Do you think I would vanish on you so quickly?"
"You might do anything," Black Widow growled, seizing his other arm and twisting it up behind his back when Captain America didn't step forward to do so. "This isn't the first time you've shown up here. Your reception is entirely of your own doing."
Loki shrugged, then winced as his hand was shoved forcefully higher. This was the trouble with the Avengers, he mused as he was frogmarched through the mansion. They took things so seriously. What these Midgardian superheroes failed to understand was that all of his hijinks were merely high-spirits, only a bit of fun. A simple, playful diversion for them all with no malice at heart.
Well, most of it. Some of it, anyway. The ice-cream thing, at the very least.
"Please, Agent Romanoff, Colonel Fury, I'm rather attached to my arms and I'd like them to continue being attached to me," Loki said as the pair steered him roughly down to the basement where he knew from personal experience the cells were located. "Thor might object if you damage me before he gets to hear me beg so prettily for his help."
"Ease up, okay?" Steve Rogers finally weighed in. "Come on, guys, he's not even fighting."
Neither relaxed their grips one bit. "Last time we fought, he broke my favorite dagger," Natasha snarled. "I think he owes me for that."
"I'd be happy to replace it for you," Loki offered, safe enough in knowing she'd never take him up on such an offer. And remembering that battle which had ended with her weapon in pieces before him and his own knife in her leg, he couldn't resist adding, "I, too, know the value of a good blade."
She hissed like a cat and Fury tightened his own hold. "In here," he said when they reached an open door. The command was unnecessary as he and Romanoff shoved Loki inside and slammed the door.
"I do trust you'll notify my brother I'm here," Loki called, hearing them walk away. They'd leave him to stew for a while, of course–he knew the drill. "Until then, I'm sure I'll be quite comfortable here. Thank you for the hospitality."
Alone now, Loki surveyed the room and sighed again. The one-way mirror on the far wall reflected the barren room–severe steel table, two matching chairs, blank white walls, and one God of Mischief. He ignored the straight-backed chairs and laid down on his stomach across the table instead–thankfully he could still lie on his stomach. In a perfect world, he would've been cushioned on a feather mattress with some soothing ointments as well, but Loki's world had never been anything near perfect. At least his back was a bit less agonizing in this position.
As comfortable as he was going to get, Loki laced his fingers beneath his cheek, closed his eyes and waited for Thor.
This was going to be… interesting.
To say the least.