#FCKIN PHENOMENAL!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lokisgoodgirl · 1 year ago

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There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

😩😩 @cleo-fox what the fuck is this. What the fuck is this... beautiful, sexy, drippingly gorgeous thing you have written for us all? Just...phenomenal. 🌟🌟🌟 This Loki has my everything.

The desire inside of you is catching fire

....fckin fabulous I cannot. You're incredible.

Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky.

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core.

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature.

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter.

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long.

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss. He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

#loki fic recs

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years ago

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At first this chapter broke my heart with his shock bracelets…but omg @lokiprompts I was grinning like a loon throughout the whole thing. Your characterisation of Loki is just WONDERFUL. I ADORE HIM I JUST WANNA ABSORB HIM 🥹🥹 when he takes the picture of himself I squealed with pure cute overload glee.

SEE? FCKIN ADORABLE. This series is amazing and I love the way YN is written. So compassionate and caring. Urgh this is just…phenomenal.

Appropriate - Chapter 3

"Broken Things"

Summary: Loki x Female reader; Loki is banished to Midgard and he has to live an average life as penance...and you, a social worker, is there to help him along the way. Rom Com vibes. Pinning; emotional edging until we can't take it anymore.

Chapter Summary: You provide necessary comfort to Loki...and you teach him how to use a cell phone. More of a reader perspective than Loki this time around.

Words. 4k (this story is coming easyyyyy). Other chapters on my tag list.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, Sad Loki, but otherwise no warnings.

Song to listen to while reading: Iris & Jasper

AN: I don't offer taglists anymore. Remember to reblog if you like a writer's work! Comments make my heart go pitter patter.

If one thing was true and absolute about you, is that you loved your job and you took it seriously. You had been a social worker for quite a while, almost ten years in total, with most of it in mental health and most recently at the local hospital. Your growing expertise working with enhanced individuals, specifically children, gave you some notoriety that filled your chest with pride. Each child you saw typically had some form of trauma as one usually does when they are enhanced in some way. Living an enhanced life wasn’t easy, especially as a child, and majority of their parents….well, they didn’t know what to do with their own children. Many didn’t have parents or were struggling with the damage they caused due to their uncontrolled abilities. So, they came to you to be connected to the right resources – either Shield or Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. It was your life’s purpose, and you wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that.

Even if that meant working for the Avengers as part of your job. Funding was low for your program, and of course the United States government wanted a slice of the ‘enhanced children program’, but thankfully Tony Stark stepped in. Something about not wanting a repeat of the Sokovia Accords. In exchange for fully funding your program, you would work part time with the Avengers, providing life skills for the ‘Popsicles and Aliens’ and overall care and resource management for the hero squad. Your work with the Avengers was a direct link to your funding source and that meant certain professional parameters as dictated by Tony himself. None of his requests were outlandish and they fit your professional standard anyways, such as no fraternizing with your clients.

So, when you found yourself outside of Loki’s apartment to take him clothes shopping, you struggled to not let his sleepy, disheveled appearance warm your heart too much. Frankly, he was adorable, but you would never let anyone know that. Especially, not him.

“Are you ready to go shopping, Loki?” You asked with a bright smile, adjusting the bag you had slung over your shoulder. Shopping days were your favorite. Getting paid to go shop and spend someone else’s’ money? What a dream! And Tony’s budget, or lack thereof, when it comes to the Avenger’s made it especially fun. From what you saw of Loki’s apartment and his clothing situation, he would need every penny.

He smiled down at you, and you tried to ignore how butterflies fluttered in your stomach, “I am ready for you, Darling.” The sultry purr of his voice was a cute contrast to how he just frantically fixed his crazy curls in front of you. Was the flirtation a mask he wore? To hide his insecurities? You were beginning to think so.

“Well, unfortunately Loki, you will have to get changed. You can’t wear your leathers out while we are shopping since we have to keep a low profile. I think there was some clothes for you in your closet?”

Loki’s eyes went wide, “You mean those atrocious rags?! No, I am not wearing those.” He crossed his arms across his broad chest, and it reminded you of a bratty, stubborn child. A grin spread across your face.

“Okay! No problem. We don’t have to go shopping today. I can contact Thor about getting some things from Asgard for you, but I think it will take a couple of weeks due to his mission schedule. Have a nice day, Loki!” You turned on your heel and promptly left….slowly counting in your mind…3….2…1

“No-now, hang on a minute!” Loki was running after you, just as you expected. You turned to him and flashed him a smile, “I will wear your tragic Midgardian garments if that means I can leave.”

“Wonderful! I will wait outside for you.”

Loki disappeared for a while, his groaning and whining being loud enough to hear from the ajar apartment door your stood by. You covered your mouth to stifle your giggles. He truly was like a giant brat, but it tickled a part of you that you thought you had lost to the great cause of ‘professionalism’. But you had to quickly school your expression when Loki re-emerged from his apartment. The best way you could describe his outfit was simply….tragic.

The once refined prince who only adorned himself in the finest of fabrics was wearing baggy, black sweatpants. They tapered in at his calves since they were way too short for his long legs. The draw strings were tied tight around his waist, because somehow the pants were simultaneously too short and too big. The fabric bunched around his pelvis and thighs. It gave his once very round, peachy bottom a look that screamed ‘geriatric diaper’. The top certainly wasn’t any better.

His upper body was covered with a sweatshirt. It, too, was black, and the front showcased three wolves in various stages of running and howling. Behind them was a glowing, full moon that served as the perfect background for the fantasy garment. Loki looked miserable, fidgeting with the garments until finally decided on rolling up the long sleeves of his sweatshirt to expose muscular forearms.

“I look ridiculous.” Loki grumbled and you gave him a sympathetic pat on his bicep. The muscles felt good under your fingers, and you could have sworn that you felt him flex. Then, you noticed that he had taken the time to fix up his hair too and you had to suppress your frown. You enjoyed his wild curls.

“You look great, Loki. Let’s get going, okay?” Just as you began to walk towards the elevator, again having a Norse God in tow, you saw the marks on his wrist in your peripheral. You halted and without even thinking, you grabbed his hands in yours and inspected the spherical burns that laid just below his bangles.

“Loki! What happened?” You felt him try to pull his hands away from you, but you held on tight. Even with the dampeners, he was much stronger than you, and so he could easily pull completely away from you should he want to. But something about your reassuring and caring grip was enough for him to relent to your touch.

“There was a...problem with the tiny oven and I received a shock from these wonderful accessories.” Loki’s eyes were looking everywhere, but at you and he looked…embarrassed? It broke your heart to see him like this. No matter what he did to the damn appliance, it didn’t warrant a punishment not even fit for an animal. It was inhumane! Only through the slight steeling of your eyes did you show any displeasure.

You flipped his hands, so his palms faced the ceiling. The soft pads of your thumbs rubbed the tense flesh of his hands. His skin felt cold, and there was a slight tremble to his body, but you didn’t acknowledge it out loud. Instead, you tried to soothe him with comforting strokes.

“Are you in pain? Would you like to go to the Med Bay?” Overall, the wound did not look very concerning, but the red and angry welts that contrasted against his pale skin was enough to provoke the question. You tore your eyes away from his injury, and up at him to find him already looking intently at you. The crystal blues of his eyes that were sleepy just a few moments ago, now looked glassy and filled with unspoken emotion.

“No,” His voice came out shaky, and it made your heart clench, “It has healed quite a lot since yesterd-“

You cut him off immediately, “You had this since yesterday?! Did anyone come to check on you?” The tone of your voice unintentionally became harsher the more you thought of how he had to sit with this pain for almost twenty-four hours. It made Loki flinch, and you instantly regretted it.

“I am not mad at you, Loki,” You clarified, still stroking his hands that still laid in yours, “I just want to know what happened.”

Loki let out a shuddered exhale, before going into all the details of yesterday. The soup can. The microwave. Falling asleep and the explosion. The Shield Agents and how the bangles shocked him. How Tony and Thor knew, and did offer to bring him to the Med Bay, but he declined. Tears were welling more visibly in the dark princes’ eyes, and each little sniffle from the towering god told you how hard he was willing them to keep from falling. By the end of his tale, he was looking at his shoes, a pair of old sneakers that had seen better days.

“Look at me, Loki,” you gently ordered, and he instantly complied. The sorrowful look on his face broke your heart, “If anything like this happens again, I want you to call me. It doesn’t matter the time of day or what is going on. I want you to call me. Immediately.”

Each of your words were spoken fervently and punctuated with gentle squeezes of his hands, hoping to convey your sadness and conviction to help.

“I would love to, Darling,” A watery chuckle bubbled from his chest, “but I do not have one of those….” His eyes turned to the ceiling, as if the words he was searching for were up there, “Um, one of those small communication devices, you mortals have.”

“A cell phone?” You clarified, and he smiled down at you. The sight was so welcoming, you found yourself mirroring his happy expression back to him.

Loki bit his lip, and his calloused thumbs began caressing your soft skin in return, “Yes, one of those.”

Feeling him reciprocate your tender caresses set off alarm bells in your head. This felt like crossing a line from a professional soothing her client to something much more…intimate. You retracted your hands from his, and you saw the frown that appeared on his already somber face. It made you feel a twinge of guilt, but you had to stay focused.

“If you are okay with still going shopping, I would like to take a small detour to my office. I have a cell phone there I could give you.”

He nodded his head and followed behind you, again making your way towards the elevator and entering together. You pressed the button of floor forty-three and stepped back as the elevator quietly whirred and began its decent from Loki’s higher floor. While you were just getting to know Loki, you could tell that he was being uncharacteristically quiet. He held his hands behind his back, his chest puffed out, but his head down and his eyes focused on the floor. The god who once commanded a city to kneel, looked like a kicked dog.

“You know, you can visit me in my office if you ever need anything. I am only here part time, and if I am here, I tend to be working with one of the Avengers….” You sighed, “I guess that isn’t too often, is it?”

The corner of his lip twitched upward, just a bit and you took it as a massive win, “No, I suppose not, but I appreciate the invitation nonetheless.”

The elevator dinged and Loki motioned for you to step off first. You took a sharp right off the elevator and you, and the god found yourselves in a hallway lined with offices. Loki took notice of the various plaques and titles ranging from public relations to quality control, until finally you reached your office, room twenty-one. You twisted around the bag that was still slung over your shoulder and started to dig through it, looking for your keys. Having a heart of gold and caring for others came easy for you, but staying organized? That skill clearly missed you. You started to dig more aggressively, instantly regretting how you decided to through your whole life in this bag. With each clang of various items in your bag, you silently swore to yourself that you will change. That you will take time when you get home to properly organize our life. You knew you wouldn’t, but it was a sweet promise to yourself either way.

You got so frustrated that you crouched down on the floor and unceremoniously dumped the contents of the bag on the carpet that lined the hallway. Of course, it was at that moment that one of your co-workers passed by your embarrassing display. The shrill sound of Alice from Public Relations gave her away without you having to even look. Honestly, you couldn’t stand that woman.

“Lost your keys again, eh, Y/N?”

You groaned, “It appears so.” You tried to ignore the fact that Loki was hovering above you, hands in his sweatpants pockets and looking everywhere than down at you. The lack of his audience was appreciated.

“Are you still bringing in your incredible cheesecake tomorrow, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes, “Not if I can’t find my keys, Alice.” The professional exterior waning and giving way to obvious annoyance. Something about this woman just grinds your gears and you were finding that you didn’t care if Loki saw it.

Suddenly, your keys appeared in front of your face. You turned your head to see that Loki was now crouching next to you and had easily plucked out the keys from your dumped chaos and presented them to you. His face held no judgement, if anything it reflected a tenderness that made your heart pound in your chest.

“Thank you,” You whispered. He just nodded at you as you scooped everything back into your bag, lying to yourself that you will deal with the task of organizing it later. Both of you stood and with a jingle of keys, you opened your office and stepped inside. You didn’t bother saying goodbye to Alice before you closed your door behind you.

You made quick work of looking around your office for the cell phones you keep for clients for situations such as this. While you looked around your office that looked quite like the state of your bag, Loki took the liberty to look around. There were two very generous south facing windows and the whole line of glass was covered with various plants of sizes and types. So, much so that your coworkers always joked about the ‘jungle’ you kept in your office. But you didn’t mind it, they brought you peace and you liked watching them grow. The centerpiece was your prized pothos, a plant that you had for almost a decade and its vines and leaves touched the floor. Awards and framed recognitions graced one of your other walls, a proud display of your hard work and dedication to your field. In between your awards, was artwork from local artists. Some abstract paintings you bought at a street fair, a photograph you purchased on vacation, and wall sculptures that made you think of nature were a few of the unique pieces of your collection.

“I am sorry about the tiny oven, Y/N.” Loki said, breaking the silence that had come between you two as you quested for the cell phone. You paused your search and turned to him, who was intently looking at one of your framed degrees.

“What do you mean?”

He turned to you, a ‘kicked dog’ expression once again on his face, “It was destroyed due to my foolish actions, after you were so kind to educate me. I sincerely apolo-”.

As quick as your short legs could take you, you crossed your office and stopped in front of him, essentially cutting him off.

“Listen, Loki. Do not apologize to me. Mistakes happy and I understand that.” You found yourself reaching for his hand again but decided against it. The hand felt twitchy by your said, “But that is just a thing, Loki. Things can be replaced. You are more important than a thing and I am just glad that you are safe, okay?”

He nodded, letting his somber expression to fade away and give way to a comfortable quiet again. For a while, all you heard were the rustling of papers as you continued looking for the cellphone.

“So…you are quite successful, love plants,” Loki chuckled, breaking the silence. His finger gently toyed with a leaf of a spider plant that sat elegantly in its ‘grow dammit’ pot, “Really love plants and you have an eye for art.”

He turned to you with a quirky, surprised expression, “And apparently, you’re an amazing baker.”

You whipped around with a wide grin, the prize cell phone finally in your grip, “Don’t tell anyone, but that woman doesn’t deserve my cheesecake. I plan on conveniently forgetting.”

He laughed again and you noticed that the tension and sadness that consumed him for the better part of the morning had started to dissipate, “Your secret is safe with me, Darling.”

Ripping open the box, you pulled out an old flip phone. The Avengers always had a stash of burner phones for missions, and thankfully you were able to get a bit of that stash to help some of your clients who were lacking. Unfortunately, Tony made it very clear that Loki was not to get any kind of smartphone despite your pleas. It made your job a whole lot easier if your client could learn how to do their own research. The goal was independence, and Tony was hindering that and it frustrated you to no end.

Loki’s eyes were locked on you as you powered the phone up. You pressed a few buttons and then extended your arm, holding the phone up and flashing a bright smile. The god didn’t say a word as he watched your every move, but the confusion was evident on his face. You inspected the photo you took of yourself on his new phone and hummed, deeming it acceptable and handing it to the god.

“This is your phone. Your phone number is here,” You pointed to the nine-digit number that was labeled on the back of the phone, “This is how you can call me. You press the green button to initiate the call.” You demonstrated for him and a small, pixelated photo of yourself appeared on the tiny screen along with your name. A tender smile graced Loki’s lips at the sight of your happy face. Behind you, a Fleetwood Mac melody echoed in your bag from your work cellphone.

“That’s you calling me. I will be sure to add your number, so I know it’s you calling.” You went through a few more basic things including how to take a photo, and his camera roll that had you as its first picture.

“Shouldn’t I grace your communication device with an image of myself as well? If that is customary for Midgardians?”

This was an unexpected quandary. There was a clear, professional line you did not like to cross, but you also did not see the hurt of having Loki’s face on your work cell phone. You turned and dug again into your bag. Finding your cell phone went a lot easier than finding your keys. Since it was a smart phone, it was a bit more complicated and so you set it up the camera and told him what button to push.

His large hands took the device from yours, fingers brushing in the exchange. Loki modeled your behavior from earlier and held out the camera in front of him, before furrowing his brows and deciding that a placement in front of your hanging spider plant was the better option. A bright, award-winning smile stretched across his face, and you couldn’t help but smile, too, at his joy. He pressed the button and took the photo.

His picture was still on your screen when he handed the phone back to you. Now that it was back in your hands, you were able to take a better look at it. With the angle that Loki took the photo, it looked like the spider plant spread out from his head like a crown of fresh greenery. The contrast of green against his black tresses making you grin.The image of the wolves howling to the full moon on his chest, just slightly out of frame, but enough of a reminder that it was there.

It was perfect. But the sight of Loki’s joy stirred something inside of you.

“If you don’t mind, Loki, I must make a quick phone call and then we can head to the store. Would you mind waiting outside? It will just be a few moments.”

Loki frowned but nodded at your request and let himself out of your office, closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door latched behind your client, you angrily pushed on the screen of your phone and pulled up a number from your contact list. You worried your lip between your teeth and your foot started to tap anxiously on the floor as the anger that you suppressed started to bubble back up.

“What’s up, Y/N?” Tony’s voice rang through your phone. He sounded preoccupied, but you didn’t care. You were about to unleash hell.

Before you even started, your eyes flitted to your closed office door, acutely aware that Loki was likely standing on the other side of it. You whisper screamed, “How can you put a shocking mechanism in Loki’s dampeners?!”

You could practically hear the eyeroll on the other side of the line, “We need to make sure he doesn’t do anything while he is here. Don’t forget that he tried to take over New-“

“He was mind controlled!” You snapped; the volume of your voice a bit louder than you had intended. You looked back at the door, half expecting it to be opened by Loki since you clearly talking about him. The door remained closed, and you went back to scolding your semi-boss with an aggressive whisper.

“He was mind controlled and you know it! Even so, this is no way to treat a person, no matter what he has done. I am pretty sure you are committing a slew of human right’s violations – AH, and don’t get into how he isn’t human. I don’t care. It isn’t right!”

Tony tried to interject, but you refused, your words flying out of your mouth without fully processing them, “I fully expect that feature to be removed from those damn bracelets immediately.”

The billionaire’s laugh rang in your ear, “And what if I don’t?”

“Then I will quit.” At this point, you had begun to pace your office, your emotions grabbing the steering wheel of the phone call and fully taking over. You were always very protective of your clients, but something about Loki brought out a new feral beast ready to rip out throats. Damn the costs!

There was a beat of silence, before Tony continued. Every word he spoke was slow, as if he was choosing his words carefully, “So, you will risk losing funding for your Enhanced Children’s program for a war criminal? That’s what you’re going with?”

“No! It is you who is risking the world knowing that Stark Industries, and by proxy The Avengers, is committing human rights violations and is pulling funding for a vital children’s program to prevent that information from being leaked out,” You rushed out in one breath, “What about the children, Tony? Tsk, Angelia Jolie would disapprove.”

Tony groaned, and you smirked. You got him. “If I do this, then you will be responsible for him, you understand? You will vouch for him?”

“I will vouch for him.”

“Fine. This must go through a few other levels first, but I will do all that I can to make it happen.” His tone was sincere, and you knew his blunt personality wouldn’t care enough to spare your feelings and lie. It was enough, for now. You thanked Tony and hung up the phone. The thumping of your heart was still echoing in your ears, finally processing the risk you took just now. You gave yourself a much-needed moment to collect your thoughts and emotions and found yourself staring again at the back of your office door. Now, you were responsible for Loki. Was that the right choice? Would he let you down? You smiled. No, he wouldn’t.

After a long exhale and grabbing your bag, you opened your office door to see Loki jump away, looking like the cat caught with the canary. For a moment you debated if you wanted to ask him how much her heard, before ultimately deciding against it. Instead, you smiled at him, and he beamed right back at you, like he was positively delighted to be standing outside your office with his wolf sweatshirt.

“Are you ready to go, Loki?”

“Lead the way, Darling.”

#loki fic recs #loki x reader

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