#Loki

[vbecker10]

Omg, could you please do a Loki story where Jotuns are basically space penguins, so now Loki has a crush on you and is frantically and meticulously looking for the perfect pebble to give you while Thor just watches and laughs.

The Pebble and the Frost Giant

Pairing: Loki x female reader (y/n)

Summary: Loki is trying to deny his feelings for you so he doesn't ruin your friendship but when he passes an area filled with pebbles and small rocks, he's unable to resist the urge to bring one back for you and tell you he loves you.

A/N: OMG! This is the cutest ask ever, I literally had to write it the second I got it. Most of the time it takes a week or so for me to get an idea from an ask but this one was pretty instant. Thank you so much for sending this, I really hope you like it! 💚

Also, I absolutely love the movie The Pebble and the Penguin! If anyone hasn't seen it, you should! 🐧

"Come on brother," Thor pats Loki on the knee and the younger prince looks up from his book in annoyance.

"I'm not going," Loki resumes reading as if Thor isn't there.

The older Asgardian sighs, "We've got at least an hour until the jet takes off. Let's go down by the water."

"I'm perfectly fine here," he licks his finger before flipping the page. Thor grins and pulls the book from his brother's grasp. "Give it back you oaf!"

"Just twenty minutes," Thor holds the book over his head.

"This trick worked much better when we were children and you towered over me," the younger prince easily reaches up to grip the book.

Before Loki can pull it free from his brother's grasp, Thor yanks it back and tosses it to the ground at their feet. "This is uncalled for," Loki bends to pick up the book but suddenly falls back, landing hard on the jet floor with a grunt.

"Is there a problem?" Thor asks with a smirk.

"No," Loki looks down at Mjolnir as it rests on top of his book. He stands, flicking his hand to produce a second book from his pocket dimension in a haze of green smoke. "I'll just read this-"

Thor chuckles as he pulls the book free from Loki a second time.

"Seriously?" The God of Mischief asks with a defeated sigh.

"Twenty minutes on the beach and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night," Thor offers.

"For the rest of the week," Loki counters.

"Fine," the God of Thunder agrees and Loki's second book vanishes as the two brothers step out of the jet.

Thor and Loki walk down by the water in silence, the older Asgardian's eyes drift up towards the clouds floating by while Loki scans the beach in boredom. He looks down to check his watch when he's suddenly distracted by a small pile of tide polished stones ahead of him. Without thinking, he leaves his brother's side and begins walking towards them.

"Where are you going?" Thor asks but Loki doesn't answer. He's too focused on the scattered rocks in front of him.

He kneels down, picking up a stone from the top of the pile, looking at it closely then tossing it to the side. "No," Loki mumbles to himself as he picks up a second then a third rock. "No," he shakes his head as he examines each for a few seconds.

"Loki," Thor comes closer, standing over his younger brother as he discards a handful of stones. Without a word, Loki gets up and moves to a nearby pile. "Okay seriously, what are you doing?"

"None of these are good," Loki answers, dusting his sand covered hands on his pants.

"They're rocks," Thor chuckles, amused by his brother's sudden obsession.

"Yes but there has to be one here that's good enough," Loki says. "Not just good, no, it needs to be perfect," he adds in a quieter tone.

"You're not making any sense," he follows the younger prince to yet another pile. "Perfect for what?"

"For who," Loki responds vaguely.

Thor thinks as he follows his brother along the beach, trying figure out who Loki is referring to. To say he has few friends in an understatement, there's really only one person who even comes to mind. "Do you mean Y/N?" Thor asks.

Loki nods, his attention stolen away by an almost perfect stone. Almost isn't good enough though, he thinks as he tosses it towards the water in frustration.

"Why do you need to find one for N/N?" Thor asks as Loki sits on the sand and picks up a handful of rocks, throwing each away one at a time. "Does she collect rocks? I've heard some Midgardians do that. I wonder if that's more interesting than collecting stamps like Jane does?"

Loki doesn't answer this time, too lost in what he's doing, what he needs to do. I have to find it, he thinks. I don't have time for Thor and his ridiculous line of questions. It doesn't matter if he understands why, Norns I don't even understand why but that doesn't matter now. All that matters is finding Y/N the perfect stone. It can't be too big or too small, the size of her palm should work. It can't be broken, no cracked edges or holes, that won't do either. It needs to be perfect because- his frantic thoughts are cut off by his brother shouting.

"Norns! I know what you're doing," he stands over his brother who shifts to stay out of his shadow.

"I doubt that," Loki says without looking up from the stones in his hand. Because I don't know what I'm doing, he thinks.

"You're in love with Y/N," the older god announces when Loki gets up again to continue down the beach.

"Don't be absurd," Loki denies the truth he hides from everyone including you as he kneels down and begins the process of picking up each stone in the new pile one at a time.

"You are!" Thor laughs excitedly. This is a Jotun thing."

"What Jotun thing?" Loki looks up at his brother.

"I know this! I read about it when we were younger," Thor says then sighs as he thinks. "I can't remember the technical term for it but when Jotun men are in love, they bring their potential partner a stone as like a proposal."

"What?" Loki asks as he sits in the sand and looks up at his brother. He had never heard of this tradition before now but he also knows very little about his Jotun heritage. When he was a child, frost giants scared him terribly so he never studied them. Now that he knows the truth, he is almost too afraid to learn what horrid tales about them were accurate and which were only made up stories.

"Penguins on Midgard do it too," Thor continues excitedly as he remembers what he read centuries ago. "Ahh! Pebbling, that's what they call it. Your pebbling, you can't help it is like an instinct Jotun's have."

"That's ridiculous Thor. I'm not pebbling, or whatever you want to call it, because I'm not in love with-" Loki tries to argue with his brother but the words die as he finally finds it. The perfect stone for the most perfect woman on Midgard, Loki thinks as he turns it over in his hand. Norns help me, my brother is right and I'm not sure I'll be able to hide my feelings for her any longer.

Loki opens your office door after knocking and you get up from your desk as soon as he steps inside. "Hi," you greet him happily, meeting him in the middle of the room. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," he smiles when you wrap your arms around him. "I'm glad to be back," Loki says but what he really means is that he's glad to be back with you.

You rest your head on his chest and his hands settle on your back, holding you tightly to him. You could stay in his arms forever and sometimes you think Loki might let you. He doesn't let go first, he never does.

"You know you spoil me with these hugs," you tell him and he chuckles. "You're going to make me think I'm special cause I'm the only person that gets them."

He rubs your back lightly with one hand, "You are special."

You blush and slowly drop your arms, taking a step away from him. You don't want to let go but if he keeps talking like that, you're afraid you'll do something stupid like kiss him.

Loki's heart pounds in his chest when he catches a glimpse of your blush despite your best efforts to hide it. "I have something for you," he says, clearing his throat.

"You do? You didn't have to do that," you tell him as a smile spreads across your face. You can't help but feel excited by the idea that Loki thought of you while he was away. He never brought anything back for you before.

"It's nothing big," he says with a shrug, "It's actually probably stupid." This was a bad idea, he thinks. How could I possibly think she would accept a silly rock and suddenly be mine? I never should have listened to my idiot brother. Loki puts his hand in his coat pocket, running his thumb over the flat edge anxiously.

"I'm sure it's not stupid," you tell him, putting your hand on his arm. "What is it?"

He sighs and you can tell he's nervous which you find both adorable and interesting. You've never seen him act so unsure of himself and it really makes you want to hug him again.

He pulls a palm sized flat stone out of his pocket. It's perfectly circular and a pale gray with a hint of a blue when it catches the light. "I found it on the beach while we were waiting for the jet," he tries to steady his hand when you take it. He knows it's just a simple rock but the Jotun part of him is truly desperate for you to accept it, to accept him.

You smile and take it from him, bringing it close so you can study the smooth stone, "Loki it's so pretty."

"Really?" he asks in disbelief.

"Yeah," you nod quickly, your eyes still on the gift as you walk over to the window and turn it on the light. "Oh, look! it sparkles in the sun," you giggle.

He breaths a sigh of relief and walks over to you. "You like it?"

"I love it," you reach up and kiss the god's cheek lightly without thinking. "I'm sorry," you apologize quickly but when you look up at Loki you're completely surprised by his reaction.

His cheeks redden and he smiles. "It's quite alright," he tells you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You giggle, suddenly feeling even more nervous than you would have if Loki had seemed uncomfortable with the kiss and take a step away from him. Turning your back to him, you move to your desk but you can feel him following you, "I'm gonna keep it right here so I can see it when I miss you." You place the stone in between a photo of your friends and a mug your nephew made you.

"You miss me?" he asks.

"Yeah... when you're away on missions," you suddenly worry this conversation is going to lead to you accidentally telling your friend you love him if you don't figure out how to keep your mouth shut.

"I miss you when I'm gone too," Loki moves a bit closer to you until he's right behind you.

You turn to face him again, "Really?" You can't help but not believe him. For months you've been hoping he might care for you the way you care for him but its been so difficult to get past all of his walls.

He nods, "Always Y/N. The second the jet takes off, I start counting down the minutes until I can see you again."

Now it's your turn to blush deeply when he reaches out to take your hand. When you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, you suddenly get enough to courage to open up a bit more. "I try to plan my meetings around when I know you'll be back," you tell him. "This way I'm free to see you as soon as your home."

He chuckles and cups your cheek, "I would storm in here even if you were in a meeting with Fury just for one of your hugs."

You giggle knowing he's not lying.

"Y/N," he says, "Since we're being honest, I need to tell you one more thing." You bite your lip but the way he smiles relaxes you instantly. "I want to be more than just your friend, I want to take you on a date." I want you to be mine because I love you, he almost adds but he doesn't want to scare you away.

You're unable to form any words at first, looking up at Loki nodding which causes him to laugh a little nervously. "I'm not sure if that's a yes," he says.

"Yes!" you finally find your words but then they flow a little too freely. "I love y-" you stop and correct yourself hoping he won't notice your slip. "I would love to go out with you."

He strokes your cheek gently, moving closer to you as he puts his other hand on your lower back. "That's not what you were going to say," he smirks, the confident Loki you know returning swiftly.

You shake your head and bite your lip, suddenly losing your nerve.

"Fine, I'll go first," his lips are inches from yours. "I am hopelessly in love with you darling."

As soon as the words leave Loki's lips, you press your lips to his, closing your eyes and gripping the fabric on the back of his jacket. He kisses you back and when you finally break the kiss and chuckles, kissing your nose lightly. "Go on, say it," he smiles, holding you close.

You giggle, "I love you too, Loki."

A few weeks later, you walk with Natasha and Wanda through Central Park on the way back from lunch. You nod as you listen to Wanda complain about Tony, agreeing with her when you accidentally kick a rock on the path in front of you. You stop to take a look at it and smile.

"What are you doing?" Nat asks as you bend down for a closer look.

"I don't know, I just thought this one looked cool," you tell them.

"The rock?" Wanda asks.

"Yeah," you pick it up and turn it over in your hand. It's not very large but the rough stone is heart shaped and such a deep gray it's almost black. "I think Loki might like it."

"You two are so weird," Nat laughs.

You smile and put it in your pocket, "That's why we're such a cute couple."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[megalomari]

thank you Marvel Rivals devs for bringing back the President Loki skin, can we have a Formal Suit for Jeff too? 🙏 🦈

:9

[avengerscompound]

Tom Hiddleston as Loki & Jeremy Renner as Clint Barton

The Avengers

[textsfromthetva]

Loki + tumblr [284/?]

[makomoto-chan]

first time drawing him :⁠-⁠D

[donaweasley]

Ooh! The swag!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Darling, over here!" The woman chimes again. 

You look over at the golden-haired goddess-like figure. Older but not weathered for it. A woman of luxury and privilege. Just another echelon of Laufeyson’s lifestyle you'll never attain. 

"Mother," he tilts his head slightly, his cheek ticking. "I wasn't expecting you hear on a Tuesday." 

"Oh, I came to town to meet your Aunt Fulla. She was seeing a specialist and I thought it was a perfect convenience," the blond woman struts past her table.

Another, with a highlighted bob and not much years’ difference turns to smile over her shoulder. Her lips have that puffiness you see on that video app. You stand aside, hoping that you might just fade away. 

The first blonde, who he proclaimed as his mother, nears and frames his face before kissing his cheek. You see the twitch of agitation in his fingers. You will deal with that later, you're sure. 

"But forgive me, am I interrupting?" She lets him go and looks at you. "Oh my, aren't you a pretty thing?" 

She surprises you with a kiss as well. You feel the smudge of her lipstick on her cheek. You muster a smile. The expression still feels strange to you. 

"Loki," the other woman greets kindly as she stands. 

"Aunt Fulla," he utters. 

"Please, won't you join us? It's such a splendid coincidence to see you," she claps her hands then quickly flags down a man in black slacks and a pressed white shirt, "excuse me, dear, would it be too much for us to put our tables together?" 

The server smiles, better than you can, "of course, Mrs. Odinson." 

Oh, she's known here. Wonderful. All these people belong and you are the ugly duckling of the bunch. 

Loki gestures to you. He assists the server in sliding over another table. 

"Darling," the woman with the bob offers her hand as you sit next to her, "Fulla, but Loki always called me FooFoo." 

"As a child," He sits across from you. 

"Frigga," his mother offers her hand in turn. You shake hers as daintily as the first. Consciously so as your innate roughness comes without a second thought. "And what are you doing here in the middle of the day with my son?" 

She preens at him and tucks his hair behind his ear. He leans away. He suppresses a frown and his lips thin. 

"Business," he answers. "She is an assistant at my firm." 

"Oh, you finally found some help! This is wonderful. Does that mean you'll be available for your father's birthday?" 

Laufeyson peers around and signals to the same server, "scotch please. No ice." 

"Yes, sir," the server responds, "and ladies, a refill?" 

"Yes, please," Frigga smiles and Fulla nods. He looks to you next. 

"Just water please," you request. Your parole doesn't permit alcohol and you'd rather not. 

You look around evasively. This is awkward. Worse, you're not entirely certain this won't result in losing everything. Laufeyson has hardly proven himself fair. It would be beyond him to punish you for bad timing. 

"Mother, I'll check my calendar." He resigns. 

"Or your lovely assistant will," Frigga suggests and gives you dreamy look. "My she is... well, I'm sorry, dear, I wouldn't want to toe the line, but you are a rather beautiful woman." 

You almost flinch. It's quite the compliment. One you've never got. Your mother called you hideous; the women inside pushed you around, spit on you, and her son... 

"Thank you, ma'am," you say. 

"Ma'am, oh no, Fulla, did you hear that?" 

The other woman laughs. 

"Oh, a proper one we have," Fulla guffaws. "You're tryna push us straight to the grave, are ya? No, no, young at heart. Frig and FooFoo, ready to conquer the world." 

Laufeyson groans, "please, mother, are you sure you should have another drink?" 

"Yes, the driver will fetch us," she trills and the server returns on cue. "Thank you, Braxton. Oh, such a dear." 

The server, Braxton, doles out the drinks. You sit patiently as he strides away, promising to return shortly.  

Frigga pets her son's arm, "we've ordered. What will you have? Oh, avoid those peppercorns. Do you recall the last we came here?" 

"Mother, I'm certain I can choose my own meal," he shrugs her off as he reaches for the menu. He looks at you and you mirror him. 

"Oh, tell me you are not such a tyrant with this one," she chides. "Darling, he's all smoke. Trust me." 

"Mother," he doesn't look up as he browses. 

You go through the options, by the numbers. A salad is fine and affordable. Ish. 

"Perhaps you will figure out how to pull the thorn from his side," Fulla remarks with a snort. "Loki Beans, what happened to that little cherub who use to giggle with me?" 

"He grew up," Laufeyson sniffs and closes the menu. "Truly, we've come as professionals. You may keep all that to yourself." 

"Oh, are professionals not allowed to be humans?" Fulla chirps. 

You side eye her. You like her. She says everything you can't. 

"No, they are not," Laufeyson retorts and reaches for his scotch. "Where's the waiter?" 

You languish in the tension. It isn’t the women that make you uneasy, but the man across from you. His green eyes find you again. He’s calculating how he will take his discomfort out on you. 

“Oh, do not let him fool you. He’s still my baby nephew,” Fulla pauses to sip from her bright drink; layers of pink, orange and yellow. “Ah, he used to put on these little magic shows for us. Do you remember when the rabbit bit you and you cried terribly, Loki Beans?” 

“Aunt,” he sends her a terse look. 

“And there was the snake. That was particularly worrying,” Frigga adds as she swirls her tall glass. “It constricted him purple--” 

“Mother, please. She needn’t hear the tales of my childhood. I’ve forgotten them myself,” he sniffs. 

“How could you forget?” She squeezes his arm. “Perhaps you should try. You might not be so wound up.” 

You sip your water silently. Your mother isn’t as sweet. You’d never use that word to describe her. And when it comes to childhood memories, you don’t think she could pick out if it was you or one of your siblings who got stuck in the mud pit for an hour. She didn’t care then, and wouldn’t now. 

“I have much work to do--” 

“Which is why you came here?” Frigga challenges. 

Her son sighs and goes rigid in his chair. He tilts his head until his neck pops. His jaw grits. 

“It is good chance we found you. Your father called but got no answer. Perhaps I should have him call the office,” she looks at you. “She must be very good worker if you brought her to our special place.” 

Your cheeks tinge with heat. You had no idea it was somewhere special. You only went by how often he came. He didn’t let on either. 

“It is a public restaurant,” he shakes his head. 

The server returns and nips away some of the discomfort. The brief distraction is enough to catch your breath. You order your Greek salad and Loki opts for some Ahi Tuna. It’s all so much better than prison food; even the lettuce. 

“Still, I’m very happy for you, dear,” Frigga leans into her son. “And it is a great opportunity for one as young as her. She will learn a lot. That is, if you let her help. You’ve always been so defiant--” 

“Why don’t you write up a list of all the things I am and forward it to me?” Loki sneers. “I shall review and make certain to repress it all.” 

“Son,” she pinches his ear and he hisses. “Do not be smart with me.” 

“Always a sharp tongue on the little serpent,” Fulla tuts.  

“You are one to speak,” he bites back at his aunt. 

“Oh, but I am funny,” Fulla laughs haughtily. “You are just drab, my boy.” 

His hand forms a fist on the table. His already pale skin whitens around his knuckles. You don’t move. Like prey trying to hide from a hawk, you can only hope they fly over you.��

“Darling, tell me,” Fulla startles you out of self-preservation as she touches your skirt. For a moment, you’re reminded of the man across from you, though she only admires the fabric. “Where did you get this? I like the colour.” 

“Um,” you look down, “I... would need to think... um. Oh, a boutique down at Harrow’s Row?” 

“Harrow’s... oh, I’ve not been that way in some time,” she reaches to play with your hair. “You wear it so effortlessly--” She pauses and touches behind your ear. Your shift. “And what’s that? A birthmark?” 

You resist the urge to swat her away. That regrettable spiral of ink is easy enough to hide but a permanent reminder of your mistakes. You thought you were so hard, so tough. A rebel with a needle tattoo. All your so-called sisters who shared the same mark sent you to prison. 

“Just... a tattoo.” You answer honestly and peek at Laufeyson. His lashes flick curiously. “Nothing, really.” 

“It reminds me of a rune,” she tweaks her head to see it better. 

“It’s nothing. Really. I was a teenager once,” you shrug. 

“Not so long ago,” she draws away. “Ah, but with a face like that, you’ve far to go.” 

“Thanks,” you swallow and reach for the water. 

“My other son has many tattoos. Oh, I told him not to do it but...” Frigga mourns with a hand to her forehead. “He’s such a sweet boy but he acts before he thinks.” 

“That is one way to put it,” Laufeyson mutters. “Must we speak of him?’ 

“Oh, he’s so excited to see you. Another reason you should come to your father’s special day. Not to mention, you are his son.” 

“He would seem to forget it,” he rebuffs. 

“You two are too alike,” she reproaches. “So stubborn.” 

“He is stubborn, I merely do not appease him,” Laufeyson smooths his tie, keeping his hand around it. 

“Well, your brother is on the right foot now. He’s out and he’s going to be helping out your father--” 

“Ah, yes, he gets out and goes right back to the golden child. He will take on the business--” 

“No, that isn’t what I’m saying--” 

“Let me guess, he learned so much in prison. He is redeemed?” Laufeyson snips at his mother then wince. His eyes list to you and his eyebrows tweak. His brother is a convict? Like you? 

“He is trying. And he shows up. We never see you--” 

“Never see me? As I am working to keep all in order. Who sees that the gardener is sent on the correct day? That the maid does not disturb your luncheons? That the property is kept secure? I mightn’t be there in person but my hard work is there.” 

“I understand that, but we would prefer a son to an accountant,” she pets his hand and his fingers unfurl. 

“Mother,” he looks at the far wall. 

“Oof, I am getting rather stuffy in here,” Fulla says, “pretty one,” she taps your knee, “come. I need a cigarette.” 

You’re taken aback at that. You never smoked much. In prison, keeping the habit could rule your existence, more than it was already restricted. 

“Oh, sure,” you take the subtle signal that this conversation is better left to simmer.  

“And you could use some fresh air,” she stands and takes her purse from the back of the chair. 

You get up and look at Laufeyson. He doesn’t offer much back. You follow his aunt across the dining room. 

You go outside as she pulls out a brown cigarette, the scented type that makes you sick. You keep your distance as she lights it. She offers you one and you decline politely. 

“Families,” she snorts. “I’m sure you know.” 

“They’re complicated,” you shrug. 

“Very,” she agrees. “You have siblings?” 

“Seven,” you answer honestly. 

She coughs as her eyes bulge, “dear lord, your poor mother.” 

Poor her. Always her plights. A mother who had too many children to mind. A mother who never should have been one. 

“She didn’t let us forget so,” you affirm. 

“Oldest?” She wonders. 

“Right in the middle, with my brother.” 

“Ah, yes, well, middle children... Frigga’s the eldest, our baby brother, Freyr, can do no wrong. I’m the special one. Like you, I know how to make friends with the wall,” she inhales and lets out a plume. “Loki, the youngest, coddled boy. I’m sure you can tell.” 

“He is only my boss. They are all demanding,” you say. 

[tyrewgeotres]

LOKI

[shibaleeart]

How I encourage (instigate) my teammates on support >:)

[angrymadsygin]

gif 1: both panting (the ust is at max level)

gif 2: Thor thinking 'Again with these sexy dance moves...'

gif 3: Loki thinking 'Hell yeah! Check my tight leather pants, brother!'

gif 4: "Oh, wow, Thor! You're gonna fuck me in public?! I didn't think you had it in you!"

gif 5: "Follow me, Loki! I'm in the mood right now!"

I thought the world of you. I thought we were going to fight side by side forever.

[societyfolklore]

Hey I have request for loki x reader where she says her safe word during really rough yk….any fluff really! Thank you smm

Title: Because You Said It

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Summary:  What starts as an intense scene with Loki quickly turns into something overwhelming. But when you use your safeword, Loki drops everything to take care of you. In his arms, you’re never just a plaything, you’re his everything.

Word Count:  2.3k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, Smut, Safe Word Use, Soft Dom Loki,  Aftercare, Hurt-Comfort, Rough sex, Fluff,

   A/N:  Hope this is ok.... Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, wrists pinned above your head, Loki's magic a shimmering tether that held you in place, firm, binding, unyielding. His weight settled over your hips, body a perfect cage, mouth at your throat, biting, teasing, marking. His teeth grazed and sank with calculated cruelty, each scrape pulling a whimper from your lips, every bruise he left a dark, aching promise that you were his to ruin and worship.

"Such a beautiful thing when you beg," he purred against your skin, voice a rumble of velvet smoke that sent shivers down your spine. His tongue traced a slow, possessive line up your throat before his lips brushed your ear. "But tonight, I don't want your words. I want your surrender."

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, eyes dark with hunger and intent. "I want to break you open completely," he said, and his tone held reverence, not cruelty. "I want to take you apart piece by piece until you're trembling and raw and mine in every way."

His hips pressed forward in a slow, grinding roll that made your breath stutter. "I want all of it. Every gasp, every cry, every broken edge of you- offered to me like worship."

His lips ghosted over your pulse point, voice lowering further. "And when there’s nothing left but the pieces you give me, I’ll hold them. I’ll rebuild you."

The weight of his promise settled over you like silk and iron, both terrifying and comforting. You trembled under him, knowing you were about to be undone.

Your breath caught. Your lips parted to respond, but you simply nodded, trembling with anticipation. Eyes wide and glassy with arousal, your heart pounded in your chest like a war drum. He kissed your forehead, a fleeting, tender press that contrasted the feral hunger burning in his eyes. Fingers hooked in the band of your underwear, dragging them down with rough impatience, letting the cool air lick across flushed skin already tingling with need.

The first thrust had you gasping, back arching violently as the air punched out of your lungs. The second drove a helpless cry from your throat, a sound that echoed around the room like a prayer and a plea all at once. The third, deep and unrelenting. It knocked the breath clean from your lungs and left you reeling, vision blurring at the edges.

He was relentless.

The rhythm he set was brutal, merciless, each movement powered by something primal and possessive. His hips crashed into yours with bone-rattling force, again and again, as though he was trying to carve himself into your very being. Each thrust jolted through you like a lightning strike, turning your spine to fire. His hands clamped down on your waist, bruising, possessive, dragging you down into every punishing stroke until your body was trembling under the pressure.

You were folded beneath him, legs forced wide, your body moulded to the shape of his demands. His chest heaved with exertion above you, sweat slicked between your bodies, his hair falling wild around his face like a dark halo. Magic crackled along your skin, electricity buzzing under your flesh in rhythm with his thrusts, burning, thrilling, overwhelming.

The sounds between you were obscene. Wet. Sharp. Rhythmic and raw. Every gasp, every cry, every desperate plea was swallowed by the heavy air. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard knocking softly with each violent push.

He growled something in a language older than time, the syllables guttural and fierce, his voice ragged and deep with possession. “Mine,” he snarled, each syllable like iron dragged across silk. “This- all of you- mine to take. Mine to ruin. Mine to rebuild.”

You tried to keep up, to stay grounded, to stay present, but each thrust shoved you further from yourself. You were unraveling, each brutal snap of his hips shoving you further out of your body. Your hands strained uselessly against the binds, muscles aching from tension, your voice caught between moans, gasps, and the broken sound of surrender. Every inch of you was overstimulated, nerves screaming, your core tightening to a painful point.

His grip on your hips was bruising, holding you still while he fucked you through your own shattering limits. Your eyes fluttered, rolling back as your legs kicked weakly, searching for a foothold, a tether, anything. But there was only him. Only this.

It was too much. Too deep. Too fast. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry, pleasure and panic tangling together like wires in your chest. The edges of sensation blurred into something razor-sharp, something almost frightening. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of him claiming you. Your mind screamed for him, pleaded for him, but your voice faltered, lost beneath the rising tide of sensation.

You whimpered, a broken noise, tried again, louder this time, voice shaking, tears catching in your throat as your body trembled beneath him.

You had to say it. You needed to.

"Moonlight."

Everything stopped.

Loki froze instantly - not a moment of hesitation. The second the word left your lips, everything shifted. His eyes flew to your face, and panic surged beneath the thick layer of lust that had clouded them just moments before. One hand flew to your cheek, cupping it with trembling fingers, while the other steadied you by the waist. The magical restraints blinked out of existence with a faint shimmer, and your arms fell free, immediately cradled against your chest.

He leaned back, just enough to give you breathing room, his chest rising and falling too fast, like he’d just realized how far gone he’d been. His expression flickered, fury at himself, guilt, a gut-wrenching vulnerability that few ever got to see. The hunger in his features drained away, leaving only the echo of it clinging to the edges of a horror he could barely voice.

"Darling? Are you alright? Did I- did I hurt you?"

His voice was tight, like it caught in his throat on the way out. It wasn't Loki the god speaking. It was Loki the man, the one who held every shard of your safety like a sacred oath.

You nodded quickly, breath still coming in uneven bursts. Tears had welled at the corners of your eyes, not from pain but from sheer overwhelm. You reached for him instinctively, brushing your fingers against his forearm.

"I'm okay," you whispered hoarsely. "I just... I needed to say it before it was too much."

Without another word, he moved. Not rushed, but deliberate. He gathered you into his arms, pulling you against his chest with a gentleness that belied his strength. One arm wrapped tightly around your middle while the other smoothed over your spine, up and down in long, steady strokes meant to ground and soothe.

His lips brushed the crown of your head. "I'm sorry," he murmured, voice raw and cracking. "I should have seen the signs. I pushed too hard. I lost track of you."

You shook your head against his chest. "You stopped," you said, barely above a whisper. "That’s what matters. That’s why we have it. I trusted you to stop, and you did."

He pulled you even closer, chin resting atop your head, breath warm in your hair. His grip tightened—not out of desperation, but to reinforce his promise. The hunger from before had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming protectiveness that radiated from him like magic.

"You were perfect," he said, voice low and reverent. "So perfect. I lost myself, but you- you brought me back. With just one word. Gods, what would I do without that word... without you?"

The bath was already drawn when he carried you in his arms, one under your knees, the other wrapped securely around your back. This time, there was no magic, no teleportation. Just him. Steady and real. His footsteps were slow, careful, as though he feared jostling you might undo the fragile calm you were regaining.

"I'll take care of you," he murmured, his lips pressing softly to the top of your head, voice laced with devotion. "Let me make it right."

The water steamed gently, infused with lavender, chamomile, and something faintly citrus- your favorite blend. A calming combination, glowing faintly from the magic he’d imbued, but subtle, like a spell cast with love instead of power. The room was lit only by candlelight and the faint shimmer of rune-glow from the edges of the tub.

He stepped into the tub behind you, careful and composed, and lowered you carefully between his legs as though you were something fragile, newly made. You sank into him, your back against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, a deep exhale shuddering from your lungs. His arms folded around you briefly before one hand reached for the soap and the other cradled your jaw, guiding you gently.

His fingers moved with care, massaging your scalp, working shampoo through your hair with the gentleness of someone handling something sacred. His nails scraped lightly, grounding, and he murmured soft encouragements into your ear as he worked. He tilted your head back slightly, thumbs brushing behind your ears as warm water sluiced through your hair, rinsing away sweat and magic and remnants of strain. You could feel his breath near your temple, steady, grounding, and real in a way nothing else had felt all evening.

Even the steam seemed to wrap around the two of you like a blanket, like the bath itself had become a sanctuary he built for you to recover in. Every movement from him was reverent, quiet, but intended, as though he was worshiping, not washing.

“You did so well,” he murmured, his lips grazing your hairline as he spoke. “You let yourself go, you let me in. I saw all of you and you were beautiful.”

You let out a quiet sigh, eyes fluttering shut under the rhythm of his fingers.

“I’m so proud of you,” he continued, his voice softer than silk, wrapping around you like a second skin. “Not just for tonight. For trusting me. For knowing when to speak. For saying the word. That takes more strength than most people ever have.”

His fingers slowed, fingertips combing gently through your strands, letting the silence cradle the moment.

“You’re safe, love,” he whispered, placing a kiss just behind your ear. “Here, with me. Always. Nothing touches you without going through me first. Not pain. Not fear. Nothing.”

A soft shudder ran through you, but this time from comfort. Letting his hands and words soak into your bones.

He washed away sweat and tears, his touch never lingering too long, never crossing a boundary. Just enough to make you feel seen. Cherished.

When he gently washed between your thighs, he paused. His eyes searched your face.

"Better?"

"Yeah. That feels nice." You nodded, voice soft.

"Tell me if anything doesn’t," he said, so seriously you felt tears sting your eyes again.

After the bath, he helped you into one of his undershirts - impossibly soft, smelling like cedar and musk. He sat cross-legged behind you on the bed, towel draped over your shoulders, comb in hand.

He ran it gently through your hair, untangling every knot with infinite patience. You let out a small sigh as the tension left your body.

"Do you want a braid?"

"Yes, please."

He smiled, twisting strands between his fingers with a grace that spoke of years of practice. "Frigga used to braid mine, you know," he murmured, voice dipping into something softer, nostalgic. "She said it helped me focus. That sometimes, when the mind turns cruel and loud, the hands can soothe what the thoughts cannot."

He glanced down at the braid forming in his fingers, brushing a lock over your shoulder. "I didn’t believe her at first. Thought it was just something mothers said to keep restless sons calm. But later... I understood. There’s a kind of magic in the repetition, the care, the quiet of it."

His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "It became something I did when I needed to feel like myself again. When the chaos inside grew too loud."

The strands of your hair slipped through his fingers as he continued braiding, the rhythmic motion steady and grounding, not just for you but for him too.

You closed your eyes, letting the rhythm of his hands lull you into peace. Each tug of the braid soothed something inside you, and by the time he secured the end with a small band conjured from thin air, your muscles had gone soft and heavy. You leaned back against his chest for a moment, soaking in the warmth of his body and the feel of his arms wrapping around you.

When he finished, you turned in his lap, shifting to straddle him lazily, arms winding around his neck. He held you immediately, strong arms locking around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest as though he couldn’t bear a single inch between you.

His chin dipped to your shoulder, breath warming your skin. “You brought me back,” he murmured, voice thick. “The moment you said the word... it cut through everything. The haze, the hunger, I was gone, and then there you were.” His fingers splayed across your back, anchoring you. “I never want to be the reason you're afraid. Not even for a moment.”

Your fingertips stroked through the hair at the nape of his neck as you nuzzled into his collarbone. “You aren’t,” you whispered. “You're the reason I can say it. Because I know you'll always listen. Always catch me.”

He exhaled shakily, his body shuddering just once, then stilling. He kissed your shoulder, then your temple, then the crown of your head, slowly and reverently. “I’ll never let anything hurt you,” he said. “Not even me. Especially not me.”

You stayed wrapped together like that for a long time, swaying slightly as he rocked you without realizing it. Your heartbeats matched, slow and deep, and the world outside your quiet little cocoon ceased to matter. The candlelight flickered low, shadows stretching softly across the floor, and beyond the window, the stars blinked awake one by one, like they were watching over you.

Safe. Loved. Home.

[avengerscompound]

Tom Hiddleston as Loki

The Avengers

[textsfromthetva]

[lukira1337]

Two posts, perfectly aligned 😂

something I learned in film class is that the camera makes people look as if they’re standing further apart than they actually are, leading actors to have to stand uncomfortably close to each other to make it appear natural on screen. so my question is how fucking close were you standing to jensen ackles misha

[lizaisdrawing]

Two pretty bsfs 🪷