#Loki x Female Reader

[monstersandgenderqueers]

Little Gifts (Part Three)

You thought you were getting somewhere with Loki, but somewhere along the way, he's distanced himself from you. You can't figure out why.

Pairing: Loki x neurodivergent!reader

Word count: 2435

A/N: okay, well, I didn't intend on making this series angsty in any way, and yet...

Divider credit @/saradika

Part One | Part Two | Part Four

The sounds of metal clanking and tinkering grates on your ears as you enter one of Tony's labs. He acknowledges your presence with a curt nod, fiddling with something in his hands. You take a seat on one of the stools, dragging a partially reassembled glove from one of his suits toward yourself.

You start to fiddle with it, resting your chin on one hand and flicking a loose part up and down with the other. Tony looks at you, holding the other glove in his hands as he pokes and prods at its innards.

"What's going on, Peanut?" He asks, handing you a piece of metal that slots in perfectly when you push it into the hollow space between the fingers. You roll your eyes mentally a little at the nickname, but you're used to it now. He's probably the only one that can get away with calling you something like that without making you feel icky.

Well, except for Loki, who very rarely uses your name, and instead uses some variations of "little one" and "sweetheart," sometimes using the two at the same time, like, "sweet little thing."

The feelings those give you are very different from what you feel when Tony calls you peanut.

Though… Loki's been silent for a while now. It's like he's avoiding you, his attention to you dwindling ever since the trip to the bookstore. At first, you thought it was because he was so absorbed in the books he acquired, but then you saw the book you gave him lying on a side table in the common room, and your self doubt has been spiraling rapidly out of control since.

You took the book back and hid it away in your nightstand drawer, not wanting to see it for fear of thinking of Loki and therefore feeling certain things again. The fluttery and light feeling is now mixing with something heavy and sickening.

Sometimes you bump into him in the hallway, and he steadies you with his hands and says something akin to "careful, little one." Then you stutter a bit and awkwardly continue on your way. You hold on to those moments tightly, because it's all you're getting.

However, for the last few days, he's just been gone. The presence of Thor and a general lack of panic from the agents assigned to him assures you that he's still here, just never where you are.

Tony taps on your forehead. "Hello? You in there, kid?"

You blink and straighten up, realizing that you've slumped further over the tabletop as you think. "Oh… sorry. Were you saying something?"

He repeats himself without any hint of annoyance, "I asked if there's a reason why you've been so blue. You've been quiet lately."

"I'm always quiet."

"One, that's not true. Two, you're still unusually quiet."

You hmph, pulling a piece out of the glove and pushing it back in.

Tony continues, "You haven't been in here lately, so I guess something major is occupying your mind." He raises his brows and hints at something.

Why is everyone doing that lately? They're clearly suggesting something to me, why not just say it? Ugh.

You keep your response short, knowing that you can't lie effectively, "Not really."

"Yes, really. I haven't had the privilege of using your eyes for my work." You look at him questioningly. "We're a lot alike. We get fixated on something specific, and it gets hard to look at or do anything else. When I'm focused on one piece, you catch the mistakes I made everywhere else. It's a good system." He sniffs and resumes his work. "You're a great assistant."

It makes sense, though you never thought about it that way. In all the time you've worked with him, you never heard him speak so many words consecutively without a hint of sarcasm. Unless it was sarcastic and you missed it…

But the look he's giving you says that he's genuine. The mental fortress you built to prevent yourself from talking about it caves in very quickly when Tony holds your gaze.

You pull a tray of metal bits and bobs and start to piece together a finger to match the one already assembled. "I wish I knew how to read people. I'm just so lost when it comes to understanding what people expect from me." He waits for you to continue. "People act like I should just know what they mean even when they say something only somewhat relevant. Like, I'm good at reading between the lines in books, but not in real life. And I think lots of people have been hinting at things lately, and it's upsetting."

He nods and hums, "I know what you mean." He puts down the glove and leans on his elbows. "Maybe I can help? Give me an example."

"Uhm… okay. Well, last night at dinner, Nat winked at me. I don't know why."

"What were you doing?"

"Eating. Like I do every dinner…?"

"What was the conversation?"

"I don't know… I don't like talking and eating, so I didn't pay attention."

Tony sighs. "Helpful." Ah, there's the sarcasm. He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Give me another one."

"Well… like when you asked if I was okay. There was a little change in your tone when you asked if something major was in my head or whatever."

This makes him chuckle. "I was hinting at your little crush."

The blood drains from your face. "My what?"

"Mhm. I'm sure Thor is flattered, but I don't think you're his type, unfortunately."

"I don't have a crush on Thor!" You cringe a little. Blegh!

Tony simply smiles. "But you do have a crush on someone."

"Y— It's none of your business!" You get up quickly, leaving the lab and Tony's snorting laughter behind.

Thor? Ew, ew, ew!

You walk back to your room, your mind racing too fast to parse through it with any degree of certainty. Images and sounds circle your mind. 

Loki.

Loki when he held your book with care. Loki when she handed you the books after she bought them for you. Loki when he stuck his arm out to stop you from tripping during a walk outside. Loki with his hair tied back. Loki when he made a step towards you when you fell in the gym.

Loki when he looks away from you each and every time you find the courage to look at him.

Your eyes ache and you know you only have a minute or two before the teary-eyes become visible. The pit in your stomach grows into an ache in your chest and a lump in your throat, making it hard to breathe. You can't recall crushes hurting this much. You don't remember rejection hurting this bad, even if you combined all of it into one, tremendously horrid feeling.

The worst part is that Loki hasn't even said anything that even remotely hints at rejection, yet his silence and avoidance speak louder, and it stings worse.

On the way to your room, you pass by his door. You stop, watching his shadow block out the light coming from the door gaps as he crosses his room.

He must be lonely.

You force your earlier feelings to go away, filled instead with the need to fix Loki's apparent loneliness.

It's a feeling you are very familiar with, and you don't wish it on him, whether he rejected you or not.

You sigh and continue to your room. When you get there, you cross the length of your quarters to your closet. You pull out a plastic bin and open it, revealing your little collection of plushies. 

Some are ones you keep for sentimentality, others are purely there because you thought they were cute when you bought them, or are evidence of earlier hyperfixations. You keep them in your closet, mostly because you don't want anyone to have yet another excuse to treat you as a child. Only one gets to stay out of the bin of shame, under the guise of helping you stim when you just need to squeeze something really tight. Though, you know it makes you happy just to see it.

You sift through the bin, finding a plushie that doesn't hold any important memories within it like some of the others do. You pull it out, examining the black stallion. You remember buying this because it's missing an embroidered eye, and you felt a little bad that it was one of the only ones left on the shelf.

Hoping that Loki won't be offended by the little defect, you place it in front of his door. Unlike when you gave him the fern or the book, Loki is only a few yards from you at most, making this the riskiest gift yet. He could open the door at any moment and see you.

Without thinking, you knock on his door and quickly shuffle away on the balls of your feet, closing your door moments before you hear him open his.

There's a very loud sigh. An unhappy one. You hear his door close, the lock clicking into place loudly.

Peeking out a few minutes later, you're met with the plushie still where you left it. You ignore it, grabbing your running shoes and walking to the side entrance as the ache behind your eyes resurfaces tenfold.

You run around and around the compound until you can't physically lift your feet anymore. After finding a decently green patch of grass in the shade, you lie down on it, hoping the darkness around the edges of your vision will subside soon.

The exhaustion, coupled with the painful pounding of your heart, makes your mind blissfully quiet. You don't think about stupid, stupid Loki. That is, you don't think of him until you realize you aren't thinking of him. And then you do think of him.

He doesn't like me. Or his 'secret admirer'. Which is me, though I am not an admirer.

I guess he only really likes books. But then again, he seemed more interested in the things I wrote in the book than the book itself. Or maybe it isn't even anything I wrote at all. Maybe he just wanted the distraction. Maybe that's why he got more books.

Reading is a great excuse to avoid socializing, though. I use it often.

But he's ignoring me specifically. He has to be. He's fine with hanging out around the compound until I show up.

I may dislike a lot of people, but even I don't make it that obvious. Do I?

You can't help but be just a little bit angry at him. He gives you such awful whiplash, between those warm fuzzy feelings when you realize he's nearby and then the deep, hard ache when his face falls and he walks away from you.

Feelings are terrible. You wish you didn't have to deal with them at all, so you wouldn't have to struggle with sorting them out whenever you feel.

But, normally, feelings aren't this strong. Usually when you feel feelings crawling up your body, they're small and they flutter away quickly, sometimes before you even realize you have them. Sometimes all that's left is a physical reminder that you had been feeling, like sore cheeks from smiling hard when you don't even remember smiling, or feeling happy. Or like the headache that comes with just about every bad feeling you get.

You sigh shakily, wishing you could just sink beneath the grass and the dirt, deep down into the Earth's core until there isn't a single trace of you left. Counting each breath in and out, you open your eyes and stare at the clouds, thinking about the last real conversation you had with Loki a couple of weeks ago…

Loki sits across from you at the dining table, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as he sees your pout and the way you shove your food around on your plate. "You're eating later than usual. How are you feeling, little one?"

"I don't know," you reply, keeping your eyes down.

"You don't?" he asks, more curious than incredulous. "How could you not know?"

"I just don't. I don't feel feelings until they're too strong to contain anymore."

You look up to see that his eyebrows are drawn together. You look back down quickly. His voice sounds a bit different when he speaks, "What do you mean?"

Trying to figure out how to explain it, you move your feet in little circles on the floor, almost anxiously. "Like… like joy. I don't often realize I'm feeling joyful, or happy, until I—nevermind. You wouldn't understand."

You think about how your body just moves on its own when you're happy, and how hard you've been trying to restrain yourself around him. You'd give up on romance then and there if he laughed at it.

"Sweetheart, I understand far more than you're giving me credit for." His hands twitch near the corner of your vision, like he's trying to keep them from moving.

"You'd still make fun of me."

"Would I?" He smiles again. What is it that he finds so amusing?

You ignore the way he looks at you. "Yeah. A lot of people do. Joy is hard to hold back, and it looks so… silly."

"And what does joy look like? Do you mean smiling?"

"No, I mean—just forget it."

"Why?"

"I can't explain it, and I can't replicate it, either. It just happens."

"Perhaps I'll see it someday."

"Maybe. It doesn't happen often, Loki. I remember each and every time it does. It's so strong and surprising that it scares me sometimes."

"Well, little one, I think you need to experience joy more often. It may scare you less if it becomes more familiar."

"Maybe." You stand up, grabbing your half-full plate, trying your best to ignore how his eyes follow you. "Uhm…Goodnight, Loki."

"Goodnight, my sweetheart." You walk away, your heart skipping like it forgot how to beat.

You don't know what changed between the two of you to make him go out of his way to ignore you, especially after that conversation. It feels personal.

Maybe I said something wrong. I should really learn to think before I speak.

Your swirly ruminations are cut short when something taps your shoe. You look away from the clouds directly overhead and see Thor standing just a few feet away.

He looks at you with a stony face, more serious than the looks you see on him, even when he's fighting. 

"I could use your help. Urgently."

[lokisgoodgirl]

Like a Queen [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just a dirty, praise-filled railing. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Loki x Female Reader. Mirrors. Language. Established relationship. Smut. (w/c 1.2k)

"Urgh, gods..." Loki slurs as his head falls back.

A year. It's been a year. But every time you see that face lost in the pleasure only you can give it's like the first time. In the mirror at the foot of the bed, the hard angles of Loki's jawline set like an anvil. He tips his chin to the ceiling and sinks so deep, so slow, it's like he never wants it to end.

Your best lingerie clings to damp skin, the modest slit in your crotchless panties tugging against Loki's thick cock. Slow, liquid thrusts slip against your walls and slurp when he circles his hips; hands guiding your ass against him. He teases himself at the entrance while you moan his name before easing back in with a groan.

"What did I do..." he breathes as his sex-drunk face falls forward and he meets your eyes in the mirror. "What did I do to deserve this sweet, perfect cunt?"

You clench your fingers against the bedsheets, swaying on all-fours. Loki slips his cock from your pussy and slides it against your throbbing clit, still swollen and humming from the worship of his mouth.

He watches with dark fascination as you start to squirm at the halt of his movements, knuckles whitening. “Well?” he asks again with playful menace.

"I'm just made for you I guess," you sigh as his large palm skates down the ridges of your spine, settling at the base. There’s no getting any sense out of you at times like this; he should know that by now. And he does.

"You are,” he growls approvingly, rubbing the curve of your ass. “Made to take me like a Queen. Made to take my cock like a Queen; made to fuck me like a Queen.” Queen.

The word sends a thrill down your spine that blossoms new fire in your pussy and you clench tighter around the tip of his cock. Loki pushes back in just when you’re tightest. “Norns,” he gasps, half-lidded eyes smouldering down from his station.

There’s something about when he fucks you from behind that’s utterly primal. Like he’s mating you. Like you’re a bitch in heat and he’s powerless to resist the scent he craves; the urge beating through him like the drums of war.

He’s not a god in moments like this. He’s just a man that wants to shake you up and fuck you out and love you harder with every filthy, curse-laden groan from his throat. “Talk to me,” you plead as you sit back against him, inhaling the fresh sweat clinging to his hair, his cock never leaving the grip of your cunt. Where he belongs. Your fingers skate up his cheek. His heartbeat thumps between your shoulder-blades, the flat planes of his chest and stomach pressed tight to your back. Your thighs spread as he readjusts on the mattress, guiding you down to the root of him with a rumble of pleasure. Loki moves hair from one side of your neck, placing a messy kiss on the curve and pulling the flimsy strap of your lingerie between his teeth. It stings your heated skin with a tight thwack.

“You love when I talk,” he goads low and filthy in your ear. “You love when I talk, and you love when I fuck.” “Only me,” you whine. Loki chuckles darkly. “Only you, my Queen.” His thrusts make your body rise and you lose yourself in the fullness of your walls fluttering to the rhythmic lilt of his hips. Loki’s hands massage your breasts, palming upwards, pinching your pebbled nipples as he does it. “No one,” he groans as you reach between your legs and graze his balls, “no one has ever carnally eviscerated me like you can.” They tighten beneath your gentle touch, drawing lazily against the velvet skin.

“When I fuck you… all realms cease to be,' he chokes, 'Only b-burning worlds and…f-fuck, erupting galaxies when I…”

He jolts against your ass, a hiss searing between his teeth. “When I see you trussed up for me like a gift,” he pants, tugging at the flimsy lace cupping your breasts, “when I feel your pussy grip me like wax on a finger.” A wet groan erupts from your mouth into his and Loki’s fingers move to your clit, rubbing slow, wet circles just the way you like it. His kiss is hungry and dark and dangerously loving. He still tastes like your cum. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he mutters as climax tightens in your belly, tensing your thighs, “is your face when you come undone for me.” You whimper, the hand wrapped around his neck clutching at long waves of his sex-damp hair. “Yes, my beautiful queen,” he praises, unable to keep the tremble of impending orgasm from his voice as his thrusts become heavy. “Take me, use me; use my cock like no other in the nine realms can. Give me what I need.” “Not yet,” you beg and he smiles against your cheek. The mirror shows what the two of you are: sweaty and unbearably perfect together. He’s huge behind you; a colossus of muscle and lean lines and luminous skin. His dark hair hangs against your shoulders, his exquisite profile nuzzling into your neck. The god of mischief works one expert hand between your legs, the other grasping against your chest like you might vanish as his powerful thighs pump slowly beneath you. Obsessed. He’s obsessed. Another threat of orgasm rises in your centre. Loki groans loudly and his shoulders tense as you clench, feeling the thick vein running down his length throb. “I think you may take me a little too well,” he chokes as your grip on his hair tightens.

A series of feral grunts burst from Loki’s throat at the smallest increase of speed against his cock. He's ready to burst. Wetness coats the inside of your thighs, his knuckles, his mouth, your fingers. You cover the hand working against your clit, feeling his fingers while they lightly strum you over the edge. He knows your body like it's his own. “Loki,” you moan like a whore, head falling back to his shoulder.   “I’m yours,” he whispers, breath catching. The hand cupping your chest flies to your stomach and he pulls you closer with a stuttering gasp. The flat of his abdomen curls to your back: sweat sticking, curses thundering, stars bursting in front of your eyes. He erupts with a long, guttural groan that shakes the bed. The swell of his cum is immediate; squeezing against the tight throb of his mighty cock and the final, fluttering spasms of your cunt. You see it glistening in the mirror, dripping down the thick root still buried inside you and pearling at the curve of his balls. Loki’s mouth fastens to your cheek like he’s trying to eat you - and maybe he is. His pants are hot against the skin as he slides down your face, top lip dragging before his forehead comes to rest. “What did I do to deserve…?” he pants quietly as he feathers weak kisses along the angle of your jaw. You silence the impending question with a kiss, pulling him closer. “I’m your Queen,” you say with utterly feigned humility. Loki bites his lip, glancing to the mirror. His eyes drop to the sight of him still sheathed deep in your pussy, a thick spindle of cum dangling to the mattress. “You are,” he whispers lovingly in your ear, eyes nailed to yours in the reflection. "Always."

♥️x

[holdmytesseract]

Loki: *paces slowly and intimidately up and down the room, almost like a predetor*

Loki: As a prince of Asgard and heir to the throne, I've been taught how to fight. I fought a lot of wars in the name of my home; saturated sacred grounds with my blood and that of my enemies. Nowadays, it's my duty and privilege as an Avenger to do the same for your home. For Midgard. Just like my brother, I swore to protect this realm - and I will.

Loki: *stops and turns, then crosses his hands behind his back and takes in an elegant, godlike posture*

Loki: I won't hesitate. I won't yield. I am a prince - a god. Nothing fears me. Nothing in this world will be able to bewitch me and cause the loss of focus and the needed coldheartedness. Nothing-

Little Ella, suddenly barging through the ajar door and interrupting her father: Daddy!

Loki: *starts to smile and completely loses his stoic, threatening and serious demeanor* Hi, baby girl!

Loki: *crouches down to catch her and pick her up* What do you got here, princess?

Ella: Daisy tain! *proudly holds up the daisy chain she made with you*

Loki, smiling even brighter: For me?

Ella, nodding: Uh.Huh.

Loki: *helps Ella's small hands to put it on his head*

Loki: Thank you, princess. *presses kisses against her chubby cheek*

Ella: *wiggles and giggles excitedly in Loki's arms*

Loki: *lets her down on the floor again* Go and make one for uncle Thor as well.

Ella: *nods eagerly and storms out of the room again*

Loki: *clears throat and turns back to the huge monitor inside the conference room; putting back on his stoic, threatening and serious demeanor* Apologies, gentlemen... Where was I?

Some of the most important politicians: *blinking and just staring at Loki*

a/n: This lil' blurb came kinda out of nowhere - and ahhh, I absolutely love it, hehe. 🤭🥰

•☆° Baby Fever Masterlist °☆•

Baby Fever Crew: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @herdetectivetheorist @hisredheadedgoddess28 @chennqingg @princess-ofthe-pages @km-ffluv @brokenpoetliz @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loz-3 @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @kimanne723 @smolvenger @lou12346789 @lokisrealpurpous @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @aagn360 @cakesandtom @alexakeyloveloki @glitchquake @anukulee @lady-rose-moon @ainsley30 @lovingchoices14 @lokischambermaid @irishhappiness @mandywholock1980 @loki-laufeyson223 @vbecker10 @lulubelle814 @foxherder

[spookyrea]

... Though I'm Not That Flexible

(part 2 following You Can Wrap Me 'Round Your Finger)

You prepare to tell Loki you love him. Much to his embarrassment, Loki has to tell you something, too.

(aka - frost giant biology is weird and Loki has to suffer the consequences) (and you're kinda into it) (oops)

Chapter 2 / 2 -- read it on AO3 here

Word count: ~9k

Warnings: 18+ !! fem reader; courtship/nesting behaviour, smut (and I mean... smut)

You watched Steve haul himself into the boxing ring, internally groaning at the thought of going toe-to-toe with the Man with a Plan himself. 

Loki hovered at your shoulder looking decidedly out of place in a button-down and trousers; he was off the training roster for the week after Bucky had benched him for his ‘poor attitude’. The only people currently brave (or stupid) enough to spar with him were Steve and Thor, the latter of whom was banned from sparring with Loki indoors because of, to quote Pepper, the 'Thor-And-Loki Event' in June.

Privately, you agreed with Bucky’s assessment – Loki had been acting strange lately. Clingy, extra affectionate but equally as moody. Any time you tried to pry you were met with the same response – that Loki was “fine” and “had complete control” over the situation.

Sometimes the best option with Loki was to let him come to you. His desire for absolute control was multi-faceted, but it usually worked out best if he could ask for help and feel like he had an explanation as to why. You knew from experience that hounding him could dig up raw insecurities about worth and ability. So - you made the most of it; if Loki was going to be clingy, he could at least be useful and clingy. 

“Hold these, please.” You pushed your towel and water bottle into his hand. Loki accepted them with only minor complaint, tucking them under his arm to make room for everything else you were sure to pile onto him.

Steve rattled the ropes fencing him inside the boxing ring. “Come on, soldier. Don’t keep an old man waiting.”

Loki stretched to hide his sparkling fingertips; you knew his seidr well enough by now to recognize how Steve’s shoelaces unraveled with a mind of their own.

With his arms raised like that, there was no denying Loki’s ‘growth-spurt’ – the buttons on his shirt strained to stay in their buttonholes, gaping a little across his chest. You fought back a grin, watching a young intern (definitely part of Tony’s university pipeline program) spill water down her front while admiring the pull of yet another too-small shirt. A few of her friends giggled, their faces downcast but their gazes teasing, peering up through their eyelashes every few seconds.

“What?” Loki glanced over his shoulder in the direction you were looking.

“Nothing. Some kids are staring at you, that’s all.” You honestly weren’t offended - you remembered what it was like to want Loki from afar, and you weren’t blind. You knew passersby were going to gawk and shoot him longing stares. Loki, however, seemed uncharacteristically upset. His eyes narrowed, upper lip curled slightly in dissatisfaction, and he turned back to you with his shoulders drawn taut. He hooked his fingers in the pocket of your hoodie – Loki’s hoodie, actually, since yours seemed to have mysteriously disappeared – and tugged you into his chest, pressing a firm, dry kiss to your mouth.

You blinked dazedly at him once he’d slunk back. “Is this one of those ‘obviously not interested’ moments?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“People stare all the time. It’s nothing new.”

“I know.” A pretty pink blush was creeping up his cheeks, warming his pale complexion. “I just thought it pertinent to make my intentions crystal clear.” Then, after a beat- “Do you think anyone would notice if I locked the changing room doors and had my way with you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course they would. Now– help me up. I have a senior citizen to cream.”

If anyone was getting creamed, it was you.

You circled the boxing ring on shaky feet, watching Steve round on you with that quiet cockiness of his. He flicked his stupidly perfect bangs out of his stupidly beautiful eyes and mimed a one-two punch combo while you considered giving into the universe and letting your limbs turn to oatmeal. Bucky sat in a folding chair on the sidelines, picking your scrimmage apart with his stupidly brilliant and equally beautiful eyes.

You hated them.

Bucky picked up on details you would never have noticed – your uneven stance, the angle of your elbow when you raised your fists – and, while helpful on paper, it only served to raise your blood pressure by a few degrees. Not helped by the fact that Bucky seemed to know what moves Steve was going to make before he did, so could comment on your form before you’d even finished a move.

PAL whistled encouragement when you just barely blocked a left hook. Tony had set him in Bucky’s lap so he could watch you and Steve train. (“He’s so little. He can’t see over anything.”) At least PAL liked you, even if he was out for blood.

“I agree with the pest, darling. You should wring his neck,” Loki offered from the sidelines. He leant his head on his forearms where they were draped over the ropes, his bored expression betrayed only by the way his brow furrowed whenever Steve got too close to landing a hit.

(You were admittedly not very good at hand-to-hand combat. As a telekinetic, your fists were usually a last resort in the field.)

“This would all be so much easier if you stopped - hey! - swinging so much.” You swept the back of your hand across your eyes, hoping to clear the sweat pouring into them. “Also, has your stuff been going missing lately?”

“Kind of defeats the whole purpose of combat training.” Steve frowned, then threw his body weight into a kick to your chest, which you only barely dodged. He stumbled but quickly corrected, spinning to catch your right hook effortlessly. “But no, nothing’s gone missing lately. Well, my veggie straws have been disappearing but I buy those because Bucky insists he doesn’t like them and then sneaks them from my cupboard. Has he been breaking into yours too?”

You squirmed, planting your feet and leveraging your upper body to try and pry out of his hold. Unfortunately for you, Steve was two hundred and seventy pounds of solid steel pretending to be flesh, so you might as well have been a leaf trapped under a fourteen-wheeler. “No. My pillows keep disappearing.”

Your feet briefly left the ground when Steve lifted you by the wrists. He dumped you unceremoniously on the padded floor of the boxing ring and proceeded to loom over you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and fatherly rage. “Someone’s been perving on you?”

You pushed yourself upright, wincing when you felt your muscles protest the movement. “I don’t know!”

“Weird. Maybe you have a secret admirer. Loki!” Steve mimed an elbow drop but pulled his weight at the last second; he rolled to the side and sprawled out, all six-feet-four-inches of him laid out next to you without having broken a sweat. “Keep an eye on your girl, ya’ hear?”

Loki visibly preened at the idea of you being his girl. You felt a whisper of seidr across your cheek, a sparkling green kiss so fleeting it could have been a trick.

Steve squinted up at him from the floor of the boxing ring. “Are you bigger?”

“You’ve gotta start throwing punches, kid.” Bucky interrupted from the sidelines. PAL bobbed his head in agreement. “Look, I was just like you. A sharp shooter–”

“I’m telekinetic.”

“My point still stands. I did all my best work from a hundred yards away. But sometimes, in the field, you’re gonna have some guy get in your space and wail on you, and I need to know you won’t just fold like a deck of cards when that happens.”

“I’m sorry I’m not built like a tank, Bucky.” You swiped the edge of your shirt over your forehead, grimacing when the already-wet material slid over your damp brow. 

“I’m not saying you have to put on a hundred pounds of muscle. Just-” Bucky slipped under the rope and into your personal space, rounding on you from behind to wrap his flesh arm around your throat. His other hand shot out and circled your wrist, holding it at an awkward angle so that your muscles locked uncomfortably. “Just play dirty. If I get this close, I will kill you. So what are you going to do about it?”

You hissed, jerking under his metal hand. “Ow, Bucky, I get it–”

It took all three of you a moment to register that the noise rumbling through the air was coming from Loki. The fluorescents overhead flickered in waves, darkness ebbing and flowing from a point above Loki’s head. They buzzed and crackled unnaturally with displeasure. Bucky’s arms dropped away to put a bit of space between your bodies. Loki’s eyebrows drew tight in the middle, a scowl twisting his pretty face.

“Hey, My Chemical Mischief,” Tony yelled from across the gym. “Cool it with the dick measuring contest, will you? We get it, she’s a kept woman - I don’t think Barnes wants any of that.”

Thor laughed. Racking his barbells, he straddled his padded bench and flicked sparks of electricity from his fingertips, a strange side-effect that manifested whenever he strained himself. He taunted something to Loki in their mother tongue and the effect was instantaneous; Loki gaped at his brother, his growling cut short, and hurled something – an insult? – back. 

With a few words they reduced the other to adolescents. Though none of you mortals could even hope to dissect their twisting language, it was clear that the two of them were rehashing centuries of arguments all at once.

Loki reeled back when Thor, his nose tilted to the ceiling, punctuated a sentence with a nod in your direction. “You will do nothing of the sort,” Loki snapped in English.

“Loki.” Exasperation dripped from Thor’s tone, mingling with the kind of joy that came from lecturing a younger sibling. He folded his arms and shot Loki a smarmy do-as-I-say glare. ”This is only going to end in disaster.”

Loki’s jaw snapped shut with a click. His pinched expression seemed to push Thor to hysterics. Thor goaded him on, wagging a callused finger; Loki’s hand fisted at his side as he moved to strangle his brother.

They must have been terrible pests on Asgard.

In English, Thor continued: “I have never been happier that you were adopted. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You’re preening. ”

Loki crossed the gym in a few long strides, a veritable storm cloud brewing over his head. The air crackled, ozone heavy in the air; the difference in pressure caused the open changing room door to slam shut, as if a draft had kicked up. Tony hopped to his feet, pointing between the two brothers. “Nuh uh. You guys take it outside. I am filled with too much scrap metal for you two to be throwing thunderstorms around inside. Again. ”

Loki grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck. Thor stumbled, still laughing, and tucked his shoulder into Loki’s chest as if to throw him over it. Loki hissed something unintelligible - Tony hollered something unrepeatable - and then the two brothers blinked out of sight in a flash of bright green.

You ran into them in the lobby on your way back from the corner store that evening. Both of them were soaking wet, their plainclothes plastered to their skin. Loki brushed by you with a stormy expression, anger rolling off of him in palpable waves; Thor followed a few feet behind, decidedly more jovial. Loki called over his shoulder: “do not say anything, Thor. I’m handling this.”

They left a trail of rainwater in their wake, their shoes squeaking across the marble floor. Thor clapped you on the shoulder as you passed and, through the widest grin you’d ever seen, said: “my darling friend – make sure you use protection.”

A flash of green sizzled across Thor’s knuckles; he yanked his hand away with a shout, raising his hand to examine a line of fresh, pink welts. Loki hissed at him; Thor cast you a sideways look, then winked. To his brother, he called: “I am always right, am I not?”

Loki snapped his fingers, calling Thor to attention like a master might call their dog to heel. Except Thor was the oldest, and had a petty streak longer than the continental United States, and his younger brother’s displeasure clearly brought him unbridled joy, so Thor slung one arm around your shoulder and gave you a squeeze, rubbing his prickly cheek against yours for good measure.

You squirmed under his arm. “Is this another Asgardian thing?”

Thor answered “no” at the same time that Loki answered “yes”.

Loki stormed back to your side and wrenched his brother away, speaking in a low tone. Fixing his brother with a scathing stare, Loki rubbed his thumb over your jaw, then rode his hand down the curve of your neck to sit on your shoulder, as if to wipe the physical evidence of his brother’s touch from your skin. 

Thor sidled up behind Loki and scrubbed a hand over your cheek; Loki, hackles raised, elbowed his brother in the side, setting off a chain reaction of flying fists and snapping teeth. 

Your groceries were definitely melting. “I’m gonna go. Uh, Loki, you can… You can come upstairs when you’re… done…”

Loki, who was trapped in a headlock by his older brother, nodded jerkily to you. “Of course, dear– Thor. You foul–” 

You watched as your boyfriend transformed into a glossy black snake. He fell to the marble with a sad, wet slap and played dead, lolled tongue and all.

Luckily, your ice cream was mostly salvageable.

The shower was hot. Maybe a bit too hot. Steam cloyed, clouding your periphery and leaving you feeling flushed. You contemplated switching the tap a half an inch toward to the right, but then you risked overshooting and being too cold. 

“I’m being called away,” Loki said by way of greeting. He was still a bit damp; his hair had just begun to curl around the ends. The steam, its attention caught by the open door, billowed around him on its escape path. “I was going to tell you earlier, but my brother had other plans.”

“Oh, that’s not fair. Close the door, please?”

“Right. Sorry.” The door slipped shut with a click. Loki hoisted himself onto your bathroom counter, his hands clasped loosely between his knees while he watched you rinse the last suds from your legs. “Believe me, darling, I don’t want to leave you, but it seems that Fury wants my head on a stake.”

“Thor, too. What was that about?”

Loki waved a hand. “Brotherly taunts. Now would you hurry up? I want to ravish you before I’m a decrepit, thank you very much.”

“Give me a minute.” You turned your back to him for a better angle under the shower head. You heard the shower door slide open – you assumed so that Loki could ogle you properly – then startled when his shadow crossed over you.

“Loki!” You shrieked, cringing when wet cotton slid over your belly as he wound his arms around your waist. “You’re fully dressed! You can’t– bad! Naughty!”

“I was already wet. Now I’m warm and wet.” He tsked, rubbing his cheek against the curve of your shoulder with an arrogance only a prince could muster. “I just couldn’t resist.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Truthfully, pet, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less remorse in my life.” His wet fingers fumbled with the top button on his shirt. The plastic was slippery and the buttons small, so it took more than a few tries to get the first one out; by the time he had wrenched the third free, he was cursing. “Ok,” he said around a laugh. “Maybe I’m a little remorseful. But this is your fault, let it be known.”

“My fault?”

“Yes.” Two more buttons down. Loki growled, then tore the rest of them out with a firm jerk of the button placket. They scattered, bouncing off the tile with tiny sounds, and Loki struggled to pull the sleeves off his skin. “You’re so beguiling. I’m– I can hardly tear myself away.” He threw the shirt through the open shower doors, then considered his trousers. “Oh, nevermind.” With a flick of his wrist, the last of his clothing melted away. “Why do I even bother, honestly?”

You tipped your head back against the shower wall and hummed, enjoying the simple pleasure of Loki’s nearness. He was a vision under the spray, dark hair plastered and curling over pale skin and pink lips parted, glossy with water. When his fingers crept over your hip to tease the skin under your ribs, your chest soared, the hollow space between your lungs aching ice cold. 

(You loved him). 

(You promised yourself you would tell him when he returned from whatever mission Fury had assigned, come hell or high water - and you almost believed it.)

When you opened your eyes, you found Loki to be looking at you with the most peculiar hunger. “What?”

“I can’t look at you?”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘looking’. I would say you’re eating me with your eyes.” You rolled your shoulders, then reached around him for the tap. “I’m starting to feel a bit dizzy. Let’s dry off and you can tell me all about why Fury is taking you away from me.”

“You mean you let me suffer through that whole ordeal for naught?”

“I didn’t ask you to climb in here fully clothed. Now– chop chop, loverboy. You’re closest to the towels.”

He left in the early morning. It seemed to take a great deal of physical effort for him to extricate himself from your bed, even greater than it did on Sunday. By the time he had slipped into his last piece of armour, his breath was short and tense, and his mouth turned down in a harsh curve.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? You don’t seem yourself.”

“I’m fine. Just don’t… Just wait for me, okay?”

You were a couple seconds behind, your brain still heavy with the early hour. “What do you mean, honey?”

Loki shook his head. He leaned his weight on the edge of the bed and curled over you, pressing a dry kiss to your cheek. “Don’t worry yourself. Go back to bed.”

“I can help–”

“I have it all under control. I’ll be back in a few days.” He said the last part like he was trying to convince himself more than he was you.

Only three days later and you were going a little stir-crazy. Maybe whatever clinginess-disease he had had rubbed off on you.

You couldn’t take it anymore – you missed your boyfriend. He had been scheduled to return that morning but another impromptu snowstorm had pushed his arrival back by a day, leaving you with an empty afternoon to putter. But once your laundry was done and your shower scrubbed, there wasn’t much left to do besides twiddle your thumbs and marathon episodes of Forensic Files. 

You took the elevator to his floor and let yourself in with a spare key. Your shoulders dropped, an unregistered tension draining as you breathed in the familiar smell of Loki’s cologne and lavender incense. There was a certain comfort in the menial reminders of him – his shoes by the door, his coat on the rack. You tossed your keys on the kitchen counter. “So much for man-eating wolves.”

You half expected his fridge to be barren, considering how much time he had spent over the last week in your apartment, but you were pleasantly surprised to find it well stocked – too well stocked. Whatever occasion he was preparing for was unknown to you, but he seemed to be anticipating an apocalypse or city-wide shortage of seasonal fruits and vegetables. You helped yourself to some from a pre-cut container and shuffled toward his bedroom to take a nap.

You stopped dead in your tracks under the threshold.

“You are the pillow thief.”

Fabric was draped languorously from every surface - a stack of quilts over his desk chair, pillowcases folded neatly on his dresser. The curtains were drawn tightly, two or three panels layered on top of each other to block out as much natural light as possible. He appeared to have gathered every pillow in his apartment - and a few of yours - and piled them in a semi-circle against the headboard. A few had fallen to the wayside, at the foot of the bed or scattered across the carpet, and a great spread of throw blankets was draped across the comforter. You could just make out the corner of one of your t-shirts peeking out from his pillows.

There was a decidedly two person-sized divot in the centre of it all, like you were meant to burrow in together.

“What have you been up to, my darling boy?”

You crawled across the covers and peeled them back, layer by layer. More of your shirts tumbled out, as well as a hoodie and a cashmere scarf. It was bewildering to say the least, but not entirely out of the norm for Loki. (He once spent two weeks meticulously replacing all of your cutlery with a mismatched charity shop set, so what was a little blanket theft, really?) You just couldn’t quite put your finger on why he had chosen this prank, nor why he would bother to build a veritable nest out of his spoils.

Tired and more than a little giggly, you tucked yourself between two comforters and curled up on your side. You’d have to ask him when he got home.

(In his defense, it was really comfy).

You blinked awake to the sound of your phone vibrating. It took you a moment to find it among the layers of blankets and pillows but eventually you wrenched it free and swiped accept. “Hello?”

Loki’s voice carried through the little speaker. “Where are you? You’re not in your apartment.”

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “That’s because I’m in yours.”

There was a long, drawn out silence. Then, “you’re what?”

“I’m in your apartment. Which– you have so much explaining to do.” You pushed yourself out of his bed. Through the phone, you heard FRIDAY greet him and a familiar jingle when Loki punched the button for his floor. 

“I… You weren’t supposed to see that.”

You laughed. You could hear him struggling to find his keys, his anxiety palpable even through the phone. “Loki, was this some sort of prank to keep me from refusing to sleep over?”

“No, it…” His keys ground in the lock. “It was…”

You pulled the door open for him. He blinked owlishly at you, his phone pinched between his shoulder and his cheek.

“Hi,” you said, and your voice echoed through his phone.

He ended the call. “Hi.”

The two of you walked together, Loki on tentative feet while you guided him, pulling on one of his harness straps until you were through the threshold. His bag slid from his shoulder with a thud; he was still wearing his armour, which you smoothed your fingers under and began to unclasp piece by piece, setting it on the table by the door.

“Loki,” you glanced up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you want to explain the nest in your bedroom?”

His shoulders tensed. “Thor, you bastard.”

You worked one of his leather straps free, tossing it aside. “What?”

“Just - ignore this,” he said. “Go back to your apartment. I have to go kill my brother, and then burn everything I own, and then maybe I’ll be able to scrounge up the dignity to see you before sunrise.”

He made an aborted movement to turn out from your arms, but you reached out with your mind and slid the deadbolt in place before he could slip through the door. “Nuh uh. What does Thor have to do with this? Is this about your fight? I haven’t spoken to him since I ran into you two in the hall.”

“Wait.” It was your turn to face Loki’s ire, it seemed, because he whirled on you, his finger raised accusingly. “How did you know about the nesting then?”

“I was joking.” You pulled the final knife sheath free, leaving him in his leather breastplate and heavy wool trousers. “I mean, you piled all of our collective pillows into a queen-sized bed. Do you mean to tell me you’re actually nesting? Is this another Asgardian courtship thing I should know about?”

“I-” Loki looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. A familiar curl of self-consciousness had begun to spoil his expression. He turned his cheek and spit out a curse. “Nevermind.”

“Loki, please.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “If you tell me your secret, I’ll tell you one in return.”

If there was one thing Loki loved more than self-pity, it was being let in on a secret. His eyes bolted up from glaring a hole into the hardwood to catch yours, assessing your deal. “Do not make bets you cannot pay, darling.” 

“I already have the perfect secret picked out. Explain.”

He watched you for a long time. Eventually, with a very careful, measured tone, he opened his mouth to speak. “I’ve never… Oh, this is humiliating.” Loki scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Asgardians know very little about Jotun customs. It’s… We didn’t have much need to study them, outside of battle. But it’s common knowledge that frost giants… mate for life. They pick someone to bond with and when they’re serious… In the spring… ”

 “Loki,” you cooed. “Humor me.”

He groaned and slunk to his knees before you. His forehead pressed against your hip while both his hands curled around your calves to steady himself. He mumbled something unintelligible against your leg.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “What was that?”

Loki sighed. “When they find a suitable mate they try... I’m… My biology is trying to entice you to tie yourself to me. Forever.”

“So the nesting thing? And the um… the clinginess?”

He toyed with the edge of your t-shirt. “Yes. I… I get quite upset when you don’t respond favorably to my… advances .”

“I picked up on that. Wait,” you pinched the meat of his bicep. “Is this why you’re getting bigger?”

“It appears that my glamours are failing, yes.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re growing in some new plumage to woo me with?” You trailed your finger along a featherlight path over his jaw. Lowering your voice, you couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Are you going to sing for me next?”

A scowl twisted his expression into something mean. “You forget who you’re speaking to, mortal.”

His tone did nothing to dissuade you. So rarely were you the one with the power to tease and you intended to take advantage. “Anything else I should know?”

“Well, if I’m already speaking candidly…” It came out bitingly, Loki’s voice laced with a burning mix of self-deprecation and frustration. “I can hardly think about anything else other than bending you over every available piece of furniture and fucking you until one of us passes out.”

“Loki,” you warned as his fingers wormed their way under the waistband of your pants. “We’re finishing this conversation.”

“Later, darling.” He pushed them down an inch and pressed his mouth to your hip. “Let us at least enjoy my biology for a little while.”

“Loki.” The air crackled, seidr whispering across your skin where the two of you connected as he considered testing your resolve. You felt the phantom impression of hands around your wrists, which you shook off with a glare. “Down.”

His lip curled in displeasure but he obeyed, sitting back on his heels. “It’s infuriating. Let’s just pretend it’s not happening.”

You joined him on the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. “What does it mean to… ‘mate’?”

Loki’s shoulders rounded and bowed; he tilted his face away from you, hiding his expression behind a wall of thick, black hair. “You just… are. You’re partners for life. A family. I’m not sure there are words in any mortal language to explain the breadth of it.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It seems my biology has decided that you’re a good match for… that.”

“Loki…”

“I love you.” He said it so plainly, as if he was commenting on the weather. Your heartbeat turned hot and dizzy as you watched his long fingers trace the floorboard, his words rattling around in the space between your ears – I love you, I love you, I love– “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re wearing my ring, and my knives, and my clothes. You smell like me–”

“Wait–”

“I built you a nest. I’m not human. Your priorities are in desperate need of reassessment if that’s the part you’re uncomfortable with.” Loki rolled his eyes, that bit of familiar petulance peeking through his foul mood. “Anyway. It makes sense that my body would choose you. That I would… would want to convince you...”

“You know you don’t have to convince me.”

Loki picked at a knot in the wood, a loathsome smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Oh, but I do.”

You couldn’t bear the distance any longer; you crawled the last couple of feet to wrap your arms around his chest. He tipped into you, pressing his cheek against your shoulder and drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. Yet, despite his pain, a part of you sang as you stroked a line down his cheek. You were loved and in love – what greater joy was there than that?

Not for the first time in your relationship, guilt welled up in your chest. Being in love with Loki felt a little like learning a new language; he was so capricious, so aloof, that you sometimes felt like you were left out of a joke when he teased you, or flirted, or sidled up to touch you. It often wasn’t until afterward that you became aware of the fact that he was being sincere, that his teasing was earnestness wrapped up in a barbed tongue. 

His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt. You might not have always understood his advances, but you would try to. For him, you would always try.

“Is there some sort of ritual involved? Do I have to cover myself in runes or something?”

He shook his head against your chest. “I think it just… happens. I’m not sure. There are very few intricacies about frost giant habits with which I’m familiar. But based on how my body is responding, I would assume it boils down to ravishing you on every surface available to me.”

You hummed. “And what will happen if we ignore it?”

Loki, turned mute by anxiety, drew a line down your arm with his knuckle. Finally, he mumbled, “I’ll be fine. I’ll just be very… sad. For the next few days.”

“Sad?”

“I know logically that you’re not, but it feels… Like you’re rejecting me.” 

“And how do you want me to respond?”

He sneered again and ducked his head, dragging a hand over his face frustratedly. “I want you to bare your throat to me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up inside of you. “What?”

The glare Loki shot you was bitterly cold. “Do not pretend that you misheard me.”

“No, no, Loki,” you reached out and twined your fingers together. “I mean, surely there’s more than that, right? You want me to do the same things for you? To- to nest? I’m not going to hunt a stag or something for you but I can definitely, like, go to the butcher and get you a prize cut.”

Loki shook his head. “I just want you to accept. To accept me .”

“And the throat…?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You ran your finger along the edge of your t-shirt, where it sat snugly against your collarbone, and watched his pupils dilate. Wordlessly you tugged on his hand, drawing it up to your neck, and placed it there loosely. “That’s it?”

His hand tightened, fingernails catching ever so gently against your skin. “You heard the part where I said that frost giants mate for life, yes?”

You nodded. “Mhmm.”

As if possessed, Loki leaned forward to nose at your pulse point. “So you understand that this… this is forever.”

“And ever and ever?”

“Brat.” His teeth scraped across your skin. “I’ve grown tired of this one-sided vulnerability. I believe you promised me a secret, pet.”

“I did.” You took a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

His fingers stilled around your throat. He seemed to not even breathe as he considered your confession. With a calculated effort, Loki peeled his hands off your neck and his voice, deep and rumbling with restraint, cut through the silence. “You should run.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Unless you want me to fuck you here on this cold, hard floor, I suggest that you run back to that pretty little nest I made you.”

A hot flush washed over you, starting in your cheeks and pooling in the pit of your belly. Loki leaned forward and sweetly kissed your collarbone, then reached up and tore your t-shirt down the middle.

“Loki!”

He smiled against your cheek. “I wasn’t joking, my love.” He sat back on his haunches and folded his hands in his lap, his gaze simmering with something molten hot. Though he moved slowly, projecting a characteristic aloofness, you could see the tendons in his neck straining as he worked against instinct to hold still. He grinned, all teeth, and jerked his chin toward his bedroom. “Run.”

You scrambled to your feet. The hardwood was slippery under your socks. You took a couple tentative steps backwards, watching the way Loki’s eyes raked over you like a butcher pulled pork. Your skin buzzed under his gaze as if you were standing under a powerline, electrified by a well of energy crackling overhead. 

His control was crumbling by the second. The faucet was leaking– Tony had promised he’d have someone over within the week to fix it – and the water beading on its edge began to sizzle and pop, blinking out of existence in green bursts. The microwave display went black as Loki’s seidr overwhelmed the kitchen’s circuit breaker; the hum of the refrigerator died with it, plunging the room into an unnatural silence, so heavy that you could hear your own breath catching in your chest. Loki shifted his weight to his knees.

Your heart thrilled.

You broke in unison; you started to run at the same time that Loki sprang to his feet. A laugh bubbled up out of your chest; you reached out with your mind and swept the cushions off the couch, pelting Loki with them before he could reach you. He swore, and a tongue of emerald light crackled at your ankles, nearly tripping you. You stumbled but managed to make it over the threshold of his bedroom door. Something collided heavily with the wall behind you, followed by the sound of debris coming loose and littering the floor.

You landed with a bounce in the center of the bed, sending a cascade of pillows tumbling to the ground. Loki appeared moments later, breathing heavily and bracketing the door with his arms. He must have tripped during the chase; dust and bits of drywall covered his left arm. His irises had disappeared, carved to mere slivers by his blown pupils. Your breath caught in your chest when you noticed the line of his cock, hard and wanting, straining against his pants.

You shrugged out of your ruined shirt while Loki stalked across the small bedroom, still dressed for battle. He swatted a discarded pillow out of the air when you used your powers to raise it, then shredded another one in an eruption of light and feathers when you tried to catch him from behind. A low purr rumbled through him, melting into the hum of his seidr as it thrummed through the air.

Sensing he would tear through every scrap of fabric you managed to throw up between yourselves, you yielded slowly, tipping your chin back, drawing his attention to your throat.

Loki’s body hit the bed with a muffled thump. He crawled up the length of you on shaky limbs, pressing a grateful, sloppy kiss to your mouth before moving down to your pulse point. Burying his face there, Loki dropped his full weight on top of you. “You really should not indulge me. I might never let you leave.”

“I’ve always been terrible at saying no to you.”

He laved at a spot on your neck. His hips pinned yours against the mattress, shifting against you aimlessly as his arousal heightened. Experimentally, you pressed your leg into him; a groan tumbled from his mouth before he closed one hand around your thigh and rutted up a little more purposefully. “Love. My little love.”

Loki pushed up to his knees and pulled on the strap holding his breastplate in place. You sat up on one elbow and pinched your bra clasp with the other hand. It had only just come undone when Loki worked his hands under the band and tugged it off of you roughly. You tsked in retaliation, then pulled his armour over his head. Just as soon as it hit the floor, Loki was crawling backwards, sliding his hands down your thighs with a heavy reverence.

Your pyjama pants joined the scattered mix of armour and plainclothes on the floor. Now that you were completely bare, Loki slunk up to admire you, leaving a wet trail of kisses over your body until he reached the thin skin over your pulse. One of his hands pushed your knees apart to draw featherlight circles across your inner thighs. 

You tugged on his hair, trying to convince him to lean up and kiss you properly. Loki grumbled but did not concede; his left hand slipped from between your legs and took your wrist, jamming it against the headboard before returning to run circles around your clit. When you pulled, you found your arm immobilized; a tangle of green light pinned it in place above your head.

“Rude,” you gasped. Loki smiled against your neck, dragging his chin through a trail of his own spit.

“Evil,” he agreed.

“Can you at least- at least take your pants off?”

The air shifted; when you glanced down, you were pleased to find that Loki had magically done away with the rest of his clothing, giving you an unobstructed view of his lithe body. You hummed, satisfied, and slid your free hand down his back to palm his ass.

Loki lazily drew his middle two fingers up and down your slit, toying with you in a display of casual dominance. Occasionally he would dip into you, pressing only far enough to leave you wanting before retreating to trace an intricate pattern of knots between your thighs. Despite the hard weight of him, nestled in the cradle of your hips and burning hot with desire, he seemed determined to take his time tangling with you. You rocked your hips, seeking some sort of pressure or friction, and were met with a haughty grin against your breast instead.

You babbled. You begged. The fingers between your thighs patronized you, pressing but never breaching, circling but never stroking. 

Finally, though you suspected it was due to his own neediness and not the way you were pleading, he raised his head to kiss you, sliding his tongue, hot and possessive, over yours. Between the teasing pressure at your cunt and the burning weight of his cock against your hip, a desperation paced in the space between your ribs that left you aching, left you wanting. You tugged a little more firmly at your restraint. When that didn’t budge, you worked your free hand under him to run your fingers up and down the underside of his cock.

The bedside lamp buzzed and flared. Loki nipped at your bottom lip. “I’ll take away your other hand if I have to.”

And yet, despite his warning, Loki slid his fingers inside of you, a little deeper, curling slightly, and pressed at that soft spot you needed him to touch. A smug curl of delight rose in your belly, that you could make him so docile with a touch. You closed your hand around his cock and pumped him slowly, testing your sway. 

“Pet,” he pleaded. “Just let me take my time with you.”

You bit back a sigh when he sat up, blinking wide cow-eyes down at you with an expression bordering on insecurity. “Please, Loki. My love.”

He choked out a whine. His eyes shut tightly for a heartbeat, eyebrows creased deeply in the middle. Your hand slipped free from the headboard – victory – but before you could really enjoy your freedom, Loki flipped you over on all fours.

“If all it took to domesticate you was a four letter word, I would have said something sooner.” One of his hands came down in a warning tap against the side of your thigh. You gasped out a laugh, turning your cheek to catch a glimpse of him. His fingers were splayed over his eyes, partially obscured by his wild hair, and his mouth had turned up in a grin, his usual cool demeanour betrayed by a giddy kind of anticipation. You pressed back against him. “Is this the part where you fuck me?”

He tugged you upwards, manhandling you onto your knees in front of him. You felt his chest mould to your back as he shuffled closer to slot his cock between your thighs, tauntingly, sliding through slick, heated skin, his cockhead bumping against your clit with every pass when his hips met the plush of your ass. “Oh, I’m not going to fuck you, darling.” 

You reached between your legs to guide him inside you, but Loki snatched your hand by the wrist and held it there, so his cock glided just along your fingertips, occasionally catching at your entrance only to pull away at the last second.

“I’m going to lay claim to you. I’m going to breed you,” he panted against the shell of your ear. Your thighs clenched tight when Loki pressed the heel of your hand against the lip of your mound, applying pressure to your aching clit. “I’m going to ply you until you are limp and then I’m going to fill you until you are dripping, understand? I’m going to mark you so thoroughly that you will never be rid of me.”

He pressed even harder, rolling your hand by the wrist. His eyelashes brushed the heated skin of your cheek as he pressed his face to yours, drinking in the closeness of your body. “And when all is said and we’re sated, I’ll make love to you. And that’s a promise.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. You whimpered, your back arching into him while he worked you higher and higher. Loki murmured praise against your skin. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

He smiled against your shoulder. “Excellent.”

One of his arms hooked under your breasts, holding you up and flush against his chest. The other tilted your hips back, so you were nearly sat in his lap.

“Can you…” Loki huffed out a laugh against your skin. In a small voice he asked, “Tell me you love me again?”

There was no universe where you could deny him that. “I love you. Loki, I love you. Loki–”

Your eyes squeezed shut as he fed you his cock, inch by delicious inch, until you were fully seated against him. He swore, then growled out another stuttering laugh. A hot breath washed over the shell of your ear as he tucked his chin against your shoulder, and an experimental roll of his hips had you jolting in his arms, your toes curling when he slid over that spongy, sensitive spot inside of you.

“God,” you gasped.

He hummed in agreement, slipping his free hand between your legs to apply a firm pressure to your clit. His head rolled against your shoulder as he started a slow, teasing pace. “Pretty thing,” he cooed.

You felt his eyebrows furrow against your back. His mouth dropped open, panting hot air across your shoulder blades. Your hands shook, fisting in the bedsheets; you felt tears well behind your eyes as sensations overwhelmed you, a bit of pleasure and a bit of pain. You choked out a moan, a gasp, his name cut short.

“Loki. Please. I can’t.”

“You can,” he said against your shoulder. The hand between your legs grew a little desperate, sliding in tight circles while the rest of him worked you at his mercy up and down his cock. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? My pretty little mate,” he continued. “You are, I know you are. You’re going to come for me, and then you’re going to take what I have to give you. You’re going to let your mate fill that little cunt of yours and you’re going to be grateful, hmm?”

You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut. You were teetering on the edge of a knife, a knot in your belly drawn tight but threatening to unravel at any moment. A gasp tore from your chest when Loki changed angles, pulling you down with more force while leveraging his body weight to thrust into your harder. Your head tipped back onto his shoulder and you squealed, one hand flying behind you to anchor yourself against his hip.

“Yes,” Loki gasped. “Yes, that’s it darling.”

Relief washed over you for a heartbeat, a small coil shattered as Loki worked himself into you. You rocked back against him, writhing in his iron grip. The pressure on your clit eased away for a moment before doubling down, his middle two fingers burning molten pleasure in their wake as seidr sparked over your skin from his fingertips. Chasing relief in your body, he mouthed at your shoulder a little mindlessly. Your name tumbled from his lips, a plea, for what you weren’t sure.

Small sounds were punched out of your chest with every thrust, growing in volume as he went on and your body buzzed with overstimulation.

“Please,” you begged. One of your hands curled around his forearm, gripping him tightly, while the other fisted in one of the long-forgotten pillows. “Please. Please, Loki.”

Your legs clamped shut when your orgasm finally crested. Loki swore, tumbling, stuttering to his own edge before plummeting; he tugged you down and held you there, spilling inside you with a shaky groan.

Finally, he lifted you off his lap and slid out of you. You tried to turn over in his arms, but he tipped the two of you onto your sides and held you in an iron grip against his chest. He mumbled something foreign in your ear, intercut by the occasional sigh or a press of his mouth to your sweat-slick skin.

You tried again to turn around but Loki held you still. “Give me a minute,” he panted.

You squirmed. “But I want to kiss you.”

Loki leaned over your shoulder and kissed you, his eyes squeezed shut. Hardly satisfied, you tried to hold him in place, but your exhausted limbs were no match for him; he slunk back out of sight only a moment later.

“Loki,” you whined. His arms tightened.

“I’m not… myself right now.”

Slowly, you rolled over in his arms to face him and soothed your hands up his chest. An attractive flush coloured his pale skin, spreading from the top of his stomach to the highest points of his cheeks. You picked a flake of drywall out of his hair. 

His eyes were downcast, shuttered and turned away so you couldn’t see into them. “I don’t want to frighten you,” he mumbled.

You tilted his face up; his eyes had changed, the irises gone red. They weren’t quite gemstones, or cherries, or robins or cardinals. The same red as poppies, maybe. Startling against his pale skin, framed by thick, dark lashes, but so deeply endearing, swimming with emotion as they flickered back and forth over your face.

You must have been quiet too long; Loki huffed and buried his face in his pillow.

“No, wait,” you said. “Come back. Let me look at you.”

“No. I can’t bear it.”

“Stop being dramatic. Let me look at my pretty boyfriend.”

“Your pretty boyfriend is out of commission, I’m afraid.” His voice was muffled. He patted the bed until he found the comforter, which he then pulled over his head petulantly. “He can’t seem to control himself right now. He’ll come out later.”

You wormed your hands under the blanket and pulled it back from his face. Loki sighed and peered up at you from behind his pillow, his eyes barely open to slits to glare at you. You pushed a curl off his forehead, followed by a dry kiss to his cheek. “You know your eyes change colour all the time, right?”

“But the green is handsome. Intimidating,” he grumbled. “This is…”

“Gorgeous.”

“Horrifying,” he countered.

You pouted. “That’s my mate you’re talking about.”

That seemed to break the spell he’d fallen under. You felt the gentle brush of his fingers first, then the smooth slide of his hand down your side to hook around your hip. He drew you into his chest so he could press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “Hi.”

You returned his smile. “Hi.”

“You’re really not afraid?”

You pushed a stray pillow off the bed, trying and failing to extricate one of the blankets to drape over your bodies. Loki had been right about one thing - it was freakishly cold this week, and the chill was beginning to needle your sweat-damp skin unpleasantly. “Honestly, I’m more worried about the food in your freezer going bad. You blew a fuse in there.”

“Midgardians. You have no sense of self-preservation.” Loki reached out to help tuck you in. 

“Mhm… Coming from the guy whose favourite schtick is ‘pretend to grovel until you think up a better plan’.”

“That is, by definition, self-preserving.”

“Whatever. You blew a fuse. And maybe fixed the leak?”

“I also punched a hole through the wall.”

“Tony is gonna be so mad at you.” You scraped your fingernails across Loki’s scalp, drawing a deep rumble from his chest. “Ok, five more minutes and then we need to get cleaned up.”

“I think you’re mistaken, pet. We’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the week.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not risking a UTI for that.”

Loki groaned. He pulled his mouth from your neck just long enough to kiss you. “Fine. Shower?”

“Yes, but we’re just showering. I don’t want to get waterboarded like last time.”

“Of course, darling. Not in the shower.” He kissed you again, slowly this time, coaxing your lips apart with a thumb on your jaw. When he finally pulled away it was with a hiss and a sticky, wet sound. “Although I do intend to bend you over the sink so you can watch yourself fall apart first.”

“Oh?”

His red eyes found yours. They narrowed, sparkling with mirth, as he gathered you up in his arms. “Tell me again,” he purred, “how much you love me. I might just have mercy.”

You did.

He didn’t.

Not that you minded.

[cleo-fox]

Safehouse

Summary: This mission wasn't supposed to go as badly as it has. There wasn't supposed to be a blizzard, you weren't supposed to get snowed in at a remote cabin, and there certainly was supposed to be more than one bed. And none of this would be a problem were it not for your completely irrational, ill-advised crush on Loki.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, p in v sex, fingering, workplace crushes, There Was Only One Bed.

A/N: I didn't think this was going to be the next fic I posted, but this has been 95% finished for over a year and I just figured out the final 5% in the last 72 hours. Don't ask me how my brain works because I truly don't know sometimes. Also, perhaps after you read this, you will think "hey, I would like to read another fic that involves railing Loki in the middle of a blizzard." Well, my friend, then you should read Some Things Are Easier to Say in the Dark by the great @loki-cees-all because not only is there a blizzard and one bed, it is also beautifully written.

You didn’t expect this mission to go as badly as it has.

It was supposed to be quick, one of those tidy in and out things that almost feels routine—or at least as routine as things ever get in this line of work.

No one counted on a fucking blizzard, though.

It comes upon you suddenly enough to feel suspicious—one moment, it’s slate grey skies and barely a puff of wind and the next thing you know, the wind is howling and whipping at your coat and you can barely see three feet ahead of you.

“What the fuck is this?” you shout at Loki, who looks just as perplexed as you feel. “I thought you said the radar was clear.”

“It was,” he says, frowning. He taps at the screen of the device, an overly complicated piece of tech that you’d delegated to him because Tony’s brief training sessions had made your eyes glaze over. Still, though, you know enough to tell that you’re looking at a weather map and there’s absolutely no sign of the storm that’s howling around you.

An uneasy feeling is bubbling in the pit of your stomach and prickling up the back of your neck. Everything about this feels wrong.

“We need to find shelter,” says Loki. You know him well enough to tell that he’s pretending to be really calm and unbothered because he doesn’t want you to know that something’s wrong. Normally, you’d call him out on that bullshit, but the creepy crawly feeling running up your spine coupled with the storm that doesn’t seem to exist has you itching to get inside as soon as possible.

“There’s a safehouse just west of this hill,” he continues, tapping at the screen.

“Let’s go, then.”

The trek to the safehouse is fairly demanding, even though the distance is short. You’re walking straight into the wind, which seems to grow stronger and more biting by the minute. The snow under your feet grows slick with ice and your pace slows to a crawl, though even that doesn’t stop you from slipping.

The safehouse turns out to be an unassuming cabin that’s a little too shabby to be rustic; in the biting wind and dim light of the storm, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You make it to the door and a few minutes later, you’re inside. 

The cabin has been unoccupied long enough to put a light layer of dust on some of the furniture, but not enough to render anything musty or moth-ridden. It is charming in a way that you don’t normally see with S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouses—handcrafted furniture that’s a little rough around the edges, pine board floors, a squat wood burning stove in the center of the room that makes you want to curl up and read a book. It’s…homey and maybe even comfortable, two qualities that S.H.I.E.L.D. is decidedly not known for. It’s a welcome surprise, given how this mission has gone so far.

Loki bolts the door the moment you’re both inside and quickly turns his attention to the windows. 

“I’m putting up wards,” he says. There’s a grim set to his jaw that you don’t particularly like, largely because you only see it when something is wrong.

The back of your neck prickles.

The wood burning stove is not merely decorative—it’s the cabin’s only heat source. There are a few places that are intended to blend in no matter what—you suspect this is one of them. You manage to get a fire going and you settle yourself in front of it while Loki works. You know enough to not interrupt him, even though you feel like you’re about to bubble over with questions.

It takes him a while to finish warding all the windows and you notice he shuts the curtains for each one once he’s finished, which sends another chill up your spine. When he finally joins you by the fire, he looks a little tired.

“So, I take it you can’t just magic that storm away or something,” you say, with a casual sort of tone that sounds strained even to you.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he says, which you sort of expected. The set of his jaw is still tight. “And even if it did, this isn’t an ordinary storm. Someone is doing this.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression.” You pause, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. “Any idea who?”

He shakes his head. “Someone very ancient. Angry.”

You exhale. “Great. Do I want to know what the deal is with the curtains?”

“We should not look outside after the sun sets.”

The skin on the back of your neck prickles. “Why?”

There’s a reason that they call Loki “Silvertongue:” he is a compelling, eloquent speaker. And the somewhat irritating part is that he can do this extemporaneously and effortlessly—he doesn’t need to think about it at all.

So the fact that he pauses for a moment to think scares you a lot. His gaze drifts to the fire, quiet and thoughtful, as though he might find his answers written in the embers.

“Imagine every ghost story you heard as a child coming true,” he says finally.

You don’t like how spare he is on the details, but an icy chill works its way up your spine and you get the eerie sense that someone is listening. Suddenly, you don’t feel like asking any more questions.

“Okay,” you say softly.

*

Being in close quarters with Loki is…something.

There was a time early on, back when you first started working together when you thought something could maybe happen between the two of you. It was hard not to—Loki is attractive, certainly, but he has a particular magnetic quality that can make a stadium full of people think that he’s talking just to them (incidentally, this is also one of the qualities that gets red flags and warnings added to his file at S.H.I.E.L.D.) When you experience that up close, well…it’s intense, to say the least. It becomes easy to believe that his smiles mean something more, that he sees something intriguing in you.

Your feelings for Loki aren’t exactly a crush, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Crushes are silly infatuations that make people do incredibly stupid things and entertain incredibly stupid hopes. You are a professional with a good head on your shoulders: you know better. You’re attracted to him, but it doesn’t matter because nothing is going to happen.

Perhaps more importantly: Loki is a god and you are not. You have a good relationship—your banter comes easily and he seems to enjoy talking to you more than he likes talking to the average person—but it’s strictly professional and that’s all it ever will be. The fact that you’ve been working closely together for three years without a hint of anything romantic only confirms your theory. He’s your colleague, nothing more.

Except…being trapped in a small cabin with him is dredging up a whole swarm of feelings that you would have sworn you had gotten over.

And the storm is showing no signs of stopping.

And there’s only one bed.

It’s a fucking cliché, the kind of thing you’d roll your eyes at if you saw it in a movie or read it in a book, but you’re a professional and you’re also not sleeping on the floor. Besides, you’ve both got sleeping bags and it’s a double bed—it’s not like you’ve got to curl up together or anything.

Not that you’d complain if you had to.

Which, again, is another feeling you thought you were over.

The wood burning stove is doing its best to keep up, but it’s still no match for the storm outside, even though Loki’s done something to the logs to keep them regenerating as they burn. You dig out an extra pair of woolen socks from your pack and pull on your fleece over your sweater and long sleeved thermal. You pile your coat on top of your sleeping bag, along with your share of the scratchy wool blankets you’d pulled out of the cedar chest by the foot of the bed.

Loki watches you with the lightly amused look that always feels like he must be quietly making fun of you.

“What?” you say as you settle yourself under the blankets. “Some of us are delicate mortals who find the cold a little uncomfortable.”

“I said absolutely nothing,” he says, though the glimmer in his eyes undercuts his point.

“You were thinking it.”

“Oh, the things I think of would turn your head, darling.”

You know that there’s no innuendo specific to you in that statement, but your body reacts like there is: your heart and stomach do a complicated series of flips that would put trapeze artists to shame and a heavy, familiar heat stirs hopefully in your hips. Outwardly, you roll your eyes at him and focus on arranging the blankets over your legs. 

“I’m well aware that your mind is a kaleidoscope of horrors,” you say. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s horrors so much as—”

You recognize that look in his eye: it is the herald of something wildly inappropriate. And while you’re no prude, the reality is that you’re about to share a bed with him and you will have no outlet for whatever feelings of lust this will inevitably provoke. Time to change the subject to something as far away from sex as possible, which happens to be whatever creepy fuckery is happening outside. 

“Speaking of horrors: why are you being so cagey about what’s going on out there?” you say.

You almost feel a little guilty as the teasing expression disappears from his face and settles into something grimmer. “It’s safer this way,” he says as he sets about preparing his own sleeping bag and blankets.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” you say.

“I know.”

It occurs to you that this is a perfect example of the cryptic bullshit that makes his intentions so hard to read. Is he saying this because he cares about you? Is he trying to prevent problems down the road? All of the above or something else entirely? Nobody fucking knows, least of all you.

You scowl at him and he looks completely unbothered, which is typical.

“I hate it when you do this, you know,” you say.

There’s a slight twitch to his lips that could be a hint of a smile and you’re embarrassed by how giddy that makes you feel. 

“I know,” he says.

“It makes me feel like you don’t trust me or something.”

He stops what he’s doing and looks at you and his face is so honest and open that it makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Of course I trust you,” he says.

There’s something unsaid in his expression and you’re not quite sure what it is, but it leaves you with a warm glow in your chest.

“Okay,” you say softly.

For the briefest of moments, the difference between god and human doesn’t feel so impossibly vast.

But it’s only a moment.

*

You fall asleep quickly, even with Loki lying so close by that you could count his breaths if you wanted to.

You wake sometime in the middle of the night. The wind is still howling outside. Your mouth is dry and you fumble on the nightstand for your water bottle. Your fingers close around empty space and it occurs to you that you’d left it over by the fire.

You lie still, staring at the ceiling. The blankets have warmed up with your body heat and you’re not keen to brave the chill of the cabin. You could wake Loki up, maybe ask him to summon your water bottle to you. You nearly snort with laughter at the thought. That would go over well.

After a moment, you muster up all of your strength and willpower and haul yourself out of bed.

It’s not as bad as you thought it would be, in the end. You pad over to the fire and take a long drink from your water bottle, which turns out to be almost empty. You go to the little kitchen to refill it, idly listening to the wind howl outside.

You wonder if it’s still snowing, if the snow is piling up in drifts against the doors and windows, freezing you in. The thought of being stranded here with Loki is admittedly appealing.

Your brain is still a fuzzy from sleep and you’re a little distracted thinking about being snowed in with Loki and for just a moment, you forget what he said about not looking outside. You reach up to the kitchen window and push the fabric of the curtain aside to see how bad the snow is.

You’re not frightened at first because you only see shadows, but after a moment, you realize that the shadows are moving in an unnatural, broken sort of way, like someone had sculpted them into rough facsimiles of people and commanded them to walk, without really explaining what walking was.

Quite suddenly, they all turn and look at you. Or they would be looking at you if they had eyes. There is simply a void where their faces are, though somehow you can tell that their mouths are open, gaping and hungry, showing all of their teeth.

You feel something hook into the thread of your thoughts, tugging and pulling at your mind. The world tilts on its axis and there’s a sharp and white hot burning at the base of your skull that makes you cry out.

In the haze of pain, you think to yourself that it’s like they’re trying to take your soul and the shadows grin at you with too many teeth and a hissing, sibilant chorus of voices says, yes, we are hungry. So very hungry.

You know in that moment that they intend to kill you.

You are leaning closer to the window, your thoughts growing dark and murky as something saws away at the thing that tethers your soul to your body and there is so much pain and all of those horrible spindly hands and grinning mouths are reaching for you—

Someone is grabbing you around the waist and you scream because you think this must be the end, but instead, they’re pulling you away from the window and yanking the curtain closed and you realize it’s Loki.

There is a flash of green light and the connection between you and whatever is outside breaks abruptly and the pain retreats to a dull ache, like your body is carefully starting to repair those shredded, fraying threads that the shadows were tugging on. 

Loki’s eyes are wild and he looks at you like he half expects you to disintegrate or melt into the shadows. You are suddenly shaking so badly that your legs start to buckle.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” you say through chattering teeth. The cold you feel is bone deep and unnatural. “F-f-forgot.”

“Foolish girl.” He says it without malice, almost with affection, though his face is drawn tight with something like worry. Your legs are about to fail you, but he’s right there before they can, scooping you up into his arms like it’s nothing.

You snuggle up against his chest almost automatically, your body instinctively seeking out heat. “S-s-s-sorry, c-c-c-cold,” you manage to squeak out.

“I know,” he says and it almost sounds gentle. He is carrying you across the room and climbing back into bed with you in his arms, drawing the pile of blankets and sleeping bags over the two of you. 

The wind howls and you shudder, realizing for perhaps the first time that it may not be the wind making those noises. Loki stiffens, his grip on you tightening. 

“Did you see their eyes?”

You shake your head.

You feel some of the tension leave him, though not all.

You have so many questions, but that unnatural, bone deep cold is making you sluggish and sleepy and your teeth are chattering so hard you wonder if you’d even be able to speak at all.

“You need to rest,” he says. The cold feels like the sort of thing that could easily claim you while you sleep and he must see that fear reflected in your eyes because his expression softens ever so slightly. “Rest. I’ll keep you safe.”

You don’t like how quickly that line melts you. You tell yourself that it’s only because you’re so cold and tired, but you know that’s not entirely true. 

You allow your head to drop to his chest and he readjusts his grip on you, smoothing one hand against your hair, resting his chin on the top of your head. You try to catalog all of the different senses—the way he smells like snow and pine, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the feeling of his arms wrapped around you—but sleep is pulling insistently at your eyelids and you find yourself struggling to stay awake.

“Rest,” he says, and this time it sounds like a command.

Your eyes slowly slide shut and sleep finally claims you.

It seems like you sleep for a long time. Your dreams are strange and unsettling and have an odd sort of veneer, like they’re real but not quite. 

The first time you wake up, it’s because of a nightmare. You are back at the window and the things outside are threading their fingers underneath the panes, reaching for you with their spindly hands, clacking their too sharp teeth. You don’t know where Loki is and you’re trying to back away as they reach for you, and one of them is wrapping its fingers around your wrist and you can see its eyes and—

You thrash out in your sleep and gentle hands are soothing you. You wake abruptly, shaking, blearily looking up at Loki’s face.

“They—they were coming for me,” you manage to sputter out.

“Shh.” Loki is stroking your back. “You’re safe. I won’t let them harm you.”

Your pounding heartbeat takes a moment to settle, but the gentle pressure of Loki’s hands on your back calms you slightly. There’s a tenderness in his actions that you don’t necessarily expect, but it also feels so right and natural that you wonder how you could have ever been surprised by it.

“What are they?” you ask.

“That’s an answer for daylight, love,” he says. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe.”

You want to protest and push for answers, but you’re so very tired and he’s smoothing your hair again and you can feel exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, ready to pull you back under.

“I’m holding you to that,” you manage to mumble at him. “I’m not going to forget.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Sleep, darling.”

You fall back under.

Your dreams are still wild and strange this time around. You wake again a few hours later, teeth chattering and tears streaming down your face. Loki wraps you even more tightly in his arms, drawing more blankets over the two of you, conjuring an additional pile of furs. You try to tell him to save his magic for the wards and the fire, but he hushes you and mutters something about how that’s not exactly how it works, even though you’re pretty sure it is.

You sleep again.

You have a half memory of him quieting you and pressing his lips against your forehead, but you’re not quite sure if it’s real or wishful thinking.

When you wake again, it’s still dark and the wind is still howling. The cold has retreated somewhat—it’s not as sharp, not as biting, but you still need the warmth of the blankets and Loki’s arms to keep it at bay.

You’re a bit more clearheaded now, so there’s part of you that feels a little embarrassed about what happened. It was a stupid mistake. Rookie level. You know better.

“Are you awake?” Loki’s voice rumbles pleasantly against your ear.

“Sort of.” You hope he continues holding you. You’re not quite ready to give up his warmth or his arms just yet.

“How is one ‘sort of’ awake? Either you aren’t or you are,” he says.

“I’m very talented,” you say. It’s not particularly funny, but he humors you with a soft laugh, more exhalation than anything else.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Still cold,” you say. While it is true, you’re also secretly hoping that the more you emphasize this, the more likely he is to continue holding you. “It’s better than it was, but it’s still bad.”

As if to prove a point, a shudder works its way through you. Loki shifts, rolling over so his body covers yours, pulling the blankets up so they cover your shoulders. It helps, but there’s now a degree of intimacy there that makes your heart stumble in your chest and your breath catch in your throat. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but with his green eyes bright above you, you can’t help but hope he does.

Leave it to him to ruin the moment.

“That was very foolish of you,” he says, his expression becoming serious and his voice taking on that hard edge that you only hear when he’s trying to pick a fight.

You exhale sharply. “Are you seriously trying to do this right now? I told you it was an accident. I was half asleep.”

“I’m not fond of close calls,” he says tightly.

“Oh bullshit,” you snap. “You fucking love chaos, don’t tell—”

“It’s not chaos, it was foolish and dangerous—”

“For fuck’s sake, do you think I’m not aware of that? I’m not—”

“You could have died.” He’s not yelling, but he’s raising his voice and there’s an unexpectedly strained quality to his tone that you don’t know what to do with. “It’s not chaos, it’s not an accident, it’s—”

For a moment, he seems like he might be at a loss for words, and for some reason, this enrages you.

“It’s what, Loki?” you say with more venom than you intend. “Please enlighten me, since you’re such a fucking expert.”

You’re not quite sure what line you’ve crossed, but you think it must be an important one based on how angry he looks.

“You truly are infuriating,” he says. “You nearly get yourself killed and you have the audacity to speak that way to me after I save your life!?”

And before you can say a word, he brings his mouth down on yours in a bruising kiss.

His tongue sweeps past your lips, seeking out yours, demanding and hungry. Your response is reflexive and instinctive, your lips parting, tongue meeting his. You return his kiss, even though you’re still a little mad at him and he’s maybe still a little mad at you. But his mouth loses that hard edge as you kiss him back, his touch turning softer, more tender, but still urgent and wanting.

“Do not scare me like that ever again,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you in between words, each pause punctuated by the soft caress of his lips, the silky warmth of his tongue. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

You are astonished and somewhat perplexed. “I…I didn’t even know that you…that you wanted this—“

“Darling, I have thought of little else.”

His mouth covers yours again and you are drowning in the feeling of him. The cold that has settled in your bones is melting like snow in springtime. You move your hands along his shoulders, tentative at first, then a little braver. You thread your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and smooth it is. He deepens the kiss, his fingertips tracing the curve of your cheekbones. 

It’s dizzingly good and you want more. You need more. You arch against him in a clear invitation, reveling in how perfectly his body fits against yours. He sighs and presses back against you briefly before pulling away.

“You should rest,” he says, his voice slightly strained. “You experienced some very powerful magic—I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

“I won’t,” you say, tugging him back down to you. He allows this for a moment, his hands cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss with toe curling intensity.

And then he draws back.

“You really do need to rest,” he says.

You shake your head. “I need you, Loki.”

His lips and tongue are just as insistent as yours when you pull him back into a kiss. You can feel him growing hard against your thigh and when you wrap your legs around his waist and rock your hips against him, he groans and nips at your lip before withdrawing again.

“Darling,” he says, his voice a little hoarse, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“I can stay on my back,” you say.

“Appealing as that is, you’re rather ignoring my point.”

“And you’re ignoring mine,” you say, rolling your hips again. His eyes close for a moment as he presses back against you, his hand sliding along your thigh. Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back down into a kiss that he returns without protest.

You catch his lower lip between your teeth and he sucks in a deep breath as he grinds his hips against you.

“Please,” you breathe. “I need you so bad.”

He groans as he lowers his head to the column of your throat. “I’m trying to keep you safe and you’re tempting me like this.”

“Touch me and tell me I need to rest more than I need you.”

It’s a bold thing to say and your heart pounds with anticipation as you feel him nip at your collarbone. His hand pauses at your hip, so close to where you need him. You wait a moment and then take his hand in yours and guide it underneath your waistband and between your legs. He lifts his head, gaze snapping to yours and the moment that his fingers graze your slickness, you know that you’ve won.

“Oh, you’re dripping,” he says, his voice dropping and his eyes darkening with lust as his fingers swipe across your clit.

You’re tempted to tell him that you told him so, but this still feels so fragile and tenuous that you settle for a more flattering truth: “Loki, I need you.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He shifts on top of you so that you feel the hard press of his cock against your hip.

“Same thing that you’re doing to me,” you say. “Which is why I need you to fuck me.”

He sighs, but his fingers don’t stop moving. “You really ought to rest.”

“I can stay on my back,” you say. “You can take me really slowly and gently. Think about how good that will feel.”

“Darling,” he says. You can see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes and you know that you’ve almost won. You feel your orgasm starting to coil like a snake in your belly and you moan, rocking your hips with his hand.

“Loki.” You lick your lips. “Don’t you want to feel me come on your cock?”

You know the exact moment he gives in—you see it in his eyes. Less than a second later, he’s sliding one long finger inside of you and curling it just right.

“Not before I finish what I started.” His voice is a low growl.

“Yes,” you breathe, letting your head tip back against the pillow. “God, that feels so good.”

“I can feel you trembling,” he says, his voice rough. “Are you going to come for me already? I’ve barely touched you.”

“I told you: I need you,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening in a very attractive way. “You’re not getting pert with me, are you?”

There’s a particular tone to his voice, a sternness that makes you shiver. Something to explore later, perhaps—right now, you need him too badly to play games.

“No, just trying to emphasize that I need you.”

“Are you really that desperate for me? Do you really need me that much? Surely you could touch yourself, surely you don’t need me that badly.”

You know that he’s saying that to amp you up, to tease you. But you are also so desperate to come that the idea of not having him is beyond comprehension.

“I do,” you say, a bit of desperate note making its way into your voice. “I need you, Loki, I need to come for you, need you to fuck me, please don’t make me wait, please, please, please—”

He stops your mouth with a kiss as he eases a second finger inside of you. “I’m going to take care of you, sweet thing,” he says as you gasp at the stretch. 

His fingers are curling inside of you, his thumb working your clit in small, tight circles that are pushing you closer and closer to the edge as a fantastic pressure builds inside of you.

“Oh, that’s it.” His eyes are dark, pupils wide and lust-blown. “I can feel how close you are.” He brings his lips to your ear. “Come for me and then I’ll fuck you properly.”

Your breath hitches as you reach your peak. “Oh god—I—fuck, I’m coming, I’m—”

Your voice cuts out as you come, pure pleasure blooming low in your hips, your back arching against the mattress as Loki works you through it, murmuring soft encouragement as he watches you shake in his arms.

“You’re beautiful when you come undone,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Utterly stunning.”

You fumble for the waistband of his pants, your fingers slipping over the fastenings. “I need you,” you say, tugging at the fabric.

His mouth curls into a smile, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you quite certain?”

Leather yields to warm skin and you slide your hand into his pants, wrapping your fingers around his cock. He inhales sharply as you stroke him, his eyes turning dark.

“You’re presenting a very compelling argument,” he says.

“Think about how good you’ll feel inside of me,” you say, gently increasing the pressure on his shaft as you move your hand.

“Norns, woman.” But he’s rolling on top of you as he says this and sliding his pants off his hips. He pauses briefly to divest you of your pants and underwear. A shiver works through you during the brief moment when your bare skin is exposed to the chill of the room…and he notices right away, hesitating slightly as his brow furrows in concern.

“Don't you dare stop,” you say. “I don’t care if I get hypothermia and die, I will straight up implode if you don’t fuck me right now.”

He chuckles, pulling more blankets around the two of you as he settles himself between your thighs. “Are you always so demanding?”

“Look, you’ve been teasing me for the last twenty minutes and you’ve been strutting around in those fucking leather pants for a lot longer, so forgive me if I’m a little impatient.”

He pauses above you, his expression deadly serious. “Let's get one thing quite clear, my love: I do not strut.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes and you smirk back at him. “You totally do.”

He lines up the tip of his cock with your entrance. “I walk with the gravitas and stature appropriate to my station.”

“You strut and I know you strut because it’s extremely distracting.”

His smile is sly. “Tell me more about how I distract you.”

“You make me think about doing this with you.”

The tip of his cock eases into you. “Do I? How often, would you say?”

“All the time.”

He sinks in another inch. “All the time?”

“Mmmhm.”

One more inch. “That does sound terribly distracting.”

“You’re still trying to tease me,” you say and he grins and gives you another inch.

“You wouldn’t want me as much if I didn’t.”

“I’d want you always, no matter what.”

His gaze turns serious and he leans into kiss you, his hands stroking your cheek as he sinks into you fully, all the way to the hilt. You gasp, your walls stretching to accommodate him, your legs wrapping around his waist to hold him even closer. He’s still for a moment, his eyes shut.

He opens them.

“I’ve waited so long to have you,” he murmurs.

“You have me,” you say. “You always have.”

He kisses you deeply as he starts moving, slow as honey, sweetness in every thrust of his hips or touch of his lips. He fills you in a way that you’ve never experienced, his cock bumping up against that tender place inside you, making you gasp and pull him deeper. 

It builds slowly and steadily, the muscles of your cunt tightening as he takes you higher. You shudder as your climax builds.

“That’s it, my love,” he breathes. “That’s it.”

You inhale sharply, your orgasm swelling within you, rising, about to pull you under. You ride that wave, your hips rocking with his. You try and hold on for as long as you can because he feels so good and you don’t want it to end, but eventually, it becomes too much.

You keen and he kisses you. “Come for me, darling. Let me feel you come.”

Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and all your muscles tense and release as you come. Loki sucks in a sharp breath, brow furrowing.

“Fuck.” His pace increases slightly. “You’re divine.”

Less than a second later, he’s also unraveling, his expression of ecstasy particularly beautiful in the flickering firelight. Even in the hazy afterglow of your own pleasure, you can’t help but stare at him, utterly spellbound.

As soon as he catches his breath, he kisses you deeply and slows to a halt, his cock still throbbing inside of you.

“I don’t want to say I told you so—” you start.

“That’s a lie.” His reply is prompt and accompanied by another deep kiss.

You smile against his lips. “Okay, maybe I did want to say I told you so.”

“Better.”

You feel pleasantly loose and sleepy, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. He seems to notice your fatigue and raises an eyebrow. “Is this the part where I say I told you so?” he asks as he slowly eases out of you.

“Mmm, but it was so worth it,” you say. “So I’m basically right.”

“That’s not how that works,” he says.

“I’m not listening to you,” you say. “I need to recover my strength.”

“Now you’re just being pert.” He shifts to his side and draws you close so he’s spooned up against your back.

“You like it,” you say, barely stifling a yawn.

“Mmm, I do,” he says, drawing the pile of blankets back over you both. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah, but don’t go anywhere.”

You feel him smile as he presses a kiss against the back of your neck. “I don’t intend to.”

“Good.”

You both fall asleep like this, wrapped around each other, warm and safe from the storm outside.

[jiyascepter]

Caught You | 18+ Only

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Loki x F!reader

Words: 4012

Warnings/Content: SMUT; Avenger! Loki & Avenger! Y/n, Themes of dub-con, dark-ish Loki??, dom!Loki, pervy!Loki, possessive, jealous loki, use of loki's magic (in a lot of sexual stuff), restraints, bondage, biting, licking, aggressive, pissed loki, praise, slight degradation, there's a tattoo on y/n's thigh (for the plot!), other mcu characters also make an appearance, clit licking, fingering, overstimulation, p in v.

Please lmk if I missed anything! Loki is a bit of red-flaggy in this one, please keep in mind this is only a fanfiction.

Summary: When you make fun of Loki's magic, he "demonstrates" how his magic can be useful. In many, ehm..ways. What did you expect?

A/n: i moved the title in the corner so that i can keep seeing tommys's sexy face in the middle 😮‍💨 im trying to make my fics dirtier but it's not quite coming down in my works, like it's in my mind but it's not easy to express??? im trying & hopefully it'll come soon

The cavernous, dimly-lit warehouse echoed with the sounds of clashing metal and grunts of exertion. The Avengers were locked in combat with a band of mercenaries armed with advanced weaponry.

Tony was in the air, repulsor beams lighting up the darkness, while Natasha and Clint worked in tandem, their movements precise and deadly. Thor’s hammer, Mjölnir, was a blur as it struck down the enemies with thunderous force.

In the midst of the chaos, Loki stood with an air of detached amusement, casting spells with flicks of his wrists. His magic sent mercenaries flying, created illusions to confuse their ranks, and conjured barriers to protect the teammates. But Loki's magic, powerful and unpredictable, was also a bit reckless tonight.

Maybe it was the leather suit you were wearing today.

"Loki, for the love of—watch where you're aiming!" You shouted as you narrowly avoided being hit by a stray spell meant for an enemy.

Your eyes flashed with annoyance as you shot him a glare. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"

Loki smirked, eyeing you up, not taking you seriously. "Perhaps if you were more attentive, you wouldn't find yourself in such precarious positions, darling."

You scowled and ducked under a swipe from a mercenary, retaliating with a swift punch that sent your opponent sprawling.

Ugh, you hated how he always carried that stupid smirk.

"Maybe if your magic was actually useful, we wouldn't be in precarious positions to begin with!"

Loki's eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of irritation flashing through his otherwise calm demeanor. "Is that so? I seem to recall saving you from a similar predicament just last week."

"By causing it in the first place!" You shot back, dodging another mercenary's attack and taking him down with a well-placed kick. 

Loki rolls his eyes and runs in the other direction. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured an illusion, making a group of mercenaries see each other as Avengers.

Confused, they turned on one another, giving the team a moment of respite. But the spell was too potent, and soon the illusion spread, affecting even the teammates. 

Chaos erupted as friends and foes became indistinguishable. 

"What the—" Tony exclaimed while flying over the scene. 

"Damn it, Loki!" You screamed, ducking, as Natasha took a swing at you, mistaking you for an enemy.

"Enough!" Thor bellowed, his hammer smashing into the ground to create a shockwave that knocked everyone off their feet and dispelled the illusion.

The mercenaries, now disoriented, were quickly subdued.

The flight back home was quiet. Everyone was either tired, tending to their wounds, or just rethinking what happened back there. 

Once you landed, the rest of the Avengers stepped down the Quinjet and walked into the building to their rooms. 

"Loki, wait." Steve calls out and walks towards Loki in the lobby.

“About today—”

“Nobody died, Rogers.” Loki replies. 

"That is not an achievement," You murmur to yourself loudly on purpose for him to hear while taking a sip from your favourite grey-coloured sipper. 

Loki and Steve both glanced at you, with Steve carrying a hint of a smile on his face while Loki scowled and turned back to Steve.

You could tell he was not impressed. 

A win for you.

Steve clears his throat, turning serious once more. "Look, what happened today was not good. We cannot work as a team if we don't know half of your tricks."

Loki grins. "Well, that's the fun, isn't it? A surprise for everyone.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. "But it isn’t helping, Lo-"

"Helping? His magic is useless half the time."

Loki shoots an eye at you when you say that, and you could tell the God wasn't pleased.

"He's showing off in front of everyone, like the arrogant ass he is." You go on, while Loki watches you with his grave, sharp eyes.

Why wasn't he replying with his usual snarky comments today? 

Steve gives a light chuckle and pats Loki's shoulder as if feeling sorry for him, "Be careful next time, that's all I ask," and walks away through the corridor, leaving you and Loki to yourselves.

While waiting for the elevator, you silently stand in front of the doors, waiting for it to arrive.

Until you feel a hard pressure against your back.

The sensation is unmistakable—a solid, unyielding presence, warm and firm. Loki's chest. His closeness sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breath and subtle heat radiating through his clothes.

You stiffen, unsure whether to move away or stay still, the elevator's arrival feeling like an eternity away.

You decide to say something to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Ego broken, Loki~?" You say his name in a sing-song voice.

"Do you enjoy testing my patience, mortal?" he says, leaning down to your ear.

"Someone has to keep you in check," you reply, your voice steady despite the proximity.

The elevator reaches your floor, and with a little chime, its doors open. You proceed to take a step forward to enter the elevator when his hand grabs hold of the back side of your neck and pulls you back to him.

"Careful," he almost whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin, "your tongue is going to get you in trouble one day."

You pause for a moment, feeling the tension thicken in the air, before you turn your head out of his hands to look at him. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt the big bad trickster's feelings?" You taunt, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Maybe if your magic wasn't so unreliable, we wouldn't be in these messes. Or do you need Daddy Odin to give you some pointers on how to actually be useful?"

Loki's eyes flare with fury, and in no time he grabs your neck once again and strides into the elevator, pinning your head to the panels. His body pressed against yours with a force that left little room for doubt about his intensity.

His frame, tall and lean yet undeniably strong, exerting a commanding presence as he pins you against the cool metal of the elevator wall. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, a stark contrast to the chill of the metal against your cheek. 

He was so close to you, you could smell his sultry, intoxicating smell on him.

"You think my magic is useless, don’t you..." He whispers, his breath ghosting on your skin. "I’ll make sure you regret saying that."

"I don't "think", it's a fact." You try to push him back with your elbow. “Let me go, Loki.” You say it firmly. 

"Not yet, vixen." He says so, and the elevator doors shut by themselves. And with one flick of his fingers, the front chain of your tight leather suit yanked open down to the end of your belly.

Did he just–

"I’ll make sure to demonstrate how useful my magic can be." He says and looks down to notice you were not even wearing a bra underneath.

He grins at the sight, licking his lower lip. "Naughty girl." He coos in your ear while his fingers work their way to your belly. 

His fingers, though possessing a hint of coldness at first, quickly warmed against your skin as they made contact with your belly. Each touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a fire that danced just beneath the surface. 

"Let. Me. Go." You say, trying to stand your ground, but your attempts are futile. 

"Told you no, darling." He says while his fingers trailed up to your nipples, sending a shiver down your spine as goosebumps rose in their wake.

It was a sensation that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet strangely exhilarated by the raw intensity of his touch. 

He slides down your suit from your shoulders, proceeding with a graze of his tongue on your skin. 

"Mmm…sweet," he murmurs, sucking on your shoulder, "unlike those words you use."

"FUCK. YOU." You reply with a gruff.

Loki chuckles darkly against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. "Oh, darling, you will," he murmurs, his voice dripping with seductive menace. "But not before I teach you to respect a God."

He pulls down your suit lower, his lips kissing the back of your neck, followed by melty little kisses down your bareback. Despite your discontent, you couldn’t help but feel turned on by him.

As Loki pushes down your suit to your thighs, his eyes catch sight of a small tattoo etched on the inside of your thigh. The ink reads the name of your ex-boyfriend. Loki's eyes darken with a mix of curiosity and possessiveness. 

He paused, his brows furrowing as he read the name inked there. "Well, well, well," he murmured, his voice a mix of curiosity and disdain. "So that’s what your little skirt was hinting at the meeting a few days ago..."

He traced the tattoo lightly with his finger, sending a shiver through your body.

So this bastard was always watching you?

You grit your teeth, anger and embarrassment flushing through you. "It’s none of your business, Loki."

He tightens his grip on your neck slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to assert his dominance. "I know."

"But this mark... it irks me. An insignificant mortal claiming a part of you." He pinches your thigh, and you try to jerk away your leg but cannot. 

You squirmed against his grip, but he held you firmly, his eyes dark and intense as they bore into yours. "Let it go, Loki," you demanded, trying to maintain your composure.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the tattoo. "Why should I?" he whispered, his voice a dangerous purr. "Why should I let some forgotten lover's mark go unchallenged?"

He gives you a rather harsh bite on your shoulder, trailing his lips to kiss your neck, which makes you whimper, which makes him grin.

He pulls away a bit, and with the flick of his wrists, an invisible force pins your arms above your head, securing you in place against the elevator wall. You struggle briefly, but the bonds hold firm. Loki steps back, his eyes raking over your exposed form with a predatory gaze.

Before you could retort, he bent down, turning his body against the elevator and facing you from below. He kissed the tattoo with deliberate slowness, his lips soft and maddeningly sensual.

The act was both possessive and teasing, with his tongue swirling repeatedly on the same spot that was making you crazy. You gasped, the sensation overwhelming, and a part of you hated how your body responded to his touch. 

"Shh, people can still hear us, darling. Even if they cannot enter." He says placing pecks up and down your thigh, evaporating your steady facade away.

"Now, let's see what other secrets you're hiding," he murmurs, his hands sliding down to your hips. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down and exposing you completely.

You saw his eyes almost sparkle at the sight, placing a kiss on your mound, making you flinch against the metal. Where and when did your suit disappear? You didn’t know.

He leans close and starts exploring your already wet clit with his tongue. Holding your waist in his hands, he kept stealing glances up at your aroused form, watching your expressions while you gasped every time his warm tongue darted on your needy pussy.

The god had a talent for his tongue. The silver tongue. 

"Are you still with him?" He murmured, pulling away his face from your pussy, making you let out a complaining whine.

He holds up his two fingers to caress your folds. "Answer."

"N-no…" You answer, your voice quivering in pleasure.

"Then why isn’t it off?" He says this, glancing at your tattoo.

"I never…Loki-"

He pushes two fingers in. "You never what?"

You shudder as Loki's fingers push inside you, his question hanging in the air, demanding an answer. Your mind races, caught between the intense pleasure and the need to explain yourself.

"I never... had the chance," you manage to gasp, your voice barely steady. "It didn't mean anything anymore. I just...fuck-forgot about it."

Loki's eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face, his fingers moving slowly inside you, curling and stroking in a way that makes coherent thoughts nearly impossible. He doesn't seem entirely convinced.

"Forgot about it?" he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. "Or perhaps you wanted a reminder of something you couldn't let go?" 

"No…" You moan, writhing against the panel with your hands above your head, your fingers aching to dive into his hair. 

He starts to pump his fingers in and out of you with a deliberate rhythm, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. You squirm, your faint moans echoing the elevator.

"Good," he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. "Because I don't share, darling. And I don't like to be reminded of what once was."

You moan, your body arching against his touch. His words send a thrill through you, and the possessiveness in his tone both intimidating and exhilarating.

"You know I can just turn you into a pretty mannequin for me so I can do whatever I want with you…but I want to feel you squirm... to mewl... like a little prey." He says watching your face while feeling your pussy start to clench around his fingers.

"Now, let's make sure you never forget who you belong to, hm?" Loki whispers, his lips brushing against your thigh as he speaks. His mouth returns to your clit, his tongue flicking and sucking with a relentless intensity that drives you wild. 

"Yeah, that’s right, just keep on making those little sounds for me." He says it with a satisfied smile curling on his lips, and he resumes his ministrations with renewed fervor. 

The combination of his fingers inside you and his mouth on your clit sends you spiralling into a mind-shattering orgasm, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out his name.

As the waves of ecstasy subside, Loki slowly withdraws his fingers. He stands, his eyes locking onto yours. He releases your binds away and turns you to him, and his thumb caresses your lower lip as if studying it for a second before he holds you against the wall, cupping your cheek, and kisses you almost fiercely. 

And gosh, you needed that. You needed that and more.

"Y/n, is that you?"

Both of you freeze to your seats when you hear Thor’s voice outside the elevator. 

Loki's eyes narrow in annoyance, and he quickly glances towards the elevator doors. "Shh," he murmurs against your lips, his voice barely a whisper. "We wouldn't want to get caught now, would we?"

He continues exploring your mouth, and the kisses start spreading to your neck, tongue, and teeth, making their wild appearances every once in a while. 

Until you couldn’t help it and let out a moan.

"This door is not openi- Y/n??" Thor repeats again. "Wait, let me call Stark.-" 

Your heart races when Thor calls out again because of your moan. Loki’s eyes narrow, and he pulls away. "Are you doing this on purpose? Just another one of your games so we can get caught and you can have your fun?"

He gives your pussy a little slap, and you whine a no. 

In a swift motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. You barely have time to register the shift before the air around you shimmers and the familiar confines of the elevator vanish, replaced by the opulent and dimly lit interior of a room unknown to you.

The room is a stark contrast to the sterile metal of the elevator. Rich tapestries line the walls, and candles flicker, casting a warm, golden glow. A large, ornate bed dominates the space, its dark, luxurious linens inviting in a way that makes your heart race. 

Loki wastes no time. He sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the bed with an urgency that sends a thrill through you. He lays you down gently, his gaze intense as he takes in your still-naked form. His hands trace over your skin, as if committing every inch to memory. 

The air is thick with the scent of sandalwood and something uniquely Loki—intoxicating and alluring. "Now, where were we?" He purrs, his fingers tracing a delicate line down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You can barely catch your breath; the intensity of the moment overwhelming. "Loki, what if Thor—"

"Thor won't find us," Loki interrupts, his voice a low growl. "This is my domain. No one enters without my permission."

"Now," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, "let us continue our little magic demonstration." 

The silken sheets cool against your heated skin, and with Loki's hands everywhere—caressing, teasing, exploring every inch of your body—his touch both gentle and demanding, leaving you breathless and craving more. 

"So beautiful," his voice dripping with seductive menace as he conjures a binding spell that secures your wrists to the bedposts. 

You gasp, your body arching against the restraints, as Loki's mouth finds your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipples with maddening precision. The sensations are overwhelming, and your mind is lost in a haze of pleasure and need. 

Loki's mouth moves with deliberate precision, his tongue tracing intricate patterns over your breasts. Each flick of his tongue sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you arch and writhe against the silken sheets. The restraints on your wrists keep you firmly in place.

"Loki…"

"Mhm," he hums, enjoying your squirms. But he wanted more.

He uses his powers to amplify his touch, making your nerve endings sing with heightened sensitivity. You gasp and moan, the intensity of his magic overwhelming your senses.

You can feel the magic pulsating through you, heightening your awareness of every touch and every kiss. His lips move from your breasts to the sensitive skin just below, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The combination of his mouth and his magic almost too much to bear.

His free hand trails down your body, leaving a path of fire in its wake. As his fingers reach your inner thighs, you feel a new surge of his magic, more potent and concentrated. It wraps around your thighs, making your muscles quiver with anticipation.

Loki conjures small, delicate tendrils of magic that wrap around your nipples, gently tugging and twisting. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before—a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that leaves you gasping for breath. 

He moves lower, his mouth leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your belly. The tendrils of magic follow his path, amplifying every sensation, making you feel as if your skin is on fire. You can barely think or breathe; your mind consumed by the overwhelming pleasure.

As he reaches your hips, his fingers part your folds, and you feel a rush of cool air against your wetness. His mouth hovers just above your clit, his breath hot and tantalizing. 

"Tell me, darling," Loki whispers, his lips brushing against your most sensitive spot, "how does it feel to be at the mercy of a god?"

Before you can answer, his tongue flicks out, teasing your clit with delicate, precise strokes. His magic enhances every touch, making you moan and writhe against the restraints. You can feel your orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly. 

"Loki I-" He sees your upcoming orgasm and pulls away quickly, enjoying your needy, complaining moan for him.

"Not so easy, darling."

And with another display of his magic, he completely gets rid of his clothes, his disrobed body turning you on even more, the heat of need between your legs almost unbearable.

He brings his already-hard cock near your lips. "Kiss it." and you do, the light hum of satisfaction he makes making you want to absolutely suck him out rather than just a little kiss.

"My filthy little vixen," he says, eyes blazing with hunger as he positions himself between your legs. His grip tightens on your hips, holding you in place as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock, the sensation sending shivers of anticipation through you, "get ready for your god."

He lets out a low growl, a dark and seductive sound, before slowly pushing into you, his length stretching and filling you completely. The feeling is exquisite, with every inch of him sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"You feel so perfect," Loki murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "Every part of you was made just for me."

He begins to move, slow and deliberate, his thrusts deep and controlled. Each motion designed to draw out the maximum pleasure to make you feel every inch of him. The binding spell keeps your wrists secured to the bedposts, preventing you from reaching out to touch him, to claw at his back as the pleasure intensifies.

Loki's eyes never leave yours, the connection between you palpable and electric. He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts. You respond eagerly, your moans muffled against his lips, your body arching to meet his. 

His magic continues to amplify every sensation, making your skin hypersensitive, every touch sends sparks of pleasure through you. The tendrils of magic around your nipples tighten and twist, adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body.

"Loki," you gasp, barely able to form coherent words. "I can't... it's too much..."

He smirks, his eyes dark with lust. "You can take it, darling. You will take it. You will take everything I give you."

His pace quickens, and his thrusts become more urgent and more demanding. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and the wet, slick sounds of your bodies moving together. The pleasure builds rapidly, creating a coiling heat in your belly that threatens to consume you entirely.

Loki's hand moves between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight, precise circles. The additional stimulation pushes you closer to the edge, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your impending orgasm.

"Come for me, darling," Loki commands, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Come for your god."

His words are your undoing. With a cry, you shatter, the orgasm ripping through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless and shaking. The pleasure is overwhelming, your vision going white as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

Loki continues to thrust through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure, his own release imminent. His movements become erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chases his own climax.

You can feel him throbbing inside you, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he finally lets go, his own orgasm ripping through him.

With a final, powerful thrust, he spills into you, his groan of pleasure vibrating through your body. He collapses on top of you, his weight comforting and grounding as you both catch your breath, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through you.

For a moment, there's only the sound of your ragged breathing, the scent of sex and sweat heavy in the air. Loki's hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear of overwhelming pleasure. 

"Fuck, you drive me wild." He murmurs breathlessly. 

"Did you like that, darling?" Loki murmurs against your skin, his voice a seductive purr. "My magic can do so much more." 

You breathlessly chuckle while he traces patterns on your skin. His fingers caress down to your thigh, where he glances at your tattoo.

"We can’t have that." He says in a low voice and grazes his hand over your skin, and the tattoo vanishes.  Loki’s touch lingers on your thigh where the tattoo once was, his magic leaving your skin smooth and unmarked.

"And now you’re mine."

┈➤ Taglist in the comments! Lmk if you want to join or just click this 𖹭

[whimsyfaes]

Only Loki could look like a ✨ slut ✨ reading.

[societyfolklore]

Kneel for me

Title: Kneel for me

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Summary: You shouldn’t have teased him. You shouldn’t have rolled your eyes, shouldn’t have purred “my lord” like it meant nothing. But you did. And Loki, ever the prince and predator, doesn’t tolerate mouthy little things without reminding them exactly where they belong.

Word Count:  2.5k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Established relationship/dynamtic, Oral sex (male!receiving), Dom!Loki, Brat Taming/Power Play, Mirror Kink, Spit, Mild Degradation & Praise, Hair pulling, Obedience Kink and well Loki being Loki (smug, controlling, indulgent, and possessive)

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo for April Kinky Bingo.

(I know he's not an avenges but he is marvel so that count right...right?) Square: C3- Kneel for me Card Number: KB003

The room had been too quiet for too long. Gilded candlelight painted everything in gold- walls, mirrors, the sharp edge of Loki’s jaw. The air itself shimmered with an almost tangible energy, thick with anticipation, pressing in around you like a velvet curtain. And you, stretched out in the center of it like a cat with claws tucked just beneath the surface, knew exactly what you were doing.

You were already in trouble.

Not because you'd disobeyed a command- no, that would've been expected. Predictable, even. But because you'd spent the better part of the evening poking the bear with deliberate, calculated precision. You had draped yourself across the chaise like temptation incarnate, dripping sarcasm with every sweetly-intoned ‘my lord,’ rolling your eyes with flair when he spoke, letting your fingers skim just high enough on his thigh to tease- but never touch.

Every smirk, every eye-roll, every feigned yawn was a challenge. A game. A dare.

And he hadn’t stopped you. Not once. Not even when your mocking tone drew a sharp glance. Not even when your giggle at one of his subtle warnings hung heavy in the air like smoke.

That alone should’ve warned you.

But instead, you tilted your head with an exaggerated yawn and sighed, "Must be exhausting, strutting around like you’re the only prince who deserves a throne."

You didn’t expect silence to follow. Not like that.

Loki stood.

"Careful," he said sharply, his voice slicing through the air like a blade wrapped in silk. "You’re running out of rope."

You raised an eyebrow, lips curling upward in defiance, but the flutter low in your belly betrayed your bravado.

"You do remember what I do to unruly pets, don’t you?" Loki went on, taking one unhurried step forward. "Or have you gotten reckless in your need to be reminded?"

Slow. Deliberate.

And suddenly, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Not from cold, but from the weight in his gaze, the kind that promised consequences.

Loki stepped into your space like he owned the air between you. Like he was the air. His boots moved in perfect silence on the marble floor, the soft whisper of his robes following like a warning. He didn’t rush. No, he never did. He took his time, smirking over your shift in posture, the way your body unconsciously tensed and straightened, as if already bracing.

He stopped just in front of where you sat legs crossed, head tilted, smirk cocky. But your pulse quickened. Because his eyes were darker now, shadowed with something dangerous and deeply amused.

"Tell me again," he said, low and smooth, "what was it you said about me being unable to handle your teasing? Something about being the only prince who deserves a throne?"

Before you could answer or even pretend to think of something clever his hand slid into your hair. The movement was slow but left no room for negotiation. His fingers curled with deliberate firmness, anchoring you there, just beneath him, a reminder of exactly who held control in this little game.

Not cruel. But absolutely controlling. Possessive in the way only Loki could be; effortless, intoxicating, and absolute.

You opened your mouth in a silent protest, maybe to sass, maybe to stall- but then he dipped his head, his breath dragging across your cheek, cold and warm at once, like a spell wrapping around your spine. You felt it seep into your skin, coil in your belly, that impossible mix of dread and desire.

The scent of him, the press of his body, the soft scrape of his thumb against your scalp. All of it worked like a charm designed to unmake you. Your breath hitched, heart pounding as if it recognized something primal. You could feel your resolve beginning to splinter, thoughts scattering under the intoxicating weight of his presence. It wasn’t just arousal- it was surrender, thick and heady and inevitable. of it worked like a charm designed to unmake you.

His voice was a velvet knife when he spoke:

"Kneel for me."

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. There was authority in every syllable, a dark promise stitched into the softness of the words.

You blinked. Smirked. Didn’t move. A last flicker of resistance. A final rebellion.

So he bent at the hip, bringing his face close, so close you could feel the heat of his breath fan across your skin. His mouth brushed your ear, voice lower now, like thunder rumbling against your bones.

"Now."

Your thighs pressed together, breath catching in your throat, arousal blooming like wildfire. There was no teasing in his tone now. No warning. Just command.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, tracing the outline of your mouth as though memorizing it.

"Don’t make me repeat myself again, darling. You know how I get when I'm... disappointed."

The word sank into you, heavy and intimate, weighted with all the consequences you both knew he was capable of delivering.

You swallowed, lips parting to breathe around the pressure growing inside you.

And sank.

A surrender dressed in silence.

The cold marble kissed your knees as you knelt, Loki guiding you into place like a sculptor with clay. He stepped behind you just briefly, fingers brushing over your hair before he moved to the side- turning your chin so you faced the tall mirror along the wall.

"Eyes up," he murmured. "Watch."

He undid the clasp of his robes slowly, letting them fall open just enough. Just enough to tease. Just enough to tempt.

Your mouth watered.

"You were quite the mouthy little thing earlier," Loki continued, thumb dragging along your lower lip, coaxing it open. "Let’s see if it can be put to better use."

He pressed two fingers against your tongue, watching the way you wrapped your lips around them in the reflection. His eyes darkened.

"There now," he said, soft but smug. "You're such a pretty thing when you listen."

He withdrew his fingers with a soft pop, letting a thin trail of spit glisten between you before it broke and fell to your chest. Then he lowered his robes just enough to free himself, and the sight made your breath hitch. He was long, thick, the flushed tip leaking and heavy with arousal, a vein throbbing visibly along the shaft. The musky scent of him hit your senses like a drug, warm and intoxicating.

Loki wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, stroking slowly, deliberately, as he looked down at you through heavy lids. "Mouth open. Tongue out. I want you to feel every inch. I want to see that bratty mouth stretched and dripping for me."

You obeyed without hesitation, lips parting, tongue flicking out eagerly to taste the salt of his skin. He groaned low in his throat as he guided the thick head across your tongue, smearing precum on your taste buds. Your mouth watered as he began to push in.

Inch by inch.

Letting you savour the weight and heat of him.

He didn’t thrust. Not yet. Instead, he rolled his hips forward in slow, shallow motions, dragging himself across your tongue and deeper into your mouth with each controlled pass, until the head nudged the back of your throat.

"Breathe through your nose," he murmured, voice like silk dragged across bare skin. "Let me in. All the way."

Your lips sealed around him as you relaxed, letting him slide further into the tight heat of your mouth. Moisture gathered at the corners of your lips, glistening trails sliding down your chin to glimmer on your skin, warm and sticky as they traced a path down your throat and across your chest, soaking the tops of your breasts with your devotion as you took him deeper. He hissed softly, watching the obscene image in the mirror with open hunger.

"Just like that, little thing," he whispered. "That’s it. Norms, look at you. Drooling, eager, taking me so well."

He let the words stretch, each one drawn out like a silk ribbon pulled tight. "Watch your lips stretch around me. Look at the tears in your eyes, the mess down your chin. That's what happens when you behave."

“Eyes on the mirror,” he reminded, voice low and steady. “I want you to see how lovely you look like this. Kneeling. Obedient. Useful. But most importantly, mine.”

You whined softly around him, cheeks hollowing as you sucked, tongue swirling with practiced eagerness. Your hands pressed against your thighs like a good little thing desperate to please, fingers twitching with the need to touch, to be touched. Pressure built low in your belly, a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed with every breath. The thin fabric of your underclothes clung to you, soaked through and sticky, pressing against the need between your legs like a constant, maddening reminder. You clenched around nothing, desperate for friction, for relief, for the permission to even move. and clinging obscenely as the ache inside you bloomed into something maddening.

Your lips moved greedily, the taste of him coating your tongue, the heat of him filling your mouth inch by inch. Each muffled moan earned you another sound from him, a low hiss, a pleased growl, something feral and possessive that only made your body respond more.

He chuckled- dark, indulgent, full of approval as he brushed hair from your cheek to better see your face in the mirror, his fingers lingering just long enough to graze your jaw. His hips rolled forward, deliberate and slow, feeding more of his cock past your lips, stretching your throat with each pulse of his control.

His hand settled on the back of your head, fingertips threading into your hair, grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. He didn’t force. Didn’t rush. But the weight of his dominance was undeniable like gravity itself had shifted to obey his will.

You worked your mouth over him slowly, devouring the way he felt, the taste, the weight, the steady rhythm of his breaths as you took him deeper. Your tongue traced every vein, every ridge, your lips sealing tight with devotion as you eased down, welcoming him into your throat with practiced obedience and desperate hunger.

“Such enthusiasm now,” he mused. “All that attitude earlier, and here you are- wet and whimpering with my cock in your mouth. Do you even remember what you were whining about?”

Your eyes fluttered shut, lashes wet with the sting of effort, but he tsked, the sound sharp in your ears as he gave your hair a firm, corrective tug. “No. I said watch. Keep those pretty eyes on yourself. Let the image burn into that bratty little brain of yours.”

You forced them open again, locking your gaze onto your reflection. Your lips were stretched around him, glossed with spit, cheeks hollowed, eyes glassy with tears and arousal. The picture of submission. Of need. Of worship.

Tears prickled harder as he guided you deeper, one hand steady at the back of your head, the other curling around your jaw as if to mold your obedience with his touch. He pushed until your lips met the base of him, nose brushing the skin above his pelvis, and your throat flexed around him. The sound he made was low, guttural, nearly broken. Sending another fresh wave of arousal between your thighs.

Your nails curled against your thighs, knuckles white as you focused on breathing, holding still, swallowing him down like you were made for this. Like you wanted to be nothing more than something warm and wet for his pleasure.

He groaned, just the once- the sound held something ragged, strained. A warning.

But he didn’t let it go further. Not yet. He pulled back slowly, dragging himself from your mouth inch by inch, glistening with your spit, with maddening restraint that made your core clench in frustration.

“Not yet,” he murmured, voice like sin wrapped in silk. “You haven’t earned it.”

You licked your swollen lips, breathless, need throbbing between your legs. The taste of him still lingered on your tongue, head swimming from the denied reward, body trembling with the effort of holding still.

“Again,” he said, stroking himself slowly, lazily- just enough to keep himself on edge. “Slower this time. Tease me like you teased earlier. Show me what that wicked mouth is really for.”

And you did. You opened for him again, lips parting, tongue slick and ready. You let him guide himself past your lips, licking slow and deliberate from base to tip before taking him in, inch by torturous inch.

Again. And again. Each time more desperate, more eager, more precise in your devotion. You swirled your tongue, let him feel every ridge of your mouth, suckled at the tip until he twitched in your hold. You pulled back just to lick the head, spit pooling at your chin, before sinking down again to take him whole.

Until his body tensed with barely-contained control, breath coming in harsh, shallow bursts, jaw locked so tightly the muscles rippled beneath his skin. His knuckles whitened in your hair, the effort it took not to lose himself in your mouth visible in every fiber of his frame. He gripped your hair, but still didn’t force you, only held you steady while you worshipped him. Your arousal throbbed, thighs pressed tight together as you whimpered with the need you weren’t allowed to voice.

Until you were soaked through and dizzy with the praise he gave when you pleased him, his words sliding over your skin like a touch.

“That’s it… Yes, darling… Just like that…”

And when he finally let go, hips jerking forward with a hissed curse, the muscles in his thighs tight with restraint, his cock throbbed as he spilled down your throat in hot, pulsing waves. His hand tightened almost possessively in your hair, forcing your face up toward the mirror so he could watch the entire thing.

"Look," he growled, voice thick with pleasure, low and primal. "Watch yourself take it. Every filthy drop. Don’t blink."

His come painted your tongue, hot and thick, some of it spilling past your lips and smearing the corners of your mouth, mixing with spit and sweat. It dripped down your chin, messy and raw. You swallowed instinctively, the bitter salt clinging to your throat, and when your eyes met his in the reflection- dark, wild, ravenous- he smirked like a man who had claimed everything.

"That’s it. Gods, you’re gorgeous like this."

His grip eased, thumb swiping a mess of spit and seed from your chin before pressing it past your lips again. His thumb lingered against your tongue as you sucked it clean, obedient and aching.

"Perfect pet."

Because you had earned it.

And he would never let you forget how you looked when you did; kneeling, ruined, and obedient, with your mouth still parted and your reflection smeared with devotion. The perfect picture of submission. Just as a prince deserves.

[angelremnants]

HIS FOR THE SEASON l L. Laufeyson

CHAPTER THREE,⠀Let the Festivities Begin

chapter summary : You, dearest reader, enter the glittering halls of the royal palace to step into a territory of many calculated dances and the promise of scandal or salvation. Amid the interplay of masquerade and mystery, you navigate a treacherous chessboard of masked suitors with poise born of both refined resolve and lingering regret, until you find yourself unwittingly entwined with an enigmatic gentleman whose unexpected charm defies all expectation. 

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), would Loki suffice as a warning? overall tension and romantic suspense, some banter, mild asshole behaviors from secondary characters, brief embarrassment. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 7.2k

author's notes : Ao3 saw it first. ;)

Finally, the first meeting with Loki! But don't get fooled by his charming nature my lovelies—after all, you never know what goes on in the head of the God of Chaos.

(ao3 version)

⠀

⠀

The Royal Palace of Valaskjalf was both a monument and a testament to power and eternity itself—to most, it appeared as an unshakable citadel of gleaming gold that crowned the heart of Asgard, a realm of wonder and somber majesty acting as a sanctuary where time seemed to bow in reverence.

From the outside, you could wager that its spires stretched toward Valhalla, piercing the sky like the spears of warriors long past. The celestial sheen of its walls caught the light of distant stars, casting reflections that lustered like the surface of an ethereal lake. The great dome loomed over the city like a silent watcher, its celestial map shifting under the soft glow of the Bifrost’s ever-present gleam.

Such an imposing avenue made it impossible for the general public to accurately predict the nature of the fight hidden behind this golden cage.

It had been years since you last set foot on this site since that fateful day, when the echo of a gavel’s finality and the chilling hush of a horrified court marked the execution of your father. The memory of that day, when your name fell from grace along with his, floated in the back of your mind like a vengeful ghost that only you could feel.

Your entrance was neither grand nor meek—you made sure that each step and each breath you took were carefully controlled, though your lungs still burned with the weight of anticipated scrutiny as you navigated on the mirror-like polished path.

The muted candlelight caught the glint of your silver adornments, a deliberate departure from your once resplendent golden radiance. Silver, you mused, was softer, more elusive, and harder to grasp, just as you had become. 

Your temporary escorts left you to ascend a sweeping staircase spiraling upward like the inner whorls of the seashells you could find on the coasts of the Sea of Marmora, leading you to the palace's beating heart. Here, the space opened up into a cavern of opulence, bathed in the subdued flare of countless chandeliers. Each crystal droplet refracted the candlelight into a cascade of tiny rainbows, casting prismatic patterns upon the crimson velvet drapes and glossy stone walls. 

High vaulted ceilings arched overhead, made of frescoes depicting celestial battles and the fabled journeys of ancient gods, imbuing the room with a sense of both awe and foreboding. Massive carved pillars crowned with gold leaf punctuated the space like silent sentinels guarding secret treasures and every surface, from the varnished ground to the luxurious banqueting tables set along the periphery, spoke of a past that was as resplendent as it was ruthless.

Tonight, however, this dazzling splendor was a world of gilded illusions accompanied by the soft strains of a string quartet, mingling to form a symphony of refined decadence where the guests, arrayed in sumptuous costumes and elegant masks, moved with an effortless grace.

Standing at the edge of this cathedral of aristocratic ambition, your heart beat a measured tattoo against the hush of whispered strategies. You were now both an observer and a participant in this game of politics—a lone huntress, poised to select your prey from among the throng of covert suitors. 

You remembered a time when you navigated these halls with ease—but now the rules of this venture seemed foreign, and the board itself an enigma. You would not act rashly for the sake of nostalgia. 

A hunter, you reminded yourself, never strikes at the first sign of movement. 

You marched along the periphery of the dance hall, your eyes drifting over the throng to visually dissect it. There was dominion in being seen yet unseen, acknowledged yet dismissed. That duality, you knew, was a weapon in itself and, if used well, would lead you to successfully identify your collection of prey.

A hunter did not strike blindly. You were here to stalk, study, choose and mark your targets with the precision of a seasoned predator surveying her terrain.

Posture was the first tell. The elites carried themselves with a natural command that resonated in their squared shoulders and chests subtly puffed in practiced ease. Some lounged in what you identified as strategic boredom, with slouched stances hinting at a quiet confidence that belied a mind already playing the game. Others, the pawns of this gathering, fidgeted nervously—adjusting sleeves, shifting weight, darting furtive glances in search of approval.

Speech and the cadence of a man’s words revealed much more than mere conversation. Highborn Asgardians spoke as if every syllable had been lacquered and honed, each word part of a greater performance. In contrast, the lesser nobles stumbled through their phrases, their hurried and clumsy utterances betraying a lack of refinement. You listened intently to snippets of conversation as you followed the borders of the ballroom, distinguishing the voices of true power from the braggarts who merely recounted tales of battles won or the number of horses bred.

Circles of conversation provided another clue. Influence, you had long realized, was gauged by proximity: how bodies clustered around a single figure, how attentively they leaned in. A man surrounded by a modest yet focused circle was worth noting, while those isolated or drowning in flattery were less so.

Clothing epitomized another language of well-managed wealth. Ostentatious rings and gem-studded cuffs declared it so, but the truly powerful needed no such desperate displays. Imported fabrics, the embroidered sigils at the hems, the careful balance between regalia and restraint—all these stated secure fortunes and deep-rooted influence. 

And still, it was the smallest details that mattered most. The way a man adjusted his mask too often as if it stifled him—perhaps hiding a secret. The subtle tension in his fingers curling around a goblet, possibly holding back or restraining an impulse. A glance that lingered just a moment too long, a poorly concealed smirk at another’s misfortune that translated into amusement at a rival’s expense.

Finally, the dance cards clutched by every noble, their names etched in ink that redirected the minds to alliances and commitments. A dance was never just a dance in these circles—it was a silent contract, a political maneuver, a statement of alignment. They told you who was already spoken for, who was in high demand, and who had been conspicuously avoided.

With those clues, you had easily identified your top three targets. All that remained for now was to act according to what you presumed would be their tastes in women.

The first target was Lord Eirikr Veidarson—a man of imposing stature whose bloodline, newly raised to high nobility, bore the staple of countless heroic deeds. His father, a renowned monster hunter, had amassed a fortune by felling beasts whose very names stirred terror in the hearts of common men. Rumor had it that Eirikr himself had felled a Nemean lion with but a single swift shot, and his bowstring was said to be the last sound many a creature ever heard.

Even in a ballroom crowded with towering figures, he was impossible to ignore. Tall and broad-shouldered, his form was draped in a dark stormy-blue doublet, intricately stitched with white embroidery depicting hunting hounds in pursuit of their quarry. His golden hair, styled with a hint of untamed wildness, caught the light as if ignited by an inner flame. Yet it was his alert amber eyes that truly marked him as a predator among men, concealed partly by the polished bone mask fashioned in the shape of a wolf’s maw.

You knew that a man of such brute force would favor innocence wrapped in grace and adoration delivered in wide-eyed wonder, a match made for a demure debutante rather than a strategist such as yourself. And so you assumed the role, your mind set to mimic the mannerisms of one easily impressed.

Timing it just so, you allowed the swell of passing dancers to nudge you from behind, deliberately staggering into his path with a startled gasp. The collision was slight—a mere brush of silken fabric against his broad chest—but his reaction was immediate. His calloused hands enveloped your waist in a firm, steadying grip, preventing your fall.

“My lady,” he rumbled, his voice as confident and warm as a well-strung bow, and his eyes twinkled with mirth behind that imposing mask. His grip lingered a moment too long, and a playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I do not recall slaying a spirit this evening, yet here you appear, as though conjured by the Norns themselves.”

A breathy laugh escaped you, sharing a mixture of feigned embarrassment and genuine intrigue. “Forgive me, my lord,” you managed, your gaze drifting momentarily to the swirling mob of masked figures before returning to his expectant eyes. “I am but newly of age and, I confess, rather lost in the splendor of this... labyrinth of revelry.”

Eirikr’s grin deepened, his confidence undiminished. “Then allow me the honor of guiding you through this treacherous place, my lady. A dancing hall is no place to wander alone.”

Without further delay, his rough hand reached for your dance card, and in bold, slightly uneven strokes—possibly more accustomed to drawing arrows than elegant script—he claimed a place upon it. The ink barely dried before he took your hand and led you toward the dance floor, where the orchestra’s swell seemed to echo the rapid beat of your heart.

As your feet found their rhythm in the dance, you seized the opportunity to steer the exchange toward his place in court. With a delicate tilt of your head and a practiced smile, you let your curiosity emerge. “And pray, my lord, what of your influence in the halls of power? Surely one as accomplished as yourself must wield considerable sway?”

His response was but expected, boasting loudly without restraint. The harmonious tune of the ballroom shattered as heads turned toward the source of his voice. “Politics? Bah!” he declared with a deep, resonant laugh that made the very walls seem to tremble. “I have no patience for such matters! My father would have my hide if I so much as rearranged the great hall, let alone participated in the trivialities of the royal counseling.” 

Truth became crystal clear at that moment. Here was a man more inclined to the thrill of the hunt than the subtle dance of diplomacy—a brute of formidable strength yet without the refined ambition required for the life you sought. Your smile wavered ever so slightly. He was undeniably appealing, yet his nature was far removed from the shrewd partner you needed.

Feigning a sudden distraction, you let your voice drop into a soft exclamation. “Oh! I believe I have just seen a dear friend arrive.” Your words, laced with regret and a hint of contrived urgency, provided the perfect excuse to slip away from his grasp.

The noble hunter blinked, surprise flickering across his features as you offered a graceful curtsy and melted back toward the periphery of the dance floor. As your figure receded into the tapestry of masked bodies, your breath escaped in a quiet exhale.

One down, you thought.

You cursed under your breath as your eyes fell upon the damning ink on your dance card. That single name, enchanted by forces you did not command, clung to your record like an iron shackle.

Foolish choice. You should have been more selective, more cautious. Now, no matter how the night unfolded, one dance had irrevocably been reserved for a man whose worth had proven to be naught.

The impact of that decision gnawed at you when suddenly, a prickling sensation crept up your spine.

Someone was watching you.

You turned your head ever so slightly, scanning the gilded expanse of the ballroom, but the sensation flickered into an ember snuffed out before you could trace its source. Instead, as if by fate’s own design, your gaze landed on another man.

Dark-skinned and striking, he wore a mask fashioned in the sleek guise of a golden sly fox. He was surrounded by men speaking in conspiratorial tones and women whose laughter rang with practiced elegance. Lord Valbrand Fandrisson, you recognized, was a name woven into the tapestry of noble influence. His presence attested to being a descendant of a long line of Asgardian power, his status as well-connected as it was enviable. 

His eyes, luminous as molten gold, sparkled with greedy amusement. You had seen that same assessing look before, among the countless suitors your uncle once paraded before you like prized steeds.

A plan formed swiftly. With practiced grace, you lifted your fan in your left hand and snapped it open, letting the delicate accessory flutter before your face. I wish to be acquainted, you silently declared in this secret correspondence meant to test his mettle. If he truly knew the language of this game, he would understand immediately.

Within moments, his lips curled in a faint smirk as he disentangled himself from his current company. He strode toward you with the absolute assurance of a predatory gait. “You send a most intriguing message, my lady,” he smoothly declared, dipping his head in courteous deference. “And I, of course, cannot let such an invitation go unanswered.”

A soft laugh escaped you, one tempered with both mirthfulness and regret. “Then I can assume you are no fool, Lord Fandrisson.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, letting his gaze wander to your dance card. “I find it rather curious that a lady of your grace bears only a solitary name tonight.” His tone held a teasing lilt that made you wince internally.

“Alas, circumstance did not grant me the luxury to refuse a dance when it was proffered, nor did it allow me to choose my companions freely. My company, regrettably, was not that which I sought.” Your eyes flickered toward the distant crowd, offering the perfect excuse in your spun tale. “I must now retire to the sidelines.”

“If such is the case, my lady, allow me to escort you back to the dance floor,” he insisted, extending a gloved hand. “I would hate for you to remain a mere spectator on such a splendid night.”

The orchestra struck up a new melody, dictating the patterned pace of the group dance. You had hoped for a more intimate waltz, one that would afford you a private moment with your newfound companion, but the Norns, ever so capricious, had other plans. Conversely, you found yourself ensnared in the rhythm of a grand formation where partners were constantly exchanged. Despite the constant pairing and unpairing, you resolved to seize every fleeting moment that might leave an indelible impression on your quarry.

The first turn passed in a courteous blur. “I must say,” you ventured lightly as he spun you gracefully beneath his arm, “I have long heard of your mastery in the courtly arts. Yet, I begin to suspect that your talents extend beyond statesmanship and into the realm of dance.” You hoped your subtle compliment woven into an inquiry might have opened a window to dive into his ambitions.

Before he could respond, the pattern dictated a change. You released his hand as another pair of gloved fingers closed around yours. The transition was swift—one moment you were in the familiar grasp of Lord Fandrisson, and the next, you found yourself with a different partner.

He was tall, taller than most in attendance, with an air of elegant nonchalance that set him apart from the rigid, well-practiced lords. His mask, fashioned of blackened material and carved into the sweeping visage of a chimera, added even more to his height with the resplendent tall horns attached to the base. His lips curled into an unmistakable smirk that shone beneath his dark curls, carelessly cascading over his forehead and his sharp cheekbones as he bowed his head in mock deference.

"Ah, fortune smiles upon me this evening," he greeted you with a smooth and rich as velvet voice. "It appears that the lady graced with divine beauty of the line has, by some twist of providence, fallen to me instead."

You arched a brow at his words, silently noting the underlying mischief in his remarks. It was hardly unusual for a dance partner to be switched at the last moment, whether by design or chance, but there was something about his cadence that hinted at careful orchestration. Regardless, you reminded yourself that he was merely a transient partner meant to distract while your true interest remained in the distance.

Your gaze flitted to the far side of the ballroom, where Lord Fandrisson’s matte purple coat and imposing presence were unmistakable, even amidst the swirling throng. “Eager to be rid of me already?” the stranger teased as he guided you through the next step of the dance. “How cruel, that I should be so quickly discarded.”

“I am afraid I am otherwise occupied,” you answered airily, your eyes darting away in search of your intended quarry. “I must confess that my attention is presently elsewhere.”

He tightened his grip just slightly, underscoring his curiosity. “Oh? And who has captured your attention so completely that you cannot spare me a single glance?”

“Lord Fandrisson,” you returned distractedly, your gaze locking onto the blur of said man’s coat as he engaged in animated conversation with a laughing noblewoman across the floor.

A rake.

You should have known. A flicker of irritation sparked within you as you swiftly made your internal calculation that this was not the match you sought. You weren’t about to lower your standards to accept a man of wandering eyes who would later compromise your reputation, no matter his status or wealth. With a subtle sigh masked by polite detachment, you shifted your focus back to the mysterious stranger.

“I see,” he murmured as he scrutinized you with a knowing light. “Now that your gallant lord is otherwise occupied, perhaps my company has grown marginally more tolerable?”

“Do not presume, my lord,” you riposted with polite dismissal.

“Ah, but presumption is my specialty,” he countered with a diverted chuckle. “I presume you are not here merely to dance and twirl aimlessly among the concourse. No, I believe you watch every movement like would a merchant appraising a diamond.”

A ripple of unease stirred within you at the correctness of his observation. Your silence was his answer, and his smile deepened in acknowledgment.

“Yes,” he mused, triumphant as the final chords of the dance struck a somber note. “You are not here simply for pleasure.”

“And I presume you are a man with far too much time on his hands.”

“I assure you, if circumstances allowed, I would spend even more of it in your delightful company. Although, if my lady ever so grants me the opportunity, she could grace me with the honor of seeing more of her.”

You don’t bestow him the gift of a reply at his subtle dance request, favoring the liberty of slipping from his grasp in a graceful curtsy and a dismissive smile. You immediately turned on your heel and made your way toward the buffet, weaving through the crowded ballroom before he could pursue you.

You let out a soft groan as you sank into a nearby chair, the pressure of the evening finally catching up with you. The heels you’d chosen now felt like miniature daggers wedged into your feet. You’d forgotten just how much dancing could hurt after hours of relentless movement. Absentmindedly, you fiddled with the strap of one shoe, carefully slipping it off to rub the aching ball of your foot, praying that the small reprieve would last longer than a fleeting minute. 

The night had so far been long and frustrating—no matter the series of calculated encounters, it seemed every path had led you to an impasse.

And as if this losing streak didn’t suffice, a mishap occurred. From somewhere amidst the swirl of revelers, a full glass of wine veered off course and splashed with a jarring clink onto the hem of your gown, darkening the delicate fabric in a blot of deep, accusing color. 

The man responsible for the spill’s shock was immediately stricken with horror. “Oh, no—my sincerest apologies!” he blurted, trembling with dismay. Without hesitation, he kneeled before you, hastily retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at the spill, though his frantic efforts only seemed to spread the stain further.

You leaned back and let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Well, isn’t this just the cherry on top?” you remarked with a wry smile that masked your inner dismay. “It’s fine—truly. Merely one of those nights, I suppose.”

The man’s eyes darted up, uncertainty mingling with genuine concern as he studied your expression. “I’m terribly sorry,” he stammered, continuing his futile attempts to dab the stain away, and for a moment, you thought you might scold him on his clumsiness. But he then looked up fully, and his mask revealed a glimpse of a face you hadn’t expected to see.

There, beneath an elegant mask crafted like a noble stag with polished silver edges, were striking blue eyes—rich, intelligent, and filled with a gentle curiosity. Auburn waves of hair tumbled loosely about his face, framing a sharply handsome jaw and semi-full lips that held a timid smile. His voice, still polite but now imbued with a tender concern, broke the silence. "I truly didn’t mean to ruin your night, I’m afraid.”

You shook your head, dismissing his apologies with a gentle wave. “‘Tis quite alright,” you said, though your tone held a note of weary resignation. “It appears this evening is simply not in my favor.”

He hesitated, as if weighing his next words, before staring at the dance card clutched in your hand. “I must confess,” he let out in a softened tone, “that I’ve noticed your list… or rather, the absence of one.”

Your brows knitted in curiosity. “What of it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He offered a soft chuckle as he adjusted the delicate mask on his face. “It seems we share a similar predicament. Your stature tells me you’ve spent this evening dancing among a host of unworthy partners, and yet none have truly captured your attention. And now, this stain, though I presume is hardly the worst thing you’ve encountered, adds to the misfortune.”

A pang of recognition struck within you. Indeed, you had been deceived by every fleeting encounter, each partner presenting to be a disappointment. “I had hoped to find some meaningful company tonight,” you confessed quietly. “But every encounter has left me more disheartened.”

His eyes met yours again, and you saw a flicker of understanding there. “Perhaps,” he began tentatively, “if you are seeking someone who truly comprehends your plight, you might find solace in the garden.”

The promise of respite from the endless, empty chatter of the ballroom in his suggestion stirred a warmth in your chest. Without a moment’s hesitation, you nodded. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

He rose gracefully, extending a strong, sure hand. “Let me to escort my lady to a quieter place,” he offered. His voice carried the gentle authority of someone who had known both the bitterness of disappointment and the sweetness of unexpected connection.

⠀

⠀

You let him to guide you away from the crowded room and into the cool, moonlit air of the palace gardens. Lanterns hung from the top of the pristine pillars casted a shy glow over winding paths and the everflowing water on the sidelines of the road, the hush of night embracing you both as you walked in comfortable silence. The rustle of leaves and the distant echo of festivities formed a delicate symphony around you.

At last, he stopped in a secluded alcove where the moonlight painted various tessellations on the stone floor. “At the risk of defying this event’s purpose, I am Lord Hakon Alfvinsson,” he finally offered his name and confirmed your suspicion as to him being the last of your three most promising prey. “And I fear tonight has not been kind to you—nor, it seems, to me.”

You regarded him quietly. “I have been disappointed, more than once,” you admitted. “Each dance has left me wondering if true companionship is nothing more than an impossible feat to achieve.”

A gentle smile warmed his features. “Perhaps in another universe, our paths would have intertwined far sooner. For now, though, I offer you my company—and hopefully, a chance to escape this masquerade’s pretensions.”

You walked together deeper into one of the many gardens, each brush of his against yours sending a current of unexpected warmth through you. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and every step replaced the stress of the night with a tender sense of possibility. His rich and genuine laughter tangled with the soft breeze of the greensward, and you allowed yourself to find solace in a spark of hope that this encounter might mend your battered spirit and give way to a newfound tenderness that could put an end to the miseries of the past.

The road twisted and turned unexpectedly until suddenly you found yourself before an old friend of your youth—a labyrinth of ivy-draped hedges and weathered stone, its passages alive with the glow of radiant moss and the luminescence of moonflowers, and the extremity of the edges were bordered by the continuous water flows. The sight made you pause in your stroll, memories flooding back of carefree days spent wandering these winding corridors, where the maze had once been a source of delightful frustration as well as your secret escape. 

Hakon observed your momentary hesitation and gently smiled. “Do you know this place?” 

A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you scrutinized the openings of the twisting walls of the maze. “Indeed, I do. I used to get hopelessly lost here when I was a child—running through its corridors in search of a secret I could never quite name. It was both my escape and, at times, my torment.”

“A maze of memories, then? How enchanting,” your companion hummed.

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned in, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “What if I told you I could lead you through it—if you dared to follow?”

The afresh challenge that presently hung between you made him incline his head in mild intrigue. “I believe you’ll have to offer me more than mere words.”

With a spark of mischief, you stepped forward and declared, “Then let it be a game—if you can catch me in the maze, I shall reveal my name.” Without awaiting his reply, you vanished into the labyrinth’s embrace, your footsteps fading into the rustle of leaves.

The thrill was intoxicating—a rush akin to being chased like a princess by a secret suitor. You moved with purpose, pausing once behind a moss-draped statue of an ancient god to watch through half-hidden eyes as Hakon’s figure passed, his steady determination echoing softly in the labyrinth’s winding corridors. In a spontaneous act of daring, you let a decorative ribbon slip from your wrist, watching it fall softly onto the dew-kissed path and serve as a token for him to find.

Moonlight cast long, silvery shadows as you navigated the twisting pathways. You were sure the pounding of your heart in this escapade proved to be louder than the ever-growing distant strains of the ballroom’s music, gradually feeling like a fading echo from another world. At length, you reached the labyrinth’s center, where a magnificent fountain stood—a timeless relic adorned with ivy, its marble sculptures spilling water into a shallow basin. The fountain, a cherished landmark whispered about in noble circles, was said to have witnessed many lost romances and tragic secrets, its statues of entwined lovers now softened by time.

A sigh escaped your lips as you surveyed the scene. Here, in the cool embrace of history, you felt both a part of something ancient and poignantly out of place. Driven by exhaustion and a desperate need for relief, you stepped closer to the fountain and gingerly removed your heels. You cursed under your breath for favoring adrenaline over comfort.

You kneeled beside the fountain to rub the sore balls of your feet, grimacing as you tried to ease the burning ache in your ankles. Your reflection sent back a graceful figure in a gown marred by the night’s trials on the water’s surface and made you feel a glimmer of solace in that mirrored image.

The night, it seemed, had only begun to unfold its true mysteries. Amid the gentle murmur of water and rustling leaves, you heard soft footsteps behind you. Assuming it was Hakon, you glanced overhead, only to find emptiness. You returned your focus with a frown to the water's reflection, only to catch the unsettling reflection of a towering, dark figure with elongated horns standing immediately behind you. A chill shot through you, and you let out a startled scream, stumbling backward and tripping over the fountain’s stone edge.

Before you could crash into the cold water, strong arms intercepted your fall, steadying you. "’Tis alright, you won’t fall." You gasped, your heart pounding as you faced the stranger and, in a burst of indignation, shoved him back. 

“You followed me?” you demanded, your voice sharp with embarrassment and anger.

Your dance partner from earlier regarded you with a calm sense of amusement and chirpily replied, “I couldn’t help but notice the game you were playing, and I hate to be left out.”

Your cheeks flushed as you retorted, “What are you doing here? I had company!” trying desperately to mask your uncertainty.

A faint, almost mocking smile curled on his lips as he bowed his head forward at the notion. "A company that, I’m afraid, did not quite reach the right point," he returned, retrieving the ribbon you had let behind on your way and raising it to your eyes. The unwanted chaperone surprised you even more by announcing your exact name regardless of how your mask hid your identity, laying a secret laid bare in the cold night.

Your blood ran cold. "Who are you?" you fearfully asked in a poorly concealed tremble.

The man took a slow step forward, his eyes piercing as though searching your soul. "Let us not concern ourselves with names just yet," he intoned with purpose. "What I care about is striking a deal—a deal I suspect you, too, are here to negotiate."

A shiver ran through you as his words settled in the air, heavy with implication. You stilled, instinctively bracing yourself against the newfound tension.

He observed you in silence for a long moment, then continued, "You’ve traversed quite the journey tonight, haven’t you? I’m sure you did not expect it to be this arduous." 

You scowled, tightening your jaw. "You think you know what I want?" you spat, masking fear with thin defiance. "You know nothing."

"Imaginably so," he acquiesced with a slight, enigmatic smile, "but I know enough to offer you a choice. Shall we walk back together?"

You hesitated, caught between distrust and the inescapable necessity of his proposition. But the pain in your feet reminded you of your vulnerability, and you winced as you took a tentative step backward. 

He let out an almost imperceptible sigh when he made note of your lack of following his stride, showing his exasperation at the situation before briefly excusing himself and kneeling despite your protests.

"This will be brief," he mumbled as he gently took your foot in his hand, making you sit on the edge of the fountain. "I promise." Magic abruptly stirred around your foot like a liquid balm, soothing the burning pain even as strange tautness coiled within you.

"This is... inappropriate," you muttered, trying to mask your discomfort with protest.

He looked up at you, his expression inscrutable beneath the mask. "Is it not more inappropriate to seek power and fortune through marriage when so much is already lost?" he mockingly replied.

You blinked, caught off guard by his candor. His voice, though sharp, resonated with a truth you had long feared to accept. With your heart pounding and your mind swirling with uncertainty, you could only nod silently.

His magic had finished its work, and as you flexed your toes, relief washed over you in an almost shocking wave. The persistent ache had melted away into a soft, comforting sensation—one that left you wondering if it were real or merely an illusion borne of exhaustion. You slowly exhaled, trying to shake off the ghost of his touch that still lingered on your skin.

"I’ll have you consider, my lord," you cockily remarked, "that it is hardly wise to reveal such an extraordinary facet of one’s abilities if one intends to remain in the shadows. Few in Asgard wield magic with such refined grace."

Silence stretched between you for an instant as his fingers stilled momentarily before continuing their work while a satisfied smile drew on his lips as he adjusted the delicate seams of your shoes. "You flatter me. I did not plan to remain entirely anonymous for too long," he enigmatically explained. "Merely a precaution until all is properly explained."

His words, refined with subtle assurance, sent a shiver of intrigue and uncertainty alike through you. He readjusted the footwear on your heels with careful, practiced movements, allowing your dress to fall back into place with an almost choreographed swish.

"Well, I must confess, you are extraordinarily skilled," you half-heartedly grumbled, accrediting his exploit in a fragile blend of admiration and guarded reserve.

You stirred your gaze to his face as you straightened in the half-light, and you found yourself uncomfortably close—so close that the faint scent of his cool, forest-like cologne mingled with the night air. You caught a glimpse of something familiar in his dark, intense eyes—a depth that formed in you an inexplicable recognition in the abstract of an incantation from a distant, forgotten dream you couldn’t fully recall.

He cleared his throat to disperse the moment, his eyes flickering away for a moment before returning to meet yours with unwavering intensity. "Thank you," he acknowledged your compliment. "I endeavor to ensure all is comfortable at the very least."

Without further ado, he gracefully extended his hand to you in a remarkably assertive manner. You hesitated, just for a breath, before placing your fingers within his and were hoisted from your seat. His touch was not as cold as you expected, encircling yours with a tenderness that belied the enigmatic aura about him. It was a stark contrast to the brooding air that seemed to cling to him like a leech.

His hand left yours, traveling swiftly and surely to your waist, pulling you effortlessly into his arms. The sudden movement left you breathless, a gasp caught in your throat, and before you could gather yourself, your feet left the ground entirely.

The world blurred, and you were placed under the impression of being transported to the very heavens, until at last you found your feet once again on solid ground, just outside the imposing gates of the palace.

You blinked, disoriented—the sudden shift left you reeling, unsure how to reconcile the grandeur of your new surroundings with the suddenness of your arrival. Your captor stood otherwise perfectly composed beside you, granting you a moment to collect yourself. You took a step away from him as you attempted to steady your breath from the unexpectedness of finding yourself placed in front of the grandeur of the palace that loomed before you like a stately monument to bygone eras.

 "I do apologize if I startled you, but I trust your feet are no longer in distress?"

You managed a stiff nod, the shock of your sudden journey leaving you momentarily. Gathering your courage, you probed, “You mentioned a... proposition, did you not? You are aware of my search, I take it?”

“Indeed, a dear friend of mine shared your plight with me. And I must confess, I find myself most intrigued. Not only do I possess all that you seek, but I too am in need of a partner. It seems our interests, much like the stars above, align quite marvelously.”

Your heart pounded as you searched his face for any hint of pretense. Unable to quell your curiosity, you ventured, “But tell me—how did you recognize me? And how exactly do you come to be intrigued, as you so cleverly put it?"

He leaned in, a teasing glint dancing in his eyes. "A woman of such singular beauty and undeniable grace cannot be so easily overlooked. Not by those who know where to look." 

You stiffened, unwilling to be charmed just yet. "A clever answer," you commented with irony. "But not the truth, I think."

"Perhaps I am avoiding the question," he admitted after a chuckle, the intimacy of his velvet voice curling around you in a tender embrace. "But truth is a malleable thing. Some of us are better at recognizing it in others than others might think. A shark," he murmured with darkened eyes, "recognizes another."

The words struck you with the force of a well-aimed arrow, yet you refused to allow him to see the discomfort they stirred within you. You could not give him that satisfaction.

You arched an eyebrow, a glimmer of defiance in your eyes. “Is that your final word? You presume yourself to be more adept than I?” 

His smirk deepened. “I am no stranger to the darkness,” he replied in a near whisper, as if sharing a tantalizing secret. “You’ve grown quite accustomed to keeping your secrets hidden. But even in the darkest shadows, one cannot quite conceal what is most true." His gaze flicked over you, tracing every shift in your posture. "I see you clearly, far more clearly than you realize. Your loyalty, your purpose... they cannot be so easily disguised."

Your thoughts scrambled, unsure how to respond. His words, far too close to hitting home, had pierced straight to the heart of your most guarded truths. How did he know? How was it possible?

You blinked, composing yourself before responding, “You overpraise yourself. I am certain my secrets are well kept.”

It felt sickeningly liberating to admit such veracities to an individual purely unknown to you. You weren’t sure what compelled you to talk so openly about your peculiar situation, nor how easily he could rip answers from you. You resolved yourself by thinking that since he was well-versed in your predicament, it was unnecessary to continue holding pretenses. 

You were fairly aware of the danger it represented, but couldn’t help but wonder about the upper motives behind his head as you noticed his intense scrutiny briefly softening into an unguarded stare, until it subdued, vanishing as quickly as it had come. “You may be right, but the truth remains and shines through even in the dark.”

The moment seemed to stretch endlessly, leaving you uncertain of how to proceed—unsure whether you should resist or surrender to the allure of this enigmatic man who seemed to know far too much for your well-being.

The distant sounds of celebration from the palace echoed in your ears as he spoke. It felt as though you were no longer part of that world—instead, you were suspended in the matter of him and the delicate thread of proposition tying you in this instant.

Your footsteps resounded upon the marble as you and your escort ascended the grand staircase. "Consider my offer," he reminded you with the effervescence of a man desperate to gain the upper hand. "We both have much to gain from an alliance, don’t we?"

The hubbub from within the ballroom swelled in anticipation, and through the heavy oak doors came the prelude to an announcement—a heralding of destiny, if you will. 

"—and we are honored to present—" a resonant voice declared as you passed beneath the towering archway. The masked person’s stance beside you remained composed through and through. 

Despite the magnetic pull of his company, you chose to maintain a dignified reserve, keeping your eyes fixed forward. "And what would you have me offer in return? A business partner, or something more intimate?"

"Both and neither, my dear," he revealed. "It is all for the sake of pretense, if you will. I offer to be your sponsor, should you require assistance in your pursuits. In return, you would be my companion—a partner, if you will, in both ambition and heart."

You halted, a gentle laugh escaping you as you shook your head in light reproach. "Oh, you are far too cocky, my good sir. Do you honestly think I would entertain such a ludicrous proposal?"

He turned his head slightly, his eyes dancing with secret amusement. "A magician, my dear, can conjure the finest dreams if one so wishes. I assure you, I can be of considerable service."

Your skepticism was met with his unyielding charm as you retorted, "It is all rather too good to be true—a benefactor offering wealth and support, all for the sake of a companion's company?"

“That is precisely the allure, isn't it? To offer what no one else would dare, and still have you question its merit. The greatest power lies in making the impossible seem desirable. I give you only what you are willing to take, and in turn, you shall offer only what you are willing to give."

"And what would you give me then?"

He paused at your question, and turned to you before reaching out and taking your hand. Bowing ever so slightly, he pressed his lips to your appendage in a chaste kiss, eyes of the prettiest shade of a green forest after rainfall piercing right through yours.

"Anything."

For a heartbeat, the world stilled at the entrance, and the cacophony of the ballroom hushed to a mere murmur as the two of you stood rooted in that secluded spot. You vaguely dismissed the prickling sensation in your cheeks as your eyes held the fort, searching, questioning, and then you dared to ask once more in a soft whisper, "Who are you?"

Before he could answer, your small bubble was cut short by the announcer’s resounding call: "—and we are honored to welcome back Prince Loki!" The proclamation reverberated off the gilded walls, and in an instant, all eyes turned toward your squire. A collective gasp, a flurry of whispered exclamations, and the clapping of hands enveloped the chamber as the guests acknowledged his return.

Every mask in the room seemed to shudder and fall by an unseen force—leaving bare faces, expressions, and the secrets lying behind them. Your heart lurched as you realized with dawning horror that the very man you had exchanged witty repartee with, the man whose gentle touch had eased your aches and whose clever words had stirred something in you was none other than Prince Loki.

Shock, disbelief, and mounting embarrassment surged within you. You glanced down at your stained gown, a silent testament to the night’s mishaps, and then back to him. His countenance remained disarmingly calm as if nothing untoward had occurred. But your mind reeled—you had mocked, you had bantered, and now the revelation threatened to unravel you.

Without a word, you yanked your hand away and spun on your heel, intent on escaping the prying eyes of the crowd. The sharp command of the Einherjars rang out behind you—"Halt!"—but before they could reach you, the prince’s hand shot out to stop them, his posture resolute and his smile broad, as if nothing had transpired.

Your feet pounded the grand staircase as you fled, each step a stamp to your panic and humiliation. The echoes of whispered judgments and the clinking of glasses trailed behind you, a cacophony of reproach that you could scarcely bear.

The masquerade had revealed its cruelest irony: you had been unmasked before your time, your carefully crafted image laid bare for all to see—and now, the stakes had been irrevocably raised.

⠀

⠀

CHAPTER TWO.⠀|⠀CHAPTER THREE.⠀|⠀CHAPTER FOUR.

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[monstersandgenderqueers]

Little Gifts (Part Four)

Thor needs your help, and it feels like all your progress with Loki crumbles beneath your feet.

Pairing: Loki x neurodivergent!reader

Word count: 2647

A/N: The angst continues. I will it so. Also, everyone's support is shocking and very appreciated. I think I sound like a seagull each time I get a new round of notifications.

This chapter switches between memories of Loki and the present.

Divider credit @/saradika

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

You're sitting in a lone armchair by the window near the shared kitchen, watching as the wind ripples the uncut grass on the far side of the pathways. It's mesmerizing. Some part of you, likely the romantic part, yearns to walk barefoot in the grass, feeling all there is to feel in that small little moment. Maybe someone would hold your hand as you walk, carrying your sandals loosely with their long fingers, their raven hair fluttering about in the breeze—

Loki startles you out of the daydream. He's holding your mug in front of your face, steam curling up and away.

"You forgot this in the microwave," he says, retracting his hand as soon as you grab the bottom of the mug.

You look at it, remembering that you put your coffee in the microwave shortly after breakfast, which was… a long time ago.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice small and shy.

He leans against the window, looking out at the lawn as you had been. It takes you a moment to realize that the coffee is hot, hence the steam. While some embarrassment does make your cheeks warm, the amusement from the mental image of Loki trying to work a microwave quickly overrides it.

Loki studies you, likely noticing that flash of emotion. Or maybe he caught the smile that lasted for merely a nanosecond. He's good at that.

"I've been meaning to ask you something, darling."

"Hm?"

"Do you have, erm…" he looks around the room, as if trying to figure out how to ask you, "difficulties?"

"Difficulties..? Like what?"

"I mean no offense, little one, but you are very strange. In an endearing way, I assure you. Puzzling out mortals is usually trivial. But you… One moment, I think I have you all figured out, but then you go and do something, or say something, completely unexpected. Strange and captivating things."

Strange?

"And this means I have difficulties?"

He sighs, a little frown creasing his forehead. "Not on its own, no. You're odd in many novel ways. Combined with your… lack of attention, and a clear memory deficit…" He motions towards the mug. "The way you describe your feelings, the way you voice your thoughts in general… I've never met anyone quite like you."

Oh.

You want to say that it isn't any of his business, but if there is anyone you want to be honest with, it's Loki. Masking and evading questions like the ones Loki is asking are second nature, though, making a lump sit uncomfortably in your throat as you think of how to say it.

You mask so hard, without thinking, that it feels like it almost cuts into your skin. You want to pry it off, but you know it'll hurt just as much coming off as it did going on. However, Loki has this way about him that makes your mask evaporate. It curls into the air like the steam from your coffee and just like that he sees you and it's horrifyingly wonderful how free you feel with him.

But you're not ready to talk about it. Each time you have so far, you're faced with follow-up questions and unwarranted comments. Why are you here, then? Are you qualified? I don't want to have to take care of you.

He'll stop talking to me if he finds out.

The loud thought scares you. It makes your stomach flip sickeningly and makes you dizzy, like you're falling backwards.

"I'm…. I don't want to talk about it."

Loki nods, breathing in sharply through his nose. He stands up straighter and says, "That's alright. It's probably none of my concern, anyway." He gives you one last glance before he walks away.

Thor tears you out of the memory, his warm hand on your back between your shoulder blades as he helps you get up from the grass.

"I can't find Loki anywhere." He shows you the bracelet used to limit Loki's magic, dangling the evidence in front of you. Gingerly, you take it from his hand. It's intact, with the runes still faintly glowing as they usually do. Given the lack of chaos that you think would follow if anyone knew Loki's missing, you assume that he found a way to avoid triggering the security system when he took off the bracelet.

"Does anyone else know?"

"No, just you. I've already scoured his chambers and the areas he usually frequents. There are other places to look, but I wish to avoid suspicion."

You think you understand what he's getting at, but with something so dire, you want to be absolutely certain, "So that's why you want me to help? Like, it'll look less strange if I take a peek in the labs or something?"

"Precisely." Thor smiles at you faintly before his face falls again. "I should have seen the warning signs."

You turn to him, concern plain on your face.

"He's been withdrawn the last few days. At first, I believed it was another bout of homesickness, but…"

He doesn't continue, eyes on the path before him as you walk back to the compound together.

You nudge his arm, "But…?"

"Back on Asgard, he'd sometimes have these… moody spells, after a heartbreak, or an especially volatile argument with our father. He'd disappear for a few days and then act like nothing had happened."

"So you think that's what's happening? But… what could've caused it? I mean, it's not like Odin called him up on the phone and started yelling at him… right?"

Thor chuckles, "No, nothing like that." He starts looking at you, like he's waiting for you to fill in the blank.

Ugh! Not again. Just say it plain!

"Do you think he's just gone, then?"

"No. I think he's somewhere on the property, he just didn't want to be tracked. Loki's likely hiding until the mood passes. He could be anyone, or anything, for that matter."

"Well… shouldn't we leave him be, then?"

Thor shakes his head. "No, that would be unwise. If anyone else finds out he's roaming freely around the compound, it might force others to reconsider his punishment."

"You mean like… make him go back to Asgard?"

His reply is sharp. "Yes."

Your stomach hurts and your eyes fill with tears rapidly. "I don't want him to leave."

"He won't. We'll find him."

Loki sits across from you on the couch, mirroring your position as you lay back against the cushy arm. He's reading a book—the one you gave him—and you have to stop yourself from bombarding him with questions each time you take note of his progress.

You watch him from over the top of the book you're reading, swiftly moving your gaze back to the page when he shifts even the slightest.

Feeling warm and fuzzy, like wrapping yourself up in a blanket fresh from the dryer on a winter's day, you think this is what contentment feels like.

Contentment must be being yourself with another person, and they have no expectations of you or what you should be doing. Just simply existing together. For the longest time, it's been one of your biggest, loftiest dreams—to be content with someone you care for…

…Someone you might even love.

He chuckles under his breath, and you can't help but ask, "What's so funny?"

Loki lets the book fall and rest on his chest, the pages crinkling. "My secret admirer underlined 'Faramir' several times and wrote 'daddy issues.' An amusing term."

You hide your face a bit behind your book, sinking further into the couch. You forgot about that. Not the silly annotations you wrote long ago, but the complicated relationship between Faramir and his father.

Oh, shoot.

From your handful of late night conversations with Loki, you know that he certainly has daddy issues. And maybe some mommy issues. Okay, he has issues. It seems he collects them the way you collect neat rocks.

I hope he's not triggered by reading the book…

You peek at him again. He's reading the book with the same mild interest he's had so far. He twists a lock of hair as he reads, pulling the long strands free from the bun they'd been in. Your eyes follow his fingers as he twists, then your gaze moves towards his chest as he breathes in steadily, and you're now just noticing that he's unbuttoned his shirt quite a ways down…

Look away, look away!

Loki's clearly taken a liking to this 'secret admirer,' greedily consuming the mad scrawlings on the margins of the pages of the monstrously-sized book. He's mentioned the secret admirer a few times in conversation now, his eyes boring unnervingly into yours each and every time. Sometimes, it feels like he's quizzing you, asking you if you'd ever read The Lord of the Rings, or if you had any interest in its themes. He brings up thoughts that you'd written yourself, wanting to know if you agreed or had thoughts of your own.

Each and every response sounds like, "Uhm… I don't know." You aren't even pretending, it's just… how you are. You can learn everything your head can possibly fit about your fixations and interests, but once you're asked to talk about it on the spot…

The brain-mouth connection simply does not exist in those moments. There are just too many words you can say and yet none of them make any sense the second you say them, so you've resorted to uhm's and maybe's.

It looks like he's about to do it again, but what he does ask is far more bewildering. "How are you so comfortable around me?"

Utterly confused, you frown slightly. "What?"

"You don't seem to be avoiding me like you used to. I take it you're not scared anymore?"

"I've never been scared of you…"

"A lie. I can't possibly believe you haven't once been scared of what I could do, or what I have done." He sits up straight, tossing the book on the table next to him.

You flinch a little, but your voice stays strong, "But… It's true. I trust you."

He sighs, frowning, "That worries me, little one."

"Why? Aren't you happy?"

Does he not want me to trust him? Why shouldn't I?

"If you trust a person like me, I fear greatly for your safety."

Offended, you sit up straight to match his posture. "I'm not naive. Or stupid."

He clenches his jaw, "I never said—"

You interrupt him, your mouth moving faster than the words can fly past in your head, "Being near you is as close to feeling safe as I may ever get. I know my instincts aren't the same as everyone else's, and I don't shy away from scary critters or icky bugs or things that are likely to blow up in my face. But I'm not stupid. I know when to back away."

He's quiet for a very long time. The only sound you can hear is the ambient buzz from the building. And your heartbeat, of course, pounding against your ribs like it wants out, out, out!

He stares, your eyes locked with his for far longer than you've held eye contact with anyone else before. His unwavering gaze seems to be searching for something, his eyes flickering between yours.

Finally, he lets out a long sigh, the harsh lines on his face smoothing out once more. He's smiling so sweetly you feel a warm ache in your chest blossom until it reaches the tips of your fingers and toes.

He raises a brow and chuckles, "Sweetheart, did you just compare me to insects?"

You look in every lab that you have access to, scanning each and every item on the workbenches to see if something is out of place in a way that just seems suspicious rather than careless. Nothing is, so you scurry back to Thor. He's starting to look more worried now, running his hand through his hair a few times as he quietly strategizes with you.

You agree to check every shared space again, working your way through each room until you're facing the training room.

You've only seen him in there a handful of times, and each time you had promptly walked out quickly after, because there's absolutely no way you would let him see you working out. But you try looking there, anyway.

The only person inside is Nat, and the distress must be visible on your face, because she frowns and meets you at the door. "What's up? Anything you need help with?" She wipes off the sweat from her forehead with her towel, looking you up and down for any obvious injuries.

I can't tell her.

"I… I uhm… I lost something."

She's close enough now to see how red your eyes are. "What did you lose?"

"A—a thing, it's uhm, hard to explain…"

She sighs, but she doesn't seem annoyed yet. "Where did you last have it?"

"Uhm… I'm not sure."

She closes her eyes and breathes out slowly. "Alright. Maybe I should take you to your room, okay?"

Ugh. You appreciate her, truly, especially since she's helped you out a few times when you're on the verge of exploding from overstimulation. But, she's acting like that's what's happening, and it is most definitely not.

Still, you can feel something building up. It hurts, and it terrifies you. This isn't comparable to anything you'd ever felt before, so flipping through the dictionary of feelings in your head doesn't seem to help in the slightest.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and you can't stop thinking that he's gone for forever. That he left because of you. 

I've evaded his questions far too many times, or he looked something up in my profile. Maybe he's known that I gave him those gifts this whole time and he's just been playing along. Maybe he thought it was cute for a bit, like my attempts at bonding are childish. Silly.

Maybe that's why he calls me 'little one.'

That's all he sees.

You and Nat pass by Thor on your way to your room. He waves, appearing as if nothing is amiss, though he frowns deeply when he sees you.

You try to suck it up, hoping your face returns back to neutral, but it doesn't seem to work.

Coming to a stop in front of you, he asks, "You're not hurt, are you?"

Nat answers for you, "We're just going to their room. They need help with something."

You hope Thor doesn't push it or ask if he can help. You don't know how long it'll take before you're crying, and you're not sure if you're comfortable enough with Thor yet to bawl in front of him.

It feels strange and familiar when he searches your face. "Feel better soon, then." He continues on his way down the hall, not looking back.

You hope he finds Loki soon.

Opening the door for you, Nat keeps her hand on your shoulder as you walk into your room.

You pass through the archway into the bedroom, your heart dropping so swiftly you might pass out.

There, on your bed, is the one-eyed black stallion. You didn't notice it missing when you and Nat passed by Loki's door on the way to yours…

You must have been staring for a while, because she asks, "Is that it? The thing you lost?"

"Y-yeah…" you nod, hoping she believes it.

She does. "I'm glad that's settled." You hear her walk back to the door. "See you at dinner, then?"

"Yeah," you call out to her, still looking at the stuffed animal resting on your comforter.

The second you hear the door shut, you grab the horse, holding it tight to your chest as your lips tremble and a whine builds up in the back of your throat.

He knows. He knows and he's gone.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡What A Tease｡⋆.

Loki x plus size reader

The one rule of being a girlfriend is to take your boyfriend’s clothes and you are damn good at it.

Warnings: implied smut, fluff, established relationship, wearing your partner’s clothes WC: 663 Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You really liked wearing Loki’s clothes. They were soft and always seemed to partly swim on your plump frame no matter how tight they looked on your partner. You knew he had enchanted them just for you and yet he still complained when you wore them.

You could hear the slamming of the wardrobe drawers as soon as you stepped out of the small library/study where you had spent the morning. 

“By the Norns where have they all gone!” Heat prickled the back of your neck as the love of your life let out another frustrated groan and stormed from your shared bedroom. Wearing only his dark slacks, his toned, pale torso was on display just for you. Your eyes hungrily trailed down the length of his body, paying particular attention to the thick thatch of black hair that poked up just above the line of his belt. 

“You!” In two long strides, he was right in front of you, his chest heaving, dark hair tousled so perfectly.

You bit down on your lip to hold back a giggle. “Me? Whatever could I have done to get you this… worked up?” Your index finger hooked into his belt loop and tugged him closer to your body as you spoke. His eyes darkened just the way you wanted them to but suddenly, he was an arm’s length away.

“No, no. You fucking minx that won’t work on me today.”

“So you’re saying it’ll work on another day. I’ll keep that in mind.” He glowered at you.

“Where are all my shirts?” You smirked, popping out your wide hip. Loki’s gaze snapped to the now exposed top of your thigh, where he suspected that you weren’t wearing anything under the large button-up you had donned this morning. 

“Have you checked the laundry?” 

“Have I checked the laundry? Of course I did! And the bathroom hamper, and the closet, even the living room but it seems I should have checked the study first my darling.” He purred though he remained rooted to the spot, as if moving would break his motivation entirely.

“And what is so important about having a shirt today? I am more than happy to let you walk around shirtless, in fact I prefer it.” You took the step forward, letting your hand hover just above his abs. Loki grabbed your wrist before you could touch him.

“You know I have to leave today and I cannot very well turn up to the TVA like this, no matter how much you like it.”

Your bottom lip jutted out. “I thought you would give me anything I wanted. Do you not love me anymore?”

“You’re a devil.” He sighed and pulled you into his arms.

“Your devil.” You reminded him with a gentle kiss to his collarbone.

“My devil who needs to give me that shirt.” He tugged at the hem which rested just below the curve of your ass. “And tonight, I’ll do whatever you wish of me. I will be your servant.” You hummed and shut your eyes, snuggling in even closer.

“Will you give me a massage?”

“It would be an honour.”

“Get me take-out?”

“From wherever you want, even from the furthest reaches of time and space.”

“Let me peg you?”

He tugged you back so your eyes met his. “Now you’re pushing it.” You beamed at him. “Now, can I have my shirt please my darling?”

“Of course, you just had to ask nicely.” And in one fluid move, you pulled the white shirt over your head and dropped it into his now empty hands, confirming his suspicions that you had nothing beneath. You pecked his parted lips and strutted away.

“Have a good day at work my love.” You cooed.

Loki looked at the shirt, and then over to where you had disappeared into the bedroom. He groaned, tossing the shirt onto the ground as he tugged his belt free. “I cannot keep being late like this.”

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Liberties [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After ruining the biggest night of your career, Loki ruins you, too. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Dickish Avenger!Loki. Language. Workplace romance. Rough(ish) smut. (w/c 3.1k)

Folds of your expensive black dress swished as you stormed down the corridor of the forty-sixth floor. Everyone was still at the event. Or, The Shitstorm as it would now be known. Shame. Shouting at someone would really help right now.

You tore out the earpiece and slammed it on the nearest desk, shoving a pile of papers off the side for good measure. Laufeyson.

You’d spent months concocting the perfect debut for that greasy-haired, peacocking, gangly-limbed motherfucker. Did he say ‘thank you’? Did he smile and mind his P’s and Q’s and pose with the New York glitterati like he was supposed to for one night?

Nails sank into the soft flesh of your palm. Course he fucking didn’t.

After he’d gone off script during his speech, stating he could fix the woeful state of Earth’s political spectrum in thirty-seven minutes, it had all gone downhill. Insulting politicians, flirting egregiously with their wives…with their husbands.

The cool glass met your forehead as your rested against the door with your name on it. Director, it said. It didn’t feel like it. Fucking Laufeyson. He was unmanageable—just like his hair. He didn’t even comb it—bastard. You’d specifically requested it.

There was a bottle of whisky hidden in the bookcase behind a doorstop project management manual. You glanced down the empty corridor a final time and slipped inside the dark office, making straight for the bookcase. Pulling out the book concealing your beautiful, impending numbness, you frowned. The bottle was—

"I’m afraid I took the liberty," someone said.

You screamed, lobbing the book in the direction of the voice. It hit the flat, black back of your office chair with a pathetic thump.

The chair swivelled: glacial, infuriating. But you already knew. It was that voice; the one that made it impossible not to imagine him making snide remarks while he fucked you from behind with a fist knotted at your scalp. And besides, you could see the wavy, rumpled crown of his greasy fucking hair over the rim of the chair.

"How did you…What the hell are you doing in here? This is restricted—"

"Restricted?" Laufeyson barked out a weak laugh of reprimand. "Please."

He raised a hand, gaze fixed on the ornate glass of amber liquid cupped in his palm. It had been a present from Stark for your promotion, and the sting of your nails on your palm burned new. "This is really rather good, considering."

"Considering what?" "That it was produced on this planet." His eyes slid to yours, upper lip twitching as he said, "Another thing to add to its sparse list of accomplishments."

You pulled another book from the shelf and threw it at his face. It missed.

Loki didn’t flinch. He just sat there wearing his favourite smirk; one foot resting on his knee and his shadowed eyes glinting with curious observation. He’d removed the suit jacket—the one specifically tailored for this event—in his requested colour, a lush emerald green with gold trim.

Dickhead. You’d run yourself ragged for his petty demands. And then he’d fucked it all up anyway.

Realising your eyes were lingering on the suspenders stretched against the wall chest muscle, you tore them up to his face and forced coldness into your voice. "I literally left the event to get away from you, before I punched you in the face; you realise that?"

"I do."

You threw up your hands and turned towards the window, arms folded; watching the flash of traffic on the street below like luminous ants. Spotlights flashed across the night sky, crossing and weaving against each other in celebration of the biggest night of the year. "Stark will fire me for what you did."

Loki’s laugh was accompanied by a splutter of liquid. You shot a glare over your shoulder, catching him press the back of a hand against his mouth and shaking with mirth.

"I think not. Stark cares only for publicity—and…" He extended a hand with a self-congratulatory flourish before resting an elbow on the armrest, brushing a finger to his lips. "He knows what I’m like," he added with a coy brush of a smile.

Heat exploded beneath your skin.

Before you could think it through you were towering over Loki, a hand spread against his sternum. You pushed against muscle, letting the chair tilt ominously backwards. Loki’s eyes widened fractionally, dark eyebrows peaking in genuine surprise. "If you've ruined my career I will hunt you down and I will—"

"Hunt me down?" Loki purred. His eyes dropped to your hand pressed to his chest and rose slowly to your face. "I’m right here, as you can plainly see. No hunting necessary." His rumble caught on the T. "Being accosted, no less."

You released him with a grunt.

"Couldn’t you just behave? This was your big night…your official launch in the team, your new start. Why couldn’t you just be good for once?"

"Good?" Loki’s voice hardened. A green, glowing rectangle unfurled in the empty air beside his shoulder, and a shot from the ad campaign you’d organised several weeks ago filled the space.

Emblazoned in Stark Industries font across the image of Loki looking like a sexual apocalypse in a skin tight leather combat suit were the flickering words, ‘God of Mischief.’ And then, Loki said, "It’s in the name, darling. The one you selected—a new start was never part of the agreement, nor was it suggested. I believe the phrase was, ‘refreshed branding'…Was it not?"

He shifted, and somehow the muscles in his legs were outlined in the soft glow of a thousand skyscraper windows. "Same package, different wrapping, as it were."

Your brows rose, trying to keep the brittle defeat from your eyes. "Your behaviour tonight was unacceptable. You can’t go around comparing global foreign policy to Thanos’s bowel movements."

Loki waved a hand, sliding the glass over the desk with a scoff.

"My behaviour is always unacceptable; it’s part of the allure. The populous long for something raw, something unexpected. Something unmarred by inane pleasantries and fakery." His eyes slid upwards, nailing you like gas lamps in darkness. "Take you, for instance."

It was your turn to scoff. "I don’t see what I have to do with this."

Loki leant back in the chair, eyelids drooping. His tongue nipped over his lips in a flash of pink. "You very much want to have me; I can see it. I can smell it."

Your jaw loosened, mortification prickling over your skin as he added, "Carnally," as if it required explanation.

"You’re out of your fucking mind. I can’t stand you."

Loki’s lips curled, and you hated how much you wanted to suck the smirk off his goddam mouth. "Correct on both counts, I’m sure. It doesn’t change the inescapable reality that you want to know what I taste like."

Your tongue shaped words, and then you choked on them as Loki unfurled from the chair: all long limbs, slutty curls and slimfit tailoring. Oh Christ.

Your bare shoulder-blades met the window as he meandered across the floor without a care in the world; bladed cheekbones casting shadows across his skin; assassins emerging from the dark.

"You want to know what I fuck like," he said, words stirring like treacle. "Whether I’m generous, whether I’m as good as they say, whether I’m as brutish and punishing as part of you hopes I would be."

He stood in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, and leant forwards until his breath was hot on your forehead and the expensive cologne wafting from the open buttons of his shirt drifted up your nostrils. A short puff of mirth exhaled against your skin before he added, piercing, "But most of all, you want to know what I sound like when I cum."

He was awful: conceited, rude, imperious. But, fuck, he was right.

Your sweaty palms slid against the glass as he straightened and waited for a response. He sighed, and you found yourself staring at the strain of the buttons down the front of his shirt as he did.

"As I thought," said Loki, bored. "Paralysed by your desires—wasting away in a pit of indecision and regret as so many of your ilk." He shrugged, arms wide. "So be it."

Your hand shot out, yanking the nearest suspender and pulling his mouth to yours. Loki’s hand flew to the surface behind your head, and the wall of glass trembled.

His warrior body pressed firm against your chest, crushing you in the scent of desire and the primal heat radiating from his skin while your hands fisted in his hair and the god groaned into your throat.

He pulled back, frowning as your hand grasped at the erection pressing against his trousers. "Let me be clear," he growled. ‘I am no one’s pet. I will not be tamed. Is that understood?"

"Oh, will you shut up?" You tore at the buttons of his shirt, regretting the lack of nuance, before adding, "but, like, keep talking though."

Loki’s chuckle vibrated against your palms as the shirt slid over the curve of his biceps and then you were raking at his perfect skin, pulling his mouth to yours in a hateful mess of tongues and need and fire that ripped through your body.

Nimble fingers made quick work of his buckle, and Loki’s hands ran up the curve of your thighs, pushing the folds of your dress around your hips. "I've been longing to break you in..." he muttered, eyes shining in the light from New York’s glittering skyline.

You yanked his hair, and Loki hissed with pleasure. "I’m not a virgin; weirdo," you gasped, grasping his thick, perfect cock in a punishing fist.

His lips spread with a wolfish grin. "Ah, but you’ve never been fucked by me."

One of his hands slipped between your legs and trailed through the wetness it found. He moaned softly, massaging your clit like oil. Your head fell against the window as he slipped a long, elegant finger inside you. It was disgusting how much you wanted him, and you’d let yourself feel every, traitorous moment.

His digits curled, stoking the same, exquisite spot again, and again— "such a pretty, warm cunt," he whispered, filthy—as whines slid from your lips. "And to think, you’ve been denying yourself."

Loki tsk’d, his free hand playing at your exposed neck. He sucked a bruising kiss into your throat as hot cum welled around his fingers, holding you upright, balanced against the thigh shoved between your legs.

"Fuck me," you gasped, grappling at his shoulders. He said nothing. You met his eyes; slivers of blue visible on the rim of wide, black pools. "Like…fuck me, fuck me."

"I knew you’d want me rough," he said quietly, drawing his knuckles down your cheek. The hand fell to the neckline of your dress and before you could even inhale, a mighty rip sent your dress scattering across the floor.

Loki’s covetous eyes roamed your chest, your body; his chin dipped, his eyes glazed with lust. "Over there." He motioned with his head.

You followed the order and gripped the back of one of the two chairs positioned by the window. Leather slid under the sheen clinging to your palms. Loki’s touch cupped your hips, his hands grazing appreciatively over bare skin.

"I knew it would be tonight," he murmured, pressing his cock into the base of your spine. His breath was hot on your throat. "As soon as I saw the utter loathing in your eyes; I knew it would be the one."

He twisted your hair back, biting the curve of your shoulder with unbearable erotic restraint. You pressed your ass into his crotch, moaning his name under your breath as he traced a finger down your spine until he reached the cock leaking precum over your skin.

Positioning between your legs, he rubbed the column twice through your slick lips before sheathing himself on the third.

The two of you gasped in unison; the guttural growl of Loki’s voice making your knees tremble before he delivered the first, devastating thrust. The force of it sent the chair screeching over the floor.

"G-gods…you’re tight," he choked, withdrawing and circling the crown at the tip of your channel. "I knew you would be perfect…but…but…"

Another thrust and the chair hit the window, but you didn’t care. Loki filled every part of you; you’d never felt so exposed, so free, with every fluid buck of his hips which made stars burst behind your eyelids. He bottomed out with a grunt of your name, balls slapping against your clit, one hand flying to the glass above your head and making a messy streak as it fell.

"Not enough," he said, breathless. The god pulled you upright and kissed you with the force of a storm, gathering you in his arms. The next thing you felt was the cool desk on your ass, Loki spreading your thighs and the utter joy of him breaching the empty space inside you he’d ruined for all other men.

One hand roughly palmed at your breasts, the other cradling your skull as every trinket you’d every owned rattled on the desk. Somewhere, something cracked. He went harder, pounding deeper with each snap of his hips that slapped against your skin.

There was a clink, a melodic roll, and then a smash. The sharp scent of whisky filled the air. You began to look but Loki pulled your chin to face him.

"On me," he ordered, eyes narrowed. There was a faint flush in his cheeks. "On me. Always."

Your legs wound around Loki’s hips. One kiss slid into another, his bucks becoming frantic as climax burst inside you with a rattle of his name. He lowered you to the desk, sliding his glistening cock from your cunt and kissing down your abdomen.

As you craned up, slack-jawed, the god delivered a single, earth-trembling lick up the centre of your pussy; gathering himself on his tongue. He swallowed, pacing behind you and seating himself on your chair.

You sat up, observing him over your shoulder. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, thanks to you, pale skin shimmering pearl in the honeyed gloom. He looked up beneath his lashes—smouldering—slender fingers wrapped around the cock protruding from splayed fabric; pumping in fluid strokes.

He cocked an eyebrow, and it was as good as a beckon from one of those slender fingers.

Shifting from the desk, you sank to your knees, and Loki’s legs widened. The fabric of his trousers creased maddeningly over the meat of his thighs.

"Tell me you haven’t thought about this," he said, baiting. He could smell lies as keenly as sulphur. "That you haven’t wanted to choke on my cock."

It wasn’t a question.

You fixed your eyes on his as you settled a hand around the root and swallowed the tip.

Loki’s eyes rolled back, head falling to the back of the chair. Black waves dripped down his shoulders like spilled ink, every thrust of his hips into your mouth making new combinations of filthy curses rattle from his chest.

A hand settled on your head, following the motion as your mouth worked back and forth along the length of him: sucking, licking, grazing the sensitive tip with your teeth. Loki hissed, fingers tightening in your hair.

"Fucking Norns, you are a slut," he muttered appreciatively.

You doubled down, and soon Loki’s balls tightened. Something shifted as he stiffened, the hand in your hair flying to the armrest. His breaths were short, moans brief and ragged as he fought himself. "Finish me," he growled, tapered to a whine. One, calculated suck was all it took. Loki’s climax trembled down his body, spurting into your mouth like a tide of warm, smooth butter. Your tongue circled the tip, massaging him through the throes as his body shuddered a final time and a staggered sigh rocked the air.

A finger slipped beneath your chin, tilting up to meet his expectant smirk. "Well?" Loki asked, eyes glinting. "Was I everything you dreamt of?"

The lazy smile on your face evaporated. You brushed the hand aside, covering your breasts. Loki frowned.

"There’s no need for that, believe me." He guided your hands into his and pulled you to his lap. "Do you recall when I mentioned this realm’s sparse list of accomplishments?" You grunted reluctant confirmation. Loki sucked your earlobe between his teeth, releasing a contented sigh. "Your body is most definitely on that list." He paused, breath catching. "All of you, truth be told," he added quietly.

Before you had time to process what he'd said, you were standing.

Loki’s fingers fastened the buttons of his shirt with unnatural speed as you stared forlornly at the ripped dress on the floor. Fuck. There was a sweatsuit hanging in the small wardrobe stashed in the corner. That would have to do—you could slip out the side entrance, no need to…

"I’ll see you downstairs?" Loki asked, all business. He looked at you expectantly as the bespoke forest green suit jacket melted over his torso like paint. You’d forgotten how good he looked in it and resolved never to forget it ever again.

The god carded a hand through his hair, letting in fall in wild waves. The outline of his erection was still visible through the tight trousers. Did I really just fuck…Loki Laufeyson? A sick pride sprouted in your belly.

You crouched and picked up the tattered, black fabric. "I don’t think so, I mean—" Loki’s kiss cut you off. He sucked your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away.

"I’ll see you downstairs," he repeated softly. "Someone has to make sure I’m behaving myself, after all."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to stare as he swaggered to the door and shot a grin through the glass panels as he passed.

He has a point, though. You couldn’t let him go unattended. What if he gets one of the senators’ wives alone? What if he sexes them up...like me?

The thought, however ridiculous it would have been an hour ago, was like a knife between your ribs.

You scurried to the wardrobe concealed in the corner and opened it, cursing the fact you didn’t keep a spare office dress like the slinky bitches on TV.

You stared, blinking several times.

Hanging in the wardrobe was an identical dress to the one lying shredded on the floor. Almost identical. You pulled it out, holding the hanger up. In the glow of the midnight skyline, green jewels glittered around the neckline, woven in intricate patterns that melted into the folds of skirt. A note was pinned to the bodice. I can be good, it said. Our secret.

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[vbecker10]

No Stabbing!

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You ask Loki if he still stabs people when he's bored but the prince of Asgard is more curious about why you want to know.

Warnings: idk... vague mention of a terrible date and overly protective Loki (who doesn't love that? Lol)

A/N: Came up with this idea pretty randomly so hopefully it's good lol enjoy! 💚

"Loki, do you still stab people when you're bored?" you ask as you walk into the common room, interrupting a game of chess the two brothers are playing.

The younger prince stares up at you in confused silence, his attention shifting to his brother when Thor clears his throat.

"I'm sorry Y/N," Thor says politely. "Fury made it abundantly clear to my brother that stabbing people who irritate him is not something that will be tolerated while he is on probation."

"Oh... right," you mumble and look down at your shoes. "We'll never mind then," you turn to leave.

"Why do you ask?" Loki finally speaks when you've taken a few steps away from them.

"No reason," you respond quickly turning to face him.

"Y/N," Loki says in a slightly stern tone.

"My date tonight was awful. He was so handsy," you explain, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Handsy?" Thor repeats the unfamiliar term with a raised eyebrow. Loki looks at you and you can tell he's just as confused as his older brother.

You sigh and make a grabbing motion with both hands towards the princes.

"No stabbing!" Thor shouts at his younger brother as he gets up, knocking over the few remaining chess pieces.

Loki gets up quickly, his favorite dagger appearing in his hand with a green flourish. "You were with the new tech from Stark's team," the God of Mischief states, no hint of a question in his voice. You nod as he walks angrily past you into the hallway.

"I am simply going to talk to him," Loki insists, his pace not slowing.

"With your dagger," Thor rolls his eyes when he catches up.

Loki smirks, "Yes."

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[simplyholl]

Happily Never After Pt. 1

Summary: A marriage proposal from Prince Loki is every princess's dream come true, except for yours.

Pairing: Asgard Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY. Loss of Virginity.

W/C: 3.4K

A/N: This will be two parts!

See My Masterlist Here

"Married to Prince Loki?!" You shriek. It was the most absurd thing you had ever heard. "Stop being dramatic, dear. You two are very close. Since Prince Thor is already promised, this is the best match we could secure. Your father and I thought you would be happy considering he is your friend, and not a stranger."

"We used to be close! That was ages ago! I loathe him, mother. This is unfair. I would rather marry a stranger." You protest, wiping your sweaty palms on your long gown as you pace the room. "Why do you hate him? We just visited them last week." She tries to reason with you.

"You said yourself he was your best friend. Do you not recall the tears you shed when your father forbid you from spending time with him unchaperoned?" She pours herself more tea, waiting for your reply. "Yes, well he was my best friend. He's a different person now. I barely know him." You look out of your window, the palace in clear view of your own estate.

Your father was king of a neighboring realm, when the ogres attacked, forcing your family to seek safety in Asgard. You were welcomed with open arms. Frigga and your mother became fast friends. Odin relied on your father's knowledge of the other realms' customs, so he became valuable to him. Frigga invited your mother for tea every day. She insisted your mother bring you along since she had two boys close to your age you could play with.

Thor was older, more focused on playing rough with the other boys. He never paid attention to you. Loki was only a year older than you. You often found him reading under a tree instead of playing. He didn't notice you at first until you insisted the older boys let you play. Volstagg accidentally knocked you to the ground.

When Loki heard you crying, he stood up for you even though Volstagg towered over all of you. He was an unusually large child. Loki brought you to his favorite hiding place. Deep in the woods behind the palace there was a treehouse. He explained that he often came there for solace. It was built for Odin thousands of years ago when he was a child.

Thor didn't like to play there because it was too far from the palace. He thought he would get in trouble. One evening, Loki lost track of time and fell asleep in the treehouse. When he was finally found, Frigga had the place cleaned up, so it wouldn't be dangerous. Ever since that day, you and Loki were inseparable. You used the treehouse as a secret lair for you two to spend time alone.

The other children didn't play with you. They only played with Loki because they were scared of Odin. You understood each other completely. You would make up stories and put on one person plays to share your creativity. You grew up together. It went from playing as children, to hiding out in the tree house after mandatory appearances at balls. You despised when your father wanted you to meet other royals. He would force you to dance with their sons. After two dances, you and Loki would slip away to your private place.

You would laugh about the cheesy things they said to impress you. You would never forget the first time your heart skipped a beat. You were laughing about the visiting prince who told you your gown was lovely. It was the most hideous shade of lime green the seamstress could find. You had requested it that way, so you could hide your beauty. You wiped tears of laughter from the corners of your eyes as you told Loki your reasoning for the unpleasing color.

"You should have known you couldn't hide beauty like yours even in that atrocious gown." His sentiment made you blush, your heart stopped beating as he held your gaze. His eyes lingered on your lips for a few seconds too long. You were sure he was going to kiss you. You closed your eyes in anticipation, feeling his face draw closer to yours. Then you were interrupted by Thor bellowing down below. Your father was looking for you.

You wouldn't be allowed out of his sight if he caught you out there. When you got home, you wrote everything down in your diary. How Loki had made you feel beautiful for the first time in your life, how you wished Thor and your father would have waited moments longer. The next day your father called you into his study, your diary in hand. Oh, how you wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

"I forbid you to see him ever again." Your father's stern words instantly made you cry. Loki was everything to you. You couldn't lose him. You told him it was just a silly crush. That what you had written was just a fantasy you made up. He finally believed your lies, but now you couldn't be with him unless you were chaperoned.

Hundreds of years went by, you were as close as ever. You still found your way around the chaperones. You would sneak out at night meeting at the treehouse. You would stay up half the night together laughing as you did when you were children. He would have you back in your bed before sunrise. You always thought it was unfair that you had to be chaperoned, but Loki could do as he pleased.

Then came your first heartbreak. A visiting prince had met you at one of Frigga's balls. He immediately asked your father to court you. You were devastated. You didn't want to be courted. You were happy with your life. But your father couldn't wait to marry you off. But the more time you spent with the prince, the more you liked him. He had dark hair and blue eyes, sometimes you pretended he was Loki.

But he wasn't and there was your whole problem. No one would compare to Loki. But if you had to marry someone, at least the prince was nice. The prince would often find you with Loki going on strolls through the gardens, eating, and reading in silence. One evening, he visited your estate. He said he wanted to end this courtship. You couldn't think of anything you did wrong. He explained that he was certain your affection lied elsewhere, and he wanted to be the only man in his future bride's life. You didn't understand what he had meant, but you thanked him. You were free once again.

Then the latest scandal sheet was delivered by your maid. It mentioned how you and the prince were getting close. You rolled your eyes, thankful that was over. But when you reached the last paragraph, your whole world shattered. Prince Loki had been seen at the brothel three times this week. Not only that, but he had been caught with an unnamed maid in his mother's garden.

It wasn't uncommon for royalty to fuck around like whores, but this truly wounded you. You cried for a week after it came out. Your mother thought you were upset over the prince ending your courtship, so she explained there would be other princes. You didn't visit Loki for three months after the scandal sheet came out.

Another one hundred years passed, and you had grown used to Loki's womanizing. You were at the market, Loki carrying your basket filled with trinkets, winking at the unsuspecting maidens. He made note of the ones he wanted to bed later. You rolled your eyes, as you handed your coins to the shopkeeper, peeling the orange you just purchased.

"Really Loki, can you go one minute without finding four new lovers?" You joked. "Jealous?" He smirked. "Of course not, don't be ridiculous." "The only reason you are not overcome with jealousy is because you do not know what I am capable of carnally." The bite of orange you had just taken lodged down your throat causing you to choke. Loki smiled, pleased with himself.

"Of course, I wouldn't know that, or care to find out. You shouldn't speak of such things so loudly. What if someone heard you?" You looked around, your maid, Greta had her eyes on the ground pretending she wasn't listening. Loki walked over to her, dropping a few coins into her hand, and whispering to her. You watch as she goes to the next vender looking at the silks.

Loki grabs your arm, leading you behind a tent. "Aren't you curious? Your parents keep you in the dark, only for the bumbling fool you end up marrying to spill his seed in a matter of minutes." You would be like the other princesses, not knowing what to expect on your wedding night, if it wasn't for Loki. He had told you all about the act some hundred years ago, so you would know what to expect. You were thankful for that, at least.

But now, when he was looking at you like that, and speaking of such things, you wished you didn't know. "You won't experience pleasure with them. They just want to produce an heir, and once that's taken care of, he will get a mistress. I don't want that for you. I hope that you find a love match, but that is highly unlikely considering your father allows anyone with a title to court you."

You consider Loki's words as he leans in, his breath tickling your ear. "Let me show you what you are missing. I'll make it good for you. You deserve to experience mind blowing sex at least once in your life." He was the devil himself; you were sure of it. He was so tempting. You knew he was experienced, and women threw themselves all over him everywhere you went. He had to be good at it.

"I - I'm not sure. I would be ruined if anyone found out. My father would kill you.” You whisper, just in case someone was listening. "That's not a problem, I would just marry you before your reputation took a hit." He smiles as if what he said wasn't crazy. "Loki, I couldn't ask you to do that. To be honest, I am frightened. Not of you, but of the act itself. It doesn't sound like it would be pleasurable. Oh, but it must be if every eligible maiden in the kingdom lets you have your way with them."

You continue your ranting until Loki grabs your hand. "I would be gentle with you. We could start slowly. We would only do what you are comfortable with." You agreed to meet him at the treehouse that night. When you're back in your chambers you call Greta in to question her.

"Greta, have you had sex before?" She gasps, looking everywhere but at you. "My lady, that is not appropriate." You sit on your bed, gesturing for her to sit beside you. "Oh, spare me, we have known each other since we were girls. So out with it." You fold your arms across your chest waiting for her to answer.

"Yes, there was one man." She answers, her cheeks turning red. "Greta! Who was it?" She smiles, "Bart, the baker's son. We had a lovely couple of months together, but then he married the butcher's daughter. You see, men are fickle creatures. They use you until they find someone else. So be warned, my lady, keep your heart out of it. Men can have sex without emotions, and us women, well we often times end up heartbroken."

Greta's words repeated in your head all afternoon. You had known Loki for centuries, so you didn't think he would hurt you. But you were tempted to turn around, go back to your chambers and pretend like none of this ever happened. Luckily, he was in the treehouse waiting for you, so you couldn't leave now.

"It has been brought to my attention that men will do this with anyone, so I know it will mean nothing to you. And apparently, it will mean everything to me. I just don't want to regret this." You confide in Loki. "My darling girl, this will mean everything to me too. You are far too precious to me for it to mean nothing. We don't have to do anything if that is what you wish."

"I think you are right. I deserve to feel pleasure, and I trust you. I'm just nervous." Loki cups your face in his hands, bringing himself closer to you. It was so similar to that night when you were teenagers, your stomach erupts in butterflies. You never imagined the cute, gangly boy you knew so long ago would grow into the devilishly handsome man before you.

He kisses you, and it is exactly how you had always imagined. It was as if no time had passed between the moment when he almost kissed you centuries ago and now. You felt exactly the same. When he finally breaks the kiss, you look at him with wide eyes. If just his kiss could make you feel like this, you were in trouble.

Loki sat you down on the old mat you used to read on as children. It had fresh linen on it. Loki must have put it on before your arrival. He pressed kisses to your neck, sharp teeth nipping at your exposed skin. He had you sit up so he could undo your dress, nimble fingers working quickly on your corset until all your clothing was sat aside. You were bare for the first time in front of a man, but you were not ashamed. You should have attempted to cover yourself, but when Loki looked at you like you were a priceless painting, you felt no need to.

Loki took his time kissing every part of you. He toyed with your nipples, and you felt yourself growing wet. When he lowered his head to take one between his lips, you finally understood why all those maidens would jump at his beck and call. He kissed his way down your stomach, nipping your upper thigh. He spread your legs apart, pleased with your arousal dripping down your thighs.

"May I?" He asks, pink tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip. You aren't sure what he is asking, but he knows what he is doing, so you give your consent. His tongue envelops you, sliding from your slit to your most sensitive part. "Loki!" You shout, as he continues exploring you. His tongue flicks your clit as your hands weave through his messy locks.

You never imagined it would be like this. And you suppose if it wasn't for Loki, you would never know. He slips a long finger inside you as he continues licking you, He stretches you, placing another finger inside. You jolt at the intrusion, his fingers curling to caress your walls. You feel like you are about to explode.

"Loki, I feel so wonderful." You tell him. His lips suction around your clit, tugging while his fingers work their magic. Stars explode behind your eyes as your first orgasm rips through you. Loki waits until you finish writhing on his face before coming up for air. He wipes your arousal off his face with the back of his hand.

You think that has to be the most attractive thing you have ever seen. But you are proven wrong when Loki undresses. He has filled out since the last time you saw him shirtless, when you were swimming as teenagers. He drops his trousers, hard cock springing free. You gasp when you see the size of him. You were beyond thankful he told you about the differences between men and women so long ago. What a surprise this would be if he hadn't.

"You still have time to change your mind, love. Just say the word and I will stop." He stalks toward you, lowering himself to the mat. "Please do not stop." You say breathlessly. Loki chuckles, settling between your thighs. "This will hurt, but only for a moment. Tell me when you are ready for me to move."

Loki sinks into you, pressure and pain causing you to cry out. "I'm so sorry. I can't help it. It will feel better soon, I promise." You grit your teeth as Loki bottoms out. He stills inside you, waiting for you to give him permission to move. You take a minute, adjusting to his size, before you tell him you are alright.

Loki slowly removes himself before filling you completely again. After a few thrusts, it starts to feel good. "Faster, Loki, please." You beg, clawing at his back as he ravishes you. His hand comes down between your joined bodies, skilled fingers swirling against your clit. The feeling you had earlier comes back full force, another orgasm sending you soaring. Loki pulls out, finishing on the fresh linen on the mat. You lay there, breathing heavily, looking at Loki. He truly is beautiful. "Shall we go again?" He asks, his signature smirk returning.

Loki laid with you three more times before the sun rose. He walked you back to your estate, making sure you made it inside safely before walking back to the palace. The next day, you were excited to see Loki. You secretly hoped you would spend the day in the treehouse.

"Mary was looking for you." Fandral tells Loki, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Well, you can tell her I never wish to see her again. She is of no use to me anymore." They laugh in unison, walking away as you round the corner. "Has someone finally caught your eye?" Fandral smiles. "Actually, I plan on asking the princess to marry me." Loki shocks Fandral who places a hand over his heart.

"Did you hear that, Greta?" You ask your maid, unwanted tears filling your eyes. "Yes, my lady." She answers. "Repeat what you heard please."

"Prince Loki said "You can tell her I never wish to see her again. She is of no use to me anymore." She looks at you with pity. "That's what I heard too. Oh, Greta." You collapse into her arms, sobbing. "Let's go home, my lady. We mustn't let the prince see that he has hurt you."

From that moment on, things were very different between you and Loki. He demanded to know why you avoided him now and why you never had a kind word for him. You never answered because he knew what he had done. He just didn't know you heard him talking about you. That was five months ago. Now, Odin was ordering him to marry and they had chosen you of all people.

If this happened before you would be ecstatic. Now, it makes you sick thinking about being alone with him. You had no choice. Your father had been trying to marry you off for centuries, and you always got out of your courtships somehow. You suspected Loki had a hand in it. But now that he wanted to marry you, there was no getting out of it.

You were expected at the palace by noon tomorrow. You paced the floor so many times, your footprints were probably embedded into the floor. Then you had the perfect idea. You would run away.

The next day everyone awaited your arrival. Your mother and father sat with Frigga and Odin having tea while they waited. Thor patted Loki on the back. "Finally, brother. Everyone saw this coming. I am very happy for you." Loki brought his cup to his lips, when a timid knock on the door interrupted them. He jumps up, rushing to let you inside. Instead of you, he is greeted by Greta. "Forgive the intrusion, your highness. It's the princess she ran away." Greta hands Loki the letter you left.

She sniffles, worried about you. While he reads the note, your father and Odin start planning on sending knights to find you. Frigga comforts your mother. "What does it say?" Thor asks, peeking over Loki's shoulder.

Greta, I cannot marry that pompous ass. I would rather live amongst the pigs. Do not bother looking for me, because you will never find me. Tell mother and father I love them dearly. Thank you Greta, for everything. I wish I could have taken you with me. All my love.

"No need to create a search team, father. I will find her myself." Loki states, leaving the room.

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[cleo-fox]

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.”

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.

“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.