#Loki x Female Reader

[societyfolklore]

Plus One

Title: Plus One (Prompt- who invited them to the holiday party?) Pairing: Loki x SHEILD Agent!Female Reader

Summary:  Thor brings Loki along to the Avengers Christmas party, and no one-not even you-was prepared for it. A night of tension and unexpected moments leads to revelations that are far from festive.

Word Count: 4.5k (woah this got away from me…)

Warnings:  /Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, smut, DARK-ish (just Loki being Loki really) fingering, Unprotected sex Not Beta read.

A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberparty December daze challenge …. Day 21

The annual Avengers Christmas party was the kind of event that had its own gravitational pull. No one dared to skip it-Tony Stark’s reputation for ‘over-the-top’ festivities guaranteed a night to remember (and sometimes regret). The compound sparkled with festive charm, every inch of it covered in twinkling lights, tinsel, garlands, and a seemingly endless supply of mistletoe that Tony had strategically placed to stir up drama.

You’d been looking forward to the party for weeks. It wasn’t often the team had an excuse to let their guard down and embrace something as simple as holiday cheer. If you were honest with yourself, it was also a chance to see Thor. The Asgardian always brought a sense of camaraderie to these events with his booming laughter and stories of Yuletide traditions from another realm, plus who didn’t like a chance to swoon a little over an ‘God’.

The night began as you expected-Natasha at the bar, teasing Clint about his questionable sweater; Sam and Bucky in a competitive battle of holiday trivia that was growing increasingly loud and animated; and Steve doing his best to avoid being cornered by overly curious SHIELD interns. It was chaotic, warm, and exactly what you needed.

At least, until you saw him.

You’d been mid-conversation with Wanda when the room seemed to shift. A ripple of unease spread through the crowd, subtle but undeniable. Curious, you turned your head and there he was. Loki.

Standing by the bar, drink in hand, the God of Mischief looked entirely too at ease in a room full of people who’d rather not be in his company. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit that somehow managed to feel more threatening than festive. His jet-black hair was swept back, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the room with a lazy confidence that set your teeth on edge.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, your drink momentarily forgotten.

Wanda followed your gaze, her brow furrowing. “Thor brought him,” she explained quietly. “Apparently, he didn’t want his brother to spend the holidays alone.”

“That’s… considerate,” you replied, though your tone dripped with scepticism. “But Loki? At a Christmas party? This has disaster written all over it.”

Wanda shrugged looking back at you. “He’s been calm so far, charming even. Maybe he’ll surprise us.”

You snorted. Loki wasn’t the kind of person who ‘surprised’ people in a good way.

As if sensing your thoughts, Loki’s gaze locked onto yours from across the room. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk that made your stomach twist. He raised his glass slightly in a mock toast, his expression equal parts amusement and challenge.

You turned back to Wanda, doing your best to ignore the flush creeping up your neck. “This is going to be a long night.”

Moments later, you found yourself seeking out Thor, hoping for some kind of explanation. You spotted him near the buffet table, a plate stacked high with what looked like an alarming combination of turkey and dessert pastries. He was laughing boisterously at something Steve had said, completely at ease despite the tension his brother’s presence was causing.

“Thor,” you said, cutting into the conversation. He turned to you with his usual wide grin.

“Ah! Seasonal Salutation! M’lady” he greeted warmly. “Have you tried the pudding? A most peculiar flavour but quite delightful.”

You waved off the question, getting straight to the point. “What is he doing here?”

Thor’s grin faltered slightly, and he glanced over his shoulder as if to confirm who you meant. “Loki? Well I- He had nowhere else to go for the holidays. It seemed cruel to leave him to his own devices.”

“Cruel to him or to us?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You seriously thought this was a good idea?”

Thor sighed, his expression softening. “I understand your concerns, but he is my brother. I could not bear the thought of him alone on such a joyous occasion. Besides,” he added with a wink, “he promised to behave.”

You raised a sceptical eyebrow. “And you believed him?”

Before Thor could answer, a shadow fell over the two of you. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The air seemed to grow colder, and a familiar voice, smooth and laced with amusement, cut through the festive noise.

“Talking about me already? How flattering.”

Loki stepped into view, his smirk firmly in place as his sharp gaze flicked between you and Thor. “I wasn’t aware I warranted such attention.”

Your jaw tightened, but before you could fire back, Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder, his usual jovial demeanour returning. “We were just discussing how you’ve managed to behave yourself so far. A true Christmas miracle!”

Loki’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a glint of something darker in his eyes as he turned his attention to you. “I aim to please.”

Your stomach flipped, though whether it was from irritation or something else, you weren’t sure. “Let’s hope it stays that way,” you said coolly, brushing past him before he could see just how much his presence was affecting you.

As you walked away, you could feel his gaze following you, burning into your back. This was definitely going to be a long night.

You drifted toward the far corner of the room, seeking refuge from Loki's piercing gaze that still lingered in your thoughts. The dessert table became your sanctuary, a whimsical display of Tony’s flair for the extravagant. Gingerbread skyscrapers stood proudly next to meticulously crafted snowman macarons, their glossy surfaces glinting in the ambient light. A fountain of eggnog, complete with a miniature motorized sleigh circling its base, gurgled in the background, adding a surreal charm to the festive scene.

You allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe, reaching for a chocolate-dipped strawberry and savoring the rich aroma of cocoa and ripe fruit. It was grounding, a small indulgence that pulled you back from the tension threatening to coil too tightly in your chest.

But the respite didn’t last long.

“Avoiding me already, darling?”

The familiar voice sent a jolt through you, smooth as velvet yet edged with a playful sharpness. Your hand jerked slightly, the strawberry wobbling precariously between your fingers. You turned your head sharply, meeting Loki’s unyielding gaze. He was closer than you’d expected, his tall frame looming with an ease that spoke of his predatory confidence.

His presence was suffocating in the most maddening way, and yet you couldn’t tear your eyes from him. Dressed to perfection, the crisp lines of his suit contrasted against the effortless way he commanded attention, even in silence. The faint scent of something rich and foreign clung to him-spices, leather, and an undertone of frost that teased at your senses.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you replied coolly, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the quickened thrum of your pulse. You deliberately brought the strawberry to your lips and took a bite, savoring the sweetness as a distraction. “I was enjoying the party. Something you seem to be incapable of doing without making it about you.”

Loki’s laughter rumbled low and deep, like distant thunder, curling around you in a way that made it hard to breathe. “Oh, I’m quite capable of enjoying myself, believe me,” he said, his voice layered with dark amusement. “I just find these… mortal festivities rather quaint.”

“Quaint?” You raised an eyebrow, the word dripping with disbelief as you gestured toward the decadent dessert spread. “Says the man who just interrupted my quiet moment at the dessert table.”

His smirk widened, the kind of expression that could unravel nerves and stir intrigue all at once. “Perhaps I wanted a taste of something sweeter,” he murmured, his tone infused with a deliberate intimacy that sent a rush of heat to your cheeks.

The strawberry caught in your throat for a moment, and you forced yourself to swallow, cursing the way your skin betrayed you. Loki noticed, of course he did. His keen gaze flickered over your face, amusement lighting up his sharp features. He tilted his head, the picture of faux innocence.

“Did I say something amiss?” he asked smoothly, the corners of his mouth twitching in barely concealed delight.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, the words escaping as you stepped away from the table, hoping to put some distance between yourself and the maddening force of his presence.

Yet Loki followed, his movements unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

“I’ve been called worse,” he quipped lightly, his voice as smooth as silk. His hands were tucked casually behind his back, yet his proximity felt charged, as if the space between you crackled with unspoken intent. “But tell me, darling, why are you so eager to escape me? Surely you don’t find my company that intolerable.”

“It’s not intolerance,” you shot back, turning on your heel to glare at him. “It’s self-preservation.”

He stepped closer, and the air seemed to grow heavier, the warmth of the room fading beneath the cool intensity of his gaze. His voice dropped, low and husky, the kind of sound that made your pulse stutter.

“And what, pray tell, are you preserving yourself from?”

The question hung between you, tangible and electric. His words weren’t a challenge, nor a taunt-they were a doorway, left slightly ajar, daring you to step through.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words dissolved before they could form, leaving only the sound of your breath quickening in the charged silence. Loki’s gaze lingered on you, his smirk softening into something deeper, something that threatened to pull you under if you stared too long.

“Do let me know when you figure it out,” he said, his tone almost gentle now, as though the shift had caught even him by surprise. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and brushed past you, leaving the faintest brush of his coat against your arm.

You exhaled sharply, suddenly aware of how tightly you’d been holding your breath. Your heart thundered in your chest, every nerve still attuned to where he had stood just moments before. The room felt smaller now, as though his presence lingered, an echo of something dangerous and enticing.

You spent the next hour doing everything in your power to avoid Loki, though it felt like he was everywhere at once. His presence seemed to saturate the room, no matter how crowded it was. Whenever you turned, there he was: leaning casually against the bar, exchanging sly remarks with Natasha, or simply watching you with that insufferable smirk that sent heat creeping up your neck. It felt deliberate, a calculated game where the rules were known only to him, and you were the unwilling prize.

Finally, the weight of his gaze became too much. You slipped out of the main hall and into one of the quieter hallways, the muffled hum of the party fading behind you. The air here was cooler, the festive decorations sparser, and you exhaled a shaky breath, leaning against the wall to collect yourself.

“Running away again?”

The low, teasing voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you spun around, heart leaping to your throat. Loki stood at the end of the hallway, his silhouette sharp and imposing against the soft glow of a nearby string of fairy lights. The warm glimmer of the lights only seemed to enhance his cool, detached elegance, making him look every bit the dark prince he often pretended not to be.

“This isn’t running,” you said, forcing a steadiness into your voice that you didn’t feel. “It’s called taking a break.”

His lips curved into that familiar, maddening smile as he began to close the distance between you, each step slow and deliberate. “And yet, here I am. Drawn to you like a moth to a flame.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in an attempt to appear unruffled, though your pulse quickened the closer he came. “Do you practice being this insufferable, or does it come naturally?”

“It’s a gift,” he replied smoothly, the amusement in his tone only growing. “Though I must confess, your reactions make it all the more enjoyable.”

You took a step forward, unable to help yourself, despite the quiet voice in the back of your mind warning you to tread carefully. “Is that what this is? A game to you? Annoying me for your own amusement?”

Loki’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something darker, more intense. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, it felt like he was looking straight into your soul. “Oh, darling,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “If I wanted to truly amuse myself, I’d do far more than simply annoy you.”

Your breath hitched, the implication hanging heavy between you, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you. “Then what do you want, Loki?”

He stopped inches from you, the air between you charged and electric. His gaze was relentless, pulling you under like a riptide. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, “I simply want to see how far you’ll let me go.”

Your body betrayed you, heat rising as his hand brushed lightly against your arm. The touch was featherlight, yet it sent a jolt of energy coursing through you, igniting every nerve.

“You should be careful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Even as you spoke, there was no conviction behind the words, only a trembling uncertainty that made your heart pound. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Loki’s lips curved into a wicked smile, his confidence unwavering. “Danger is where I thrive, darling. Tell me… do you?”

Before you could respond, his hand rose to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the chaos he stirred within you. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, a maddening contrast to the storm raging in your chest.

“Stop me,” he murmured, his voice intoxicatingly low, his breath warm against your lips. “If that’s what you truly want.”

But you didn’t.

You surged forward, closing the gap between you as your lips met his in a kiss that was equal parts fury and inevitability. It was raw, consuming, and all the more maddening because of how long you had fought it.

Loki’s arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips claimed yours with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you reeling. His kiss wasn’t gentle-it was a battle for control, each movement demanding submission even as it ignited a fire within you.

One of his hands gripped your hip possessively while the other tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The cold wall at your back and the solid heat of his body against yours were the only things grounding you as you surrendered to the moment.

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Indulgence has never been this exquisite.”

Your protests dissolved into a shaky exhale as his hand slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along the sensitive skin of your thigh, moving closer to where you ached for him most.

A sharp intake of breath betrayed you, and Loki chuckled softly, clearly revelling in your unravelling. “Say the word, darling,” he purred, his voice like silk and sin. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, your hands fisted in the front of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer. Your voice was barely audible as you breathed, “Don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened, the icy blue of his gaze now molten with raw hunger. That insufferable smirk transformed into something primal, almost feral, as his fingers ventured higher beneath the hem of your dress. He moved with agonizing precision, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh until you shivered against the wall.

“Such a delicate thing,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that vibrated against your skin. “And yet, so very responsive.”

Before you could form a retort, his fingers slid higher, grazing over the damp fabric of the lace underwear. The sharp intake of breath you couldn’t suppress only seemed to fuel him, his lips curving in wicked satisfaction.

“Already wet for me,” he observed feeling the damp fabric, his tone laced with sinful amusement. “I knew you’d be eager, but this, darling, this is delightful.”

Your cheeks burned with equal parts embarrassment and desire, but your body betrayed you, arching toward his touch. Loki’s fingers pressed against your clothed heat, his thumb finding your swollen clit with unerring accuracy. He applied the barest amount of pressure, circling slowly, and a broken moan escaped your lips.

“Do you like that?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I do so enjoy hearing you mortals unravel for me.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But Loki wasn’t one to tolerate defiance. With a low chuckle, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of the lace and tugged them down with deliberate slowness, letting them pool at your ankles. The cool air against your bare skin sent another shiver racing through you.

“You’re even lovelier like this,” he purred, his fingers sliding between your folds, collecting the slick evidence of your arousal. “So wet.” He breathed the words out “So ready.”

His hand moved with a skill that left you gasping, two fingers plunging inside you with a smooth, practiced motion. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, drawing a pleased hum from his lips. His thumb resumed its torment on your clit, alternating between slow circles and deliciously firm pressure.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he pumped his fingers deeper. “So perfect, so pliant and all for me, no more running now pet.”

The sound of your laboured breathing mingled with the faint buzz of the party in the distance, though the world beyond this moment felt impossibly far away. Your hands clutched at the lapels of his jacket, desperate for something to anchor yourself as pleasure coiled tighter in your stomach.

Loki pressed his body against yours, his hard length evident even through the layers of his tailored trousers. He tilted his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that was every bit as consuming as his touch. His tongue slid against yours, matching the rhythm of his fingers as they drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum.” The snarled whispered against your lips, his voice rough with need. “I command it.”

You cried out softly as the tension within you snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in a wave of blinding heat. Loki’s name tumbled from your lips in a breathless plea, and he drank in the sound like the most decadent wine.

He didn’t stop. His fingers slowed, drawing out your pleasure until your legs trembled, barely able to hold your weight. Only then did he withdraw, his hand glistening with your release. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with an exaggerated slowness that made your cheeks burn.

“Exquisite,” he said, his voice low and smug. “Every bit as divine as I imagined.”

You could barely catch your breath, still leaning against the wall for support as he adjusted the hem of your dress with almost mocking care. He straightened, brushing his fingers over your flushed cheek, and leaned in close once more.

“Don’t think this is the end, darling,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. “I’ve only just begun.”

Loki’s fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch deceptively tender given the heat still radiating from his gaze. Before you could recover, his hands slid down to your waist, firm and commanding as he turned you effortlessly to face the wall. The cold surface pressed against your palms, grounding you for a fleeting moment before his body closed in behind yours.

“You didn’t think I’d be satisfied with just that, did you?” he murmured, his breath warm against the back of your neck. One of his hands smoothed over the curve of your hip while the other brushed your hair aside, exposing the sensitive skin of your neck. His lips followed, planting open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, nipping and sucking just enough to leave faint marks.

“Loki,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but whether it was a plea or a protest, you weren’t sure.

“Say my name again,” he commanded, his tone dark and heady, as his hands slid down to the hem of your dress, gathering the fabric in a deliberate, tantalizing motion. He bunched it around your waist, baring you to him completely. His hands roamed over your exposed skin, squeezing, caressing, and claiming every inch as his own.

You felt him then, hard and insistent against your lower back. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and a soft whimper escaped before you could stop it. Loki chuckled, low and predatory, clearly pleased with your response.

“You’ve no idea how exquisite you are,” he said, his voice a velvet caress as he undid his trousers with an unhurried ease. The sound of fabric shifting and the faint metallic click of his belt made your heart race, anticipation knotting in your stomach.

His hands found your hips again, gripping them with enough force to leave an impression as he positioned himself behind you. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your slick entrance, and he paused, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“This is your last chance, darling,” he purred, his voice rich with dark amusement. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You bit your lip, trembling with need and the intoxicating tension he created. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, the words barely audible but filled with certainty.

Loki growled low in his throat, the sound primal and triumphant, before he pushed into you in one smooth thrust. The stretch was delicious, a mix of pain and pleasure that made your knees buckle, though his hands kept you firmly in place. He filled you completely, holding still for a moment as though savoring the way your body molded around him.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “You were made for this.”

He began to move, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust calculated to make you feel every inch of him. His grip on your hips tightened as he picked up the pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing faintly in the hallway. The distant hum of the party felt like it was in another world entirely-this moment belonged only to the two of you.

“Do you feel that?” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Do you feel how perfectly you take me?”

You couldn’t speak, your words dissolving into broken moans as he drove into you harder, deeper, each thrust hitting a spot that made your vision blur. One of his hands slid around your waist, finding your clit with unerring precision. His fingers circled the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts, drawing you closer to the edge once again.

“That’s it,” he urged, his tone softening into a dangerous kind of sweetness. “Give yourself to me. Surrender, darling.”

Your body obeyed, the coil of pleasure snapping as your second orgasm tore through you. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him as he groaned in response, his pace growing erratic. With a few more punishing thrusts, Loki followed you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a shuddering growl.

He stayed there for a moment, his chest pressed against your back, his breath warm against your ear as you both struggled to catch your breath. Slowly, he pulled out, his hands steadying you as your legs threatened to give way.

“Oh pet, you're magnificent.,” he murmured, his lips grazing the nape of your neck in a way that sent one final shiver coursing through you. His tone was softer now, but the unmistakable smugness lingered, igniting both irritation and something darker within you. “You've surpassed even my wildest expectations.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze, catching the glint of satisfaction in his piercing blue eyes. He didn’t bother to hide it-he looked like a man who had just won a prize he’d been chasing for ages. Loki smirked, his movements unhurried as he adjusted his trousers and smoothed the wrinkled fabric of your dress with surprising care, the gesture more mocking than tender.

“We should return to the party,” he said, his voice light and teasing, as though nothing significant had just transpired between the two of you. Before you could respond, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a handkerchief, pressing it into your hand with a devilish grin. “You’ll be needing that. Can’t have you making a mess all over the floor can we?”

You stared at the crisp square of fabric, your cheeks flushing anew as the implication settled over you. Loki’s gaze lingered, heavy with amusement, as you adjusted your dress and tried in vain to steady your breathing. He leaned casually against the wall, utterly composed, as if he hadn’t just unravelled you completely in the quiet shadows of the hallway.

“This stays between us,” you said, your voice sharp as you jabbed a finger in his direction. Despite your stern tone, the slight tremble in your hand betrayed the lingering effect he had on you.

His grin only widened, maddening in its audacity. “Naturally, darling. Consider it our little Yuletide secret.”

You glared at him, determined to hold your ground, but the warmth of his gaze, still smouldering with an intensity that made your knees weak, threatened to undo you all over again. With a frustrated huff, you pushed past him, your steps hurried as you made your way back to the party.

The hum of festive music and the cheerful chatter of your teammates enveloped you like a shield, but it did little to banish the lingering heat in your body. You tried to lose yourself in the crowd, smoothing your hair and grabbing a drink to distract yourself. Yet, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t resist a glance over your shoulder.

Loki was still there, leaning casually in the hallway entrance like a predator surveying its territory. His eyes found yours instantly, and the unreadable expression on his face sent a jolt of something you refused to name straight to your core. He raised his glass in a mock toast, his smirk returning, and then disappeared into the shadows, leaving you with a pounding heart and a sinking suspicion.

This wasn’t over- not by a long shot.

[wheredafandomat]

Home

Loki x mum! Reader

18+| contains alcohol, loss, Loki and reader share a child. I’m sorry I haven’t written anything in AGESSS

You quickly turned the radio off as the news reporter reeled off a string of recent burglaries that had happened in your neighbourhood. Grabbing your scarf, you adjusted it around your neck as you glanced at yourself in the mirror, offering a half smile as you tried not to focus on the bags colouring the skin beneath your eyes. You took a breath, your smile widening uncannily as your daughter padded towards you, half of her glove dangling off of her small hand.

“Is daddy going to be there?” She asked excitedly as you knelt down, helping her with her glove.

“No—not today” you hesitated “but one—one day he’ll be home” you rushed out, not believing your own words. The truth was, Loki hadn’t been home in almost a year. You didn’t know when he was going to come back, no one did. Unless they did and were just refusing to tell you. You took a steadying breath, cursing the fact that you no longer had the clearance to find out how the mission was going before doing what you had been doing since the day you lost communication. What you were taught. Assuming the worst. You faked a smile again, composing yourself before leaving.

Once you had come home from shopping, you unpacked before continuing the routine you had adopted since Loki had left. Making dinner, alone. Feeding your daughter, alone. Putting her to bed, alone. Showering, alone. Having a glass of whine, which was a step you had added recently, alone. Going to bed, alone and cuddling a picture of Loki. A tear began to pool in the corner of your eye as you looked at the picture, a memory of him overtaking you.

“If you ever need me, just say my name three times” he assured, squeezing your shoulder.

You closed your eyes, holding the picture against you as his name left your trembling lips. You called it three times. Hoping, praying that he’d hear, that he’d come. But alas. Silence met your awaiting ears.

“Liar” you sniffled through tears before begging sleep to overtake you.

By the time the morning came, the warmish glow of the winter sun had covered your room, waking you up before your daughter did. The morning routine was similar to the night one in the sense that it was done alone now.

“We’re going to see Santa today baby” you smiled, pressing the porcelain mug against your lips as you sipped your coffee.

“Yayyy” she exclaimed, her spoon almost flying out of her hand as she threw her arms in the air.

Two hours and another cup of coffee later, there you were in the mall, the line for Santa's grotto alarmingly long. You took a breath, looking at the workers dressed as elves as they spoke to some of the children further up in the line than you.

“Are you excited to see Santa?” One of them exclaimed, smiling widely at your daughter who answered with the same amount of enthusiasm.

You narrowed your gaze slightly the closer you got to the front of the queue, the elves beginning to look slightly more real. You were no stranger to elves. Loki had taken you on a tour of the nines when you were an agent and Alfheim was one of them. But this wasn’t Alfheim.

“Quit staring lady” one of them interrupted your suspicions as you reached the front of the queue.

“Sorry” you spoke, clearing your throat.

Sitting on Santa’s lap, your daughter began listing the things she wanted for Christmas as you took some pictures before her time was over.

“And what about you?” Santa asked, surprising you.

“What?” You answered just above a whisper.

“What is it you want this Christmas?” He smiled generously, your eyes meeting as all words escaped you.

“I-I don’t—” you began.

“You can’t lie to me” he reminded you, your gazes still connected as you lost yourself in this stare.

“Loki” you finally utter, truthfully. “I want Loki”

“Next” one of the elves called before you could even register what had happened. As if on autopilot, you picked your daughter up before heading home before performing the night routine, however this night, you felt off.

The following day rolled around and you took your daughter to her grandparents house.

“You are looking after yourself right” your mum asked, her eyes darting around your face.

“Yes mum” you huffed.

“You know you are still my baby” she reminded you.

“Yes mum” you answered in a softer tone.

“I’ll be round tomorrow with the angel” she smiled, looking at your daughter “don’t forget to stuff the turkey and preheat the oven to—”

“Yes mum” you quickly interrupted “bye mum.”

Getting home, you poured yourself a glass of wine before you began your food prep. Downing the liquid, you pourned yourself another, almost halfway through the bottle before pouring another. You began feeling what could only be described as tipsy before accidentally burning one of your fingers on the pot.

“Ouch” you yelped, running to the sink before putting it under cold water.

As you covered your finger in water, you looked down at it, unable to help the tears that escaped you, your eyes mirroring the tap. Just before you began to cry even more, you heard a crash upstairs, immediately sobering up as you turned the tap off. Suddenly the thousands you had spent on training to become an agent and the years you had spent on the frontline kicked in as you stealthily walked up the stairs. Whoever had broken in chose the wrong house you thought to yourself, remembering the burglaries. Following the noise, it led you to your bedroom as you carefully pushed open the door before gasping, your heart falling to the ground as your eyes met Loki’s dishevelled body laying in your bed. You honed in on the gash on his forehead, sprinting for gauze before you rushed to his side, clearing the blood. Disbelief shrouded you as you began to shake him awake.

“Lokiii, Lokiii” you called, half wondering how strong that wine was.

“Y/n?” You heard fondly, quietly as he stirred awake, you wrapping your arms around him.

The two of you embraced, no questions needing to be asked as your lips met. No words left either of your lips as you helped Loki into the bathroom, undressing him before turning the shower on. You didn’t leave his side, not wanting this potential mirage to fade into nothingness, not wanting Loki to leave again. As you guided him back into the bedroom, you still asked no questions, they could wait until tomorrow.

Wrapping your arms around one another, you embraced, the warmth of Loki’s arms around you, intoxicating you. Taking a deep breath, you breathed him in, your lips pressing against his exposed chest. You felt his lips on your forehead as you moved closer against one another. Home, you felt home.

Had to take a break from writing my assignment to write something Christmassy. Hope you enjoyed!! And I hope you have a wonderful Christmas if you celebrate ❤️

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[angelremnants]

A TALES OF.. l Jasmins and Prayers

OR.. Still seething with frustration from what had transpired in the cave, Loki storms into his room while cursing your damned dress that lingered in his mind. The tension inside him grows as he struggles to maintain control, and the white jasmin petals floating in his bath only heighten the ache. Caught in a whirlwind of temptation and self-loathing, he finds himself confronted by the dangerous path his thoughts have taken—and, more urgently, by the overwhelming need to act on them.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), Loki-centric, emotional turmoil, graphic sexual content, gratification (male masturbation), twisted fantasies running wild, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it!), themes of norse lore and worship, edging, degradation & praise kink, power play, dom!Loki/sub!reader, strong language.

word count : 15.1k

author's notes : Trust me when I say that I was biting my nail the whole time I was writing this—then again, I was also listening to Kiss Land on loop. The man is too hot for my well-being, Your Honor.

This is a continuation of A Tales Of Tides and Mishaps—you can also read this separately, but I'd recommend reading the first part to understand the context. This is the first time I've ever written something NSFW, so please do let me know how I did.

(ao3 version)

The torches lining the grand corridors of the palace flickered and hissed against the weight of the evening air, their golden glow casting restless shadows on the towering marble walls. The echo of footsteps—a sharp, deliberate rhythm—carried through the vast halls, announcing his approach. Loki moved swiftly, his cape billowing behind him like the rippling edge of a storm cloud, the emerald and black of his attire catching the light with each stride.

The palace was quieter at this hour, subdued under the veil of twilight, yet it was far from peaceful. Whispers of court intrigue hung in the air like smoke, weaving through every corner of Asgard’s opulent halls. It was a place that thrived on appearances, on masks as intricate as the golden carvings that adorned the throne room doors. Loki was no stranger to this game. He played it better than most—deftly, effortlessly, and always with an edge that dared others to challenge him.

Tonight, however, something gnawed at the edges of his mind, unsettling his usual composure. The weight of unspoken words lingered on his tongue, and the echo of a gaze—not his own—followed him like a shadow. He had faced gods and monsters, chaos and ruin, yet there was something about the quiet tension of that earlier encounter that refused to let him go.

The grand corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, the silence amplifying every subtle sound—the faint rustle of his cape, the barely perceptible sigh of the wind brushing against the windows, and the distant murmur of voices from somewhere deeper within the palace. Loki barely registered any of it. His focus remained inward, on the fire still simmering beneath his carefully constructed facade.

It had been a fleeting moment, no more than a handful of exchanged words, but it had been enough to unearth something he had long buried—a vulnerability he could not afford, not now, not ever. And yet, there it was, clawing at him with an unrelenting persistence.

The throne room loomed ahead, its doors partially ajar, spilling warm light into the corridor. A faint hum of voices drifted out, the low cadence of his parents and their guest among them. Loki slowed his pace, his expression hardening as his gaze lingered on the doors.

He could walk in. His presence would be noticed, his words sharp enough to cut through whatever discussion [Y/N] was undoubtedly steering with her usual reckless charm. He could force himself into the center of it all, just as he always did—commanding attention, manipulating the narrative, and ensuring that no one, not even his mother, could look past him.

And yet, Loki hesitated.

The previous fire burned hotter now, threatening to consume him if he did not retreat. He turned on his heel, his movements swift and precise, and strode away from the throne room. Whatever tension awaited him within those gilded walls would have to wait. Right now, he needed to be anywhere else.

The corridors seemed darker now, the torchlight dimmer as he navigated the familiar path to his chambers. Each step brought him closer to the solace of solitude, to the space where he could strip away the mask he wore so effortlessly and face the tempest within.

His mind raced, the unease gnawing at him with increasing intensity. He had tried to ease the tension—an impromptu training session in the palace's sparring chambers had seemed like the perfect solution. The clash of blades and the heavy exertion of physical combat usually grounded him, soothed the simmering anger that had no outlet. But tonight, even the sharp sting of combat had failed to settle the fire within him. His movements had been fluid and practiced, and yet, the burning frustration lingered—nothing had worked.

As he reached his room, Loki paused for a fraction of a second, his hand resting on the cold metal of the door handle. The thoughts he had tried to suppress surged again, sharper this time, cutting through his defenses like a blade. With a sharp exhale, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the heavy wood creaking as it swung shut behind him.

The silence of his chambers was a stark contrast to the noise in his head. The air was still, undisturbed, save for the faint scent of cedar and leather that always lingered here. Yet, even in this sanctuary, he could not escape the weight of her presence, the echo of her voice, and the pull she had over him.

Tonight, Loki realized, no amount of distance would be enough to silence the chaos she had left in her wake.

⠀

The door shut behind him with a finality that seemed to press against his chest. Loki’s chambers were dimly lit, the golden light of a single lantern on his desk flickering faintly against the polished surfaces of dark wood and stone. The quiet hum of Asgard beyond his walls was muted here, but the storm inside his mind was deafening.

He took a step forward, shrugging off his cape and letting it fall onto the back of a chair. The fabric slid noiselessly to the floor, but he didn’t bother retrieving it. His boots echoed softly on the smooth stone floor as he crossed the room, every movement deliberate yet restless.

He paused near the tall windows, the view of the city below sprawling in shimmering lights. For a moment, he allowed himself to stare out at it, his sharp features etched in the pale glow of the moon. The beauty of Asgard, timeless and magnificent, failed to reach him tonight.

Instead, his mind lingered on the moment he had fled from. Her gaze, steady and unrelenting, had burned through the walls he had spent centuries perfecting. The way she had spoken to him, her tone laced with something he couldn’t quite place, had stirred something dangerous within him—something he had tried to bury beneath layers of wit and cruelty.

Loki’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He could still hear her voice, the faintest trace of challenge, or perhaps curiosity, woven through it. She had looked at him in a way that made his thoughts crumble, and for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, he hadn’t hated it. No, what he hated was how much he had wanted more of it.

It made no sense. He didn’t crave closeness, didn’t long for understanding—those were weaknesses he had abandoned long ago. But this? This was different. This was something he couldn’t name, and it terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

The tension that coiled in his chest now was almost suffocating. His body betrayed him, heat pooling low in his abdomen as he fought to chase the thought away. He let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair as if the act could dispel the intrusive images crowding his mind. He could still see her in his mind’s eye, the way her lips had curved, the way her hands had moved as she spoke. Would her hands feel as soft as they appeared? Would her lips taste as sweet as they seemed?

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, but the images only became more vivid, more intrusive. Her laughter, light and warm, played on repeat in his memory, tugging at him in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in ages. And her touch—he could almost imagine it now, her fingers grazing his skin, her breath mingling with his. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, one he couldn’t suppress.

“Foolish,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and bitter. “Utterly foolish.”

But even as he berated himself, his body betrayed him. His pulse quickened, his breathing shallow as the ache beneath his skin grew harder to ignore. He felt her everywhere—in the warm air that wrapped around him, in the faint flicker of the lantern’s light, in the silence that hung heavy in his chambers. She wasn’t here, but it felt as though she had seeped into the very fabric of his being, her presence undeniable and inescapable.

Loki began to pace, his steps measured but restless, like a predator stalking the confines of a cage. His movements were sharp, the tension in his frame radiating with every step he took. His hands itched with the need to do something, anything, to dispel the storm inside him. They brushed against the buttons of his tunic, and with a frustrated sigh, he began unfastening them. His movements were quick and almost angry, as though shedding the layers of fabric could rid him of the thoughts that clung to his mind.

The cool air of his chambers kissed his skin as he pulled the tunic from his body, but it did little to extinguish the fire raging within. He tossed the garment aside carelessly, his breath coming faster now. His eyes darted back to the window, to the city below, but the view offered no solace. All he could see was her, all he could feel was the pull of her, and it was maddening.

Loki leaned heavily against the windowsill, his palms pressed against the cool stone as he stared out into the night. The lights of Asgard below shimmered in a haunting dance, indifferent to the turmoil within him.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though seeking some answer from the vast, indifferent universe.

The question hung in the air, unanswered, like a bitter curse, and Loki squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the surge of emotions threatening to drown him. The need to control was a constant in his life, but now, it was slipping through his fingers like sand. He couldn't make sense of any of this. Why her? Why was his mind consumed by someone so... insignificant? Someone who could never understand the weight of the worlds he carried or the gods he had to contend with.

His frustration surged again, building like a pressure that had nowhere to go. He slammed his fist into the nearest table, but it wasn’t enough. The magic thrummed beneath his skin, begging for release, demanding action. And in a moment of unbridled rage, his hands flared with green energy, bright and violent, slicing through the room like a storm tearing through the air. A flash of blinding light erupted, and before he could even register what was happening, his magic shattered the nearby mirror, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor in a chaotic spray.

The sharp sound of cracking glass filled the room, and for a long moment, Loki stood frozen, chest heaving as he stared at the destruction. He had lost control. Again. The realization hit him like a wave of cold water. You’ve let it consume you. A mortal. And this is what it leads to.

A deep sigh escaped him as the weight of the situation began to sink in. He was not a man to let his emotions dictate his actions. But there it was, the undeniable truth—her effect on him was far more than it should have been. The intensity of his feelings, his desire, his frustration—they were more than he could stand. And here he was, a god, destroying things that held no real importance in the grand scheme of things.

His hands trembled, not with weakness but with the uncontrollable surge of magic. He closed his eyes, his breath shaky as he reached out with his magic again, this time not in destruction but in self-repair. With a wave of his hand, the pieces of shattered glass began to float back together, the cracks mending themselves, the mirror reassembling as if it had never been broken at all.

Once the room was quiet again, Loki stood still for a long moment, his fingers flexing as he allowed the tension to drain out of him, though it was impossible to completely erase it. The ache still gnawed at his insides, relentless and unforgiving. His breath came out in a slow exhale as he straightened his posture, fixing the collar of his tunic and wiping the last traces of anger from his expression.

He couldn’t stay here, surrounded by the evidence of his volatile nature. I need to cool off. He needed to distance himself from the fire that raged inside him. And perhaps a bath would do that—remove the tension from his body, quell the heat that seemed to pulse beneath his skin.

With a final exasperated sigh, Loki turned toward the door, his movements purposeful, though his mind still felt like a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and desires. This will pass, he thought, trying to convince himself. It’s only a fleeting distraction.

But deep down, Loki knew that she was no fleeting distraction. He had already allowed her to slip too far into his thoughts. And he hated himself for it. Yet, the ache remained, and all he could do was seek solace in the solitude of a hot bath, hoping that somehow, the water would cleanse him—if only for a moment—from the chaos she had stirred within him.

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the bathing room, a cool breeze greeted him, the scent of lavender and cedarwood drifting through the air, mingling with the faint scent of stone and ancient marble.

The room before him was a sanctuary, a perfect reflection of Asgardian elegance—spacious, luxurious, and imbued with a sense of tranquility that seemed to pulse from the very walls. The floor was polished white marble, veins of gold tracing through the stone like lightning trapped within, glowing faintly in the low light. Tall, arched windows lined one side, offering a view of the vast garden outside, though the curtains were drawn, leaving only the soft glow of magical lanterns to illuminate the space.

At the center of the room sat a large, circular bathing tub, crafted from gleaming obsidian stone. It was deep, large enough to engulf him entirely, a perfect retreat for someone of his status. The water within was an inviting shade of blue, shimmering with an ethereal glow that suggested it had been heated by some unseen magic, its surface smooth and still, reflecting the light above.

Loki paused for a moment in the doorway, letting the serenity of the room wash over him. The tension that had gripped him so tightly seemed to ease just slightly, though the ache in his chest remained. His thoughts swirled back to her—her eyes, her voice, the way she had looked at him. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t shake it, and it gnawed at him with every breath.

With a sharp exhale, Loki closed the door behind him and turned to face the room fully. He flicked his fingers, a subtle wave of magic rippling through the air, and the lanterns brightened, their light now casting soft pools of warmth across the marble floor. A gentle mist filled the room, adding an element of tranquility, as though the very atmosphere was designed to soothe his frazzled nerves.

His gaze moved to the mirror above a stone counter, where his reflection stared back at him, eyes intense, troubled. A god, reduced to this. His hands moved to the fastening of his tunic, slow and methodical, as though the very act of undressing held some measure of control. 

Loki's movements radiated a sensual confidence, each action steeped in an intoxicating blend of precision and allure. He took his time, weaving an intimate dance with the fabric of his clothing, each piece falling to the floor like a whispered secret—soft, intentional, and laden with significance. He navigated the dimly lit room, the soft glow of flickering candles casting playful shadows that danced along the walls. He wasn’t in a rush; there was an artistry to his undressing, each piece of clothing becoming a symbol of the facade he wore, now being shed in this private sanctum.

As the fabric of his shirt slipped off his shoulders, it fell to the floor with a whisper, a soft thud against the wooden planks, almost reverent in its descent. The air was thick with a tension that mirrored the slow cadence of his movements, as though he was peeling away layers not just of cloth, but of burden. The shirt landed, joining a delicate mosaic of who he could be—each article holding memories, masks, realities.

Next came his trousers, the fabric snaking down his legs, revealing the sculpted lines of his body illuminated in the dancing candlelight. Muscles taut beneath pale skin, he moved in a way that was both sensuous and fierce, the shadows playing across his form, creating images of both beauty and danger. As the heat of the moment surged through him, he became acutely aware of his body’s response, the way his muscles tensed with anticipation, each sinew straining beneath the surface. A flicker of arousal sparked within him, causing his hardness to awaken, a subtle yet undeniable shift that added to the intoxicating energy swirling around him. He paused for a fleeting moment, taking in the reflection of his body, the duality of godhood and vulnerability coiling within him, a tension rippling just beneath the surface, a potent mix of the primal and the divine swirling together in the glow of the flickering light.

Yet, amid this heady mix of sensations, a sliver of disappointment crept in, gnawing at him like an unwelcome specter. He felt almost ashamed of his reaction, wondering how he could be so easily swayed when he prided himself on his control. It was merely the stress and the biting cold that wrapped around him, he assured himself, drawing deep and steadying breaths to dispel the tumult within.

In a final, almost reluctant motion, he let the last vestiges of his clothing fall away, relinquishing that last act of defiance. Standing there in the barely-there illumination, he felt the cool air wrap around him like a lover’s embrace, tender yet precise—inviting yet cautious. His skin prickled at the contrast, the air a stark reminder of both exposure and freedom.

With his gaze drawn to the tub—water rippling softly, steam curling sensuously into the air—he felt an anticipation unfurl within him. The promise of warmth beckoned, a siren’s call for solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. Yet, there lingered in his heart a feral tug, an instinctive hesitation, a wildness that resisted the notion of surrendering to something so simple as water. It was a battle within, between the aching need for release and the primal urge to remain untamed, unsurrendered. There was a beauty in this struggle, the rawness of his being laid bare in the stillness, poised on the precipice of either yielding to warmth or holding fast to the tempest that raged just beneath his skin.

But he was a god of control, and this was necessary. Just a moment of peace.

His magic swirled around him again, a green glow radiating from his hands as he guided the water to shift, the surface rippling softly before calming once more. He wove intricate spells, adjusting the temperature, ensuring that the water was just the right warmth—neither too hot nor too cold, but perfectly comfortable, a balm for his strained muscles and his mind.

⠀

Loki’s fingers hovered just above the water, watching the gentle ripples his magic created, feeling the subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. With a final, sharp flick of his wrist, the water settled into perfect stillness, the surface smooth as glass once again.

A slow, almost imperceptible sigh left his lips, and he stepped forward. His body, tense from the moment before, finally released its last vestiges of resistance as he lowered himself into the tub, the cool water meeting his skin with a comforting embrace. The water rose around him, enveloping him with its warmth, soothing the ache that had burned within him for far too long.

Loki leaned back, his head resting against the edge of the tub, eyes closed for a moment as he let the water cradle him. The tension in his shoulders, his chest, and his legs seemed to dissolve as the heat seeped into his muscles, coaxing them to relax. The water, now lapping gently at the sides of the tub, seemed to hum with its own energy, resonating with his magic.

But still, the thought of her lingered, persistent as the heat in his body. He couldn’t escape it—not even in the quiet solitude of the bath. His fingers, tracing the surface of the water, clenched for a brief moment, his nails scraping softly against the ceramic of the tub. The conflicting feelings of anger, frustration, and desire—they all bubbled within him, mixing in a stew he could neither ignore nor understand.

For now, he would let the water soothe him. But deep down, Loki knew that the tension, the ache—it was only temporarily quelled. Like the magic that swirled through his veins, the thoughts of her would return, relentless as ever.

He tried to focus on the soothing embrace of the bath, the gentle ripples caressing his skin. His breath slowed as he let the water hold him, but even then, in this sanctuary of water and solitude, the thought of her crept back into his mind.

Her face, so close to his in the cave, flashed before his eyes. The way her breath had quickened, the flicker of something more than just a shared moment of tension between them. The warmth of her body, the steady pulse beneath her skin, the way her gaze had lingered on him. The hunger, the unspoken invitation. It haunted him.

Loki’s eyes snapped open, and his hands clenched around the edge of the tub, his pulse quickening as an image of her lingered—her lips so close to his, the soft touch of her hand against his chest. The thought of her in such proximity, her scent mingling with his own, sent a shiver down his spine.

No.

The word was a bitter hiss in his mind, the sharpest of rebukes. She’s mortal, he reminded himself, though it did little to quell the heat that surged within him.

His breath grew shallow, his pulse drumming in his ears as the desire swelled, thick and unyielding. It filled his chest, squeezing, suffocating. He couldn't control it—not when all he could see, all he could feel, was her.

Loki's eyes clenched shut as the thought of her intensified. His stomach twisted with frustration, his body aching with need he had no desire to acknowledge. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t let this consume him—not now, not in this moment of fragile peace.

With a sharp, exasperated breath, Loki plunged himself beneath the water, his magic swirling in the depths as he submerged his entire form, letting the cool embrace of the liquid swallow him whole. The world above disappeared, and for a moment, he was weightless, suspended in the depths of the tub.

The coldness of the water stung against his skin, sharp and refreshing, but it did nothing to wash away the images of her. They clung to him, persistent and relentless, like shadows in the depths of his mind.

Foolish.

The word echoed in his mind as he held himself underwater, his breath held tight as the world remained muffled, distorted by the pressure around him. The steady rhythm of his heart was the only sound, the only constant as he lingered in the dark stillness. Time stretched on, but he could not escape it. The ache in his chest burned, the tension in his body still there despite the cold water.

He remained submerged for what felt like an eternity, the minutes slipping away in the quiet abyss. The longer he stayed, the more he realized that the thoughts would not leave—not just like this, not with any amount of magic or water.

Reluctantly, with a slow, frustrated exhale, Loki pushed himself back to the surface, breaking through the water with a gasp, his hair plastered to his face, droplets clinging to his skin like a reminder of his defeat. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, his breath ragged as he lay there, floating in the stillness of the room.

The lingering warmth of the water against his skin did nothing to soothe the fire that still simmered inside him. As much as he tried to push it away, he could still feel the imprint of her—the way she had looked at him, the way her voice had tangled with his thoughts. And for the first time in centuries, Loki found himself unable to control the ache that pulsed through him, unable to banish the thoughts of her from his mind.

His mind began to drift again—against his will, like a tide pulling him back to the same, dangerous shore. The silence of the room felt too heavy now, too quiet, and the very stillness of the water seemed to echo with her presence. He could still feel the weight of her gaze, as though she were standing there beside him, watching him in this private moment, her eyes lingering on him in ways he couldn’t dismiss.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, but the thought of her wouldn’t fade. It surged forward, unstoppable. The way she had leaned in close to him in the cave, how her breath had ghosted over his skin. How close she had been.

Loki clenched his jaw, his muscles tightening involuntarily. He had wanted to pull her closer, to feel her body against his, to lose himself in the heat of it. The thought of it was maddening, and yet it brought an odd thrill that he couldn’t explain.

The way she had been perched so close to him—the soft heat of her breath against his neck—had made his entire body hum with something unfamiliar, something raw. And her touch... the way her fingertips had traced the contours of his skin, leaving behind a trail of fire that burned long after she had pulled away. The memory of that touch tormented him now, echoing through his mind with unbearable clarity.

His pulse quickened as a flash of that moment surged through him once more. Why couldn’t he let it go?

Without thinking, his hand reached out to the small table beside the bath, fingers brushing against a bottle of scented oil—cinnamon and citrus, a soothing blend he usually used after a long day of training. He didn’t even register what he was doing, lost in the spiral of his thoughts.

He uncapped the bottle, the faint scent of the oil filling the air, and without hesitation, he poured a small amount onto the length of his torso. The droplets were cool and soft against his skin, but as his hand moved lower, his thoughts drifted again—back to her.

Her skin... soft, delicate. How would it feel to touch her like that? To press his fingertips into her, to feel her body respond to him in ways he had only dreamed of?

The oil dripped onto his abdomen, the cool droplets traveling from the perch of his pectorals down to the navel of his hips. Loki’s eyes squeezed shut, but the memory of her touch was impossible to push away. Her touch could be like that. Her fingers, warm and slow against my skin.

A shiver ran down his spine as the cool oil continued to trickle down his abdomen. His breath hitched when the thought came unbidden, If she had done that...

He imagined her, perched on the edge of the tub just as she had been in the cave—her body so close to his, her breath mingling with his. Her fingers, trailing over his skin, leaving a burning path in their wake. The thought was so vivid, so intoxicating, that he didn’t realize he was still rubbing the oil into his skin, his movements becoming more deliberate, more sensual, as if he were trying to mimic the sensation he had felt in that moment with her.

His fingers, almost without thinking, moved—mirroring the sensation in his mind, tracing a path down his own body just as he had imagined her doing. The movement was slow, deliberate as if he were trying to imitate her touch, to feel it against his own skin. His fingertips brushed lightly down the length of his torso, where the oil had left a trail that seemed to burn even in its coolness.

The more he thought about it, the more the tension inside him grew. His chest tightened, and his body, betraying him, responded to the fantasies that plagued his mind. Loki’s hand faltered for a moment, his thumb hovering near his navel as the reality of what he was doing settled over him.

What am I doing?

But the thought of her—the memory of how she had looked at him, how close she had been, how she had made him feel—was too powerful to resist. His chest heaved slightly, his fingers tracing the curve of his abdomen, the droplets of oil now warm against his skin as they mixed with the heat of his body. He was unaware that his movements had become more purposeful, as if trying to recreate the sensations of that moment, that touch, over and over again. His breath became shallow as the oil slid across his skin, and the fantasy, once small, bloomed into something more dangerous, more tangible.

His fingers pressed against the base of his navel, his thoughts spiraling further into the fantasy. He imagined her again, her hands on him, her body close—too close. It was like a fever, impossible to escape, a longing that twisted deep inside of him. The oil, cool at first, was now nothing but a reminder of that same burn, that same ache in his chest, the ache that he hadn’t asked for, that he couldn’t ignore.

Loki’s heart raced, his fingers slipping lower, brushing against the taut skin of his lower abdomen. His eyes shot open then, as if a switch had been flipped. The realization that he was doing this—falling deeper into a dream, into a desire that should not be his—hit him like a thunderclap.

“No,” he hissed, clenching his jaw tightly, the word coming out sharp and furious.

He abruptly pulled his hand away from his skin, the sudden action leaving him breathless. He quickly closed the bottle of oil, the small sound of the cap snapping into place echoing in the stillness of the room. But even as he tried to stop, to force his thoughts to turn elsewhere, his body refused to listen. The desire was still there, simmering just below the surface, igniting something deep inside him that he wasn’t prepared to face.

Loki sank back into the water, burying his face in his hands, as if trying to rid himself of the images, of the fantasies that had invaded his mind so effortlessly. But no matter how much he willed it away, no matter how much he tried to drown the thoughts with water, with cold, with magic—it was there, clawing at him, persistent and unrelenting.

The ache in his chest had not dulled, and despite his efforts to push it aside, the restless tension lingered, coiling in his gut. His body was on the edge of something he didn't want to acknowledge, and it only grew more intense the more he tried to deny it.

His eyes flickered over to the small decorative jar at the edge of the bath. Inside, delicate jasmine petals rested in an elegant arrangement, their white blossoms giving off the scent of calming sweetness. He reached for it, his fingers brushing over the petals with a gentleness that contrasted with the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed to relax. He needed something to distract him, to ground him. He closed his eyes as he sprinkled the jasmine petals into the water, watching them float gently, their fragrance filling the room.

The scent was intoxicating, subtle yet powerful, and it seemed to settle the storm in his chest, if only for a moment. He inhaled deeply, the calming effect of the jasmine wrapping around him like a soft, invisible embrace.

But even in this moment of tranquility, his mind refused to be still. The petals floated serenely on the surface of the water, their white silk-like texture reminding him of something else—someone else.

Her.

He couldn’t help it. His thoughts wandered back to her, back to the way she had looked in that cave, bathed in the dim, flickering light. The way her robe had clung to her skin, almost like a second layer, leaving little to the imagination. The soft, translucent fabric—white, like the petals—had clung to her curves in a way that made his pulse quicken. He could remember how the fabric had shimmered, catching the light as it molded to the shape of her body.

Loki's breath hitched, his gaze unfocused as the image of her lingered in his mind, vivid and undeniable. The robe, almost too delicate, seemed to shimmer like gossamer threads in the soft light, so sheer that it practically beckoned to him, enticing and inviting. He found himself frozen for a brief moment, utterly mesmerized, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of her. Her silhouette was barely concealed, each curve and contour tantalizingly revealed, igniting a fire of desire deep within him that was both exhilarating and maddening.

He could still see how the fabric draped over her body, caressing her every curve, accentuating her femininity with an intimate familiarity that sent his heart racing. The translucent material clung lovingly to her skin, almost teasing him, whispering promises of warmth and intimacy beneath its sheer veil. He had almost been envious of the way it clung to her, as if the robe shared an intimate secret with her, a bond that left him yearning to touch, to discover the warmth of her flesh nestled against that delicate barrier.

The jasmine petals scattered about like whispers against the deep water only amplified the sensuality of the memory, their pure white softness echoing the ethereal glow of her robe. It seemed as though the petals mirrored those intimate moments, each delicate blossom a reflection of the way the fabric clung to her body, effortlessly sculpting her form in a dance of elegance and allure. He imagined her gliding toward him, her skin bathed in the silvery embrace of moonlight, each step orchestrating a balletic shift of the fabric that clung seductively to her, igniting every sense within him.

Loki’s fingers tightened against the edge of the tub, the cool stone under his grip grounding him in the heat of the moment. The pull of his desire was intoxicating, an unquenchable thirst he could feel consuming him. He could almost feel the weight of her presence beside him, the heady warmth of her, the intoxicating scent of her essence wrapping around him like a fragrant embrace. He could hear the soft rustle of her robe brushing against her skin, each sound a silky promise, hear the delicate rhythm of her breathing—soft, steady, a symphony of desire that drew him in deeper.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image of her to disappear. But instead, it grew stronger, more vivid. He imagined reaching out, brushing the fabric of her robe with his fingers, feeling its softness, feeling the warmth of her skin just beneath it. He imagined reaching out, the tips of his fingers grazing the fabric of her robe, feeling its divine softness beneath his touch, the warmth of her skin simmering just beneath it. He envisioned how it would feel to press himself closer, to let his lips trail along the graceful curve of her neck, to slip beneath that fragile seam, where fabric and flesh met, to taste the sweetness that awaited him—his body aching with the promise of connection, longing to bridge the distance that separated them. To raise her out of that damned pool and let the thin fabric slide off on the stone, to—

Loki’s breath caught in his throat, and he suddenly felt a sharp, urgent pressure building within him. With a frustrated growl, he plunged his hand into the water, scattering the jasmine petals as his fingers clawed at the surface in an attempt to break the chain of thoughts that had consumed him. But it was no use. The image of her lingered, relentless.

“Damnation,” he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. He leaned back against the edge of the tub, his eyes burning with frustration as he tried to steady his breathing. The jasmine scent, now stronger than before, filled his senses, but it only seemed to heighten the memory of her. He could almost feel her there with him, her soft skin, the way the fabric of her robe had clung to her body most invitingly.

Loki forced himself to close his eyes again, breathing deeply in an attempt to regain control. But no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, the image of her, the memory of that translucent robe, haunted him. The petals, the scent, the softness—it all became intertwined with his hunger. He could still feel her fingers trailing over his skin, the heat of her body against his.

His body trembled with desire as he succumbed to the memories and fantasies that had been consuming him. He could no longer deny himself the pleasure that he so desperately craved. 

With a low groan, he allowed his hand to wander back down his abdomen, feeling the defined muscles ripple beneath his fingers. His other hand was still clenched in the water, sending jasmine petals drifting to the surface. He trailed his fingers lower and lower, feeling the heat emanating from his body. 

He closed his eyes, imagining her hands on him instead, her digits tracing patterns over his skin. With a sharp intake of breath, he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, feeling the soft trimmed hairs on his lower abdomen.

Loki's breathing grew ragged as he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, his mind filled with newfound scenes of him, of her, of them together.

⠀

He saw him entering a temple with quiet confidence, his footsteps reverberating against the cold stone walls as he moved toward the inner sanctum. His attire was nothing short of magnificent: garments woven with iridescent threads, shifting in color with every step, embodying the very essence of his trickster nature. His cloak, a masterpiece of fine silk, cascaded gracefully around him, embroidered with intricate patterns and symbols that spoke to his divine status.

As he crossed the threshold, his gaze was drawn to her—[Y/N]. She sat within a large stone basin, the water steaming gently around her, its surface dotted with fragrant petals that seemed to float in harmony with the light that filtered through the stained-glass windows. The sight of her struck him like a physical blow; she was even more captivating than he had envisioned.

Her infamous robe still clung to her like a second skin, damp from the water, accentuating the delicate curves of her body. The radiant Wyrmscale artifact resting against her neck like would a collar glowed with soft golden light, its power pulsing through the room, almost as if in tune with her very being. Her long, damp hair was swept back, revealing the delicate lines of her face, and her eyes—those eyes—met his with a mixture of trepidation and something far more potent: desire.

He circled the tub slowly, his gaze never leaving her. Each step was measured, deliberate, his mind consumed by the sight of her—her beauty, her vulnerability, her submission. His pulse quickened, a quiet flutter deep within his chest that echoed through his veins. The heat of the room wrapped around them both, intensifying the weight of the moment, but still, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her. She was a vision—an offering he couldn’t resist.

“I've seen you in many visions,” Loki’s voice was low, almost a purr as he spoke, his words laced with something darker, more thrilling. “I’ve spent nights wondering what it would feel like to have you here. To see you like this—vulnerable, willing to give everything, your body and your soul laid bare. And now... here you are, offering yourself so freely, so openly. Tell me, priestess, are you sure you understand what this means?”

His fingers brushed her collarbone, the lightest touch, but it felt as though it was searing her skin. The warmth of her skin under the damp fabric sent a jolt through him, stirring something primal deep inside. His breath caught as he trailed a finger down the curve of her neck, feeling the soft pulse beneath her skin, steady and inviting. She was trembling just slightly—whether from fear or desire, he couldn’t be sure. But it only made the air between them more charged, more delicious.

She met his gaze, the challenge in her eyes unmistakable, even as her fingers tightened subtly around the edge of the tub. “I don’t know,” she replied, her voice steady but with an underlying edge, “But I’m sure you’ll be eager to show me.”

Loki’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting with both amusement and something far more dangerous. “Such confidence. But you know as well as I do, the gods take no mercy when they’re pleased,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear as he leaned in closer. “When I fuck you, it will be more than a mere battle of wills. It will be your surrender, your desire, your need that I feed. And when it’s all over, you’ll know exactly who owns you.”

Her breath hitched as his words sank in. The weight of them, the intensity of his gaze—it felt like she was standing on the edge of something profound, something that could consume her entirely. But somehow, a part of her wanted it. A part of her wanted to give in to him, to the promise of pleasure and power he dangled before her like an impossible temptation.

Loki pulled back slightly, his finger resting on her chin, lifting her gaze back to his. He gazed deeply into her enchanting orbs and lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “I’m certain you’ve imagined it, priestess. But the difference is that I make your fantasies real. What I offer you is beyond anything you could possibly have dreamt. Tell me, are you ready to be taken, to be claimed—body and soul?”

Her body tensed, but her gaze never wavered from his. “We’ll see, won’t we? Then I’ll simply make sure it’s not you who has the final say.” The defiance lingered in her voice, soft yet insistent, despite the way her breath betrayed her.

Loki’s eyes darkened, his smile widening as he stepped back, eyes alight with an undeniable hunger. “You think you have control in this game? You’ve already surrendered more than you realize.”

He ran his finger along her chin, tilting her head back slightly, his voice a dangerous whisper. “It’s time for you to do your due diligence.”

A shiver of excitement ran down [Y/N]’s spine as Loki rose from his crouched position, striding with almost sensual slowness to his dedicated altar on which he took place. The sight of him, poised and confident, filled her with an intoxicating mix of desire and fear, emotions that tangled together in a heady rush. His dark eyes never left her, and she could feel the weight of his gaze like a tangible thing, burning into her skin. Her breath hitched as he ascended, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the room, the shadows falling just right to highlight the chiseled perfection of his form.

The air between them thickened with vibrating tension, as if the very space they occupied pulsed with the energy of their closeness. Her pulse quickened in her neck, her heartbeat erratic, and the anticipation settled heavily in the pit of her stomach. She could feel his power—dark and alluring—drawing her toward him, a magnetic pull she couldn’t escape. She was trembling, her skin sensitive under the damp fabric of her robe, which clung to her body like a second skin, accentuating the curves of her breasts and hips. Every inch of her seemed to be on fire as her body responded to his presence, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation thrumming through her veins.

Loki’s voice sliced through the air, a low, beckoning command. “Come along, priestess. Join me.”

His words were soft yet laced with an unmistakable power, a challenge, an invitation, and something darker—a promise. The tension between them grew almost unbearable, and [Y/N], despite the trepidation swirling in her gut, found herself obeying, rising from the water as though compelled by some unseen force. Her body was stiff with both reluctance and yearning, her knees weak as she took her first step toward him. Her skin, slick with water, glistened under the light, and the weight of the robe clinging to her only heightened the sensitivity of every nerve in her body. Each movement felt slower, more deliberate, as she crossed the distance between them, her every step trembling.

Loki watched her intently, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flash of something dark crossing his features, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice like velvet wrapping around her. “Come closer. Show me that you can follow through, priestess.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she fought to steady herself as she made her way toward the altar. Her legs felt like they might give way under the weight of his gaze, but she continued forward, each step echoing her growing need, her pulse racing as she neared him. Her hands, trembling slightly, reached out instinctively, grasping the cold stone of the altar’s edge for support.

Standing before him now, she felt small, fragile even, in contrast to his towering presence. Loki’s eyes roamed over her, their gaze calculating yet filled with an unmistakable hunger. The intensity of his stare made her feel exposed, as if he were unraveling her very soul with nothing but a look.

"You’re trembling," he said, his voice a whisper, yet every word felt like a brand against her skin. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her trembling hand where it rested on the altar. The simple touch sent a jolt of heat racing through her body, an electrifying sensation that made her want to both pull away and draw him closer.

"I can feel it," he continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "You’re not as composed as you’d like to pretend. But do not worry, I’ll teach you how to surrender."

Loki’s smile deepened, an expression of quiet satisfaction that made her heart race. “Don’t be shy,” he murmured, as his hands moved to undo the golden tie of her robe, fingers brushing the fabric slowly, deliberately. “Come worship your god.”

The anticipation was unbearable now, every motion seeming to stretch time, prolonging the moment between them as he loosened the knot. The robe, heavy with water, fell slightly from her body, revealing more of her curves, the soft, enticing shape of her figure exposed to his hungry gaze.

[Y/N]’s breath quickened, her body trembling with anticipation, but she did not pull away. Instead, she stood still, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath, waiting for him to make the next move. There was a strange mix of defiance and longing in her eyes, the embers of resistance still glowing, but she couldn’t help herself. She was drawn to him—compelled by something darker, something she couldn’t name, and that terrified her more than anything else.

She felt his presence wash over her like a tidal wave, filling her senses and drowning out any other thoughts. She was trembling, not just from fear, but from something deeper—something she couldn’t control. And with every passing second, she realized that she had already given herself to him, even if she hadn’t fully admitted it yet.

Loki's fingers traced the curves of [Y/N]'s hips, the delicate touch sending a shiver of anticipation through her. She couldn't help but react to his every movement, her body trembling under his touch, as though every inch of her skin was attuned to him. His presence enveloped her, warm and overwhelming, stirring emotions she was both eager and afraid to face.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the soft skin of her neck, tasting the remnants of the water that clung to her. The sensation of his lips, warm and demanding, sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. [Y/N]’s breath hitched, the tension in her body rising as his hands roamed upward, gently parting the collar of her wet robe, exposing the smoothness of her shoulder. His fingers traced the delicate curve of her shoulder blades, making her shiver as a thrill of sensation coursed through her.

His lips followed the path of his hands, soft at first, exploring the skin of her shoulders with slow, languorous kisses. The warmth of his mouth, combined with the sensation of his hands on her skin, made her lightheaded with want. She tilted her head back instinctively, surrendering to the sensation, offering him more of her neck, and Loki took full advantage of the invitation. His tongue traced a path up to her ear, the action sending a tremor through her as a soft gasp escaped her lips.

Loki’s breath was hot against her skin, his voice a low murmur in her ear. “You can feel it, don’t you?” he whispered, his hands moving down her arms in teasing strokes, the light touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His fingertips skimmed over her skin as though savoring every inch of her, his touch light yet laden with intent.

[Y/N]’s pulse raced, her body betraying her, drawn to him in ways she couldn’t fully understand. She swallowed, trying to steady herself, but the tension between them was palpable, thickening the air with every passing moment.“Please,” she murmured, her voice shaking, the defiance still lingering within her even as her body reacted to him. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the strength in his frame pressing against hers, but it was the hunger in his kiss, the way he seized her lips as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, that set her completely aflame.

His mouth was urgent, claiming, and yet his hands remained gentle, pulling her closer, as if he were testing the boundaries between them. His lips moved against hers with a growing intensity, a hunger she couldn’t ignore. [Y/N]’s hands now timidly fisted the front of his tunic, pressing her body more firmly against his. Her heart beat erratically, a rhythm of need and desire she was now powerless to deny.

Loki’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and for a moment, everything around them faded away. There was only the feel of him—his warmth, his presence, the taste of his kiss—and the undeniable pull between them that neither could escape. [Y/N]’s breath came in quick gasps, her lips parting as she tried to steady herself, but there was no stopping it now. Not when Loki’s touch was like fire on her skin, lighting every nerve ablaze.

Loki’s fingers traced every curve of [Y/N]’s body with a gentle yet possessive touch, as if memorizing the feel of her beneath his hands. His fingers skimmed across her waist, sending waves of sensation through her, before slowly traveling down to her hips. His touch was deliberate, his skin leaving a trail of fire where it met hers. The sensation was intoxicating, and [Y/N]’s breath caught in her throat as she fought to keep control, but each brush of his hand made it more difficult to resist. Her body seemed to respond of its own accord, her pulse quickening, her skin flush with anticipation.

She couldn’t help but tremble under his touch as his hands ventured lower, tracing the outline of her thighs, fingers grazing over the soft skin, sparking a flood of warmth that radiated out from her core. With each slow movement, each teasing caress, she felt as if she were being pulled deeper into him, her body writhing, arching under the pressure of his touch, desperate for more.

Loki’s voice was low and husky as he broke their kiss, his hand wrapped around her throat and his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Now, I want you to undress me. Slowly, deliberately, as if every touch is a prayer made to my body.”

[Y/N]'s heart skipped a beat at his words, her breath hitching in her throat as she nodded, her hands trembling with anticipation. She reached up, her fingers finding the hem of his tunic, and slowly began to lift it, exposing his toned abs and muscular chest. Her eyes traced every inch of his skin, taking in the defined lines of his muscles, and the smattering of dark hair that peaked out of his Apollo’s belt.

Loki’s voice was smooth and laced with arrogance as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “You should consider yourself fortunate, priestess,” he whispered, his tone dripping with confidence. “Not many are allowed to touch a god like me. So take your time. Let every movement be a tribute to what stands before you.”

[Y/N] felt a surge of boldness and desire as Loki's words of encouragement caressed her ears. Emboldened, her delicate hands slowly slid up the length of his tunic, inching it upwards to reveal more and more of his godly physique inch by tantalizing inch. His skin was unveiled to her hungry gaze—she could feel the heat that radiated from his very being, his muscles rippling and tensing beneath her fingertips like coiled steel as they glided across the expanse of his abdominal muscles. 

Her tongue explored his heated throat as she pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, taking her time to thoroughly savor the taste of his skin. Her lips moved lower, trailing over his defined collarbone until she reached the hollow at the base of his throat. There, she let her teeth graze the sensitive flesh before soothing the sting with a slow, firm lick.

Loki's breath caught in his throat, a ragged hitch that spoke of barely contained longing. His emerald eyes blazed with smoldering desire as they roamed hungrily over [Y/N]'s form, drinking in every dip and curve of her body. Reaching up with a hand that trembled with need, his fingers tangled in her silken tresses, the cool strands slipping through his grasp. Tilting his head back in wanton surrender, he exposed the smooth column of his throat to her questing mouth.

"Yes," he rumbled, his voice a deep, throbbing growl that sent delicious shivers cascading down her spine. The velvet timbre of his words caressed her heated skin like a physical touch, stoking the flames of her desire higher. "Just like that."

His tone dripped with sin and dark promise, full of tempting subtext that left little room for misinterpretation. Loki's voice painted sinful pictures in her mind, hinting at secrets and pleasures only he could provide. Each low, raw word fell from his lips like a forbidden confession, igniting her blood until it burned through her veins.

[Y/N]'s heart pounded wildly, her breath coming fast and shallow as she leaned into the delicious friction of his fingers in her hair. The light pressure at the back of her skull sent sparks skittering across her scalp and down her nape. Loki's grip held her in place, keeping her mouth pressed to the supple skin of his throat where his pulse fluttered like the wings of a caged bird. The heat of him seeped into her, his quickening heartbeat a counterpoint to her racing rhythm.

He imagined her lips brushing against the corded muscles of his neck, feeling the coiled tension thrumming through his body like a tightly wound spring. As her phantom touch grazed his skin, he found himself arching instinctively into the sensation, craving more of that teasing contact. His thick throat flexed and undulated beneath her mouth as he swallowed hard around the lump that had formed there, fighting to control the intense reaction coursing through him.

Loki's gasps would encourage her to continue her sensual exploration. He felt her apply light suction, pulling at his skin until she felt his pulse jumping beneath her lips. Reluctant to release him, she transferred her ministrations to the opposite side of his throat. This time, she used her teeth more insistently, worrying the flesh and nipping at his hammering pulse until she could taste the coppery tang of blood on her tongue as it beaded on his skin.

He could practically feel the heat of her breath as she traced the strong column of his neck with her lips and tongue, igniting sparks of sensation with every pass. His skin prickled with goosebumps, drawn taut and hypersensitive, as if her imagined touch had burned away every layer between them until only nerve endings remained. He strained towards the pressure of her mouth, blatant in his need for stimulation, his body an instrument thrumming with tension.

Again and again, she returned to the spot, alternating between deep, open-mouthed kisses and teasing licks and nips until his neck was mapped with darkening love bites. Each mark was a brand, a symbol of her possession, the evidence of her claim on him. She loved seeing the proof of her wanton lust decorating his fair skin.

Releasing her mouth from his throat with a wet pop, she admired her handiwork, trailing her fingers over the tender, reddened flesh. Loki's hands had found her hair, tangling in the silken strands as he held her close. His breaths were shallow, chest heaving with the force of his exhalations. The visible strain of his erection pressed against her belly but she ignored it for now, lost in her need to taste every inch of him.

In a frenzy of lustful desperation, [Y/N] wrenched Loki's tunic up and over his head with an almost violent urgency. The flimsy garment was hastily cast aside, fluttered forgotten to the floor as her hungry gaze raked over the newly bared expanse of Loki's sleek, pale skin. She drank in the sight of him with fevered eyes that glittered with unslaked craving, her pupils blown wide with desire.

The air between them felt charged and taut, thick with the promise of what was to come. It crackled with an electric tension that made the very skin prickle, so dense with want that it seemed to pulse and undulate like a living thing. The space seemed to swell, heavy and swollen with the weight of their unspeakable needs.

[Y/N] began a worshipful descent down the sculpted planes of Loki's torso. She laved her tongue over his cool skin, tracing the elegant sweep of his collarbones and the dip of his sternum. Her lips brushed feather-light over the flat discs of his nipples, drawing a shuddering hiss from between clenched teeth as she suckled and nibbled, determined to wring as much pleasure and praise from him as she could. Her teeth scraped carelessly, leaving crimson blooms on his skin like stigmata.

Loki shivered and flared, his powerful frame surging beneath her ministrations. His fingers clenched in her hair, dragging her inexorably up and molding her curves meltingly flush against the hard, unforgiving lines of his body. Loki's gaze burned into her own, twin flames of liquid emerald fire that seared straight to her soul. "The pants," he commanded, his voice a rough, guttural sound edged with feral hunger. The raw command in his tone sent primal heat licking through her core, urging her onward even as it threatened to undo her utterly.

[Y/N]'s trembling fingers fumbled at the waistband of his breeches, clumsy with desperation. She wanted to tear them from his body, to lay him bare before her, but some distant scrap of coherence kept her movements measured. The air felt too thick to draw a proper breath, the anticipation coiling tighter and tighter in her blood until it was almost painful.

Finally, blessedly, his breeches joined his tunic on the floor. [Y/N] hummed in satisfaction, drinking in the sight of him laid out before her in all his naked glory. She reached out to trail reverent fingers down the dips and ridges of his abdomen, savoring the way he shuddered and tensed beneath her touch. But she was only allowed a brief moment to admire him before Loki was surging up to capture her mouth in a bruising kiss.

As he broke their deep, passionate kiss, his piercing gaze locked onto hers, smoldering with an intense, almost feral hunger. A knowing smirk played at the corners of his lips as he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his voice dropping to a low, dark purr.

"Go on, priestess," he rasped, the words dripping with a sinful promise that sent shivers down her spine. "Take what is yours to worship and claim as your own."

She gulped for air, her lungs burning, fervently nodding as much as she could with the firm grip he still maintained in her hair. A needy whimper escaped her parted lips, her body yearning for more of his electric touch. 

She redoubled her descent down his chiseled body, pressing small, reverent kisses along the way. Her lips mapped a winding path over the planes of his chest, down his taut stomach, savoring the taste of his skin, the heat of him. Reaching his navel, she dipped her tongue inside, circling the sensitive dip teasingly, drawing a groan from the god and his grip tightened, spurring her on.

Finally, she arrived at the apex of his thighs, where his long, hard and imposing member jutted proudly towards her. Its thick length seemed to throb, begging for her worshipful attention. The woman knelt before him, gazing up at him with hooded eyes clouded by lust and a hint of trepidation. 

As he sat there, watching her crafted image intently with anticipation, she hesitated for a moment. She could feel his gaze on her, and she knew what he wanted. Gathering her courage, she slowly reached out a trembling hand towards him. Her fingers inched closer to the hard, rigid length of his cock, and as she made contact, she felt a shiver run through her entire body. The feel of him was intoxicating - hard yet silky smooth, just like the rest of his toned body.

He couldn't help but let out a low groan as she touched him—as he imitated her touch. His hand moved unconsciously to wrap around his member, mirroring her movements. She would watch in fascination as he began to stroke himself, and she wouldn't help but feel a sense of power and arousal at the divine sight that he displayed.

She’d marvel at the feel of him, so different from anything she had ever experienced before. Her fingers looked so meager he doubted they would quite close around his girth. He imagined her feeling even more turned on by the contrast between her delicate hand and his thick, hard cock like he was to the idea.

"Do you like that?" he asked, his voice low and husky with desire. 

She nodded, unable to find her voice at that moment. She couldn't believe she was doing this, touching him like this, but she couldn't deny how much she was enjoying it.

"Good," he murmured, his eyes darkening with lust. "Because I relish the way your touch sets me alight," he murmured, his voice velvet-soft yet edged with longing, as if the confession itself was both a gift and a weapon.

Fingertips danced along his length, tracing the prominent vein that ran along the underside—he didn’t know if it was her phantom touch, or his very real one, he didn’t care for it. He’d pretend that it was hers for now, that he could trade the feeling of the rough palms of his hand for her soft ones.

She watched as his eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in quick gasps as she touched him. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his muscles tensed under her touch. She circled the base, marveling at the size and the heat it emanated from his member. A bead of clear liquid welled from the slit, making his erection jump. Softly, reverently, she swiped her thumb over the tip, smearing the precum and eliciting a strangled groan from above.

Then, another flash: slowly, almost shyly, she leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on his inner thigh, right at the root of his shaft. Her lips trailed up the sensitive skin, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses in their wake. A faint whimper escaped her as she tasted him, the salt, musk, and pure masculine essence of his arousal thick and heady.

He hissed in pleasure, his fingers tightening in her hair as he pulled her closer. She flicked her tongue over the weeping slit, lapping up the salty essence. Another kiss was placed right at the crown before she started to slowly circle the flared head with the flat of her tongue. She took her time, mapping every ridge and vein, savoring the taste of him on her tongue.

But he wouldn’t let the exploration go on any longer, else he’d go mad beyond reason with want. The massive hand gripping her silky damp tresses gave a sharp tug, wrenching [Y/N]'s head back and forcing her face upwards. She let out a yelp at the sudden motion, eyes widening in fear and surprise darting up to meet the smoldering gaze pinning her in place. A deep growl emanated from above, the sound resonating in her very bones and sending sparks of trepidation skittering down her spine.

Above her, his imposing form loomed, all chiseled planes and rippling muscle. Sweat gleamed on his alabaster skin which heaved with each labored breath. Heavy thighs bracketed her smaller frame as he towered over her kneeling form, his commanding presence seeming to fill the very air around them.

Drawing in a shuddering gasp, [Y/N] tried to give a jerky nod of acquiescence, her delicate throat working nervously under his stern glare. His calloused palm dragged from the silken coil of her hair to seize her chin, fingers pressing firmly into the delicate curve of her jaw as he forced her gaze upward.

"Enough games," he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rasp steeped in authority and promise. A flicker of fear danced along her spine, sharp and electric, under the weight of his piercing glare. "Open," he commanded, the single word carrying the weight of inevitability.

She could only whimper in response, breaths coming in short, precipitated puffs as his other hand guided the thick root of his cock to nudge demandingly at her parted lips. With a final, shallow inhale, [Y/N] let her jaw fall slack, allowing the heavy weight to rest against her waiting mouth. He slowly thrust forward, pushing into the velvet heat past her lips and over her tongue. She could feel every rigid vein, every throb of his width stretching her open as inch by delicious inch sank into the clutching confines of her mouth and throat.

Tears sprang anew to her eyes at the sudden intrusion, but she held his gaze, giving a tentative suck as he hilted fully. The wet glide of her tongue traced over the bulbing head, dipping into the weeping slit to lap at the salty-sweet essence gathered there. Above her, she could hear the hitch in his breathing, feel the air between them crackle with building anticipation.

Slowly, he began to rock his hips, sawing in and out with deep but shallow thrusts as he mentally fucked into her face as he did to his enclosed fist. Her lips worked over his length, hollowing her cheeks to suck harder as she brought one small hand up to gently fondle the heavy orbs below. [Y/N] breathed harshly through her nose, tongue fluttering along the underside as he thrust between her lips.

"Norns' mercy," Loki gasped, his head falling back on a low, wanton moan that echoed through the chambers. "Your mouth is exquisite, a divine temple of pleasure."

Emboldened by his praise, she began to bob her head along his impressive length, hollowing her cheeks to suck hard as she took him deeper, feeling him hit the back of her throat. One hand gently lightly scrapped her nails at the navel, teasing the sensitive skin. 

Losing herself in the act of pleasuring him, she consumed herself in carnal desires that threatened to overwhelm her. She loved tasting him, feeling the hot, hard weight of him sliding between her lips, stretching her mouth. His musky, masculine scent filled her nostrils, making her head spin with lust.

Loki's grip on her hair tightened, fingers tangling and tugging as he began to speed up his thrust into the heat of her mouth, not enough to gag her, but just enough to show he was rapidly losing control. "Just like that, priestess, don't you dare stop," he growled, his voice strained with need. "You look so lovely with your lips wrapped around my cock, worshipping me like the god I am. Such a good girl, so eager to please."

His filthy words inflamed her lust to new, dizzying heights. She redoubled her efforts, taking him to the hilt and swallowing around him, throat working to milk his length. He let out a string of filthy curses in the Old Tongue, hips snapping as he chased his impending release, fucking her face with shallow thrusts.

But just as she felt him start to pulse and swell, he forcefully pulled himself from the slick heat of her mouth with a lewd pop. He pictured strings of saliva connected from her swollen lips to the engorged head of his cock as he squeezed the base hard enough to prevent him from cumming so soon. He didn’t want it to end just yet. Too soon.

He could almost hear [Y/N] whine at the loss as she gazed up at Loki through heavy-lidded eyes, her plump lips glistening and swollen from his earlier bruising kisses. He imagined her enticing face flushed with pride and deep feminine satisfaction knowing she had thoroughly pleased her god, his divine favor a heady rush of power and approval. Loki's eyes gleamed molten green, his expression one of ravenous, possessive hunger as his heated gaze roved over her naked form kneeling wantonly at his feet.

"Well done, priestess," he’d purr to her, voice a dark, sinful promise. "You've more than earned your reward. I'm going to taste every exquisite inch of you until you're writhing and begging for completion."

Loki prowled forward like a wolf, his powerful body looming over her in dark promise. Calloused fingers trailed scorching paths along her quivering sides and thighs, leaving shimmering trails of magic in their wake. She shivered and arched into his expert touch, dizzy with need.

"Please, my god," she breathed. "I'm aching for you. Make me yours."Loki's fingers trailed down her forearm, gripping [Y/N]'s hand and pulling her up. He pushed her down onto the marble of his altar in a smooth show of strength, admiring the way her breasts bounced from the force. Settling between her splayed thighs, the god inhaled her heady, musky scent. "So desperate for your god's favor," he growled, pressing hungry kisses up the column of her throat. "I'm going to make you scream my name."

With a wicked grin, he turns to her, his eyes gleaming with desire. "May I?" he asks, indicating the delicate fabric of her robe. At her nod, he rips the flimsy material to shreds, exposing her naked body to his feasting gaze. Loki's gaze lands on a part of untainted skin, and he wastes no time, sucking hard enough to leave a vivid mark. She can't help but gasp at the sensation, her body reacting instinctively. 

He continued his path of destruction down her body, licking and nipping every inch of bare skin. Reaching pert breasts, he caught a nipple between his teeth and tugged just shy of pain, to which she answered by unconsciously spreading her legs in wanton invitation, practically begging for his touch.

"Oh, my sweet [Y/N], so desperate and needy for me," he hummed, trailing his fingers down her arm. His touch was cold fire, leaving goosebumps trailing in its wake. Loki's lips curled into a wicked smirk, his voice a silky taunt as he leaned closer. "How utterly delightful. Let us see if you can endure as well as you deliver, shall we?"

He descended upon her like a starving man, licking and sucking at every inch of her damp skin. His lips and teeth marked her with dark bruise shaped like crescent moons and love bites as he made his way down her body. She writhed and moaned helplessly beneath him, her back arching as he teased her sensitive flesh.

"Mmh, perfect. Sing for me," he growls against her hipbone before dipping his head between her thighs.

He could almost feel her taste on his tongue as he imagined himself licking a broad stripe up her dripping slit, making use his skillful appendage by circling her aching clit without directly touching it. He brought two fingers to his lips as he pictured them parting her folds to delve deep, pumping in and out of her fluttering walls while he laps at the sensitive bundle of nerves. His head rung at the idea of her thighs trembling and clenching around his head as he devoured her mercilessly, his silvertongue more than living up to its title.

"Such exquisite nectar you have, my priestess," he’d mumble into her sex, the vibrations making her see stars. He suckled her clit and thrust two fingers knuckle deep, curling them to rub that special spot inside. "I could feast on you on my altar for ages and never have my fill."

[Y/N] tossed her head back with a loud moan as Loki's skilled mouth worked her over. "Yes, god, just like that!"

He sealed his lips around her throbbing clit, suckling the sensitive bud while his wicked tongue flicked rapidly. Two fingers delved deep, curling just right to stroke that velvety patch along her front wall. "That's it, let me hear all those pretty moans while you fall apart on my face," he urged huskily, hot breath gusting over her drenched folds.

Leaning on her elbows, she gazed down at him with glassy eyes, desperate little pants falling from her lips. Her thighs trembled violently, muscles pulled taut. "Please, please," she babbled incoherently, fisting his inky locks and yanking him impossibly closer. "I need—oh!"

"Need what, pet?" His lips and tongue never ceased their sweet torment, fingers plunging and stroking without mercy. "Tell me and I'll give it to you."

"I need—ah! I need to come!" Tremors wracked her frame as she ground herself wantonly on his face. "Make me come, please Loki!"

"What pretty begging." He doubled down, sucking her clit greedily as she bucked and thrashed. Lips and fingers worked her into a frenzy, wringing out her pleasure with devastating intent. Pressure climbed, tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

[Y/N] threw back her head with a choked scream, core clamping down rhythmically. "I'm coming, mmh—fuck!" Her back arched sharply, juices gushing to coat his cheeks and chin as ecstasy overtook her.

His hips moved upwards as he imagined the expression she would make when reaching climax, writhing in the water as he desperately tried to hold back, not ready for the end just yet. The ripples of the water surrounding him served as a reminder of the feeling of being blessed with her sweet release, droplets splashing onto his face.

With a final thrust, he slowed down, gasping uncontrollably. He gentled his touch, mimicking how he would with her, licking broad and slow to keep her suspended in bliss. "That's it, that’s it. Ride it out on my tongue. You taste divine when you let go."

He knew all too well the effect he had on her; even their casual, teasing banter left her unraveling. His words and actions now, deliberate and charged, were designed to push her to the brink—to drive her wild in ways only he could. He made a low, hungry noise, never stopping until the last aftershock shivered through her.

"Good girl, you took it so well. Such a pretty picture you make in your pleasure," he praises, giving your sensitive clit a final kiss before rising to cover your body with his own. "You please me greatly, my priestess. I knew you'd be the perfect consort."

He couldn’t endure the torment he was inflicting upon himself any longer; it was unbearable, a relentless ache that clawed at his sanity. He had to put an end to it—one way or another. Loki's lips curved in a wicked smirk as he visualized him pulling back to admire his artwork, hands gripping [Y/N]'s hips possessively. 

"Turn over," he’d command, voice rough with need. [Y/N] scrambled to obey, rolling onto her stomach and lifting her hips in the air. The position left her completely vulnerable, her dripping core exposed and ready. Loki groaned at the sight, his cock throbbing. "Hands behind your back," he growled, giving her rear a sharp smack.

[Y/N] gasped and complied, crossing her forearms at the base of her spine. Loki manhandled her, using his strength to pull her arms higher until they were pinned tight against her back. He nestled her chest down against the altar, leaving her arched and spread open. "Such a good little offering," he purred, running a hand over her naked form. His fingers dug into her hips as he notched the flared head of his cock against her entrance. 

"I will ravish you to the point of forgetting everything but my name." Loki declared with a salacious smirk. His eyes gleamed with determination as he charged forward, impaling [Y/N] with a single, ruthless thrust. The force of his entry elicited a startled cry from [Y/N], her back arching as Loki filled her to the hilt. The exquisite stretch of his length was unprecedented, breaching depths no other had ever reached.

"There we go," he praised, starting to move. His strokes were deep and powerful, pulling nearly out before slamming back in. "Take it. Take every ounce of pleasure your god deigns to bestow upon you." [Y/N] sobbed brokenly, overwhelmed by the sensations. The altar bit into her breasts as Loki used her, pounding into her pliant body. Lewd squelches filled the air, mixing with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. 

Just when [Y/N] thought she couldn't take anymore, Loki hauled her up by her restrained arms. He dropped his free hand to her throat, squeezing lightly. "Look at you," he crooned, fingers toying with her nipples. "A perfect little slut, born to be bred and used. You relish this, don't you? The sensation of being utterly filled and ravished by your god?" [Y/N] had no choice but to nod, his words igniting something primal in her. Loki's hand tightened around her neck, restricting her airflow. Simultaneously, his thrusts grew fiercer, pummeling her with relentless intensity.

"You were made for this, pet. Made to serve. I will ruin you for all others. You will adore only me, and my name will be your mantra." He accentuated each word with punishing thrusts.

[Y/N] convulsed, his degrading words and ruthless pace pushing her to the brink. Her cunt clenched desperately around him, trying to hold him deep. She was so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion. All it would take was a slight pressure in the right place and she would shatter completely. 

Sensing her readiness, Loki slid a hand down, zeroing in on her swollen clit. He circled the sensitive nub with a knowing touch, keeping her on the cusp of release. "Come for me, priestess" he ordered with a gasp, voice a sinful purr. "Come apart on my cock, my little whore. Let me feel your pleasure."

[Y/N] had no choice but to obey, her body seizing up as her climax crashed through her. She came with a guttering scream, cunt clenching down on Loki's pistoning cock.

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As he allowed his mind to wander, lost in the picture of her falling in the throes of ecstasy, his eyes flew open with a start. He hadn’t realized how deeply he had slipped into it until he felt a sudden jolt back to reality. His hips were moving rhythmically, thrusting as if he were actually buried deep inside of her.

His breath came in gasps, the air stolen from his throat as he imagined the feeling of her tight walls clenching around him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His hips were gyrating wildly, thrusting up and down in his grasp, like a ship caught in a stormy sea. How deep had he been lost in his fantasy for his state to go unnoticed, even to himself?

The pleasure was all-consuming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to drown him in its depths. His blood rushed through his veins like a raging river, surging downward to pool in his aching cock and upwards to flood his face with a burning heat. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unbidden and fierce, as he gasped and writhed for oxygen, his thrusts growing wilder and more desperate with each passing moment.

With a final, desperate cry, he came violently in his hands, shouting his muse’s name in a frenzied manner. Spurt after spurt of his release shot forth, hitting the water with a soft plink and splattering the few jasmine petals that had survived the violent waves. It seemed as if the pleasure would never end, each wave of release only serving to build the tension higher and higher until it threatened to consume him entirely.

But eventually, the storm subsided, leaving him spent and shivering in its wake. He lay there, his breath slowing as he came back down to reason. The fantasy had been so vivid, so real, that it took him a moment to remember where he truly was. The sensation was intense, a violent explosion that seemed to rock his entire body. 

Loki collapsed against the smooth, cold marble steps of the grand tub, his body spent, a haze of exhaustion clouding his senses. His breath was ragged, still trying to catch up with the frantic, overwhelming rush that had just passed through him. For a moment, he was weightless, floating on the remnants of the high he had just experienced, the delicate hum of release thrumming under his skin. The contrast of the warm water around him and the cold air against his exposed skin sent shivers racing up his spine, but it was not the chill that made him tremble.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his head tipping back to rest against the edge of the tub. The silence in the chamber felt deafening after the storm that had ravaged through him. The heat of the moment still lingered, but now, it felt oppressive. He was left with a deep, gnawing emptiness, as though a part of him had been drained away with the surge of release. But that empty feeling was nothing compared to what came next.

As the haze in his mind began to clear, the aftermath of his actions came crashing down on him like a tidal wave. For a brief second, he felt like the room was spinning, his body still reeling from the aftershocks of the desire he had just indulged. His chest tightened, a knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach.

He hadn’t just given in to the pleasure of the moment. No, that would’ve been easier to accept. What had really shaken him was who—or rather, what—he had let himself desire.

He dragged a trembling hand through his damp hair, his lips pressed into a hard line as the remnants of his thoughts taunted him. A mortal, really? The thought of her—so mortal, so beneath him—made him feel physically sick. His heart pounded in his chest, but not from desire this time. The heat in his veins was no longer a heady rush; it had morphed into something darker, something that made him feel dirty. He had let himself be ruled by a fleeting impulse, a mortal who—by all rights—shouldn’t have mattered to him. She wasn’t worthy of his attention, let alone the attention of his body. And yet, he couldn’t shake the memory of the way her presence had consumed him.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, though it lacked any humor. How could you? he asked himself, gripping the edge of the tub as if it could ground him. A sharp pang of disgust sliced through him, his jaw clenching tightly. How could I stoop so low? he thought bitterly, his disdain for his weakness growing with each passing second. The heat of his actions still lingered, clinging to him like a second skin, and he hated it. He hated himself.

As Loki's breath slowed and the weight of his actions pressed down on him, his gaze drifted to the scattered jasmine petals that floated lazily in the water. Their delicate fragrance filled the air, and for a brief moment, it was almost suffocating. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the pale petals, their soft white against the dark water mocking him with their innocence. They reminded him of that damned robe, the mortal woman who had worn it—her.

He scowled, a wave of irritation rising in him as he cursed them for being the catalyst, the one thing that had led to this moment of weakness. It wasn’t their fault, of course; it never was. But in his mind, they were the symbol of everything that had gone wrong. If only she hadn’t worn it, he thought bitterly. If only I hadn’t noticed her at all...

With a sharp wave of his hand, he dispelled the jasmine petals and the evidence of his indulgence, watching as they disappeared into nothingness, as if they had never been there to begin with. But the disquiet that followed lingered, refusing to vanish as easily as the evidence of his lapse.

Another gesture and the steaming bath turned icy cold, the sudden shock making him shudder. The chill was a reprieve—a way to snap himself back to reality, to wash away the lingering tremors still shaking his resolve.

“This means nothing,” he muttered under his breath, the words more of a command than a truth. He busied himself scrubbing away the remnants of his lapse in control, desperate to rid himself of the memory. His movements were quick, almost frantic, as if staying in the tub any longer would trap him in the thoughts he wanted to escape.

Nothing. He forced himself to believe that. He had allowed himself to be overwhelmed by his body’s basic urges, by the frustration of months of mounting stress—the endless manipulations of his “parents,” the suffocating chains of his conditional freedom, the constant reminder that his every action was watched and judged. And then, her—this mortal who had somehow wormed her way into his thoughts. She was simply an enticing distraction, an irritation that had lodged itself under his skin, and nothing more. He had no time for such trivial mortal attachments.

He exhaled sharply, dispelling the shame that clung to him like an uncomfortable cloak. It was just stress. A temporary lapse. The heat of the moment. It didn’t mean anything.

He turned his attention to the water, an escape of sorts, as he manipulated the temperature. His magic flowed effortlessly, and the warm bath transformed into an icy, biting chill. He let the cold seep into him, willing it to numb the stirring emotions that had begun to surge. But the cold only made him feel sharper, more exposed, the shock of it heightening his awareness of every thought, every tremor within him.

He couldn’t stay in the water any longer. The longer he lingered, the more the memory of what had just transpired would settle into his mind. And he couldn’t bear that. He didn’t want to acknowledge how badly the moment had shaken him.

His movements were quick, almost frantic, as he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. His fingers were stiff as he dried off, each movement seeming mechanical, as though he was trying to force himself back into control, back into the careful, calculated Loki that he prided himself on being.

But even as he dressed, the thoughts didn’t fade. He told himself it was nothing. He told himself that it meant nothing. But even as he stepped away from the tub, a small, nagging voice echoed in his mind. Unless?

He stopped, mid-step, his chest tightening again. Could it be that simple? Could he dismiss it so easily? His gaze flicked to the empty tub, and a deep, unsettling feeling curled in his gut. The space seemed too quiet now, too still, and he could almost hear her voice again in the silence.

Loki quickly turned away, his mind racing. No. He refused to entertain it. It was stress. Nothing more. She was nothing more. Still, as he left the bathing chamber, his steps quick and unsteady, that seed of doubt lingered. He could feel it in the way his heart beat a little faster, the way his breath caught for a fraction of a second longer than it should have. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, there it was: Unless...

ending notes :

The way I was acting like that for the entire writing is SHAMEFUL. Lord have mercy on me.

Also, I'm not sorry for the length. I hope you enjoyed it thoroughly nonetheless. And get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about the fic, not Loki. :p

⠀⠀

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

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dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @arminsumi .

angelremnants ©️ 2024. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[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.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Clean [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After a difficult mission, your ex Loki has a revelation. (w/c 1.6k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mild angst. Pining. Feelings. Smuttish. Loki x Fem Reader. A/N: I'm planning some filthy stuff soon - but for now, we're still in angsty romance era. 😇

Loki sat hunched with his back against the bathroom wall, head in his hands. Blood was smeared over the white shirt: his own and not his own. It was ripped in several places, sleeves folded up to the elbows.

“It wasn’t locked,” you said stiffly, fingers tightening around the knob. “Would it have mattered? I expect you’re quite desperate to see me like this.” He tilted his head, voice sharp, eyes tired. “Don’t you wish to capture the scene on your device? Surely Rogers would relish a commemoration of my ineptitude.”

Loki had made a scene as the team exited the Quinjet, throwing his ruined suit jacket off the roof of Stark Tower and kicking a fire bucket for good measure. His voice was choked with anger.

“Let me be,” he’d roared after Steve shouted something about medical in his direction. The Captain had turned to the rest of you with a defeated shrug, but your eyes hadn't left Loki's back as he waged a path though the doors and they slammed behind him in a flash of green.

Loki had taken the worst of the heat from the Hydra agents working undercover in downtown Chicago. He’d been cornered by three of them, and soon a capture order had turned into a triple kill—but not before taking some punishment for his efforts.

‘I tried to subdue them humanely,’ Loki had muttered afterwards, inspecting a deep gash on his forehead in the Quinjet’s sheen. ‘They wouldn’t listen to reason.’ ‘How hard did you try?’ Steve had sniped. ‘We’re in a pickle now, thanks Laufeyson. A real pickle indeed. Typical.’ To that, Loki had said nothing. He’d refused all clean-up on the way home, sitting in a fury-riddled silence that tainted the re-circulated air.

You took a step over the bathroom’s boundary, and then shrank back.

Relations between you had been frosty since you’d gone your separate ways: to this day you weren’t quite sure what had happened. One day, everything was perfect. The next—it was over. You’d chalked it up to the god settling in to life on Earth; him realising you weren’t the only person on the planet who thought the sun shone from his perfectly formed arse…but that had never felt right. Despite snooping, you’d never got a whiff of him shagging anyone else. Based on your experience with Loki, that was especially odd.

You took a deep breath, crossing the floor and extending a hand. To your surprise, he took it and heaved himself up. Fuck, you’d forgotten how heavy he was; how his forearms bulged when they flexed, how his body felt pressing down on yours as he railed you gently on the bed you’d shared.

Ok, maybe not that last one. You cleared your throat, pulling your hand back. Loki sighed, eyes cast to the floor.

“I’m filthy,” he said with an air of disgust, reflexively running a hand across his waist. Pain rippled across his features.

“You’re hurt, you need to go to—” “I’m quite well.” “Loki,” you warned. His lashes fluttered up, nailing his gaze to yours. An eyebrow cocked. Feeling your cheeks heat, you turned and switched on the shower. “Steve shouldn’t have spoken to you like that earlier,” you said, trying to keep the flurry of nerves from your voice. “You did what you had to do—they’d have killed you.” “Please,” Loki snorted. “They would not have killed me. I’m offended that you would even imply it.” You glanced over your shoulder. Even in his dishevelled state, he was giving every inch the haughty, regal snob that you’d fallen desperately in love with. And that was the problem, wasn't it? It was the only version of him you'd ever been granted.

“Then why are you in such a state?” Loki’s brow furrowed. “A what?” “Why are you upset?” “I’m not upset.” “You were literally sitting on the floor with your head in your hands.” “It’s an Asgardian victory custom.” “Loki…”

His jaw clenched as you leant against the sink and his keen eyes darted over your face. “I…tried not to kill them,” he said through gritted teeth. It was the same voice he’d used when the two of you had ‘the conversation’—you hadn’t heard it since. An icy finger trailed down your spine at the bitterness in his voice as he said, “I failed.”

Understanding blossomed through your mind. You remembered a cold winter’s night, Loki curled naked against your back, confessing his deepest secret while he thought you’d slept. I’m afraid I’ll never be good, he’d whispered in the dark; that I’ll always be stained with the curse of my past.

You realised the mask of stoicism had slipped from your face at the exact moment Loki’s expression shifted. His gaze broke, returning to the floor. “You should leave,” he said. “You’re not safe with me.” The echo of the last time you’d been alone together—the same words. Does he remember?

Pushing off the sink, you shuffled towards him, cupping his forearm. The grit of dried blood rubbed beneath your fingertips as you squeezed. “You can’t think that. It’s been years…”

Suddenly Loki’s hands ran up your cheeks, thumbs pressing into your jaw as your back met the wall. He’d pinned you under the shower, speckles of water hitting off his shoulder and splattering your skin. His eyes searched yours: all fire, and destiny.

“I’ll never be free,” he said. His gaze dropped to your lips and back to your eyes. “I’ll never be clean.”

You caressed the well-trodden path his buttons made up the front of his shirt. Still beautifully tailored despite the dirt, and sweat, and blood. “Not with that attitude,” you said, and his brows peaked. “Everyone knows your history, Loki. We need you here. We want you here.” “And you?”

The shower seemed very loud all of a sudden. Especially me. “You really have to ask?” You brushed the sides of his shirt apart and Loki swallowed, his eyes closing a heartbeat too long as your fingers lingered on the bruise forming over the flat of his abdomen. “Loki…” you chided, tracing the blossom of indigo across his alabaster skin. “Steve was right, you should be in medical.” He snorted, hands falling by his sides. “If you’d come five minutes later, it would have been gone.” Fat droplets of water roll over the tips of his cheekbones, streaks of pale skin beneath the dust and dirt of the mission. You’ve never seen him like this. He never let you see anything other than the perfect prince; the unshakeable god. “Doesn’t it hurt?” You circled higher on his chest, appreciating the taut skin firm beneath your own. You'd swear you could see the thrum of his heartbeat.

“Always,” he said sadly, and something in his voice told you he wasn’t talking about the injuries. God, I miss this. I miss him. Now, finally, you could admit it to yourself. The weight of the confession slid from your body, circling the drain as Loki shivered, and the dark pools of his pupils spread wider.

Cautiously, your hands ran up his chest, over his shoulders, peeling the soaking shirt from his back and down his arms. It fell with a slop to the shower floor.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a faint narrow of his eyes. You licked your lips, unsure of what how to answer. What are you doing? But it was now or never. This kind of vulnerability was a particularly rare ship to dock in Loki’s harbour.

Running your palms up his neck, he groaned softly as they slid up the sharp prow of his jawline, up the bladed cheekbones and into the slick of his sodden hair. He closed his eyes, a low sigh rattling his chest. For a moment, there was only the patter of water against porcelain.

“Showing you how to be clean again,” you whispered before your lips fastened to his. Loki’s eyes shot open, one hand slamming to the tiles behind your shoulder to steady himself as you pulled away. Your heart thumped between your ribs.

Oh god, he doesn’t want it. You’ve fucked it up. Memories of the longing glances you’d seen painted on his face across the room, the brush of his touch on your arm which lasted a second too long, the anger simmering beneath his skin when he thought you’d moved on. It had all been in your head. The thought was almost too much to bear.

“Why did you stop?”

Breath caught in your throat as his words soaked through the rising steam; low and smooth. The response fell from your mouth in breathless stages, hyper-focused on the shirt plastered to his skin. “I didn’t think you wanted it, I’m sorry I—” A soft, disbelieving chuckle rumbled in his throat before he said, “How could I not want you?” Your eyes rose.

The god was fully soaked now; hair plastered to his neck like ink, shirt and trousers moulded to the sinews and meat of his body like a second skin. The last traces of dirt from his skin were gone, and the water around your feet ran clear. You pulled the back of his neck towards you.

Loki’s kiss was an eruption of desire, of pain, of need; his palm slipping on the tile behind your head before switching to your waist. It worked over your hip, your breasts, your ass, never staying in one place, never lingering too long. “Gods, I missed you, I've missed you,” he murmured wet against your cheek. You crossed your arms over your chest, pulling the sodden top over your head. “So soon?” A soft smile curled at his mouth. “We’ve wasted enough time, haven’t we?”

In answer, Loki ran a finger from the hollow of your neck between your breasts. A chill skated across your skin as your trousers dissolved— his too. He pressed his body to yours, warm against the sharp sting of the tiles. Water pooled in the crevice where your skin met, Loki’s kisses sliding over your lips—one slipping into the next—pants of devotion wisping down your throat. He lifted your thigh, manoeuvring himself inside with one, liquid movement. You clasped to his shoulders, nails digging in to his flesh like he might vanish. All you could feel was his body, his presence, his faint moan of relief in your ear.

“No more living in the past,” you panted. “Loki, promise me.” He tilted his cheek into your wrist, water droplets falling from the ends of his hair to the curve of your breasts below. “A fresh start,” he said quietly, kissing the delicate skin. You groaned as he thrusted gently inside you. “Clean,” he panted, “New.” “Together,” you said. “Together,” Loki replied.

And then, among plumes of steam and the slide of bodies and wordless promises, there was no more talking.

Tags in comments ❤️

[buck-star]

Stuck with a God | Loki Laufeyson

// Pairing // Loki Laufeyson x Agent!Female!Reader

// Summary // Loki gets imprisoned by Shield and he loves flirting with you. As much as he annoys you, even more does the Shield technology annoy you.

// Wordcount // 2.488

// Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, smut, kind of enemies to lovers, being stuck with Loki, bit of dub-con, fingering, squirting, CMNF, finger sucking / cum eating kinda, bit of housewife kink, praises

// Authors Note // This is my first time writing for Loki, so thanks to my amazing friend @jiyascepter for encouraging me to write for him.

// Events // Slumber Party: Sundae Bar | French Vanilla (stranded, looked in) and Black Cherry (Enemies to lovers) | @the-slumberparty | Bingo of your own | N4 | Stuck together | @thebo3bingo |

// Masterlist | Loki Laufeyson //

     “Darlin’! Didn’t think I would see you today,” the black-haired man says, his smirk growing as you walk closer to the cell he is in. “Want to see me again before they bring me into another cell, my dear?”

     You roll your eyes, earning a chuckle from the man. Since they brought him into the cell earlier that day, he flirts with you whenever you’re around. Or at least it’s what you think he is doing; maybe he just tries to convince you to let him out and let him rule the world — something you won’t do unless your boss will force you to.

     “Didn’t miss you; I just have to get something, and then I will be back doing my work,” you answer him, walking further through the room.

     Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief — at least what he said — walks up and down his cell, his green eyes following every little movement.

     “Oh, darling—“

     “Stop that flirting and let me do my job. You’re annoying, and I’m done with you, Loki,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief about that man.

     His lips are still curled up, and his eyes are glistening. As much as he annoys you, he has something that makes your knees weak — mystic and magical.

     “My dear, come here. Look at me when you tell me that you’re done with me. Are you done with me, darlin’, or do you only want everyone to think that?” His voice is low, his head falling forward, and he looks up, looking even more handsome than before.

     “No, don't even think that. You’re not that interesting to me,” you groan, frustrated that you’re stuck in that conversation. Too nice to just ignore him and too annoyed to continue talking to him.

     “Not interesting to you? I’m Loki — god of mischief — from Asgard! Everyone wants me. Oh, that sweet maid in Asgard — you should have seen her, darling. She begged me, but she wasn’t interesting to me,” Loki says, chuckling softly at your expression.

     How can he dare to tell you such an intimate story about one of the maids who is working for them? But to finally let him know that you’re not interested in his idiotic ass, you make your way closer to the entrance of the cell. Loki is grinning at you and walking in his cell to the entrance as well.

     When you reach it, he places his hand against the glass, waiting for you to tell him that you’re not interested in him. His green eyes remind you of a snake, staring into yours and glistening mischievously.

     “I’m not inter— How?” You almost shout at him when he is suddenly in front of you — without glass in between you. “FUCKING SHIT! How do— GO BACK INTO THE CELL!”

     Loki laughs softly, his white teeth visible. His tongue darts out, and he slides it across his plump lips before closing his mouth and leaning a bit further down.

     “Make me, darling. I’m a god; you think that little cell stops me from breaking out? How sweet,” he says in a teasing tone.

     You place your hands immediately on his chest, feeling the muscles tensing underneath your soft touch, before you push him back into the cell. Actually, you learned to not do things like that — never touch a criminal or get too close to him — they could use it to their advantage.

     A loud sound behind you makes you flinch, and you look around. The door behind you shuts, and your eyes widen when you realize that you’re stuck in a cell with the enemy. And not just one enemy; you’re stuck with Loki.

     “Stay away!” You grumble, letting go of him to take a step backwards and look for your card, which opens literally every door in a shield compound. You reach your card, finally able to get out of the cell again — you just need to find out how he managed to open the door and walk out of the cell.

     “Darling, don't you want to give me some company? That hurts my feelings; I thought you changed your mind and wanted to stay in that cell with me,” Loki says, his eyes still following every movement of yours while you walk to the door and press your card against the small display next to it.

     His lips curl up when the door doesn’t open. You try again, pressing the card against the display again. Once again, the door stays closed, and you groan frustrated — why can’t the technology work like it should?

     “Doesn’t work, darling? Do you need my help?” Loki asks, his tone teasing, and you roll your eyes once again. At some point, you’re sure you can roll your eyes all the time, but right now you’re just annoyed about the technology and him being such a dick.

     “I don’t need your help! Can you just shut up for a moment?” You ask through gritted teeth. You turn around, wanting to face the black-haired man, but the cell is empty, and you wonder if he broke out once again.

     You hiss and almost jump when you feel a warm breath against your neck. Long arms wrap around your waist, and a broad but small chest is suddenly pressed against your back. You can feel Loki’s nose sliding over the soft skin of your neck; a low chuckle leaves his lips when he pulls you even closer.

     A shiver runs down your spine; you want to lean more into his embrace. His warmth and scent envelope you. Loki feels just so good that you want more of him and more of his touches.

     “You like that, don’t you, darling?” He asks, his breath hitting your skin and causing goosebumps all over your body. It shouldn’t feel so good; you shouldn’t stay in his embrace; he shouldn’t touch you like that — Loki is still the enemy, but the two of you look now like he isn’t just that; it looks like the two of you are so much closer.

     “L—Loki, let go of me. H—How did you escape here? Wh—“ You interrupt yourself when you feel his long fingers moving over your stomach, higher to your chest.

     “I didn’t escape, but I told you — I’m a god, darling. I never escaped here; you opened the door with your card; you pushed just an imagination of mine into the cell. And now that you’re here with me, stuck in this cell, don’t you think we should just continue where we stopped?” Loki asks, his voice quiet, and he presses his soft lips against your neck.

     You shake your head, even though you don’t feel like that. You just can’t be that close or intimate with the enemy. He grumbles behind you, pressing you even closer against his chest, and you can feel his growing bulge pressing against your ass.

     Your eyes widen, pussy throbbing, but you can’t just give in to him, can you? Loki is thrusting his hips forward, chuckling against you, when a soft moan escapes your lips.

     “You like that?” You nod lightly, his fingers gracing over the fabric of your t-shirt to your chest. Loki moves his hands over the swell of your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, and when you look down, your breath hitches.

     His hands are so big, thin, but long fingers — they cause the most filthy thoughts you ever had. You inhale deeply. A moment later, you think about pushing him away, telling him to stop that, and that there are cameras, but you know that they won’t work when the display to unlock the cell doesn’t work either.

     Loki feels you tensing in his arms; he kneads your soft breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back.

     “N—Loki, please,” you whine, feeling his hard cock still pressing against you. He thrusts his hips forward, making you squeal. His hands are squeezing your tits more.

     “Changing your attitude is exactly how I like it. What do you need, darling?” His tone is teasing. You nod your head, now knowing what to say. Loki laughs, suckling at your neck while his hands snake back to your waist. “Tell me, darlin’.”

     “L—Loki, please, n-need you,” you whimper. You feel so pathetic, begging the enemy to touch you, to fuck you. His hands and his lips feel like the softest thing you have ever felt, and you need him to continue touching you. You need to know how talented those fingers are.

     “Look at you, melting in the enemy's embrace, needing his fingers, don’t you?” He mocks you, laughing softly when he picks you up. He carries the two of you to the bench on the other end of the cell, sitting down before he places you in his lap.

     Loki’s hands hold you in place, his hard crotch pressing against your ass, and you wiggle lightly, earning a low groan from the man behind you. His fingers are digging into your sides, pressing you further down on him to keep you still.

     His lips trail along your neck once again, and he then smirks miraculously once again. And suddenly… you’re naked in his lap. Your clothes are nowhere around, and you can feel the leather of his suit underneath your sensitive skin.

     “L—“

     “Come on, spread those pretty legs for your favorite god, darling,” he grumbles, his fingers sliding along the inside of your thighs as he spreads your legs apart.

     Loki reveals your throbbing pussy; his left hand is holding your one leg, and he squeezes your thigh, while his other hand inches closer to where you need him the most.

     His long finger slides through your folds, and you moan softly, throwing your head back against his shoulder. Loki circles your clit, pinching it lightly between his fingers before he moves his long fingers further down to your entrance.

     “So wet, ‘s that all for me, dalin’? Pussy’s drippin’ for me,” he says, kissing his way along your neck to your ear. His fingers coated in your arousal, he slowly pushes one finger into your entrance. You moan loudly, arching your back. Loki’s finger slips deeper into your tight pussy.

    “Doing so well; look at you, sweetheart. Taking my finger like you’re made for that, aren’t you?” Loki praises you, pushing deeper into you while curling his finger. He starts pumping it in and out of you, earning soft moans and whimpers from you.

     Your hands gripping his thighs, the cold leather feeling perfectly underneath your hot skin. And having him completely dressed while you’re naked turns you on beyond belief.

     Lokis circles your clit with his thumb, adding another finger to your cunt. Your breath gets heavier, you rock into his hand, and the coil in your stomach tightens with every moment of his long fingers inside of you.

     The black-haired man hits your sweet spot every time, the pads of his fingers sliding over it, causing an intense feeling to build up in your lower stomach. A feeling you never had before, not when you fucked yourself with a toy and never with another man.

     “Doing so well, darling. Squeezing my fingers so good, can’t wait to fuck you, probably. Yeah, that’s what you like? Being fucked by a god, don’t you, darling?” Loki asks; his eyes darken lightly, but since you’re with your back toward him, you can’t see them.

     “P—Please, so close. LOKI!” You almost shout; you're just about to come all over his fingers. You don’t know how you ended up in that situation, but right now you can’t care about that. Everything you want and need is Loki, his fingers curling inside of you and bringing you closer to the edge.

     The sound of your wet pussy and his fingers pumping into you in a steady rhythm echoes through the cell. He speeds up, loving the way your walls cling around his fingers, sucking his thin, long fingers even deeper. “Come on, sweetheart, come all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

    With that, you do as you’re told, your pussy clenching around his fingers. Loki massages your sweet spot with his digits while you come all over his fingers. Your juices squirt all over his palm and fingers, landing on the ground of the cell.

     “F—Fuck, please, keep going, please, Loki,” you beg, thrusting your hips against his hand while you ride out your orgasm.

     He can’t stop his movements just now; you need him to fuck you through your orgasm — and that’s what he does. Curling his fingers steadily inside of your pulsing cunt, he thrusts slowly into you while you breathe heavily.

     You have been moaning like a whore since he started to fuck you with his finger. But you don’t care; he feels too good to think properly.

     “Didn’t think about it, darlin’. Doing so good for me, gonna keep you and take you with me to Asgard; make you my sweet little wife and fuck you whenever and wherever I want,” he groans, his eyes rolling slightly back when he thinks about that idea. A low moan escapes his pink lips, and he smirks. “You’re already so cock drunk, you can’t even think about it properly. Just say yes, darling.”

     You nod your head, your hips still moving against this hand, while you don’t really notice what he is saying. As long as he keeps his fingers inside of you. “Yes, please.”

     “Whining and begging like a pathetic little housewife, that’s what you are. My sweet little housewife.” He kisses your neck once again, sucking a purple mark into your skin. “All mine, darling, and everyone can see it.”

     Even with your protests, Loki pulls his fingers out of you, holding them up to show you your arousal dripping down his fingers. You blush slightly, watching Loki bring his fingers closer to his face. You turn your head, looking at him while he takes them into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean.

     “Tasting perfect, darling,” he hums more to himself before he moves his hand, and you’re suddenly dressed again.

     Your eyes widen, reality hits you, and you jump off his lap. You immediately miss his warmth, a cold shiver running down your spine while you consider getting back into his lap or staying away from him. This is just a short moment, because as much as you should stay away from him, as much as you crave and need this black-haired man.

     “That’s my girl. Now let’s get out of this cell and make you my pretty little housewife,” he says, smirking at you when your back is pressed against his chest once again. And just as he tells you, he is doing exactly that, making you his wife — and luckily, you’re not the only one addicted to the other one. A god can be just as addicted and craving like a human.

// Taglist // @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles

[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."

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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!

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"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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@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @wolfsmom1 @loz-3 @kats72 @crimson25 @litaloni @zombiesnips-blog @gruftiela @mochie85 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @violethaze @lokidokieokie @buttercupcookies-blog @mjsthrillernp @chantsdemarins @lulubelle814 @anukulee @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @fandxmslxt69 @artemis-13 @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @kathren1sky-blog @javagirl328 @kcd15 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @soggylampshade0 @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @mischief2sarawr @ozymdias @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @jainaeatsstars @aoirohi @mushycore @marygoddessofmischief @queenshu @jasmine-pudding @kcd15 @jiyascepter

[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

[lostalioth]

𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲

→ premise: loki may seem like a cruel prince to others, strict and ruthless. expect in the privacy of your shared chambers he’s your loving master who fills you up just like you need.

→ pairing: loki laufeyson x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, creampie, master kink, unprotected sex, nicknames [master, angel, darling], small praise kink, small amount of begging, reader grabs onto lokis helmet horns, this is very short

→ a/n: kinktober 05

To the other asgardians Loki seemed a ruthless man, a cruel prince who nobody understands. Though to you, he was your loving devoted boyfriend, one who spoils you in more ways than one.

“Loki- please let me cum” you whine as your hips attempt to push against his hold on them to ride him. His long thick cock was throbbing inside you, he was currently buried to the base with you sat in his lap. He was making you sit still to stop you short from cumming. He was just as close as you were and even the little clenches of your cunt were soon gonna be enough to push him over that edge.

“Eh- what's my name darling?” He tilted his head, his voice having its usual cocky edge. The shorter version of his signature horned helmet, sat on his head still. He grabs ahold of your chin, forcing your glazed over about to start watering eyes to look at him when you don’t respond right away.

“Master!~” the proper name he wanted you to say slips out in a wanton moan when his hips thrust up hard inside you to get your attention. “Master, please let me cum, pleasssee” you drag out the last word in a whine as you beg.

A satisfied smirk grows on his face as you continue to plead and beg. “You can cum angel, you have permission for being such a good girl” he chuckled lightly and using his hold on your hips, thrusts up into your leaking cunt.

”Fuck!” You scream out as your hands scramble to hold onto something, you try grabbing ahold of his shoulders but eventually your hands settle on grabbing onto the horns of his helmet.

He quirked an eyebrow at you in interest at your choice but loses his focus when your pussy squeezes his cock. “Mhmm~ shit darling im gonna cum, wanna cum with you angel” he growls and speeds his thrusts up, his tip hitting the glorious spot inside you and abuses it.

“Master, im cumming~” you whine out as your head falls back, your eyes screwed shut. Loki takes in the beautiful sight of your body as your climax washes over you, your thighs shaking as they laid each side of him.

“Thats a good fucking girl- god angel” he grunts out as his own head lulls back in bliss when his climax hits him, hot spurts of cum slowly filling up your used and still throbbing cunt.

in the midst of coming down from your highs, Loki softly kisses along your exposed shoulder and up the side of your neck. Exhaustion and soreness quickly hits your body as it grows limp in his arms.

“I love you darling” he whispers against your neck as you begin drifting off to sleep. “Mmm, love you too master” you mumble out almost inaudibly, his softening cock still buried in you and keeping his seed inside.

→ a/n: this is short as i rushed to write it, it late by a day, i meant to post this yesterday but had a horrible headache so I couldnt even write it. I didnt proofread so sorry for any mistakes

[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.

[sserpente]

A Haunted Read (Kinktober #1)

You are certain the library you work in his haunted. However, you are not certain ghosts can cast green magic and tease you like that...

A/N: Request by @blackwidownat2814. This request is so old, I’ll go stand in a corner and be ashamed of myself. *clears throat* On another note… Happy Kinktober! It’s my favourite time of the year and I’ve got a bunch of spooky and/or kinky Imagines ready to go this year! Starting off strong with Loki, have fun reading! ;)

Words: 2019 Warnings:  ghost!Loki (sort of), smut

You were certain the library was haunted. You were not imagining things. You could hear it. Every single night. A mischievous chuckle, a dark giggle, right after whatever spirit had made itself comfortable in your workplace wreaked some havoc when you were trying to get through your shift.

The concept of a library that was open twenty-four hours a day wasn’t so unusual but it could have done with some more marketing. You were alone most of the time, sorting through books, listening to music, and handling returns left over by the day shift.

Working at night was refreshing. Regardless of the ghost haunting you, you already had the story of a lifetime to tell to your future children (or well, pets). Your boss didn’t want to believe you when you claimed that Thor, the Thor, and his brother Loki had visited the library two weeks ago, searching for a rare tome for a super-secret Asgardian mission.

A selfie with Thor (and Loki rolling his eyes in the background) was now your new profile picture on all of the social media platforms you were on.

Thor was just as righteous and warm as the media portrayed him. Loki was…something else. Cautious, quiet, snarky and to be frank, condescending. Not to mention he’d been the one to show up first, catching you reading a very steamy romance novel. Damn those gods and their quiet footsteps.

You bit your lower lip and rolled a trolley filled with books to your desk. At the end of the day, strangely enough, Loki had fascinated you even more than Thor had. After everything that happened in New York all those years ago, vigilance around his person was a given. But there was more to him than that, you were certain of that. After all, Thor kept him around for a reason, right?

In all honesty, he reminded you a little of those brooding and morally grey men in the books you liked to read. Cold on the outside but a good heart hidden beneath…right? His blue gaze had lingered on you just a little too long. It was captivating, mesmerising, stunning, breath-taking…it was hard to believe it was Thor who captured all the women’s hearts. Loki was not only handsome but also mysterious. He was your perfect book boyfriend and you had not just once caught yourself imagining him as the male protagonist in your latest erotic adventure.

A chuckle. You rolled your eyes. “Who is there? Show yourself!”

Silence. Of course. You hadn’t expected anything else. Except—

You flinched when the neatly stacked books on your desk scattered to the carpeted floor. You groaned. “Seriously? I just sorted through these!”

Perhaps you should have been worried about a poltergeist keeping you company at this time of day, alone and surrounded only by rows and rows of books, especially this close to Halloween. But then again, you had nothing to fear from the dead. The living were much scarier than anything a poltergeist could come up with.

Another chuckle.

“Really funny… You know if you’ve got something to say, say it. Maybe I can help you move on to the afterlife or something like that…” You bent over to pick up the books when you spotted a green hue flickering across the edges of some of the books, almost as if whatever had moved them still lingered on the covers.

Great. Ghost goo. Time to call the Ghostbusters.

Hopefully, the rest of your shift was going to be peaceful. You sighed, stacking the books yet again. They had to be re-labelled and some of them needed a new protective cover. If you got this done now…and the library remained this empty…you’d have enough time to finish that sexy Halloween novel you’d been reading.

After all, that was the best part of your job. It was heaven to get paid for reading. So you got to work, listening to some music to drown out the repeated chuckles. At least nothing else went flying for now. Although you couldn’t quite shake the constant shivers running up and down your spine. It was as if your body sensed another presence.

You didn’t hate it—but you didn’t like it, either.

Three long hours later, as you rolled your neck to ease some of the tension, you were done. The trolley was empty, the returns list was updated, all the books were re-labelled…and you finally had time for the steamy romance novel waiting for you on the desk.

After making some tea in the staff room, you made yourself comfortable in the surprisingly cosy desk chair and got lost in your story.

Your protagonist was about to be seduced by a handsome demon looking to devour her soul—of course, they’d eventually fall in love in the process. She was dreaming, half-awake, and then…experiencing sleep paralysis. The girl had gone to bed naked, making it even easier for the demon to tease her into oblivion.

Damn, this was hot. You could feel yourself growing wet, arousal rippling through you.

You flinched when something tugged at your hair. You flipped around. There was no one there.

The demon in the book pulled back the covers, revealing the girl’s glistening pussy to its greedy gaze.

Something tugged at your clothes. “What the…” Flailing, your eyes scanned your surroundings. Nothing. This was the first time this ghost was touching you. This…shit. “Stop it! Let go of me!”

Perhaps if you ignored it…you bit your lower lip, lowered your gaze, and kept on reading in an attempt to block the spirit out. No one liked to be ignored, right? Maybe it just wanted attention like a toddler. Or a pet.

The demon stuck out his long tongue and licked over the girl’s cunt, lapping at her juices.

It was just then you noticed that green hue of energy again, disappearing…underneath your skirt. Your eyes widened.

“W-Wait, no, what…what is…” Trying to press your legs together did nothing. The energy remained, forcing itself…you gasped.

“What are you doing? What’s happening, what are you…oh.” It did not wait for you to finish. The energy pressed up directly against your clit. A moan escaped your lips. No…no, this wasn’t supposed to feel good, what was it doing?

I-ignore it…just ignore it…just…ignore it…

The girl in the book whimpered, her legs falling open wider against her will. And then…so did yours. Fuck… You should be scared. Terrified. Instead…instead all you could sense was excitement.

You stopped reading, desperate to catch a glimpse of that green hue again…only for it to disappear. Damn it. Disappointment should be the last thing you’re feeling. And then, as soon as you brought your gaze back to the pages of your book, the pressure returned.

Oh. Oh my. Did…did the spirit want you to keep reading? And only then would it…

No. Oh no. You should not be playing this game. This was bad. Wrong. Maybe it wasn’t even a spirit after all. What if it was an incubus? What if it’d feast on your pleasure and steal your energy, your soul even in the worst-case scenario?

You bit your lower lip when the pressure intensified, sneaking its way past your drenched lips and…inside you as if to distract you from your worrying thoughts. Fuck…you’d never felt so…so full. How was this even possible?

Finally, the girl in the book opened her eyes only to find the handsome demon hovering directly above her the very moment he thrust up into her, claiming every single inch of her. And with every line you read…the invisible force working your own arousal kept stroking and teasing your pussy as if it’d done so a million times before. You couldn’t help it. You pictured Loki to be the demon seducing this girl.

Fuck it. Whatever this experience was, now was not the time for fear. You could be scared later and be horny now.

Growing hotter with every minute, it got harder and harder to focus on the text. You climbed the ladder fast, the mysterious energy pleasuring you better than any of your toys could. If it kept going, you would…you would…oh…

“I’m coming!” you yelled out, grateful that you were alone—save for the naughty ghost having its fun with you. You clenched around the energy force as you hit your climax, bliss unlike any other rippling through you. You dropped your book, your nails digging into the armrests, your head thrown back.

Your little poltergeist took its time. It did not let up until you’d come down from your high, your senses and dreadful realisation at what you had just let a ghostly appearance do to you washing away the last waves of pleasure.

And yet…you had never come this hard. If anything…this had been the most mind-bending orgasm of your life. You wanted to experience that again. You wanted to experience it again.

But, as the force slowly retreated and the green hue evaporated into nothingness, you figured it would be stupid to beg it to come back and give you more.

One thing was for certain, however. You could not, under any circumstances, let anyone ever know what had just happened to you.

The next evening remained uneventful. At first. No ghosts, no flying objects, no invisible hands forcing you to come for them. You were about to continue reading that faithful book from last night when all of a sudden, the main doors of the library opened and two now all too familiar figures walked inside.

Thor and Loki.

“Hey, you two! Any progress on your ancient Asgardian tome?”

You were quite flattered when Thor remembered your name and they both greeted you. Thor with a friendly “Hello��, and Loki with a curt nod. “No luck so far. But we have a new lead. Would you mind if we took another little browse?”

“Not at all, take your time. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Thor smiled and nodded before he walked off, straight toward the history and mythology section. Loki, on the other hand…lingered a little longer in place than he probably should have. God, even how he was standing there, lurking, observing you with those scrutinising blue eyes…he was grace personified.

“C-Can…can I help you?” you asked.

Loki smirked. “I was hoping you might be able to help me find some…lighter literature. To pass the time so to speak.”

“Uh…sure. W-what…” Oh, get it together! “What kind of literature were you thinking about?”

“I have an affinity for romance. Perhaps something along the lines of…what you read last night.”

Your face fell when he flicked his wrist and steamy erotica resting on your desk chair practically flew into his hands—enveloped in green mist.

Oh. My. God.

You didn’t get to respond. Not that you knew what to say anyway. Thor came rushing back to the front desk with an odd-looking compass in one hand and another really old book on settlements in Norway in the other.

“Loki! Loki, I think I found what we’re looking for. That thing Strange gave us is spinning like crazy, look!”

Loki didn’t look. His eyes were locked with yours still, his smirk never letting up. Fuck. Me.

“Are you quite alright, dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he mused.

You gnashed your teeth, resisting the urge to growl.

Thor gave you a puzzled look. Shit.

“N-no. I’m okay. I’m fine.”

“Right…” Thor began, “…we’d like to borrow this one.”

“S-sure…” Snapping yourself out of it, you took the book from Thor’s hands and scanned it before handing it back to him.

“Thank you! That will be all. Come on, Loki, stop terrifying the poor girl.” Thor gave you one last friendly smile before he made his way towards the exit.

“It was lovely to see you again, pet. I can’t wait to see what book you are going to read next,” Loki said before he turned on his heel and followed his brother, leaving you behind dumbfounded.

So he had intentions to return. Fuck…you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want him to.

[donaweasley]

Pale Blue Midnights

Pairing: MCU!Loki x Fem!Reader

Plot:

I, too, did a pollen story! That’s it. That’s the plot! 😆Except that it’s not exactly pollen but something else but ultimately strange flowers are at play. Well, simply put, it’s sm.u.t with a plot.

Warnings: Sm.u.tttttttttttt

Read time: ~32 mins

Enjoy half an hour of pure se.xua.l pleasure with the god of mischief!! 😉😏🫠 MINORS: Don’t you dare peek!! 🤨

“Careful now!” She warned Loki in a low but stern voice. “The last time Banner went on an expedition like this, he accidentally smelled a flower and…”

“And what?” Loki would never admit but he was half scared of even hearing the consequences.

“Well, … let’s just say that Nat and he didn’t get out of the room for three days straight!” She concluded with a chuckle.

Loki’s brows almost touched his hairline at the realisation. A part of him - the wild spirited part - immediately conjured up a forbidden image of himself tangled in sheets with his current mission partner. An image that had often haunted him in the darkness of the nights when his heart was restless or when his body yearned for her. This mischievous side now secretly wished to find an aphrodisiac that would put them in a similar situation.

But the logical side of him was scared to death. He knew that it would not be wise to be trapped in such a situation, not with the woman who trusted him with her life, the woman who addressed him as her BFF - a sweet but woefully distasteful Midgardian vocable, as he liked to put it.

A joke about Romanoff and Banner danced on the tip of his tongue but he dared not utter it lest it should come back and bite him in his royal arse.

Both of them were wearing safety suits, masks, safety goggles and gloves. So, there was almost zero chance of any contact with any toxic organism or pollen. But with ‘Mischief’ being his middle name, who knew what he might land up in!

He decided to divert the topic. “Why are we doing this again?”

“For the same reason we humans have been exploring Mars,” his mission partner answered without looking at him. “And because it’s better than running around and knocking people out or killing them,” she added with a smile. “Sometimes I get so tired of it!”

“Well,” Loki replied with a shrug, “that is the real fun!”

“Hmm,” the woman was deeply engaged in investigating a pale-looking, small blue flower that bloomed in bunches on a small plant.

“Found something interesting?” Loki waddled through the tall grass and weeds to where his partner was.

“Yeah, look at these…” Her attention was still robbed by the flowers. “I think I have seen them somewhere. They look very familiar. But…”

“They look harmless,” Loki extended a hand to examine a flower. The bottom of the pedicle was covered in what looked like tiny hairs that stuck to his glove. He tried to pull the flower off of him with his other hand but they just stuck to the other glove. No matter how hard he jerked his hand, the flower just would not come off.

Giving up with a sigh, he started to remove a glove.

“Don’t!” His teammate warned him once again.

“I am a god! These frail Midgardian things do not affect me.”

Before she could protest, he had already pinched the pedicle. What followed was a hiss, accompanied by a small jump, and a set of bleeding thumb and forefinger. What had appeared to be harmless hair on the stem, turned out to be a wrap of fine thorns.

“Damn!” Loki threw the flower to the ground.

“Damn you, you idiot!” His partner cursed him. “One day you’re going to get yourself killed because of your overconfidence!”

The said god shot her a deathly glare but it went totally ignored as she was busy squeezing the blood out of his wound.

“Do you feel anything pricking inside?” She asked. Concern veiled her face and wrapped itself around her throat.

It was her softness, her caring nature that always knocked the wind out of him. And it did so again. Loki whispered a soft ‘No’ as his eyes fixated on her countenance and her actions.

“Are you sure? Don’t hide your discomfort behind your ego.” A panicked (Y/N) pulled her mask down, and raised his fingers to her lips to gently suck the blood from the cuts one by one.

A shudder trembled down Loki’s body. Thankfully, she was too busy worrying about him to notice his wide eyes, dilated pupils and flushed face.

With a sudden jerk, Loki pulled his hand away from her. “I’m fine,” he huffed.

“Well, there is nothing to be disgusted about. The saliva kills any germs that might be lingering on your cut.” Though she narrowed her eyes in mock anger she certainly sounded hurt.

“I never said it was disgusting!” He protested.

“But your action said so!”

“I pulled away because-” How could Loki explain that he had to pull his hand away because her actions were doing unspeakable things to him!

With a frown, she silently waited for an explanation.

“Because I did not want you to accidentally swallow any poison or anything,” he concluded in a tone that was much softer than where he had left.

This time, it was her turn to feel butterflies in her stomach. Pushing all rosy thoughts down because c’mon!, the charming god of mischief could never like her back, she pulled her mask up along with her professional demeanour.

“Let’s finish this before you get yourself into more trouble,” she mumbled, and continued down the trail that they had taken before the blue flowers so temptingly distracted them.

—-

Loki woke up in the middle of the night to find himself covered in sweat, with his heart beating thunderously. At first he feared that it might be the effects of the flower that had pierced its thorns in him not many hours ago. But as the fog of sleep gradually evaporated, the reason became embarrassingly clear to him.

It was not any fever or infection that woke him up. The indecent scene that had popped up in his mind during the expedition, regarding his teammate, had morphed itself into a vivid dream, and had engulfed all his senses.

They were in the midst of a meadow. And while he knew that they should have been busy examining flowers, they were far, far from it. Pale blue flowers surrounded them, as if witnessing and spurring them on. And them?

Well, Loki was lying on the moist grass, the soft sun caressing the pale, sweat-glistened skin of his naked back. His mouth was busy sucking the slender neck of his teammate who was writhing beneath him in a stark state of nature, while his hands pinned her arms down to the ground.

Her bare legs had wrapped themselves around his own as he kept on rubbing himself against her plush wet folds, trying to find his release and hers. Their moans echoed in the trees encircling the meadow. The sky watched as he flipped them over. The wind tickled their aroused skins as she sat atop him like a queen perched atop her throne, and looked into his eyes like a huntress staring down at her prey. Loki’s throat went dry when she brought his hands up to her breasts. And when she started moving her hips - oh, the way she moved, like a dancer with a murderous intent - the grunt that left the sorcerer’s throat told the entire world of his pleasures…

These kinds of dreams about her weren't new to him, true, but this one was so detailed and realistic that he still could not wrap his head around what he saw. He had no idea his mind had the capability of conjuring up such a thing.

After helping himself to some water and breathing deeply to calm his nerves, the sorcerer laid down to try and get some sleep. But glimpses from his recent virtual activity kept flashing before him until he could fall asleep again, and then taunted him a little more after that, too.

—-

The next morning, after the entire team had almost finished their breakfast, (Y/N) pulled Wanda to a corner.

Hesitation was etched on her face as she fidgeted with the edges of her phone and looked around nervously.

After a little nudge of encouragement from the redhead, she finally asked but with a shaky voice, "Have you…have you ever had…uhm…dirt- uhm… indecent dreams about your…your coworker?"

Wanda's eyes widened at the question and a slender hand flew to her mouth to cover the prominent O and the giggle that was about to follow.

"Why, who did you dream about?"

Before the other person could answer, another woman slid into the conversation.

"Loki," Natasha confidently threw her answer to the duo.

"Shhh! Shh!" A panicked (Y/N) tried to keep things down.

Wanda's eyes became wider, if that was even possible. "And how do you know?"

"She has been fumbling and stammering around him since this morning. At first I thought it was her usual crush thing but heightened. But then I heard this question, and everything just…clicked!" She snapped her fingers and winked.

“I don’t have a crush on him!” (Y/N) protested in a hushed voice.

“You do!”

“You do!”

Both her friends opposed simultaneously.

Defeated, she hid her face in her hands, and mumbled almost incoherently, “Am I that obvious?”

“Well,” Natasha began, “your state of heart is as clear as a dazzling day to everyone in the compound.”

(Y/N) groaned.

“But not to Loki,” the spy added.

This made the former peek through her fingers.

“Yeah,” Wanda chimed in, “he’s a bit thick in the matters of the heart.”

“So, you’re saying he doesn’t know yet?” (Y/N) sat up straight.

Seeing her spirits, Romanoff rolled her eyes while a little red glow sizzled on Wanda’s fingertips. “Well, I can change that,” she lifted her hand and swirled her fingers.

“Or maybe,” Natasha joined, “I can go up to him and tell him everything to his face.”

“No!”

“Then tell him yourself.”

“No!”

“Coward!”

“M not!”

“Whatever! Just tell us about this “indecent” dream you saw, and we'll try not to pester you,” Nat tried a bargain.

"And that's why I did not want to tell you!" (Y/N) whisper-shouted.

“All the details, please!” Wanda’s face broke into a wide grin.

—

It took her more than just words to shake her friends off. They were having more fun watching her drown in sheer embarrassment than they were interested in listening to her story. In the end, however, she succeeded in keeping her secret to herself.

Grinning to herself, she was walking back to her room when she almost collided with someone. She did not need to look up to see who the tall person was. His scent engulfed her. As soon as it hit her nostrils, the air around her seemed to change into a feverish smoke.

“Sorry!” A sheepish smile was all that she could afford.

“It is alright. I was not looking either,” the (in)famous SilverTongue stammered through his words.

One look at her brought back all the scenes from his latest dream in technicolour, and he had to cough the awkwardness down his throat. It was only after his discomfort subsided that he noticed the red cheeks and ears of the other person.

“Are you feeling unwell?” His eyebrows knit together.

“What?”

“You look…flushed!...Do you have a fever?” Loki placed the back of his hand to her forehead.

Only the heavens knew the strength it took her to suppress the moan that threatened to escape her! Closing her eyes, she bit her lips to forbid any sound from escaping her.

Little did she know that this struggle of hers was making things difficult for the person in front of her. Loki removed his hand quicker than he had planned.

“You should… you should get yourself checked,” he advised. “Who knows what bug you might have caught yesterday.”

“I’m fine, really,” she cleared her throat. “Just… could not sleep well. I think I shall take a nap. Should be feeling fine by evening!”

Loki hummed in agreement.

“Are you well?” She asked after some hesitation.

“Yes! Why do you ask?”

“Well, you look… how do I put it? It’s as if some thought has been consuming you. You’re not your usual confident, mischievous self today. You okay?”

The trickster was surprised at how well she could read him. Almost choking with joy, he nodded, “I am fine. There is something going on in my head, yes. But it is nothing to worry about.”

“Good. Well then, I shall go get some rest.”

With a smile, they went their separate ways, each grinning like an idiot and praying that the other person does not know about it.

—-

Y/N was sitting by the window, reading a book when the knock on her door startled her. Keeping the book on the nearest table, she almost jogged towards the door to open it. On the other side stood her favourite teammate - the raven-haired god from outer space.

“Wanda told me everything,” he declared in a deep baritone. “Romanoff told me about the dreams you are having. Tell me,” he took two steps inside, making a stunned Y/N walk backwards, “do you dream about me often? Hmm? This innocent face of yours… these naive-looking eyes of yours… Oh! And all the dirty thoughts they carry! Tell me, pet, do you often fantasise filthy things about me?”

He had already won the game when he started speaking in that rich voice. And when he called her “pet”, she could not help but clench her muscles  and rub her thighs together.

Loki did not fail to notice that. When she did not respond but simply stared at him open-mouthed, he slowly nudged her chin to close her mouth, only to tantalisingly swipe his thumb across her bottom lip.

“Do you?” This time, his question was breathed upon her mouth.

“No!” She managed to croak.

Loki narrowed his eyes towards her, as though disbelieving her. It worked, for the truth spurted out of her in the form of a whimper.

“Yes.”

“Yes?* He asked again like a big cat playing its last game with its prey.

“Yes!” She breathed.

“Oh my poor little darling!” Loki purred. “You should have told me sooner. I would have loved to end your misery!”

With these words, he bent down to suck the side of her neck and mark her. When he released the bruised skin, his lips followed the trail of her jawline until they reached her chin. Taking it gently between his teeth for a while, he licked a long stripe from the hollow of her neck up to her panting lips.

“Do you touch yourself when you think of me?” His hot breath on her earlobes seemed to take the life out of her.

She did not want to reveal her secrets before him and yet her hazy mind kept betraying her.

“Yes!” She confessed.

“Mmh! Had thought so!” He growled. “Show me!”

“I-I… no… No, I can't!” Her face went beet red.

“Well then… I shall find out for myself. Do you touch yourself here?”

His long fingers found their way beneath the hem of her shorts to her inner thighs. There, they brushed the skin very lightly, stoking the fire within her core.

“Or is it here?” His fingers trailed upwards. 

“Here?” His slender, sinful fingers skimmed the surface of her bare mound while carefully avoiding the very spot that had her squirming.

“Loki!!” Her whimper was met with a triumphant smirk.

“What? I am only trying to find out where you touch yourself. Am I not on the right path?”

“Please!!” Damn! She was begging, against all the protests of her now-moderately sane mind.

“‘Please’ what, pet?” His lips were brushing the shell of her ear. “Tell me what you want from me. I am a benevolent god. I shall not deny you of your pleas. Not when you squirm and beg like that!”

Her tongue tried to hold itself but her body was on fire. It was only by giving in that she could find release from this torment.

She screwed her eyes shut. “Please touch me, Loki!”

“Well, I am touching you.” Loki continued his sweet, smooth torture. “Is there anywhere specific that you want me to touch, darling?”

Damn this god of being an asshole!!!

This time she looked up in his eyes, and spoke with a lewd confidence, “Touch my cunt, Loki. Make me cum.”

The growl that escaped him was enough to take her to the peak. As nimble fingers entered her, the god’s eye became hooded and his mouth parted, releasing a sigh that landed on her mouth, only to be chased by his hungry lips on them.

They buried their moans in the other's mouth. When Loki pushed her against the nearest wall, she tried to pull him closer. But Loki freed himself out of her hold. Worried, she opened her eyes to find the god slowly kneeling before her. Staring deep into her eyes, he pulled her shorts down with him. And when his knees landed on the floor, so did her shorts.

Sitting face-to-face with her dripping folds, he gently stroked his fingers along the length of her left thigh, all the way down to her calf. Slowly, he picked the leg up, and put it on his shoulder. Licking his lips in the most sultry way she could have imagined, he buried his face between her legs.

The delightful scream that forced itself out her throat was probably heard by all inmates of the compound. But that did not stop Loki from exploring every corner of his delicious treasure.

A loud knock on her door made her spring out of the moment.

“Maybe they did hear my scream,” she thought “Shit! But wait…what…the fuck?”

Loki was nowhere around. She was lying on the bed, her side-pillow tucked in tight between her legs.

So, was that all…another dream?

The knock on the door had now transformed into banging.

“Are you alright in there?” It was Steve’s voice. “Why did you scream?”

So, I had actually screamed while dreaming?? Shit! Fucking shit!!

“(Y/N), I’m going to come inside.” Steve was absolutely worried!

No no no!! He cannot see me in this mess! I shan’t be able to face anyone again!

“I’m fine, Steve!” She shouted back. “I…uh…I thought I saw a spider, and I screamed. It was only a small bug.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Absolutely fine! Just got a silly little scare.” She forced a laugh.

“Fine then. I’m gonna…go” Steve sighed in relief although his words sounded hesitant.

“Yup! See you later!”

When she was sure she heard the captain walk away, she let out a long breath.

“Fuck! What the hell is happening? Why do I-”

Realisation hit her like a brick. It had all begun after their return from the plant-hunt.

“Those blue flowers…d-did they really affect me? … Did they affect Loki? He was the one who was actually pricked!” The scenes from that fateful day kept unfolding in her mind. “Damn! Is that why he has been behaving awkwardly? ... But wait, if this flower is indeed an aphrodisiac, why am I having troubles only around Loki? Is it because I like him or…is it because we were both affected by the same flower? Fuck! I must find out.”

—-

At dinner, (Y/N) observed Loki closely. Well, she had always “observed” him rather closely but this time it was more like analysing a target. She realised that he was fine with the rest of the team - even with the other women - but when around her, he fidgeted a lot. Even his glances towards her were hesitant. And yes! He did avoid physical contact - even the slightest possible brush of their little fingers.

There was definitely something going on.

“Sam,” her sudden approach startled the soldier who was busy looking for dessert in the fridge. “Hold my hand.”

“What?”

“Hold my hand!”

“But why?” He looked at her as if she had grown two heads.

“Just … I need to test a theory.”

A smirk surfaced on his mouth. “I knew you’d warm up to me one day.”

But the glare that he received for an answer made him quickly take his words back. “Just kidding! You know that well, don’t you!”

Sam curled his fingers gently around her extended arm.

“What now?” He asked curiously.

Eyebrows knit together, her eyes darted across the tiled floor, trying hard to gauge her body’s reaction. Nothing; she felt nothing.

Pursing her lips, she hummed. “Well, thank you, Sam!” With a pat on his upper arm, she walked off, leaving the man a handful of questions in his mind.

So, her theory was correct: it was only Loki who was affecting her. And apparently, it was only her affecting the god. She had been training with others; she felt nothing. Loki had been training with everyone else with ease. But when they were paired together, the air that they breathed seemed to turn into an erotic enchantment. The discomfort was evident on both their faces. So much that neither could focus during the session, thus resulting in a quick end to their sparring.

Once everyone had started retiring for the day, she decided to put her plan into action. She had wanted to stay behind or follow Loki down whichever corridor or floor he took; whatever it took to find him alone and confront him.

It had almost worked. Almost. But with Steve in the middle of a serious conversation with her, all she could do was watch out of the corner of her eye as the trickster walked out of the sitting area. Now, had it been anybody else, she could have excused herself without a second thought; she would have amended for it later. But this man - the captain - held an entirely different zone of respect in her heart. Never in her life could she interrupt him.

Luckily for her, the conversation ended soon enough - just in time for her to jog down the corridor where Loki resided but only to catch a glimpse of him as he disappeared into his room.

Damn!

But she had enough! She must know!

Cursing under her breath, she marched determinedly up to his doorstep.

But that was it.

That was where her confidence melted into a puddle. This was not any man that she had to talk to. This wasn’t Bruce or Tony with whom she could discuss the most embarrassing subject and yet turn everything into logic and science. No! This was the biggest crush of her life, staggering on the verge of becoming - perhaps - the love of her life! And she was going to ask him if he has been having filthy dreams about her just as she has been having about him! Could it be any more complicated!!

Fiddling with her fingers, she stood for a while in front of the closed door, replaying the plan over and over again in her head.

Okay. This is it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask him, and I’m going to solve this mystery once and for-

The door swung open before she could even tap on it! Loki stood at the other end with his brows scrunched up.

Her first instinct was to run. But she stood her ground. Afterall, she had some self-respect, right?

“You have been standing there for quite some time now,” Loki stated but it sounded more like a question.

“Well, I… I was…just passing by.” That weird, sheepish smile appeared on her face again.

Loki sighed. “First, they call me the God of Lies for a reason. And second, your feet are eclipsing the light from the corridor thus making them clearly visible under the door.”

Hanging her head low, she let out a long sigh. “You got me!”

If only she had seen the smile that broke out on Loki’s divine countenance. Or maybe it was good that she had not, for it might have increased her desires even more. They had already started weaving themselves in every cell of her body as soon as her eyes had landed on the god.

“Now, will you tell me what is going on or should I read your mind?” Loki urged.

She was surprised by his confidence! He sounded nothing like the person who had returned with her from the expedition.

Has the affects of the flower worn off of him?

“Loki, I need your help!” She tried to hold his hand in desperation, only to find her own pass through thin air with a green glimmer.

Her plan was to check Loki’s pulse in the guise of holding his hand for help. Had his heart rate been abnormally high, she would have asserted her doubts, and would have straightforwardly asked him if he had been having weird dreams.

What she never expected was to be met with an illusion. The Loki at the door now frowned in worry as she looked up at him in confusion.

Why would Loki create an illusion for talking to me? Why- Wait…

As she walked right through the facade, she saw it all evaporating, eventually revealing the real Loki who was standing near his writing desk. Distress was clearly written on his face. He looked so helpless that all plans and plots vanished from her mind. Her answer was right in front of her. She did not need to play games now.

“You should not be here.” There was an earnest plea in his eyes. “Please, leave!”

The sight of Loki leaning against his writing desk - fingers clenched on the wood so hard that it looked like the desk was going to split in two, face partially covered by hair that was dishevelled from running his hands through it, partially unbuttoned shirt, half-opened mouth and glazed eyes - made her visibly shudder from the electricity coursing through her veins. But that did not keep his desperate words - words which were more like a warning - from reaching her senses. It turned her on and yet worried her.

“Loki, you do not look good. You-you look like you’re in…pain!”

“I told you…” the god’s voice was more strained than before, “you…should not…be here!”

She took two careful steps forward. To avoid anybody else from accidentally walking in, she had softly closed the door behind her. They needed to sort this out between themselves first.

“Loki,” she called soothingly, “if this is about the flower, … you can tell me. … If it helps to know, I…I was…I am…affected by it, too!

The Asgardian’s eyes widened. He swiftly advanced towards her - well, almost did - but quickly retreated back to his safe circle.

“So, you must be-”

“In pain?” She did not let Loki finish his sentence. “Yes! Very much!”

“And,” he continued, “have you done anything to…get rid of it? Or-or soothe it?”

She shook her head slightly. “No.”

A nod, slight for most people to notice, accompanied a whisper of a breath released by Loki.

“And … you are dreaming of…?”

For a short while his question floated between them, searching for an answer. She looked deep into his eyes. Pleadingly. Hoping that he would understand what her tongue was too ashamed to confess.

He probably did. He looked like he did. But he needed assurance, for it seemed too far-fetched for even him to believe that his fantasies could come true in such a miraculous way! He could not be so lucky, could he?

When Loki did not say anything, she decided to say it aloud, all shame be stripped aside.

“You!” She declared. “It is you that I dream of, Loki!”

It took him all his godly strength to hold himself back. But he knew that his resistance was thinning out. The enhanced effects of the flower, her presence in the closed space, and now her confession - everything was making things all the more difficult for him.

“I’m burning for you, Loki!”

And indeed she was! All the things that were triggering the powerful god were affecting this human as well.

Loki inhaled deeply, only to be engulfed in her scent even more.

“I am sorry!” Her lips trembled. Her eyes betrayed her resilience with the first wave of tears. “I know this is all very embarrassing for you. I … I swear, Loki, I never wanted it to be this way! I-”

“I never wanted it to be this way either,” Loki’s words crushed her. Of course, he would never want anything to do with her, not even what could have been a shadow of a romance!

“I had wanted this to be very special,” he continued. “I had wanted to do it right. To court you first, to woo you, to steal a kiss or two from you, and then … and then make you mine.”

His voice was strained, just like before. But his eyes were feral now.

Damn, they scorched her! Loki’s words were killing her!! But her lust-driven-yet-dejected mind could not wrap itself around them. None of it made sense. Why would Loki want to court her, kiss her … “make her his” … ? Unless …

Oh!

The realisation left her shocked and elated at the same time. But she needed enough proof to believe it.

“Are you- What are you saying? Why would you- Loki, I think this is not you but the effect of the flower speaking.”

The god laughed. “‘Effect of the flower’? Darling, I have been having all kinds of thoughts about you for years now! Thoughts that would warm your chest with love. Thoughts that would make you blush crimson! … That wretched flower has only heightened it all And made it unbearable!!”

It was all too much to take in. Her state of disarray - limp shoulders, wide eyes and a half-open mouth - told Loki that she had not yet grasped the entirety of the situation.

“Oh darling,” he spoke with hope in his eyes and joy on his lips, “you do not yet know what the flower was, do you?”

She shook her head in a daze.

“It is called ‘Midnight’s Bane’. Or ‘Boon’, as some like to call it. I found out about it in one of our old books from Asgard.” He took a few slow, deliberate steps towards her as he spoke. “It has some … medicinal uses. But it is famous as a catalyst for … midnight’s activities, if you know what I mean.” The smirk that he wore would have made even an unaffected person’s knees go weak. “It does not make two people fall in love, no! The flower simply increases what one already feels for someone. … And if you are dreaming about me, if you want me just the way I want you, then it can mean only one thing.” Loki placed a gentle hand on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered in response. “That you love me … just the way I love you.”

She did not need further convincing. In one swift motion her lips were on his. Her arms had wound themselves around his neck, pulling him as close as possible.

The dam finally broke.

Loki held her face with both hands, greedily devouring every moan and whimper. In the miniscule break that they took to breathe again, they drank in the sight before them, further intoxicating themselves. (Y/N)’s finger’s began making quick work of the remaining closed buttons on Loki’s shirt. But he was impatient. Removing her hold on them, he pulled the cloth over his head.

If it was humanly possible to be more aroused, (Y/N) certainly had hit the next level. Placing a quick but deep kiss on her open mouth, Loki tugged at the hem of her blouse. The lifting of her arms over her head was permission enough for Loki to pull it up and discard it on the floor.

How and when the rest of the clothes got scattered around the room remained a haze. All they remembered later was that it was somewhere between heated kisses and lots of shameless touching.

Loki picked her up by the hips, and sat her on the writing desk. She probably landed on an old open hardbound. Neither cared.

While his mouth worked on her neck and shoulders, eliciting hisses and moans from her, his large hands travelled down her body, taking note of every curve and plateau, until he reached her thighs. There, they rested for a brief moment, kneading the satiny skin beneath his palms, before venturing towards the soft flesh on the inner side. Very slowly, he parted her legs open, and stepped inside. Her immediate reaction was to wrap them around his slender waist. With her bare heels pressing on his bare butts, she nudged him forward until his arousal was pressed against hers.

Both of them groaned loudly. With hooded eyes they looked at each other, trying to seek the obvious consent that had been there right from the beginning. When her hand wrapped around his length to line him up with herself, he almost swooned.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned her.

“I know, and I don’t care. Just take me, Loki! Please! Make me yours.”

He could have come right then simply from her words. With one hand on her back, and the other holding himself, he entered her slowly, passing carefully through the tight wetness.

Loki was aroused like never before, ready to devour the woman sitting brazenly naked in front of him - the love of his life -  and yet, a part of him could never forget to take care of her, to worry about her.

When he had buried himself fully within her, they both rested their heads on the other’s shoulder for a brief moment. It was an outworldly feeling - it seemed like the perfect end to all those years of pining, like the perfect beginning to their story of being together. It felt like the perfect cure to all the burning desire that they had been enduring for the past few days. Most importantly, it felt right. It had never and would have never felt so perfect with anybody else.

(Y/N) patted his backside lightly. As if afraid that he’d hurt her, Loki started moving slowly, carefully. The pace was sensual, romantic but excruciating as well! The drug running in their veins demanded more. Their bodies demanded more.

“Loki, please!”

She did not know what she was asking for but he understood. Steadily but quickly, he accelerated, earning himself sultry moans and breathy chants of his name as rewards. She felt like her body would have given away had Loki’s strong arms not been holding her.

“Oh (Y/N)!”

Hymns of each other’s names and repeated confessions of love brought them closer to release. When his movements started getting sloppy, he reached between  them and placed his thumb on her bundle of nerves. When she cried out and her back arched,he whispered with hot breaths in her ear, “Come with me, love. Please.”

It might have been his ministrations down south on her body or it may have been the way he rasped the word “please”. Some magic worked, and she came crashing down on him, flooding him, drowning him in her ecstasy. That was the final tug on the restraint that Loki had put on himself. He came inside her with a loud moan of her name, surrendering himself to his lust completely.

Thanks to the desk, Loki found some support for his limp body. As they rested on one another and kissed each other feebly, having experienced the most epic orgasms of their lives yet, she eventually came to realise what she had been sitting on. She tried to look but with Loki still buried inside her, it was impossible.

“I think I’m sitting on a book,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Oh?”

The moment he pulled out of her, she whined at the sudden emptiness inside.

Loki laughed. “Do not make the mistake of thinking that I am done with you, love! Give me a few minutes, and I shall fill you up again.”

The filthy look in his eyes, the promise in his voice, and his tender dominance made her walls flutter that very instant. Loki grabbed her butts and lifted her off the desk, while she wrapped her limbs securely around him.

As he carried her to the bed, his eyes landed on the tattered and soaked pages of the book that she had been sitting on. Pausing in his tracks, he tilted his head and smirked.

“What is it?” She asked curiously.

Following his eyes, she found the poor book - an open testament to their raunchy activities - and clicked her tongue.

“Can you fix it?” She looked back at him.

Stealing one look at her, as though accepting her simple challenge, he held her securely with one arm, and extended the other towards the book, reverting its fate with a subtle move of his open fingers. Once the pages were crisp and readable again, (Y/N) understood the cause of his amusement.

Staring back at them from the pages was a hand-drawn picture of the same flower that caused all these “fateful” events. Her eyes swept through the descriptions about the flower.

“Pale Blue Midnight’s Bane”, the title read. In smaller words, it added, “ Also known as Midnight’s Boon”.

Loki chuckled. “We gave the flower what it wanted. Literally.”

It made her laugh. “Well, at least it put an end to years of misery! We should be thanking it.”

“In a way that it likes?” Mischief was sparkling in Loki’s green eyes.

“Exactly my thoughts!” She resonated.

Loki was not gentle this time as he threw her on the bed and hungrily watched her curves jiggle. She was surprised to find that she rather enjoyed being manhandled by the trickster. He hovered over her like a hunter over his prey, and started his assault on her chest.

“Loki?”

“Mmh?” His mouth was full and his tongue busy.

“Shouldn’t we inform Banner about our discovery?”

“Later,” he exhaled right before shutting her up for the moment with a long and deep kiss that made both their heads spin.

***

Taglist!

@huntress-artemis @evelyn-kingsley @dryyoursaltyoceantears @modestlyabsurd @anukulee @eleniblue @foxherder @thesevendeadlycringes @mysterydiz @lloydmustache

[angelremnants]

A TALES OF.. l Tides and Mishaps

OR.. After your strange ordeal, you find yourself brought to Asgard, where you're to face a trial for your unusual bond with your necklace. With Loki forcing his company onto you, you both go through a tense encounter that leaves both of you soaked, disheveled and wondering what will happen next.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (+16), mild suggestive content, power dynamics, flirtation and teasing, unresolved sexual tension, mild language.

word count : 11.4k

author's notes : I am back, baby! Finally finished with my exams, and we're celebrating with this ficlet! It adds more depth to the series' lore while sprinkling in some playful moments. Writing this felt essential to set the stage for the spicy plot I’ve been itching to dive into. Stay tuned—it’s coming soon!

NEW ! — Find the continuation here.⠀(18+—MDNI.)

(ao3 version)

The Bifrost roared to life, a maelstrom of light and sound that seemed to swallow the world whole. For one heart-stopping moment, [Y/N] felt weightless, as though the very air had been torn from her lungs. And then, just as suddenly, it was over.

Her feet hit solid ground, though it didn’t feel it as much—it didn’t have the same firmness as Earth’s soil. The surface beneath her was smooth, crystalline, and alive with shifting colors. She stumbled slightly, catching herself against the closest steady presence, which just so happened to be Loki.

“Do try to stay upright,” he drawled, steadying her with a hand on her arm before stepping back with exaggerated grace.

[Y/N] blinked, regaining her balance as she fixed him with a glare. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that look of sheer terror? Absolutely not,” he replied with a smirk, releasing her as if it were beneath him to linger too long.

Her retort died on her lips as her eyes took in the sight before her: Asgard. The city glimmered like something out of a dream, its golden spires piercing the heavens, the sky above it painted in hues she couldn’t name. Rivers of light wove through the air like threads in an invisible loom, casting an otherworldly glow over everything.

Her jaw dropped. “It’s… it’s…”

“Glorious?” Loki supplied, clearly enjoying her reaction based on the indubitable edge of pride in his voice. “Magnificent? Breathtaking? Go on, I’ve got all day.”

“Overwhelming,” she finished, still gaping.

“Ah, a new one,” he said with mock surprise. “How refreshing.”

Before she could formulate a response, the sound of footsteps echoed across the bridge. An imposing figure approached with the deliberate, measured pace of someone who carried the weight of millennia on his shoulders. His golden eyes swept over [Y/N], lingering for a moment longer than she was comfortable with before settling on Loki, narrowing slightly.

“Prince Loki,” he saluted with a small nod, his voice low and resonant.

“Heimdall,” Loki replied smoothly, his tone laced with feigned civility. “No need for that intimidating look. I am precisely where I’m supposed to be.”

“Rare, but true,” Heimdall said, his gaze shifting back to [Y/N]. He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You are the one who bears the gift.”

She hesitated under the weight of his gaze. “That’s me,” she said with an awkward smile, trying for a tone that sounded casual but landed somewhere closer to nervous.

Heimdall’s piercing stare softened slightly, though a flicker of something unreadable danced behind his golden eyes. “Perhaps…” he murmured as if speaking more to himself than to her.

“Perhaps?” she repeated, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He ignored her question, instead turning his attention to Loki. “And you brought her here in due form? Color me surprised—perhaps your talk of redemption isn’t entirely hollow after all.”

Loki’s smirk deepened, as though the mere idea of Heimdall questioning him brought him endless amusement. “Oh come along, Heimdall, have some faith in me will you? Thor was otherwise occupied, so yes, I am the one who delivered our little anomaly to Asgard. Do try not to look so surprised.”

Heimdall’s gaze flickered back to [Y/N], and this time his expression was unreadable. “You assume much, Loki, as always. There is more to this one than meets the eye.”

[Y/N] blinked, her brow furrowing. “Uh, hello? Cryptic much?”

Instead of gracing her with an answer, Heimdall turned and began walking toward the city, his stride as unyielding as the bridge beneath their feet. “Come. There is much to discuss, and the Allfather will not wait.”

She exchanged a confused glance with Loki, but he only shrugged, clearly uninterested in dissecting Heimdall’s cryptic words.

“Don’t let him get into your head,” Loki said, following after the gatekeeper with an air of feigned indifference. “He enjoys making everything sound mysterious and profound. It’s practically a pastime.”

But [Y/N] couldn’t shake the weight of Heimdall’s words as they drew closer to the city. More than meets the eye. It was an idea that gnawed at her as she stared at the golden gates ahead, a growing knot of unease twisting in her stomach.

Whatever awaited her inside the halls of Asgard, she suspected it would be more than she was prepared for.

⠀⠀

Soon enough, the small group reached the golden gates of Asgard which opened with a slow, reverent creak, revealing the splendor within. As they stepped across the threshold, [Y/N] felt her breath hitch. The palace was impossibly vast, its ceilings arching so high above that they seemed to disappear into the ether. Columns of gleaming gold lined the grand hall, their surfaces etched with intricate runes that shimmered faintly as though alive. Sunlight poured in from massive windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the polished floors.

“I’m starting to think you people don’t do subtle,” [Y/N] murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Loki, walking beside her with his usual swagger, smirked. “Subtlety is overrated. What you see here is the peak of sophistication and culture.”

“I get where your dramatic flair comes from now. Feels like you’re compensating for something,” she shot back, unable to resist.

“Compensating?” Loki scoffed, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Darling, if Asgard were compensating, we’d have built two palaces and made them float.”

[Y/N] snorted, shaking her head. “Right, because subtlety really is your strong suit.”

“Subtlety,” he said, stepping ahead with a flourish while twirling his cape as if to make a point, “is for those who have nothing worth showing off.”

Ahead of them, Heimdall paused and turned just enough to give Loki a pointed look. “Do try to behave,” he said dryly. “We are in the presence of the Allfather’s court, after all.”

Loki sighed dramatically. “Always the stickler, Heimdall. I assure you, that my behavior will be exemplary. Can’t guarantee the same for our invitee over here.”

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow but wisely chose not to comment. Instead, she focused on the grand hall ahead, where grand statures loomed at the far end seemingly watching over the entrance of the throne rooms. God, must all Asgardians be so tall?

Two guards in shining armor led them through the labyrinthine halls, their expressions stoic, their silence impenetrable. She clutched her neck where the artifact had affixed itself weeks ago, the golden runes etched into her skin glowing faintly under her touch. It hadn’t hurt, but it had refused to let go, as if it had claimed her. Those wretched SHIELD scientists on Earth had no answers. Neither did she.

A voice broke through her thoughts as they reached the throne room. "The Allfather will see you now."

The massive doors creaked open, revealing a short but intimidating old man seated on his throne, the ever-watchful Heimdall leading the troupe and striding to pay his respects. Guess not, after all. A gorgeous and graceful lady sat beside him, her serene expression offering a sliver of comfort amidst the tension. [Y/N] stepped forward hesitantly, feeling like she had sinned for even letting her feet brush against the polished floor.

"Come closer," Odin commanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. She obeyed, feeling small beneath his gaze.

Even from a distance, his presence was imposing. Draped in regal robes of deep crimson and gold, the Allfather sat upon a throne that seemed carved from starlight itself. His one remaining eye fixed on them as they approached, sharp and unyielding. The queen beside him held an elegance that was a stark contrast to the weight of Odin’s authority.

As they drew closer, [Y/N] felt the weight of their scrutiny settle on her. She was acutely aware of her attire—a basic white shirt, paired with a burgundy leather jacket and jeans, entirely impolite for the occasion. The contrast between the modern, casual outfit and the ancient, sacred setting was striking, and it felt as though she were wearing a banner of her inadequacy. The artifact bound to her neck—the ornate, ancient-looking jewelry she hadn’t been able to remove—seemed to pulse faintly under their gaze, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

However, beneath the surface, there was an almost surreal feeling tugging at her. She had been stripped of her usual layers, her defenses, her control—forced to stand before these gods and be judged.

They stopped at the base of the dais, and Heimdall stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Allfather. I present the mortal who bears the artifact.”

Odin’s gaze shifted to her, and the air seemed to grow heavier. [Y/N] swallowed hard, unsure whether to bow, curtsy, or just stand there and hope she didn’t offend anyone. Her voice faltered as she glanced at the ground and stuttered, “Do I... Do I bow, or—?” Her words trailed off, feeling absurd in the silence that stretched between them.

Odin’s expression hardened, but there was a brief flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—before he spoke. “You stand as you are, mortal. Your presence here has already spoken volumes.”

The silence hung thick, and she straightened, hoping she hadn't overstepped, but unsure if she had done enough. Loki’s absence of protest was loud in its own way, though.

“You’ve brought her here safely,” Odin said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of eons. “Good.”

Then his gaze moved to Loki, narrowing slightly. “And you. I had expected Thor to complete this task, yet it is you who stands before me. Explain.”

Loki’s posture straightened, his usual smirk fading into something more restrained. “Thor is off-world, tending to a matter of great importance,” he said smoothly. “I was the logical choice to retrieve her. After all, who better to guide a mortal through the complexities of our realm than I?”

“Or to exploit her presence for your amusement,” Odin countered sharply, his tone cutting. 

Loki’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t falter. “I’m here because I was entrusted with the task. And I fulfilled it.”

“You are supposed to be on house arrest, boy—”

Frigga stepped forward then, her voice gentle but firm. “And had he not gone, we wouldn’t have the chance to meet her, would we, my king? She stands before us unharmed.”

[Y/N] sneaked a glance at Loki out of the corner of her eye, and for a moment she saw something entirely unfamiliar. The usual sharpness in his demeanor, the endless supply of biting wit and bravado, seemed dulled under Odin’s glare. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and his hands clasped behind his back as if restraining himself. She’d never seen him so repressed before, so small beneath someone else’s authority. It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Odin’s gaze lingered on Loki for a moment longer before he shifted his focus back to [Y/N]. “What do you know of the artifact you carry?”

“Not much,” [Y/N] admitted, her voice steadier than she expected. “I found it during a trip to Sweden. The moment I picked it up, it latched onto me. I’ve tried everything—pulling it off, cutting it, even letting some organizatiom poke at it with their fancy tech.”

Loki smirked beside her. “Charming.”

She ignored him. “It doesn’t hurt me, but sometimes it feels like it’s… alive. Like it’s trying to tell me something.”

Odin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eye—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition. “It is no ordinary artifact,” he said at last. “Its origins are older than even this realm. We will determine its purpose and its bond to you, but the process will not be easy.”

[Y/N] frowned, her fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the artifact. “What does that mean?”

Instead of answering directly, Odin raised his staff, Gungnir, and tapped it once against the polished floor. The chamber darkened, and the golden light of Asgard’s magic rippled through the air. A projection began to form before them—a shimmering, ethereal image of Yggdrasil, its vast branches stretching infinitely. At its roots coiled the immense, terrifying form of a serpent, its scales dark and glimmering with an otherworldly sheen.

“This,” Odin began, his voice reverberating through the room, “is Níðhöggr, the wyrm who once gnawed at the roots of Yggdrasil, threatening the very balance of the Nine Realms. Long before my reign, even before the reign of my father Borr, the great serpent clashed with my grandfather, Búri. Their battle raged for days, shaking the very foundation of existence.”

The projection shifted, showing an imposing figure clad in ancient armor, wielding a glowing axe as he fought the massive serpent. As the battle raged, one of Níðhöggr’s scales fell, pulsing with the chaotic energy of Yggdrasil’s roots.

“When Níðhöggr was finally defeated by my grandfather the late Búri and cast into obscurity, this single scale remained—a fragment of its power, imbued with the raw magic of Yggdrasil itself,” Odin continued. “It was believed lost, hidden from both gods and mortals alike, until now.”

The projection faded, and the light returned to the chamber. Odin’s gaze fell heavily on [Y/N], his expression unreadable. “That scale, the Wyrmscale, has bound itself to you. Why it has chosen a mortal remains to be seen, but its attachment is no trivial matter. It may seek to awaken something within you—or to serve as a harbinger of something far worse.”

[Y/N] stared at him, her chest tightening as she processed the weight of his words. “And… what does that mean for me? What happens now?”

“That’s why she’s here,” Heimdall interjected, his tone solemn, stepping forward. “To be tested.”

Odin nodded gravely, his expression unwavering. “The Hollow of Trials. It is a place where the balance of the realms is tested, a sacred site known only to a few. It is said that those who enter must confront the deepest parts of themselves, for the cave reveals not only your strengths but your weaknesses, your fears, and your potential. It is a place of transformation, where even gods must face their trials to gain wisdom and power.”

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow, eyeing the seriousness of Odin and Heimdall before turning to Loki, whose face was as unreadable as ever. She had to admit, that the description sounded intense. But she wasn’t about to let the solemn atmosphere throw her off. “So… it’s just a cave, then?”

Odin’s eye twitched, his gaze shifting from the projection of the cave to [Y/N] with a sharp, piercing look. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as if trying to decide whether to address the disrespect or simply let it pass. He chose the former. “It is not ‘just a cave,’ mortal,” he said, his voice low but carrying the weight of centuries. The side-eye he gave her was cold and unimpressed. “The Hollow of Trials is a place of great significance. It tests those who enter in ways you cannot yet comprehend.”

[Y/N] met his gaze without flinching, but there was no hiding the slight grin tugging at her lips. She leaned toward Loki and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Guess it’s not just a cave then.”

Loki’s lips twitched into a brief smile before he straightened, looking back to Odin. “It is a place of trials, yes. Much more than a mere cave.” His voice was smooth, but there was a slight edge to it, the kind that came from having spent too many years around Odin’s more… imposing presence.

Odin’s side-eye lingered for a moment longer before he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. “You will see for yourself soon enough. But remember this, [Y/N],” he added with quiet authority, “you are on sacred ground. Show it the respect it demands.”

[Y/N] gave him a nod, not entirely convinced, but fully aware that disrespecting him further would probably not end well. “Got it. Big, serious cave.”

Heimdall stepped forward, eyeing her now with a hint of disapproval, though he didn’t speak. Odin’s gaze shifted to Loki then, seemingly dismissing [Y/N] for the moment, though the weight of his earlier words still hung heavy in the air.

Frigga, who had remained silently observing the exchange, finally spoke, her voice light but with an undercurrent of motherly warmth. “You are brave to face this trial,” she said, her gaze flicking over [Y/N] with a faint smile. “The cave will bring out what you least expect, but it will also show you the truth of yourself. Be prepared for what you may learn.”

[Y/N] wasn’t sure if she should be reassured by Frigga’s words or if they were meant to prepare her for something worse. She gave a tight smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, Your Majesty.”

Frigga’s smile deepened at the respectful tone. “Good. Trust in the process. And remember, you are not alone in this, no matter how it feels in the moment.”

Before [Y/N] could respond, Loki stepped forward, his usual swagger replaced with a more persuasive tone. “And while [Y/N] faces these trials, surely it would be wise for me to accompany her. As her guide, I could—”

Odin’s piercing gaze snapped to Loki, his expression unreadable, but the tension in the room thickened. “You will do no such thing.”

Loki’s smile faltered for just a moment. “But father, surely my presence would be—”

“No,” Odin interjected, his voice cutting through Loki’s words like a sharp blade. “This trial is hers alone to face. You will remain here, where you are needed.”

Loki hesitated, pressing his lips together as if weighing his words. There was an unmistakable flicker of reluctance in his eyes, one that wasn’t lost on either of his parents. Frigga’s brow furrowed slightly, and she exchanged a rapid glance with Odin before turning her attention back to Loki.

“You seem... unusually determined to accompany her, Loki,” Frigga remarked, her tone soft but laced with concern. “Is there a reason you are so reluctant to let her face this alone?”

Loki’s smirk faded, his posture stiffening. He quickly recovered, though, leaning into his usual charm. “I’m simply looking out for her well-being,” he said smoothly, though the edge in his voice suggested there was more beneath the surface. “Surely you both can see that this trial will be taxing on her. It’s only natural for me to ensure she isn’t harmed.”

Odin’s eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding his expression. “And you think you are the best one to protect her in this trial? You, who has only recently earned back our trust?”

Loki didn’t flinch at the accusation, but there was an almost imperceptible twitch in his jaw. “I am capable of more than you know, Father. You needn’t worry about me.”

Frigga studied him with a piercing gaze, her motherly instincts keen. “Loki,” she said gently, “it’s not the protection of [Y/N] we question. It’s your reasons for wanting to accompany her. You’ve never been one to shy away from danger or intrigue. What is it that you fear in her doing this alone?”

Loki’s eyes flickered toward [Y/N], his voice lowering. “It’s not fear. It’s caution.” He looked back at Odin and Frigga, his expression a little more guarded now. “This is a unique situation. One I believe requires a guiding hand.”

Odin’s piercing gaze remained fixed on him, his silence speaking volumes. There was no anger in the god’s eyes, only a quiet understanding that Loki’s behavior was anything but ordinary. Frigga placed a hand gently on Odin’s arm, but her eyes never left her son.

“You are not to accompany her,” Odin finally decreed, his voice firm. “The Hollow of Trials requires solitude, and it is not your place to interfere.”

Loki’s face remained neutral, but his eyes darkened with unspoken emotions. “As you wish,” he said flatly, stepping back. “But I’ll be close, Father. You know where to find me if you need anything... or if the trial proves too much for her.”

Odin and Frigga exchanged another look, their suspicion deepening as they watched Loki’s retreat. Frigga’s voice softened, though, as she turned back to [Y/N].

“Do not mind him,” she said, her tone comforting. “Loki’s path is… complicated, but his concern for you is genuine, in his own way.”

[Y/N] nodded, feeling a mixture of sympathy and wariness toward the prince. Loki had certainly been a puzzle to her so far, but right now, she had more pressing matters at hand.

“Well, I guess I’m off to this ‘Hollow of Trials,’ then,” she said, a nervous smile creeping onto her face. “Hopefully I can avoid turning into a snack for whatever’s in there.”

Frigga smiled warmly. “You’ll do fine. Trust yourself, [Y/N]. That is the most important part of the trial.”

Odin, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally spoke again, his tone softer than before. “The trial begins now. Proceed with caution.”

⠀⠀

As [Y/N] stepped into the lavish room, Frigga followed close behind, her presence both comforting and commanding. The regal chambers felt foreign to [Y/N], the walls lined with intricate tapestries depicting ancient battles and victories. It was strange to be in a place so full of history, knowing she was now a part of it, however briefly.

Frigga smiled gently, her warmth radiating in the cold, cavernous room. "You must be feeling overwhelmed," she said softly, watching [Y/N] as she looked around.

[YN] gave a weak smile, her hands still nervously twitching. "You could say that. I never expected any of this. One moment I’m just a regular exchange student on a school trip to Sweden, and the next I am here, about to enter a sacred cave... and probably face some weird, magical thing."

Frigga’s eyes softened, her smile never faltering. "This is a lot to take in, but you are stronger than you realize. It is an honor to be here, and this trial will help you find out what you're truly capable of."

[YN] glanced at Frigga, then down at herself. She was still dressed in the simple clothes she had worn for the journey, and though they were practical, they wouldn’t do for such an occasion. "So... what exactly am I supposed to wear? Not that I’ve had much time to go shopping for sacred cave attire."

Frigga chuckled, the sound rich and full of warmth. "Fear not, I’ll take care of that." She moved toward a large wardrobe at the far side of the room, filled with gowns and outfits woven from fine silks and materials that shimmered like the night sky. "These aren’t the usual gowns of Asgard," Frigga explained, "but they are practical for such a trial."

She motioned for [Y/N] to sit as she began pulling out garments, her eyes assessing the materials with a practiced hand. "I know it may seem strange, this idea of dressing up for a trial, but appearances can be important in Asgard. There is honor in how we present ourselves, even in the most difficult of moments."

[YN] chuckled, shaking her head slightly. "Seems a bit... extra, don’t you think? For a cave trial?"

Frigga smiled knowingly. "Perhaps," she said softly, as she began to unfold a simple yet elegant outfit made of light fabric. "But this trial will reveal your inner strength. You must present yourself as you truly are—strong, capable, and unafraid of the challenges ahead."

Frigga laid out the attire, a soft, flowing robe of pure white that shimmered faintly under the dim light of the room. The fabric was delicate, like the finest silk, but not overly elaborate—its simplicity lent it an understated elegance that would suit [Y/N]'s unassuming nature. The robe draped down from the shoulders in soft folds, the design was minimal but graceful, with no heavy embellishments to distract from its quiet beauty. The sleeves were long and fluid, cinched at the wrist with a thin silver band, and the hem barely brushed the floor, giving the robe an ethereal quality, like a soft cloud in a moonlit sky.

Around the waist was a subtle, golden-threaded sash that tied loosely, giving the robe shape without constricting it. It didn’t cling to her figure, but the soft weight of the fabric promised to mold her body in a way that would emphasize the graceful movement of her form. There was nothing ostentatious about it, yet the robe exuded a regal aura—its simplicity accentuated by its luxurious fabric.

It was clear that Frigga had chosen this robe not just for its beauty, but for its practicality. The lightness of the fabric made it seem almost weightless, yet its soft sheen caught the light in a way that would make it appear even more beautiful when wet, the material clinging gently to the skin, tracing every curve in a way that was both delicate and stunning.

She held up the clothes and turned back to [Y/N], who was still seated, unsure of how to approach the situation. "I know this is unfamiliar," Frigga continued, her voice warm and soothing. "But let me help you, child. You don’t have to face this alone. Not truly."

As [Y/N] began to change behind a nearby screen, she felt an unusual sense of comfort in Frigga's words. Despite the regal atmosphere, the queen’s presence was grounded, maternal even. It was hard not to feel a little at ease.

Frigga, seemingly reading the mood, smiled faintly. "You have a strength about you, [Y/N]. Something I see, even in the way you carry yourself, the way you’ve managed to survive what you’ve been through. You may think you’re just a mortal, but I sense something different in you."

[YN] peeked out from behind the screen, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? What, you mean I’m some kind of hero-in-the-making?"

Frigga’s eyes glinted with wisdom, a knowing smile on her lips. "Not exactly a hero. But there’s more to you than meets the eye. The bond between you and the artifact... It’s no coincidence. There’s something in your soul that the artifact recognized. Something ancient and powerful." She hesitated for a moment before speaking again, almost as if she were considering the weight of her words. "And something that might be more connected to Asgard than you realize."

[YN] tugged the tunic over her head and emerged from behind the screen, feeling more herself in the simple yet elegant clothes. "Connected to Asgard? You mean the whole ‘grand destiny’ speech? Because I’m still waiting for the part where I get my cape and superpowers."

Frigga’s smile softened. "Not quite that. But there’s a connection in you, something unseen. My gift of sight allows me to see beyond the surface—into the hearts and souls of others. And I’ve seen it in you."

[Y/N] paused, looking at Frigga in surprise. "Wait, you’re telling me you can see... beyond your eyes? Like, the future? Or some deep, dark secret about my life?"

Frigga chuckled gently, her gaze never leaving [Y/N]’s. "No, nothing like that. But I can see the essence of who someone truly is. And you... you have strength that even you don’t fully understand yet. It’s as though you’ve always been destined to walk a path that will lead you here, to this moment. You may not see it yet, but I do."

[YN] was quiet for a moment, letting the weight of Frigga’s words settle in. "I guess I never really thought of it that way," she murmured. "I’m just a regular-sized human being from Earth—or, Midgard as you say. Never thought I'd be standing here, in the middle of a royal family’s palace, about to face some huge trial... and all because of a shiny rock I picked up on vacation."

Frigga smiled warmly, her eyes full of understanding. "You may not see it now, but perhaps the journey you are on will help you understand your place in this world—here, with us, with the Asgardians. And in time, you’ll understand why the artifact chose you. Everything happens for a reason, [Y/N]. Even if that reason is something you can't yet comprehend."

There was a long silence as Frigga finished adjusting her outfit, and then stepped back to admire her work while [Y/N] studied herself in the mirror, noting how the robe cascaded around her with almost divine grace. The robe felt both foreign and natural on her body. The cool fabric against her skin gave her a sense of being part of something larger—something ancient. It was as if she were wearing a garment that had been crafted not for her, but for a version of herself she hadn’t yet discovered.

Frigga’s eyes softened as she gazed at [Y/N]. “It suits you,” she said gently. “Simple yet powerful. A reflection of your true strength.”

[Y/N] smiled faintly. "Strength, huh? I might need a lot of that. Mentally, especially."

Frigga laughed softly, a sound full of affection. "Yes, perhaps you will. But you are capable, and you will face this trial with courage. Trust in yourself."

[Y/N] gave a hesitant nod, feeling a mix of nerves and determination wash over her. "Thank you, Your Majesty. For everything."

Frigga placed a hand on her shoulder, her grip firm but kind. "It is my duty, [Y/N]. Know that you are not alone, no matter what happens in that cave."

As [Y/N] turned to leave, Frigga’s voice stopped her for a moment. "Remember, this trial is not just about strength. It’s about finding who you truly are."

[Y/N] gave her a small smile. "I’ll keep that in mind." With one last glance at Frigga, she walked toward the door, ready to face whatever awaited her in the Hollow of Trials.

Frigga led [Y/N] through the palace, her presence calm and steady despite the looming uncertainty of what was to come. The tension from earlier still hung in the air, but Frigga’s quiet confidence was a grounding force.

“You’ll need to remain calm,” The queen said, her voice soft but firm as they walked down the stone corridors toward the cave. “The sacred cave will reveal to you the truth of the artifact, but it will test you. Tests are not always kind, but they are necessary.”

[YN] nodded, trying to steady her breath. She hadn’t expected it to feel this real, this heavy, despite the absence of a clear threat. It was as though the cave itself was waiting for her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to meet whatever it held.

“The trials within will challenge your mind, your body, and your spirit. But most importantly, it will reveal the bond between you and the artifact, and the deeper purpose it holds for you. To the land of Asgard, to the ancient power that lies beneath,” Frigga continued, her gaze distant for a moment. “The scales of Níðhöggr are not just a relic of old, they are a key to understanding the future. You must enter the cave, and what you see may shock you, but you mustn’t lose yourself in it.”

The more Frigga spoke, the more [Y/N] felt the weight of the task before her. “What exactly will happen when I enter?” she asked, her curiosity mixed with an edge of nervousness.

“You will be shown what lies dormant within you,” Frigga explained, “The cave is connected to the heart of Yggdrasil itself, and it will guide you through what you need to see. Focus. Don’t let fear take hold.”

They reached the entrance to the cave—a massive opening, shrouded in mist. The walls seemed to breathe, pulsating softly, almost as if welcoming her into their depths.

[YN] swallowed hard. “I’m ready.” She wasn’t sure if that was true, but the words felt like something she needed to say.

⠀⠀

They arrived at the entrance to the cave—an imposing archway shrouded in mist and darkened stone. The air felt thicker here, charged with an almost tangible energy that made the hairs on the back of [Y/N]'s neck stand up. Frigga paused, giving her a steady, reassuring glance before stepping back to lean against the stone just outside the entrance.

“You must enter alone,” Frigga said, her voice gentle but firm. “You will know when the time comes to act. Trust yourself, and remember what I’ve told you.”

[YN] gave a nod, a mix of apprehension and determination in her heart. She stepped forward, crossing the threshold of the cave. As her foot touched the cool stone floor, a slight chill seemed to seep into her bones. She shivered but didn’t stop.

The inside was dim, shadows stretching from the walls as if the cave itself had a life of its own. The faint glow from the artifact around her neck illuminated the path before her, casting eerie reflections against the wet stone. She continued to move deeper into the cave, the silence pressing in on her like a weight.

As she ventured deeper, she could feel the air grow colder, and she felt the pulse of the artifact beneath her skin. The longer she walked, the stronger the pull—it was as if it was calling her, urging her toward something deep within the cave.

A sudden voice broke the stillness, echoing off the walls.

“Are you really planning to do this alone, little mortal?”

[YN] spun around, startled. Before she could even process who—or what—it was, her instincts kicked in. A sudden rush of panic and irritation propelled her fist forward, swinging at the mysterious figure standing in the shadows.

But just as her punch came within inches of its target, she froze, her eyes going wide.

Loki stepped forward into the faint light, a sly smile curling at his lips, completely unfazed. The blow had missed him by mere inches, and he watched with amusement as [YN] lowered her fist in realization.

“Loki?” she asked, voice tinged with irritation. “What are you doing here? I thought your mother said I had to do this on my own.”

Loki didn’t skip a beat. “Oh, she did, didn’t she? But I thought I’d just... make sure you’re not getting yourself into trouble. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get lost in here or something.”

[YN] blinked, still trying to steady her breath. “You’re not subtle.”

Loki’s grin widened, clearly unbothered. "I already told you, subtlety is overrated."

Suddenly, [YN] felt a surge of irritation—at herself, for being startled so easily—and without thinking, she swung out with a fist, aiming straight for him.

She didn’t even land a punch.

Loki’s grin only grew as he effortlessly dodged the swing, leaning to the side with the fluid grace of someone who had seen this kind of thing before. "Is that your idea of defending yourself, mortal?" he teased, standing completely still as her fist missed by inches.

[YN] froze for a moment, eyes wide with embarrassment. "I wasn’t... I was just—"

"—Trying to punch me? Well, I suppose it was a valiant effort," Loki said, unruffled, his expression mocking yet somehow fond. "But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to hit me."

[YN] scowled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep that in mind, thanks."

Loki chuckled softly at her annoyance. "You’ll need a lot more than a surprise swing to face what’s ahead, mortal. But don’t worry—I'll be here to help," he added, his voice turning more serious, though there was still that underlying amusement in his tone.

[YN] scowled, feeling her blood rise to her cheeks. “Great. First, I punch a god, now I’m being scolded and tailed by one.”

Loki smirked, clearly entertained by her flustered reaction. “And here I thought I was the deranged one.”

[YN] crossed her arms, doing her best to hide her embarrassment. “Well, you are.”

“Only on special occasions.” Loki chuckled, his grin widening. “Now, let’s get on with this, shall we? I’ll stay close in case you need me... even if you insist on attempting to hit me again.”

“Oh trust me, I’d love to make you my personal punching ball. But you’re not supposed to be here, Your Highness,” she said, her voice firmer this time. “This is my trial, not yours.”

Loki’s smile faltered just slightly, but he quickly recovered, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and something else. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m not here to interfere. Just think of me as an... observer. I’m actually quite good at observing, you know.”

[YN] narrowed her eyes. “Fine, but you stay out of my way. I’m not in the mood for your tricks.”

Loki’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he stepped closer, seemingly unbothered by her resistance. “I’m just making sure you’re safe. Who else could keep you company on this grand adventure? Your noble Asgardian family? Heimdall is too busy watching the horizon, and moth—Frigga, well, she’s always so proper.” He gave a dramatic roll of his eyes. “You’re stuck with me.”

[YN] didn’t know whether to be frustrated or amused, but she felt a little of the tension in her chest ease up. “Fine. But if you do anything to make this harder than it already is, I swear I’ll—”

“—you’ll what? Throw me out of here?” Loki interrupted with a soft chuckle. “You can try, but I’m rather skilled at slipping past... inconveniences.”

Just then, they heard Frigga’s voice echo from outside the cave, calling out in a tone that barely masked her amusement. “Loki, if you’re going to follow her, at least try to be subtle about it.”

Loki’s grin widened as he turned to [Y/N]. “See? I told you, not subtle at all.”

[YN] huffed but followed, rolling her eyes as she muttered under her breath, "I’d rather be doing this on my own."

Loki’s soft laugh echoed around her. "Oh, I’m sure you would, but where’s the fun in that?"

[YN] gave him a pointed look before stepping deeper into the cave, determined not to let his presence distract her. The further she ventured, the more the air seemed to hum with energy, the walls of the cave narrowing around her as if closing in, but she kept her focus.

Loki followed closely behind, his presence bringing a mix of annoyance and reluctant comfort.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here,” she said after a moment, her voice a little softer.

Loki raised an eyebrow, the humor in his voice fading for just a moment. “You’ll know. Trust me. The artifact has a way of showing you what you need to see.” He paused, then added, “And if you don’t, well, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t do anything... rash.”

[YN] sighed, her eyes scanning the dark cave around them. Whatever was about to happen, she was ready—or at least, she hoped she was.

The further they ventured into the cave, the more surreal it became. The air grew cooler, and the light seemed to dim as they descended deeper into the cavern. Soon, they emerged into an expansive, otherworldly space. The chamber stretched high above them, the walls lined with shimmering minerals that cast faint glows, giving the place a mystical feel.

At the center of the cavern was a clear, glowing pool of water, rippling ever so slightly as if something ancient and powerful stirred beneath its surface. The water shimmered with an eerie blue light, reflecting the faint beams of light that filtered through cracks in the ceiling. The surroundings were so calm, so peaceful—it almost seemed too good to be true.

“This is it?” [YN] asked, taking in the sight. She felt a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Loki, who had been walking in silence beside her, stopped a few steps ahead, eyeing the pool with a thoughtful expression. “Yes. The pool of trial,” he said, though his voice was laced with a touch of amusement. “Step into the water. It will reveal what you need to face.”

[YN] froze, her heart sinking as she stared at the pool. “Wait, step in? That?” She gestured toward the glowing water, the nervous energy creeping up her spine. “What if it’s, I don’t know, scalding? What if it burns me?” She glanced at him with wide eyes. “I’m not exactly in the mood to be turned into a crispy bacon today, thank you very much.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by her concerns. “You’re overthinking this,” he said, his voice laced with mild amusement. “It’s not as dangerous as it looks.”

Her anxiety didn’t seem to ease. She slowly stepped toward the water, her eyes scanning the surface for any signs of heat or danger. “You’re sure it won’t burn me? Because I’m really not equipped for magical burns.”

Loki watched her, fighting back a grin. “You’ll be fine. It’s not as dramatic as you're imagining.”

Still, she hesitated, her heart racing. Her mind ran wild with all the possibilities—maybe it wasn’t just water. Maybe it was some sort of curse in disguise. Maybe it was boiling acid that would eat through her skin. Or worse, maybe it was a test to see how long she could stand the pain before... She shivered at the thought.

As she took a tentative step forward, Loki raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Scared of a little water?”

She shot him a glare. “I’m not scared. I’m just being cautious. There’s a difference.”

Loki rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh, please.” Before she could respond, before she even had the chance to think it through, he took a sudden step forward and with a swift motion shoved her into the pool, sending her stumbling into the water.

“Loki!” she yelped, flailing in surprise, her feet slipping beneath her as the cool water splashed around her. The shock of the sudden fall took the breath out of her as she splashed into the pool, sputtering as she broke the surface.

Loki stood at the edge, watching her with a satisfied grin, arms crossed. “You were taking too long,” he said, unfazed by her glare. “Besides, you were overthinking it.”

[YN] glared at him, brushing her wet hair out of her face. “I wasn’t overthinking! You just pushed me in without warning!”

“Oh, come on, you weren’t going to do it yourself,” Loki said with a shrug, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. “Sometimes, you just need a little push.”

She was drenched now, water dripping down her clothes, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit of a sting in her chest at the sudden, unexpected splash. “I was thinking about it... slowly.”

Loki chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No time for slow thinking. Now, let’s see what happens next, shall we?”

⠀⠀

As [Y/N] mourned her state, the cold rippled across her skin, but it wasn’t the chill that caught her attention. The water around her began to shimmer, glowing brighter with every passing second. The air itself seemed to hum, pulsing with an energy she couldn’t quite comprehend. Slowly, an aura of light began to envelop her—faint at first, but growing steadily stronger. Her body began to glow, not with harsh light, but with an ethereal radiance, as though the northern lights had taken form within her. Soft, shifting hues—pink, green, blue, and violet, colours reminiscent of the Bifrost—wove through her skin, with a faint touch of gold cascading across her form like the flowing branches of a great tree, stretching to every inch of her being.

The glow, fluid and seamless, surrounded her in ribbons of light, as if she were the very embodiment of the auroras themselves. For a fleeting moment, it was as though she were no longer entirely tangible. Her edges blurred, her form rippling like water, the colors of the aurora intertwining with the essence of her very being. She seemed weightless, suspended between realms, as though the cave had absorbed her into its ancient roots, her presence melding with the very magic of the place.

Her glow was hypnotic, a thing of beauty and power. She seemed both present and absent, solid and ethereal, bathed in the light of a thousand unseen stars. The colors shifted and swirled, weaving through her, a dream only half-remembered, a story half-told. The entire cavern seemed to hold its breath, caught in the magic radiating from her.

Loki barely noticed the way his breath caught in his chest. “By the Norns,” he muttered under his breath.

For the first time in a long time, Loki felt small.

His gaze was locked on her, entranced. He had seen many forms of magic before, but nothing like this. It was as if she were a bridge, a living conduit for powers older than time itself. The air around her thickened, vibrating with an ancient force that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. It was a weighty energy, something primordial, something far beyond the grasp of any ordinary god.

There was something more, something familiar, yet elusive. A pull, deep within him, that resonated with the core of his being. For a moment, he almost felt as though he were standing before something divine, something ancient beyond measure. The glow around her flickered briefly, revealing an intricate symbol—tree-like, its roots sprawling across her form like a reflection of her nervous system. It was so subtle, so fleeting, that Loki almost questioned if it had been real. A vision? A trick of the light? But the connection, the sensation, was undeniable. She was tied to something vast, something far older than anything he had ever encountered.

Then, as the colors of the aurora deepened, he could have sworn he saw it—the roots of Yggdrasil, stretching across the cavern, whispering through the light, intertwining with her very essence. The vision was brief, but the connection between her and the great tree was unmistakable. She was no longer merely a mortal. She was something far more. Something much greater.

Loki snapped out of his trance, shaking himself from the dizzying pull of her presence. His thoughts needed to settle, but the image of her, radiant and unknowable, had left an indelible mark on his mind. She wasn’t just a mortal anymore. She was tied to something far greater than any of them. Something even he couldn’t comprehend.

But then, there was a shift.

The air in the cavern crackled with magic, and for a moment, Loki could only watch, intrigued, as [Y/N] glowed with an otherworldly light. Her body shimmered like the northern lights, colors shifting in mesmerizing waves, casting ethereal reflections across the water. He couldn’t deny the effect it had on him—her beauty was undeniable, but it was the strange, potent magic swirling within her that truly captured his attention.

A subtle distortion rippled across her body as the pendant around her neck began to pulse, glowing with an intensity that made the air around them feel charged. Loki narrowed his eyes, sensing something was about to happen. This wasn’t just a glowing display of power—it was something deeper.

The pendant’s magic stirred, and from the center of her chest, a shadowy, serpent-like form emerged. It moved sluggishly at first, as though testing the air, then, with an unnerving speed, it coiled outward, slipping from the pendant like a living nightmare. Loki’s eyes flashed with surprise as the serpent’s body unfolded, scales shimmering with a dark iridescence, its glowing eyes narrowing as it circled the room ominously. It didn’t seem like a natural creature; more like a manifestation of some ancient magic.

“Well, that’s new. Should I be worried?” he mused aloud, watching the serpent glide through the air, its tail whipping past the cave walls with a hiss that vibrated in his bones.

He wasn’t exactly concerned—it was just another magical oddity—but there was something about the way it moved that made his curiosity flare. He had seen many strange things in his long life, but this? This was unlike anything he’d encountered before.

He looked to [Y/N] for a reaction, but her gaze was locked on the serpent, her expression a mixture of awe and hesitation.

For a moment, the serpent paused, hovering directly above her, its eyes fixated on her face. It was as if it was waiting for something—waiting for her. The air grew thicker, charged with a tension that Loki could almost taste. Then, without warning, the serpent lunged, its massive body streaking toward her like a bolt of lightning.

Loki’s eyes widened, his reflexes kicking in as he moved forward, his hand outstretched, ready to intercept. But before he could act, the serpent vanished into her body, slipping right through her with eerie ease. The force of its intrusion jolted [Y/N], and she was thrown backward, crashing into the water with a splash that sent ripples across the surface.

Loki stood at the edge of the pool, momentarily stunned. His pulse quickened as he peered into the water, watching her disappear beneath the surface. For a split second, he wondered if he'd misjudged the situation—if he had waited too long to intervene.

The seconds stretched on like an eternity before, finally, she resurfaced.

Her appearance was… quite different from before. The faint glow that had enveloped her body earlier remained faintly, but now it clung to her like a second skin, subtle and ethereal. Her hair, damp and flowing around her, cascaded in waves down her back, each strand catching the light in a way that made her look almost unreal—like a siren from the depths of myth. Her robe, soaked through, clung to her form in a way that left little to the imagination and left the god breathless, and the water that trickled down her skin only seemed to enhance the otherworldly glow that surrounded her.

Her eyes met his, their usual sharpness now softened by the strange, lingering magic that swirled through her. There was a quiet moment between them, one that felt far too heavy for the situation at hand. Loki’s gaze lingered on her—on the way the water clung to her skin, tracing every line of her form, on the way her wet hair shimmered in the dim light.

For the first time, he felt something stir within him that wasn’t just idle curiosity or his usual inclination to tease. His eyes flickered downward, and a rush of warmth settled in his chest as the realization hit him like a force of nature.

She was stunning. No—more than that. She was... captivating.

It was the kind of attraction that came suddenly, like the snap of a string. He didn’t want to admit it, especially not to himself, but there it was. The light clinging to her skin, the way her body moved through the water, the delicate way her robe shifted, revealing more than it concealed—it was impossible to ignore.

Loki swallowed, his pulse quickening before he could rein in his thoughts. Focus, he told himself, but it was harder than usual.

His mind raced as he forced a casual smirk on his face, his usual playful tone returning. “Well, that was... certainly a display. You might want to be careful about who—or what—you attract next time.” His gaze flicked over her, lingering just a second longer than he intended, before he shifted back to his usual playful teasing.

He wasn’t sure if he was still speaking about the magic or the effect she had on him. Maybe both.

She stared at him, her expression unreadable, still trying to compose herself, but the moment of vulnerability—the way her eyes still held that same faint, ethereal glow—stuck with him. It was difficult to keep his mind from drifting back to the image of her, glowing like some otherworldly being.

Loki scoffed softly to himself, shaking off the sudden jolt of desire that had swept through him. He was Loki, after all. He was in control. But as he turned away, he couldn’t deny that something had shifted in his perception of her. Whatever power she had, whatever strange magic clung to her, it was only amplifying the attraction he hadn’t quite wanted to acknowledge.

It was a dangerous thought, one he didn’t dare explore too deeply just yet.

Her voice, though still shaken from the strange encounter, snapped him from his thoughts. “What just happened?”

Loki took a slow step closer, eyeing her with a mix of amusement and skepticism. “It seems like you just had a little chat with whatever that thing was,” he said, gesturing vaguely to her glowing form. “Seems like it didn’t do you any lasting harm, but you’ve certainly made an impression. Whatever power that was, it’s definitely tied to you now.”

He crossed his arms, his mind already working through the possibilities, analyzing every detail. His gaze lingered on her a little longer than he intended, noting how the glow still radiated from her skin, subtle but undeniable.

She shook her head, trying to regain some semblance of control. “That’s not exactly comforting, you know.”

“Not my problem,” Loki quipped, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “But I will admit, it’s an interesting little magic show you’ve got going on. I’m curious what comes next.”

Her eyes flickered with frustration, but she took a breath, regaining her composure as best she could. “I don’t know how many times I’m going to say it, but it seems it’s never enough: I didn’t sign up for this.”

Loki shrugged, his smirk widening. “Oh, I think you did. At least you served for the entertainment.” He crouched near the edge of the pool, looking at her with a mischievous glint in his eye. “But I’d say you passed. Whatever that creature was, it seems to have accepted you.”

There was no immediate danger—just a strange, powerful magic coursing through her—but Loki’s mind spun with questions. And if he was being honest, there was something about her now, something different that made her undeniably more intriguing than before. He wasn't sure if it was the magic or her new... presence, but he couldn’t look away.

She wiped a droplet of water from her chin, her eyes still narrowed, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. She didn’t appreciate being mocked, especially when she'd already gone through whatever strange ordeal had just occurred. But Loki, of course, couldn’t resist taunting her.

"Yeah, real funny, Loki," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I’m sure you're quite entertained by this, aren’t you?"

Loki’s grin widened, the gleam of mischief in his eyes unmistakable. "I’m simply admiring the show," he teased. "You know I’m an amateur of the fine arts. I barely get to witness such dramatic performances these days."

She stood there in the water, trying to reign in her frustration, a slow smile tugging at the corners of her lips. He was so confident—so smug—like he didn’t have a care in the world. She had a feeling he wasn’t quite expecting what was coming next.

"You do love a show, don’t you, Loki?" she said sweetly as she stepped closer to the edge of the pool, her posture shifting in a way that was almost predatory. 

Loki, caught off guard by the tone of her voice, tilted his head, arching an eyebrow. He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking over her with the same playful smirk. There was something about the way she moved—too graceful, too calculated—that gave him a sense of unease, but he couldn’t quite place why. His curiosity only deepened. She was as unpredictable as always, and that made her endlessly fascinating.

She braced herself on the edge, pushing herself up with a fluid motion, lifting her body out of the water slightly. Her eyes met his, and she leaned forward just enough for their faces to be mere inches apart. The air between them was charged, and she couldn't resist the chance to tease him back.

"You should really try it for yourself. It’s quite refreshing, being all… dripping wet," she murmured, her voice low and sultry, her lips barely brushing his as she spoke.

She tilted her head just slightly, allowing the water droplets on her skin to catch the light as she took another step closer. Her robe, still clinging to her form, glistened with water, and the ethereal glow clung to her skin like a second layer. Her eyes glinted with something so peculiar, and the slightest smile curved her lips. The air between them shifted, charged with tension, and Loki’s smirk faltered for a brief moment as she leaned forward just enough to invade his personal space.

"Hmm, I think you have," she teased, her voice low and enticing, drawing him in closer. She raised herself a little higher, leaning just that bit more, her lips almost too close to his. "Maybe you even like it. Maybe you like watching me struggle helplessly..."

For a moment, Loki forgot the situation entirely. His gaze drifted downward to her lips, and he barely noticed the slight shift in her posture. She was so close now that his heartbeat was racing, his body nearly responding before his mind had a chance to react. It was that subtle, but enough to get Loki utterly captivated. She had ensnared him with a soft look, a playful gesture, and it was all too easy to get lost in her presence.

He wasn’t sure what was happening, but she was so close now—close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath, her scent all around him. Her lips were mere inches from his, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she was actually going to kiss him. Without thinking, his gaze flicked up to meet hers, and her eyes sparkled with a knowing gleam, as if she’d caught him.  She could see the effect she was having on him—how his usual sharp gaze had softened, how the mischievous glint in his eyes had been replaced with something distracted, almost dazed.

"But maybe you don’t mind being part of it every now and then."

Loki's eyes widened as he snapped out of his trance, a sensation of weightlessness overtaking him in a split second. "Wait, what—"

Without warning, she grabbed him by the arm, her grip surprisingly firm, and yanked him toward her. With a sudden, swift motion, she pulled him into the pool with her, his startled yelp cutting through the air as the water splashed around them. He stumbled in the wetness, head first.

“How’s the water temperature?” [Y/N] now sat perched on the edge of the pool, smirking, the faint glow still clinging to her skin like a siren’s call. She casually flicked a few damp strands of hair from her face, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Loki gasped and blinked, dripping water from his hair as he pushed himself up from the surface, wide-eyed and dripping wet. "You—" he sputtered, glaring at her in disbelief. "You tricked me!"

She tilted her head to the side, her smile widening. "Oh, I think you tricked yourself," she teased. "You were too busy being entertained to notice what was going on right in front of you. I must say, I now understand your point; truly a sight for sore eyes."

Loki shot her a glare, but the heat that had flooded his chest earlier was still there—this time, it wasn’t just irritation. His pride had taken a hit, but there was something else too. A burning sentiment that he desperately tried to repress now more than ever, should he let his impulses rise and take over to provoke something regrettable.

"You’re lucky I’m feeling generous," he muttered under his breath, but his gaze lingered on her just a moment too long.

She chuckled, her eyes dark with amusement. "Maybe you should pay attention next time," she said casually, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "You can’t keep mocking me and not expect a little retaliation. But for now, I’d say that’s a win for me, don’t you think?"

Loki didn’t respond right away, his mind already racing with plans for payback. But as he stood up in the water, still dripping wet and irritated, he couldn't deny the stirrings of something else—something that was entirely more complicated than just his usual urge to tease her back. The whole encounter had left him... flustered, unsettled, and, if he was being honest, curious in a way he hadn’t expected.

As he clambered out of the pool, water dripping from his clothes, he realized that this little game between them was far from over. And next time, he was going to make sure she regretted it.

"Enjoy it while you can," Loki muttered darkly, locking his murderous gaze onto hers.

She simply grinned, her eyes sparkling with that same mischievous light that had drawn him in from the start. "Oh, I sure do."

Loki, still dripping wet and clearly irritated by the prank, stands tall, his posture rigid with the lingering desire to regain control. But instead of moving to challenge her, he takes a moment, eyes narrowing, scanning her with an almost predatory intensity.

He steps closer, slow and deliberate, no longer the teasing trickster but something sharper—darker. “Your boldness is gonna lead to your imminent downfall,” His voice is low, but the air around them crackles with energy, his irritation mixing with something else.

Her grin falters for just a moment as she meets his gaze, unsure of what to make of his sudden change in demeanor. “Oh come on, I’m just having a bit of fun,” she replies, trying to keep her voice steady.

Loki’s lips twitch upwards, but it’s not a smile. More like a challenge. “You’re playing a dangerous game, and I’m starting to wonder if you even know the rules.”

She tilts her head, taking in his shift. He’s still teasing, but there’s a hint of something else in his eyes—a sort of curiosity, an intrigue he’s trying to hide behind his usual bravado. And perhaps, for the first time, she’s sensing a crack in his usually confident demeanor.

As she steps back, just a little, she can feel the weight of the moment, the tension in the space between them. Her earlier confidence begins to waver as she picks up on the way he’s looking at her, no longer merely amused but almost calculating.

"I’m not afraid of games," she says, her voice a little quieter now, with a faint edge to it.

Loki watches her for a long moment before he speaks again, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “You should be.”

Before she can react, he turns sharply, as if ending the conversation, and starts to walk away, leaving her to wonder if that’s really the end of their playful rivalry—or if it’s something else entirely, lurking behind a charade of endless banters.

⠀⠀

As the last echo of their footsteps in the cave's entrance faded behind them, Loki and [Y/N] stepped into the bright light outside. The sun bathed the landscape in soft golden hues, a stark contrast to the strange, eerie atmosphere they'd just left behind. But both of them were still drenched, Loki’s clothes dripping with water and [Y/N]’s posture slightly stiff from the tension of the ordeal.

They’d barely exchanged a word as they emerged, the weight of their previous interaction hanging between them. Neither of them could deny that something had shifted, something unresolved that neither was eager to discuss. Loki was lost in his thoughts, glancing sideways at [Y/N] with an unreadable expression.

But as they approached the clearing, standing against a large stone formation was none other than Frigga. Her presence was calming, and yet there was a knowing look in her eyes that immediately set both of them on edge.

“You’ve both made it out, I see,” Frigga said, her voice gentle but carrying an edge of authority. “I trust everything went well?”

Loki’s lips twitched into a wry smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As well as can be expected, Mother,” he replied, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. The last thing he wanted was a conversation about what conspired within the confines of the underground chamber, or how the whole ordeal had affected him.

Frigga’s eyes shifted to [Y/N], a soft smile curving her lips. “And you, my dear? How do you fare after all that?”

[Y/N], still processing the surreal events of the day, met Frigga’s gaze. “I’m... fine. Just a bit shaken, I think,” she said with a small, tight smile, the weight of the strange magic still lingering in her bones. “It was unexpected, to say the least.”

Frigga nodded knowingly. “Magic always has a way of testing us when we least expect it. It’s not just about strength, but about understanding oneself in the face of the unknown.” She turned back to Loki, her expression softening. “You both seem... different. Changed, perhaps. A little more than you were when you entered.”

Loki’s eyes flicked away from her, unwilling to admit anything. He didn’t like how much she could read into his silence. “We handled it,” he muttered, but it was clear to Frigga that he was brushing aside something deeper.

Her gaze softened, but there was a flicker of something serious in her eyes. “I can see that. But you seem… distracted.”

Loki’s shoulders tensed, and he tried to evade her penetrating stare with an insistent tone. “There’s nothing to tell, Mother.”

Frigga’s gaze sharpened for a moment, and she placed a hand on Loki’s arm, holding him there.  “I can see the truth in your heart.” Her voice softened, as though speaking only for him. 

Loki’s eyes flitted to [Y/N], then back to his mother. He couldn’t seem to hold her gaze for long, the truth of his feelings hanging just out of reach, even from him.

Frigga, sensing his reluctance, decided to take a different approach. She raised her hand slightly, and with a simple wave of magic, she reached into Loki’s mind, transferring a glimpse of his own emotions to her. His confusion, his attraction, the pull that was impossible to ignore. She felt it all, a brief but powerful connection.

When she released him, Loki staggered slightly, blinking as though coming out of a trance. His gaze shifted uncomfortably. “You’re always meddling in my head.”

Frigga smiled gently, a knowing gleam in her eye. “It’s my job, my son. And sometimes, it’s necessary.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest, but Frigga raised a hand. “Not now, Loki. Not yet.”

He was silent for a moment, his frustration clear. “Fine. But I’m leaving.”

Frigga allowed him that moment, her expression a mixture of understanding and mild amusement. “Go, then. But I will be waiting for you when you’re ready to talk.”

Loki nodded curtly, shooting one last look at [Y/N] before turning to leave in a hurry, no doubt eager to escape whatever thoughts his mother had stirred up within him.

Frigga turned to [Y/N] with a soft smile, one that carried a quiet weight. “You’re handling this better than he is, I think.”

[Y/N] chuckled softly, feeling the weight of everything she had gone through. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “But... it’s certainly complicated.”

Frigga placed a hand on her shoulder as they began walking toward the throne room. “Indeed. But I have no doubt you’ll handle it well. Now, come. I believe there’s something we need to discuss regarding what happened.”

As they walked side by side, her voice rose again and took on a slightly teasing tone. “Though, I must admit... you two are quite the pair. Loki doesn’t often find himself so... ruffled. It seems you’ve caught his attention in more ways than one.”

[Y/N] looked at her, surprised by the comment. “It’s not like that.”

Frigga raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling up. “Isn’t it?”

She smiled wryly, unsure of how to respond, but the playful look in Frigga’s eyes made it clear that this conversation was far from over.

And as they approached the throne room, [Y/N] couldn't help but wonder just how much Frigga truly saw.

⠀⠀⠀

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

⠀⠀

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[cleo-fox]

Overtime

Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.

Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).

A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.

Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.

You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.

“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.

“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”

“You’re still doing it.”

Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.

And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.

“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”

Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”

But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.

Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.

Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.

“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”

“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”

You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”

Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.

“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.

Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”

You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.

“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”

The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.

This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.

You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.

The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.

Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.

“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.

Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.

And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.

It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.

“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”

In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.

Also not a great sign.

Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”

“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”

“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”

Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.

“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”

“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.

“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.

This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.

You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”

“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”

Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.

“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder

You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.

There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.

“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.

“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”

That at least earns you a hint of a smile.

*

Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.

You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.

You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.

Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.

You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”

Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”

You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.

But you’re also not about to say no, either.

“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”

The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.

“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.

You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”

“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”

“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”

You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.

“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?”  he says.

You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”

He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”

“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.

Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”

“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”

He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going out for dinner.”

*

He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.

“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”

He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”

“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”

“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”

“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”

“Technically.”

“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”

You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”

“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”

Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”

You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”

“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.

“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.

“Liar,” you say promptly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”

“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.

“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”

“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”

“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”

“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”

“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”

“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”

“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”

He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”

You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”

That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.

“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”

You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”

Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.

“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.

You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”

“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“It’s not a lie—”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.

“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”

There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.

“It does.”

There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”

He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”

It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”

He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”

He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”

You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”

Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”

Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”

“I think I have that memorized at this point.”

“‘The perfect choice for families.’”

“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”

“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”

“‘You can’t say no to that.’”

You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.

The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.

“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.

His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”

You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.

Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation. 

Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.

“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”

Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.

“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later. 

“What’s that?”

“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”

You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”

He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”

“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.

You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”

“What are body shots?”

For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.

He’s teasing you.

“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.

He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”

You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”

He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”

You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.

But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.

“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.

“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”

“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”

He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.

“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says

“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.

“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”

Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together. 

“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”

“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”

He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”

“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”

“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”

“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”

You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

*

The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.

“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.

Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”

“You do. It’s Mobius.”

“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”

“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”

He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”

You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”

He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”

“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”

You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.

The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.

“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”

“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”

“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”

He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it. 

You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.

“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.

“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”

“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”

“Darling. You have a TemPad.”

“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”

He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”

You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”

“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”

He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”

“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”

He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”

“Oh, you’d like it—it’s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”

It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”

He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.

The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.

There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.

You touch his hand. “This way.”

You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.

“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”

He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What is it?”

They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”

The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”

“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”

This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”

You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”

“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”

“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”

“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”

He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”

You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”

He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”

“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”

Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”

“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”

You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.

You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”

He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.

There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For showing me that.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”

He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.

For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.

The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.

Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”

There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.

You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.

But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.

*

You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.

But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.

“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.

It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.

Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”

You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”

Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.

“There’s still so much left.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”

He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”

He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.

You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.

You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.

You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.

As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.

“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh. 

This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.

“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.

“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”

Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.

And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit. 

“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.

She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”

With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.

“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.

Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.

Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.

But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.

You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—

“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”

“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”

“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.

His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”

“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”

Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”

You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.

“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”

“Thanks.”

In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.

You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.

When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.

You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.

You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”

You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”

“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.

You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”

He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”

You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”

“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”

“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.

He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.

Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.

“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.

“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”

He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”

“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.

“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.

“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”

With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.

“Hey!” you shout in protest.

“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.

This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.

Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.

You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.

He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.

“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”

That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.

He grins. “Not a chance.”

You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.

It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.

Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.

“Yield,” he says.

You shake your head. “Never.”

His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”

“No.”

Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net. 

But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.

“Yield.”

You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”

Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?

“Yield.”

God, he’s so close and you want him so badly. 

“No.”

He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.

They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.

“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.

“No,” you say.

He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.

He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.

“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar. 

“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.

You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.

“No,” you say.

“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.

His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.

“Cheater,” you say. 

“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”

You shiver. “Your prize?”

“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”

“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”

“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants. 

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“You have not,” you say.

“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.

You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”

You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.

He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.

You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.

His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.

Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.

“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.

“What is it, my love?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”

You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. 

You believe him.

His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.

“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.

You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.

“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”

You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”

His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”

For who?”

“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”

“You’re not,” you say.

“Some would disagree.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.

“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”

You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”

“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”

The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”

“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”

“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”

“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.

“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”

That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.

“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”

This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.

“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”

Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.

You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.

“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.

He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.

Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.

You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.

You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.

This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.

Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.

It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.

“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”

“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.

“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.

“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”

His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?

“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”

You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.

You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.

You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.

“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.

“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”

You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine. 

“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.

“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”

You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.

He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”

You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”

He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.

Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.

He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He rolls on top of you  and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.

He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.

But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.

You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.

He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.

He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.

“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”

He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”

His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.

He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.

He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.

You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”

“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”

With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.

He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”

He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.

He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.

You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.

“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.

He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”

You whimper. “Loki—”

“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”

Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.

You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.

As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.

It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.

After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.

You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.

You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.

You don’t know it then, but you’re right.

*

Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.

Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.

“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.

“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.

“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”

Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”

But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.

“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”

You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”

“A confession,” says Mobius.

“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”

Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee. 

Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”

“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”

“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”

“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.

Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,” he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”

You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.

“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”

Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”

Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”

“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”

Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”

Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”

“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”

Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.

“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”

“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”

“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.

Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”

“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”

Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”

Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.

It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.

“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.

“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.

“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.

He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”

Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”

He grins and tugs you through the time door.

-------

But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Lies Like Liquid [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki's typical antics at a party hit different. (w/c 2.5k) Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Loki x Female reader. Snippy Loki/ enemies to lovers. Mild jealousy. Mild angst.

The crowd blurred as you wobbled on your heels towards the bar, trying to look casual. Rogers, Natasha, Clint—all of them with their heads thrown back at some perfectly timed joke while music thumped in your ears.

Loki leant against the polished marble counter—the soft amber bulbs around the mirror making his watchful eyes shine; immaculately tousled hair drifting down his shoulders.

He lifted a martini to his lips and sipped gently, the smoulder fixed on you.

One elbow rested on the bar, his ankles crossed, his body impossibly long and lean and wrapped in an expensive suit that was just the right side of tight. No tie tonight, just an open collar with a triangle of milky skin that you wanted to graze your teeth against as his eyes rolled back and a gurgle of your name choked from his throat—

Don’t talk to him. Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t look at him; that’s what he wants. But your heart rattled faster as his cologne prickled deep inside your nostrils: warm, spiced, filthy.

“You look particularly agreeable tonight, Agent,” Loki said as you propped your elbows on the bar, eyeing your cleavage carefully in the mirror. The god’s stare traced your profile as intricately as though it were his fingers. “Did you do something with your hair? Wash it, perhaps?” “You’re one to talk, Agent,” you said, tongue lingering on the T.

Out of the corner of your eye, the god stiffened. He hated all that Agent stuff. Resented it. Except when he was curling the word around his own tongue, ready to spit in your directing with his dumb, mind-numbingly sexy voice—

“Nevertheless,” he said, strained, ‘that colour suits you.” “Black?” “Mmm.” “Everyone suits black.” Loki chuckled softly, sliding the base of his martini glass closer across the bar. His body followed. “Not so, Agent. In fact, my brother looks particularly ghastly. Deceased, in fact. You look rather…” “Yes?” Your breath hitched as Loki bent ever-so-slightly to your ear, heat skating down your cheek. “Hot,” he whispered, making one syllable stretch to two. A tingle rushed over your body. You turned fractionally just as the shit-eating, devastatingly attractive smirk spread across Loki’s lips. The one Stark used in the ad reels. The one that the public loved; and the one that you loathed—even if you did have a screenshot of it on your phone for masturbation purposes. Needs must. He might be a dickhead, but you had eyes.

“What do you want, Loki?”

He pressed a hand to his chest, wounded. “Want? Darling, you came to me.”

“I came for a drink—you were in the way. It’s the only way to numb you out.” His jaw dropped a touch, affronted, but those eyes sparkled. Crystal sang as he swirled the fancy glass against marble and leant back, the buttons of his shirt straining as he let out a small, harassed sigh. “You really must try one of these, they’re quite terrible.” The tightness in your chest loosened. “The Starktini?” “The Starktini,” he confirmed sombrely. “Sherry instead of vermouth, can you believe it? What is he thinking. All the money in the realm, and no class.”

He took another sip, draining the glass, observing you through narrowed eyes. “Another one, Mr Laufeyson?” Fresh lipstick, ruffled hair, apron tied too tight, shirt unbuttoned to the tip of fancy lingerie. You rolled your eyes as Loki swivelled to face the waitress. “Please,” he said, low and unbearably smooth. “And one for my friend here, too. Particularly dirty, if you don’t mind.” “Of course Sir; I know the way you like it,” she said huskily, sliding her eyes to yours. You cocked an eyebrow as she sashayed to the liquor bottles further down the bar. “Particularly dirty?” you hissed. “Are you kidding me?” “Are you jealous?” Anger scorched up your spine. How dare he—standing there with his stupid, devastating cheekbones and muscles shifting beneath his shirt as he plucked the stem of a fresh glass from the waitress’s hand. Your eyes flickered to a small piece of paper stuck to the bottom, several looping numbers visible. Loki winked lightly at her as she moved to a pissed off looking Barton, peeling the paper off. “I’ll leave the two of you to…” You gestured in the air.

Loki straightened, swallowing hastily. He raised a finger, his brows rising. But you were already several steps deep into the crowd, pushing past a tipsy Rogers dancing the Macarena to a Scissor Sisters song. The bodice of your dress felt unbearably tight, party smoke clinging to the back of your throat like ash and making your eyes sting. A hand cupped your bicep. “You alright?” Wanda dipped, catching your eyes. You waved a hand, plastering on a smile. “Fine. I’m fine, just Loki being a—” “A delight, I’m sure,” Loki drawled. Even over the music, his voice was clear as glass. Wanda’s face scrunched, her gaze shifting over your shoulder. You whipped around, hoping your tits hadn’t shifted from the impeccable cleavage you’d assembled earlier. “Let me guess, this is the part of the dancefloor you want? Planning on standing here yourself, glowering at everyone having fun?”

Loki frowned, and for a moment, just one, you felt a sharp stab of guilt. He placed the martini glass on a small, round table to his left.

“Actually,” he said, unbuttoning a cuff and folding it up to the elbow. “I was going to ask if you wanted to dance.” Behind you, Wanda gasped. Loki Laufeyson did not dance. And certainly not with you.

There were many things you could say at this moment, do, in this moment while Loki Laufeyson folded the second sleeve up his muscled forearm up with skilful ease. Tell him to fuck off, give him the middle finger, laugh at him before he could laugh at you. Seconds shifted as you waited for the familiar smirk, but it didn’t come. He extended his hand.

Loki’s chin lowered, his eyes glimmering in light refracted from the disco ball, the hand cupped outward unmoving. And so, you took it. Wanda gasped again.

Loki’s thumb slid up your palm, pressing into the soft skin before guiding you gently across the dancefloor. Bodies moved, the room blurred for the second time that evening, but this time, a flutter rose in your belly as Loki turned and pulled you flush to his chest. Your cheek brushed his, hands knotted at his shoulder as the opening beats of Rosenfeld thumped through the speakers. Eyes sliding to Loki’s, you tried to stifle the urge to suck against his neck; absorb the deep scent of him that wafted from beneath his collar.

He began to sway. And then, his lips brushed your ear. “Move, Agent,” he said, deep and utterly filthy. Loki’s knuckles trailed down your spine, palm settling on your lower back and shifting in time with the grind of your hips. His hair grazed against your cheek as your bodies slid together, the satin of your dress water against his shirt. The world slid beneath you feet as Loki pushed you outwards, spinning on your heels, stars bursting in your mind. He pulled you to his chest with a soft thump and the muscle beneath your breasts shook under his chuckle. “I thought you couldn't dance—” “I can do anything, Agent,” he murmured, hands resting on your hips. His eyes narrowed lightly. “Anything.” You snorted, blowing a strand of his hair with it. It floated back, sticking to your mouth. Loki’s fingers slipped between you, pinching it away. His thumb grazed over the plump of your lower lip. “Do you believe me?” It struck you in this moment how inconceivable it was that Loki was grinding against your stomach; that you were shifting in time with it, your hips swaying against the hard expanse of his hips. That you hadn’t punched him in the face yet.

“I believe that you’re full of shit? Does that count?” You half-hoped he couldn’t hear you, but the twitch of Loki’s lips proved he did. God, you wanted to slam your pussy down on the meat of the thigh sliding against your leg. You wanted to yank his hair down and kiss him right on his poisonous mouth as he pushed his femur against your clit; edging you into a shuddering mess hanging in his arms like a doll. A warm flush slid between your legs.

Loki spun to the side, and the world upended. He’d swept you into a dip, his face inches from yours, and his eyes rising slowly from your lips to your eyes. Somewhere, Rogers whooped.

And there it was…the shit eating smirk.

You snapped to reality, pushing against Loki’s shoulder. He brought you upright with a deep crease slicing through his forehead and mumbled something as you pushed through the crowd, Do It For Me ringing in your ears.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You grabbed a Starktini from the bar, necking it and ignoring Barton’s yelling before making your way to the fire exit. The balcony was too crowded. Cold air hit like a slap, rippling over your bare shoulders and up the flounce of skirt. Your fingers curled against the fire escape, forehead resting against your hands. Fuck. You’d let him get under your skin. You’d promised it wouldn’t happen again.

“I lied.” Your ankle gave way, heel snapping through the grate and sending you wavering to the guard rail. Suddenly Loki’s arms were around you, but you flapped him away. “Piss off, Loki,” you gasped, gripping the rail. “I’m fine. Jesus…you scared the shit out of me.” The angles of Loki’s face were illuminated in moonlight: brows lowered; mouth drawn tight. You sighed. “What do you want?” “I lied,” he said again. Now you remembered. “Well, what’s new? It’s your thing.” He frowned. “Well, it is,” you said, exasperated. “Never with you.” His eyes were a storm of wretched midnights, but his jaw trembled. You noted the strain of his shirt buttons, the creases forming with each deep, measured breath. A tremor passed through his features as he said. “Before, when I said I could do anything—I lied.” “Oh?” “I couldn’t hold on to you.” Your heart dropped somewhere around your knees. “Well, yeah, I guess. It was about more than just the dancing though, you know that, right?” “Mmm.”

In the time it took to look up, Loki was standing in front of you; the heat from his chest radiating the space between your bodies. He licked his lips, and they shaped words you never thought you’d hear. “Is it too late for us?” he asked softly.

“Loki…” “A month is a long time to spend with only one’s thoughts for company.” “Hardly. You were on a mission with Barton and Lang.” “Mentally alone, if not physically. You should hear the things they consider stimulating conversation. Do you know what a blumpkin entails?” He waited, a shadow flitting across his face. “Because I do.” You bit your lip, chest shaking with ill-advised laughter, and when you looked up, Loki’s smile was waiting. The real one. And then, your throat tightened. “You took the waitress’s number.” “Did I?” Loki’s voice went up an octave. “How strange,” he mused as a long finger tapped at his chin. “I distinctly remember not taking her number. In fact, I believe it might still be on the bar. Perhaps Lang will find it—perhaps he’ll finally experience the blumpkin he seeks.” “You winked at her.”

Something shifted inside you as the words shaped your tongue; thin threads of hope winding snug around your insides, the lie of your indifference circling like liquid down a drain. Loki shrugged lightly. “I had to give her something. What was I to do? The woman was clearly smitten—and I’m nothing if not benevolent.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Don’t…” he said, stepping closer.

One arm rose against the wall behind you, his skin silver in moonlight. “You know how that drives me to the brink of sanity.” “Maybe that’s what I want.” “Is it?” His eyes flashed, gaze dropping to your lips. “Well, it’s working.” Your chest ached with the effort of holding in the need to hyperventilate. This was everything you’d wanted as you lay in bed alone, everything you hadn’t dared hope for. That he would fight for you. And yet…With Loki, there was always an ‘And yet’.

But tonight, you didn’t want to think about that. Not yet.

Like a dream, you fingered the open collar of Loki’s shirt, grazing a nail across the exposed skin. He shivered. “Darling,” he whispered, and then, your lips were on his. One kiss slipped into the next like words, the groans deep in his throat and the fingers winding in your hair like blazing starlight. “Up, up,” you gasped between kisses.

Loki obliged, large hands dipping to your thighs and hoisting you against the polished outer walls of Stark Tower with a squeak. He fumbled with the line of your underwear, a mumbled fuck it preceding the warm fizz of his magic against your skin. Your fingers ripped at the buttons of his suit trousers, delving for the unbearably hard cock pressing against your cunt. Every vein, every velvet ridge, every inch that made him whimper when you traced it with your tongue. Loki’s breath was heavy, misting against your cheek as he breached with a broken chant of your name. Your head fell back against the wall, his mouth working down the valley of your throat as his hips rolled, filling you. “Loki, god…yes,” you panted to the darkened sky. He mumbled something unintelligible against your skin as your fingers twisted in his hair and the part of yourself that hoped this could be real burned brighter. There was nothing but here—nothing but the press of his flat stomach, the feel of his fingertips curling into your thighs and the seal of his cock unwinding your doubts with every thrust.

“Gods, I never meant to—” You silenced him with a kiss, delving into him with insatiable hunger. I never meant to push you away. I never meant to break your heart. It could wait. Orgasm sparked deep in your belly, rippling like a lit match from gasoline. Your legs tightened around his hips, forcing his cock deeper with an obscene squelch. “Faen, kvinne,” Loki grunted, one palm flying to the wall behind you and squeaking down metal. He bucked up, bottoming out a final, shattering time. Climax ripped through your body like a knife through leather, arms flying around his neck and pulling him close. His belt buckle was ice against your heated thighs, the grind of his hips flattening you to the wall. The god’s groans grew tight; urgent, something new stringing along his back muscles shifting under the drag of your fingernails. “Forgive me,” he sighed. You wondered if he’d stop himself tumbling over the edge if you didn’t. But the time for lies was over. “I forgive you,” you whispered, sucking his earlobe between your teeth. Loki’s guttural groan as he filled you with his cum was the world sliding beneath your feet, breaking apart and starting anew.

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