#almost all of them come across as either 1) bland 2) annoying 3) an asshole or 4) some combination of those

[kitschie]

thought of this and i am Curious about it so

put your reasons in the tags!

[michelleleahhh]

Come Back, Be Here

Summary: The four times Loki left, and the one time he didn’t.

Pairing: Loki/Reader (Female)

Rating: T+ (Mature themes)

One Shot, 6k

AN: For the lovely readers who have been patient. +Thanks, Taylor, for the inspiring music.

3 Months

“You’re leaving?”

Loki pauses, mid bite as he looks at you in that very simple, bored expression. It just reeks of the conceited self regard you’ve become quite familiar with. “Yes.”

You continue to chew, the burnt stew turns bland in your mouth as you think. You drop the fork in your grasp and it clangs against the ceramic plate. When you swallow, you pick up the napkin to your left and wipe the area around your mouth. “Tomorrow?”

He simply nods, stuffing a large piece of bread in his mouth.

“For a month?”

He rolls his blue eyes, irritation blooming across his features. “When I said I’m going to Vanaheim for three weeks that is what I meant.”

“It’s just…” you trail off, confused.

“It’s just, what?”

Great, he’s being defensive now. Cold, and yet belittling. You sigh and try to figure out how to explain without sounding incredibly naive.

“You didn’t tell me.” You cringe. There is no right way for it to sound right. Because even though you haven’t been seeing each other long, you’ve found yourself comforted by his presence. Snarky and irritating presence. But when he looks at you with those long looks, the ones he only bestows when he thinks you don’t notice, well, it’s nice. He’s nice.

“I’ll be back,” he waves, picking up his fork. “Besides, isn’t there a saying you mortals have about absence and the heart growing fonder?”

Insufferable asshole. Well, he’s nice when he’s not like this, you decide.

You bite back a retort and instead resume eating. Perhaps, playing it cool, nonchalant is the way to go.

“Besides,” he begin his voice an octave or three lower, “I’ll make it up to you.”

1 Year

“And this is for your nephews,” you say, packing the porcelain doll and wooden ship. “Did you remember the book?”

Loki hums from the bed. He has one arm behind his head while his other grasps a book. He turns the page with a simple flick of his fingers, continuing to read as you pack his bag. You sigh, pushing back your hair as you turn to him.

“Loki,” you snap, putting your hands on your hips.

He lets the book fall to his chest, peering at you blandly.

“Yes?”

“Did you remember the book?” You ask again, doing your best to keep the annoyed tone out of your voice.

“What book?” He asks with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“The ancient book of magic tricks or whatever.”

He lets out a sharp, short bark of laughter and throws the book to his side. Lacing his fingers together behind his head, he answers, “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with this book.”

“Loki…” you warn.

In return, he calls your name in a playful, mocking tone.

You don’t answer and instead spin back to his luggage, reviewing its contents with the list in your mind. You pay him no mind when he stands from the bed and stalks over to you.  

When Loki reaches you, he presses his chest against your back, his voice in your ear. “Come, darling, this whole thing is beneath you.” He wraps his arms around your waist.

You brush him off with a shake of your head, though his lean muscles tighten around you, hauling you impossibly closer. It’s inevitable that you’ll cave into him, but you want your fight to last a bit longer. Just a moment more.

But when his lips kiss behind your ear, his fingers dragging your shirt up and splaying his hand, you deflate instantly. He knows all your weaknesses and it’s useless to even try and defy him. Your head rolls back, resting against his shoulder.

Instead, you argue, “You always forget something.”

“Yes,” he agrees, taking a step back to the bed and pulling you with him. “And you always send it to me. I like to think of it as your purpose for when I’m gone.”

“Asshole,” you mumble to yourself, when he throws you onto the bed. “That’s extremely disrespectful, Loki. People don’t say things like that to their girlfriends.”

��Mmm,” he concedes, crawling over you and pushing his hips against yours. Both of his arms rest on either side of your head, holding him up so he doesn’t crush you. You ignore the tiny butterflies that bubble in your belly at the feeling of your sexes pressed against each other. It’s a feeling that never grows old. “If you’d prefer, I can think of many other ways to disrespect you.” He lifts an eyebrow as one of his hands, slowly creeps down the length of your body and slithers under your sweatpants.

Your hand darts to his wrist, halting his movements. “I’m serious.”

“As am I.” You huff making your exasperation clear. When he exhales, he drops his head to your chest, kissing your racing heart beat and then lifting it back again to look at you. “My love, it’s our last night together, let’s not fight.”

If your heart was racing before, it was in a full cantar now, thumping wildly against your chest and threatening to explode. “What did you say?” You ask harshly, eyes growing wide.

He rolls his crystal eyes, “Let’s no-”

“No, the other thing.”

He licks his lips, looking at the mattress next to your head, before gazing back to you. “My love.”

You can feel your body sag under the simple, four letter word. “Do you mean it?”

His touch lifts from your belly and palms your cheeks, holding you in his slim hands. “Are you so daft as to not know?” When you don’t answer, and he sees the tears pool in your eyes, he sighs. You’ve said the words countless of times, he has not. And you assumed it was because he didn’t love you.

After all, how could a God love a human? It was just so beneath them, right? You knew he liked you, of course. Knew that he felt strongly towards you. Protective, even. You’ve seen his looks, his large grins and laughters that are only for you. But, you are a dalliance, a thing to bide time with, and the shallow part of your being that had grown addicted to his affection is absolutely okay with that. You never expected that he’d actually feel -

“I most ardently love you,” he confesses with such passion it makes your heart completely still. You can’t stop the tear that trails down your cheeks. “Why must you always cr-”

You pull his head down to yours, kissing him as soundly as possible. In the same moment, you lift your legs to cradle his hips. When you pull back, you request, “Make love to me.”

He scoffs, flipping onto his back and dragging you with him, leaving you straddling his hips and hovering over him. “You make love to me. I after all have a long travel in the morning.”

“You’re traveling via bifrost.”

He smirks, lifting your shirt slowly up. “Technicality. Besides I have to get to New Asgard to get on the bifrost to Vanaheim.”

You grin back at him, shaking your head knowing he’ll simply transport himself there with magic. Instead of fighting, you lift the offending shirt over your head and tossing it into the luggage behind you.

And after, when dawn is just a whisper in the sky, Loki untangles himself from your sleeping form. You whimper in protest, eye creaking open just in time to see him finish packing with a flick of his magic.

Loki pulls a shirt on when he turns back to you. He sits on the edge of the bed and leans over to kiss your forehead. “I’ll see you soon, pet.”

You reach out and trace his lips with your finger tips, watching his eyes deepen in conflicting sorrow. “Love you.”  

He kisses your fingertips and smiles sadly. Then, Loki  stands without a word and never looks back as he leaves the room.

1 Year, 9 Months

“What are you wearing?”

You laugh, “Jeans, a tee shirt, a coat.”

“Use your descriptive words, please.”

“Well, considering I’m shopping for when you get back, it’s all very boring.”

“Mmm,” Loki says, his tone taking a seductive timber. “And underneath?”

You shake your head, toying with the straps of a bra. It’s pretty, green lace, silver glitter. He’d love it on you. You smirk and throw it in your basket. “Even more common I’m afraid.”

“What color?”

You grin in scandal, “Loki!”

“What?”

“I’m in public,” you whisper harshly into your phone and make your way to the counter.

“Well, I’m alone and could use a distraction.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of pictures on your phone that you could use to help you with that.” You hand the attendant your credit card, when she finishes wrapping your garments in a pink bag. “Thank you,” you mumble to her, listening to Loki sigh impatiently and suppress a groan.

“But I like to hear your voice, don’t you like to hear mine?”

“Of course I d-”

“Imaging me sitting here, alone. Hard. Wanting.”

You cough, a blush flooding your cheeks as you imagine him there. “Then come home.”

You decide you hate the sound of your voice when he’s away, begging him to come home. All you realize is how pathetic you are. Praying that he doesn’t see through you like you can. But the truth is, you never saw him coming, never saw the treacherous path you were about to embark on almost two years ago. He appeared out of nowhere, flooding the room with a hypnotic smog and its only demand was for you to not let go.

It was brave. Demanding.

He chuckles lightly, “If you keep me wanting like this, I might just have to.”

You roll your eyes nodding to the woman and making your way out of the store. When you stand outside, you cough violently, hand covering your mouth as it takes a thick turn.

“You okay, love?”

You hear the worry in his voice and nod, forgetting that he can’t see you. “I’m fine, just must be coming down with something.”

“Should I be concerned?”

You exhale, selfishly wanting him to come home, knowing he would if you demanded it. But you know what he’s doing is important. Know that he’s trying to do something good. He wants to show his people he’s dependable, important. He’s trying.

“No,” you say quickly. “I’m fine.”

“Go to one of those healers, would you?”

You roll your eyes, “Sure, Loki.” You fight a smile.

“Now where were we,” He asks when you step onto the street.

“My undergarments.”

“Ah, yes.”

2 Years

“I don’t understand why you have to go again? You were just in Vanaheim,” you call from the bathroom.

It’s impossible to not sound nagging, so you embrace it, looking at yourself in the mirror. You open the latch, pulling a prescription bottle from the medicine cabinet and hastily opening it. Anger flows as you empty it in your palm, rolling the last antibiotic pill in your hand. Without thinking, you throw it in your mouth and lean forward to the faucet spout to drink it down. Then you swallow a birth control pill.

Medicine taken.

“It’s not as if I want to go. These trips are incredibly taxing.”

He sounds distracted, like he’s doing something else.

Bitterness weaves up from your chest and holds your rationality hostage.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and turn off the sink. Staying in the bathroom for just a moment more, you gather your thoughts. Then, you leave the warm room and make your way to the kitchen. You find him standing at the stove, adding salt to whatever he’s cooking.

Loki looks over his shoulder, his raven hair is pulled back in low bun and his shirt sleeves are rolled up his forearms. His muscles strain against his skin, thick ropes of tendons move as he spins a wooden spoon in, what you assume is, pasta sauce.

You cross your arms across your chest. “Then don’t go,” you argue indignantly.

Loki turns off the burner and spins, resting his back against the kitchen counter. “I wish that was possible,” he begins. “Unfortunately, Idunn has requested my appearance herself.”

“Idunn,” you say icily.  Now, you’re getting somewhere. “Idunn calls and you go running to her.”

“Jealousy isn’t becoming,” he chastises.

“You spend more time with her than with me.” Okay, that is a stretch.

But, besides, you can’t help but feel the jealousy. How could you feel any other way, when she is perfection. With her long blonde hair, her slim body, wide blue eyes. She is the embodiment of beauty.

“As a ruler of Vanaheim, she is the key to letting Asgardians settle there.”

And she’s royalty.

You sigh bitterly, knowing this. With Asgard ruined during Ragnarok, many Asgardians don’t feel at home here. On Earth. They long for their autonomy, where their way of life is still a vestige of home. Because in New Asgard, they have to conform to Earth’s rules. Thor is still a king, but they abide by your culture.

You nod in acknowledgement, knowing you’re fighting a losing battle. “I just don’t get why Thor can’t go.”

“And depart from his precious offspring?” Loki pushes off the counter and stalks over to you. He gathers you in his arms, leaning his face close to yours. “I think not.”

Unable to keep your gazes locked, you sigh and turn your head to the side. Whenever you look at him, your thoughts jumble in disarray, knowing you can’t clearly think when you look at him.

“I’ll be back in time for your birthday,” he continues, lifting his hand to stroke your hair in a normally comforting motion.

“My birthday?” You swivel your head, eyes narrowing to him. “That’s in nearly two months.”

He nods sadness covering his features. You scoff when you see regret pass through his seawater eyes. He has only been home for two weeks since his last trip. He was gone for two months then. You’re supposed to get two months, not two weeks.

He leans forward kissing your hairline. “If I could be home I would, but it’s my duty to Asgard to foster this relationship.”

You bite your lip when he presses his lips against your forehead again, his arms pulling you tightly against him. You’re an idiot. Missing him. Like a petulant child. Not that you want to miss him like this, but you knew what you were getting into. He’s basically a God, you’re human.

He has priorities that will outlive you.

You haven’t broached the subject of time, how your’s dwindles and his carries on.

Still, you won’t nod. Instead, you turn your head away from him again, collecting your raging thoughts. As if sensing your anger brewing, Loki backs you up until you’re pressed against the far kitchen wall.

He lifts you in his strong arms, holding you so you are eye level. Your feet dangle in the air as he carries you. The wall takes the brunt of your weight as Loki pins you to it.

“Sex doesn’t solve the problem.”

Loki leans forward, nibbling on the spot where you neck meets your neck. “No, but it will distract you.”

You roll your eyes, glaring at him with annoyance. And when he pulls back, hand tracing up the feminine edges of your body, you can’t stop the smile that breaks onto your face. Particularly given he looks at you with those deep, mirthful eyes, the gaze that dares you to defy him.  

Your hands wrap around his neck and pull on the elastic that holds his hair in place. He practically purrs when you thread your fingers through it.

“Take me with you,” you request as his eyes flutter shut.

When he hears your request, he peeks one eye open in surprise. You pull tightly on his hair, making his head tilt back to look at you. The hand on your rear tightens sharply as he hisses.

“Now, kitten.” He begins, when your hand pulls harder on the strands in your grasp, exposing his neck to you. “Be nice.”

Loki’s free hand trails up the back of your shirt and unhooks your bra, giving you that look. The one that is stern and sexualized at the same time. You pay it no mind, “Why don’t you ever ask me to go?”

His hand passes to your front and maneuvers inside the cup of your bra, pinching and pulling you in the way he knows will turn you to putty.

But you don’t let it. Not this time. Because even when a dull throbbing grows between your legs, you slowly shake your head. He releases a mutilated groan when you bite his throat, sucking and pulling the flesh between your teeth.

“And risk our reconciliation sex?”

Deflections. Answering questions with questions. That’s all you get. It’s all you ever get when you broach this subject.

“And what if I’m not waiting here waiting for you when you get back.” What if I leave. That’s what you imply, letting the unspoken words hang in the air between you. Or even worse, “What if I’m not alone.”

Your stomach revolts at the mere thought.

His eyes automatically darken three shades to black, leering dangerously. Loki pushes himself flush against you and pins your hips to the wall in such a way that you have to wrap your legs around him to keep from falling. His hand circles your neck and his thumb traces  the hollow of your throat. It’s a dangerous sort of dance, especially when he squeezes lightly.

“Do you honestly think I will ever let another touch you?”

You ignore the electricity that curses through your veins. Loki must see your eyes widen, or the heat flush against your skin, because he smiles treacherously. His possessivity, however degrading and chauvinistic, never fails to send your blood boiling and cursing into a sexual temperature.

And your defiance to it, your purity and headstrong attitude, never fails to make his pulse race. So, you lean closer kissing just below his ear. You pull back an inch and whisper hotly, letting your breath fan over his skin, “Do you honestly think you could stop me?”

He growls like an animal, slamming you against the wall as the smile dies on his lips. “Why must you always tempt me.”

“Why must you always leave me?” You parrot back in defiance.

His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. “You’re playing a dangerous game, pet.”

When he calls you that, you can’t help but squeeze your legs together, anticipating what will be hard, fast and extremely satisfying.

Loki chuckles when he feels the muscles flex around him. “It’s amazing how responsive you still are after all this time. Tell me, do you enjoy hurting me?”

“No,” you reply far too seriously to be misconstrued as playful, face falling.

Loki’s face mirrors yours, serious, sinking into a torturous cavern, until he shakes his head as if to wipe away his thoughts. He leans forward and kisses you. Your lips mold against his, somehow soothing and fueling the fire inside you. Transforming your anger into a painful hunger and your sadness into a disjointed happiness.

He kisses you so thoroughly that you forget about everything but him.

When he pulls back, his voice is deep and foreboding and domineering. “Now, pet, do you want your punishment here or upstairs.”

You suppress a giggle and bite your lip. Mood lifting with his darkening tone. “Here please.”

2 Years, 2 months

Your hand clenches your phone so tightly you’re pretty sure you could crack the screen if you tried any harder. The doorbell rings, and with it your heart soars.

It could be him.

When you swing the door open, your heart falls. Your face probably does too. But you let them in, kissing their cheeks, hugging them. Faking a squeal, a laugh, a smile as they ask you how you’ve been.

You’re an idiot. He’d never ring the doorbell.

He’ll be here. A voice in your mind tries to placate all the sadness that threatens to spill over. He said he would be here, he’s never let you down before. And you try to reason with yourself, he wouldn’t start betraying his promises now. Would he?

As people begin to flutter around you, drinking and celebrating, a greater sadness threatens to take hold. You smile though, even as the seconds tick by, and let the makeup keep your face pretty even as the emptiness eats a whole in your stomach. It’s like slow motion when the truth dawns.

He’s not coming.

He’s actually not coming.

You finish your drink in one large swig and slam the glass down, with a forced grin. When you see a cake, decorated in gold and lilac, pulled from the fridge, you stand and race down the hall. The fact they want to sing to you, want to celebrate you, without him here… it sends your stomach rolling.

You push into the bathroom, barricade yourself inside it. Hyperventilating, you lean against the door and gaze at yourself in the mirror. Tears trail down your cheeks, mascara drawing hopeless lines down your face.

He said he’d be here.

You look at the phone in your hand, unlocking the screen but seeing no notifications. None. Not from him at least.

All you want to do is tell everyone to leave. Or stay hidden here, concealed away from prying eyes. You keep your lips closed as the tears continue to trickle down, shattering your heart into a thousand mosaic pieces.

You wipe the tears away, smearing your makeup. And still, even when misery takes you hostage, the party continuing to rage. Sighing, you open the medicine cabinet and pull out a makeup wipe. As you pat the cloth across your face, somehow pulling yourself together without ruining the happy picture you painted.

When there’s a loud clap, you can’t help but imagine he’s entering with that loud smile. He’s always been one for the dramatics. It could be…

It’s not too late.

And then there’s a knock.

“Occupied,” you call out, cringing when you hear how stuffy your voice is. God, you’re pathetic.

“Let me in.” The voice calls back.

Your face contorts almost comically. Nat? It’s ironic how his friends always seem to know when there’s something wrong.

Pulling open the door a sliver, you peek your head through the crack. “Hey,” you say. And, somehow, she pushes through the door, forcing you to take a step back against the counter. Her gaze hones in on the phone in your clutches.

“They want to sing happy birthday,” she tells you casually.

You nod, pulling a smile to your lips. You make to move forward, only she steps in your way stopping you.

“What?” You snap, taking your anger and despondency and lash out at her.

She peers at you silently, like she is peeling back your facade with her eyes. “Are you good?”

You bite your lip, rolling your eyes to look at the ceiling, counting the tiles and hoping that the tears won’t fall. When you look back at her, you try to imitate a sneer. “Of course I am.”

She nods, as if she can see under your facade and into the sinking feeling that’s caged you. “Has Loki called?”

You bite your lip at his name, eyes falling shut though you somehow hold your ground. So you simply shake your head. “He said he’d be here,” you whisper hopelessly. And just like that, your tears drown you. You choke back a sob, as your head lolls forward into your palm. You try to stop it, but you can’t.

She’s not even your friend, but then her arms wind around you, pulling your head forward, it’s more reassuring than anything you’ve felt in a month. You shake your head and pull out of her grasp, really not wanting to be comforted by her.

Her eyes and body respectfully look away when you turn back to the mirror.  Your fingers wipe the tears carefully and release a smile.

“Sorry, I’m just emotional,” you laugh as the tears still pool in your eyes, with a dismissive tone. “Almost that time of the month,” you lie knowing it’s likely not coming.

Natasha squints, giving you a serious look. “So you don’t need this?” She asks, giving you a long rectangular box.

“No.”  reply cooly, looking at the test like it is viper. “I’m on birth cont-”

A ringing echoes. You angrily pull your phone to your eyes, and when you see his name an indescribable feeling sweeps through you.

Your heart soars.

Your pulse quickens.

You smile.

You’re sick. There’s so much wrong with how your mood is affected by him.

You look at her, thumb hovering over the answer button. The red head nods, and puts the cardboard box on the sink, before turning away. “Just in case.”

As soon as the door shuts, you answer the phone. “Hello,” you greet, closing the lid to the toilet and sitting on it.

“Hi,” he says sadly. You pull at your dress, picking imaginary lint off the tulle skirt. “Happy Birthday, love.”

“Thank you,” you say, choking on the words.

“I…” He sighs, and you hear a rummaging from his end of the line. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.”

“I know,” you say harder than you intended. “I mean…I figured.”

“You’re so important to me, you must know that.”

“Of course” you say automatically, as a tear leaks out. “I get it.” No, you don’t. How could someone who claims to love you, hurt you in such a way?

“No, don’t do that.” His temper flares with a deep grit of his voice.

“Do what?” You ask it as a whisper, your fingers playing with the ends of your air.

You hear something break. “Don’t tell me that it’s okay. That you’re fine with me being away like this.”

“Then what would you like me to do? Would you like me to berate you, belittle you? Make you feel a tenth of the size, like I feel now?” You snarl, “You could have called, but you didn’t. I could be there with you b-”

“No.” He cuts you off, “You can’t.”

“And why is that Loki? Because you’re too busy fucking her?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” He yells it like it’s the most ridiculously obvious truth.

You bite your lip, as a sob escapes. You’re both silent for a bit, just listening to the other breathe, not willing to continue your argument.

Finally, you mumble the truth, “I hate this.”

Loki’s silent. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into the phone.

“I’m sorry too.”

2 Years, 2 Months, 3 Weeks

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Loki growls through the phone. “I’m not going back now, I just got home.”

You can’t hear what they say on the other end, but you can guess it’s not good. Loki runs his long fingers through his black hair as he turns away from you, voice lowering and heated.

You turn on your heel, already knowing exactly where the conversation was headed.

Nausea burns up your stomach as you close the door behind you and kneel over the toilet. Calm, cool, collected.

Throwing up.

God you’re sexy. As you continue to empty your stomach into a porcelain throne, you pull your hair back. When the door creaks open, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“You’re sick again,” he worries from behind you.

“You’re leaving again,” you sigh, pushing up and flushing the toilet.

Loki ignores your comment and instead holds your face to look at him. All you want to do is brush your teeth, knowing how gross your breath is. “Have you been to the doctor?”

You roll your eyes, knowing you aren’t truly sick. “Yes, he said I’m fine.”

“Then maybe you should see another.”

“Are you going back?” You ask, pivoting the conversation away from you and your health.

Loki shakes his head, “I don’t want to…”

“But you are.” You finish for him.

“It’s not a choice.” Loki defends himself, letting go of your face. “I’m just going to go for a week, I’ll leave now and be back before you even miss me.”

You laugh at that. Not really knowing what you find so hilarious about it, but you do. It wrenches from your gut and pulls some form of fear with it. A hysterical type of despair.

His eyes widen, deep green filled with anxiety and sadness. But you’re so over seeing that. So done with it. You want back the mischievous glints, the hard looks, the playfulness that was so endeering.

“What are we doing?” You finally ask.

His mouth closes, face hardening and guarding. “What do you mean?”

“You and I. What are we doing, here Loki? You’re away half the time and I’m just stuck here waiting for you. What’s the point?”

Loki crosses his arms across his chest, leaning back against the wall. “You want to end this.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you argue, feeling numb.

He spins around and you can feel the anger, power, and gloom wafting from him. His magic. “I have to go.”

“You don’t have to go, you’re choosing to, Loki. There’s a difference.” You follow him out of the bathroom, hand pressing against your stomach.

“And let me guess,” he retorts quickly, picking up a leather bound wallet. “Stay, Loki. I want you here. Come back, don’t leave me.” His voice is higher pitched, whining, dribbling with whimpers that mock you. “Mortals are so desperate.”

You ignore the distress and anguish combing up from your stomach, threatening to resurface in the form of vomit. “What are you saying?”

“I’m leaving.” He sweeps towards the door. “Perhaps you’ll still be alive when I’m back.”

When his hand reaches for the door knob, a reckless truth tumbles from your mouth: “We’re pregnant.”

You close your mouth suddenly, eyes widening at your words as your hands press against your lips, horrified. It’s like you’re surprised by the confession. Like it’s the first time you’ve heard it. But the truth is, this moment is the first time you’ve said it outloud, and saying them has made them all the more real.

You’re having his baby.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t sweep you in his arms in joy, he doesn’t even look at you. No. His body stands taller than possible, rigid, painfully stiff.

This is what you were scared of.

“I have to go,” he says again, like he never heard the confession.

Then he disappears right in front of you.

You can’t help when the armor drops in his exit, fading and letting go. It’s so… basic when tears fall again. And that’s when you realize, you’ll never be the same. Because, even if you could turn back time, could sweep back the hands of fate, you’re sure you’d end up here again.

So you trudge forward, picking up the pieces of your life and try to assemble them into something for you and it. Because your life contains more than just you now, with or without Loki. You wipe away the tears, willing them to dry on their own and go to the kitchen to wash your hands.

When the sun sets, your brain says to let go. When everything is in flashbacks that pile into a timeline of what you should have seen coming from the very first time, you make your way up the stairs. You brush your teeth, your hair, moisturize your face. It’s all quite methodical.

You get into bed, still numb, and rest against the pillow. You smell him. Pine and snow. At some point in the night you fall asleep, lulled by a raging headache and realization that you’re stronger than you know. And at some distant point in the night you wake up.

It starts as a feeling, a treacherous sort of leering hunch. So you force yourself to sit up, and from across the room from the chair in the corner you see him.

The pale moonlight draws shadows across his high cheekbones.

“You’re back?” You ask, rubbing the edges of sleep from your eyes.

Loki stands and makes his way over to you, carrying a satchel. “I love you,” he reminds you when he sits on the edge of the bed.

“I love you too.”

Tears form in his eyes, when his hand reaches for your stomach. The God presses his cool hand against your skin, radiating with some type of tingling sensation that warms under your skin. Loki’s magic. It accentuates a beating that you haven’t felt before, a tiny heartbeat. 

“It’s true,” he whispers quietly, as if speaking in a dream. “I’m going to be a father.”

You nod. 

His eyes reach yours, and you drown in his soul. A searing sort of hope blooms inside you, just thinking about the possibilities that lay in front of you.

“I haven’t been honest in my dealings on Vanaheim.”

Your eyebrows pull together, “What do you mean?” You pray he’s not about to confirm your worst fears, is he in love with her. He’s going to marry her. He’d always wanted to be king.

“I’m selfish.” He admits, “When I first met you, I didn’t care about your mortality. I had nothing in my life and thought you’d be a nice distraction from the mundane aspects of Earth. But, then... you became more important. And still the outcome was the same, we’d end in one form or another. I can’t live with that. You were- are, far too good for me. But even more than that, you are the only thing that makes this pathetic world better to live in.”

Your heart thumps in your chest. “Loki, you’re confusing me.”

His eyes flutter shut and he swallows thickly, before continuing. “I went to Vanaheim for you. Chasing Idunn’s garden of apples. She only demanded my time and council as payment. But then you got sick and I realized I needed to move faster.”

“It was a flu, Loki.”

“You’re fragile.”

You lick your lips, smoothing the blankets to keep your hands busy.

“So?”

He sighs bitterly and pulls an apple from the bag he was carrying. It glows a glittering and luscious gold. The kind of gold that only exists in fairy tales. You don’t want to know what he did to get it, what other price he paid. “Pregnancy is dangerous.”

You laugh, but when his frown pulls into deep lines, you shut your mouth. “Are you asking me to marry you, Loki?”

“Marriage is such a fleeting notion,” he argues. “This is far more permanent than that.”

“How do I know you won’t leave me?”

He puts the apple on the night table. “I’ve already told you: I will never let you go.”

Your pupils dilate when he leans forward and kisses you. It’s a soft sort of kiss that brings your heart into a fluttering thumping, blocking the noise of your restless mind reminding you how bitter love can be.

His lips plush and pull, his hand draws an infinity sign onto your belly. When he breaks away, he looks at you like the all moons and stars, like an honest sort of veracity that means everything.

“It doesn’t have to be today,” He whispers. “It can be tomorrow, or the next. But I don’t want to live in a world without you. I won’t.”

You bite your lip, hopelessly lost in his gaze. “Okay,” you whisper softly.

“Okay?” He asks with a sense of haughty, smug realization.

You nod, and pull his head to yours. “First, sex.”

He laughs, cradling your head into a kiss that begins the rest of your life.

End.