#ask Predatory!Loki

[societyfolklore]

Plus One - The Aftermath

Title: Plus One - The Aftermath Pairing: Loki x SHEILD Agent!Female Reader

Summary:  The new year had brought a return to routine, but the memory of the Christmas party lingered like a ghost, haunting you in the quiet moments when your mind wandered. But unfortunately secrets never stayed buried for long.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, smut, Oral sex (F receiving), fingering. No beta read.  

A/N: My first part two! Part One (Yes, there will be  part 3)

It began with Natasha, whose observational skills were as unerring as her aim. You had barely taken the first sip of your second coffee when she slid into the seat opposite you in the breakroom. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes gleamed with a curiosity that set your nerves on edge. “So,” she began, drawing out the word with a sharp lilt. “Anything interesting happen at the Christmas party?”

“Not really.” You frowned, adopting an air of innocence. “Tony went all out, as usual.”

Natasha’s smirk hinted at the arsenal of information she already possessed. “Right. And what about the part where you and Loki conveniently disappeared at the same time?”

Your heart stuttered in its rhythm, but your resolve held firm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, don’t insult me,” she replied, her tone light but her words cutting. “The way he was watching you all night wasn’t exactly subtle. And then you both vanish? Please.”

You opened your mouth to refute her claims, but Natasha raised a hand to halt you. “Relax. I’m not here to pry. Just… be careful. Loki is, well, Loki.”

Her words followed you long after she left, planting seeds of doubt that you had carefully avoided. Who else had noticed? How much had they seen?

By mid-afternoon, her warning replayed itself on an endless loop in your head, blending with every glance or half-smile Loki had sent your way that night. Had you really been that obvious? You tried to remember if there had been a moment when anyone might have noticed you both slipping away. Natasha’s insight wasn’t the kind born of rumour-it was sharp, precise, a weapon honed from years of observation.

When you bumped into Steve later that day, his polite smile faltered for a fraction of a second before settling back into its usual warmth. "You doing okay?" he asked, his voice steady, though there was an undertone of curiosity.

"Fine," you replied too quickly, brushing past him without making eye contact. The encounter left you unsettled. If Steve had noticed anything, you wouldn’t hear it from him directly-his tact was ironclad-but his lingering look as you walked away felt heavier than usual.

By the evening, the paranoia Natasha had sown was blossoming into a tangled mess. You found yourself overanalysing every interaction, every seemingly innocent glance from your colleagues. The walls of SHIELD felt closer, more suffocating than ever, and Loki’s shadow loomed in every corner, his presence as inescapable as the doubts now trailing you. You resolved to confront him soon-not just for answers, but for your own sanity.

By the week’s end, the rumours had evolved from quiet whispers to pointed remarks. Clint, during a sparring match, dropped a casual comment about 'making new friends' accompanied by a smirk that made you falter mid-strike. His words lingered, distracting you enough to earn a jab to the ribs that left you wincing. “Focus,” he teased, though his grin made it clear he enjoyed having unsettled you. "Unless you got someone- thing else on your mind?"  You feel heat hit your cheeks that wasn't just from the physical exertions before getting grouchy and throwing another strike. 

Tony, as expected, was less subtle. He cornered you in the lab, his grin predatory as he tapped a wrench against the workbench with mock gravity. “So, you and Asgard’s Emo Lord,” he began, the words heavy with amusement. “What’s that about?”

You groaned, feigning exasperation. “Nothing. There’s nothing going on.”

Tony arched a brow, unconvinced. “Right. Because the way he looked at you at the party screamed nothing. You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Maybe you’re just imagining things,” you shot back, hoping to derail him. It was futile.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Tony leaned in, his smirk widening. “You know, if you’re looking for tips on how to handle moody divas, I’ve got experience.”

You turned back to your work with a frustrated sigh, but Tony’s knowing laugh followed you like a shadow, his taunts replaying in your mind long after he left. Every attempt at avoidance seemed only to feed the fire. Clint brought it up again over dinner, making an offhand remark about  'fraternizing with the enemy' that earned him a glare from Natasha and an apologetic shrug in your direction.

Even Bruce, ever the diplomat, offered a hesitant observation as you passed him in the corridor. “You seem… distracted lately. Everything okay?” His concern was genuine, and that made it worse. The weight of their collective scrutiny pressed down on you, fraying your nerves and leaving your defences ragged and ineffective. "I'm fine." It felt as if the walls were closing in, each rumour and teasing remark amplifying the tension that already simmered beneath the surface.

When you finally crossed paths with Loki in the library, your resolve was a fragile thread, pulled taut. He lounged in a chair, the picture of unbothered elegance, a book balanced between his long fingers. His smirk when he noticed you sent a flush of irritation through you.

“We need to talk,” you said, folding your arms in a feeble attempt to keep your composure intact.

“Ah,” Loki drawled, closing the book with deliberate care, “my darling has finally come to her senses. Here to beg for more, are you?” His gaze swept over you, a languid appreciation that made your skin prickle.

“Stop,” you snapped, your tone sharp, though it didn’t seem to faze him. “The comments, the teasing-it ends now.”

Loki stood, his movements slow, deliberate, as if to savour your growing frustration. “Why?” he asked, his voice dropping into a husky, velvety timbre. “Because it frightens you? Or because you’re afraid of how much you enjoy it?”

You bristled, taking a step back as he advanced, the air between you electric. “Whatever happened at the party-it was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“A mistake,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sardonic grin. “Then why are you still thinking about it? About me?”

His words struck like a blow, but before you could muster a retort, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “You want this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low purr. “I can feel it. You want me.”

Your breath caught, your defences wavering as his hand brushed against yours, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re wrong,” you managed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Am I?” Loki asked, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Tell me, then. Look me in the eye and say you feel nothing. That you don’t think of my hands on you, my lips against yours. About me inside you.” How did he manage to get a purr like that in his voice.  “Say it, and I’ll leave you be.”

You opened your mouth, the words on the tip of your tongue, but they refused to come. The memory of his touch, his heat, burned too brightly in your mind. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. “I thought so.”

You jerked back, your heart pounding. “This isn’t a game, Loki.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice softening, his gaze intense. “It’s not. But neither is it something to fear.”

“I don’t trust you,” you admitted, your voice trembling under the weight of your honesty.

“Trust me?” His finger grazed your cheek, his touch featherlight but searing. "You trusted me at the party. Trusted me with your body, with your pleasure." His voice was lower now, rich with seduction.

You sucked in a breath, trying to summon a rebuttal, but he pressed on. “Shall I remind you of the way you clung to me, of how my name fell from those lips of yours.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, but Loki wasn’t about to let you off so easily. His fingers tipped your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet his. “There’s no shame in desire, pet. Not when yours is something so delicious," he purred, his thumb lightly stroking your jawline. "Why hide from it?”

 Before you could formulate a response, his lips descended upon yours, brushing softly at first, testing, teasing. The touch was maddeningly light, and when he pulled back slightly, your shaky exhale betrayed you as you leant back into him, seeking more.  All you felt a  a smug, knowing curve of his mouth as it pulled into a predatory smile. "There it is," he murmured. "Sweet surrender."

His mouth claiming yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the heat between your bodies threatened to burn through the layers of fabric that separated you. His other hand found its way into your hair, his fingers tangling as he angled your head to take more, to consume.

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly your back hit the bookshelf with a soft thud. Books shifted and fell forgotten to the floor as Loki pressed against you, his body a firm and unyielding presence. The kiss turned frantic, urgent, as though he were staking his claim, demanding a response that your body was all too eager to give. His hands roamed freely now-one sliding down to grip your hip, the other trailing along your spine in a slow, deliberate caress.

"And I suspect," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough, "that other parts of you taste even sweeter." His lips trailed from your mouth to the sensitive curve of your jaw, then down to the delicate line of your neck. The sensation was electric, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his teeth grazed your skin, a soft gasp escaped you, and you felt his lips curl into a smile against your throat.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you struggled to form coherent thoughts. Loki’s proximity, his touch, his voice-it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Your hands, seemingly of their own accord, found their way to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He hummed low in his throat, the sound vibrating under your palm. “Good girl,” he murmured, his words a decadent tease, his eyes locked on yours with a predatory gleam.

Before you could react, his hands moved, deliberate and confident, sliding down to the hem of your skirt. His fingers brushed against your thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake as he slowly, almost reverently, pushed the fabric upward.

"Such a pretty thing," Loki murmured, his voice thick with desire as his hands caressed the soft skin of your legs. The soft cotton beneath his fingertips only emphasized the heat radiating from you. He eased down to his knees, his movements unhurried, his focus entirely on you. His gaze burned as he looked up, his hands gently urging your thighs apart, his thumbs brushing over sensitive skin, drawing a tremble from you that he savored. "I’ve been thinking about this," he admitted, his tone laced with hunger. "About how utterly exquisite you’d look surrendering to me like this, completely at my mercy."

The ache between your legs grew more insistent under his touch, every deliberate stroke of his hands sending waves of heat through you. You tried to stifle the soft gasp that escaped your lips, but Loki caught it, his smirk deepening as his fingers slid higher, tracing a teasing path along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Ah," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, "you can’t hide this from me, darling. Your body is far more honest than you are darling."

Your breath hitched as he pressed a kiss just above your knee, his lips soft but deliberate, trailing a path upward, leaving your skin tingling and your resolve crumbling as needy noise leaving you.  "Such eagerness," he purred, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. "Do you feel it? This need simmering between us? You’re burning for me, aren’t you?"

His fingers traced patterns along the inside of your thighs, featherlight yet electrifying. You could feel the wet need pooling between your legs  "Do you know what it does to me, seeing you like this? Watching you try so hard to resist when we both know you’ve already given in?" He leant in, casually breathing in the scent of you like he was sampling wine. 

You shivered under his touch, every nerve in your body alight as his lips followed the path his fingers had drawn, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "You're going to give me what I want aren't you?" he purred, his breath ghosting over your skin. "When fall apart on my tongue," 

Your voice caught in your throat, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the fire his touch ignited within you. Loki’s smirk deepened, a dark, knowing curve of his lips. "Your going to make all those wonderful noises again like you did in the hallway aren't you?" he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs more firmly before his face drew closer to where that thin piece cotton that hid you away from him. Teasing he leant closer, his nose running along the fabric of your underwear. Loki’s nose bumping into your clit, letting out a strangled noise as your throat closed as pleasure shot up your spine. "I told you, I want to hear you." His tongue teased along the fabric, Loki finger ran up your leg curling around the sides of your underwear pulling them down. The cool air danced across your skin, heightening the sensitivity, you knew you were unable to hide your reaction to him now. You could feel his warm breath whispering against your wet folds, teasing you with promises of what was to come. "Look at that.” His tongue ran along the seam of you, tasting the nectar you were offering. “Is this what you need? My mouth on you." The words you spoke next were barely more than a whisper, but they carried the weight of your surrender. “Please..” His fingers, now free from the task of removing your underwear, gripped your thigh, lifting one leg to rest on his shoulder. “So polite now aren’t you pet?” His tongue slide against you again before he pushed it between fold mouth closed over you, the warmth and wetness enveloping your sensitive flesh.

“Arh-ah.” The noise came from in a desperate pant as you felt his tongue swirl over your clit like a wet snake.  His tongue, a masterful instrument, danced and swirled, coaxing sounds from you that you couldn't contain.

"Oh, God," you moaned, your hands grasping for something, anything, to hold onto as the world spun around. Loki's tongue probed deeper, his mouth sucking gently, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. "So sweet," his voice muffled against your skin. "A crime that I have deprived myself for this long..” His hands tilted your hips allowing him better access before you felt his tongue slide up inside you, both of you moaning loudly. He feasted on you now, his tongue reaching up higher into you as his nose pushing into the nub or nerves at the apex, building heat in your blood.

As his tongue slid back to your slit, you felt a rush of sensation, your body arching towards him, your hips bucking upwards. "Ahh...oh God, yes," your voice cracking as his tongue slid across your clit. You didn’t notice one had leaving you thigh, until you felt Loki’s finger slid up inside you, slick velvet walls clenching around them, trying to hold him in place as his tongue continued to dance across your clit.

"Mmm...so tight," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your core "I can feel you squeezing."

Your response was a series of desperate pants, your body straining towards him as his fingers slid in and out of you. "More...please, more," you begged, your voice hoarse with desire.

Loki's tongue slid back to your clit, his mouth closing over you once again suckling. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot that made you cry out in pleasure. "Ahh...yes, right there," you moaned, your body shuddering with pleasure. His own moans merging with yours.

As his fingers continued to slide in and out of you, his tongue swirled around your clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You felt yourself building towards that perfect end, your body straining towards him, your muscles tensing with anticipation.

"Oh...God, Loki, Loki I'm going to...," you stuttered, your voice trailing off as your body gave in to the pleasure your hands going from the shelf to grip at his hair.

Loki's response was a low, rumbling growl, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to push you over the edge, urging you forward. Your body answered his call, arching towards him, your muscles tensing as the orgasm built, and then, in a rush of heat and sensation. “Loki, Loki.. Loki fuck!” You were coming, your body shuddering violently as waves of ecstasy coursed through you, your voice rising in an unrestrained scream of his name, "Loki!" The sound of your climax seemed to echo in the dim library, blending with the rhythm of your ragged breaths. Your fingers tangled deeper in his dark hair, pulling him closer, as though you could tether yourself to him amidst the chaos of pleasure consuming you.

The world around you faded, melting into a haze of white noise and raw sensation, leaving only the heat of Loki's mouth and the overwhelming force of your release. Every nerve in your body seemed to hum with satisfaction, a symphony of euphoria that left you trembling, barely able to hold yourself upright against the unyielding shelf behind you. Slowly, Loki pulled back, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His hands slid down to your thighs, carefully guiding one leg off his shoulder as he stood to his full height. The sight of him-his disheveled hair, his lips glistening with evidence of your pleasure-sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth with an almost casual grace, his smirk curling into something devastatingly smug. "You taste even sweeter than I imagined," he purred, his voice thick with satisfaction and unmasked pride. "A feast worthy of a god."

You could only manage a shaky breath, your body still trembling in the aftermath of his ministrations. Loki leaned closer, one hand braced against the shelf beside your head, his proximity stealing what little composure you’d managed to regain. "Tell me," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive rumble, "did that satisfy the craving?" "I- I..." You were still struggling to form words, your lips trembling as you tried to summon even the smallest shred of coherence. The lingering sensation of his touch, his mouth, his overwhelming presence left you raw, exposed, and utterly undone.

"Let me know," Loki said, his voice silk and steel, "when you decide to give me the chance to be what you need." His words hung in the air like a tantalizing promise, equal parts command and plea.

With a fluid, almost predatory grace, Loki bent down, tugging your skirt back into place. The brush of his knuckles against your skin sent an involuntary shiver racing up your spine. His hand found your discarded underwear, his fingers hooking around the delicate fabric as he lifted it, holding it out to you with an almost theatrical flourish. "But if you want more, if you want me," he murmured, his gaze locking with yours, "you need only ask."

Your shaking hand reached out, trembling as you took them from him, the contact sparking like a live wire. Loki inclined his head, his expression inscrutable, though his eyes gleamed with something dark and tantalizing-triumph, desire, or perhaps both. "Take all the time you need." he said softly, his voice a quiet yet firm promise. "But know this-I am not going anywhere."

He stepped back slowly, his movements measured, deliberate, his piercing gaze lingering on you as though he were memorizing every detail. The intensity of his presence was almost suffocating, and yet, as he finally turned and walked away, the sudden void left you bereft. The soft sound of his footsteps receded into the distance, but his words, his touch, his very essence lingered, etched into your skin and seared into your soul.

Your knees threatened to buckle as the reality of what had just transpired washed over you. The trembling in your hands betrayed the tumult raging inside, a maelstrom of longing, confusion, and undeniable need. Loki had made himself clear-he wasn’t going anywhere. And as you leaned against the bookshelf, still shaking from the force of your release and the storm he had stirred within you, you realized with startling clarity that neither were you.

[amethystarachnid]

Hello. I’d like to request a Loki x Fem!Reader. Not sure if you’ve seen Step Up 3 but the song Bust Your Windows by Jazmine Sullivan was played and basically in the scene the two love interests did a tango (I would look it up for reference 🩷). So maybe Loki and Reader are on an undercover mission and they get tied into a tango. You can interpret it however you want but I’ve had this ask stuck in my head for a while now. Hope you like this! 🩷🩷

BOUND BY DUTY

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, flirty

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: Loki has been called form the S.H.I.E.L.D. to help the Avengers with an anomaly that's happening around the world and you're assigned to be his handler. You were told to not trust him but what if under that mask of indifference there's a man just wishing to be loved?

ᯓ★ Word count: 9.7k

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just a few hated kisses and flirty comments

ᯓ★ I haven't seen the movie but I've seen the scene on YouTube (like just the 3 minutes ? scene) and really hop you'll like the story

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound feels heavier than usual. It could be the weight of the mission ahead or the fact that the one person who might hold the answers is a literal god—a god of mischief, no less. You’ve been briefed on Loki’s recent exploits, his failed conquest of Earth, and his punishment in Asgard’s dungeons. You know better than to trust him, but you also know that sometimes the devil you know is preferable to the devil you don’t.

Nick Fury has chosen you, of all people, to act as Loki’s handler. You don’t know whether to feel honored or utterly cursed. He claims it’s because of your “unflinching professionalism” and “ability to handle high-pressure situations.” You suspect it’s because most of your colleagues would rather face a firing squad than deal with Loki’s silver tongue.

The sound of the jet door opening draws your attention. You straighten your back and smooth your jacket as two Asgardian guards march down the ramp, their armor gleaming even under the dim hangar lights. Between them walks Loki, his wrists bound in glowing cuffs that hum faintly with suppressed power. He’s wearing his usual dark green attire, though the horned helmet is missing. Without it, his raven-black hair tumbles around his face, framing sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. His piercing blue eyes sweep the room, landing on you.

You can feel his gaze like a physical weight, appraising you. He smirks. Of course, he smirks.

“Agent,” Fury’s voice cuts through your thoughts, startling you slightly. “Take him to interrogation. The guards will brief you on his restraints.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, your voice calm and steady despite the flutter in your chest.

The Asgardian guards exchange a few words with you about Loki’s bindings. They warn you not to let your guard down—ever. You assure them you won’t, though you’re starting to realize that resisting Loki’s words might be a different kind of challenge altogether.

“Shall we?” you say, gesturing for Loki to follow you. He arches an eyebrow but complies, falling into step beside you. The guards trail behind at a respectful distance.

The walk to the interrogation room is uncomfortably silent. You’re hyper-aware of Loki’s presence beside you, his tall frame moving with a predatory grace. He doesn’t look like someone who’s been imprisoned for months; he looks like he owns the place, and you’re just a guest in his domain.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. Of course, he does.

“Tell me, Agent,” he begins, his voice smooth and lilting, “do they often send mortals to babysit gods, or am I a special case?”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, determined not to rise to the bait. “I’m here to make sure you don’t cause any trouble. Think of me as your parole officer.”

He chuckles softly, the sound almost pleasant if you didn’t know better. “And if I were to misbehave, what then? Will you scold me? Perhaps send me to my room without supper?”

His words drip with mockery, but there’s an undercurrent of something else—amusement, maybe even intrigue. You keep your expression neutral. “If you misbehave, you’ll find out just how creative S.H.I.E.L.D. can be when it comes to disciplinary measures.”

“Promises, promises,” he murmurs, and you feel a shiver crawl up your spine at the way his eyes linger on you. You remind yourself that this is what Loki does: he gets under people’s skin, twists their emotions until they don’t know which way is up. You won’t let him succeed.

The interrogation room is as stark and clinical as you’d expect. A metal table and two chairs sit under the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. Loki looks around with mild disdain as if the room itself offends his sensibilities.

“This is where you intend to question me?” he asks, his tone dripping with derision. “How... quaint.”

You motion for him to sit. He doesn’t move immediately, instead watching you with that infuriating smirk. Finally, he lowers himself into the chair with the air of someone granting you a great favor.

The guards secure his bindings to the table before stepping back. You nod at them, and they leave, the door clicking shut behind them. Now it’s just you and Loki. You take the seat across from him, pulling out a tablet with your notes.

“We have reason to believe you have information about a recent incident involving extraterrestrial technology,” you say, your voice steady. “S.H.I.E.L.D. recovered several devices that match the energy signature of the Tesseract. We need to know where they came from.”

Loki leans back in his chair, the chains on his wrists clinking softly. “Ah, the Tesseract. Such a fascinating little trinket. Tell me, Agent, do you often meddle in matters beyond your comprehension?”

“This isn’t about me,” you reply coolly. “It’s about you. And what you know.”

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And what do I gain from sharing this knowledge? A lighter sentence? A pat on the head? Somehow, I doubt your superiors are feeling particularly charitable toward me.”

“We’re not asking for charity. We’re asking for cooperation. Help us, and we might consider negotiating with Asgard on your behalf.”

Loki’s laughter fills the room, sharp and cold. “Negotiate with Asgard? Oh, how delightfully naive. Do you honestly believe Odin would entertain such an offer? He’d sooner banish me to the farthest reaches of the cosmos than indulge your mortal whims.”

You suppress a sigh, already feeling the weight of this conversation. But then Loki leans forward, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Still,” he says, his voice softer now, almost teasing, “I might be persuaded to cooperate. After all, it would be such a shame to disappoint you.”

There it is again—that deliberate charm, the way he threads his words with just enough sincerity to make you second-guess yourself. You fold your arms, meeting his gaze head-on.

“You don’t intimidate me, Loki.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to intimidate you,” he says, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “Merely... entertain you. Is that not the proper term for what mortals call ‘flirting’?”

Your stomach flips, but you keep your expression neutral. “If this is your idea of flirting, I’m not impressed.”

“Hmm,” he muses, leaning back again. “Perhaps I’ve spent too long among Asgardians. We have a certain... flair for tradition. Shall I compose you a sonnet instead? Or perhaps challenge another suitor to a duel in your honor?”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. You quickly school your features, but not before Loki notices. His smirk widens.

“There it is,” he says, his tone triumphant. “A crack in the armor. I knew you weren’t entirely immune to my charms.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you tap a few notes into your tablet, focusing on the task at hand.

“Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” you say firmly. “Where did the devices come from?”

Loki sighs dramatically, as if the question bores him. “You mortals are so dreadfully predictable. Always demanding answers, yet never willing to pay the price for them.”

“What’s the price?”

He tilts his head, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Your name.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Your name, Agent,” he repeats, enunciating the words slowly, as if you’re a particularly dense student. “You see, it’s rather difficult to have a proper conversation when I must refer to you as simply ‘Agent.’ It’s so... impersonal.”

You hesitate. It’s not a particularly sensitive piece of information, but giving him your name feels like handing him a weapon. Still, you decide it’s a small concession if it means making progress.

“Y/N,” you say finally. “My name is Y/N.”

Loki’s smile softens, though it’s no less dangerous. “A beautiful name for a beautiful mortal. Tell me, Y/N, do all agents possess your... charm, or are you truly one of a kind?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” you reply, though your cheeks warm slightly at the compliment. You hope the harsh lighting hides it.

“Ah, but it’s not flattery if it’s true,” he counters smoothly. “And if I may say so, you wear skepticism rather well. It suits you.”

You shake your head, fighting the urge to laugh. Loki’s flirtations are relentless, but you can’t let them distract you. You refocus on the task, determined to get the answers you need.

But as the interrogation continues, one thing becomes clear: working with Loki is going to be anything but straightforward.

The quinjet ride to Avengers Tower is suffocating in its silence. Loki sits across from you, his long legs stretched out casually as if he owns the entire aircraft. His wrists remain bound, the faint glow of the Asgardian cuffs serving as a reminder of his diminished power. But that doesn’t stop him from exuding arrogance with every calculated shift of his posture.

“Is this where I’m supposed to tremble?” he muses, his voice cutting through the quiet. “The great Avengers Tower, lair of the mighty heroes who so thoroughly bested me.” His smirk deepens. “How quaint.”

You’re seated across from him, tablet in hand, pretending to review your notes. But Loki’s presence is impossible to ignore, his every word curling around you like smoke.

“Maybe don’t insult the people who’ll be watching your every move,” you say, not looking up. “They’re already not thrilled about this arrangement.”

He tilts his head, watching you with something between amusement and curiosity. “And you, Y/N? Are you thrilled?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Oh, but your job now entails keeping me under control, does it not?” His voice lowers, playful and conspiratorial. “Tell me, how does it feel to hold the leash of a god?”

You glance up, meeting his eyes without flinching. “It feels like babysitting a particularly arrogant toddler.”

His laughter rings out, rich and genuine, surprising you. For a moment, you think you’ve caught him off guard. But then his expression shifts back to its usual smugness, and you realize he’s thoroughly enjoying this verbal sparring.

When the quinjet lands on the rooftop pad of Avengers Tower, you rise, gesturing for Loki to follow. He does, the clinking of his cuffs echoing as he steps out into the open air. The city sprawls out below, glittering in the early evening light, but Loki barely spares it a glance. His focus remains on the tower itself, his smirk growing as he takes in the structure.

“Ah, Stark’s playground,” he says. “I trust the man himself is waiting inside, ready to deliver a string of tiresome quips?”

“Something like that,” you reply, leading him toward the elevator.

As the doors slide open, Loki steps inside with the air of a man entering his throne room. You press the button for the common floor, bracing yourself for the chaos that’s about to unfold.

The doors slide open to reveal the Avengers lounging in the common area. Tony Stark is leaning against the bar, a drink in hand, while Natasha Romanoff sharpens a knife at the table. Steve Rogers stands near the window, arms crossed, his jaw tight. Bruce Banner hovers awkwardly in the background, glancing up as you and Loki step in.

“Look who’s here!” Tony’s voice cuts through the tension, dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Reindeer Games himself. I thought Asgard had a no-returns policy.”

Loki’s lips curl into a predatory smile. “Ah, Stark. Still compensating for something, I see.”

“Alright, let’s not,” you interject quickly, stepping between them. “Loki’s here to help us, not pick a fight.”

“Help us?” Steve’s voice is cold, his gaze sharp as it settles on Loki. “That’s a generous interpretation.”

“It’s true,” you reply, keeping your tone firm. “We’ve encountered tech with energy signatures similar to the Tesseract. Loki’s the only one who might have answers.”

“Because trusting the guy who tried to enslave the planet worked out so well the first time,” Tony quips, raising his glass.

Loki chuckles softly. “It’s heartwarming to see how fondly you remember me.”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably in the corner, his eyes darting between Loki and the others. You don’t miss the tension in his posture, the way his hands twitch as if ready to retreat at a moment’s notice. Loki notices too, and for the first time since his arrival, a flicker of unease crosses his face. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

“I see the beast is still lurking,” Loki says, his voice quieter now, though the edge remains. “Tell me, Dr. Banner, does he hunger for revenge?”

Bruce flinches, his face pale. “I—I’d rather not...”

“Enough,” you cut in sharply, fixing Loki with a glare. “You’re here to cooperate, remember?”

Loki raises his hands as far as the cuffs allow, feigning innocence. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten the good doctor.”

Bruce mutters something under his breath and retreats further into the room. You make a mental note to keep an eye on both him and Loki; their shared tension feels like a powder keg waiting to ignite.

After the initial round of barbs, you manage to get Loki settled in a secure room. It’s more comfortable than the dungeons of Asgard but still far from luxurious—bare walls, a simple bed, and a reinforced door with biometric locks.

“Charming,” Loki says, surveying his new accommodations. “I feel right at home.”

“Good,” you reply, leaning against the doorframe. “Now, let’s get one thing straight. If you step out of line, even once, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

He steps closer, just enough to invade your space without crossing a line. His voice drops to a low purr. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t doubt your ability to... discipline me. In fact, I almost look forward to it.”

Your cheeks flush despite yourself, but you hold your ground. “Get some rest. We’ll debrief tomorrow.”

As you turn to leave, you hear his voice again, softer this time. “Y/N?”

You pause, glancing over your shoulder. He’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite place—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper.

“Why do you trust them with me?” he asks. “Your precious Avengers. Do you truly believe they can keep me in line?”

You meet his gaze, your own unwavering. “I don’t trust them to keep you in line. That’s my job.”

His smirk returns, but there’s something almost genuine beneath it. “Indeed, it is.”

The following day, the team gathers in the briefing room. Loki is seated at the far end of the table, his wrists still bound, though his demeanor remains as smug as ever. A holographic projection displays images of the recovered devices, their design sleek and alien.

“These were found in an abandoned Hydra facility,” you explain, gesturing to the display. “They emit the same energy signature as the Tesseract, but we have no idea what they’re for. That’s where Loki comes in.”

All eyes turn to him. He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

“Convince me,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Why should I share my insights with you?”

“Because if you don’t,” Tony says, leaning forward, “we’ll lock you in a room with Banner and see how long it takes before the Other Guy wants a rematch.”

Bruce shoots Tony a horrified look, but Loki’s smirk falters for a split second. You notice the way his fingers tighten against the edge of the table.

“Enough,” you say firmly. “We’re not resorting to threats.” You turn to Loki, your voice softening slightly. “You know what’s out there, and you know how dangerous it can be. Help us stop it. Prove you’re not the monster everyone thinks you are.”

For a moment, the room is silent. Loki’s gaze locks onto yours, something flickering in his expression—something almost vulnerable. Then, slowly, he inclines his head.

“Very well,” he says, his voice smooth once more. “Let’s see if mortals can keep up.”

As the meeting disperses, Loki lingers behind, waiting until it’s just the two of you.

“Nicely done, Y/N,” he says, his tone almost... complimentary. “You’ve mastered the art of persuasion.”

“I didn’t persuade you,” you reply. “I just told the truth.”

He steps closer, his smirk returning. “And yet, it worked. I wonder, what other truths might you use to sway me?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Let’s focus on saving the world first, shall we?”

“As you wish,” he says, bowing his head slightly. But as he steps past you, his voice drops to a whisper. “Though I suspect saving me might be your true challenge.”

You watch him leave, your heart inexplicably pounding. This mission just got a lot more complicated.

The next morning, the Avengers leave in a flurry of purpose and energy, Stark’s voice echoing with instructions as they file out of the tower. It’s a rare sight—every single one of them heading into the field together. You’re left behind, tasked with monitoring Loki and keeping the tower secure.

The quiet that follows their departure is almost unnerving. You sit in the common area, flipping through a report on your tablet, when Loki saunters in. He’s unbound for now—S.H.I.E.L.D.’s restraints only used when necessary. His movements are languid, predatory, as he crosses the room with his usual air of entitlement.

“Left alone with me again, Y/N?” he drawls, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

You don’t look up. “You’re always alone, Loki. I’m just here to make sure you don’t destroy anything or anyone.”

He hums thoughtfully, his sharp gaze raking over you. “I wonder, is that truly why you remain? Or do you find my company... intriguing?”

You glance at him, exasperated. “I find it tolerable. At best.”

“And yet, here you are.” His smirk widens as he steps closer, just enough to test your boundaries. “Tell me, Agent, what do you do when the others aren’t here to play their parts? Surely, you don’t spend every waking moment in this dull little tower watching me.”

“Someone has to.” You set your tablet aside and stand, trying to put some distance between the two of you. “Why don’t you make my job easier and sit quietly for once?”

“But then how would I amuse myself?” He takes another step closer, his voice lowering. “You may not admit it, but I suspect you’d miss my antics if I were to behave.”

You roll your eyes and walk toward the kitchen, feigning indifference. “Don’t flatter yourself, Loki.”

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. You keep yourself busy with monitoring systems and catching up on reports, all while Loki stays suspiciously quiet in his room. It's unusual—he’s normally a restless presence, eager to test limits.

You assume his compliance is a sign of temporary boredom. What you don’t know is that Loki is lying in his sparse room, calculating. He’s been studying the tower’s security systems, searching for a way to slip past its safeguards. Tonight might be the night, he thinks. He’s memorized the patterns, the gaps, and he knows he can vanish before the Avengers even realize he’s gone.

As the hours stretch into evening, you retire to your room, unaware of the god’s intentions. Your space is a rare sanctuary in the tower, a blend of cozy practicality and personal touches that feel distinctly you.

Loki waits until the tower falls completely silent. With a wave of his hand, he disables the monitoring device in his room. It’s a minor spell—one he’s been saving for the right moment. The cuffs are no longer a problem; he’s studied the locking mechanism enough to slip them off without much effort.

He steps into the hallway, his bare feet silent on the cool floor. For the first time in weeks, he feels a surge of freedom, the tantalizing promise of escape. He heads for the exit, his mind already planning the next steps.

But as he passes by your room, a faint sound catches his attention. The door is slightly ajar, spilling a sliver of warm light into the hall. Loki hesitates, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

He peeks inside—and what he sees makes his breath hitch.

You’re standing in front of your bed, freshly out of the shower. Your hair is damp, curling against your shoulders, and you’re wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around your body. The bathroom door behind you is still open, steam curling into the air, and the glow of a bedside lamp bathes your skin in soft light.

Completely unaware of your observer, you move to the dresser, pulling it open to retrieve clothes. As you reach up, the towel slips slightly, revealing more of your shoulder and the curve of your collarbone. Loki swallows hard, a rush of heat pooling in his chest and spreading lower.

He knows he should leave—should slip away unnoticed and continue with his plan. But he doesn’t move.

There’s something captivating about this glimpse of you outside the professional walls you keep so firmly in place. You’re unguarded, human in a way he rarely sees, and it stirs something in him he doesn’t entirely understand.

He takes a step closer, his presence still undetected. The urge to say something, to tease you as he always does, bubbles up, but he suppresses it.

For once, the god of mischief is utterly silent.

You turn suddenly, as if sensing something, and his heart lurches. He retreats quickly, pressing himself against the wall just as your eyes flick toward the door.

“Hello?” you call, your voice uncertain.

Loki curses himself for his foolishness. He shouldn’t have lingered—but now that he’s seen this side of you, his desire to leave the tower has shifted. He watches as you step closer to the door, your expression wary.

He slips away, retreating to his room without a sound. Once inside, he leans against the wall, his mind racing.

The thought of escape still lingers in the back of his mind, but it no longer feels urgent. Not tonight.

Not when he knows you’re here, in the same space, entirely unaware of the effect you’ve had on him.

You find Loki in the common area, lounging on the couch as if nothing happened. His cuffs are back in place, though you notice a faint smugness in his expression, as if he knows something you don’t.

“Good morning,” he says smoothly, his tone laced with amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You seem chipper today.”

“Perhaps I’ve found reason to be,” he replies, his gaze flickering over you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You frown, brushing off the unease that his words stir. “Try not to enjoy yourself too much. You’re still under watch.”

“Of course,” he says with a slight bow of his head. “But tell me, Y/N, how did you sleep? Peacefully, I hope.”

There’s something about the way he says it—soft, teasing, with just a hint of mischief—that makes you pause.

You brush past him, refusing to let him get under your skin. But as you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts.

And in his room later, Loki sits at the edge of his bed, the memory of you from the night before seared into his mind.

For now, his escape can wait.

The tension in the air was thick as the Avengers gathered in the briefing room, the holographic screen showing images of the upcoming gala. Tony Stark stood at the head of the table, his hands resting on the surface, eyes narrowed as he analyzed the data. Steve Rogers was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw set, while Natasha Romanoff sat with a focused expression, her fingers tapping lightly on the table. Bruce Banner, still uneasy around Loki, looked at the screen, then at his colleagues, silently awaiting the inevitable question.

"Alright," Tony began, his voice cutting through the thick silence. "We've got a masked gala happening in three days. High-profile event. The criminals we're tracking are expected to make a deal there, and it's our best shot at catching them."

"But they’ll be surrounded by a lot of people," Natasha said, folding her arms. "And these are highly dangerous individuals—some with connections to Hydra. We can’t risk a full-on assault."

"I agree," Steve added, his tone serious. "If we act too soon, we’ll spook them. We need to get inside, gather intel, and only move in when we have enough to bring them down safely."

"The problem," Tony continued, tapping a button on the table to bring up a closer view of the suspects, "is that they’re too well-protected. The best way in is through someone they don’t expect. Someone like... Loki."

The room went quiet. Everyone exchanged glances, the air thick with unease. Even though Loki had been cooperating—somewhat—the trust wasn’t there. Not after what he’d done. Not after the chaos he’d tried to bring to Earth. And still, his knowledge of these kinds of circles, his ability to navigate a room and blend in with the highest of society—well, it was a skill set they couldn’t afford to ignore.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” Tony continued. “But he’s the only one who can do this. We send him in as a guest. He can be charming—when he wants to be—and this kind of event is perfect for him. He won’t be recognized as a threat. In fact, they’ll probably be more inclined to trust him because of his past affiliations.”

“But we can’t just let him roam free,” Steve said, his distrust of the god evident. “There’s still the matter of him being dangerous. Even if he’s pretending to play nice, he’s unpredictable.”

“Exactly,” Tony said with a nod. “Which is why we’ll send Y/N in with him. As his escort.”

The room went silent again, this time for a different reason. Every eye turned to you, and for a brief moment, you felt the weight of their gazes. It wasn’t exactly a choice you’d been expecting. You had done plenty of fieldwork, but partnering with Loki? That was a new level of uncomfortable.

“Y/N’s been on the ground for this mission longer than any of us,” Tony continued, sensing the hesitation. “She knows the people, she knows how to blend in, and most importantly, she knows Loki better than any of us. She can keep him in check. Plus, we need someone who can keep him focused when things get... tense.”

You couldn’t help but shoot Tony a sharp look. “You’re assuming I’ll be able to control him. I’m not sure that’s realistic.”

“I’m confident you can,” Tony said with a shrug, though his tone was far from comforting. “Besides, we’ll be monitoring you both from the moment you step inside. We’ll be feeding you intel, and we’ve got backup in case things go sideways. But we can’t afford to miss this opportunity.”

You let out a long breath. The Avengers were right in one respect—this gala would be the criminals’ first big move, and it was the perfect chance to catch them red-handed. The only problem was the wild card in all of this—Loki.

“You do realize, he’s going to hate this, right?” you said, glancing toward the hallway where Loki’s room was. “He won’t go along with it without making some... demands.”

“I’m aware,” Tony said with a smirk. “But that’s where you come in. You’re going to keep him in line, whether he likes it or not.”

The idea of working so closely with Loki was disconcerting, to say the least. You weren’t sure if you were more concerned about his volatile personality or the way he looked at you—like he could read you with a single glance. Either way, being his partner at a high-stakes event was sure to turn this mission into something far more complicated than it already was.

“You’ll need to get him suited up,” Tony added. “Dress him the part. He’s got the charm, but he’s going to need the right... accessories to sell it. A tux, maybe something dark and mysterious. And, of course, a story. We’re going with the ‘rich but elusive businessman’ angle.”

You nodded reluctantly. “I’ll make sure he’s... presentable. But don’t expect him to be on his best behavior just because he’s wearing a suit.”

“I’m counting on you to make sure he stays in character, Y/N,” Tony said, locking eyes with you. “We need him to play nice for just a few hours. If he steps out of line, you have full clearance to use whatever means necessary to rein him in.”

Steve cleared his throat, stepping forward. “I don’t like putting you in this position, Y/N. But this is the only chance we’ve got to take down these criminals. You know the risks, and we’re counting on you to make sure Loki doesn’t derail everything.”

“I get it,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “I’ll keep him focused. But if he decides to do something... foolish, don’t expect me to clean up after him.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tony said with a grin. “But seriously, we’re counting on you both. The gala is our best chance to catch them. You’ll be getting intel from us in real time, so we’ll know exactly when to move in.”

You nodded again, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on your shoulders. This wasn’t just about stopping criminals—it was about making sure Loki didn’t ruin everything, too. And while you could handle the job, you knew it wouldn’t be easy, especially with a god of mischief at your side.

As you walked to Loki’s room to prepare him for the mission, your mind raced. You were about to go undercover with someone who had a knack for turning every situation into a game. It was going to be a challenge, no doubt about it. But if it meant catching the criminals and keeping the tower—and your team—safe, you were ready to do whatever it took.

You reached his door and knocked twice, preparing yourself for the inevitable confrontation. It was time to bring him into the fold, even if that meant wrestling him into a tux and a plan.

Inside, Loki’s voice echoed through the door. “Come in, Y/N. I trust this isn’t a social call?”

You opened the door, steeling yourself. The mission was about to begin, and there was no turning back.

The grandeur of the gala hits you the moment you step into the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the crowd, illuminating the sea of elegant masks and opulent gowns. A live band plays a sultry melody, the kind that fills the air with the promise of secrets. Beside you, Loki cuts an imposing figure, his sharp suit tailored to perfection and his black mask veiling just enough of his face to make him look both alluring and dangerous.

You’re both walking a tightrope here, pretending to be something you’re not while still tethered to the truth. The mission is clear: mingle, gather intel on the criminals, and identify their deal. But the undercurrent of your arrangement hums just beneath the surface, threatening to pull you under with every step.

“They certainly went all out,” Loki muses, his voice smooth as silk. He offers his arm, and though you hesitate for a fraction of a second, you take it. “Is this where I play the doting husband?”

“Try not to overdo it,” you reply, keeping your voice low. “We’re supposed to blend in, not steal the spotlight.”

He tilts his head toward you, his lips curling into a smirk. “But stealing the spotlight is what I do best, darling.”

You give him a warning look, though your heart skips a beat at the way the endearment rolls off his tongue. “Save the theatrics for later. Right now, we need to find our targets.”

He hums in agreement, though the sharp gleam in his eyes suggests he’s more focused on you than the mission. His hand rests lightly over yours as he leads you through the crowd, weaving seamlessly between masked attendees. He’s good at this, you realize, his charm a perfect weapon in this environment.

“Smile,” he murmurs close to your ear, his breath ghosting against your skin. “You look far too serious for someone at a gala.”

You force a small smile, though the proximity of him sends heat rushing to your face. “I’d be more relaxed if I wasn’t babysitting a god with a penchant for chaos.”

“And I’d be more entertained if my wife weren’t so suspicious of me,” he teases, his voice dropping just enough to make the words feel intimate.

Before you can retort, Loki’s posture shifts ever so slightly. He leans closer, pretending to adjust your mask, and murmurs, “Our targets are at three o’clock. The tall one with the crimson gown. She’s speaking to a man with a cane.”

You glance subtly in that direction and nod. “Let’s move closer.”

The two of you drift toward the edge of the ballroom, positioning yourselves within earshot of the targets. Loki keeps his hand on yours, the intimate gesture lending an air of authenticity to your cover. You focus on the conversation happening nearby, picking up snippets of information about shipment schedules and encrypted codes.

But then, the music changes.

A familiar tune fills the room—sultry, electric, and unmistakably intense. It’s Bust Your Windows by Jazmine Sullivan, reimagined by the live band with a pulsing tango rhythm.

Before you can react, Loki takes your hand and spins you toward the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, trying to pull back.

“Keeping up appearances,” he says smoothly, his mask glinting in the light. “We’re a married couple, after all. And what better way to celebrate our love than a dance?”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, but you allow him to lead you onto the floor.

The second your feet touch the polished wood, his hand finds the small of your back, pulling you closer than you expect. His other hand captures yours, holding it just above shoulder height as he begins to move. The tango’s rhythm demands sharp, deliberate steps, and Loki executes them flawlessly, guiding you as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you say, breathless as he spins you.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replies, his voice low and magnetic.

The music swells, the band leaning into the dramatic crescendos, and you feel the tension between you and Loki rise to match it. Every step, every twist of your body against his, feels charged. His hand lingers just a moment too long when it brushes your hip, his fingers grazing the bare skin between your dress and his touch.

“You’re supposed to be watching the targets,” you remind him, though your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

“Ah, but how could I focus on them when my wife is such a vision?” His tone is playful, but there’s something darker, more serious, behind his words.

As he dips you, your breath catches. The movement is effortless, but the way his eyes bore into yours makes you forget, for a moment, that this is just an act.

The song’s climax hits, and Loki pulls you even closer, his cheek brushing yours as he whispers, “Tell me, darling. Are you pretending to enjoy this as much as I am?”

Your heart pounds, though you refuse to let him see how much he’s affecting you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you haven’t pushed me away,” he counters, spinning you once more before the final beats of the song.

The last note hangs in the air as Loki holds you in a dramatic pose, his arm wrapped around your waist, his face inches from yours. The applause from the crowd barely registers as you realize your breathing has quickened, your skin warm where his hand rests.

He smirks, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Shall we call this a victory, wife?”

You snap back to reality, pulling away just enough to compose yourself. “Don’t get used to it. We still have a mission.”

“Of course,” he says, though the glint in his eyes suggests he’s far more interested in the game he’s playing with you than the criminals in the room.

As the crowd disperses from the dance floor, you glance toward your targets, who seem to have moved toward a private balcony.

“Come on,” you say, tugging at his arm.

Loki follows, but not before leaning close and murmuring, “I’ll be thinking about that dance for a very long time.”

You don’t dignify him with a response, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. The mission isn’t over yet, and you can only hope Loki’s antics won’t make things even more complicated.

You and Loki follow the targets carefully, keeping a measured distance as they make their way toward a secluded hallway leading to the gala’s private suites. The corridor is dimly lit, lined with ornate wallpaper and gilded sconces. The murmur of the crowd fades, leaving only the faint echo of footsteps as you press closer to the wall, your pulse quickening with the thrill of being so near to your goal.

“They’re heading to the west wing,” Loki whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “It seems our charming couple prefers privacy for their dealings.”

You nod, your heart pounding as you creep along the edge of the hall, trying to stay out of sight. The couple stops just ahead, speaking in hushed tones. Loki steps closer behind you, his presence almost overwhelming in the enclosed space.

“Keep your focus,” you hiss, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“Oh, I am focused,” he replies, his tone playful but quiet. “Though I can’t help but wonder how much longer we can linger without being noticed.”

It’s a valid concern. The targets seem engrossed in their conversation, but the corridor is too exposed. You glance around, searching for a place to retreat or a better angle to listen in, but before you can decide, one of the criminals glances back sharply, their eyes scanning the hallway.

“They’re looking this way,” Loki mutters, his voice low and urgent.

Panic shoots through you. There’s no time to retreat, no place to hide. Your mind races, and then—on pure instinct—you grab Loki by the lapels of his suit and pull him toward you.

Before he can protest, your lips press against his, your back hitting the wall as you lean into him. His body stiffens for a split second, but then he catches on. His hands come to rest on your waist, fingers curling slightly as he leans into the kiss, matching your urgency with surprising ease.

Your heart hammers in your chest, not just from the danger but from the sudden, electric sensation of Loki’s mouth on yours. His lips are soft yet commanding, his touch both calculated and possessive as he shifts his body to shield you further from view.

“What in the Nine Realms are you doing?” he whispers against your lips, his tone more intrigued than accusatory.

“Keeping us alive,” you murmur back, your voice barely audible as the footsteps approach.

The targets pass by slowly, their footsteps deliberate. You can feel their gaze sweep over you, but you don’t dare look. Instead, you pour every ounce of focus into the act, your fingers curling into the fabric of Loki’s jacket as you deepen the kiss just enough to sell it.

Loki seems to relish the role, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further. His thumb brushes against your waist, sending a shiver through you that has nothing to do with the cold.

A voice interrupts the moment, sharp and disapproving. “This is hardly the place for such displays.”

You part from Loki abruptly, your face hot as you turn to face the source of the scolding. One of the gala’s staff members, an older man in a crisp uniform, stands a few feet away, his expression one of polite disapproval.

“My apologies,” you say quickly, straightening your mask and trying to appear appropriately chastised. “We got… carried away.”

Loki, ever the performer, offers a sheepish smile that’s somehow more seductive than apologetic. “Forgive us. My wife and I have a difficult time restraining our passions.”

The staff member huffs, clearly unimpressed. “There are designated areas for such… activities. Keep it off the main floor.”

“Of course,” Loki replies smoothly, his hand still resting at the small of your back. “We’ll be more discreet.”

The staff member mutters something under his breath before walking away, and you exhale a shaky breath, your heart still racing. The targets are gone, having paid you no more than a passing glance. The plan worked.

You glance up at Loki, whose expression is unreadable behind his mask. “That was quick thinking,” he says finally, though there’s a teasing edge to his voice. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“It was survival,” you retort, stepping out of his hold and straightening your dress. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He smirks, adjusting his own mask with an air of casual arrogance. “Too late for that, darling. I’m afraid you’ve given me quite a lot to think about.”

You glare at him, though the heat in your cheeks betrays you. “Focus, Loki. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Ah, but you see,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, “now I’m more motivated than ever to see this mission through. And who knows? Perhaps we’ll need to use that particular tactic again.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past him as you head back toward the main event. But as much as you want to dismiss his words, the lingering warmth of his kiss—and the way your body seemed to respond to him—stays with you, making it harder to focus than you’d like.

Loki follows close behind, his footsteps quiet but his presence impossible to ignore. And though neither of you speaks it aloud, there’s an unspoken awareness between you now—an understanding that something has shifted. Whether that’s a good thing or a dangerous one, only time will tell.

The ride back to the Avengers Tower is quieter than you expect, though tension hangs in the air, thick and unyielding. The mission was a success; you and Loki gathered enough intel to pinpoint the criminals’ next move and their precise location. As Tony pilots the jet, he and Natasha pore over the information, already strategizing for the intervention. Steve listens intently, his expression serious, while Bruce sits stiffly in his seat, keeping his distance from Loki, though the god seems entirely unfazed.

You sit across from Loki, your mask now discarded, but the memory of the gala’s events lingers. Every stolen glance, every near-discovery, and every moment you spent pressed against him still simmers in the back of your mind. You can feel his eyes on you, and though you refuse to look at him, your body betrays you, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Quite the evening,” Loki says suddenly, his voice smooth and low. His tone carries the same playful edge it always does, but there’s something else lurking beneath it—something darker, hungrier.

“Successful, at least,” you reply, keeping your voice even as you glance at him. “We accomplished what we came to do.”

“Indeed,” he says, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Though I dare say the evening held more… unexpected delights than anticipated.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can respond, Steve interrupts.

“Focus, you two,” he says sharply. “We’ve got work to do.”

Loki’s smirk widens, but he falls silent, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied air. You cross your arms, willing yourself to ignore him, though the memory of his kiss lingers, stubborn and persistent.

When you return to the Tower, the debriefing is quick and efficient. Tony projects the data you and Loki retrieved, detailing the location of the deal and the criminals’ schedule. The team agrees to strike at dawn, using the element of surprise to their advantage. As plans take shape, you feel a flicker of relief. The night’s tension will soon give way to action, and with any luck, this mission will end successfully.

Once the meeting adjourns, you catch Loki’s eye. “Come on,” you say, gesturing for him to follow. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

“As you wish,” he replies, rising gracefully from his seat.

The walk to his quarters is quiet at first. The Tower feels oddly still in the late hours, the hallways dimly lit. You lead the way, your mind spinning as you try to push away the lingering heat of the gala—the dance, the kiss, the way his hands felt on you. Loki walks beside you, his presence magnetic as ever, his gaze lingering on you even when you refuse to meet it.

When you reach his door, you stop, turning to face him. “Goodnight, Loki,” you say, your voice firm but polite.

But before you can step away, he moves closer.

“You’ve been avoiding my eyes all evening,” he says, his voice a low, velvety murmur. “Why is that, darling? Did I do something to unnerve you?”

“No,” you reply quickly, though the catch in your voice betrays you. “I’ve been focused on the mission, that’s all.”

“Liar,” he says softly, his smirk returning. “You’ve been thinking about it. About us. About the way I touched you, held you, kissed you.”

His words send a rush of heat through you, and you take a step back, your back hitting the wall. He follows, closing the distance until he’s mere inches away, his tall frame towering over you.

“Admit it,” he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You felt it, too—the spark, the fire. I see it in your eyes, Y/N. You want me just as much as I want you.”

You open your mouth to protest, but no words come out. Because he’s right. No matter how much you’ve tried to deny it, the truth is undeniable now, burning in every corner of your being.

His hand rises to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me to walk away, and I will.”

But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into his touch, your resolve crumbling as the need overtakes you. Loki’s eyes darken, his breath hitching as he realizes your answer.

With a groan, he closes the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s nothing like the one at the gala. This kiss is raw, urgent, and unrestrained, a culmination of every unspoken word and every stolen glance. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips move against yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

And to his surprise—and yours—you kiss him back with just as much passion. Your fingers thread through his dark hair, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the moment. The world falls away, leaving only the heat of his touch and the hunger in his kiss.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard, your foreheads resting together. Loki’s hands remain on your waist, his grip firm yet gentle as if he’s afraid you might pull away.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but tender.

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you press your lips to his again, silencing any words with a kiss that speaks volumes. For now, words don’t matter. All that matters is this—this moment, this connection, this fire that neither of you can deny anymore.

And for the first time, neither of you tries to.

The Tower feels different now, quieter in the wake of the mission’s success. The criminals have been apprehended, their operation dismantled, and SHIELD has taken over for the cleanup. But despite the victory, a strange tension lingers, heavy and unspoken. Fury and Thor are locked in discussions about Loki’s fate, and you and Loki are left waiting in his room, suspended in uncertainty.

The silence between you is unlike any other you’ve shared before. It’s not sharp with banter or charged with playful tension; it’s softer, quieter, tinged with something neither of you is willing to name.

You sit on the edge of the small couch by the window, gazing out at the city lights glittering against the dark sky. Loki leans against the desk, his long fingers idly toying with the edge of a book. For once, he’s still—not prowling or pacing, not filling the room with his restless energy.

“They’re taking their time,” you murmur, your voice cutting through the silence.

“They always do,” Loki replies, though his tone lacks its usual sarcasm.

You glance at him, studying his profile. He looks calm, almost serene, but you’ve spent enough time with him to see through the mask. The faint furrow in his brow, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands grip the book just a little too tightly—they all betray him.

“They’ll make the right decision,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

He scoffs lightly but doesn’t look at you. “The right decision,” he repeats, the words laced with bitterness. “That depends entirely on who is defining it.”

You sigh, standing and moving closer to him. “Loki, you helped. You could’ve run at any point during this mission, but you didn’t. That has to count for something.”

His lips twist into a faint smirk, though there’s no humor in it. “And do you think that will sway Fury or my brother? Do you think they’ll forget what I’ve done? The chaos, the destruction?”

“They don’t have to forget,” you say, stepping even closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “But they can see that you’re not the same person who attacked New York. You’ve changed, Loki.”

His gaze finally lifts to meet yours, and for a moment, something raw flashes in his eyes—something vulnerable and uncertain. “Have I?”

You place your hand over his, stilling his restless movements. “Yes. You have. I see it. And if they can’t, then that’s their failure, not yours.”

The room falls into silence again, but this time, it feels different. Loki’s hand shifts beneath yours, his fingers curling around yours as he exhales slowly.

“What do you think they’ll decide?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “But whatever happens, we’ll face it. Together.”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, the mask falls away entirely. You see the man beneath—the uncertainty, the fear, the hope he doesn’t dare acknowledge.

“You say that as if you’ll still be by my side when this is over,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t hesitate. “I will be.”

His hand tightens on yours, his eyes holding yours as if trying to memorize every detail. Then, without warning, he pulls you closer, his other hand rising to cradle your face.

“If this is to be the last time we’re alone,” he says, his voice trembling slightly, “then let it be a moment worth remembering.”

Your heart aches at the words, at the vulnerability he’s showing. But you don’t argue. Instead, you lean into him, closing the gap between you.

The kiss is different this time. It’s not urgent or hungry but slow and lingering, filled with a quiet desperation. His lips move against yours as if savoring every second, every touch, every taste. His hands are gentle, one cradling your cheek while the other rests on your waist, anchoring you to him.

You lose yourself in him, in the way he holds you like you’re something fragile and precious, in the way his touch feels like both a promise and a farewell.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, and the world outside feels impossibly far away.

“No matter what they decide,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly, “you’re not alone. You never will be.”

For a long moment, Loki doesn’t speak. Then he nods, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as he closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, the words so quiet you almost miss them.

The two of you stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the world outside fade away. For now, there’s no SHIELD, no judgment, no uncertain future. There’s only this—this moment, this connection, this fragile yet unbreakable bond.

And for now, that’s enough.

The knock at the door comes like a thunderclap, shattering the fragile stillness you and Loki have wrapped yourselves in. You tense in his arms, and his grip on you tightens briefly before he lets you go, stepping back as though putting distance between you is the only way to shield himself from what’s coming.

You take a deep breath and move to answer the door, Loki trailing behind you. When you open it, you’re greeted by the imposing figures of Nick Fury and Thor. Fury’s face is unreadable, his single eye piercing as it moves between you and Loki. Thor’s expression is graver than you’ve ever seen it, a heaviness in his gaze that sends a chill down your spine.

“May we come in?” Fury asks, his voice clipped.

You nod, stepping aside to let them enter. Loki lingers near the window, his posture deceptively casual as he leans against the wall. But you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curl faintly against his sides.

Fury and Thor take positions near the center of the room, both of them standing tall and commanding. Thor’s gaze lingers on Loki, a mix of concern and judgment flashing across his face.

“We’ve reached a decision,” Fury begins, his tone as sharp as ever. “It wasn’t an easy one, considering everything Loki has done in the past and the risks he poses in the future.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you glance at Loki. He’s staring at Fury now, his expression a careful mask of indifference.

“Loki Laufeyson,” Thor says, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Your actions during this mission have proven that you are capable of aiding Midgard without causing harm. However, they do not erase the destruction you have wrought.”

Loki raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “How magnanimous of you, brother. Do get to the point.”

Thor’s jaw tightens, but he presses on. “You will not be returned to Asgard’s dungeons. Instead, you will remain here, under the supervision of SHIELD and the Avengers. Your movements will be restricted, and any deviation from the terms of your parole will result in severe consequences.”

Fury nods. “Think of it as probation. You step out of line, you’re done. No exceptions.”

You exhale a shaky breath, relief flooding through you despite the harshness of their words. Loki isn’t going back to Asgard’s prison. He isn’t being taken away.

Loki, however, seems less than impressed. “So, I am to be your prisoner still, but with a longer leash?”

“Consider it an opportunity,” Thor says, his tone softening slightly. “To prove that you are more than your past mistakes.”

Loki’s smirk fades, and for a moment, something unreadable flashes in his eyes. He looks away, his gaze drifting to the window.

“And what role do I play in this… probation?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“You’ll assist the Avengers as needed,” Fury says bluntly. “Your skills are… useful, when not being used to destroy things.”

“Charming,” Loki mutters.

Fury ignores the comment, turning his attention to you. “As for you, Y/N, you’ll remain his primary handler. You’ve proven capable of keeping him in check, and frankly, you’re the only one he seems remotely willing to listen to.”

The weight of the responsibility settles over you, but you nod firmly. “Understood.”

Thor steps forward then, his gaze fixed on Loki. “Do not squander this chance, brother. It may be the only one you are given.”

Loki meets his gaze, his expression unreadable. “I’ll endeavor not to disappoint you, Thor.”

The words are polite, but there’s a sharpness to them, a bitterness that hasn’t faded. Thor watches him for a moment longer before nodding and turning to leave. Fury follows, but not before giving you a pointed look.

“Keep him in line,” he says, and then he’s gone, the door closing behind him.

The room falls into silence again, heavier now than before. You turn to Loki, who remains by the window, his back to you.

“Well,” he says finally, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “It seems I’m to be your ward indefinitely. I hope you’re prepared for the burden.”

You take a step closer, your heart aching at the undercurrent of vulnerability in his tone. “Loki… this is a second chance. They didn’t have to give you that.”

He turns to face you, his expression guarded. “A second chance to serve as their pet sorcerer, you mean. To be tolerated, not trusted.”

“It’s more than that,” you insist, moving closer still. “It’s a chance to prove them wrong. To show them who you really are.”

“And who is that, Y/N?” he asks, his voice dropping. “Who do you think I really am?”

You hesitate, your throat tightening as you search for the right words. “I think you’re someone who’s been hurt, someone who’s made mistakes, but someone who’s still capable of doing good. Of being… more.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. Then, to your surprise, he chuckles—a quiet, almost bitter sound.

“You are a strange woman, Y/N,” he says, shaking his head. “But perhaps that’s what I need.”

You smile faintly, stepping even closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “You’ll never have to face this alone, Loki. Not as long as I’m here.”

He gazes at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, he lifts a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“You’re maddening, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and tender.

“Then we’re even,” you reply, your lips quirking into a faint smile.

For the first time that night, his smirk softens into something more genuine. And as he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, the weight of the world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part III

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which you are found out. Chapter Warnings: Making out, a little bit of groping, teasing, fingering, Loki being a horrendous tease.

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

It’s difficult to return to your life the next day.

You try to be pragmatic about it: you’ve told yourself over and over that what had happened in the garden was a fluke, a once in a lifetime bout of extraordinariness that would not—could not—be repeated. You know this and you accept it.

But the magic of last night lingers in a way that makes you feel a little melancholy and wistful. You’re distracted the whole day, your thoughts wandering back to the feeling of soft lips on yours, warm hands on your waist, the glimmer of emerald green eyes.

“Are you well?” Grete asks you that afternoon. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

You force a smile. “I didn’t sleep well,” you say, which isn’t exactly a lie, but also isn’t the full truth. Either way, it’s enough to fool Grete, who returns to her work, chattering about something that happened with Solvi and one of the stablehands.

Even if she wasn’t a gossip, you could never tell Grete what happened in the garden. You could never tell anyone. A sudden, lonely feeling rears its head and there’s an ache in the center of your chest. You’re used to being lonely, but this feels different, sharper in a way you’re not expecting.

It doesn’t seem like it should be possible to miss a life that you never had, but you find yourself consumed with that notion.

Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t gone at all.

You don’t go to the library that night. It’s largely because you don’t want to risk the chance of him recognizing you so close to the masquerade. The more time between you and the masquerade, the better: better that you fade from his memory rather than inadvertently jog it

But it’s also because you’re not sure that you can bear to be in the same room as him when you’re feeling like this. Better to wait until your heart felt a little less tender.

You avoid the library for six days. On the seventh day, you decide that you’ve waited long enough to return. 

In hindsight, though, it was the height of hubris to think that you could pull one over on the god of mischief and lies.

In making this bargain with Loki, you were making several assumptions. You had assumed that his memory was imperfect enough to not recognize you without your mask and that your very dull and ordinary life had such a vise grip on you that no force—not even the attention of a handsome and clever prince—could possibly disrupt it.

How very wrong you were.

You’re initially quite relieved when you don’t see him in his usual chair. You’ll be able to fully enjoy yourself without worrying about looking over your shoulder as you wander through the stacks.

You’re feeling rather pleased with yourself and a little giddy with relief and you’re not exactly paying attention as you round a corner in the stacks, a fact that becomes apparent to you when you crash into something rather warm and solid. Hands grab your elbows to keep you from falling and you look up, your mouth half open in an apology.

It is at this point that you begin to process that the warm and solid thing that you’ve bumped into is, in fact, a person.

More specifically: it’s Loki.

For a moment, you think you might be able to wiggle your way out of this particular snag without any problem. But then he locks eyes with you and you immediately, instinctively know that it’s too late: he knows exactly who you are.

His smile is wide and sharp. Predatory—but not in an unappealing way. “Hello, little mouse.”

Your mouth is paper dry and suddenly your legs feel too unsteady to even attempt a clumsy curtsy.

“Your highness, I—” You’re struggling to string a pair of words together and this is made all the more difficult by the fact that he hasn’t let go of you. “Forgive me,” you say, “I can explain.” 

You are not entirely sure that you can, to be quite honest, but it seems like the right thing to say.

“You can explain why you thought it clever to lie to your prince?” he says lightly, his voice rich with mirth. He doesn’t look angry—on the contrary, he seems amused. You’re not quite sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“Nothing I said was a lie,” you say. “I only did not tell you who I was.”

“Clever girl,” he says. His voice is low and intimate and it’s doing something delicious to your insides, even as your heart threatens to pound its way out of your chest. “Tell me,” he says, “how does a servant come to be so clever as to read Auber and sneak into libraries and fool princes at masquerades?”

“Perhaps I was not always a servant,” you say and then, before you can stop yourself, you add, “And at any rate, I don’t read Auber when I can avoid him. I’m a sensible person, after all.”

It’s an impertinent thing to say and you’re already in enough trouble as it is. But Loki merely chuckles.

“You have a wicked tongue, my dear,” he says with a catlike smile. “That will get you into trouble someday.”

“One could argue it already has,” you say before you can think better of it.

“Indeed,” he says and his eyes glitter like the edge of a knife. “And now that I’ve found you, I believe you made me a promise.” 

You almost want to laugh. The very notion of him still wanting to kiss you is several different kinds of absurd. “Surely you don’t intend to carry on with that game now that you know who I am,” you say.

There again is the catlike smile. “On the contrary, I quite enjoy our merry little chase and I intend to continue it now that I’ve found you.”

“I’m beneath you.”

He gives you a wicked grin. “I’d rather like you to be.”

You’re confronted with two opposing feelings. You can’t deny that you’re flattered: he’s handsome and you’re wildly attracted to him despite the fact that it’s inconvenient, to say the very least. But at the same time, you’re not about to just cede all power to him just because you’re flattered. At the end of the day, he’s a prince and you’re a servant—you won’t let him take advantage of that imbalance.

“I won’t be your conquest of the week,” you say sharply, using a tone that most would consider inappropriate for addressing someone of his status. “I’m some toy you can play with and discard when you tire of me.”

You expect him to reprimand you, to remind you of your place, but instead he laughs. The sound surprises you, even as it does shameful things to your insides. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says.

You’re skeptical of this and your expression shows it. He registers this and he becomes a bit more serious. “Darling,” he says, placing his hands on the shelves behind you and casually cageing you in, “I’m not letting you go that easily. You have my undivided attention.”

The prospect of receiving his undivided attention sends a shiver up your spine—it’s as intimidating as it is appealing.

“Now,” he says, his voice lowering as his fingertips graze the curve of your jaw, “I’d like to collect on a promise.”

Your breath stutters in your throat as both of his hands cup your cheeks. He looks down at you, his eyes hooded and focused on your lips. He waits one long, agonizing moment, and you remind yourself to breathe and forget the instruction a moment later when his lips brush lightly against yours. Were it not for the heavy, coiling heat he was summoning in your hips, it would almost seem chaste. You feel him take a breath and then his mouth is opening against yours, his tongue tracing your lower lip and then sliding smoothly past it.

That last kiss was supposed to last you a lifetime—you were not expecting another one ever, let alone so soon. You feel drunk on the taste of his lips and his tongue has you thinking wicked thoughts. The longer it goes on, the more your knees wobble and the more breathless you feel.

You catch his lower lip between your teeth and tug on it gently; he inhales sharply and presses against you like he has half a mind to take you right there up against the stacks and stars above, you can’t help but want that just a little. 

His thigh slots between your legs and your body sings as you arch against him.

Maybe you want that a lot.

His hands have moved from your cheeks to your waist, pressing you against him, stroking up your back and sides. His thumb barely grazes the underside of one of your breasts and a low whimper escapes the back of your throat.

You lose all sense of time and it feels far too soon when he pulls away from you, even though you can hear the clock chiming midnight. You find that you’re rather gratified and proud of the slight redness in his cheeks, how his breathing is slightly labored. You grip the shelf behind you, knees trembling.

He licks his lips as he surveys you. “This isn’t over, little mouse,” he murmurs.

You’re not quite sure if you want to kiss him or scold him. “What do you mean by that?”

He smirks. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves the library, leaving your head spinning.

You return to the library the next night. There is no reason for this—or, rather, there’s no good reason for this; while you’re enjoying your book well enough, you can’t say that it’s compelling to the point of interrupting your thoughts.

There are other reasons that have been, though.

Well. One reason, if you’re being honest.

Your feet take you to your usual place in the stacks, you find your latest book, but your mind is elsewhere, listening for the telltale tap of a booted foot on the stone floor, the creak of leather.

If someone were to ask you what you were expecting, you wouldn’t know what to say. Obviously, you’re hoping to see him again—and as much as you know it’s not a good idea, you’re also hoping that he’ll kiss you. You’re hesitant to allow yourself to think much farther than that, simply because the fact that he wants to kiss you still seems rather impossible. You learned early on in your days at the palace that daydreaming was almost certain to lead to disappointment. You’re reluctant to allow your mind to stray too far down that path.

It’s easier said than done, though.

You’re not exactly sure how he arrives, just that he suddenly has—there is a presence behind you and when you breathe in deeply, you swear you can catch the faint scent of leather and something wintery and masculine.

“Your highness,” you say coolly, like you haven’t been waiting for him with bated breath.

“Are you really enjoying your book that much?” he says and you have to force yourself not to jump when his voice is much, much closer than you thought he was. 

“It’s not Auber, so yes, I should say I am enjoying it,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He chuckles and the sound sends a shiver up your spine. “Always so sharp tongued.”

You force yourself to turn around then and stars , he is so much closer than you thought. You tilt your chin up to look at him. “Why are you here?”

His smile is wide, like he finds you especially amusing. “I am often here late at night. You know this.”

“You do not usually loom over me in the stacks,” you say.

His eyebrows lift. “Is that what I’m doing? Looming?”

“You are standing awfully close.”

Any other person might take a step back: he takes a step closer so that your back is pressed against the shelves, lowering his head so that his lips are right next to your ear. “Perhaps I’m looking for a book,” he says.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

He laughs and you feel his breath warm on your neck. “Clever girl.” His lips brush against your collarbone, his teeth nipping lightly at the delicate skin there.

“I don’t understand,” you say, even as your eyes flutter shut and you lean into his embrace. “I’m no one—why are you here?”

“Did I not tell you this wasn’t over?” he says against your neck, allowing his tongue to dip into the hollow of your collarbone, making your knees weak.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you say, but it doesn’t matter because he’s now covering your mouth with his and you can scarcely remember your own name, let alone what you were going to say next. He’s demanding and hungry, one hand tipping your head back, cupping the curve of your jaw, the other sliding to your waist, pressing you flush against him.

You’re not entirely sure what his motivations are or how far he intends to take this, but it’s hard to convince yourself to care when he’s kissing you like this. Fire is racing through your veins, filling you with a kind of reckless wanting that makes your toes curl in your shoes.

His hand slides from your waist, skimming up your side to cup your breast over your dress. He is cautious, seeming to wait for your muffled moan before taking it more firmly in his hand, expertly kneading and squeezing in just the right way until you’re half considering guiding his hand down the front of your dress.

It’s at this precise moment that he steps back from you, his dark pupils and the slight catch in his breath the only indication that you’d exchanged anything more than polite pleasantries. You lean against the shelves panting, your entire body crackling with a strange kind of heat.

“Goodnight,” he says, seemingly unable to resist a smirk as he leaves you once again in the darkness of the library as the clock strikes midnight.

He’s playing a game with you. That much is clear. You’d like to think that you’re sensible enough to know not to take his bait, to stay away from the library after dark, but you appear to be mistaken on that count. You spend most of the next day trying to keep your treacherous mind from wandering too far. You are only moderately successful—you nearly burn an entire batch of biscuits due to a particular daydream that leaves you staring out a window for a minute too long.

He’s waiting for you in the stacks this time, giving you the same smirk he did last night when he left you. You decide to keep your distance for the time being—you’re not sure that you can ever say that you've got the upper hand on him, but you’re more likely to have a chance at it the farther away he is.

“Your highness,” you say.

“My lady.”

You give him a stern look. “You needn’t mock me, I know I’ve no titles.”

“Oh, I’m not mocking you, sweet,” he says and you are fairly certain he’s being sincere. “You are an impressive woman. You ought to have titles.”

“You’re trying to flatter me,” you say, folding your arms over your chest.

“Of course I am. Did I not tell you that I was trying to charm you?” he says, taking a step toward you.

You swallow and stare at him. “You said that when you thought I was someone else.”

Another step. “You seem to think that I ought to have lost interest when I found out who you are. Why is that?”

You tilt your chin up and stare at him defiantly. “When has a noble ever taken a genuine interest in a servant? It’s not done.”

He smirks again and takes another step forward and once again, you’re pressed between him and the bookshelf. “You know my reputation,” he says, his fingertips trailing against your throat. “I care very little for rules.”

His gaze meanders over your face, lingering on your lips, but you hold steady, despite your pounding heart. “So you’re using me to disrupt things because it amuses you.”

“You misunderstand me,” he says, the backs of his fingers stroking your cheek. “I find you enticing. I’m not inclined to be bothered by rules that say I ought not to because it isn’t done.”

You press your lips together and look at him warily. “I don’t know that I should trust you.”

He shouldn’t look like he finds this amusing, but his eyes glitter in the dim light. “And why is that?”

“I know your reputation,” you say. “You are the god of mischief and lies. I ought to stay away from you.”

“And yet, you’ve turned up here for the last three nights and uttered not a word of protest when I’ve kissed you,” he says.

“I said I ought to stay away,” you say. “I never said I would.”

His smile is slow. “Clever girl.”

He kisses you again, slow to start, like he’s giving you an opportunity to turn him away. When you don’t, his movements become hungrier, his tongue tangling with yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip.

His hand slips down the front of your dress and you gasp as his fingers pinch and tease your nipple into a stiff and aching point, igniting a smoldering ache between your legs. You’ve never wanted anyone like this and you resolve in that moment not to say so because telling him is the same as giving him leverage and you’re still fairly certain that that is a bad idea.

His thigh has nudged its way between your legs and you press against him as much as your skirts will allow, shamelessly trying to generate enough friction and pressure to provide yourself some relief.

The clock chimes midnight and he steps away and you wonder how much more of this you’ll be able to take.

He’s late the next night—so late, in fact, that you almost give up and leave because you think he’s not coming. You try not to dwell upon the disappointed little twinge that blooms in your chest when you think this is the case.

But then you hear soft footsteps in the quiet of the library and you look up and find him leaning against the end of the stacks, looking far more comfortable than he has any right to be.

“You’re late,” you say before you can think about it.

“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” he asks with the slightest of smirks. “Were you disappointed?”

You attempt to keep your expression cool and composed. “I didn’t think anything.”

He chuckles. “You tell such pretty lies, my dear.”

You want to deny it outright, but that feels like playing right into his hands. You consider your next moves as he approaches you, again backing you up against the stacks.

“Do you know what I think?” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I think you’re rather fond of these little interludes.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting with a kind of mischief that makes you press your thighs together. “Shall we find out how fond?”

You’re fairly certain you know what he’s implying, but you’re also fairly certain that he’s not going to actually go through with it. It’s one thing to kiss you like he has been, but it’s another thing entirely to actually touch you. Surely he’s not that bold.

His left hand slides from your hip over the curve of your ass and then along your thigh, raising your leg to hook around his waist. You grab his shoulders, still certain that he’s bluffing even as he pushes the hem of your skirt up.

His hand trails along the inside of your thigh, expertly navigating your petticoats and undergarments. He watches your face intently as his hand inches up your thigh, seemingly cataloging every time your breath hitches, every time you bite your lip in anticipation. You try to keep yourself contained and calm, even as you can feel the slickness between your thighs growing with every passing second.

You realize that he’s not bluffing precisely when his fingers part your dripping sex. You gasp as his fingers lightly brush against your clit and you catch his greedy, triumphant smile as your head tips back against the shelf.

“Oh yes,” he breathes, sliding one finger inside you as his thumb presses against your swollen clit. “What filthy thoughts have left you so wet and wanting, my pretty little kitchen maid?”

This should bother you: you’re not his and you’re more than a kitchen maid. Instead, your body seems focused on its mission to betray you, as his words only make you whimper and tense around his slowly thrusting finger.

“I could make you come right here,” he says, his eyes raking over your body with a raw hunger. “Would you like that?”

“Please,” leaves your lips before you can ask yourself what you’re thinking.

“So polite,” he breathes into your ear. “Had I known it was this easy to tame that sharp tongue of yours, I would have buried my face between your thighs in the garden.”

Your cheeks burn, though you’re not sure if it’s from his fingers or his words. “I would not claim that victory yet, highness.”

His eyes flash and his hips press against you when you use his title—you file that little fact away for later. 

You can’t even pretend that there’s not going to be a later.

“If my hand slowed, you would beg for me,” he says with a smirk that is slightly too self-assured.

You tilt your chin up, staring at him defiantly. “You flatter yourself.”

His smirk widens as his hand slows and you immediately regret challenging him. He slides his hand away from you, holding your gaze. He pauses for a beat and when you continue your silence, he raises his fingers to his lips and slowly draws them into his mouth. You catch a glimpse of the pink tip of his tongue as he carefully licks your essence from his forefinger and thumb, closing his eyes like he’s tasting something divine. It’s indecent—everything about this is indecent—but you can’t look away.

Your resolve crumbles abruptly and completely. “Please,” you whisper.

He releases his fingers and gives you a lazy smile. “Can you be quiet like a good girl?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

He leans in and kisses you. “That’s a shame,” he murmurs against your lips, “because I want to hear you scream for me. And we can’t very well do that in the library.”

He draws back, smirking, and you suddenly know that you’ve lost another point in this strange game that you’re playing.

“Come to my chambers tomorrow night after dark,” he says. 

Stars above, you’re going to kill him.

“You’re an ass,” you say.

He chuckles and kisses you again. “I’ll make it worth the wait.”

You hate how much of an effect that has on you, but you’re reasonably certain that you’ve managed to hide most of that from him.

“Your confidence is inspiring,” you say.

“And your tongue is wicked,” he says, stepping away from you and it takes every ounce of pride you have not to reach for him and pull him back to you. He takes your hand and brushes his lips against your knuckles, his emerald eyes never leaving yours and somehow it feels just as intimate as what had just happened. “Until tomorrow,” he says before dropping your hand and walking away, leaving you with your heart pounding.

Next chapter

[shadyfestivalperfection]

THE BINDING THRONE~2

Summery: The Binding Throne is a dark fantasy where Y/N is bound by ancient magic to Bucky and Loki—two dangerous men consumed by obsession. As passion, power, and prophecy collide, she must embrace her fate as queen or be devoured by it.

Characters: Dark!Loki x f!reader x Dark!Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Dark fantasy, obsessive behavior, manipulation,smut,possessiveness

||Main Masterlist|| ||Series Masterlist||

||PART 1: THE SEER’S TETHER||

CHAPTER TWO: THRONE

The keep whispered.

Not in words, but in sensations.

It pulsed beneath your feet like a living thing, old and powerful—its walls layered with spells and secrets you could feel but not yet understand. You’d lost track of time in this place. Whether a day had passed or a week, you couldn’t say.

The sky outside the narrow windows never changed. Always that same bruised violet, streaked with silver lightning. No sun. No stars. No sound of birds or breeze—only silence and the constant sensation that you were being watched.

Because you were.

They did not leave you alone.

Not truly.

Bucky watched from the shadows. Silent, still. Always present in the corridors you crossed, at the edge of every room you entered. A sentinel in black and steel, he trailed you like a wolf—never speaking unless he must, but his gaze a constant pressure on your spine.

Loki, in contrast, made no effort to hide his fascination.

He joined your mornings like a lover who’d always known your body. Draped in green velvet and the scent of ancient things, he’d lean in close with a smirk on his lips and a spell on his tongue. He wanted you to laugh. To challenge him. To want him.

And you did. Against your better judgment, your blood warmed when he neared. When he spoke of magic and power and the ways he could show you both. He read your hesitations like scripture—and twisted them sweetly into temptation.

“Do you know what they used to call this place?” he asked one evening, standing beside you in the tower garden. The moon—if it could be called that—hovered high above, casting pale light through thorny vines. “The Grave of Choice.”

You arched a brow. “Comforting.”

He smiled. “Not everything beautiful is safe, darling.”

You looked up at him, your own magic crackling faintly in your fingertips. “You think this place is beautiful?”

He turned to you fully then, his hand lifting to brush a lock of hair from your face. He didn’t touch you—but the threat of contact made you still.

“I think you are,” he said. “And that’s far more dangerous.”

Before you could answer, Bucky emerged from the archway behind you—his arrival utterly silent.

Loki’s expression darkened, subtly. “Do you ever knock, wolf?”

Bucky ignored him. His gaze found yours. “The binding grows stronger.”

You tensed. “What do you mean?”

He stepped forward, eyes flicking to the base of your throat. You followed his gaze—and froze.

The obsidian pendant.

The runes on its surface had changed. They glowed faintly now, pulsing with heat like coals under skin.

“It responds to both of us,” Bucky said. His voice was low. Careful. “But only through you.”

Loki folded his arms. “Fascinating. The seer as conduit. Oracle and offering.”

Your throat tightened. “I’m not your offering.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. “Not yet.”

You backed away.

But the air shifted—and the garden changed.

Vines twisted behind you. The walls closed in. The doors disappeared.

Magic.

Loki’s doing.

You turned on him. “Release the spell.”

He gave you a slow smile. “I will. But not until you answer one thing.”

You didn’t respond.

He stepped closer, each movement deliberate. Predatory.

“Do you want either of us?” he asked, voice silk and steel. “Or do you merely fear being wanted?”

Silence followed. You couldn’t speak.

He raised a hand, and this time he did touch you—his fingers grazing your jaw, the briefest contact, but it burned.

You heard Bucky shift. The garden trembled with it.

“Enough,” Bucky said. There was a warning in his tone. One that sent cold through the stone beneath your feet.

Loki chuckled. “So territorial. But don’t worry, soldier. I’m not here to steal her.”

You pulled away. “I’m not something to be stolen.”

That stopped them both.

The vines loosened.

The spell lifted.

You left them standing there, fury and magic crackling in your wake.

____

The next morning, you woke to a whisper.

Not in your room.

In your mind.

Come to the mirror hall.

It was Loki’s voice.

You shouldn’t have listened.

You went anyway.

The hall was vast and cold. Mirrors lined every surface—tall, silver-edged, enchanted. You saw yourself reflected a thousand ways. Older. Younger. Stronger. Broken.

And then, Loki appeared behind you.

No longer grinning.

He stepped beside you, gaze locked on your reflection.

“Do you want to see your power?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“Not what the world says it should be,” he added. “Not what your bloodline must be. But what it could become.”

Your breath caught.

He reached for you—and when your fingers touched, the mirrors shattered.

You weren’t in the hall anymore.

You stood in a dream-version of yourself. Crowned in flame. Runes carved into your skin. Magic pouring from your mouth like language never spoken aloud. In this version, you belonged to nothing. To no one.

And yet…

Bucky stood behind you.

And Loki beside you.

One hand on your heart.

The other at your throat.

Both of them waiting.

Both of them wanting.

You tore free of the vision with a scream.

Fell to your knees in the real hall.

Loki knelt beside you, his face pale. “You saw it.”

You trembled. “What was that?”

He didn’t smile. “Your destiny.”

____

Later that night, Bucky came to your chamber.

You were still shaken. Still furious. Still burning with questions you couldn’t silence.

“Why me?” you demanded when he stepped inside, closing the door with a quiet click. “What do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you like a man preparing to do something he’d hate himself for.

Finally, he said:

“I was a weapon before I was a man. A monster before I had a name. But something in me stilled the first time I saw you.”

You swallowed hard.

He stepped closer.

“Your magic… It doesn’t run from mine. It listens.”

You shivered. “And Loki?”

His jaw clenched. “He wants to possess you.”

“And you don’t?”

He stepped closer still—until you could feel the cold of his metal arm brushing the heat of your skin.

“I want to protect you from what’s coming,” he said. “Even if that means protecting you from me.”

You stared up at him.

“Then why stay?”

His voice dropped.

“Because I can’t leave you.”

——-

And in the weeks that followed, the keep changed.

Loki showed you spells no mortal had ever seen—he taught you to read the threads between realms, to twist the air into shapes, to wield fire with your eyes alone.

Bucky showed you silence. Strength. Protection. He taught you to fight, not with rage, but with precision. And when you couldn’t sleep, it was his footsteps you heard outside your door.

They circled each other like lions.

And you were the flame between them.

But the throne—the Binding Throne—still waited.

It would choose.

And you would feel the cost of that choice in your blood, your bones, your soul.

Until then…

You were not safe.

But you were no longer powerless.

-to be continued

[lokigodofmyheart]

TRAINING ROOM

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader.

Words: 1.960

Summary: Loki had been helping Y/N train her magic and her fight skills after she joined the Avengers. But she started developing some feelings for him.  

Warning/Content: smut.

MASTERLIST

Loki was helping Y/N train her magic. It’s been almost two months by now, and she was having an incredible evolution in this short time with Loki’s help. But not today. And not for the past week. Every time they fight, she lost. She was having trouble blocking his attack and concentrate in simple tasks she had managed already. Again, as she was moving the chair in the air, she let it fall. 

Is something wrong, Y/N?” Loki asked , pulling her out of her thoughts. 

“Hm? Oh, no. Sorry, I’m just...distracted today.” She says with a sigh. 

Loki arched an eyebrow, his expression turning serious as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Distracted? By what?” He asked, his voice low and commanding. He could see through her lie, but he decided to let it slide for now. “Come, let us focus in our lesson. We have much to cover.”  

His presence made Y/N feel both nervous and excited. Her heart raced as she tried to focus on the lesson, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him - his striking features, the way his eyes seemed to change color depending on the light, and the way his voice sent shivers down her spine.  

She tried and tried, but she couldn't really complete the training “I can't today, Loki...I'm not in the right place in mind." 

Loki watched as she struggled again with the training, his brows furrowing in concern. “My pet,” he said softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Is there something bothering you? Something you wish to talk about?”  

There it was. Every time he called her ‘pet’ it sent a shiver through her body. And his touching on her shoulder didn’t help the effect he was having on her. “No...I’m fine.” Y/N says tring to dismiss his concern. 

He pulled his hand back quickly, sensing what he thought it was discomfort. “Apologies, my apologies. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. 

“No, that’s not...” She sighs frustrated.  

“Then what is it? You’ve been distant lately, and I’m worried about you.” He said gently, his eyes searching her for any sign of what was troubling her. 

“It’s just...” She tried again, but she didn’t knew how to tell him that she wanted him. She wanted him badly. 

“It’s alright, take your time,” Loki murmured, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “You can tell me anything, you know that.” He offered reassuringly, waiting for her to find the courage to share whatever was weighing her down. 

Another frustrated sigh escapes her lips as she decided to just be direct “It's just hard to concentrated when all I want is for you to slam me against that wall and fuck me senseless.” 

Loki's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly masked his surprise with a smug grin. “Ah, so that's what's been distracting you.” He chuckled softly, walking towards her with a predatory glint in his eye. “Perhaps we should remedy that, then.” He reached out, grasping her chin gently and tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “But first, you must promise me one thing.” He whispered seductively, his thumb brushing against herheek. “Promise me that you will focus solely on me, and nothing else.” 

“I promise.” Her voice was almost an whisper. 

With that, Loki leaned in, his lips crashing onto hers in a searing kiss. Y/N melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair as his tongue swept into her mouth, exploring every inch of her and making she let a soft moan into his mouth. Her hands started exploring his chest, making his breath hitched as she could feel the defined muscles beneath his clothes. He pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss just enough to look into her eyes, his own burning with desire. “Such a naughty little thing,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. He grabbed her wrists, guiding her hands to the button of his pants. “Show me how badly you want me, pet.” He commanded, his eyes never leaving hers. 

Y/N smirks at him, opening the button of his pants and sliding down just enough to free his erection before her hand grabbed his throbbing member and started stroking him slowly. 

Loki groaned at her touch, his head falling back slightly as pleasure coursed through him. “Yes, that’s it,” he breathed out, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the sensation. “Just like that.” He urged her on, his grip on her wrists tightening slightly. He could feel himself growing harder, his need for her increasing with each stroke. “Now, show me how much you want me.” He demanded, his voice hoarse with desire. 

“Please, Loki. I want you...I need you to touch me...” Y/N’s voice was full of desire as she pleades to him. 

Loki's eyes flashed open, locking onto hers with a fierce intensity. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, releasing her wrists. “Spread your legs for me, pet.” He ordered, his voice low and commanding. As she complied, he unbuttons her pants and sliding them down along with her underwear. His fingers trailed lightly over her folds, teasing before dipping inside. “So wet and ready for me already,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction.  

The only sound that came of Y/N’s mouth was a long moan. Loki smiled wickedly, his finger thrusting inside her rhythmically while he palmed her breast through the shirt. “You are begging for more, aren’t you?” He asked, his voice rough with desire. He could feel her arousal growing with each touch, and it only fueled his own need. “Tell me what you want, my pet.” He pressed, his finger curling inside her, eliciting another moan from Y/N’s mouth. “Beg for it.” 

“Please...don't...stop...please...” Y/N says between her breath as she could already feel her orgasm approaching. 

“Goddess, you’re beautiful when you plead,” Loki murmured, his thumb rubbing circles on her sensitive bud as his finger continued its steady pace. “And you know what that means, don’t you?” He asked, his voice husky with anticipation. Without waiting for a response, he added another finger, stretching her wide as he pumped in and out of . “That’s it, take it all,” he encouraged, his free hand reaching up to tweak her nipple. “Cum for me, my pet.” And that what she did, moaning his name as she finally came in his fingers. 

Loki groaned at the sound of her pleasure. He withdrew his fingers, lifting her of the ground, her legs wrapping around him as she slammed her back against the wall, and replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock, pushing against her entrance. “Mine,” he growled, thrusting into her in one powerful motion. Y/N gasped, adjusting to his size as he began to move in and out of her with purposeful thrusts. “That’s it, take it all, pet. Let me claim you.” He panted, his hips moving faster, his breaths becoming ragged. He could feel his own release nearing. 

“Please...don’t stop...” It was the only thing she could says while Loki’s hips slammed into hers again and again. 

Loki's eyes burned into her as he drove into her with increasing urgency, his movements becoming more frenzied. “Say it, pet. Say you're mine.” He demanded, his voice raw with desire. “Say it!” He repeated, his thrusts becoming almost brutal as he chased his release. 

“I’m yours. I’m yours.” 

At her words, he lost control, his body shuddering as he spilled inside her , filling her with his seed. “Yes,” he hissed, his voice choked with ecstasy. Her orgasm followed his. 

After a few seconds to catch their breath, Loki looked down at her tenderly, his eyes softening as he saw the exhaustion etched on her face. He brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead, cupping her cheek gently. “Are you okay?" 

“Better than okay.” Y/N chuckles and smiles. 

Loki returned her smile, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her temple. “Good.” He murmured, his breathing slowly returning to normal. “Let's get cleaned up” He suggested, gently pulling out of her and helping Y/N put her pants back on, her legs still shaking. As they walked together towards the shower, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment at having claimed her like that. 

The heat of the water washed away the evidence of what happened. As they stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, she knew that things had changed between her and Loki. Y/N closed her eyes as she felt the hot water relaxing her muscles. Loki couldn't deny the attraction he felt towards her. Their shared passion had brought them closer, and despite the risks, they both knew that they couldn't ignore the connection between them.  

“I...I like you, Loki. More than I care to admit.” she says softly. 

Loki's heart skipped a beat at her confession, their eyes meeting in understanding. “I like you too, my pet,” he admitted quietly, his voice filled with sincerity. “More than I should.” He added, his hand squeezing her gently. 

Y/N kissed his lips softly at his confession. Loki returned the kiss, his lips tender against her . For now, they enjoyed the safety of this moment, the water cascading down upon them, washing away any hesitation or fear.  

"We should finish this shower and go back, before Steve start looking for us." She chuckles. 

Loki chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. "Yes, let's not give Captain America any reason to worry." He replied, gently turning off the water. Together, they got dressed, before they left the bathroom, hand in hand, following to her room, where they both had spent the night together. 

The next morning, as Y/N and Loki were eating breakfast, Natasha came smirking at them. Then Tony did the same.  

"Why are you two smirking....?" Y/N asked them confused, knowing they were probably up to something. 

Natasha and Tony exchanged a smirk, their eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, nothing,” Natasha replied nonchalantly, sipping her coffee. “Just admiring the lovebirds.” She said, gesturing towards Y/N and Loki. Meanwhile, Tony chimed in, “Yeah, finally, someone managed to tame the God of Mischief.” He teased, nudging Loki playfully. 

"...what?" Y/N asked carefully and confused. They haven't told anyone yet about them. 

Loki's eyes widened in surprise, his fork mid-air as he glanced at you before returning his attention to Natasha and Tony. “What do you mean?” He asked cautiously, trying to gauge their intentions.  

Natasha and Tony exchanged a knowing glance before Tony spoke up. “You do know there is cameras in the training room, right?" 

Y/N's eyes went wide as she blushed "WHAT?" 

Loki's eyes widened in disbelief, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what they were saying. “Cameras?” He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He hadn't realized that the room was being monitored; 

Natasha nodded, her expression sympathetic. “Yeah, sorry about that. We didn't mean to spy on you guys, but we did notice some… interesting behavior.” 

Tony chimed in, “But don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone. Secrets are our specialty.” He grinned, flashing his signature charming smile. 

"Oh, god..." Y/N puts her head on her hands, while Natasha laughed.  

"Nice ass by the way, Odinson." Natasha says smirking to Loki. 

Loki rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance but unable to hide the slight blush creeping up his neck. “Thank you, Romanoff,” he said dryly, attempting to recover his composure. “It's nice to know my assets are appreciated.” 

As the group continued their breakfast, the atmosphere remained lighthearted. Y/N and Loki exchanged glances, knowing that everyone in the team would know by the end of the mornign. Tony was known for many things, but not for keeping secrets. 

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

WIP Tag Game

Rules: You get a word and share a sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word.

Oohhh what a challenge, this was fun! Dang, y’all were FAST with the tags.

I received the words:

Miscreant from @andthekitchensinkao3

Tender from @distracteddream

Mislead from @lgwilt

Signal from @loki-is-my-kink-awakening

Sharing some snippets from “Chapter 2” of my Ravonna Renslayer WIP Forging of Empires that I write in from time to time for fun (what can I say, I love a villain). Using Miscreant as the base and adding the letters: L, D, G.

M

“Ms. Renslayer, are you suggesting treason?” he asked. “I thought I gave you the impression that I am nothing more than a loyal soldier to the Council of Kangs?” 

Ravonna laughed. “There is no such thing as a loyal Kang. I think you know that.” 

I

“I don’t need luck,” Kang whispered, seemingly more to himself than anyone. “I always win.”

S

“So… they’re your captives?” 

Kang tilted his head. “They’re our esteemed guests,” he amended. “We pluck them from dying timelines and let them live out what remains of their artistic lives here. The works they create under our care are gorgeous sights to behold. You should see the auctions for their final pieces before we return them back to their timelines.”  

C

Chronopolis was different now.

R

Ravonna didn’t wither. She straightened her back and raised her chin high. 

E

“Even a lost Dali painting. No one except me knows ‘The Swallow's Tail’ isn’t actually his final piece. He created a whole series influenced by Thom’s catastrophe theory while under my care. Fascinating man towards the end.”

A

A slow smile spread across Kang’s face. A dangerous, predatory smile that should have frightened her. Instead, a trill of excitement shot through Ravonna’s veins. 

N

“Now,” Kang led Ravonna towards the exit and opened the door, “welcome to Chronopolis.” 

T

“The more we allow it to expand, the more destruction will reign. The multiverse is a disease that must be contained. This utopia,” Ravonna gestured to the city around them, “comes at a price. Peace—contrary to what others believe—doesn’t happen with hopes and dreams. It requires sacrifices. I know the sacrifices that must be made to secure it. And I suspect you do too.”

Bonus letters:

L

“Lie. You are not here for the ore. Or at least that is not your main objective, not anymore. Something changed as soon as you stepped onto my ship. I’ve humored you all afternoon, but my patience is at its end. So, I will ask this question one more time and take care how you answer it. You know what I’m capable of. Why are you here?” 

D

“Does it matter? You don’t need to trust me. You’d be a fool if you did. But you can trust this—I won’t rest until I burn the multiverse to the ground. And I will succeed. One way or another.” She paused, flashing Kang a playful smirk. “It’ll just be easier with you. So, I’ll ask this question once and take care how you answer it. Are you with me?”

G (okay this one was hard! Had to jump to “chapter 5” for this one)

“Give it to me,” Ravonna yelled, making a grab for the device.

Passing the tag no pressure to @kcscribbler @blackbirdofasgard @mirilyawrites @devilbearingtrouuble @queen-of-meows

Your word if you want is: ORDER (but also if you’ve been tagged and have a word already- that’s fine! Just tag me in your response so I can see your sentences if you participate. I want to see what you’re up to!)

[tarithenurse]

Inhuman

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader, eventually Loki x fem!reader, Stucky, more (some canon, some not). Word count: 2466. Contents: Bad jokes (like, really bad), a lead, moving. A/N: Any comments? Feedback? Anything? Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Chapter 14

... Reader’s PoV ...

You’ve volunteered to cook again, and thankfully it helps take your mind off the phone and the new information it contains. The others have gotten into the habit of hanging out in the kitchen when you cook (Tony does it mostly to taste things during the process), chatting, enjoying a drink and generally pretending to be normal housemates.

“Hey, Bruce!” Tony’s already grinning from ear to ear. “Do you know the one about the two scientists that walked into a bar?” An unintelligible grunt supposedly makes it out for a no. “The first one orders an H2O, the second says…I’ll have an H2O too. He’s dead after two minutes.”

The two geniuses lose it, one almost cackling like a hyena, and you wait patiently until they’ve calmed somewhat down.

“Of course not.” Your voice’s dry and you barely grant them a glance. “‘cause the bartender’s able to distinguish the boundary tones that dictate the grammatical function of homonyms in coda position as well as pragmatic context.” Flipping the veggies in the pan, the men are finally granted a smirk.

“…leave it to a linguist to be a party-pooper,” the owner of Starks Industries pouts until interrupted by FRIDAY announcing a possible match for the search algorithm.

You’d completely forgotten all about the project you were working on and the others look even more confused.

Asking Nat to grab the laptop, you start explaining about the wannabe detective work and show them the footage FRIDAY has scrounged up for you. Then you get to the interesting part.

“The man in the vehicle appears to be Russian born Ivan Vasiliev,” FRIDAY explains, “he moved to the United States of America at age two in 1982 together with his parents and two older sisters. Growing up in Boston he appears to have left high school early, after the presumed death of his mother. Since then the family deteriorated and eventually Vasiliev was charged with arson causing the death of his father. However, the charges were dropped due to lack of concrete evidence. Since then, Vasiliev has been living secluded from others, often moving and with no steady income.”

Natasha’s the one who’s used to going through information the fastest and figuring out connections, and it’s nice to receive an approving nod from her.

“FRIDAY, track that guy in the days before the explosion. And send all this information to Coulson too.”

...

After dinner, you get to relax as the others can clean up the mess you’ve inevitably created during the endeavours in the kitchen...good food comes at a cost.

Relaxing in the usual chair with your legs hanging over the armrest, looking at the snow that’s now piling up outside, you’re flipping and twisting the phone like it’s white hot. If you’d had any illusions that the tension would evaporate once you manage to write and send a text then you’d be sorely mistaken. You’d think these sorts of things would get easier with age...

Natasha plumps onto the couch, kicking the shoes off while complaining about the lack of a warming fire. Dutifully, Steve gets to work on it while Bruce drags out the chess board with the game the two men have been playing. Mostly it’s Bruce teaching Steve, but their skills are rapidly drawing closer to each other as long as Steve doesn’t listen to any so-called advice given by Nat or Tony.

The sound of a gong emanates from your pocket announcing a new message. Damn butterflies! It’s from Bucky, of course, making your heart do somersaults.

Nat’s has been watching in her usual, predatory manner, just waiting for something to pounce on to elevate the boredom. “Your eyes just turned a sort of gold...why’d they do that? Who’s texting?”

“A uh…friend of mine I haven’t heard from in ages.”

You’re well aware of how hard it is to keep any truth from Nat and there’s no doubt she wants to know more, but she accepts the simple answer and goes back to watching the chess game, allowing you to focus on the phone.

… …

You’ve received the final verdict: the training’s almost over and if you want you can settle down anywhere on the North American continent, but Coulson asks if you could be convinced to work at the infirmary at Headquarters when not needed by the Avengers. It’s an appealing idea to have something to do on a daily basis, something that brings meaning and normality to life.

Consequently, you’re packing the few belongings you’ve had shipped from home so far before you’ll be heading to the Big Apple to check out a couple of different places available to you thanks to Stark’s financials.

You’ve set your eyes on a loft in Brooklyn, and two apartments (both in Queens). None of them much more than one or two rooms, but on paper perfect for you. Your thoughts are wandering as you slide the sketch book and files into the last cardboard box.

Three boxes are standing full now, but you only bring the little trolley when you board the quinjet together with Bruce and Natasha, just in case none of the places are appealing after all.

As you take off, you look back down on the Bunker that’s lying peacefully with the snow-covered mountains in the background. Next moment it’s lost due to the heavy winter clouds.

On the way to the East Coast, you’ve been texting with Bucky and Steve asking about the neighbourhoods. They’ve both volunteered to check out the places and show you the areas until Steve suddenly retracts his offer. Odd...or not?

Now, touching down at HQ, your stomach’s filling with butterflies again at the possible reasons for the change of plan.

It’s not Bucky but Coulson that meets the travellers as you step out onto the tarmac. Bruce and Natasha don’t stay after the greetings but head off in different directions (the scientist’s checking up on some project with Simmons, and Nat’s continuing with the jet to Clint’s place).

Following the Director with the trolley in tow you listen to his practical talk about when to meet at work and other practical things, plus he shows you the way to the infirmary and the locker room.

Next stop is his office. Offering a chair, he sits on the edge of the desk, facing you with that crooked, secretive smile of his.

“I’m happy that you don’t mind helping us out here. Frankly we have a number of associates and employees that need a more specialized care than we can offer.”

“You suggested it yourself and I admit, I need something more to do than train with Natasha every day.”

“I’ll send you the contract, but for now I’ve something for you...” Coulson reaches down behind the desk, pulling out a drawer. When his hand reappears, he’s holding a badge which he tosses to you. “Welcome to SHIELD.” Beaming like a kid presenting the most precious homemade gift to a parent.

“Th-thank you! Thank you very much!”

As opposed to the parent, you mean it despite the twinge of apprehension. The badge’s shiny silver inside a black leather cover that can flip closed over the metal. It’s lying heavy in your hand.

“I assume you want the rest of the week to look for places to live….we have some options,” he hands a list of addresses, “most are generously made available by Stark. Once you find a place, assuming it’s ready to move into, we can have all of your belongings brought to you within 24 hours.” You’re still processing what just happened, lost in a whirl of emotions until Coulson coughs gently. “Anything else?”

“Sorry, no-no! Just…finding my life a bit surreal.”

The honesty makes him laugh, leaving a smile in his fatherly eyes as you shake hands and you find the way back down with the elevator.

Stepping outside in the late afternoon dusk, you glance at the phone only to find that there are no new messages since the last one from Bucky where he tells you to meet him there...but there’s no one.

… Bucky’s PoV …

Bucky’s cursing himself for being late. He knows the car’s touchy when it’s this cold. Damnit. Even if he’s got to stick to a strictly platonic relationship it’s still not alright to keep a lady waiting.

Swinging up in front of the main entrance he lets another curse fly albeit this time for a different reason. Her tight jeans are leaving a lot less to the imagination than he was prepared for as she’s bending down towards something in the snow. If she’d been facing the other way, then at least he’d only be staring at her back and shoulders.

She straightens up just as he parks the car by the curb and a series of comfortably buzzing jolts travel along his spine as she smiles to him. Stop it, you moron. You know what you gotta do. And he braces himself as he pushes the car door open.

“Have you waited long? Hi!” His stress makes her laugh a bit as he gets out of the car and around to her side. He keeps his distance, though a slight pang of disappointment makes his heart ache.

“…no, not long at all…” A greenish brightness in her eyes replaced by the usual shade. “Besides…I’ve been able to entertain myself...”

She indicates towards her work, causing Bucky’s mind to boggle at the host of tiny snowmen and the beginning of something larger. Maybe a snow dragon? One of his eyebrows shoots upwards in disbelief at the view of the miniatures.

“Then you must’ve been here a long time…or you’ve grown extra arms.” Fuck. Crap. Damn. “I’m sorry, the old piece of junk’s having a hard time.” Grabbing the trolley, he hoists it into the trunk and as he slams it shut, flakes of rust fall off as if to prove the point. “But at least it’s warm inside. Get in and tell me where to first.”

… Reader’s PoV …

First destination’s the loft in Brooklyn. It takes almost an hour to get there due to traffic, but it feels like less because of the company. Bucky’s talking about the city and how it’s changed since he lived here in the forties and it’s hard not to warm up to his friendliness despite the odd buffer that lingers in his words and movements. You notice the stolen glances he shoots you, but he seems dead set on being a perfectly chaste gentleman.

Eventually, the ride does end, though, and he pulls up outside a red brick building. Getting out of the car you look around at the quiet area (relatively speaking) with small shops and a diner or two on each their corner further off. On this street, there’s the typical amount of graffiti and things are worn from years of use...but nothing’s broken. The building's lying across from Prospect Park and the Botanical Gardens. Ringing the doorbell, you’re let in by the real-estate agent.

On the way up, you sense some of the neighbours. An old couple downstairs to the right, some empty floors, a mom and her two kids to the left on third and a young woman above them. Bucky and you’re headed to the seventh floor which is as high as it goes here.

Stepping through the door on the left you enter a small hall and are met by the friendly face of a lady introducing herself as Donna. She lets you look around on your own.

The apartment’s technically one big room (and a few smaller) in four odd levels, the second of which starts where the hallway ends as there are two steps going down (in the hall there are doors leading to both sides with the left hiding small room with washer and dryer; right’s a lavatory, and a storage room).

Walking in you see a kitchen to the left with a window at the sink. The area’s shaped like a U with the bottom and one side confined by a low wall over which you can see the rest of the place. The hallway’s opened up to the other side, clearing an area in front of tall windows where a dining table can stand.

Passing through that and past the kitchen you reach a winding metal staircase leading to an upper level where one corner’s closed off to hold a fancy new bathroom. The other side could easily be a bedroom even though there’s a banister instead of a wall at the edge of the repose.

Underneath the repose, a few steps lead down on the right side of the stairs into the remaining two thirds of the room with more big windows facing out towards the park while the rest’s accessible by going to the left at the winding stairs. In your mind, she’s already placing her desk and bookcases there.

Bucky’s taking a much more practical approach to things...he’s walking around inspecting the plumbing and electricity and the sturdiness of the beams holding up the upper level, and you know you should probably be critical too, but honestly…you love the place. Thankfully, he ends up approving of the condition of the place in the end, so half an hour later you’ve got the keys to your new home. Payment’s sorted, and you’ve been promised to have your things by 14:00 next day.

The only thing you haven’t had yet is a kiss or a hug from Bucky.

“I used to know this neighbourhood quite well, but some things change and those that don’t...” He looks out the window although you’re not sure you see the same out there right now.

“You’re from here…”

“Me and Steve both. Now I’ve got a place in Queens...” He shudders by the thought of it, but there’s a grin on his face.

…

You decide to stock the fridge with the bare essentials. Having no bed yet, you need to either find an airbed or a hotel room. There aren’t a lot of airbeds available for some weird reason, but the groceries are taken care off easily at a small convenience store only two blocks away which, to Bucky’s delight, is the same that was there back in his days. Only the staff has changed – of course.

You also find a diner and head back there after stowing the groceries away. It may not be a fancy celebratory dinner, but you’re both having fun talking about childhoods and families now that the initial awkwardness’ wearing off. For the first time, Bucky’s taken off the jacket and gloves, revealing the metal arm that’s protruding from the pushed up sleeve of a very well-fitting Henley. No one seems to notice or care which sets him further at ease.

[mischievoushiddleston]

King

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Masterlist here

It was a dark and stormy night in New York City. Since Loki, the God of Mischief, had conquered the Earth and declared himself the King of Midgard, the city had been shrouded in an unnatural darkness. Lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder rumbled as if nature itself were protesting against his rule.

In a luxurious penthouse high atop a skyscraper, Loki sat on a throne of black marble adorned with golden carvings and gemstones. His green-golden robe gleamed in the light of the blue flames flickering in the wall sconces. His emerald-green eyes sparkled with pleasure and power.

A young woman entered the room. Her long, dark hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and her simple yet elegant dress hugged her body closely. Her grace and beauty had immediately captivated Loki when he first saw her.

"Come closer, Y/N," Loki said in his deep, velvety voice, which had a slight Nordic accent. His gaze was unwaveringly fixed on her.

Y/N approached hesitantly, her heart beating faster with each step. She wasn't sure what to expect, but the aura of power and mystery surrounding Loki drew her irresistibly.

"You summoned me, my king?" Her voice was soft but firm.

Loki rose from his throne and slowly approached her. He was tall and slender, with a predatory grace to his stride. When he stood before her, he placed a hand under her chin and tilted her head up, so she had to look into his eyes.

"Yes, I summoned you," he said gently yet firmly. "Since the moment I saw you, I have thought of nothing but you."

Y/N felt her breath quicken. Loki's proximity was overwhelming, and the intensity of his green eyes made her almost dizzy. "What do you want from me?" she asked, barely audible.

A mischievous smile played on Loki's lips. "Everything you are willing to give me," he whispered, lowering his head until his lips almost touched hers. The space around them seemed to disappear, as if there were only the two of them in the world.

Y/N closed her eyes and leaned into him, her hands resting on his chest. Loki pulled her closer, his lips finding hers in a passionate kiss. His hands roamed over her back as he drew her deeper into the embrace. Their bodies melted together as the heat between them grew more intense.

Loki led Y/N to a soft chaise lounge at the edge of the room. He gently laid her down, his eyes sparkling with desire. "You are beautiful," he said softly, his fingers caressing her cheek.

Y/N opened her eyes and looked at him, her own eyes full of devotion and desire. "And you are indescribable," she whispered back.

With a fluid motion, Loki removed his robe, revealing his muscular body. Y/N followed suit, her dress falling to the floor and exposing her soft, flawless skin. Loki leaned over her, his lips finding hers again as his hands explored her body.

Loki hovered over Y/N, his hands gliding over her naked skin as he covered her lips with tender kisses. Her breath came fast and shallow, and her body trembled with desire under his touch.

Loki knelt between her legs, locking his gaze with hers as he lifted her hips slightly for better access. "Are you ready?" he whispered, his voice a tempting promise.

Y/N nodded, her eyes gleaming with anticipation and lust. She could feel the tingling of anticipation in every nerve of her body. Loki smiled, a seductive smile that made her knees weak. He positioned himself at the entrance of her wet pussy and slowly penetrated her.

Y/N moaned softly as she felt his hard cock filling her. Every inch of his body seemed made for her. Loki took his time, relishing the feeling of her warmth enveloping him. He moved slowly, almost agonizingly slowly, in and out, prolonging the intensity of the moment.

"You feel so good," Loki murmured as he thrust deeper into her. His gaze remained fixed on her face, observing every one of her reactions, every twitch and tremble of her body.

Y/N couldn't help but move against him, her hips rising in rhythm with his thrusts. Every deep, slow thrust brought her closer to the edge of madness. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her nails leaving red crescents on his skin.

Loki quickened his pace, his thrusts becoming faster and more intense. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, accompanied by their mixed moans and sighs. Y/N could feel the tension building inside her, rising higher and higher until she thought she would break.

"Please, Loki," she gasped, unable to form her words, but her need was clear.

Loki leaned forward and took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting gently as he continued to thrust into her. The additional stimulation sent waves of pleasure through Y/N's body, and she screamed his name as she finally exploded in a powerful orgasm.

Loki followed shortly after, his own movements becoming irregular as he came deep inside her. He held her tightly, their bodies merging in a moment of absolute unity. As the aftershocks of their orgasms subsided, Loki settled beside Y/N, pulling her close and kissing her forehead.

"You are mine," he whispered in her ear, and Y/N knew that she was forever bound to the God of Mischief, the man who was King of Midgard and master of her heart.

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 55

I was sprinting through the dense, snowy woods, each step crunching through the icy blanket beneath me. Explosions and gunshots echoed around me, a relentless cacophony of chaos. Our team, a motley crew of heroes, had banded together, pushing through enemy lines toward the Hydra Research Base, the elusive Loki's Scepter our objective.

Above me, Tony streaked through the air, his gleaming red suit a stark contrast against the wintry sky, dispatching foes with precision. "Shit," he yelled, his voice crackling through the comms. Steve, ever the paragon of virtue, immediately quipped, "Language," his tone exasperated but familiar, drawing a chuckle from my lips despite the tension.

"Jarvis, what's the view from upstairs?" Steve asked, his motorbike roaring in the background of the transmission. Jarvis's voice, cool and efficient, responded, "The central building is protected by an energy shield. Strucker's technology is far more advanced than any other Hydra base we've encountered."

Out of nowhere, Thor descended with a thunderous crash, his landing sending a shockwave through the ranks of Hydra soldiers. He struck with unyielding force, each blow incapacitating those foolish enough to challenge him.

"Loki's scepter must be here. Strucker could not mount this defense without it. At long last," he declared, his voice a mix of determination and excitement as he effortlessly felled more guards, his strength and skill on full display.

I was pretty busy myself, surrounded by three guards, each armed with semi-automatic rifles, their eyes gleaming with confidence. They moved in a loose triangle formation, their steps deliberate and predatory. The leader, a burly figure with a scar running down his cheek, smirked. "Give it up, lady. You're outnumbered and outgunned."

My eyes flicked from one man to the next, calculating. My mind was a whirlwind of possibilities, strategies, and outcomes. I couldn’t afford to make a single mistake.

With a sudden, fluid motion, I dropped to one knee, my body a blur. The first man caught off guard and hesitated for a split second too long. That was all I needed. I fired a single, precise shot, the bullet finding its mark between his eyes. He crumpled to the ground, his rifle clattering uselessly beside him.

The other two men reacted instantly, their rifles coming up to aim at me. But I was already moving. I rolled to the side, my movements graceful and controlled. Another shot rang out, hitting the second man in the chest. He stumbled, shock etched on his face, before collapsing.

The leader, now alone, snarled and fired a burst of bullets. I ducked behind a rusted metal crate, the bullets sparking off its surface. My breathing was still steady, my focus razor-sharp. I waited for a brief pause in his firing, then sprang up, my handgun aimed with deadly precision.

The leader barely had time to react. My shot was flawless, the bullet striking his shoulder and causing him to drop his rifle with a howl of pain. I advanced swiftly, my eyes cold and unyielding. With a final, calculated shot to his head, he went down, writhing in agony.

"At long last" is lasting a little long, boys," Natasha's voice crackled through the comms, punctuated by the thuds and groans of the enemies she dispatched. "Yeah. I think we lost the element of surprise," Clint replied, releasing arrow after arrow with deadly precision.

"Wait a second. No one else is gonna deal with the fact that Cap just said 'Language'?" Tony's voice cut in, dripping with sarcasm.

Steve sounded exasperated, his voice weary from Tony's relentless teasing. "I know," he replied, the frustration clear in his tone, which only made the exchange more amusing. "It just slipped out," he added with a sigh, resigning himself to the inevitable ribbing.

When Strucker attacked the city, Tony quickly deployed his Iron Legion to evacuate the citizens. I stood amidst the trees, the silence around me almost surreal when suddenly, a blinding flash from my left struck me square in the chest. I went down with a grunt, a sharp "Fuck," escaping my lips. Wincing, I muttered, "Yeah, I know, language."

“Was that a human?” I asked over the comms, my voice tinged with disbelief. The impact had been incredibly swift, yet it packed a punch, judging by how it hit me with full force.

“We’ve got an enhanced on the field,” Steve’s voice crackled over the comms, carrying a hint of urgency as if he had faced the same overwhelming force.

“Clint’s hit,” Natasha’s voice came through, laced with clear concern. “Is anyone going to handle that bunker?” she added quickly, her tone urgent.

Hulk’s roar reverberated through the forest, causing the enemy to recoil in fear at the sight of the massive green giant.

I dashed to the clearing and crouched beside Clint and Natasha. “Let me check him over,” I said, my experience as a nurse kicking in. I pulled bandages from my thigh bag and pressed them firmly against Clint’s wounds. “You’re going to be fine, Clint. Just hang in there,” I reassured him, trying to infuse my voice with calm.

Natasha gave me a grateful smile and clasped Clint’s hand, offering him support and strength as he grimaced in pain. The fortress’s shields deactivated with a buzzing hum, finally granting us access to the scepter.

“Clint’s hit pretty bad, guys. We’re going to need an evac,” Natasha’s voice crackled over the comms, her worry palpable even through the static.

“We’ll handle the rest,” Steve responded, his voice steady and reassuring. “Thor is heading your way to help out. See you soon.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were all back aboard the Quinjet, the scepter securely housed in its case. I was focused on setting up an IV for Clint, but there was not much I could do on the field. He would have to see a specialist when we landed. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Natasha engaged in a conversation with Bruce. She was the only one who seemed able to soothe the Hulk’s agitation.

I nudged Steve, drawing his attention to the scene. With a raised eyebrow, I subtly pointed out Natasha’s obvious flirtatious glances towards Bruce. Steve caught on and a knowing smile tugged at his lips.

"Thor, report on the Hulk.", Nat called out, as he looked at her, his face etched with a mix of worry and insecurity. “The gates of Hel are filled with the screams of his victims,” Thor declared with an air of pride. Bruce’s head drooped in embarrassment, while Natasha shot Thor a look of clear irritation. It was evident that this was not the response she had hoped for.

Thor quickly caught on and tried to backtrack. “But not the screams of the dead, of course. No, no, it’s mostly the wounded—whimpering, a lot of complaining, and tales of sprained deltoids and gout,” he mumbled, his voice trailing off as he realized the absurdity of his words.

“Gout?” I mouthed to Steve, who barely managed to conceal his grin as he shrugged in response. It was a relief to have the Scepter back in our possession, and with Dr. Cho flown in from Seoul to assist, Clint would be back on his feet in no time. The two enhanced individuals we had faced remained a mystery, but that would have to wait. Tony was adamant about throwing a farewell party now that Thor was heading home.

I suppose it was time for me to hit the shops and get ready for the festivities.

Next Chapter

[souls-made-of-autumn]

A TVA timeline scene

The room crackled with unspoken things.

Moonlight spilled in through the tall windows of the library, painting the velvet armchair in silver. Loki sat there like a dark god—relaxed in posture, predatory in presence—his gaze fixed on her with unsettling calm. Astrid stood just a few paces away, her breath shallow, arms crossed as if to protect herself from everything he made her feel.

“You’re staring,” she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I haven’t had the privilege in a long time,” Loki replied, voice smooth as aged whiskey. “Forgive me for indulging.”

She swallowed hard. “You don’t get to act like we’re still—”

“Still what?” he asked, tilting his head. “Yours?”

Astrid’s resolve faltered as he rose slowly from the chair and stepped toward her. He moved with that damnable elegance that always made her dizzy, like every step was part of a dance only he remembered.

“I’m not yours anymore,” she said, more to herself than to him.

But then he reached for her—carefully, reverently—and pulled her in. She didn’t resist when he sat back down and drew her onto his lap. Her knees settled on either side of his thighs, her skirt bunching between them, the heat of him pressing up into her core with maddening closeness.

His fingers curled around her hips, thumbs brushing under her shirt just enough to make her gasp.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against her neck. “Tell me you don’t feel it, Astrid. Say the words, and I’ll stop.”

She wanted to. Gods, she wanted to. But her body arched into his, desperate and aching and furious all at once.

“You left,” she choked out, eyes brimming with heat—not just lust, but pain. “You let them erase me.”

“I didn’t know,” he said, voice cracking like a mask splitting. “But I remember now. Every shattered second. Every kiss. Every promise I broke. And I’d burn the timeline to ash just to have another night with you.”

He rocked his hips up, slow and deliberate, dragging a moan from her lips that she couldn’t bite back.

“I hate you,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

He kissed them away.

“No, you don’t,” he said softly. “You ache for me. Just like I ache for you.”

Her hands threaded into his hair as his mouth claimed hers—hungry, full of grief and longing and fire. She kissed him like a curse, like a prayer, like a woman who remembered how he once made her feel like the center of the universe.

And for a moment, just one devastating moment, she let herself fall again.

The silence afterward wasn’t empty—it was thick with everything they hadn’t said.

Astrid lay curled against Loki’s chest, her breath still uneven, her fingers idly tracing the edge of his collarbone like she was trying to ground herself in something real. His arms were wrapped around her tightly, like he was afraid she might vanish again.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

His heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek, but she could feel the tension in him—the way his hand trembled slightly against her back, the way his breath caught every time she shifted. Like he was still trying to convince himself this was real.

“You don’t get to pretend nothing happened,” she whispered, breaking the quiet.

Loki’s voice was hoarse, like he’d buried too much behind it. “I’m not pretending. I’m trying to breathe in this… moment. Before it’s gone.”

Astrid sat up slowly, pulling the blanket over her chest, and looked down at him—at the man who had once promised her eternity, then vanished without a trace. At the god who had begged her with his body, but hadn’t yet begged with his truth.

“You can’t fix this with touches and pretty words,” she said. “I needed you, Loki. And you disappeared. No goodbye. No choice.”

His eyes burned as he sat up too, brushing his fingers along her jaw like he thought she might flinch. “They took you from me,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “The TVA. Your entire existence was… wiped. And I didn’t know. I swear to you, Astrid, I didn’t know until I saw the footage.”

Her heart clenched.

“I thought you moved on,” she said bitterly. “Or that I was just another mortal fling you outgrew.”

“Never,” he breathed, reaching for her hand. “You were my wife. My chaos and my peace. I searched timelines for your voice and found silence.”

Astrid’s eyes welled up, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. “You should have fought harder.”

“I will now,” he said, gripping her hand like a vow. “I don’t care if you never forgive me. I’ll spend every day proving I remember. That I want you. That I love you.”

She stared at him, trembling with the weight of everything they’d been and everything they might still be.

“I don’t know if I can let you all the way in again,” she admitted.

“Then let me stay at the door,” Loki whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “Until you do.”

Flashback — Before the Erasure

The rain danced against the windows of their hidden flat in Prague, where the fire cracked in the hearth and the smell of parchment and ink clung to the air. Astrid sat on the floor, legs curled beneath her, annotating her tattered copy of Frankenstein with wild devotion. Loki lounged on the chaise behind her, watching her as though she were the only poem worth reading.

“You mark Shelley’s words like they’re gospel,” he said, his voice warm and teasing.

Astrid didn’t look up. “They are. There’s more truth in his monsters than in most men.”

Loki smirked. “And what does that say about me, hmm?”

She finally turned, giving him that crooked little smile that made his immortal heart stutter. “That you’re both. The monster and the man. But you’ve always been my favorite paradox.”

He was at her side in seconds, sliding to the floor with a grace only gods possessed. “Say that again,” he whispered, brushing a curl from her cheek.

She leaned in. “You’re mine, Loki. Monster, man, myth—whatever form you take.”

He kissed her then, slow and reverent, like he was afraid even touching her too quickly might break the spell. They made love to the sound of thunder and the rustle of old pages, and afterward, he rested his hand on her belly with quiet awe, whispering, “Maybe one day, there’ll be more of us.”

And she had smiled, not knowing how cruel time would be.

---

---

Present Day — The TVA Archive Room

Morbius stood frozen in front of the flickering screen. He’d been digging through unauthorized footage—again—when her face appeared.

Astrid. Alive. Breathing. Pressed against Loki in a moment so raw it shouldn’t have been caught on camera.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the TVA classification at the bottom of the screen: “Previously Erased Variant. Status: Unknown.”

Footsteps behind him. Loki’s voice followed.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Morbius turned slowly, his expression unreadable. “You lied. You said she was a memory. That you just dreamed her.”

“I thought I had,” Loki admitted, stepping into the dim light. “But she’s real. I found her. Or fate gave her back to me. Either way, I’m not letting her go.”

Morbius looked at him like he was seeing the god anew. “You know what this means, don’t you? If the TVA finds out she’s alive—really alive—they’ll come for her again.”

“I won’t let them.” Loki’s voice was ice and fire. “They already stole her once. I will not let them erase her a second time.”

Morbius sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re putting everything at risk.”

“No,” Loki said, with that familiar glint of defiance. “I’m finally doing something right.”

And for a moment, Morbius didn’t argue. Because somewhere, beneath all the danger and bureaucracy, was a love worth breaking time itself for.

[november-rayne]

Chapter Fourteen: Heart to Heart

Summary: Loki and Sigyn finally have the grown-up conversation he's been trying to avoid.

Word Count: 5325

Rating: Mature

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+

*Minors DNI*

Tags: Fluff, making out

Chapter Index

Loki worked distractedly in his office until the clock signaled midday. Anticipation caused his fingers to shake as he quickly gathered his papers and called for his assistant, Karl.

“Your Highness,” he bowed.

“I have a very important lunch date with two very important women. So, I will entrust you to ensure these get where they need to go.” He handed the stack of paperwork over. “Inform anyone who may come looking for me that I will not be back today.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Enjoy your day, sir.”

“Thank you. We will see how it goes.” Loki locked the office door behind him and started heading toward the small dining room on the other side of the palace. He was practically jogging by the time he reached the doors. 

‘Calm down, breathe.’

He took a few minutes to compose himself before making his way inside. He ran his fingers through this hair a few times and straightened his clothes. He conjured a large bouquet of primrose in soft shades of light yellow and baby pink and slowly opened the door.

Frigga and Sigyn were sipping tea in the receiving room. Sigyn’s gown was ivory. Her dress had a boat neck and long, thin sleeves. Her hair was pinned up in a twist, adorned with pearl-encrusted combs. Loki was greeted by the sight of Sigyn’s graceful neck and shoulders from behind as he entered the room. His breath caught in his throat, and he feared his knees might give out.

“Loki!” Sigyn’s face lit up as she set her teacup down and stood up.

He stood there gaping at her awkwardly before Frigga cleared her throat.

Loki flushed and bowed to the Queen, “Mother.”

Sigyn curtsied to Loki, “Your Highness.”

“Lady Sigyn.” He placed a kiss on the back of her hand. These are for you.”

Sigyn accepted the bouquet with a wide smile, “Oh, thank you. These remind me of home. Primrose grows wild in the North.” She brought the flowers up to her face and inhaled deeply, “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

A light pink blush rose to his cheeks. “Perhaps.”

“Please come and join us.” Frigga motioned to the chair opposite Sigyn.

“Yes, thank you, Mother.” Loki kissed Frigga’s cheek and settled into his seat while the maid poured the tea.

“I did not think you would mind if I invited my son to lunch with us,” Frigga asked Sigyn.

Sigyn’s cheeks were flushed, and she was grinning while staring at her flowers in her lap, “Not at all, Your Majesty. I…” she peeked a glance at Loki, “I am delighted he is here. This was a charming surprise. Thank you.”

“Wonderful.” Frigga picked up her teacup and sipped, “I would just like to say that I am so pleased that the two of you get along so well.”

Loki smiled at Sigyn, “Sigyn is unlike anyone I have ever met. She has my attention.” His smile turned into a wicked grin, “Whether I like it or not.”

Sigyn peeked at Loki from under her lashes and gave him a half smile, “Gee, you really know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

“Wanting you has never been an issue.” Loki’s gaze was almost predatory.

“Right, well, who is ready for lunch?” Frigga motioned for the pair to follow her into the dining room.

“I am famished,” Sigyn said as she touched her stomach.

Loki laughed, “You are always famished.” He placed his hand on her back as she passed him. “Are you certain that you are not infected with a parasite?”

“Quite certain. My mother had me tested.” Sigyn settled into her seat as Loki pushed her chair in. He paused briefly and quirked an eyebrow up. He was unsure if she was joking or not. He looked to Frigga for guidance. She gave a little shrug in response. He laughed as he walked around to his seat across the table.

“So, Sigyn, tell me about your training with Lady Sif. How is that coming along?” Frigga asked.

“Oh, it has been wonderful. Sif is such a great teacher. She has such a wealth of knowledge. Not only of combat but palace life as well. Among other things.” She blushed slightly.

“Really? Such as?” Frigga pressed.

Sigyn sipped her water, “Oh, you know, just girly things. The latest fashions in the capital and whatnot.” She sent a glance to Loki. He was giving her a knowing smirk.

“I see.” Frigga looked between the pair. “Well, I am happy that you have been able to make friends here.”

“Everyone has been so kind and welcoming to me.”

“Of course, they are. Your charm is indisputable.”

“You do not need to flatter me constantly. My ego is not so fragile, My Prince.”

“Who is flattering? I am merely stating facts,” Loki shrugged.

Sigyn gave him a grateful look, “Regardless, it has made it a lot easier to picture myself making a home here.”

Loki’s heart squeezed in his chest, ‘She could be happy living here. I could make her happy here.’

He gave his head a little shake to clear it. “You are not sad about leaving your father’s home? What about your life in the North?”

Sigyn ran her fingertips lightly over her bouquet now resting on the table beside her. She looked a little gloomy as she said, “There isn’t much left for me there. My friends have been married off and moved away. My brothers are gone. I will miss my parents, I am sure, but I am ready to start the next chapter of my life.” She brightened a little and looked at Loki, “It is time to start looking to the future.”

“That is right,” Frigga patted her hand. “That reminds me, Loki, I will need you to make yourself available to the Household Manager sometime this week.” Loki looked confused. “You need to tell him which apartment you want to move into.”

“What is wrong with my current chambers?”

“Loki, it is a bachelor’s apartment. It only has one bed chamber. Far too small for a married couple.”

“She is one small woman; how much more space is needed?’

“You saw the number of trunks she arrived with. Where would she keep her things?” 

“I do own an embarrassing amount of clothing, Your Highness.”

Loki never considered that he would have to move out of his current chambers. He had lived there for centuries. He frowned, “Let me check my schedule.” Frigga and Sigyn exchanged a look.

“It should not be an issue to look at a few apartments this week.” He added a bit more enthusiastically. “As long as Sigyn can accompany me, that is.”

“I can hardly wait,” Sigyn smiled at him.

Loki returned her smile. ‘My pretty wife.’

“Whoa…” he said out loud. He pressed his hand over his thundering heart.

“Loki!” Sigyn shot out of her seat, “Are you all right? What is the matter?”

He threw his hands up, “I am fine. I am okay.” He motioned for her to sit.

She slowly returned to her seat, “What happened?”

He looked at his mother; she was studying him cautiously.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to scare you.” He smiled between the two women to reassure them, “This all just became very real suddenly.”

“Oh,” Sigyn extended her hand across the table, “Are you sure you are all right?”

Loki took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, “Better than I deserve.”

Frigga pretended to adjust her napkin in her lap so she could blink away the tears that were threatening to spill.

oOXOo

After lunch, the trio made their way back to the sitting room.

“This has been lovely, but I must take my leave.” The Queen kissed Loki’s cheek and pulled Sigyn in for a hug. “The second part of my surprise: an hour of privacy. You two may stay here and talk. Sigyn, I will be back to collect you in an hour. Loki,” she gave him a pointed look, “remember your promise. I trust you.”

Loki held his hands up in defense, “I am not the one here you need to be warning.”

Sigyn scoffed and started fiddling with her bracelet.

“Fine. This warning is for both of you, then. I may change my mind and return sooner. Do not make me regret this.”

“I will behave, Your Majesty.” Sigyn sunk into a deep curtsey, “I appreciate you arranging this for us.”

“As do I, Mother. Thank you,” Loki bowed.

“You are welcome. I will not be too far.” Frigga said in warning as she exited to the hallway.

The door closed, and Loki looked over to Sigyn standing beside him. He was suddenly very aware that they were now alone behind a closed door. He swallowed hard, “Did you enjoy your lunch?”

“Yes, it was lovely.” She averted her eyes and fiddled with her bracelet. “I had no idea the queen was so cunning. She was wise to omit her plan's full details to me. I would have been extra nervous while getting ready today.”

“Nervous? Do I make you uneasy, Sigyn?”

“No. Not uneasy. I always get butterflies when I know I will see you.” She smiled at him sweetly, “You may have noticed; I find you very attractive.”

“Really? Is that why you tried to seduce me in the field yesterday?”

“I already apologized for that,” Sigyn blushed.

Loki laughed, “Come sit on the sofa with me. There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“This feels ominous. Should I be worried?”

Loki kissed her hand as he led her across the room. “Not at all. I want you to help me understand something.” He deposited her at one end of the sofa and then took a seat on the other end, leaving quite a bit of space between them.

“I already do not like this,” Sigyn said as she noticed the distance he put between them.

“A temporary measure, I assure you. I have much to say and do not wish to be distracted.”

Sigyn grinned, “I distract you, Your Highness?” Her eyes were full of mischief. A faint green light danced behind her irises.

“Constantly. Even when you are on the opposite side of the palace from me, thoughts of you interrupt my work. When I close my eyes to sleep at night, your face greets me in my dreams. Just last night, I dreamed of chasing you through that grassy field. Your laughter still echoed in my ears as my chambermaid woke me for breakfast.”

“Loki…” she swallowed hard. She moved to scoot down the couch and close the distance between them.

“No, Sigyn. Please. Just stay over there. Let me get out all that I want to say in the precious time that we have in private here.”

“Very well.” Sigyn resigned herself to her side of the sofa again.

“If we finish talking before my mother comes back to retrieve you, if you would like, I will kiss you senseless until she arrives.”

Sigyn carefully removed her shoes, leaned back into the corner of the sofa, and tucked her feet under herself, “I agree to your terms.” She propped one arm on the back of the couch and rested her head against her hand. “Continue.”

“Thank you.” He sat and stared at her for a moment. ‘Norns, I just want to eat her up.’ He shook his head to clear it. He needed to stay on task.

It was now or never. The next hour would determine if he would start preparations for the wedding or if he would be bidding Sigyn farewell and dealing with the backlash that came with a broken betrothal contract.

As soon as Frigga told him about her lunch plans, Loki retreated to his bedroom and pulled out his journal. He wrote for hours, letting his complex internal wavering flow from the nib of his pen to the parchment beneath it.

He desired her. That was easy enough for him to sort out. And she made it clear that she wanted him too. He had no doubt in his mind they would be compatible physically. But he knew himself well enough to know that great sex wouldn’t be enough to keep him invested in the marriage long-term.

She was smart and perceptive. It would be unlikely that he could pursue interests outside the marriage without her catching on and making his life Hel.

What was it about her that even had him considering taking those vows? She was witty, playful, intelligent; to be sure. But there was something else about her. Something he had no name for. There was a voice inside his head that already knew her as his own. That already called her ‘wife’. That knew she was home before ever hearing her voice.

Loki being Loki could not accept such a thing so easily. He had to serve penance and write for half the night. Write down all the reasons why his instincts were wrong and debate with himself why none of those arguments held water.

Eventually, as exhaustion was setting in, he settled on a list of questions for Sigyn and committed them to memory in preparation for today’s visit.

“As I was saying, you do distract me. It is even worse when I can see you. I can barely take my eyes off you when we are in the same room together. This is an extraordinary situation for me to be in. I have never once felt the gravity of another person like I do with you. You are smart, funny, kind, adventurous, beautiful, and sexier than any one person has any right to be.

“Hel, even your scent calls to me. You have turned my life upside down. I dream about you. I miss you when we are not together. I care about your happiness.” He looked into her eyes as his practiced speech devolved into frenzied rambling, “You are perfect. I am not good enough for you. I have done things I am not proud of. It would be best if you were not forced to marry me. I-”

“No one forces me to do anything I do not want.” She leveled him with a look that was all business. “No one is forcing me to marry you. My father came to me with the betrothal proposition. I had the option to decline.

“While they were guests in our home, I spent time with your mother and father, not as the King and Queen, but as your parents. I know what I signed up for.

Confusion crowded his mind, “What do you get out of this? Money? Fame? I do not understand why you would agree to marry me.”

Sigyn scoffed, “Do you think any of that matters to me?” She leaned forward, “I am already wealthy. I do not need your money. I have enough gold in my personal coffers to last ten lifetimes. And what would I be famous for? Hmm? Warming your bed? Half of the realm would be famous if that were the case.” Sigyn crossed her arms in frustration.

“That was rude of me. I am sorry.” He looked at his hands, embarrassed at himself for assuming the worst of her.

“For the record, I’ve only bedded a quarter of the realm, not half.” He looked at her and grinned, “If we were to include the other eight realms, well, that’s when we start looking at some huge numbers.”

Sigyn snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Of course, accuracy is important. We dare not forget the other realms.” They sat quietly for a moment.

“None of that matters to me.” Sigyn shrugged her shoulders, “Who am I to judge? It makes sense. You were introduced to carnal pleasure at a very young age. You feel like it is the only thing you have to offer someone, the only thing you are good for.”

Loki shook his head and breathed deeply, “Sigyn, I…” He did not know how to finish that sentence. He looked up from his hands and saw her face. It was soft, kind, and full of warmth and understanding.

“Sigyn, with the exception of my current one, I have bedded every chambermaid I have ever employed.”

“I see.” She spun her bracelet around her wrist, “Is that a practice you plan on continuing?”

He shook his head, “No! Norns, no. It was more a matter of convenience and not thinking of those women as people with feelings. I never saw the harm I was doing until recently. I thought I was innocent of wrongdoing because I paid them extra coins for their extra services. I see now how inappropriate it was.” He looked down at his hands in his lap, “And I did not limit myself to the chambermaids.”

“Were all of these affairs consensual?”

“Explicitly!” Loki looked at her wide-eyed, “I may be an insufferably arrogant rogue, but I am no monster.”

“I believe you.” She gave him a gentle smile, “Are there any more sins you would like to confess?”

“Is that not enough to make you hate me?”

She rolled her eyes, “Are you trying to make me hate you?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I just want you to know what kind of man you agreed to marry.”

“I told you before; your life before I met you is none of my business.”

Loki shook his head, “How am I so lucky to have met you?”

“Can I tell you something kind of silly?” she asked sheepishly.

“Of course.”

“My whole life, as far back as I can remember, there has been a portrait of the royal family hanging in my father’s hall. I believe it is customary in all the great houses. It reminds the Lords of whom they serve, like the King is always watching over everyone.  I distinctly remember standing in that hall and staring at that portrait: the King, the Queen, and their two princes.”

“I remember detesting sitting for those damn things.”

“One day, I was still very young, living in the nursery. I was playing hide and seek with my best friend, Kaarina. She found me standing in the middle of the hall, staring at the portrait. She started fussing at me that I was not playing the game right. I informed her, mind you, none too politely, that we were done playing the hiding game and would play a new one.

“We were going to pretend to be princesses. ‘You can only be a princess if you are born to the king or marry a prince,’ she told me. That is when I told her, ‘I am going to marry Prince Loki.’” Sigyn smiled, and Loki laughed, “I remember how confused she was. She said, ‘But Siggy if you marry Prince Thor, you will be queen one day.’ I told her that I did not care. I wanted to marry Prince Loki.”

Sigyn stood, walked over to the wet bar, and poured herself a glass of wine. Loki followed her with his eyes as she moved through the room. “Can I pour you a drink?”

“No, thank you.” Loki watched as she sipped from her glass.

“Very well.” She made her way back to the end of the sofa. “So, Kaarina and I would play pretend princesses every day. I was married to Prince Loki; she was married to Prince Thor. We threw pretend feasts. Fastened bed sheets around our shoulders to make wedding dress trains. Our double wedding was very opulent. All my dolls served as wedding guests.” She smiled at the memory, traced her finger over the rim of her glass, then took another sip.

Loki chuckled and waited for her to continue, enthralled by her story and curious where it was headed.

“My mother almost fainted one day when she found the pair of us playing in the house with cushions stuffed up our dresses, pretending we were pregnant with heirs.”

“I bet that was a sight to see, two wee girls with imaginary husbands and big tummies running through the halls.”

“We used to get up to all kinds of things, Kaarina and I, mostly at the behest of my older brothers and his friends. They would get us into all kinds of trouble. Did you know they were twins? Gunnar and Geir?” Loki shook his head. “My father called them ‘double trouble.’ Identical. They used to pull so many pranks.” She was quiet for a moment. “They were born together, and they died together. Younger than I am now.” She took a few more drinks of her wine, staring at the window.

Loki smiled, “I think I could have been good friends with your brothers.”

Sigyn nodded and took another sip of her wine. “But I digress. My point is… what is my point? I do not have a point.” She set her wine glass on the side table.

“I have always felt this connection to you. I do not know if it is fate, the Norns?” She shrugged her shoulders, “I do not know. I cannot know for sure, but when I finally met you, something inside me became whole. Like a piece of myself had been missing for a long time, and I didn’t even realize it was gone until I heard your voice.”

“Sigyn…”

“Look, I know that this betrothal blindsided you. It was hardly fair for them to spring it on you as they did. Just know that some part of me always knew I would be your wife. I have been preparing for it my whole life. Loki…” Sigyn took a deep breath, “Look at me. I am marrying you because I want to. You intrigue me. We have a lot in common. We have the same interests. You make me laugh. I want to be a good wife for you. I want to help you oversee my father’s lands when the time comes. I want to carry your babies.”

Loki inhaled sharply and covered his mouth with his hand. A wave of emotion hit him square in his chest.

“When my father came to me with the proposition, I was not surprised. I was expecting it.”

Loki pressed his head to the back of the couch and closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. They sat quietly for a few minutes as his mind raced. Sigyn finished her wine.

“Please say something,” Sigyn said softly.

“Are you sure you are not a witch? Willing the fates to do your bidding?” He raised his head and gave her a smile.

Sigyn gave Loki a mischievous look, “If only I had that kind of power, Your Highness.”

“Oh, I think you do.” He patted his thigh, “Come here, pretty girl.” Sigyn smiled as she crawled slowly to his end of the sofa. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her across his lap. He cradled her face in his hand. “You have power over me. Your wish is my command.”

“Let me love you. Let me give you what you need.” She leaned over and kissed him. Soft and gentle. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezed him, and kissed him more. Lightly, gently, pouring as much tenderness and love as she could into her kisses. She kissed him for several minutes before pulling away and pressing her forehead against his.

“No one else has ever kissed me like that before; without expectations of me. So tender and sweet.” His eyes were closed.

“I will kiss you every day for the rest of my days if you let me.” She placed a tender kiss atop each of his eyelids.

“You are too good.” He picked her hand up and laced his fingers in hers. “You are willing to love me unconditionally? Me? The prince who will not inherit a kingdom? The prince who has nothing to offer you? The prince who has behaved so wretchedly in the past?”

“You. The prince who makes me laugh. The prince who danced with me for hours. The prince who makes my skin overheat with just a glance. And most importantly, the prince who can conjure snacks out of thin air.”

Loki laughed, “Lady Sigyn, the ever ravenous.”

“You are not wrong.” She lowered her gaze to his lips.

“Do not give me that look, My Lady.”

“You promised to kiss me senseless.”

“I did, on the condition that we were finished talking before my mother returned. There are still some things I want to discuss with you before your mother hides you away again.”

“Very well. Proceed.”

He took a deep breath, “If I do this, marriage, I mean, I want to do it right. I want to be good at it. I received some excellent advice recently: not all happy marriages look the same. I would like to know what you think constitutes a successful union.”

“You would like to find out what I think qualifies as a good husband and see if you could check those boxes before we are married?”

“Yes, that sounds like a decent summary.”

“Fair enough.” Sigyn was thoughtful for a moment. “Well, firstly, I want children and you to be involved in their lives.”

“I have never allowed myself to think about fatherhood until recently, very recently. Like five minutes ago.”

Sigyn fell apart in a fit of giggles. Loki stroked her cheek as she composed herself.

“Like I said, I have never entertained the idea of being a father, but I am willing to do my best. Although, you must understand that I do not have the same relationship with my father that you do with yours. The King needed to produce his heirs and then focus on protecting the Nine. The Allfather was not as loving and as nurturing as your own. I did not have the best example.”

“I understand. I will be there to guide you, but you must understand that when I offer advice, it is not from a place of judgment or criticism but from a place of nurturing that you may not have received. Fair?”

Loki nodded, “Fair. How many children do you want?”

She grinned widely, “As many as you are willing to give me, but I would love a large family.”

“Large as in… three?”

“Large as in large.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek, “But we do not have to think about the number or the planning just yet. We have plenty of time.”

“Okay, children: check. What else?”

She dropped her eyes to where their hands were joined. A slight pink color flushed her cheeks. “Sex?”

“Yes, please. And, rather important for making all those children you want. I thought your nanny told you how that worked?”

“Obviously, I do not plan on letting you get any rest; between feeding me and fucking me, I plan to keep you very occupied.” Loki’s grip on her hip tightened. “What I mean is that there are some things of a sexual nature that I have never experienced. I was hoping you would be open about introducing me to certain things I have only read about in books.”

“S-such as?” Loki’s composure was crumbling. 

Sigyn paused for a moment. “I have never had more than one lover at a time. Would you be willing to invite others to join us? To see if I like it? If we both agree ahead of time?” She smiled at him sweetly.

“You would not consider that infidelity?”

“No. Not if we are together. I would consider it an extension of trust for one another. I would never take a lover behind your back. I would demand the same courtesy from you. I do not think acting out fantasies together is infidelity. We could incorporate it into a healthy marriage if we are both comfortable with it. Besides, I have never had more than one mouth on me at one time. I would love to know how that feels.”

Loki gave her a wicked grin, “Close your eyes, kitten.”

Curious, she closed her eyes. She felt the air shift and the couch dip by her feet. A pair of solid hands picked up her foot and started caressing her. Her eyes flew open, and she saw Loki bending down to place a kiss on the top of her foot while simultaneously feeling Loki kiss her neck under her ear.

“What in the Hel?!”

The second Loki said, “I told you, your wish is my command.” He ran a hand under her dress and up her calf, squeezing her just behind her knee.

“Entrust your fantasies to me, my sweet. I will make your dreams become reality.” The first Loki whispered in her ear.

Sigyn’s head fell back. She clung to Loki’s tunic with both hands and moaned, “Oh my Gods…” She looked between the two of them, “How?”

“Magic.” They both replied in unison as they caressed her independently.

“Do you approve?” the first Loki asked.

Sigyn nodded, her voice lost. She was on fire. White hot heat covered her skin.

“Excellent.”

“Is that...you? Does he feel me too?” She stared at the second Loki.

“It is me, kitten,” the second Loki replied.

“I am one mind in two bodies,” the first Loki added. “I can feel what his body feels and vice versa. Yes, I just felt you flex your calf under his hand.”

“Amazing. I have so many questions.”

“Another time, darling. We are on a tight schedule.” The second Loki dematerialized with a wave of his hand and a flash of green light.

“What other wicked games would you like to try?”

Sigyn paused to compose herself, staring at the spot where Loki had vanished. She took a deep breath, “Well, yesterday in the field was the first time I was ever restrained. It had quite an effect on me. I would like for you to do that again.”

Loki imagined her tied up, naked, and mewling on his bed. “Yes, definitely. I liked that too.” He was squeezing her hip tightly.

“And you would let me bind you as well?”

Loki groaned and buried his face in her neck. “Oh, to be bound and broken at your mercy. My dangerous captor. My beautiful mistress.”

“I will take that as a yes.” She closed her eyes and pulled her fingers through his hair as he placed open-mouth kisses up and down her neck.

“Mm-hmm.” He turned his attention to the other side of her neck.

“Loki… I cannot return from lunch with the Queen with my neck all marked up.” She gently pulled back. Loki’s eyes were dark, his lids hooded.

“I have half a mind not to return you at all.” He pressed himself into her thigh. Sigyn shivered when she felt his rigid length push against her. “But alas, we need to finish our conversation. I told you you were a distraction.” He shifted her to get more comfortable.

“Yes, I recall.” She smiled at him as her fingers played in his hair.

“So where are we on the checklist? I agree to be a good father, not take any lovers behind your back, and give in to all your depraved erotic fantasies…” Sigyn laughed and smacked him on the shoulder, “What else do you desire from your husband?” He squeezed her hand.

She smiled, “Maintain your relationships with your friends and family.”

“Absolutely.”

“Let us both enjoy our personal space without doubts or suspicions.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Provide me with snacks regularly.”

“Of course.”

“Take me on wild adventures.”

“The wilder, the better.”

“Dance with me, even if there is no music.”

“We will make our own music.”

“Chase me,” she grinned.

“To the end of the world if I have to,” he grinned back.

“Love me.”

“With every cell in my body. With every fiber of my being.” Loki’s breath caught in his throat, “I love you.”

“As I love you.”

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XOXO- Rayne 💚

[rosh-28]

The Battle for Carol's Heart

Yandere Loki and Yandere Bucky Barnes vying for Captain Marvel's (Carol Danvers) affection.

Carol Danvers floated above the desolate battlefield, her golden hair flowing in the cosmic wind. The universe had been at peace, but it was a deceptive peace, hiding the true chaos that brewed beneath. She had sensed something off, a disturbance in the delicate balance she fought so hard to maintain.As she descended, her boots touched the ashen ground, and her senses sharpened.

There was someone here—no, more than one. Two presences, both familiar, both dangerous. "Loki," she called out, her voice echoing in the void. "I know you're here."A figure materialized before her, his green and gold armor gleaming in the dim light. Loki’s smile was all mischief, but there was a darkness in his eyes that set Carol on edge."Carol, my dear," he said, stepping closer. "You've always been perceptive. But you didn't come here just to find me, did you?"From the shadows, another figure emerged.

This one clad in black, with a metal arm that gleamed like a specter of his haunted past. Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. His gaze was intense, almost predatory."Loki," Bucky growled, his eyes never leaving Carol. "What are you doing here?"Loki chuckled, the sound rich and full of menace. "I could ask you the same thing, Barnes. But we both know why we're here."Carol’s heart pounded as she realized the gravity of the situation.

These two men, each formidable in their own right, were not just here by coincidence. They had been drawn to her, by her. "Enough games," she snapped, her fists glowing with energy. "What do you want?"Loki tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "Isn't it obvious? I've come for you, Carol. To claim what is rightfully mine."Bucky stepped forward, his expression darkening. "You're not taking her, Loki. She's mine."

Carol's energy flared, a protective aura surrounding her. "I'm not a prize to be claimed! If you think I'll just go with either of you, you're both delusional."Loki's smile widened, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, Carol, you misunderstand. We're not asking."With a swift motion, he conjured a chain of magical energy, binding Carol's wrists.

Simultaneously, Bucky lunged, his metal arm closing around her waist, pulling her close to him."Let her go," Bucky hissed at Loki, tightening his grip on Carol. "I won't let you have her."Loki’s eyes narrowed, the playful facade dropping to reveal cold fury. "Do not mistake me for a fool, Barnes. She will be mine, one way or another."

Carol struggled against their combined hold, her power surging as she fought to break free. "I won't let you control me!"The ground trembled as her energy exploded outward, knocking both men back. She floated above them, her eyes glowing with unrestrained power.

"I am Carol Danvers, and I won't be owned by anyone," she declared, her voice shaking the very air around them.Loki and Bucky stood, their determination unshaken.

They exchanged a glance, an unspoken agreement passing between them. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot."Very well," Loki said, his voice a silken promise. "But know this, Carol. We won't stop. We can't stop."Bucky's eyes bore into hers, a dangerous vow in their depths. "You belong with me, Carol. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make you see that."As they disappeared into the shadows, Carol knew this was only the beginning.

The battle for her heart had just begun, and she would need all her strength to withstand the darkness that both Loki and bucky Barnes.

[thestarsarehaunted]

HI HI!! For the OC asks: 15, 21, B for Dee; 3, 27, H for Coral; and 28, 42, J free space (aka pick any character(s) you want!)

Ooh, questions!

Dee the living house (Monster of the Week):

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first? Dee has never thought ahead about anything in their life, with one exception; when it was invited to a certain support group to meet new friends it did rehearse how to introduce itself. They can be slow to speak, but it's because their age and nature lead them to think at a slower pace than humans. When they do speak, they say exactly what they are thinking in the most straightforward manner possible.

Why do they get up in the morning? It would be very easy for Dee to go dormant; not fully I suspect, but to exist as a slightly haunted house that only partially rouses itself on occasion. There's a longing in Dee, though, and that's what keeps it 'getting up'; a desire it can't identify but that keeps it close to those who treat it kindly, gets it excited for the idea of friendship even as it thinks of people as self-destructive parasites. It doesn't know what it wants, but it wants.

What inspired you to create them? A Tumblr post, actually. I knew I was intrigued by a ghost character but I was struggling to come up with a story that really clicked for me. Out of the blue I remembered this post, in particular the tag 'if a haunted house is a person what happens when the family chooses to treat its sharp jagged past with the respect and care it deserves'. I latched onto the idea of a haunted house being allowed to grow beyond the trauma that shaped it, and Dee developed from there.

Coral the predatory mermaid (Crossroads Carnival):

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?) Coral needs activity around her to sleep. She comes from a large community where there was always someone awake and active, so silence and stillness both reinforce her feelings of isolation and make her feel less safe. On nights when she isn't out with her monstrous crew she tries to be one of the first in the carnival to sleep, and if she is up later she's willing to sleep out in the open if she finds a spot where people are still up and making noise. As a last resort she'll sing herself to sleep; it's a pale comfort, but it's better than silence.

What causes them to feel dread? Coral doesn't let herself think about the future. She lost everything once - her family, the sea, even her language and name - and nothing will ever feel permanent to her again. She has rebuilt, found a way to be content if not truly happy, but there's always a looming sense that this too will be lost someday.

What trait do you admire most? Her ferocity. Lay a hand on her or her friends and you'll lose it (or at least a few fingers, as one particular asshole learned). She doesn't second guess, doesn't hesitate, doesn't fear.

Hmm, who else do I want to ramble about... Theo is my beloved eldritch-horror-to-be and Loki is one of my oldest OCs who's been with me since I was 14ish, so you get both.

Theo the sorcerous mutant (DnD):

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? Absolutely not. A lie, even a well-intended one, is a way to manipulate someone else and control their perception. Theo was (unintentionally) traded for power by their mother, and lived for a decade with a mysterious cosmic horror slowly warping their body and the certainty that when it was done it would come to claim them. She was born a pawn, and the feeling of utter powerlessness kept her living on the edge of a scream that wouldn't end. The only way to cope was by maintaining absolute control over as much of her life as possible, to an almost comical extent; she never forgave the stranger who saved her life without her permission. Even though they no longer live with the horror's influence, she will always fiercely resist any effort at all to influence her.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? For a long time, Theo's ultimate goal was power. They were convinced that when the force behind their mutation was done reshaping them it would come to claim them personally, and she was absolutely determined that she would be strong enough to fight it. Not to defeat it and free herself, as she actively refused to believe that was possible, but to make it hurt. She believes everything has a price, and she intended to make it pay for her life in blood. With that singular goal in mind, there was very little they wouldn't do to make themself stronger. The only line they wouldn't cross is trading another person's freedom as was done to them. Against her expectations, however, her eldritch creator was destroyed in the end. She let go of her need for power and is currently living untethered by any goals.

Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character? I tried to keep them to a standard DnD build as much as possible, but there was definitely some tweaking and homebrewing needed to create Theo as I envisioned her. A reflavoured simic hybrid was a good starting point as they gain a couple of new mutations as they level up, but Theo mutated to a far greater extent; by the end she was a mass of tentacles with digitigrade legs, random patches of scales and insect-like shell, and bulging eyes that could pop out of the sockets to extend on stalks.

Loki the manic pixie dream child (from an original story):

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? Loki will claim to hate lies, but he lies to himself constantly. He was abducted and raised by pixies, who adored him and showered him with love; until he started to grow up and they got bored. They tried to switch him back for the changeling they'd left with his human family, but he refused to keep his past secret. His parents were horrified; from their perspective, he was the strange fey creature replacing their 'real' child, and they wanted nothing to do with him. Twice abandoned and left alone in an unfamiliar world, he coped by rewriting his own memory. He convinced himself that he was just lost, and his pixie family were out there looking for him. He has since relied on this single coping mechanism for everything he doesn't want to face, wrapping himself in layers of denial to shield himself from any pain.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? Loki's driving goal is to be loved by someone who won't leave. Despite his denial, some part of him is aware of why he was abandoned, and so he has built his entire identity around being the most unique and interesting person around. He might be strange, aggravating, even infuriating, but he must never ever be boring. Nothing could matter more than that.

Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character? Loki was one of the first characters I created for that story so there wasn't much canon in place yet, but he shaped its development through the introduction of pixies; up to that point I had focused on werewolves, vampires, and other supernaturals with ties to humanity.

[bloodbovnd]

( Danny Ramirez, cis man, he/hm ) Is that HUNTER SHAW ?? I think they are the 31 year old CON ARTIST everyone keeps talking about. Everyone says they’re just like THE BIG BAD WOLF from LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD, but it’s probably just because they’re known for being CHARISMATIC and GREEDY. What they really want is TO BECOME POWERFUL AND RICH, but do they have the willpower to ask for what they want? Or reach out and take it?

QUICK FACTS.

full name: Hunter Shaw nicknames: Fangs, boss, hun (if you really want to annoy him) age: thirty-one birthday: april 9th orientation: bisexual family: mother (estranged, died under mysterious circumstances), father (same fate like his mother) marital status: single occupation: con man faceclaim: danny ramirez hair: dark brown eyes: dark brown traits: charismatic, ambitious, resilient, devil-may-care, manipulative, street-smart, aggressive, cocky, opportunistic, Machiavellian, intense inspirations: damon salvatore ( the vampire diaries ), lucifer ( lucifer ), tommy shelby ( peaky blinders ), loki ( Norse mythology/Marvel )

MISC.

Zodiac Sign: Aries- As the first sign in the zodiac, the presence of Aries always marks the beginning of something energetic and turbulent. They are continuously looking for dynamic, speed and competition, always being the first in everything - from work to social gatherings. Thanks to its ruling planet Mars and the fact it belongs to the element of Fire (just like Leo and Sagittarius), Aries is one of the most active zodiac signs. It is in their nature to take action, sometimes before they think about it. MBTI: ESTP - ESTPs are energetic thrill-seekers who are at their best when putting out fires, whether literal or metaphorical. They bring a sense of dynamic energy to their interactions with others and the world around them. They assess situations quickly and move adeptly to respond to immediate problems with practical solutions. Active and playful, ESTPs are often the life of the party and have a good sense of humor. They use their keen powers of observation to assess their audience and adapt quickly to keep interactions exciting. Although they typically appear very social, they are rarely sensitive; the ESTP prefers to keep things fast-paced and silly rather than emotional or serious.

Enneagram: Type Eight - Eights are people with high levels of energy, intensity and willpower. They project power and toughness and take challenges as an invitation to prove their strength. They enjoy open confrontation and don’t back down easily. Eights often have a fierce passion to protect the vulnerable and weak, but they have trouble admitting any kind of weakness or vulnerability themselves. Temperament: Sanguine Moral Alignment: Neutral Evil Primary Vice: Greed Primary Virtue: N/A Element: Fire

QUICK BACKGROUND.

abuse tw, neglect tw, predatory behavior tw

Hunter grew up in a abusive household just outside of town. Always having a to fight for his (literally) next meal meant a lot of back and forth for him and his parents. While he begged them to take care of him, Hunter also tried to stay as far away from them as possible. To eventually find his own food, to take care of himself, he fled the abuse in favor of a better life.

On the streets, Hunter began to learn some street smarts before his Grandma heard about his unfortunate situation and took him in. Well fed and cared for, he still never forgot what it's like to be hungry and alone, so he became greedy and vicious.

To really get ahead, Hunter worked tirelessly to get good grades and really leave a mark in this world, to have a better life for himself and his Grandma. Honorable, perhaps, but he's just a greedy bastard who definitely stole some child's lunch money to get some for himself.

An ultimate bully, his academic capabilities and an eventual scholarship to study veterinary medicine were more prominent features. Those who knew about his violence and bullying were silenced while he put on a good facade, never once losing his gorgeous grin. Alas, he never really got to study after realizing being a con man would be so much better suited to his... lifestyle.

He likes animals more than humans, however. He used to have a dog, Barker, to whom he had a strong connection. To help animals in need became his calling so whenever he can, Hunter goes out of his way to help them and take care of them.

He wants to find similar minded people he can rely on and with whom he can further his own wealth. He's hungry, always, a hunter, a predator, who will stop at nothing to see his plans realized.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

former partner in crime

street rival

ride or die bestie

the one that got away (any gender)

victim of a past scam

loyal follower

someone who seeks his services

[loki-the-predator]

*blows a kiss*

*grumbls*

I am still busy, Little Kitten. However, I do understand why you feel compelled to act the way you do...

[dr-stephen-v-strange]

In my head

@loki-the-predator continued from here

The way the other moved his hands and looked at his empty plate hardly indicated satisfaction.

“So you are not out of tricks, but you have not answered my question either. Tell me, is there something that compels you to avoid lies, oh, mighty former mind-reader?”

Stephen was back at giving nicknames and Wong would probably have hit him with a book. But it was better than jumping up and screaming “It was an accident! I never meant to kill anyone”, not that it mattered. Dead was dead and he was to blame.

It was horrifying to know that the alien knew this most shameful memory of his. Yet, he had seen what the alien did as they shared their minds and maybe murder made him a “better man” in the other’s eyes.

Stephen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I agree entirely. Let’s focus on the issue at hand instead. Which at this point is still, how I can...”, he tried to find the correct word, “feel your thoughts, as soon as I open my mind to them.”

Stephen looked up at the other and leaned forward even more until he could smell the sweet food on the other’s breath and see the glimpse of hesitance shimmer in his eyes. Apparently, his closeness made the alien uncomfortable. Considering he had once shared his mind, this was absolutely fascinating. Meeting Loki’s arrogant gaze with a gracious smile he added very calmly: “There is still food in the oven, if you want a bit more.”